Chapter 11 – Morthal
Have your people undergone a crisis of faith in light of the recent calamities that have befallen the Dunmer? Your Daedra worship seems not to protect you from misfortune.
You misunderstand. The Triune does not shield us. They are the Good Daedra because they have shown us the correct way. If, as you said, calamity befell us, it was no one's doing but our own.
So you are saying that the Dunmer are to blame for the Red Year and the Argonian Invasion?
Blame? Again, you do not understand. We disdain your Divines for the same reason your find our ways barbaric. How can your gods be praised if they coddle you? You beseech them to aid you, rather than asking for the strength to overcomes the challenges before you. We exist, and what is existence but strife? We seek the strength to overcome adversity, not the chance to avoid it. The tragedies of our past occurred, and we may mourn our dead and grieve. But, when all is done, we stand again, stronger for having overcome that trial.
So then, what is the difference between the 'Good Triune' and the four Daedra you classify as the 'House of Troubles?'
I could point to history, and the lessons that the Triune gave us, even as the House tried to destroy us, but there is only one difference, truly. All of the history, it can be tied back to their relationship to our people. The House of Troubles throws misfortune at us so that we will fail. The Triune tests us so that we may succeed.
Heron Antios, Interviews of Faith, Part 9: Dunmer and Daedra
The swamp stank. Serana's nose was covered by her wrapping, but she could make out the smell, and for once she regretted her heightened senses. The wind had been from the west for most of the day, but this was the first time she had smelled the swamp. It smelled of rot and salt water, and a hint of something sickly sweet. They were still in the snowy forest, skirting the foothills of the mountains that Lydia called the Crest Range, though in her time they had been the Hjaaldruun. To Velandryn they were simply "those mountains," an approach that Serana had to admit possessed an elegant simplicity, though she imagined that he would be the first to tell them the name of every feature in his homeland. There was still a great deal about him that she did not understand, and one of the biggest mysteries was why he had come to Skyrim in the first place. There was also something going on with dragons, judging by his and Lydia's reactions when the smith in Heljarchen had mentioned them and the questions Velandryn had asked when they made camp for the evening. She had told him the truth, that there were dragons in the remote places of Skyrim, but they did not usually approach areas of habitation. She had certainly never seen one. In return, she had learned that dragons had long been thought extinct, but had recently been seen again. There was something else, something important that he wasn't telling her, but she could not get it out of him. He would simply ask pointedly about her home, family, and vampirism. Lydia knew as well, judging by the way the big woman spoke to her. Or, rather, how she didn't. She had clearly figured out that Serana was better at winnowing out information than Lydia was at concealing it, so she had gone for a policy of almost total silence, generally communicating with grunts and single words unless the elf was present. However, they maintained a pleasant enough peace, with all agreeing by unspoken consent not to breach those topics of conversation that they all knew would lead nowhere. She should have known it couldn't last.
They had encountered two more Imperial patrols in the five days since Heljarchen, and none had given them any real trouble. Velandryn had explained that the Empire had many Dunmer citizens, and in fact the entire province of Morrowind was an Imperial holding, though by the sound of it in name only. All had warned them to watch out for bandits or Stormcloaks. It seemed that the three of them were not the sort of folk who roused suspicions, something for which Serana felt duly grateful. Their only encounter with ruffians came later that same day, perhaps an hour after Serana first noticed the swamp's smell.
It was six or seven rough men and women, all Nords by the look of it, wearing a patchwork assortment of leather and the heavy metal armor that seemed to be common in this age, though it still seemed odd to Serana. They came charging out of the trees, apparently so overwhelmed by the sight of laden horses and travelers that they never stopped to consider if their method of attack was the wisest course of action. Lydia drew her crossbow so quickly that even Serana was unsure if she could have done it faster, and Velandryn had his own bow out only a second behind. The Nord woman's odd-looking projectile, which she called a 'bolt,' punched clean through one bandit's chestplate, sending the big man reeling back before he collapsed to the ground unmoving. Velandryn's shot only staggered his target, but he followed it up with three more that sent the bandit to the ground as well. For her part, Serana filled the air between her and the closest foe with frost and shards of ice, until he was huddled in on himself, half-frozen and bleeding from where the magic had impacted him. She kicked him onto his back and slashed through his throat with a single swipe of her blade. The hot blood gushed out, steaming and hissing as it cascaded over his icy chest and pooled on the ground.
The blood.
Serana couldn't look away, the blood, smelling so sweet, was right there. It was dripping into the snow, and the red haunted her, filling her eyes. She could see no other colors, and could not have turned and walked away even if she wanted to. Haltingly, longingly, she stepped forward. One more step, then down to her knees, then it would be hers, she could drink it, she could feel it on her lips, the wetness on her tongue, she could caress it and play with it, swallow the sweetness and let it slide down her throat, warm her and fill her Oh mine Lord how long has it been—
A scream sounded somewhere, far off, only to cut off abruptly. A rush of heat from behind her and the clash of metal served to interrupt her rapturous imaginings. Angrily, she forced herself away, almost weeping as the color leeched out into the snow, fading and crawling away. She wanted to snarl when she saw that it was nothing but Lydia beating down another of the thugs, while Velandryn raised a hand and wreathed a charging woman in flame. Serana could have thrown herself to the ground and cut more holes in the body to get at the sweet blood that must still remain inside, but as Lydia's sword cut deep, more blood gushed out from a fresh wound. Fresh. Without thought, she was running towards the falling body, eyes fixed on the crimson droplets dancing in the air. She could taste them already, she could—
Pain lanced through her chest, and she screamed, the pain raw and harsh. She spun and met the eyes of the archer who had shot her, and he knocked another arrow and drew it back to his ear, grinning. She raised her hand, and let the most ancient of the vampire spells, the draining of another's life, course through her. The magic left her hand, linking the two of them, and she gasped as the energy flowed into her. It could not abate her hunger, as even the most powerful of her kind could do little more than siphon a trickle of energy from an aware and vigorous target using this spell. However, it calmed her for an instant, focusing her mind and letting her overcome the desires within. She closed on the bandit, contemptuously dodging his hastily loosed arrow. She did not move fast, savoring the fear that rolled off of him, slowing her pace as the bow fell from his hands. He drew an axe, but it was too little to stand against the likes of her. His grip was weak, and she batted his weapon aside, sending it spinning far out of his grasp. Now unarmed, he stood before her, and the blood roiled within him. Fear. She had always felt sick after drinking the blood of one consumed with fear, but now it sang to her. I want it. She wanted to drain him dry, to take each drop of him, filled with his fear, and drink it, let it—
Suddenly, a flash came from the corner of her eye, and a bolt of fire tore through the bandit. He screamed as flame billowed out from the point of impact, and in seconds was at the center of a billowing ball of red-orange destruction. Serana flinched back, throwing her arms up by instinct to shield her face from the painful blast of heat and light. The conflagration quickly consumed the hapless outlaw, until his charred corpse was all that remained. Furious at being deprived of her blood, Serana spun, looking for whoever had done this. She knew who had done it, but she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to see them, to make them pay for depriving her of her desire.
The grey elf, the clever elf, was there, standing still, facing her with empty hands. She crouched, readying herself to spring. She could feel the residue of magicka around him, bleeding off like heat from the body at her feet. Off past the edge of the road, the armored Nord, the hateful Nord, was putting a blade in the belly of the last of those who had attacked them. Us. They had been travelling together, going somewhere, going home.
She saw home, saw the bodies lying on the tables, saw her father beckoning her to feed, felt the blood—
The blood.
She wanted the blood. There had been so much, but it had been taken from her. Her eyes locked on the elf, who was still watching her. He took it! He had burned the fearful one to cinders, boiled the blood that was hers! She raised her blade, and suddenly felt it as it washed over her, burning, beating, pulsing. Inundated with magicka as he was, his blood sang her a love song, and she wanted to bathe in it. She took a halting step forward, with none of her usual grace, needing the sensation his blood would give. Not the armored one, she was all wrapped in steel and dull besides. It was the blood of the grey one she craved. There was magic in it, and something more. Something ancient that excited her beyond all reason. Her second step was swifter, and her third was almost a leap—
"STOP!" She looked up, eyes wide as the sound rang out, harsh and tinged with something beyond mere sound, but it was not addressed to her. The grey one—the Dunmer— had his hand outstretched. The armored woman had a weapon—a crossbow—aimed straight at her. Both were still, and she suddenly realized that she had stopped moving as well. Some part of her, some shred of reason beneath the hunger had told her that she should stand still when she heard that word. So, they just stood there, all three of them. Serana's hunger, her longing warring with the part of her that was screaming, deep inside, to stop this, that she needed them and even more that they were allies, and that she was not the sort of person who would do this.
The elf took a step forward and her gaze snapped to him. He did not look frightened, and spread his arms as though asking for an embrace. She couldn't imagine how she must look, but she knew that there was a trick here. She wasn't a beast, to snap at bait. When she charged, doubtless he would surround her in fire, or Lydia would put a bolt through her heart. Lydia. The name came back to her, and with it the arguments, the anger.
You see us as cattle! Lydia's words, shouted in anger before a totem-stone. That was wrong though. She knew they weren't, she knew that they hoped and dreamed and loved, the same as her. She had been like them once, how could she not know them? It was only that their lives were so short, and all she needed was a little blood. Couldn't they give that? No, because they hate you. She knew it wasn't that simple, but right now, right now it hurt to think. She had the scent of it, his blood was overpowering, she wanted it, she wanted it she wanted it SHE WANTED IT—
"Is this what you are?" The elf's words—Velandryn's words, as the name returned to her—did not break through her wanting as much as coil around something in her core. "Is this you? Is this" his voice was heavy with something she could not name "Serana?"
Hearing her name froze her more effectively than any spell, tearing her apart as some vestige of Serana rose at the sound and tried to quiet the hunger. She remembered everything; from the moment she had been overcome she had pushed the memories away, but now she looked at the two before her, and she didn't wantto feed on them. No, that wasn't right. She wanted to, and if she had been asked and been lucid enough to answer, she would have said that she wanted their blood—she wanted Velandryn's blood—more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. For her, this moment's desire was fiercer than any she had ever known. It could not truly be so, of course, and some part of her was proud for recognizing that. This hunger had been brought on by her time away, and it was not truly hers. This was the other side of her strength and speed and eternal life. This was the price, and it had to be paid.
She groaned out loud, desire warring with reason as the last few days pitted themselves against the indescribable feeling that was permeating her body. It had long since transcended hunger and was almost sexual in its writhing intensity. She could do it. The sun was hidden behind clouds, and was low in the sky besides. She could reveal her true form, the monstrous body of a Vampire Lord, and deal with them both. From there, she could doubtless make her way back home, where she would be among her own kind again.
But, they helped me. It was a tiny voice, an insignificant plea in the unstoppable maelstrom of the unfed vampire, but she latched onto it and used it to keep afloat, her head just barely out of the waters that lusted for blood. It was wrong to renege against a promise, and even worse to harm those who had given you aid. They had their own reasons, to be sure, but they had helped her, and that mattered. It had to.
Gingerly, painfully, she reclaimed herself, battening down the hunger, desperately suppressing the urge. It was torturous to an extent she could never have imagined, but she knew that the alternative was worse. She did not want to attack them, even as she wanted their blood. She clung to that distinction, and that tiny difference, that sliver of incompatibility, was the string that could pull her from the pits of her depravity. With a cry of anguish, she curled in upon herself, and the darkness claimed her.
Serana opened her eyes, and Velandryn flinched, though he fully recognized that that was probably not the safest action when facing a vampire who may have gone mad from hunger. Of course, the safest action would have been to let Lydia put a dozen bolts in her and then finish the job with fire. However, Serana, now uncoiling from where she had collapsed, seemed cured of the madness that had infected her. Slowly, carefully, she stood, hands held away from her as she gained her feet with an unsteadiness that was incongruous given the lethal grace with which she usually moved. She would not meet his eyes as she rose.
Beside him, Lydia carefully took aim with the crossbow. "Just say the word, my thane."
Instead, he put out a hand and pushed the weapon downward. "You fought well, Serana." It was true; she had dealt with the first enemy swiftly, and even in her…altered state had incapacitated another. Velandryn had only intervened in the second case because he had seen her face after the blood had fountained up, and refused to be party to a vampire feeding, even on an enemy. He was helping her for now, but the thought of permitting a vampire to drink the blood of another made him almost physically ill. So, he had acted, and faced the consequence. Whatever that ends up being.
She looked shaken but sane, and pulled her hood and robe tightly around herself. "Thank you." Her words were rough, with uncharacteristic hoarseness marring her pronunciation. "We should go. I can" she swallowed, choking on the words "smell the swamp, we are probably close to Morthal." She swallowed again, pain writ large on her features.
"Still a day or two." Lydia might have lowered the crossbow, but his housecarl was a taut rope, and he did not want her snapping on Serana. She said nothing more, for which Velandryn was grateful. Her view of the vampire was no secret to any of them, and after Serana's break during the battle, Velandryn was unsure how to handle the situation. She had regained control when he challenged her, but how long would that last? Was the hunger, or whatever vampires felt, still there, just waiting for them to sleep? Not, he thought with a sidelong glance at Lydia, that anybody would be getting much sleep tonight. He and Lydia made a cursory check of the bodies, though he expected to find little. They had been ill-equipped and untrained, and, as it turned out, had only a few paltry coins on them.
Lydia made a disgusted sound. "Fools. Scrapwork leather and armor not worth the wear on the anvil used to make it. Weapons more rust than edge, and none could fight worth a damn." She turned over one of the bodies. "So eager to die."
"Why do it then?" That was the part he never understood. Perhaps they could eke out a few drakes, but this band had been completely inept at anything approaching banditry.
His housecarl shrugged. "Boredom? Farmhands and hunters drunk on tales of adventure. Or, they wanted to be heroes. If they were deserters they'd have better gear, and one or two might have known which end of a sword to use." She grabbed her horse's reins and started on down the road.
Serana simply stood there, looking at the bodies. Some small part of Velandryn feared a return to before, that she would lapse back into that state and attack them again. It was difficult to reconcile the intelligent and curious woman he had pulled from that tomb with what he had just seen. Isn't that it, though? A vampire's hunger defines them. He supposed, however, that the same could be said of any mortal needing the things that gave them life. He sighed as he began moving down the road, taking his horse's reins in hand as he passed it by. A well-trained beast indeed, he thought. And they had been doing well, all things considered. An odd camaraderie, vampire and Dunmer, but they had learned how to live with one another. I wonder if that's over now.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Serana following. He was still adamant that this was the best plan, and, truth be told, what had happened today hadn't shaken that certainty. These Volkihar vampires were an unknown, and far too dangerous to be left alone. Besides which, of late he had begun suspecting that Serana was…well, he did not know exactly what, but something other than purely monstrous. Lydia would scoff at him for it, but today had only heightened that sense. For all that she had lost control, he had seen her eyes as she came for his blood, and in that instant had told Lydia to stop. His housecarl could have shot her without killing, he knew. In fact, he was quite certain that a single bolt, no matter how well-placed, would not be enough to put down whatever type of ancient vampire she was.
No, he had not wanted to bring her down, because that battle would only end with death or incapacitation. And in that moment, when he made that choice, he had looked in her eyes. Dunmer were masters of reading emotions from eyes. He still sometimes needed to puzzle out human faces, and eyes were his finest clue. And when he saw the eyes of Serana, gold and beautiful in the face that was a mask of anguished hunger and rage, he recognized what he saw there. And when he had stared into the fear that dwelled deep in Serana's eyes, he had known he did not face a monster.
She got Velandryn alone as he was walking out from behind a tree, retying the laces on his pants absentmindedly. She waited until he noticed her, then closed to speak softly to him. "My thane, we need to talk."
Velandryn glanced back towards the road, where Serana was standing with the horses. Out of sight for certain, and out of earshot as well, Lydia hoped. He nodded into the sparse woods. When they had moved slightly further in, he turned back to face her. "I won't insult you by asking about what."
"We need to do something, and do it now. She's dangerous! Even if she were a paragon of morality by choice, she snapped and nearly killed us in the middle of a battle. What happens next time? What if we're facing something that could actually harm us?" It was unfair, but the obvious example might get through to him. "If she turned while we were fighting a dragon, do you think either of us would survive?"
"If it's just the three of us against a dragon, our odds are fairly bad from the start." He smiled, and ran a hand along his jaw. "If anything, the confusion might throw the dragon off, or make it leave in disgust at our faithlessness."
Lydia snorted. "You mean to continue travelling with her then?" She knew what the answer would be. He might not be as proud of it as some she had known, but her thane was, in his own way, as stubborn as any she had ever met. The fact that most of his ideas were good ones took away some of the aggravation, but the elf was convinced that his plans were the best way to go about things. And when those plans involve leashing us to a mad vampire…
"Why would I not? The plan remains unchanged. Do you think she is more dangerous now than she was yesterday?"
"Isn't she? How long can she go before she comes for our blood? You saw her lunge! She was gone!" Lydia forced herself to take a breath. Sometimes, a concession was needed. "Serana…is not an unfeeling monster, I don't think. But it doesn't matter, when she could lose control and attack us!"
He paused, and when he did speak, each word came reluctantly. "On the topic of losing control…" He trailed off, and looked at her thoughtfully. "Being Dragonborn…" He shook his head suddenly, and seemed to come to a decision. "Never mind that for now."
She wondered what he had been about to say, but if it had to do with being Dragonborn, she had her suspicions. His behavior was occasionally erratic, as when he had challenged the draugr in Dimhollow Crypt. The possibility that it could be the Dragon Blood influencing him…All the more reason to get him to the Greybeards as soon as possible. Still, it was a far cry from a vampire's blood-thirst. "She is dangerous, my thane! Not entirely of her own will, perhaps, but that only makes it worse! She could lose control, attack someone, and what happens then?"
"So, say she snaps a second time. Either she is alongside us, or she is alone. If not with us, where does it end? When she comes to her senses, will she be gorging herself on some wanderer? Maybe it will 'only' be a bandit, or maybe it's an Imperial scout. With us, less chance it ends that way." He wasn't wrong, but they had no way of knowing he would be right. Unfortunately, this had been a foregone conclusion from the moment he stopped her from putting a bolt in Serana back during the fight. Well, at least he had thought his position through.
Lydia nodded. "I see your point, my thane, but I'll be watching her."
He looked surprised. It was subtle, but his eyebrows gave it away. "I would hope so, since I'd hate to be the only one making sure she doesn't slaughter us while our backs are turned."
A wave of relief broke over Lydia, and she smiled at him, her first since the incident. "Forgive me, my thane, but I thought you would say something more about trusting her."
It was impressive how easily he conveyed disbelief with only his eyes. "I like Serana, but I'm not blind. Whatever else she is, she's a vampire, and so long as she travels with us, we contain her." He looked at her dead on now, nothing but honesty in his red eyes. "I got you into this, Lydia, and it could well get worse from here. I'm sorry."
She was touched. She didn't believe for a moment that he regretted his actions, but the fact that he was acknowledging her discomfort abated her worries somewhat. She had sworn to serve, and had never doubted that he was fundamentally a good person, but it was nice to be reminded of it every now and again. He could well be wrong, she knew, but she was his housecarl. To serve in that fashion meant not only following orders, but working proactively to make your thane's will a reality. She knew she had neither Velandryn's raw intelligence nor Serana's effortless grace and strength, but she had trained as a guard and warrior her entire life. She would offer her perspective as needed, and her skill when called upon.
With a grin, she clasped her thane by the shoulder. "My thanks, but there's no need. It's a good plan, even if it means we have to deal with her. I just wanted to make sure she hadn't seduced you into seeing things her way."
"Worried I'll go over to the vampires, housecarl?" His tone was light enough, but she wondered if she detected a hint of something else. She studied his face, wishing that she was better at reading him. She hoped it had just been a joke, a result of his dark humor. The moment passed, and he turned back towards the road. "We should head back. She might think we abandoned her and hunt down some food while she waits." He clicked his teeth together a couple of times, just in case she had overlooked such subtle wit.
Definitely humor, bad as it is. She fell into step a pace behind and slightly to one side. She was his housecarl, and if that meant tolerating Dunmer jokes, so be it. She would do her duty, and he…he was the Dragonborn, sent to save them all. Nine preserve us.
It looked a wretched town, Morthal. Since waking, Serana had passed nights in three insignificant towns, two roadside inns, and four farmhouses. She had also spent one night outside of a leather tent containing her traveling companions, watching the moons as she had no need to sleep. As much as she wanted to experience this new world, she wondered if there was a hedge somewhere they could crawl under rather than overnighting here. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she had a strong foreboding that something in this town was going to go wrong in a spectacular fashion. By way her companions were acting, they felt it too. Or perhaps that was just the smell.
They were descending the path down from the mountain road they had been on since leaving Heljarchen, and before them spread Morthal, terribly small against its ominous backdrop. The only city of any size in Hjaalmarch sat on the edge of the huge marsh that Lydia called the Drajkmyr. When Velandryn heard that, he had snorted and asked if someone had sneezed onto a map when naming it. Supposedly it ended far to the north, bleeding into the Sea of Ghosts and coming up to the edges of the frozen hold called The Pale as well as the foot of the great arch of Solitude. From Serana's vantage, the marsh simply seemed to stretch on forever. Thick mists shrouded trees and pools of water in various levels of darkness, as though anything beyond the range of Morthal's lamps belonged to some other realm. Here and there her eyes could make out shapes moving deep in the gloom, shapes that moved like beasts, though a few had gaits that were disturbingly similar to those of men.
Lydia caught her looking out into the darkness when the big Nord overtook her on the descent. "If you go into the marsh when the fog is rising," her voice was hard, her eyes serious, "you're like never to come back out." Her voice was pitched to carry, and Serana saw Velandryn also staring into the opaque murk, seemingly transfixed. The Dunmer gave his head a shake, caught Serana's eye, raised his eyebrows, and continued on down the path.
Serana wanted to say something, but she couldn't. It had been a day and a night since the incident with the outlaws, and there was still a deep tension in the air between them. To be fair, Lydia was much the same as always; perhaps a shade more watchful, and doubtless carrying some sort of satisfaction at being proven correct. Velandryn, however, watched her now where before he had been content to leave her be; more than once she had turned to see those red eyes regarding her steadily as they drew near on the road or sat around the campfire. She had spent last night huddled in front of their fire, thinking. While a part of her wanted to get away from them and spend the night alone, she didn't want to raise suspicions by sneaking off. Should they think she was out hunting, there was no telling what would happen. While they had never made any sort of deal that she wouldn't feed while with them, she felt it was fairly well implied, and Velandryn's incineration of the bodies showed that he wasn't letting her feed on their foes. So, she stuck close, kept her head down, and prayed for this mistrust to end.
They couldn't understand, those who had never known the hunger. Vampires disliked the word bloodlust, as it made their hunger sound like some bestial impulse, but it was a frighteningly apt label. It was easy to lose oneself when confronted with blood, especially if it had been a long time since the last feeding. And it had been a very long time for Serana. Daughters of Coldharbour did not become drawn and hideous if they failed to feed, but the ache within them was as strong as for any other vampire, and whatever protections her mother had laid on her while she was locked away were doing less and less good. With no small effort, she pushed thoughts of feeding and hunger away to focus on the town before her.
There was a wall around the central part of the town, though it seemed to have been overtaken by time, as large portions were in flagrant disrepair and in several places it had apparently been knocked down to make room for a house or had stones stolen for some other construction. The buildings around them were wood, but all rose from stone foundations, likely a necessity given the marshy ground. The road they traveled was shaped stone, but many of the smaller streets leading off were no more than gravel or mud covered in wooden planks where it got too wet. It seemed at least one house in ten was vacant, and little traffic filled the streets. Ahead, she could make out a large open space, likely the main square or whatever passed for it in this miserable city.
As they drew closer, a hubbub that had been at the edge of her hearing resolved itself into voices, most shouting angrily or demanding something. She gestured at her companions, and they drew close, though Lydia angled her approach so that she had space to draw her blade. Serana supposed she couldn't really blame her. The real wonder is that Velandryn still trusts me, not that Lydia doesn't.
"Someone is making noise ahead. We should be careful."
Velandryn nodded, and moved on. Serana followed, and Lydia brought up the rear. The vampire shuddered as she passed more houses, both abandoned and inhabited, all of them suffused with an uneasy apprehension. This town made everything feel wrong. Even those few words she had spoken had felt like a heavy burden, and each step was like slogging through thick water. By the way they were moving, her companions were feeling it too, turning uneasily and watching every shadow out of the corner of their eyes. Serana didn't know if it was the mist, the sickly-sweet smell of death and Bal-only-knew what else in the swamp, or some other oppressive magic at work, but she would be glad to be gone from this place. The horses too seemed ill at ease, and Serana once more was seized by a desire to not linger here any longer than necessary, though her companions' aversion to nighttime travel made it unlikely she could avoid staying the night.
The source of the voices Serana had heard became clear the moment they entered the open space, which seemed to be some sort of muster square. A crowd of twenty or so townspeople crowded around a wooden hall, clamoring their demands to speak to the jarl. Four were facing them: two guards in heavy woolen coats over some sort of metal mesh, a warrior in scaled bronze armor, and an old man in finely cut clothing. The longhall was slightly more ornate than the buildings around it, and dominated the side of the square facing the mountains; Serana felt relatively confident in assigning this to be the jarl's dwelling. The banners adorning it were marked with the same emblem as the shields and coats of the guards before it, the three-pronged spiral that was doubtless the symbol of Hjaalmarch. The air around them was tense, and Serana was half-worried that the crowd would explode into violence. There were five or more people shouting at once, and while none of them were moving towards the four before the jarl's doors, if they did it would likely end in blood.
Then, as suddenly as the shouting started, it was done. Right, Nords. Those who had once been her people could be explosive with their anger, but once vented, most were content to live and let live. Some of the townspeople wandered off, others remained in the square, conversing quietly enough that Serana could not make out what they were saying. The two guards seemed to relax, and took up positions on either side of the doors. The man in the bronze armor turned and went back inside, but the old one was coming their way, his steps strong and sure despite his age. He bowed deeply before them.
"Welcome to Morthal." He straightened, and Serana noted his keen eyes and the precise manner of his speech. Clearly this was someone of importance. "Jarl Idgrod has anticipated your arrival, and waits in her hall. If you would follow me?"
Velandryn opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He blinked, closed it, and then, after a moment in which Serana had to imagine he was trying to process such an odd event, asked, "The jarl was expecting us?" There was just enough stress on the fourth word to convey his incredulity.
The old man smiled. "All will be made clear if you would follow me, honored guests." He turned and, without checking to see if they would follow, made his way toward the double doors, carved with that swirling sigil, that led into what was undoubtedly the jarl's hall. With a sidelong glance at Serana and Lydia, Velandryn followed him. The Dunmer, for all that he clearly had reservations, walked straight and proud across the great yard, drawing the notice of more than a few of the Nords standing around. Once more, Serana wondered who he really was, this apparent thane who delved into tombs to hunt vampires and responded to summons from jarls with as much composure as he did teasing from his traveling companions.
The guards pushed the doors, slightly more impressive now that Serana stood in their shade, open silently as the old man reached them. One of the guards took their reins, handing them off to a boy who had come running from stables attached to the building. Serana supposed that while it lacked grandeur to have horse-stalls attached to the jarl's hall, these were undoubtedly the safest stables in the city. As the three entered into the hall, the doors slammed shut behind them, and Serana could not help a nervous tremor as she considered all of the ways this could be a trap. If Lydia felt similar reservations, the big woman hid it well. Velandryn, for his part, was already halfway up the hall, presumably eager to learn what the jarl was playing at, or perhaps attempting to bury his nerves under action.
The hall was simple, but Serana found it a pleasant change of venue from the gloom outside. Braziers burned merrily behind the smooth wooden columns that ran the length of the hall, giving the entire room a soft warmth and light. Numerous doors studded the walls, and four stairways gave access to galleries that ran nearly the entirety of the long room. A few spectators watched from the railings, none of them visibly armed. Evidently, this building was the center of activity in Mothal. And all of it was centered on the woman they had come to meet.
Clearly, this Jarl Idgrod understood the importance of commanding a space. Her high-backed throne dominated the far end of her hall, situated on a raised platform and flanked by two statues, each half again as tall as Lydia. They were carved of a light stone, though Serana was no mason and could tell no more than that. One was a warrior in bulky armor holding a pair of axes and menacing some unseen foe, while the other depicted a robed figure with arms raised above its head. Both were intricately detailed but for the faces; the warrior's was simply a smooth expanse beneath helm and hair, while the robed figure's cowl covered an empty void. They were beautiful, but slightly unnerving to look upon. Between them, sitting easily on the throne, was an aged woman wearing a circlet studded with gems, tall like most of the Nords of this age but made small by the scale of her surroundings. She sat slumped in the throne, eyes closed. As their little party approached, one of the guards slammed the butt of his spear on the stone beneath his feet, and the old woman jerked awake. She looked down at the approaching party, and then reached out to grasp a carved walking stick. She pointed towards a doorway before rising to her feet, almost seeming to climb out of her throne. She made her way, ever so slowly, towards the door she had indicated, leaning on the bronze-clad warrior with one arm, and her stick with the other. At the door, she turned and looked back, and the old man who had shown them in bowed at Serana and her companions and proffered his hand in the jarl's direction. With a start, Serana realized that they were being invited to meet the jarl privately, as opposed to before her throne, and wondered at the strangeness of all this. This seemed an extraordinary gesture for the jarl, unless travelers were even rarer than Serana had thought. Behind them, she could make out several of the spectators whispering among themselves. Evidently this was not business as usual in Morthal.
The room they entered was small but richly furnished, and empty save for one other person, a young woman reading a book who looked up startled when they entered. She began to rise. "Mother, what—"
"It's quite all right, daughter." The jarl of Morthal leaned over to pat the girl on the shoulder and nearly toppled over herself. "We have guests, is all. I have seen them." At those words, the younger woman sank back into her seat and began scrutinizing the newcomers with open curiosity. The old man came into the room behind them, shutting the door as he did so. The warrior in bronze had never left the jarl's side, and stood silently as she took a seat behind a large desk, empty but for a few neat stacks of paper.
"I am Idgrod, called the Ravenscrone by some, and I am jarl of Morthal and the hold of Hjaalmarch." She spoke with a pleasant voice, but one that quavered slightly on certain sounds, revealing the truth of her age. Her gaze wandered slightly, and tip of her walking stick trembled slightly as she pointed it in their direction. "I saw that you three would arrive, and I would greet you. From here, I have seen no more."
"You saw us, you said." If Velandryn had any feelings about her infirmity or odd decision to hold a private audience, he hid it well. "How?"
The old woman smiled. "I see more than most, by the grace of the Eight. Things that will be, or that must be. I saw the three of you coming to us as the discontented raged outside. And so it was." She smiled again, with the tremulous intimacy of a doting grandmother. "I am glad you have come now, as I think I need your help."
Velandryn's expression had changed. Where before Serana would have said that his manner was that of one reluctantly humoring another who was playing some game, now he grew serious. "Very well. How can we assist?" Serana was more than a little shocked. She never would have figured Velandryn for one to blindly march to another's pace. She would have politely declined and went on her way. Which, if he intends to take up some insane task…
The old woman smiled broadly and leaned forward. "It is so good of you to ask…"
"So, care to explain why we're investigating a house fire, or are you just going to go silent and agree to some other absurd request?" Serana's words were not unexpected, but the fact that Lydia gave the slightest of nods caught Velandryn somewhat off-guard. Not that he had expected his housecarl to be overjoyed about this, but her displaying agreement with the vampire was unusual.
"Lydia, you also disapprove?" If he was going to override the objections of two-thirds of their group, he might as well her it all.
The big woman sighed. "Morthal has an unenviable reputation, and Jarl Idgrod is…no Jarl Balgruuf, from all that I have heard."
"Meaning that she is what? Weak? Mad? Attempting to use a holy gift as best she can?" He almost regretted those words as Lydia glared at him fiercely.
"She rules based on visions! What can you expect from someone like that? It's no wonder the people don't trust her! She claims she's seen us, and then tells us to look into somebody's house burning down! She's the jarl, she should have more important matters to deal with! Leave arson for the guards; it's no wonder her people are upset!" Lydia was incensed; he had never seen her like this before. Ordinarily, she was reserved to the point of rudeness when around other people. Aside from the three of them, the street was deserted, but she must have come to some decision about Serana to trust her so. Of course, she could also simply have decided that the other woman's opinion was irrelevant. The vampire, for her part, had looked straight at him, eyes shining, the moment the words holy gift had left his mouth.
For Velandryn, however, the issue was slightly different. "You distrust visions? Have your people no seers?" It was true that the Nords did not like magic, but if they were really foolish enough to deny themselves the gifts of Azura…Oh. He was some kind of fool as well, it seemed. Of course they wouldn't seek out abilities granted by a Daedra. Even if she claimed it came from the Aedra.
"Not really. Nords don't like the idea that our future is written for us. People like Jarl Idgrod…" She shook her head. "We should be on our way. Solitude is close enough by ship."
Velandryn shrugged. "The day is more than half-gone already. Any captain fool enough to brave the swamp by night is nobody I want to trust my fate to. At sundown, everyone will probably gather in the taverns, correct?" At Lydia's affirmation, he continued. "We find a place near the docks, make a deal with a good captain, and charter passage for the morrow. In the meantime, I'd just as soon do as the jarl wants. This isn't some piss-stained farmer who lost a pig. Morthal might not be your favorite hold, but Idgrod is one of the nine rulers of Skyrim. There are worse people with whom to curry favor." The sliver of Serana that he could see did not appear entirely convinced, but Lydia was nodding, seemingly mollified for now.
The big woman sighed. "She's kind enough, I suppose, but I feel as though she isn't really up to the task…" She trailed off, but Velandryn couldn't help but agree with her half-spoken sentiment. Whether her visions had taken a toll or merely hastened an inevitable process, the jarl had come across as overwhelmed by the job; she had too often been unfocused and only sporadically effective in conveying what she needed. Welcoming us in such a manner and then putting us to work like this is odd, to say the least. The old man, who had turned out to be her steward and husband, had handled most of the details, leaving the jarl to nod along.
Looking away, his housecarl pointed. "Looks like that's it, my—" She snapped her jaw shut, doubtless swallowing the final word. Velandryn clasped her by the shoulder as he passed.
Jarl Idgrod had told them of the unexplained fire three days past that had taken Hroggar's family and reduced the house before them to its pitiable state, and the suspicion that surrounded the events. Of Alva, and how Hroggar had been in the young woman's arms almost before the ashes were cold. Velandryn had to agree that it sounded suspiciously like murder, done in the name of lust. He did not fully believe the jarl's explanation that her guards were 'too close' to the issue to investigate, but as long as it was for a good reason, he could live with being kept partially in the dark. No doubt Lydia would have been shocked as his being so accepting of the deception, but he was willing to give the old woman the benefit of the doubt. Jarl Idgrod might not be an Ashlander Wise-Woman or Azurite mystic, but her gift was doubtless a blessing of the Twilight Queen. Those so blessed were often faced with suspicion and hostility by the ignorant, and Velandryn knew that it could not be easy to rule over Nords when so empowered. Another reason for doing this, one he had not felt the need to share, was simpler than the other: He simply wanted to help the odd jarl stuck in a miserable swamp. He rather liked this Jarl Idgrod, and the fact that a great many Nords disagreed with the old woman's methods only strengthened his feelings. With a sidelong glance at Serana, he had the stray thought that she too had embraced a way shunned by the Nord community at large, and could therefore merit similar respect. Tamping that idea down before it could go anywhere troublesome, he stooped to examine the hearth, where Hroggar claimed the fire had started, caused by his wife's cooking.
The house was little more than a skeleton, with the foundation supporting a few waist-high chunks of charred wall and the odd beam that had not been consumed. Velandryn had never studied fire patterning, but he knew that there were ways to tell where one had started. Unfortunately, if this Hroggar was smart, he would likely have simply spilled the bear fat himself and blamed it on his wife. Velandryn would have preferred to lock Hroggar and Alva in separate rooms and interrogate them exhaustively about their relationship and the events surrounding the fire, but that would probably have violated Jarl Idgrod's request not to draw attention to themselves. She wanted a conclusion, so she could show her people that justice had been done, one way or another. The people want Hroggar to pay, though. If the man was truly innocent, would that satisfy the people of Morthal? Or were they meant to find his guilt, regardless of the facts? "See if there's anything worth knowing, and come tell me if you find it." Jarl Idgrod had been clear with her instructions, if not her motivations.
There was little to find, here in this shell of a home. Lydia had gathered a few twisted pieces of metal that might once have been cookware, and Velandryn had found a burned little box containing cheap gems and a singed scrap of ribbon, along with what looked to once have been letters of some sort, though they were now completely illegible. Serana kept glancing at the charred remains of a child's bed, but when Velandryn asked, she was unable to identify anything more than a feeling that something was there. She poked through the remains for a time, while Velandryn took to inspecting the foundation. If there was a cubby or niche in the stone, some evidence could have survived in there. The shadows were lengthening, and it occurred to Velandryn that soon it would be a good time to go about finding a boat to take them to Solitude. Just then, he heard a voice from where he had last seen Serana. It was higher than hers, however, and he could have sworn it he heard the words 'hide and seek.'
He turned, but a huge black chunk of twisted timbers blocked his view of whoever was talking. He heard Serana respond; her tones were soothing in a way Velandryn had not yet heard from her. As he peered around the obstruction, he saw a shimmering figure twirling and dancing around Serana, speaking in that high, childish voice. With a start, he realized what it was.
Just then, the transparent little girl saw him and waved. "Have you come to play too?" With a smile, Velandryn stepped out and approached.
"I have, although I was wondering if I could ask you a question or two." He wasn't good at talking to children. Dunmer children were manageable at least, but human young made him vaguely uncomfortable. Those of his people of more than ten years or so he could generally handle, and those too young to hold a sensible conversation could be safely ignored. They were a valuable resource for the future of a nation, of course, but he had never felt the need to be the one interacting with them. Others were far better suited for such tasks, and it made no sense for him to waste his time. Unless, of course, it is the ghost of a dead girl, who may have information we require.
Ghosts of children were rare, as their emotions were generally too unfocused to resonate with the strength necessary to create the echo of living magicka that was a ghost. If the girl had been a sorcerous prodigy, perhaps…but then would she really have died in a house fire? Something odd was at work here. With a chill, he realized the proximity of the vast, fog-shrouded expanse just beyond the town. Serana had felt it too, he would wager, and even Lydia had been on edge. There was power out there, among the waters and in the earth. Suddenly, he was seized with the fervent hope that this was nothing more than a simple lust-filled murder, or a tragic accident. Whatever was out there, beyond the light, he wanted no part of it.
Unaware of his dark thoughts, the little ghost stopped, offering a tiny curtsy. "I'm Helgi. Everyone's gone, but will you play with me? I want to play hide and seek. With you, and her, and we can hide from the other one."
"The other one?" Velandryn was wondering if she meant Lydia when the woman herself appeared, stopping to stare dumbly when confronted with the situation.
Serana smiled, and went to one knee beside the girl. "Is that the other one? Her name is Lydia, and she's very nice." Velandryn wondered if anyone had ever used those words to refer to his housecarl before. The vampire, for her part, was using the gentle tone he had heard earlier, and she had also removed her wrappings, showing a face that, in comparison to her usual guarded expression, positively glowed with kindness towards the little one.
The ghost laughed, seemingly at ease thanks to Serana's manner. "No, silly!" Then she shivered and the laughter vanished from her spectral face. The house was mostly in shadow now, and Velandryn realized that night was falling. Ghosts don't feel cold, do they? "She's coming for me, where I am. She said we'd be together forever, but I'm scared." She tried to cling to Serana, but her hands passed through the vampire. "I want mommy! Don't let her take me!"
Her body. "Is she buried somewhere?" Some power was clearly being worked on the girl's body, and the ghost could feel the connection. He did not know if this was an intentional part of the ritual or the result of a shoddy spell, but the body was the key. "Where were you buried?" He wanted to impress upon the once-child the urgency of this, but how could he make her understand?
Serana, once again, managed to engage with the girl. "Your name is Helgi, right?" Velandryn vaguely recalled the jarl's steward mentioning that while giving them background on the fire. Serana continued, "Do you know where the other one is? Where you are?"
Helgi sniffed. "It's cold and dark. She has to dig down to get me, I can hear her digging." She tried to cling to Serana again, and when she failed clasped her pale arms around herself. "Don't let her take me! Please!" She began sobbing now, and Serana tried once more to put her arms around the trembling figure.
We need that location. Whatever mischief this 'other one' was up to clearly needed her body, so that was the lead. "How do Nords handle their dead, Lydia?" He didn't want to make an issue of it, but this wouldn't be happening if they had the sense to burn their bodies like civilized folk.
His housecarl looked thoughtful. "Most places, a Hall of the Dead for the honored fallen. Family catacombs, or the outer tomb." She studied the little ghost. "Not for common children though, and not in Morthal. They follow the Old Ways here." She suddenly pointed at the little ghost. "A graveyard! Are you in a graveyard?" The guard in her seemed to have won out over any reluctance to talk to an undead. There was trouble happening, and it needed to be stopped.
The girl nodded. "Maybe? It's dark and scary…" She trailed off, and looked as though she wanted to cry again.
Serana leaned in closer, and put a hand on the child's cheek. There could be no tactile sensation, of course, but Helgi seemed happy for the gesture. "Can you show us the graveyard, Helgi? It will let us help you."
The girl nodded, and started moving. "It's this way." After a step, she paused. "I can feel it! I'm over there!" She took off running, a glowing figure in the darkness.
"After her!" Velandryn wasn't sure if he had spoken or one of the others had echoed his thoughts, but within a heartbeat all three of them were running. Helgi had apparently forgotten that she was supposed to be leading other people, and was barreling down the street away from her house at full speed. Fortunately, she lacked the presence of mind to fully overcome the physical limitations that a child possessed, so her speed was merely impressive rather than impossible. She also seemed content to stick to the streets, which made everyone's lives easier. He didn't want to have to deal with a ghost child running through people's walls. Lydia, for all of her heavy armor, moved as fast as he did, years of conditioning proving their worth. Serana gave a mighty leap and landed gracefully on one of the houses nearby, continuing their pursuit from above. For Velandryn, he just tried to focus on catching up with the ghost that called itself Helgi. She might think herself a little girl, but she passed through stones and glided over uneven ground where her pursuers did not. The darkness did not help, and Velandryn soon decided that sprinting was not an ideal condition for casting night-eye. He managed it eventually, however, and was running beside the girl steadily if not easily.
"What can you tell me about the other one, Helgi? Who…is it?" His breath was harsh in his ears, his blood pounded, and a knot of pain had settled in his side. He wondered if Lydia knew of a way to improve one's skill at running. It would doubtless be unpleasant, but if the alternative was this...
"She was supposed to burn down the house, to…kill…mommy and me, but she wanted to keep me with her." Helgi, by contrast, had no lungs to speak of, and spoke easily, if not happily. "She said we'd be together forever, but—"
They had reached the looming shape that had once been Morthal's wall, and Helgi pointed. "It's her! She put her mouth on my neck, and it hurt!"
It made sense, Velandryn knew, for a town that was half-swamp to put a graveyard on as solid of ground as possible. The graveyard had been placed well for that, upon a grassy slope rising to the south of town. The mountains loomed to the south, and the moons cast the scene in pale beauty. When first chosen, it must have been fully outside of the town, though now a few buildings rose around the edges of the field of graves. However, what drew their eyes was the figure amidst the graves, pulling a coffin from the earth. Even with his night-eye, Velandryn couldn't make out any details, but Helgi's description had not been ambiguous.
"Vampire! Stand down at once!" Lydia's shout wasn't how Velandryn would have approached the undead, but the big woman was advancing, crossbow raised. The vampire's cowled head turned to regard her, then it moved, faster than any human, as Serana had when consumed by hunger.
The vampire covered ground at an alarming rate, and Velandryn frantically gathered magicka in his hands. It was moving damn fast, and there was none of the hesitancy that had slowed Serana during her episode. Indeed, this one was almost on them, dodging Lydia's crossbow shot, and Velandryn only had time to thrust out a hand, hoping that the magicka would be sufficient to ignite—
Serana appeared out of nowhere, catching the vampire in the side and sending it spinning to the ground. It rose, trembling and spitting curses in a harsh voice, and the two faced off, circling slowly. Serana's ornate sword was in her hand, while the vampire, face still hidden, had empty hands curled into claws. Its fingers gave a spasm and it lunged, almost too fast for Velandryn to see. There was a blur of motion and the vampire reeled back, one of its arms hanging at an improbable angle. Serana's blade was alive in her hands, darting in to deliver another punishing blow that sent the vampire reeling to the ground.
The vampire rose, and its face was made visible. Her face, as it seemed the vampire had once been a Nord woman, though the red eyes and sharp teeth left no doubt as to what she was now. The two vampires squared off, each poised to strike. The enemy vampire—and Velandryn had never thought he would need to make that distinction—opened her mouth and gave a light laugh. The airy sound was so incongruous that Velandryn took a second to process it, as though his mind needed to be convinced that such a thing had happened. It wasn't until he snapped back and realized that several seconds had passed with him unmoving that he understood it had been a vampiric art of some sort.
Fortunately, the vampire was unable to take advantage of his distraction. Lydia had not, apparently, been enthralled by the laugh and her second bolt did not miss. The short haft sprouted from the other vampire's chest, and she staggered, eyes wide in shock. The sound that left her mouth now was no laugh, but an artless keening of pain and rage that sent shivers down his spine. Before Velandryn could register movement, Serana was on her, and in mere seconds the other vampire lay still on the ground. Velandryn closed, magicka primed and the burning sword ready to be called forth, but there was no need. Either Serana's swordwork or Lydia's bolt looked to have pierced its heart, and its head was nearly hacked off besides. Velandryn sighed.
"No questioning her now, I suppose." He turned to Helgi, who had watched the brief fight silently. "Do you know who that was? Was she the one who killed you?"
"Laelette!" The shout came from the darkness, and Velandryn turned, raising his hand and readying his magicka once more. However, it was only a Nord, dressed in common clothing and with panic splashed across his face. "Laelette! Oh gods, no!" He fell to his knees beside the vampire, cradling her head and weeping into her robes. Velandryn stepped forward, but a hand on his shoulder drew him up short.
"The man lost someone dear to him, my thane. Let him grieve for a moment." Lydia's face was grim. "Go, help the girl. I'll watch him, talk to him when he comes around. Behind her, Serana was already kneeling to talk with Helgi again. Smart thinking. The ghost might be able to tell them more. If one vampire was involved, there could well be others about.
The little girl was looking down at her coffin as she spoke. "She was supposed to kill us, she said, but she wanted me to play with her forever. I woke up and she said we could be together, but I was all burned up. It hurt so much! She said she would come back and fix me, but I was like this!"
The girl's account was only partly comprehensible, and Velandryn didn't know enough about vampiric techniques to analyze all of the implication. He looked to Serana. "What happened here? What can be done for her?"
The woman sighed. "This Laelette tried to raise her, but the body was ruined, by fire, no less. Fire it…isn't great for us." She looked at him. "Vampires…our souls are the same as when…as before, but altered by the ritual. Helgi's soul couldn't be reunited with her body. Either the damage was too great, or she had been dead too long, or Laelette simply botched it. Helgi is dead, truly, and her soul departed. This is the echo, the resonance that stays behind."
Velandryn nodded. The precise mechanism was not dissimilar to other cases of external factors causing the formation of a ghost, and it wasn't inconceivable that a vampiric ritual could have that effect. He had some knowledge of soul magic, but the craft to which Serana was referring fell outside of the Temple's teachings. He would have to trust her. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Helgi, is there anything else at all you can tell us that would help? We want to find the people who hurt you." An idea occurred to him. "What can you tell me about Hroggar—about your father?"
The girl thought, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she looked up. "Daddy was acting like he was mad. He was always gone, even when it was night. He and mommy were fighting at dinner, and he left. He slammed the door." She looked back down. "Mommy didn't like him being friends with Alva."
Alva. The woman Hroggar was now bedding, unless Velandryn was even worse with Nord names than he thought. Nothing conclusive, but it confirmed that it wasn't simply consolation the man was seeking. However, Helgi was now shivering, and the lines of her form looked to be losing some of their definition. He glanced at Serana. "What happens when the one who tried to raise her dies?"
Her eyes were as guileless as he had yet seen them. "This is all new to me, but nothing good, I'd wager." She looked to Helgi. "You don't have to be afraid, we'll help you." The little girl sniffed and nodded, and Velandryn looked over to where Lydia was comforting the man now hunched over the vampire's corpse, talking to him in a low voice. Hopefully she would be able to get something out of him.
He turned back to Serana and Helgi. "I can offer…aid, of a sort, I suppose." He pulled Serana aside. "No doubt the Nords have already performed the rites of Arkay or whatever they use here, but I might be able to help. The girl's body is doubtless providing a tether for the resonant form. If I incinerate the body, reduce it to ash and dispel the form, any lingering enchantment should be eradicated. The ghost would dispel."
Serana had an odd look in her eyes. "Wouldn't that hurt her?"
"Nothing I've read has ever suggested ghosts can feel pain, though I'm the first to admit this isn't a standard situation." He looked at the coffin and the ghost, and sighed. "We could attempt to remove the spell, or curse, or whatever, from the body itself without destroying it. I'd need your input though, and that would require you to give me secrets of vampire spellcraft."
Serana looked away. Velandryn could only begin to guess at the mental contortions she was going through, but he dearly wanted her to assent. He had no desire to harm the child more than necessary, and her presence here clearly triggered an emotional response in Serana, which gave him the edge. If Serana accepted, he stood to gain some part of vampire knowledge, something no mortal would ordinarily have any chance at, and he would prefer to give the child a clean departure besides. She should not suffer for her father's sins. A surprisingly controversial
Finally she looked back at him, and where he had expected to see some conflict, there was only determination. "Pay close attention." She easily pulled the top off of the coffin, and leaned down to study the body. Velandryn joined her, and Helgi stooped beside him, gazing down at the burned ruin of her body.
The little ghost began to sniff. "It hurt. It hurt so bad." She crouched again, hugging her knees. "I just want my mommy…" She devolved into sobs.
Serana looked as though she was affected as well, but she swallowed a couple of times and pointed to the corpse's neck. The burns were horrific, and only the vaguest suggestion of some other trauma could be made out where Serana was pointing. "She would have bitten there. I'm not familiar with the clan she belongs to, but the power is emanating from that spot."
Velandryn extended his hand, letting magicka probe the wound. Immediately, a force of some sort pressed back against him, though it felt muted, as though it was generated from a great distance. Remote magical source? From the fragments of knowledge he recalled, that could mean there was another vampire in play, one that had a direct bloodline through Laelette. That was a worry for after, though.
He focused on analysis, letting his magicka map the extent of the foreign power in the little girl's remains. When he felt it, saw what had happened, he felt bile rise somewhere deep within him. The magic had inundated the flesh, but the body's systems had failed, leaving the power with nowhere to go. The ghost had been an outpouring, a tangential effect of an attempt by an untrained used to force magicka into a body that gave it no exit. Frankly, they were lucky that it hadn't simply turned the girl into a zombie or some other kind of fleshwalker. However, now that he studied the spell—or curse, considering the source—he realized that wouldn't have happened. There was intent behind this. It was designed to isolate the soul, and had created a facsimile when no soul could be found. A shudder ran through him as he realized that he was experiencing the manifest power of vampirism, and he had to restrain himself from simply incinerating the body and the coffin to unmake this tainted spell as quickly as possible.
He looked at the little ghost. Hers had not been a holy Recollection—she had been created to fill the void of a departed soul by foul magic—but her nature was not evil. He could not even begin to comprehend the ramifications of her continued existence, and silently gave thanks that there was no way she would outlast the night. A small part of him wondered how often tiny madnesses like these occurred, and how the faithful were supposed to deal with them. I am trying, Blessed Three, but you do not make it easy.
The Temple's strictures on the undead were absolute. Any body or spirit from outside of the Waiting Doors as set forth in the Canticles of Service was heretical, an abomination to be unmade. Putting Serana and the unique issue she presented aside, he thought he could do the right thing here. By disrupting the spell that was still active on Helgi's body he could unmake the ghost, give whatever shade of consciousness inhabited this world some measure of peace, and learn a bit more about how best to combat vampires. Niggling theological implications could be set aside to be mulled over later, preferably with the assistance of a good strong drink.
Resolved, he dove back into the array. Serana guided him to several key confluences where the magic would have manipulated the body and soul, binding both into a new whole. Her knowledge was impressive, though she claimed several times not to have seen this particular style before. That was interesting, as Velandryn had briefly studied the 'vampire's disease,' or porphyric hemophilia, and could confidently state that this magic was the final stage of that affliction. That Serana was unfamiliar with it had worrisome implications, as her bloodline could well be distinct from the more common clans, and therefore possessing powers that set them well outside of vampiric norms. There was no need to share those thoughts with her right now, however.
In a matter of minutes, they had unraveled most of the array. The body was even more of a ruin, as several of the nodes had required physical manipulation, but the power was ebbing away into the air, and Helgi was losing more of her shape. She ran to them then, and smiled. "I feel better now. I think I can hear mommy! Thank you for everything!" Velandryn sent a pulse of magicka through the corpse and overrode any remaining vestiges of the spell, Helgi glowed blindingly bright for an instant, and then the ghost was gone, leaving no trace save a mangled corpse in a moonlit graveyard.
Velandryn sat back against a gravestone and exhaled heavily. "Well, it's done." He had performed a feat he never even considered, thwarted a vampire, and learned quite a bit about how vampirism affected the body. He wondered if he could dissect this Laelette to study how her physiology had been altered, but the male Nord would probably object. Also Serana, and likely Lydia as well. Another sigh. Vampires and Nords.
"Do you think she really did? See her mother, I mean?" Serana sat on the gravestone to his right, peering at him with serious eyes.
He shook his head. "It was— she—It wasn't actually her…" He sighed. "I have no idea. I'm going to need to give this one some consideration, I think." He looked up at the moons. "Whatever was there, whatever spoke to us, thought Helgi's mother was there." He looked back down, at the small body. "The soul was gone. That's without question. You saw the empty wells in the spell array. If there had been a soul, it would have been bound. What we got could only happen in the absence of such." He sighed. "So, Helgi was dead, her soul gone to…wherever Nord children go, and something that thought it was her was built in its place. And it thought it saw its mother." He chuckled, overcome by the bleak humor of it all. "What're you thinking?"
She watched him as he rose to his feet. "I hope she did. I hope…I hope she's happy. Helgi, or whatever she was." The vampire had a look on her face he had not yet seen, and it unnerved him. He was having a hard enough time keeping everything about Serana in context without her going and mourning lost little girls.
"I hope so too." Most likely, the entity had simply dissipated once free of the strictures of the curse. Background magicka, ready to be called forth when needed. That wasn't a particularly cheerful thought, though, and he felt no need to share it. He glanced over at Lydia. "Shall we see what our next step is?"
His housecarl gave them a look as they approached. The man beside her was still there, staring down at the corpse silently. Lydia stood, and spoke to them quietly. "His name is Thonnir, and Laelette was his wife. She disappeared about two weeks ago without a word to anyone. She had been spending a great deal of time with Alva, who said she ran off to join the Stormcloaks."
"Evidently, Alva was mistaken." Her name kept coming up, and Velandryn decided these revelations merited at least informing the jarl of what they had found. Either Alva was involved in some way, or she simply had horrifically bad luck.
Thonnir gave no sign of noticing as they left the graveyard, and Velandryn felt a momentary stab of pity for whatever poor bastard had to deal with this mess in the morning. Laelette's disposal would be made easier with sunrise, but Helgi's remains would be…unpleasant. As he passed the coffin, he stopped, considering. Then, he placed the lid back over the body, hiding it from view. He turned to find Serana's eyes boring holes in him. He shrugged. "The dead should be respected. Not left out for all to ogle." He strode away before she had a chance to respond.
Where the flight to the graveyard had been exhilarating, the return to the jarl carried an air of somber purpose. In truth, Serana had probably enjoyed the chase a bit too much, but she had kept her head and gotten an enjoyable, if a bit too brief, fight out of it so she would call it all to the good. Now, as they were ushered into the same room as before, though this time via back hallways so as not to draw so much attention, she wondered how all of this would end. She had no particular loyalty to whatever clan of vampires happened to be working in Morthal, and would gladly see them exterminated for what they had done to Helgi. However, she also knew that a town hunting vampires was likely to be unsafe for her. She couldn't hide her eyes, after all. A few comments Velandryn had let slip revealed that the Volkihar were not common in this age, but when people's minds turned to vampires, it was only a matter of time until the woman with the yellow eyes who wrapped up in the sun got accused.
"A vampire?" Jarl Idgrod's voice was as strong as Serana had yet heard it, shock snapping her back to her full senses. "And you suspect Alva is involved?"
Velandryn bowed slightly. "It is possible, Jarl Idgrod. We have heard Alva identified from two independent sources. She was with Hroggar prior to the murders, as testified by his daughter. She was seen with Laelette shortly before the other woman's disappearance, and fed misleading information to Thonnir. At the very least, she has knowledge, and should be brought in for questioning."
The warrior in the bronze armor stirred. "You say that, but what if she is innocent? We can't go dragging women off the street to accuse them without evidence!"
The jarl nodded. "Gorm makes a valid point. Without evidence, which the words of a ghost and a dead vampire are not," she looked at them severely "my hands are tied." She rose, the walking stick trembling.
Lydia stepped forward. "Jarl Idgrod, with all due respect, the vampire Laelette was likely of Clan Cyrodiil, whose members are masters of deception." She drew herself up. "I have participated in actions against members of this clan, and can offer—"
"No, no no, it's quite alright." The jarl waived her hand airily in dismissal. "The guard will act when I tell them, and not before." She stared at them all in turn. "Is that understood? If so, then thank you and good day."
Perhaps she is mad. Velandryn, however, once more accepted the jarl's eccentric mood shift and abrupt dismissal with an equanimity that bordered on impassiveness. He bowed slightly, turned, and departed. Serana hurried to catch up with him, and Lydia did the same. The steward showed them to small outer door and departed without a word. Lydia opened her mouth but Velandryn held up a hand.
"Not here. Lydia, the maul is still on your horse?" She nodded, face registering her confusion. Suddenly, Serana realized what was going to happen, and felt a thrill of anticipation.
Alva's house had not been hard to find, though it looked no different from those around it. Morthal was small enough that every guard knew the general region where people lived, and once they were close, it was only a matter of locating a sufficiently drunken local. Half a minute of rambling about what a fine woman she was later, and they had the location. Lydia hefted the maul in her hands, and looked at the front door. "My thane, is this wise?"
It was Serana who answered, the vampire's words doubtless echoing the thoughts of her thane, as they were wont to do. "The jarl as much as said that she wanted us to gather evidence. How else are we supposed to procure it?"
"But like this?" Were she still in Whiterun, she would have had the backing of the jarl and the rest of the guard in bringing the truth to light. As it was, the fact that Jarl Idgrod might have hinted at something did not give them the right to do this. However, if she was ordered…
"Lydia," her thane's voice was layered with the patronizing tone that meant he honestly could not understand why anyone would object to his logic, "Alva knows something. Three people are dead, and who knows how many more will follow? Tell me true, if Jarl Balgruuf had given this order, would you hesitate?"
That did it. "Not for an instant. Apologies, my thane."
He smiled. "Not a problem." He turned to Serana. "Be ready, the both of you. If she is a vampire, she'll show her true colors when she sees us coming." Then, with a smile, he turned back. "Lydia?"
She hefted the hammer. "I await your command, my thane."
"Open that door."
A/N: Been a while. Considered doing all of Morthal in one fell swoop, but decided to space it out a bit. Pretty straightforward chapter, vampires and mistrust and everybody with ulterior motives. Nothing I feel a burning need to clarify here.
As always, ask and I shall answer.
Sixth grade king: Agreed, they basically exist as plot devices in-game, and while I will try to avoid using them as 'Fix-it' buttons, it's fun to occasionally have them fuck with reality.
Naruto Loves FemKyuubi: Velandryn might have some suspicions about Serana, but he is still pretty sure that she's just a very old vampire who got locked away. He's never even heard of Daughters of Coldharbour, and the idea of a first generation walking around is the kind of thing that good Dunmer try very very hard not to think about. He's a smart fellow and could likely figure it out if he asked the right questions, but he's more concerned with keeping everything stable enough to get the intelligence on her family and lair. And definitely, Molag Bal occupies a special place in the curses of the Dunmer. There is power in vampirism, to be sure, but I will speak no more on that for now.
Pietersielie: Much appreciated! Velandryn and Serana have good chemistry with each other; it's a shame that their energy is mostly focused on how best to keep the other in check. And Lydia is much more concerned with results than with how to play the game. I didn't just want to make her 'the dumb one' but she has less exposure to such things than the other two.
Tylerbamafan34: Yeah, infodump, it happens. Not my most elegant moment, might go back at some point and play around with it, but for now more interested in keeping this story going forward. And just a momentary glimpse of something she found interesting…I'll say no more on that.
Grounded Forever: Thanks! I'm a rather new hand at this, glad you are enjoying it!
Everquesting: Appreciate the praise. Stories where culture has no bearing on character seem dull, doing my best to avoid it. And I have some good stuff planned for Harkon. He's a formidable force in his own right, and has spent a very long time planning…
Zahranor: completely agreed re: filler v. action. I don't consider any of it filler, just paragraphs of lore that, while integral to the characters, might turn off some readers. I try to have action serve a definite character goal, and the quiet moments are often where we get the best insight into how these people are relating to themselves and one another. About language, it's a bit of a handwave, but it is worth noting that in TES all languages are descended from Ehlnofex (with the possible exception of Jel, but Argonians be crazy) more recently than similar common tongues in human history. But, yeah, Serana needs to be able to talk, and having a literal reality-breaker on her back might have had something to do with that.
DarkKing009: Thanks!
MADmuppet is me: I plan to keep writing, glad you enjoy reading!
Last of the Ancients: Thanks for the discussion! The issue of mortality and divinity, and the gradients of souls that compose the AKALORKHAN, will become very relevant later on, though for now Velandryn's concerns are rather more mundane. I'm going to be vague here because I don't want to give too much away, but Alduin's relationship to Akatosh is key to a lot about the World-Eater. I would argue that a Dragonborn is absolutely superior to a pureblooded vampire in the eyes of those who take notice of such things, as Bal is only capable of messing around with a mortal's soul; he has no ability to alter it to the degree necessary to make it comparable to a subgradient of AKA. As to actually being physical dragons…there are long-standing Conventions in place for such things. Lorkhan went to a great deal of trouble to write the rules of reality, after all. Dragonborn are not necessarily the most powerful to start with, but they have incredible potential. With enough draconic memory and experience in your soul, who knows what would happen to someone without a good sense of self? I would hope that the Dragonborn, especially one as important to Akatosh as the Last, is chosen more carefully than that.