Chapter 13 – Parting of Ways
At first, Serana thought it was a cloud. She could make out a smudge on the horizon, far to the north, and she wondered if the weather would turn. The day was clear but chill, not that the cold held any terror for her. She could have walked naked through a blizzard and felt not the slightest hint of discomfort. However, as the distant something grew, so too did her worries. It was dark, almost looking like a mountain rising from across the waters. Finally, when the light hit the crest just right and the jagged line atop it resolved into spires and towers, she realized what she was looking at. She gaped for a moment, words failing her. Mother, your stories never did it justice.
They weren't even out of the swamp, but Solitude already dominated the northern skyline. She could see the sky under the great arch, whose height she could not even begin to guess. It had to be miles long at least. She knew it was a great spar of the Druadach Mountains that bridged the mouth of the river in its entirety and plunged down to end at the edge of the Morthal swamps. Atop the arch, buildings were becoming clear, chief among them the mighty windmill that had been famous even in her time. Breath caught in her throat as she remembered paging through a well-loved book, Sojourns in Solitude, and wishing more than anything else in the world to see the wonders described , as she looked upon the distant city, she figured a mote of something must have flown into her eye. She rubbed it away fiercely, hoping nobody had seen.
The Long Wind's Laugh had made good time, cutting through the swamp waters with great speed. The wind whipped at the cloth around her face, and a part of her wanted to tear it off and let the breeze play in her hair and face. Only a small part, though. A Volkihar might not burn away in the sun, but it was far from pleasant. She fingered the second blade at her side, the finely made dirk she had taken at Jarl Idgrod's behest. A weapon given for aiding mortals. It felt strange on her hip, but not unwelcome.
Footsteps from behind, and Velandryn joined her at the rail. He had thrown a heavy fur cloak over his slender frame and had thick gloves on his long-fingered hands, but had not put his leather armor back on. His clothing was simple but well-made, and she was struck by a thought she had entertained before; whether in armor or rags, Velandryn Savani would always have a striking look about him.
"So that's Solitude." The Dunmer sounded almost bored with the view, though it was entirely possible he simply didn't like the idea of giving a city in Skyrim too much credit.
"So it is, my thane." Lydia too, who had apparently joined her despite the lack of invitation, sounded unimpressed, though doubtless it was only because she did not want the Dunmer to outdo her. She had never known a housecarl to act quite as Lydia did, though she figured that the woman was fairly new to the job. The Dragonborn had only just been discovered, after all.
Serana glanced at Velandryn out of the corner of her eye. After giving it more thought, she was still mostly convinced he was the Dragonborn. It answered many of the mysteries that surrounded him, and might explain how he had managed to bring down so many foes who should have slain him easily. Whatever knowledge or powers he has clearly catch his enemies by surprise.
"Weren't you going to go read that Camoran book?" If he was going to be so self-righteous when she asked about his stupid book, she would give him all the grief she could muster if he put it down.
"Reading became sleeping, and I prefer to do that at night." His words were spoken offhandedly, his eyes still fixed on the distant stone arch. His tone might be dismissive, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.
Just then, a greeting sounded from behind, and the captain joined them. Jorik had not spoken to her since welcoming them aboard his ship, but it seemed to be merely because he enjoyed being up to elbows in rope and sail rather than any reluctance to engage his guests in conversation. "First time seeing Solitude, then?"
All three of them indicated assent, and the captain chuckled. "No place like it in Skyrim. Puts the rest to shame!" At that, Lydia mad a scoffing sound, prompting the captain to laugh. "Where you from, then?"
"Whiterun."
"A fine city, to be sure, but not much for the sea, that one. Plenty of horses, but no ships, and the Shores under Solitude can hold a hundred at a time!"
"The Shores?" That was Velandryn.
"Aye, the Solitude docks." From the captain's tone, you might have thought he had built them himself.
"Interesting. They are distinct from the rest of the city?" Once again, Velandryn had found something to pique his curiosity, and now he was picking at it to learn everything he could.
More or less, I s'pose." The captain shrugged broadly. "The city's got five, eh, districts, you could call them." He chuckled. "None like the others even a bit, truth be told." He began counting them off on his fingers. "You got the Shores, what's all about the sea and trade, the Climb, all up the roads to the old city walls." He grinned. "Where the working-folk live, the Climb, and the best ale in Skyrim, at the Frosted Top! Inside the great walls, you got the Gold, where's all the fancy merchants and dressmakers and whatnot. Then there's the Castle, that'd be Castle Dour as General Tullius and the Empire's taken over, and all the smiths and those what does the work for the Imperials, and then you got the Blue. That's everything between Dour and the old Palace where Jarl Elisif, may the Eight defend her, sits and rules." He knuckled his forehead in a gesture of respect. "Truth be told, the likes of me don't go inside the walls much. Only been past the Castle into the Blue the one time, when Jarl Elisif and good King Torygg was married." He knuckled his forehead again. "May he find joy in Sovngarde."
Interesting. Serana had picked up enough to know that Torygg's murder at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak was the spark that had ignited this whole war, but it sounded a fascinating story, and she was interested in hearing more. The bereaved widow leading her people against her husband's assassin? The ballad practically wrote itself. Now, if Elisif and Ulfric had a secret love…That would be a song worth hearing. Unfortunately, the real world rarely lent itself to such heightened romance.
Velandryn, the potential romances of Jarl Elisif clearly lost on him, leaned forward, eyes still fixed on the approaching city. "You hail from there, Jorik." He didn't bother making it a question.
"Damn straight, friend elf! Born in the Climb, grew up hauling for the fishers on the Shores until I was old enough to go out on the water. Now, I sail up the Karth to Dragon Bridge and the Imperial camps, and along the Hjaal down old Morthal way, and even—if the winds are calm—to the ports around Dawnstar in the Pale, but Solitude's where I lay my hat, and where my family's waiting. Got a good mooring at the Shores and a fine house in the Climb, and couldn't want more. Never a finer city there was!" He beamed at them.
Velandryn smiled, one of the thin ones he put on for the benefit of others. "Someday you should sail to Blacklight, and then I will hear you admit your error."
Serana wasn't sure it was wise to antagonize the captain like that, but the man only laughed. "Your city, is it?" Velandryn nodded, a half-smile still on his face. "Well then, I'll forgive you that one. I've heard of that city. All Dark Elves, isn't it?"
Velandryn shrugged. "Less so than it was, though most foreigners keep to the Outland Quarter and Cauldron Hold."
"More's the pity, for I'd love to see it," the captain murmured thoughtfully, "but my Laugh" he patted the rail affectionately, "she's a shore-skimmer, and autumn is upon us. I'd rarely brave the Sea of Ghosts even in a calm summer, and this season's been no kind one." He shook his head sadly. "Nay, it's the rivers for me, though I ought not to complain."
"Out of curiosity, in what do you deal?" If Velandryn was merely feigning interest, he did it well.
"Everything you can think of, and a few things you'd never guess. I've had the Laugh for years now, and most every port on the rivers knows me. Not too many ships around here made for running the streams, you know. With the war and that business in the Reach, everyone wants my Laugh to haul their goods."
"What's been happening in the Reach?" At her master's words, Lydia gave Velandryn a disbelieving look. Serana didn't know for certain, but if she had to guess, she would lay the blame at the feet of the Reachmen. They were a fractious and warlike folk, and the Nord Empire of her time had had a wretched time trying to keep them under control.
"The Reachmen are revolting again." Silently, Serana congratulated herself. For every thing that changes, another stays the same. "The roads were safe until the damn rebellion, but from what I heard one caravan in three gets wiped out these days, and the others get attacked as well, now that the Empire's bogged down dealing with these traitors." He shrugged. "Damn shame, but I've never had more work."
As they spoke, the great arch loomed higher and higher, and the structures in the great mountain's began to resolve out of the haze above the water. Docks emerged, as well as the boats that inhabited them. One in particular seemed to excite Velandryn, a strange-looking thing with ribbed sails and a hull that was not only differently shaped than any of the Nord styles she had ever seen, but adorned with strange symbols and hung with banners of every shape and size.
The captain pointed to it. "That's one of you Dark Elf's ships, isn't it?"
Velandryn nodded. "For foreign trade. Hung with holy words and symbols, and crewed by the faithful."
"Even your merchants are priests?" Serana wasn't entirely sure how the Dunmer worked, but that didn't seem right.
"Hardly, but there are two kinds of Dunmer who spend much time abroad. The first is changed by exposure to the wide world, and if they return to Morrowind, they bring the world with them. The second sees the world in all of its vastness, and wraps the traditions and faith of home about them, so that they need not walk alone." He pointed at the ship. "That is the latter. They proclaim their heritage, so any who encounter them know with whom they speak." He nodded. "There is honor in devotion."
Serana was considering whether or not to make a comment about that when something else caught her eye. This new ship was huge, wide and flat, and crossing the water in front of them to the beat of drums. The Imperial dragon stood out on its sails and banners, but what caught her eyes were the soldiers. They were packed on, and many bore wounds ranging from the trivial to the serious. As they drew closer, she could also make out the looks of exhaustion on the faces of even the unwounded.
Jorik sighed. "Back from the Pale, most like. The healers do good work, but…" he shook his head again. "I hate that the blasted elves took Talos, but war isn't the way. Not among ourselves. We should be driving out the damn Thalmor!" He glanced at Velandryn. "Erm, begging your pardon, master elf."
Velandryn was picking distractedly at a spot on the railing. "No pardon needs be begged. I've no more time for the Thalmor than you do. They're fanatics and reactionaries, and they'll fall like the rest of those Aldmeri throwbacks always have."
Serana was confused. "You think it's futile for them to try and reclaim their lost glory?" As near as she could tell, that was the goal of this new Aldmeri Dominion; they wanted to be an elven counterbalance to the Empire. She didn't think it was a good thing for Skyrim, and she would not be surprised if she found herself in conflict with them at some point, but from an elven perspective it seemed to make snese.
"They're fools is all." Velandryn, at least, seemed interested enough in discussing the Thalmor, even if the captain had pointedly turned away and started shouting at his crew. Doesn't want say something stupid to the Jarl's passenger?
Well, she had no such compunctions. "How so?"
"How not? Aldmeris is long-vanished, our people scattered to the six winds. The very earliest records we have show divisions tearing the Aldmer apart. Veloth was not the first to abandon the Old Ways, though I would argue he left in the most dramatic fashion. In fact, the Aldmer of old seemed to split every time two people so much as disagreed over which way to slice bread; our only shared legacy is one of fractious infighting!" Velandryn smiled grimly and looked out over the waters. "Mer share a common heritage, and that is enough. We have a past that has shaped us, why should we be forced to share a future we do not want?" A pause, while he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Of course, maybe I'm just sour on the idea because they think my people are blasphemous heretics, even worse than humans." He shot them a smile. "And they despise you."
"A source of great pride for us, my thane." Lydia sounded supremely self-satisfied, and Serana envied her that easy kinship. It must be nice, to have so many others like you. The humans might think Serana was one of them, but she walked alone.
What was it Velandryn said, to wrap oneself in traditions? She hadn't done that though. In fact, she'd opposed the vampires who were preying on the mortals, something her father would likely chide as the height of foolishness. They were more than mortals could ever hope to be, the hunters that ruled over the sheep. She glanced over at Lydia. Of course, some of the sheep have a bit of steel to them.
Velandryn seemed to have made up his mind about something. He pushed himself back from the rail. "Gather anything you have on board, we'd do well to be out of the way by the time they start unloading." Apparently, the list of subjects on which Velandryn considered himself knowledgeable extended to dockside etiquette. No, she reflected, that's unfair. If anything, the annoyingly exhaustive list was subjects where he was knowledgeable. The elf had a prodigious appetite for new information and a talent for putting it to use; she would wager that he was already mulling over this situation in the Reach and how it would impact any plans he might have. She didn't know what those plans would be, but if he was the Dragonborn, there was far too much about Velandryn Savani that had been kept from her.
She reached down and stroked the case containing the Elder Scroll. Can I say any different about myself? She might not be fully informed of what her father had been planning, but Lord Harkon of Volkihar could be patient. If he had needed the scroll, he would wait to have it. Undoubtedly, when she returned whatever her parents had been putting into motion would resume. Whatever that might be. Once more, she thought of Valerica, and her mother's sudden dissent. What happened to you, mother?
Moments after stepping back onto solid ground, Velandryn had to duck to one side as a pair of Nords wrestled a cart stacked high with lumber along the waterfront, shouting warnings ahead of their passage. An urchin darted through the gap left by their passing, singing some sort of off-key shanty. In moments, sailors, merchants, workmen, dockhands, hangers-on, thieves, whores, and all the assorted mass of mortality that oiled the great gears of trade had filled the space once more.
The docks of Solitude, what Jorik had called the Shores, teemed with activity. The majority of it seemed to be based around Nord trade and the like, though the Empire clearly had a strong presence too. Soldiers patrolled the wharves and inspected all incoming ships and cargo; they gave the Long Wind's Laugh only the most cursory of glances. Clearly Jorik had not been lying about being a familiar face on these docks. Everywhere banners hung, many with the diamond dragon of the Empire, though by far the most prevalent displayed a black wolf on a field of red; he assumed it was the standard of Solitude.
Less common, though still clearly in evidence, were the Breton traders out of Heiroc. High Rock, the humans call it. Two words, because the elven name isn't good enough for their precious human maps. From what he understood each of these merchants would be looking out for themselves and their guild rather than their province or the Empire to which they belonged. A strange people, with strange ways. He also saw a pair of what he assumed to be Redguard vessels, judging by the crews and the strange devices on their banners, though they looked more like simple trade ships than the infamous corsairs of the stories.
Of the Dominion, he saw evidence of no ships at all. If the Thalmor had overseas trade with Solitude, it was quiet. He was slightly disappointed, as he had heard stories of the Altmeri sunships, spun of crystal and sunlight, adorned with shimmering wings and long banners that listed the ancestry of every soul aboard. Of course, there was no reason for the Dominion to send such glories to a place like this. There were a few Thalmor soldiers patrolling the quays in pairs, peering into barrels and rifling through bundles as though they expected them to be filled with pamphlets of Talos. For every crate checked or workman harassed, a hundred went by unmolested. Velandryn suspected that duty on the docks was more about maintaining the visibility of the Thalmor rather than any real hope of ferreting out whatever violations of their treaty with the Empire they might theoretically find.
He had only seen the one ship of his people, though that was hardly surprising. There was little that Morrowind required of Skyrim these days, and less that needed to be brought by sea. The Great Council likely frowned on any shellship or storm-skimmer leaving Dunmer waters, so only the most inconspicuous of vessels were used for what nautical trade his people required. Rumors that House Dres or the disgraced Hlaalu were exploring potential trade deals with Akavir had been tantalizing nonsense for decades now and no Dunmer of any integrity would deal with the Argonians, so Skyrim remained the easiest province for nautical trade. He wondered what sort of mer the captain and crew were. It would be good to speak with some of his own kind again. Not to mention, they could be very useful for helping him with an idea that had been rattling around in his head for a while now. That can wait, but if I see them…
First, however, came lodging. Jorik had told them that no ships would be leaving with the evening, as weather, time of day, and tides were all unfavorable. The best they could hope for was an early departure on the morrow. To that end, the Nord had directed Velandryn to the Court of the Seas, a cluster of stone and wood buildings that stood above most of the Shores on one of the slopes comprising the foot of the Solitude arch. This hodgepodge of inns and eateries was where all of the captains stayed, Jorik assured them, and while the river-trawler had only the vaguest notion of their final destination, he was certain that there would be traders traveling to Jehanna and Northpoint who could drop them along the way.
While not on the water proper, this area was apparently still considered the Shores. Jorik had told him, in response to few casual questions, that the Climb did not begin until farther south along the coast. There began the Wolf Stairs, the network of paved roads that led from the Shores up to what he called the "great walls of Solitude" atop the arch. As far as Velandryn could tell, that was the only path up to the city proper. The docks—The Shores — were a vast center of trade, to be sure, but one that could be isolated and defended against in case of invasion from the sea. Clever.
Their destination soon came into view. It rose from the wood-and-stone shops and homes, a cluster of two and three-story buildings painted in a riot of colors, mostly with patterns and scenes meant to evoke the waves. It lay, as did everything in the Shores at this time of day, in the shadow of the monumental bulk of Solitude's arch. Velandryn guessed that a day down in the Shores was dark and somewhat short. The buildings themselves looked pleasant enough, set along the slope of the rocky hill. Velandryn picked one at random and headed inside. Behind him, Lydia—and he presumed Serana, though her tread was lighter—followed.
The big room was busy but not packed, with various nautical types spread around doing all of the things that Velandryn expected of sailors on shore. The noise rose and fell with the throw of dice, or knives, or, in one case, a mug that was apparently being used as a crude instrument of emphasis by a drunken Redguard with an impressive collection of tattoos. In one corner, three Bosmer were playing cards. One gave a whoop of victory, and another began cursing loudly.
A raised portion of the room was more sedate, and seemed to host the captains and merchants. Tables set for two or four, rather than long benches, predominated here, and the conversations often involved leather-bound books and ledgers embossed with intricate sigils and markings that Velandryn guessed represented merchant guilds or families.
The innkeep was a Nord woman of advanced years, a fact Velandryn was only a little proud of himself for noticing. Humans showed their age easily, after all, with posture and skin and even hair shifting dramatically in the course of little more than a decade. The same changes happened to Dunmer as well, of course, but the process was far more gradual, and the mark of a hard life besides. Those skilled with magic did not wither in such a way, however, making the entire concern moot as far as Velandryn personally was concerned. It must be a dreadful thing, having such a meager life.
"We would like rooms for the evening. Two, I would think. And if you could point me to a reputable banker, I would be much obliged." He would need coin to pay whatever captain they dealt with, but he felt off-balance carrying so much coin. Better to lock it behind stone and steel and know it was safe rather than risking some nasty tumble or malicious thief taking his newfound wealth.
"Aye, I can do that. Twenty for the rooms, and ten more for each of ya will earn you a hot meal for the evening." In Skyrim, prices could fluctuate based on the time of day. Or, more likely, how meric the customer looked. Lydia could probably have gotten the rooms for half the price. Or, I should have agreed on a rate before announcing I need to see a banker. The woman might be merely mercenary, rather than prejudiced.
He handed over a pair of sovereigns—two of the heavy twenty-five drake coins he had received from Lucan so long ago—without complaint. Serana could eat food, at the very least, and ten septims was a small price to pay to avoid questions about why she wasn't joining in for dinner.
Lodgings for the evening taken care of, the three of them marched upstairs, depositing the majority of their goods in the rooms. Somehow, Velandryn always seemed to be acquiring more and more things. Even when he lost something, such as the blade that had been shattered in Dimhollow, it came back in some way. He now had a most singular weapon from the Morthal armory, an orichalum longsword forged in the Third Era by a master smith of the second Orsinium. Apparently, an Orcish adventurer who had perished fighting Movarth a century ago had carried it, and it had been in the Morthal longhall ever since. Jarl Idgrod had gifted it to him personally, saying that it could do more good in his hand than in her trophy room. Now, it was a reassuring but unfamiliar weight on his hip. He had no specific quarrel with any Orcs, and their craftsmanship was far superior to most in Tamriel. However, it marked him even more as an outsider, and he had to wonder if this was another game Jarl Idgrod was playing.
Consumed by his thoughts, as well as the sliver of sea he could see out the window, he didn't even register Serana's presence until she was beside him. Lydia had gone downstairs, likely to figure out which of the patrons were most likely to be threats, and he had simply assumed Serana had done the same. Blinking once, he tried to conceal his surprise. Fortunately, the vampire seemed even more distracted than he.
She leaned against the wall and looked at him, not speaking. She had shed most of her heavy wrappings, leaving only her crimson leather armor and the short cloak around her neck, fastened with a silver brooch in the shape of a circle pierced by rays of light. He had never noticed it before, and wondered why that was.
He nodded to the brooch. "Is that your family's crest?"
She glanced down. "Oh, ah, yes." She smiled slightly. "It was. Supposed to represent the sun, actually. Ironic, isn't it?"
He hadn't mentioned her sudden outburst back on the ship, where she had demanded to know why he had refrained from slaying her, but he was still curious as to what had brought it on. "About what happened on the Laugh…?"
She cut him off gently. "I was…there's been a lot going on these past few days. A lot of things aren't as I expected, and I…I was having a moment of doubt."
"About what?"
"Everything." She shrugged. "We're supposed to be superior, but I was helping the mortals against my own kind. The questions, the tension, it's been building, and I threw a little of that onto you. I'm sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for." Truly, there wasn't. Velandryn had a bit of experience keeping things from her, and he was coming to the conclusion that, for all of her cleverness, Serana was not a woman to whom subterfuge came naturally. Like him, she wanted to learn everything she could, and keeping herself at arm's length, or at least failing to do so, had put her more than a little on edge. It was a shame really, that she was a vampire. But if she weren't a vampire, she would be a completely different person, and doubtless I would find her that much less fascinating—
With a start, he pulled himself away from that path, casting around for something else to discuss.
However, it was Serana who saved him. "I did some asking downstairs, and it might be a little harder to get to my home than we thought."
It wasn't good news exactly, but it didn't really surprise him. "A bit more remote than Jorik posited?"
She nodded. "It was never on the beaten path, and my family…values their privacy." He could just imagine what that meant. "Plus, it seems like the area has gotten a…bad reputation since I left."
Better and better. "How difficult will it be to find transport there?"
She produced a sheet of parchment from her sleeve. "I made this map. I've only shown it to a couple of captains, but by the sound of things it won't be cheap." She smiled. "Consider the cost my share of our reward from Movarth."
He felt his mouth go dry. That's it. That map was the first piece of information he needed to destroy the vampires. In the hands of the Dawnguard, it would ensure that no matter how much information they could get from actual reconnaissance, this Volkihar clan's days were numbered. Hopefully. He needed to get his hands on it.
"Any chance you can make more copies?" He tried to keep his voice carefully nonchalant. "There's a lot of ground to cover, and if we're going to be robbed on price I'd at least like to know we got the best deal possible." He had decided to play the part of the mercenary in Morthal, as it provided a convenient cover for his movements and Lydia's presence. With any luck, Serana would have picked up on the clues and now consider this entirely in-character for him. Of course, if she took into account—
"Oh, of course." Oh, well then. The vampire looked completely guileless as she put the parchment away. "I'll grab some more ink and paper downstairs." She paused as she reached the door, and looked back over her shoulder. "Velandryn?"
He was startled. "Hmm?"
"Thank you." And with that, she was gone.
He collapsed backwards, winding up sitting on the bed, his back against the wall. Serana, you fool. It should have been triumphant. It wasn't.
Rising, he gathered his cloak and gloves. The day's work was far from done, and this new information only made it more imperative that he find the Dunmer captain immediately. He was going to have to seize the initiative, it would seem. He just wondered how Lydia would take it.
Serana painstakingly copied the lines of her map onto the sheet of parchment. It was possible to do with magic, of course, but that would have drawn attention, not to mention she found the exacting work quite enjoyable. She had always had a good eye, and had loved reading the maps and atlases in her parents' libraries. After her transformation, when time was no longer a limiting factor, she had begun drawing her own. At first, it had merely been a means of escape. Her father would never let her actually visit Solitude or distant Windhelm, but if she traced the maps, learned the ways, it was in some small way better than doing nothing. So now, consulting an actual map of the Haafingar coast she had borrowed from a drunken ship's mate, she was able to produce something that was, if not perfectly accurate, at least a good representation of distance and time.
And, there! She finished the third map with a little flourish as she marked the last dot on the compass. Velandryn hadn't specified, but she would guess Lydia was getting one as well. Of the three of them, she was the only one who could be considered a "normal" Nord, so she might have more luck with the denizens of the Shores. For all that Solitude was a major port city and a stronghold of the Empire, two out of every three people she saw were Nords. Velandryn was clearly an outsider, and Serana began feeling uncomfortable if she had to deal with unknown people for too long.
Case in point, a pair of what appeared to be heavily inebriated sailors were making their way towards her. Not wanting to have to put up with whatever crudities they had in mind, she rose and made her way through the patrons towards the stairs. She might as well give Velandryn his copy, and if she saw Lydia, the big Nord could take hers as well.
Unfortunately, neither of her traveling companions were in their room. She left their copies of her map on the table with a hastily scrawled note and returned downstairs, feeling slightly at loose ends. She was so close to returning home, but she had no idea of what to do from here. Seek out more captains? Wander the docks hoping to find a ship? She might be able to sneak a few glimpses of Solitude, of the world she had always longed for. She was here, why not take the opportunity?
That could work…It took a moment before she realized that she didn't have to justify herself to anyone. If she wanted to go and see Solitude, she should.
She was heading for the door almost before she had finished the thought. How long had she dreamed of this, growing up? How many times had she imagined herself walking the streets of some distant city, where nobody knew her and she could simply…be?
The Shores were actually brighter than they had been earlier in the day, as the sun was now fully below the arch. The building they were in commanded an impressive view, and the hillside meant that she could see both the rooftops of the town spread out below her and the tall masts of the ships that bristled at the water's edge. Banners and sails fluttered gently in the wind, and her keen eyes made out folk hurrying here and there in the Shores below, weaving their way along the narrow alleys or moving more quickly along the wide straight streets that seemed to radiate outward from the distant point where the Climb began, leading up to Solitude's great walls far above.
Across the water, where the far foot of Solitude's arch plunged into the water as a great sheer drop, a bell sounded, and she noticed for the first time great doors of wood set into the cliff. As they swung open, and a latticed portcullis was hauled up from behind them, her superior vision showed her a massive cave, set into the stone of Solitude itself. It looked to be a warehouse, though on a scale she had never imagined. She wondered briefly how they got into the city from there; before she caught sight of the reason those gates had swung wide. A great barge festooned with Imperial banners was working its way under the arch from the north, deck laden with shaggy cows and great bales of hay and huge crates labeled with "East Empire Company" and the same picture of a ship that was emblazoned on the huge gates. She could scarcely imagine the scale of this organization, to command a port such as that. Now that she was looking over across the water, she noticed more docks and warehouses, tiny in comparison to the sprawl of the Shores but still easily having room for a dozen ships or more.
Tears welled up in her eyes. I want it all. I want to see every ship and learn the stories of each man and woman. I want to know what secrets are stored in every hold. But she couldn't. She was Serana of Volkihar, and she had to return to her family. A vampire was nothing alone, even one such as she.
The entire scene was cast in reds and golds, and there was an otherworldly beauty about it all. Velandryn had spoken of dawn and dusk as holy times, and she could see that, even if she had to turn away her eyes.
It was with some reluctance that she turned to go into a tavern; she could have watched daylight fade from the shores for…well, forever, most likely. However, she needed to return to Castle Volkihar, and for that she needed a ship.
The first captain she spoke with was no help, and the second leered at her when she asked about price. Time after time she was presented with stories about that area, or an itinerary that led to the east, to do trade with the ports of Dawnstar and Windhelm.
Many also mentioned trading in Morrowind, though always with an undertone that made it sound either a perilous journey or a shameful one. It piqued her interest, and she asked why the Dunmer homeland was spoken of with such reluctance.
One sailor, a Redguard woman who had introduced herself as Talanda and was wreathed in a riot of bright silks, explained it to her. "Folks'll trade there, but it always feels just the slightest bit off. Like if you go somewhere you shouldn't you might just disappear." She paused, thinking. "The Dunmer are strange. Oh, some are fine, the ones who aren't born there, or get out early. But most?" She clicked her tongue. "Always on about their gods, looking at you like you're so much less than them because you weren't born in a volcanic wasteland. I've seen their shores, and you couldn't pay me enough to live there!" She chuckled, and eyed Serana. "Why you asking about the east anyways? Heading over there?"
With a flush, Serana realized how far afield she had wandered form her original inquiries. She produced the map she had drawn and showed the other her destination.
Tracing the coastline with her finger, Talanda looked throughtful. "Won't be easy to find a captain, I can tell you that. Most every merchant from the west swings wide before Northwatch Keep, or at the second lighthouse if you're coming from Solitude. Too much ice in the sea close to shore, and shallow water with wicked fog besides. No sane captain would brave it. It's all wilderness there anyways. Not a town to be seen north of the mountains until you get over into High Rock." She gave Serana an odd look. "You Thalmor?"
"What?" She let her surprise register on her face.
The Redguard laughed. "Didn't have you figured for it, but you never know. I only ask cause I heard Northwatch got taken over by that lot, and there's not much more than that up there. Won't pry into your business there though." She shook her head. "That Empire signed away their soul with the Concordat, I'll tell you what." She spat. "And left us out to dry too, so fuck the lot of 'em!" She glanced around and lowered her voice. "Ah, maybe not the wisest place to say that."
Honestly, Serana thought, she needn't have worried. This was hardly the sort of place where you could hear other people's conversations, much less eavesdrop on them. It seemed sailors on shore, no matter where or when they were, were rowdy drunks. "So, what, should I look for a horse instead, travel overland?"
The other woman shook her head. "Nah, you'd be frozen stiff and eaten alive within a week, with the mountains and all that lives in the wilds. My advice? Look for old Nords, the sort who go fishing for days on end. Might be some of them are headed that way, and can take you with."
"Thank you, truly." Serana wondered how Talanda knew so much about the area, but the Redguard only laughed when she asked.
"I should. Been living here for eight years!" She smiled, and showed her hand, which had a thin silver band set with a blue stone. "Married a local boy, told my old captain and crew goodbye, signed on with my boy's vessel, a longship that runs food up to the Pale. Decent pay, steady work, and something to come home to at the end of the voyage." She shrugged. "Never much liked sand or rock or jungle. First time I saw snow, knew that was the life for me." She waved an arm and the bracelets on her wrist clanked together. "Still dress like this though. I'll never be a Nord, no need to pretend, huh?"
Her husband and some friends arrived shortly after, and Serana made her goodbyes despite invitations to stay and eat with them. She liked Talanda from her brief interaction, but her mission took precedence.
The sun had set fully by the time she left; greys and blues replacing the red and gold of before. Talanda had pointed her in the direction of quieter local alehouses where she might find some fishermen of the type she wanted, so she made her way down the street in the general direction of the water. The wind had died down, and so where before the smells of salt and sea had wafted in on the wind, now she could smell the town, and countless dinners cooking. From above, the faint sounds of music drifted down; it seemed they were singing up in Solitude.
Singing. She wouldn't know the songs, of course, but she wanted to learn them. There would be so many, so much that had happened that the bards would have recorded. Without thought, she pivoted to face the south, and the path up to atop the arch.
If she did it, headed south to the Climb and just went up, she would be at the gates. Even if there was a guard, or the city was closed for the evening, she could easily slip over the walls under cover of night. She could be inside the city before anyone knew she was gone.
A laugh rose in her throat. I wouldn't even need to hide from them. Doubtless Velandryn and Lydia would be overjoyed to know that they didn't have to go out to Castle Volkihar. She could renounce it all, leave her father to his plotting and her mother to her experiments. Leave Volkihar behind and—
And what? Rely on those two, on a Nord who hated her and an elf who might be the Dragonborn? Be forever alone in this new world? Impossible. For better or for worse, she had the name of Volkihar. She was not free to do as she wished. She had no one, save her family, and she owed them her loyalty. Steps a little heavier, she continued on alone, to find a way home.
Just me.
The part of Lydia that had served Whiterun for a decade and a half had little liking for regions like the Shores. It reminded her of the Outer Market of Whiterun, vital to the smooth function of the city as a whole, but entirely too unruly for any sort of reasonable governance. Violations of the law that would merit a fine in more civilized quarters were often missed or deliberately overlooked in regions such as these, leading to an atmosphere that verged on lawlessness. There simply were not enough guards to catch all the offenders, not to mention that many who broke the law were travelling merchants or itinerant adventurers. That last group especially tended to be well-armed and eager for fights, a combination that featured prominently in many a guard's nightmares.
In Whiterun, it had been easiest to mostly let the Outer Markets be. If something happened under a guard's nose, it could be taken care of, but nobody was fool enough to think that even began to make a dent in the actual level of crime. It seemed to be much the same for the Shores, though perhaps even slightly worse, as it seemed that the guard here was stretched thinner than it had ever been at Whiterun. She had to imagine that the war was pulling forces from Solitude, but she couldn't help but feel that there was a better way to go about things.
She wasn't going anywhere in particular, and truth be told she should probably be at her thane's side, but Velandryn was still in their rooms, and she could see the stairs from where she sat. Across the room, Serana was writing something; despite her partial reassessment of the woman in Morthal, Lydia had no real desire to spend any time with the vampire. That was the final push the Nord needed; her thane wouldn't die if she took a bit of time to walk the streets of the Solitude Shores.
The Shores was famous throughout Skyrim as the greatest port in the province. The Whiterun markets might be the crossroads of four provinces, but Solitude put them to shame for the sheer volume of trade it handled. More food alone passed beneath the Arch in a day, it was said, than a single man could eat in a year. Of course, that had been before the rebellion.
She couldn't say how Ulfric's war had affected trade, though she did notice an Imperial presence at the waterfront, in contrast to the almost nonexistent presence of true Solitude guards throughout most of the Shores. They appeared nonchalant, but no less than four times she was approached and questioned very politely about what she was up to. It made sense, she supposed, as a heavily armored Nord without any clear allegiant colors would likely arouse suspicions. She also noticed others being questioned, which dulled the shame of being taken for a threat by the law.
Her shield had born the crest of Whiterun not too long ago, but the battles it had seen had rendered the proud stallion all but invisible. I should get it repainted when we return this way. Doubtless they would be leaving very soon to finish up this business with Serana, but hopefully they could spend some time in Solitude on the way back.
No, of course we can't. They had to get to High Hrothgar. The Greybeards were waiting, and part of her responsibility to the Dragonborn was to keep him on the correct path. With a sigh, she turned around and began to retrace her steps. Her duty awaited. When Skyrim was safe from dragons, she could take a day for herself.
When she returned to the inn, she found neither her thane nor the vampire in the common room. More worryingly, when she went upstairs Velandryn was nowhere to be found. The room held their gear, but no clue or note to indicate where he might be. Now taken with a bit of true concern, she returned downstairs, only to be greeted by her thane and a Dark Elf woman she had never seen. They had apparently just entered, and Velandryn wasted no time in steering the three of them to a table in the quieter portion of the room.
Lydia studied the woman, trying not to be too obvious. The Dunmer was dressed more fully than most of the sailors Lydia had seen today, though whether that was because of her race or the fact that Dark Elves had no resistance to the cold Lydia couldn't say. She wore a vest of some scaly hide over a tight shirt with long flowing sleeves and a skirt sewn with beads of a hundred colors that rattled when she moved. A winding tattoo of a snake, picked out in white, wound up one cheek and across her forehead to end below her eye. Her skin was slightly lighter than Velandryn's, though her face had much of the same angular shape. Her hair was ebon black, and shaped into a single strip running back along the top of her head, with the sides shaved. It was a distinctive look, if not one Lydia herself found particularly attractive. Her eyes, of course, were red.
Velandryn made introductions as they sat themselves. "Captain Milara, this is Lydia of Whiterun, my ko'thil. Lydia, this is Captain Milara Andaram, master of the Amar'balak out of Blacklight."
Lydia nodded awkwardly, wondering both what it meant for her to be "ko'thil" and what exactly this was all about. Doubtless this was the captain of the ship that Velandryn had noticed earlier, but she wasn't sure what it had to do with her. Maybe he simply wanted her to meet another of his kind?
The captain, however, seemed perfectly at ease, at least in the grave way the Dunmer were. "Wealth beyond measure, Sera." She bowed slightly in her seat. "Truly the Three have blessed you to tie your service to one such as the eminent Velandryn Savani." Milara Andaram's face remained almost entirely still, with only a familiar glimmer in her eyes reassuring Lydia that she meant the words sincerely.
Well, I can see why my thane likes her. Then, the import of the woman's words hit her. Does she know? Could Velandryn have been foolish enough to tell this random Dunmer that he was the Dragonborn?
She was thinking how best to ask Velandryn without cluing in the captain if she did not know, when her thane interjected. "Apparently, Solitude does not have even so much as a shrine to the Triune, so the presence of an Anointed of the Temple is of great relief to the faithful on board the Amar'balak." He met her eyes significantly, and the barest hint of a smile played over his lips.
Bastard. The tension bled out of Lydia. Okay. This other one's esteem was just because Velandryn was a priest of their temple. Dark Elf matters. She knew where she stood on those. She smiled at the elf. "A pleasure to meet you as well, Captain Milara."
The captain turned and said something to Velandryn in a tongue Lydia did not recognize, though she recognized it as Dunmeris, as her thane would occasionally pepper his speech with phrases from that language.
Velandryn responded with a terse phrase in that same language. The captain then turned to Lydia. "My apologies. I should of course speak Imperial, so you can understand." She looked at Velandryn, who nodded. "My Amar'balak has been at port here in Solitude for the better part of a week. We have taken on pelts, lumber, and all of the other goods we had hoped to obtain. From here, our next port will be Blacklight. We are leaving tomorrow, with the breaking of dawn"
Velandryn looked at Lydia, eyes grave. "When the Amar'balak returns to Blacklight, I mean for you to be on it."
No. It was not going to happen. "May I have a moment to speak with you alone, my thane?" Clearly he was misunderstanding something; there was no other reason he could have just said those words. Perhaps the fight with Movarth had addled his wits somehow.
"You may not, housecarl." She could only stare at him in shock. This was not like in Whiterun, when he had burst out in anger. He seemed cool and collected, as in control as ever. "We can speak on this later. I apologize for not informing you beforehand, but our window of opportunity is short, and I needed to set matters in order as is." He nodded to the captain. "Lydia will be at your ship before you depart."
Milara Andaram rose. "Zekken dol, tsukhan." With another bow, she turned and left the inn, her skirt clacking with every step.
Lydia was still in shock. "My thane, explain this at once!" She kept her voice low, but her anger cut through despite it. "Have I offended you in some way?" What shame could have warranted this? He was sending her to Morrowind? Impossible!
He raised his hands. "Not at all. If anything, I'm asking you because you're the only one I can trust with this. I should have explained earlier, but this has all come together very quickly. I met the captain for the first time less than an hour ago, and if she was just a touch less devout, this would not have worked at all. As is, she has been extremely agreeable, and I think we might be able to down a whole flock of cliff racers with a single arrow."
She sat back, waiting to hear his next words. The Dunmer was clever in ways that she was not, and it was possible that there was a good reason for all of this.
Velandryn sighed. "I should be quick, since I don't know how long we have until Serana returns." Lydia glanced over the room, but Velandryn waved his hand dismissively. "I'm watching the door, we'll know when she gets back."
Her thane continued, eyes sober. "First, I am not sending you to Blacklight so much as I am sending you through Blacklight. The Morrowind route will get you to Fort Dawnguard in less than a week, assuming that the location of the fort I was given is accurate."
"How can that be, my thane?" Blacklight was hundreds of miles out of the way, after all.
"Sea is faster than land, and my people have modes of transit that put the horse and carriage to shame. I will send you with instructions." He produced a piece of paper and handed it her. On it was a map of the northern coast of Haafingar; a small area in the middle of nowhere was circled.
Lydia's breath caught in her throat. "Is this—"
"The location of Serana's family, and whatever power resides with them." Velandryn looked extremely pleased with himself. "In the hands of the Dawnguard, it means those bloodsuckers' days are numbered." He bared his teeth in a fierce grin. "For this, I expect them to drown Jarl Balgruuf in crossbows. Just in case, though, bring your weapon with you to Morrowind. I'm curious to see what my people can do with it."
Lydia blinked. "What all do you plan for me to do?" If she was going to go through with this—not that she was conceding that point yet—she would do it right.
"All you should need to do is go to Great Fane, the primary complex of the Temple in Blacklight. I will give you letters of introduction and passage, which should provide you all the resources and direction that you need." He smiled. "The Temple has enormous power in Morrowind; their aid will give you freedom no outlander normally enjoys. Truth be told, I wish I was going with you; I would like to see my home again."
That brought her to her second concern. "I assume you will be travelling with Serana then?"
He nodded. "I plan to see her as far as I am able. The map gives us a location, but we still lack any knowledge about the site itself. Serana has mentioned that it's hidden and isolated, but nothing more. She has also mentioned a reward. I'm assuming that will at least get me through the outer gates." He sighed. "If the rest of her coven is even half as formidable as she is, we'll need every last advantage we can get, and knowledge now could save a lot of lives later."
Something had just occurred to her. "My thane, what if the vampire's reward is—"
"An offer to make me like them?" He smiled, though it did not touch his eyes. "I've considered that, and also that they might not take it exceptionally well if I refuse." He shrugged. "I have…planned for that eventuality, and though hopefully it won't be necessary, I am reasonably confident in my ability to escape should it be needed."
She gave the Dunmer a hard look. "You are asking me to abandon you to go into a vampire's lair alone. I want your plan, and if I'm not satisfied, you're not leaving my sight until we've dropped Serana off in whatever hellhole she calls home."
"All right." How easily he gave in took her somewhat by surprise. "How much do you know about teleportation?" That would explain it. Velandryn might love his secret knowledge, but he would never pass up a chance to lecture some unfortunate soul, generally her, on magic.
"I know what it is." That much was true, at least. "I know it doesn't work anymore." That one she had only heard.
Velandryn tilted his head. "Partially true, though that's mostly due to external factors rather than anything inherent to the art itself." He rubbed his jawline thoughtfully. "At its most basic, teleportation convinces the Earth Bones that someone or something is somewhere that it was not. Of course, the moment the Earth Bones believe it, it becomes so." He paused. "Well, 'belief' is a tricky concept when dealing with dead gods, but it works for our purposes. Anyways, the biggest issue is convincing the laws of nature to look the other way while you tamper with reality. A shorter distance, either through space or time, decreases the amount of disbelief you need to bypass for the teleportation to work, which is important. A fully successful or failed teleportation, and you either rejoice or try again. If something goes half-right…" he shrugged, "You hope that you wind up fifty miles away from where you planned. The alternatives are…messier."
Lydia had understood some of that, and knew where her thane's rambling was going, though not why he was telling her this if he was trying to convince her that it was a good idea. "Let me guess. Your plan to escape from the Volkihar is—"
"Mark and recall." He produced a book, no larger than the palm of his hand. Daedric runes were stamped on the cover.
"What?" She knew the words, of course, but the way he said them made the term sound specific and important.
"A pair of matched spells, usually neatly bound together like this one. Mark creates an…echo…of the caster at its current location. It…well, 'primes,' I suppose, the Aurbis to accept the return of the caster to that spot. It is heavily affected by distance and time. After more than a day or a few dozen miles of distance, it's essentially useless. I picked this one up in Movarth's belongings, and I'm counting myself fortunate to have recognized it for what it was. I figure I mark a spot a fair distance away from whatever this place turns out to be, and then, if things go bad, I recall back to it, and have an hour's head start if they decide to give chase."
Lydia immediately saw the uses of the spell. "Why haven't I heard of this before?"
Her thane shrugged. "We use it in Morrowind, on occasion, though it's less useful than you might think. The spells are finicky in some very specific ways, so you either need an expert enchanter to scribe them or an even better mage to cast them. This little book could probably fetch me near a thousand drakes if I found the right buyer."
"So its limitation is in the casting, but couldn't you study the spells specifically, and then mark other people to travel with you?" She might not know too much about magic, but a good means of teleportation, well, she almost salivated at all of the potential applications. If it meant returning to Whiterun in a heartbeat rather than a day's ride, she'd put up with chaperoning a mage.
Velandryn smiled. "Good! Thinking sideways is the best way to get the most out of magic." He sobered. "Sadly, it's not that simple. Mass recall is possible, though precision is still difficult. It's difficult enough etching the memory of a single caster on a place. Trying to keep two or three straight can lead to not everyone winding up with all of the same parts they started with." His face took on a look of faint disgust. "If you're lucky, it's just arms and legs. There's a story about a mage who tried it with a Nord mercenary in tow. They switched childhood memories. In full." He shrugged. "As for learning it, I know the forms. I checked the work in here to make sure everything was where it should be. The problem is concentration."
Lydia was fascinated in spite of herself. "So in situations where you need it, you're better off having it prepared instead of trying to cast it?"
"Exactly! Teleportation, and I cannot emphasize this enough, is where anything going wrong is unacceptable. Magic backfiring is never a good thing, but the worst case scenario with a fireball is it fizzles out, or maybe gives you a light roasting. When you're trying to pull the wool over the eyes of the laws of reality, you can't afford be devoting any thought to worrying about if that Orc is going to cleave your skull in two before you finish the final incantation." He shrugged once more, a favorite gesture of his. "At least, I can't. Divayth Fyr can probably pull half an army around the world while sleeping."
"Who?"
He waved his hand. "The greatest mage alive. Or not, as the case may be. He hasn't been seen for two hundred years."
Lydia was struck once again by how odd Dunmer society must be. "I'd think even elves would stop waiting after that long."
Velandryn smiled. "He's older than Serana, and he never went to sleep. He's lived through the rise and fall of the Tribunal, remembers being Chimer, and kept the last living Dwemer in his tower for a few millennia because he liked having him around. He's visited more planes of Oblivion than the Empire officially acknowledges exist, and rumor has it that when a detachment of An-Xileel Argonians attacked his living tower during the Black Tide, none of that army were ever seen again. The tower vanished too, of course, but that's nothing unusual." Velandryn leaned back. "He might be dead now, but 'alive' is a technicality for a great many Telvanni magisters. I doubt Divayth Fyr would let anything as trivial as death slow him down." He smiled. "He's the hero of many a mage."
Velandryn, for one, obviously worshipped the man, and even Lydia had to admit he sounded a fascinating character. However, she wouldn't let herself get any more sidetracked. "So, assuming this spell works perfectly, you still wind up in the middle of nowhere, likely with angry vampires out for blood."
Her thane spread his hands. "No plan is perfect, Lydia."
"In that case, you will have to make your apologies to the captain, because I'm not getting on that ship."
"So you admit that if my plan is good enough, you'll go?" Before she had time to protest, he continued. "We're getting there by sea. That means either we'll be catching a ride on a merchant bound for Northpoint or somesuch port and pay them to delay for half a day, or we charter a ship of our own. Either way, I mark the point near where the boat is waiting, and I'm in the wind. Worst case scenario, I have to travel back from Heiroc, and I've always wanted to see that province." He fell silent and waited.
As far as dangerous plans went, it wasn't bad. She herself had launched many a mission with less planning than this. However, this was her thane, and the Dragonborn besides. "I don't like this, my thane."
He gave her a long look. "Truth be told, Lydia, neither do I. You are a stalwart companion, and…well…I," he tried to find words but eventually trailed off in what she half-suspected was embarrassment. It couldn't be easy for the Dunmer to admit affection for a Nord, but she enjoyed watching him try. "Regardless, we need to inform the Dawnguard as soon as possible, and you are the only person I trust to do so. "
She was, once again, touched by his sincerity. She had grown quite fond of him as well, odd as he was. Still, she wouldn't' give in so easily. "We have a courier service in Skyrim, my thane."
Velandryn nodded. "I'm aware, but we can't just send the map with a note. I need you to explain the chain of events, and impress upon them the gravity of the situation and how many unknowns we're dealing with. In short, Lydia, I need you to be my advocate." He smiled. "Were I of noble birth in a Great House, the position would be more prestigious, but I do hope you'll accept.
She felt like smiling at his self-deprecating words, but a part of her was worried that he was just telling her what she wanted to hear. Velandryn was more than smart enough to know that what he was saying was exactly what would most motivate her.
She sighed. "I don't like this. It can make all the sense in the world, but you're asking me to send you into certain danger alone. As your housecarl, that goes directly against my duty to you."
"When the duty to obey me and the duty to protect me come into conflict, which wins out?" His face was grave, though, as she reflected with bleak humor, it often was, even when he was happy. His harsh features did not naturally lend themselves to levity. "I do not know how Nords reckon such things, but I would hope that I'm not sending you away against your will. All cleverness and wordplay aside, I want you to understand why I am doing this, even if you do not enthusiastically agree."
Divines help her, she did. She thought it was the wrong decision, but she could see where he was coming from. "My thane, I should be by your side." She knew she was repeating herself, but it had to be said, to be drilled onto him that this was her duty. "You would be walking alone into mortal peril."
He smiled, but his eyes were as sad as she had ever seen them. "Lydia, if things go wrong to the point where a second sword is needed, do you think it would matter one whit if you were there or not? I am going into the vampire's den. My fate is not going to be determined by strength of arms." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "And, if the worst comes to pass, I hereby charge you with murdering every last one of those bastards." His eyes brightened. "After all, you know where they live!"
He laughed, and she found herself smiling. I suppose I've lost then. It should have bothered her more, but she had the odd feeling that if anyone could deliver a lost vampire to her family and emerge to tell the tale, it was her thane. Not to mention, she had the feeling that Serana would be at the very least reluctant to see any harm come to Velandryn. Lydia wasn't sure if Velandryn was still only playing a role in his relationship with Serana, but the vampire, for her part, seemed to genuinely like the Dark Elf.
When she brought Serana's recent behavior up, her thane leaned back in his chair. "Agreed. I'm not sure if it's because we're both outsiders, or for some other reason, but I don't see her turning on me and delivering me as a sacrifice." He pulled out a sheaf of papers. "Now, while we have time, let's get to writing."
"Writing, my thane?"
"Writing, my housecarl. I'm going to update Jarl Balgruuf of the current situation—I can trust that to a courier, at least— and start drafting letters for you to bring to Blacklight."
She sighed. "You are decided upon this madness, then?" In truth, little as she might like it, the terms of her bond were absolute. A housecarl was duty-sworn to obey their master, and so she would. He wanted her to go on this voyage to Blacklight, he had laid plans with that in mind, and she had nothing but vague misgivings and a sense of unease to combat his arguments.
"Most definitely. Signal the service and get us some dinner. I'm going to be at this a while."
She rose. This might be the last meal she had with her thane for some time—or ever—and she would make sure it did the Dragonborn justice. As she was leaving the table, she turned, remembering something.
"My thane?"
"Hmm?"
"What does it mean, to be ko'thil?"
His eyes brightened slightly. "It means, roughly, 'retainer of the body.' An archaic term for a warrior sworn to an individual rather than a house or cause. There is no equivalent to a housecarl in Morrowind, and the terms for our typical retainers carry connotations that would make other misunderstand your position. Ko'thil is an ancient word, one that will generate interest among those who hear it." He bowed his head slightly. "It will lead to questions, but also respect that would not otherwise be afforded a retainer of a non-noble." A smile, just a small one. "I wouldn't want your time in my homeland to be boring, after all."
"Thank you." I think.
Another laugh. "I wonder what I should tell Serana?"
"Hopefully not the truth."
"Three preserve me, I should hope not."
With a smile, she left him sitting there. A bad plan it might be, but it was her thane's command, and she could vaguely see the logic of making contact with whatever resources Velandryn had in Morrowind while on her way to the Dawnguard. She didn't know what plans he was making, but Velandryn Savani was not a fool, and she almost didn't feel mortal dread at the idea.
Almost.
Vampires could get drunk, but Serana had never much cared for alcohol. She found some wines tolerable, but not the sort that could be found in places like this. If this dingy haunt had a name, it was nowhere to be seen, and Talanda had only given her directions, and the name of the owner. That wasn't a problem, she supposed, as she had found it, and every patron save her looked as though they had been coming here for decades without fail. She wasn't even sure what to call it. It seemed more meeting-place than tavern, and old Herro behind the bar, a magnificently wizened man who could have been Breton, Imperial, or even a tiny Nord, greeted each and every one of his customers—save her— by name.
Just now, she was talking to a man named Jolf, who had, by his own claim, "been fishin' the waters up there since afore I got my first whisker!" He had many of those now, an impressive beard that remained deep black despite his wrinkled skin. He could have had anywhere from forty years to sixty; life in Skyrim could age people in strange ways.
He looked at her map, a frown on his face. "Aye, I know the place. Stories of a ruined castle, what can only be seen when the cold winds blow from the north, and voices that whisper when the moons are dark." He gave her a keen stare. "Why does a pretty young thing like you want to go out to there, eh? There's evil things in that land."
You have no idea, boatman. She had him, she knew; her initial offer had set greed blazing in his eyes, and all of this was merely haggling. Her golden eyes had gone unremarked, though she had uncovered her face as soon as she entered; she doubted any of these crude men and women would even associate golden eyes with vampirism. If Dunmer could get away with eyes that looked to burn like fire, she could pass with gold.
Jolf was not too terribly unpleasant, as far as his sort went. They had not changed much since her time, the simple folk who lived off the water. Every one of her father's villages had had those like Jolf, and they cared for little beyond the tides and what sort of catch they could expect for the time of year. Most were at best slightly literate, but could detect the weather changing days in advance, or tell you exactly how to distinguish between a hundred varieties of fish. Her father had called them 'the commonly gifted' and made good use of their knowledge. This one might be just what she needed, provided the price was right.
She had a few drakes, as Velandryn called the coins of this age, on her, enough to buy drinks and food, but the vast majority of the coin she would need was with the Dunmer, who had mentioned something about making use of a banker without so much as consulting either of his companions. She supposed that was to be expected with Lydia, but Serana had no intention of letting the mer keep all the coin. She didn't need the money; once she got home she would have more than she could ever spend, but there was a principle to the thing. As a result, she might not be haggling quite as hard as she could. She would rather Velandryn walk away a few coins lighter than run the risk of losing her ride home through excessive thrift.
"I'm paying you well, and it isn't for your questions." Well, she might pay a bit more for her rudeness, but she had no time for inquiries like this. Either the boatman was trying for information or he wanted her to add her body to the price; she was unwilling to entertain either notion. She was hiring him for a service, and she had no need of anything other than a ship and the skill to sail it. A shame father slaughtered all of our people, they knew how to obey. The sudden thought shamed her, but she couldn't help remembering how quickly their subjects had performed at whatever was demanded of them. Except dying. That had taken a while. By day the court had feasted in the castle, and by night they had hunted until every last village was bare.
She had gotten lost in memory, but Jolf's words snapped her back. "For five hundred, I can take all three of you. That's my final offer, and by Shor's name I swear it."
She nodded. "Done." Velandryn could pay that easily, and it was far less than her share of the reward besides. "When can you be ready, and how long will it take to get there?"
The Nord's lips moved as he thought. "I was plannin' on takin two weeks near the Fangs o' Nakk, so my boat's all loaded up…" He gave her what he doubtless thought was a charming smile. "I could be ready to leave afore midday on the morrow for another hundred septims."
"No, you could be ready to leave before midday regardless, but you think you can milk me for a few drakes more." She honestly didn't care if the proper term was drake or septim, but since she liked Velandryn more than Jolf or Lydia, she called the coins as the Dunmer did. "I am already paying you an absurd amount to perform a trivial task, so either you accept it or I will find another who will!" Not the money, but the principle. She wouldn't be taken for a fool by this insignificant little commoner!
He blanched. "Ah, I didn't mean to…no, five hundred is fine. Three of you, wasn't it?"
"Indeed." Whether her companions would bother to make the final leg of the trip remained to be seen, however, though she could hardly fault them if they preferred to remain in Solitude rather than brave the Sea of Ghosts for nothing but an unknown reward from a vampire. "Perhaps less, but no more."
Jolf rubbed his head. "Aye. I'll want to see the coin before you set foot on my boat, o' course." He rose, and gave her another look, though this one had little warmth. "Your companions, they like you?"
Not especially, though I think they're warming to me. "And what do you mean by that?"
"You're some sort of elf-blood or whatever, huh? Those eyes aren't human, I know that much." Well, so much for her passing undetected. Apparently it was the apathy of the common folk she should have depended on rather than their lack of awareness.
"My…companions are decent folk, but our business is our own." She was tired of this. In hindsight, she should have let Velandryn handle the negotiations; he seemed to find a perverse joy in dealing with the great many Nords who couldn't stand him on account of his race.
He would make a fine vampire. The thought had made occasional appearances in the past few days, but she had been reluctant to give it voice. The Dunmer would likely explode with righteous indignation if she brought it up, but it was true nonetheless. Those who had a spark of their own could handle the burden of immortality; her father would have called it being worthy of the gift, but she had seen too many go mad with power to think that there was no danger in the transformation. Even those like Movarth, strong as they might be, were inconsequential to the larger world, as they had no vision beyond their own desires. Even if he had once had purpose, he had lost it, and with that the ability to write his own fate. And so he fell. Velandryn would be different. For a moment, she imagined what it would be like, having him as there was no time for such thoughts now, and so she pushed them away.
Jolf seemed to have come around, doubtless won over by base greed. He was mumbling to himself about winds and provisions. Serana placed a few coins on the table, more than enough to cover Jolf's meal and whatever drinks he might want. Rising, she listened once again to his description of how to find him along the shore in the morning, and made her farewells.
It was full dark, and the Shores smelled of smoke and rang with laughter and song. Up and down the street sailors and those who profited off of them made merry. Every door was open, and enough light flooded out of the buildings that she had no need of her exceptional vision to pick her way through the crowd. All around her, Nords, Bretons, Imperials, and even a few Redguards and elves jostled and drank and sang, hawking their wares and arguing in a dozen dialects that she could almost understand.
She felt something cup her backside, roughly pushing its way against her cloak and armor, and her hand snapped around faster than any mortal could hope to match. She caught the wrist of the offender without bothering to look behind her, then squeezed and twisted with a dark satisfaction. Scum. Over her shoulder, whatever fool had thought to amuse himself on her gave a guttural cry of pain. With one final clench of her grip that, by the sound and feel of it, snapped several of the unlucky bastard's bones, she released the limb and walked on. Behind her, she heard the sound of something collapse to the ground and gasping, sobbing, groans followed her down the street.
Coarse, common, unworthy. She didn't feel any guilt about what she had done; the lecher had brought it on himself. This was the character of the great morass of mortality, the teeming crowd from which the blessing of her Lord had plucked her, and she should never forget that. She might at times regret her hunger, but her transformation had offered gifts she could never had hoped to attain otherwise. Father was wise to seek this blessing. It was time to return home.
A first look at Solitude. The city will feature prominently, given that it is the de facto Imperial headquarters in Skyrim as well as the seat of Jarl Elisif, and I felt it needed something a little more than the game gave it. This Solitude is one part game-city, one part what I needed to be there for my story, and one part what I felt would be necessary infrastructure from a world-building standpoint. It's a big city, is my point.
This is a short chapter, but I am currently about 75-80% done with the next one, which is of similar or slightly longer length. It was originally to be one huge chapter, but the idea of going much more than a month without an update seemed self-indulgent, so you get this. Expect 14 in a week or so, maybe less if I buckle down well. You can probably figure out about wherein the story the next chapter ends, since everything is kind of building to it.
Petersielle: Sadly, attempting NaNoWriMo on top of everything else I am currently juggling was simply a bit too much, so I'm putting that one on hiatus for now. Turns out that no matter how much I tell myself I'm going to rush something out, I will still revise it compulsively. I plan to play around with them some more, but I throw in the towel on the "do it in a month" thing. Mad respect for people who can pull it off though. So glad you are appreciating the details, they're a blast to incorporate. Jarl Idgrod seems to know a lot more than she lets on, and I have some fun plans for her.
Reality deviant: Glad to hear you liked Movarth—he was a lot of fun to write. Quite a bit of development is coming for our main three in the next few chapters, both in relation to each other and individually.
Firelordzuko: I would assume that only the big town could hope to have anything approaching a professional guard. Whiterun and Solitude basically have trade protection forces, making sure everything runs smoothly so the money can flow. Morthal has a few guards, but they need to raise the militia when things get hairy, hence why Serana wasn't thrilled at the thought of throwing part-time guards against vampires. Fortunately, there seems to be plenty of civic-minded citizens willing to step up and defend their town. The advantage of living in Skyrim, where even the farmers are murdervikings. And yeah, Lydia still doesn't trust magic. She's gonna have some fun with that…
Naruto Loves Femkyuubi: Hah, it's all good. I'm going to avoid Sons of Coldharbour just because I'm already letting vampires hijack my story way more than I had planned, but it's an interesting idea, and one I wouldn't mind seeing explored. TES vampire lore is fascinating, and being able to use Molag Bal both as vampiric patron and Dunmer adversary god offers a wealth of opportunity for delicious conflict.
Mangahero18: Glad to hear it!
Everquesting: I'm glad you noticed that. It was supposed to be a bit of an outburst, as she's trying to hold onto her worldviews as everything shifts around her. It isn't just curiosity, and maybe I should have done a better job of showing how much opposing Movarth is not what a vampire is supposed to do. Especially not to save mortals. I threw some mentions of it in this chapter, but I might go back eventually and make it a bit more obvious. Thanks for the feedback!
Mr Gutsy All I can promise is that I plan to keep writing, and I have a story that I really want to tell. I might get hit by a truck tomorrow, of course, and life delights in throwing delays at me, but I intend to finish this fucker. It might take a while, but I'll get there.
Also, Dragonborn is a go. It's going to be much later though, as Miraak in-lore is a power that Velandryn can't even comprehend yet. And Mora? Dragonborn's going to need some serious chops to hold his own there, and right now he's barely keeping up with random vampires.
DarkKing009: Yeah, Idgrod was fun as anything to write. Some of the jarls might be a bit more difficult to make three-dimensional (meaning I'll have to pull out some traits from my big bag of OC) but I plan to have any and all who are encountered serve as actors in their own right, advancing agendas which may (but often don't) coincide with the Dragonborn's. If they're fun to write and interesting to read, everybody wins!