Chapter 22 – Blood and Other Inconveniences
The pace of events is accelerating. While I am appreciative of your desire to continue serving in your current capacity, that may no longer be a possibility. Consolidate your findings, safeguard yourself and your identity, and await further instructions.
News of this 'Dragonborn' is of paramount interest to Our Order. You should consider information about this phenomenon of equal importance to your existing mission. Continue on, but do not lose sight of the larger nature of things.
Upon taking command of Castle Dour and the Skyrim Legions, General Tullius had been granted a fine suite of rooms atop the castle's highest tower, Uriel's Crown. It had taken him all of thirty seconds to glance around, proclaim it "too fancy by half" and march downstairs to commandeer a set of offices near the primary conference hall.
Now, the offices were his quarters and the conference hall his war room, which left the palatial chambers where Emperor Uriel the Just had once slept to be repurposed into a meeting-hall where he hosted visitors from outside the Legion. Elisif privately thought that the general mostly just wanted to discourage people from coming by making them walk up all those stairs.
The jarl had toyed with the idea of inviting Jordis to accompany her, but ultimately decided to bring only Falk and Sybille. The would-be heroine was her dearest friend, the scion of one of the best families in Solitude, and had fought beside the Dragonborn, but she was also dangerously irreverent. The last thing Elisif wanted was to squander any of her respectability or goodwill because Jordis had decided that she should needle the Thalmor. I must be taken seriously. In the end, she'd taken Falk and Sybille. Her steward and court wizard might not command deep respect, but they were her advisors.
It didn't help that the other people at the table were some of the most powerful men and women in Skyrim. General Saul Tullius commanded the Imperial Legion, Legate Rikke was his right hand and confidante, and Ambassador Elenwen of the Aldmeri Dominion could circumvent both of them and order almost anyone in Skyrim arrested on no more than a rumor. All three were technically on the same side as her, but she could never relax in their presence. Elenwen especially. She was beautiful, composed, and unfailingly polite even when hurling insults, but the veneer of sophistication couldn't hide what she really was. A poison snake, sent to separate us. A reminder of the chafing conditions that had led to her husband's death, to this war.
If she could feel Elisif's hate, the Altmer gave no sign. She sat quietly as Tullius spoke on guard rotations and the new inspections that would be taking place at the docks, only interjecting to insist that Dominion goods would have equal priority to shipments from Imperial ports. Elisif said nothing, but made a note to increase the number of portside inspectors. Better our people do it than soldiers or Thalmor. Besides, that way she could quietly make sure that Haafingar ships were moved to the top of the queue. Neither General Tullius nor Elenwen actually cared enough to oversee this personally, so they would pass down their orders and expect it to be done. In truth, catching a few more skooma smugglers or grabbing a Stormcloak message wasn't going to make a huge difference to the war.
But that was the place Elisif had found for herself. It was useless to countermand the Legion or the Thalmor, but neither really cared about what went on daily in her hold. So, Elisif was becoming their intermediary. Doubtless many other jarls would have chafed at so obviously deferring to others, but it was either this or nothing. And here I can help my people, if nothing else. It wasn't glorious, but it was something.
After they'd haggled over various other trivial matters, Elenwen looked around the table. "Is there anything else?" When nobody said anything, she rose and bowed to them all. "Until next week." She nodded to her attaché, a handsome little Wood Elf who had just finished gathering the ambassador's documents, and swept through the door with a dancer's grace. She's a vile one, but she knows how to move.
The moment she was gone, the general sighed. "Glad that's done." He nodded to Legate Rikke. "Proceed."
Wordlessly, Rikke gestured at one of the guards, who ducked out of the room. Tullius closed his eyes for a long moment, then fixed Elisif with a steely stare. "Two days ago, a dragon was felled south of Morthal. We have accounts putting Velandryn Savani in the battle."
Something odd stirred in Elisif's stomach, and she found herself frowning. "I've heard of no battle."
"It was up in the mountains, near Labyrinthian. Remote." That was Falk. So he knows. She would have words with her steward later about what else he might be keeping from her.
The door opened, and the guard led an Imperial man and Nord woman into the room. Both were clad in simple clothes with the Imperial diamond stitched over the breast. "Jarl Elisif, Knight-Captain Titus Mollonius and Auxilia Bera Snowrider."
Titus Mollonius bowed, hand over his heart. Dark-skinned and wiry, he had the look of a seasoned soldier. "General. My lady. I led a Legion contingent that arrived on the scene engaged the dragon shortly after first clash. I am prepared to offer whatever information I can."
Bera did not bow, but saluted with a hearty thump as fist met chest. Her eyes met Elisif's, and there was no hint of deference. "I was there from the start. I'll tell you everything"
"You both gave statements already; you're mostly just here to answer any additional questions." Legate Rikke's voice was soothing. She slid a sheaf of paper across to the jarl. "Take a look."
She did, and her heart fell as she saw a long list of names. Twenty-six dead. Perhaps saddest of all was the group at the bottom. Unidentified Redguard male, unidentified Orc female, unidentified Reachman male...eight who died and we don't even know their names.
The two soldiers began speaking then, answering questions from around the table. Both answered much as Elisif had expected. The Imperial spoke like he was writing a report, with a clipped efficiency that omitted opinion but answered every part of the query.
Bera Snowrider, in contrast, must have spent some time with the skalds. She spoke of snow rising as the beast crashed down, or huddling behind stone walls as bursts of ice passed overhead. She would have been at home holding a skald's gnarled staff, rapping it on walls and tables as she paced and sang.
Falk spoke little, his questions mostly about morale and the battle's aftermath. Sybille focused on the magics, and pressed Bera especially for details about the use of Thu'um. The general and the legate focused on specific tactics, and how the dragon had reacted to each.
When Elisif spoke, she found her query going to the one thing that was dominating her mind. "The Dragonborn. It says here he matched the dragon?"
"Yes, my lady. For the better part of a minute, I would say. Magic against magic. Allowed us to regroup."
"That vampire of his as well. Fought like ten men, with the winds of Kyne behind her and the hammer of Stuhn in her hands! She broke the dragon's hide and spilt its blood upon the snow!" Bera's hands were alive as she spoke, punctuating her words with enthusiasm that bordered on violence.
Sybille's eyes met Elisif's for a very long moment, then her court wizard brought knuckles down on the table to signal silence. "Auxilia Snowrider, you claim this woman was a vampire. How did you arrive at this conclusion?"
"Pale as the driven snow and eyes like gold fire, master wizard, plus she moved like a bolt from the sky." Bera grinned. "I've heard all the stories they tell about bloodsuckers, and they don't do her justice."
"Your thoughts, Captain?" General Tullius sounded as if something were annoying him.
"I cannot comment on her condition, but she was a significant asset." Titus Mollonius still stood ramrod straight, eyes forward. "Given the terrain, her ability to quickly move between groups provided superior mobility to our lines of communication."
"Interesting." That was Legate Rikke. "Your report made little mention of the communication issue."
"By the N-Emperor, Legate, I meant no omission." Titus covered his slip well, and everyone else let the moment pass unremarked. "I cannot speculate on how the situation would have unfolded had we lacked her assistance."
"Nonetheless, it is worth noting. Traditional lines of contact will be disrupted, and we should begin considering alternatives." The legate marked something in one of her folders. "Which leads to another matter. Both of you. Thoughts on disposition of weaponry and armor? Were we to field dedicated anti-dragon forces, would heavy armor be an asset or a liability?"
"A little of both. In the light stuff that breath will end you in an instant, but no plate can save you from a tail across the neck." Bera thumped her chest. "You need more auxiliaries. Engage at range, keep moving constantly. The beast would turn his head this way and that, but he couldn't pin any more than one of us down when we were all apart!"
"Though when the dragon did target lone soldiers, they perished almost without exception." Captain Mollonius might have been discussing a meal he'd not particularly enjoyed. "When targeting groups, individual survival rates increased significantly. The dragon attacked my group from range three separate times, and we lost a total of only two soldiers."
"But you also had those big Orc shields. Put those in the air, and it wouldn't have been able to get as many of my scouts either."
Elisif swallowed a sigh. "So it sounds as if every possible tactic is going to get our people killed."
"That's war, my lady." Rikke sounded resigned but not particularly distraught. "No matter the situation, victory requires sacrifice."
General Tullius had been silent for a long time, but now he placed both hands on the table. The soft thump of flesh hitting wood cut through the quiet conversation, and all stilled. "Captain Mollonius. In your assessment, what information do we need to have? Assume it must be disseminated to every allied soldier in the province."
The captain thought for a long moment, eyes downcast. Finally, he looked up and met Tullius' gaze. "We must revise Legion doctrine. Adopt behaviors that emphasize indirect line-of-sight, and reduce the length of each individual contact to seconds if possible. Leverage mages and siege weaponry if they are available, but under no circumstances attempt to fortify a fixed position."
Tullius nodded. "Auxilia Stormrider, your thoughts?"
"I don't disagree with the captain, sir, but you're overlooking one thing." The Nord woman grinned. "The Dragonborn's worth a cohort and a half, and you'd be damn fools not to use him whenever you can. His vampire too, if she's part of the deal."
"His vampire?" Sybille sounded a bit annoyed now, and Elisif silently gave thanks for her court wizard's condition. She'll ask all the questions about her, and I won't have to. She couldn't quite pinpoint why the idea of a vampire accompanying Velandryn unnerved her so much. Sybille herself was proof that they could be allies, and obviously the aid had proven useful. So why do I feel like I swallowed frost salt?
The Nord shrugged. "She fought for him, left when he did, and pretty obviously didn't really care about any of us. Seems to me she's following him. Can't blame her, y'know."
"Explain." That was Tullius again, eyes narrowed. "For a moment there, it sounded as if you were advocating loyalty to an individual above the Legion."
Bera didn't even bother denying it. "He's Dragonborn, and you're talking about small unit tactics! I know you Imperials like to pretend that the Dragon Blood's all spent since the Medes haven't a drop of it, but I saw him take a dragon's soul." Her voice was rising again. "I saw flesh burn away as he took the dragon's soul! The dragon laughed at our mages, but when that Shout rolled forth, it turned and dove like a hawk at the hunt!"
Legate Rikke was rising now, one hand out. "Your opinion is appreciated, Auxilia Snowrider, and we will take it into consideration." A wry smile broke out over her face. "Believe me when I say that we'd rather have the Dragonborn at every battle too, but he's just one elf. We can't quite rely on that."
Both General Tullius and Captain Mollonius were looking more than a little displeased, and Elisif could almost feel schisms forming across the table. "Regardless of the Dragonborn, the two of you are to be commended. You've done an incredible thing, and I know that I speak for all of us when I say thank you." She saluted the soldiers.
Bera saluted back, grinning. "My thanks, Lady Elisif. Glad to have more Nords at the table." She paused for a moment, looking around, then grinned. "That Dragonborn, though." She shivered. "Got a face something fierce and spat fire besides, wouldn't mind warming up-"
"That will be all, Auxilia." Legate Rikke's interjection spared them all from whatever ribald comment Bera had been preparing. She simply laughed and headed for the door.
After Captain Mollonius had exited as well, Tullius sighed. "What I wouldn't give to put those auxiliaries under an Orc drillmaster for a few months. These northern types need discipline."
Elisif felt herself bristle just a bit at that. "By the sound of it, your discipline didn't save them." She glared across the table at Tullius, so quick to dismiss anything that wasn't Imperial. "You might be the general in command, but you should listen to the Nords. We're the ones who live here, after all!"
The general gave a bark of laughter. "That's a good one!" He rose, waving at an aide to gather the folders before him. "You can do as you like while I'm busy winning this war for you." Without so much as dismissing them, the general left the room. Rikke sketched out the slightest bow, eyes not quite meeting Elisif's then left as well.
And there we go. She'd overstepped, let her emotions get the best of her. I can't challenge him. Whatever she did, it had to be in that little space where she had power. Where I won't get slapped down or sent to bed without supper.
It was simply so infuriating. She knew that she was no tactician, but Tullius was no diplomat either. Those few Imperial ambassadors who were in Skyrim seemed to spend most of their time elsewhere, apparently assuming that Solitude was safely in their pocket. But even here, people aren't happy. Oh, Ulfric was hated to be sure, but the Concordat still sat poorly with too many. Including me, if I'm being honest. And the only thing keeping much of the city reasonably complacent was the belief that Nords were the Empire. Tiber Septim was one of us, we've been the strong arm of the Legions since before he took the throne. But they weren't of the Imperial race, no matter how much General Tullius might wish it. They had their own traditions, beliefs, and a culture and history of which they were justly proud. And the last thing they need is to have some Imperial from Crodiil telling them to shut up and behave!
No, Nords and Imperials might share blood, but a year in Skyrim hadn't taught Tullius who his hosts really were. And I'm sure I'm not helping, sitting down meekly every time he glares. Like she did every time she thought of her position, she resolved to be stronger when next she was challenged.
That thought, like so many did these days, brought her back to Velandryn Savani. Of that strange conversation just a few days past, and his outlandish suggestions about how to gain power. Though at this point, I don't see it doing any harm.
It might only have been a week ago that she met him, but it felt as if she'd known him for months. Like an old friend. Sometimes she found herself wondering what he'd think about this or that. She'd once seriously considered penning him a letter, despite that potentially being a political nightmare if word got out.
He's safe. That much, at least, seemed true. And he has another dragon soul. Considering some of the things he'd said, however, she wasn't sure that was much of a blessing. Velandryn, you'd best be strong enough to handle it!
More worrying was this Serana. That she was accompanying him was one thing, but something about that woman's closeness to the Dragonborn churned her stomach each time she thought of it. She's a vampire! She had been trying to think of Serana like she did Sybile, as someone whose vampirism was incidental, a well-handled irritant rather than an affliction that ruled her life. In light of the power the other woman had displayed, though, she wasn't sure that was true.
Could Sybille do all of that? Elisif didn't think so. If her court wizard had been capable of such, surely she would have intervened when Ulfric murdered her husband. So what does that make Serana?
Shaking her head, she climbed the steps to her home. She's on his side, there's nothing to fear.
She wished she felt more convinced.
Serana had been quiet, and that was worrying Velandryn a little. Of course, he'd been quiet too, but he liked to think that he at least had a good reason. How many more of these fights can I take? That's twice now I've only barely survived. Not to mention that somehow he'd breathed fire.
Yol. It made sense to him, but it had come out of nowhere, and he couldn't help but wonder where it had been hiding. Yol. He rolled it around his mind, tasting the shape of it. Fire.
His throat still hurt, of course, but that was all. After he had slain Mirmulnir, the dragon's voice had rumbled in him, warning of Alduin and the Dragonborn's doom. This time, he couldn't even be sure of what his foe's name had been.
Perhaps this second dragon was weaker, or Velandryn had grown stronger. He had Dov in his head now; maybe that had blunted the edge. Whatever the reason, he was free of that turmoil.
Of course, there was another problem, one that he hadn't expected. Since they had departed the battlefield, Serana had felt off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about her made his flesh crawl. It didn't help that every time he tried to engage her in conversation, she gave a monosyllabic answer and pulled ahead.
Finally, as they passed into the trees beyond the ruins, he had had enough. "Whatever it is that's bothering you, either let it go or let it out."
Serana said nothing, only stopped riding. Finally, she turned and looked at him.
The prickling on his skin changed, became more intense. Something in her eyes was terribly wrong, and he half-fancied that her skin was more drawn than usual. She looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's nothing, just…"
She looked away, up the road. "I shrouded us leaving the battle. Didn't want us followed, but it'll wear off soon. How about we find a place for the night, then talk about it?"
Velandryn considered that for a moment—a powerful spell, to cloud us in that many minds— then nodded. "Thank you for taking my frail mortal form into consideration."
A laugh. At least that was the same. "Right now, I think it's a toss-up on who needs it more."
Velandryn took the lead up the road. As he passed her, something occurred to him. "Is it blood? I know if vampires go too long without—"
"Look, can it wait until we camp?" Her voice was sharp. "I've sort of been avoiding the issue since I left home, a few more minutes won't kill anyone." I hope that's true.
In fact, it was the better part of an hour before they found shelter in the remains of what looked to be some sort of cabin. It was a meager place to pass a night, but the mountains weren't exactly overflowing with wayhouses. Velandryn waved a hand, and a pile of sodden logs reluctantly burst into flame.
Serana was staring at the flames, wordless. Velandryn, for his part, pulled out a few strips of dried meat. Glancing over at Serana, he held one out. "Care to eat?"
She gave a start, as though shocked that he was there. "No!" She looked him full in the face, eyes wide. "You're right, it's blood. I've gone without, and I used vampiric magic today. It doesn't just draw magicka like mortal spells do—"
"It pulls from the blood itself?" That was fascinating, if a bit unnerving. "So it hastens the necessity of feeding?"
Serana laughed without joy, hunching her body forward. "Something like that. I won't change physically like some lesser vampire, but the sun is going to hurt tomorrow. My powers will get more powerful as time goes, but…" she looked at him across the fire. "I can't promise complete control."
He'd been afraid of this. "Serana, how much do I have to fear from you right now?"
She didn't smile, didn't even try to pretend at levity or reassurance. "I can keep it in check. The last thing I want is to hurt you, but," she drew in a harsh breath, "maybe it would be good if I went hunting tonight. There's people a few miles away. Might be bandits, or—"
"And if they aren't?" He didn't raise his voice, recognizing how fragile this thing between them had become. "If you find them and they're innocent? I saw you with those outlaws, and that wasn't somebody who had control."
"I don't know, okay?" She was bent nearly double now. "I have to drink. I need it! I'm around you all day, smelling it, and—" she froze, and her eyes were wide as she looked up at him.
Something like ice crept down his spine. "Smelling what?" His voice was quiet. Do I really want to make her say it? She didn't answer, wouldn't even meet his eyes. "Serana, what did you mean?"
She looked away. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have traveled with you." She rose, but Velandryn was having none of it.
"If you think I'm going to let you go, in the state you're in, you are very much mistaken." He was still fatigued from his battle earlier, but flexed his fingers nonetheless, readying flame and his conjured sword. "I don't want to fight, but I won't unleash you on the world like this."
"Unleash me?" Her voice was almost a whisper. "Am I an animal? A weapon to keep on a chain? I don't belong to you, and you don't get to dictate where I go!"
"No, but you agreed to travel with me, to work with me. Right now, I'm less worried about Molag Bal's hold on you, and more about Sheogorath. Whoever I'm talking to, this isn't the woman who found me on the Solitude docks."
She froze for so long that Velandryn found himself preparing for an attack. Then, all the tension simply drained out of her, and she collapsed onto the half-rotten bed against the far wall. "Fine. I know you mean well. Just, please don't try to control what I can or cannot do. That's—just don't. Please."
"Agreed. And if you could refrain from threatening to go murder people in the night, I'd appreciate it." He let the air between them rest for a moment. "What exactly did you mean about being around me? Did it have something to do with my blood as Dragonborn?"
She laughed. "By the Lord, yes. I didn't know what I was smelling at first, but once I learned that you were Dragonborn, it all made sense." Sitting up, she pushed hair away from her eyes, absently braiding it into that complex plait that usually held it in place. "Your blood is…imagine all you've ever known is grey, and then one day you see red. When I fought the dragon, spilt his on the snow, it was different. Too much. Yours is better." She spoke haltingly, not focused on him.
He studied her for a time, hoping she'd say something else. Unfortunately, it seemed like she was waiting for him to respond. "So, about my blood…"
She jerked her head around, staring at him. "What did I say? When?"
"Just now." He studied her, wondering if she was jesting with him. "You don't remember?"
Her head fell into her hands. "Blood and shadow, I thought I was better than this. I'm farther gone than I thought."
"Than what?"
"Sometimes, when the hunger gets…bad, my mind goes…away. I was fine this morning, just the normal cravings, but that battle…I used too much. Right now, just then, all I could think was how badly I wanted…blood."
He noticed the pause. "My blood, right? That's what you were focused on."
Serana just looked at him, then shrugged, looking back down. "Guess the game's up. Yeah, it's yours. That dragon blood, or whatever you have, it's something else. More potent than any mortal I've ever run into, and right now it's really hard to focus on talking with you just sitting there."
By the time she was done talking, Velandryn had made up his mind. "Well, I guess this is it."
He didn't realize that Serana had moved until she was standing. Ancestors, but she's fast. "This is what?" There was a wildness to her eyes that made her look half feral. "You going to try and kill me?"
He blinked, unease and confusion swirling through his mind. "Why in Oblivion would I do that?"
"I just told you I want to drink your blood, and you're…you. This is what I was afraid of." She took a step back, eyes wide, and Velandryn noticed that a mist was rising around her. "I don't want to do—"
"Oh sit down!" He'd had a very long day, and while he knew what she had to be going through, he wasn't in the mood to sweeten anything. "I don't want you dead, Serana." He pulled a bag towards him. I think it's in here.
"What are you—oh." Serana trailed off as he pulled the mug from where he'd stashed it. "Are you…having a drink?" Her voice was as careful as he'd ever heard it, as though she were addressing a madmer.
Carefully, he placed the mug on the ground before him. "No, but you are." Before he had a chance to reconsider, he drew his dagger, removed a glove, and sliced into his hand. He squeezed, forcing blood into the cup. A rush of magicka, and more gushed out. Another, and the wound healed, leaving him slightly light-headed and holding perhaps the strangest beverage he'd ever encountered. And I once tried Greenvigor Sap.
Serana, for her part, was simply staring at him, mouth slightly ajar. "Are you—"
"Drink!" He thrust the mug out, and a bit of blood spilled onto his fingers. "Before I change my mind."
It was out of his hands before he'd finished the last word. Serana cradled the cup with both hands, and gulped the liquid down. He watched a bead of red trace its way down toward her chin, before her tongue snaked out and wiped it up. The sheer intensity of her body as she drank was a bit shocking. He had never seen her like this before, and the almost animalistic cast of her movements was more than a little unnerving.
Even after she'd finished and the mug had fallen to the ground, she remained entranced, eyes closed and mouth just slightly open. She raised a hand to touch her lips gently, a single finger tracing their shape. Then it fell back to her lap, and she only sat there, silent and unseeing.
Velandryn, waiting, began to wonder. Did I make the right decision? He hadn't been lying when he'd told her he'd known this moment would have to come. He'd made an irrevocable choice: to aid a vampire in the drinking of mortal blood. That the blood was his own only added another layer of uncertainty. My blood was freely given, at least insofar as I can tell. He doubted that the mortals kept as blood stock by vampires were afforded the luxury of such a choice.
Or is my trap simply harder to see? He knew that Dov lashed out when something attempted to smother his consciousness, but perhaps Serana was using a subtler method. It might not even be magical. She was a beautiful and clever woman, and skilled as she likely was in speechcraft and social manipulation, it was entirely possible that she'd designed a scenario where he would make the first move.
Or she's exactly as lost and desperate as she appears, and I've just taken the first step towards winning an ally for life. He almost felt bad about framing what he'd done in those terms, but altruism was a luxury he didn't think the Dragonborn could be afforded.
So, he waited for Serana to return from her reverie, and kept his fire close to hand. Just in case. He pulled more magicka into his body, replenishing the blood lost and clearing his mind. He had made the choice to do this, and if anything were to come from a vampire drinking the blood of a Dragonborn, he would have to see it through.
She had drunk the blood of kings. The Volkihar were reclusive, but her father had sought out the finest stock, and so once a petty jarl of some southern hold had been ambushed and dragged before them. She remembered thinking that he tasted no better than any other healthy Nord.
She had tasted human, elf, and more. Once, she had even fed on a lesser giant long removed from Atmora, though that had been one of her mother's experiments and the two of them had agreed it was a revolting experience.
In almost every case, the feeding came with turmoil. Guilt at what she was doing, and relief that she'd done it. It was an odd feeling, one crushing weight being replaced with another, but she'd grown used to it.
What passed her lips now was something utterly new. She'd long since accepted that she'd never feel another sunrise, but this warmth put her in mind of how it had once felt to have the first light of day upon her face. It was the warm embrace of her mother after she'd skinned her knee. It was that moment of strength as she stepped out of the sun, feeling her composure return as the shadows surrounded her. She was empowered and embraced, and never wanted it to end.
The blood nearly bubbled as it slid down her throat, and her tongue pressed forward of its own accord, seeking more in the bottom of the mug. She tilted it further, and felt some escape down one side of her mouth. No! She quickly reclaimed the precious meal, and continued her bliss.
Finally, reluctantly, she felt the last of the sweet liquid trickle down her throat. Its warmth suffused her, returning clarity to her senses and causing unnoticed tension to drain out of her limbs. Her face was sore for a moment, as muscles that had pulled her neck taut relaxed. She sighed and let the mug fall away.
One of her hands touched the ground, and she felt the cool earth between her fingers. Entranced, she inched her fingers into the dirt, savoring the sensation. Does it always feel this good? She couldn't recall if it had been like this the previous times she'd fed.
She opened her eyes a fraction, eager to see if the world looked as new as it felt. The first thing she saw, however, was Velandryn Savani, and everything crashed back into place.
His face was, as ever, set somewhere between stoic and stern. His eyes, though, were dancing, staring at her with almost frightening intensity.
What do I say now? Offering thanks seemed insufficient, and she'd never really considered the etiquette of how one treated a blood slave. Though he's far from that.
For his part, the Dragonborn seemed content to let her stew in indecision. He leaned back slightly and pulled a strip of some dark meat from his pack. Eyes still on her, he took a bite and chewed contemplatively.
Finally, she realized that he wasn't going to make this easy. I guess it's up to me. "Enjoying your meal?"
He opened his mouth, and she could already visualize the retorts. Less than you enjoyed yours was the kindest of them. Instead, he just nodded, and waved to the fire. "Very much, now come sit down."
She did, the glory of his blood fading in the reality of her situation. What's he thinking? She found her seat and took it, eyes never leaving his. "Thank you." Well, here we go. He nodded, but made no other reply.
Velandryn Savani had become a contradiction. He hated vampires, believed them not only dangerous but unholy. Molag Bal was some sort of primary evil in his belief system, and as far as she could tell, it was practically required to kill beings like her. And he let me drink his blood.
"Why?" Her plan, to let him talk and reveal his mind, was gone. She just wanted answers.
"Because you needed it." He took a long pull from a waterskin. "And I can always conjure more."
At those first four words, she felt something strange in her throat. Is that true? If so, if Velandryn Savani had given a vampire his blood because he saw her suffering, she had no way to repay him. She knew what he believed, what he'd said about lineage and more. For him to give his blood to a vampire was...words failed her.
"About the blood though, actually you can't." She hadn't intended to launch into this, but he'd mentioned it. And if I talk about this, I don't have to think about what just happened. Right now she wanted the Velandryn whose mind was dissecting a problem, not the one who had once cried out that the dead must burn. "My mother tested it. Blood obtained through magical regeneration doesn't have the same effect on us."
He tilted his head, and she knew she had him. "So it does nothing?"
"Not exactly. It's...refreshing, you could say, but not sustaining." There wasn't really anything to compare it to. "We never figured out why, but she thought it might be due to something in the soul."
Velandryn nodded. "AE and animus." Serana had only ever learned a little of the ancient Ehlnofex tongue, but she knew that word. Velandryn continued, still clearly thinking hard. "You didn't connect it to soul theory?"
She favored him with one of her better glares. "Your race didn't even exist the last time I studied the topic, so maybe you're a little forgiving if I haven't heard of something."
It wasn't a human smile, but she knew he was grinning behind those eyes. "In that case, I'll deign to explain." He steepled his fingers, gazing into the fire. "Current theories posit the duality of the soul into AE and animus. You know some Ehlnofex, right?" At her nod, he continued. "Like the name says, AE contains the identity, and animus the force. The way it was first explained to me is that AE is what makes us, well, us, and animus is the energy binding that identity to our mortal—or immortal, in some cases—form." He waved a hand grandly in her direction, and she had to chuckle.
She considered what he'd said. "So blood replenished by magicka doesn't have enough animus, so it doesn't fulfill our need?"
Velandryn shook his head. "I'd argue that it's actually the AE. Galvayn Luwani posited that AE and animus are inextricable in a living being, and studies back him up on that. When you drink, it's that AE that does...whatever it is that blood does for a vampire." Had he not been a Dark Elf, he would likely have grimaced. "You can't feed on animals, right?"
She shook her head. "Not really. You can get some energy, but not a full meal."
"Animals have exceptionally weak AE. That's the reason it's so easy to soul trap them. Mortals are harder. The AE doesn't want to let go. I'd bet it's the AE you're really after."
That made sense. "And you think it takes time for the AE to latch onto the new blood?"
"Anything new. Our bodies are a thousand tiny pieces and our AE decides that it's 'me.' Add blood that's still carrying the magicka used to create it? No question." He looked over at her, eyes slightly narrowed. "Out of...curiosity. How long before your...test subjects...could feed you again?"
"A day or two, usually. Depended on how much blood we took." She recalled drawing the knife across their legs, watching the liquid pool into the basin on the floor, and swallowed. Were we evil? "Takes blood less than an hour after leaving the body to lose its potency as well, in case you were curious."
"I hadn't thought to wonder, actually." Velandryn sighed. "Makes sense, I suppose. Humar Thrice-Wise called it the pressure of Creation. A thing in the absence of all other forces will seek to approximate the state of being closest to complete neutrality within its surroundings. For blood, I guess that means it loses whatever quality makes it belong. AE losing a grip faster than it gains one, though, that has to be worth something. I know Thesos Miln and Magistrix Siddra back in the Third had theories on permanence of self in the absence of physical anchors, but I never actually bothered reading their essays."
For a moment, Serana felt a stab of ire that Velandryn had the benefit of so much knowledge that she lacked. She wasn't really angry at him, though. It's just how things are. She'd been away, and now she was back. "So, your blood. You've the AE of a Dragonborn, and—"
"I don't know if you'd actually taste AE, though. Animus varies significantly across species lines, so I'd wonder—"
"Animus is irrelevant." No mortal got to lecture a vampire on what it meant to know a soul. "The amount might vary, but the core energy is the same."
"Five minutes ago you didn't even know that animus existed, Serana." His tone was insufferably smug.
She glared at him. "Don't use my name like you're doing me a favor, Vel." The tightness in his jaw as his teeth clenched brought her no small joy. "I might not have known the terms, but I spent decades watching my mother try to figure out why vampirism works the way it does. It all comes back to the soul, and you didn't even bother reading the essays." Now it was her turn to be smug.
A laugh. "I didn't read Thesos and Siddra because neither one could write worth a damn but they were both too proud to hire a scribe. I—"
"I know that what you call the AE is in the blood I drink. It's not about strength; there's something unique to each person-"
"But that's impossible." His eyes were bright, but it wasn't the fire of anger. He's enjoying this. "AE is absolutely indivisible. Every piece of scholarship indicates that."
She sighed, maybe making it just a little more dramatic than was necessary. "And I'm telling you that, given the rules you've laid out, something of the AE has to exist in the animus. It may be indivisible, but it isn't isolated."
"So, you've decided you know better than four thousand years of scholarship? Perhaps my blood swelled your head." Then, she saw the set of his face, the subtle tells around his eyes that let her know he'd been teasing.
She smiled at him. "I was trying to say thank you. Giving me blood can't have been easy for you."
"It wasn't." His eyes were sober now, and his long face harsh in the firelight. "There are those back home who'd cast me out for shedding blood on your behalf. The Temple has its schisms, but there isn't much leeway on the subject of, well…"
"People like me." She sighed. "How much should I read into that?" How much of a monster am I to you?
"A precept of Saint Llothis has been roaming in my head for a while now. 'Virtue is all the greater for coming from within.' You did the right thing despite having every chance to turn away. You left your own family to help me on this mad quest, and never even asked for an apology. That's worth a bit of my blood."
She felt an uncharacteristic warmth in her chest. "Well, I might come asking again, just so you know. Turns out Dragon Blood is something special."
"Really?" She'd been terrified he'd recoil, somehow show his disgust. Instead, he almost seemed pleased. "Should I be afraid to ask how?"
"To someone who's never had to drink blood? I wouldn't even know how to explain."
"Mmm." He left it there, however, and pulled a bottle from one of the packs. "Something for me." He cracked the wax stopper with a tap of his finger, and she could smell alcohol. Plus something else.
"Berries?"
He glanced up. "Greef. Another little luxury from Master Movarth of Morthal. This vintage predates the Red Year and I'm probably a damned fool for opening it, but considering the events of the day, I'd say I've earned the right."
She smiled back at him. "I've never tried it, you know, and this seems to be a day for new things."
A chuckle. "What's mine is yours."
Velandryn slept, the fire blazing beside him. Serana had assured him that she was more than capable of masking their presence from the road, and he'd wasted no time in getting as warm as possible. He'd mentioned using magicka to warm himself, but that had to be tiring. If I still got cold, doubtless I'd feel the same.
Now, she was pacing the bounds of the ward she'd erected. She'd made it large enough to hide the cabin. From outside, it would look as though there were nothing but snowy earth and darkness. It wouldn't work as well in direct light, but by night someone would have to cross the threshold to ever learn that they were there.
Eight paces at the widest, in a perfect sphere. She wasn't entirely certain why, but circles and spheres lent themselves well to magic. Maybe Velandryn knows why.
And there it was. She'd gone almost a whole minute without thinking about the Dunmer again. Why did he really do it? Nobody would give their blood just like that, especially the Dragonborn.
The only thing she could think of was that now he had her on a chain of sorts. I should have been more careful when I drank his blood. He would have to have been an idiot to have missed its effect on her, and it would be a grave mistake to call Velandryn Savani an idiot.
And now he's asleep. Just like that, he'd curled up under his cloak and was out. She'd expected more restlessness, given that he'd consumed a dragon soul today, but he'd seemed his usual self. Or he's just good at hiding it. It was a sobering reminder of how much she didn't know about her companion.
By the fire, something crunched on stone. She spun, but it was only Velandryn shifting in his sleep. A dreamless sleep. He'd mentioned to her that he hadn't had a single dream he could recall since learning he was Dragonborn. And don't I envy him that.
She sat down across the fire, but after a moment the flames began to hurt her eyes. She stood and sat next to Velandryn instead. There, she could look at her companion without pain.
Well, without physical pain. She'd thought she had Velandryn figured out, and then he went and did something like this. To give his blood to a vampire, without her using even the barest thread of magic on him, was something she'd never considered possible.
So why do I feel so uneasy? She should have been ecstatic. The one mortal she had decided to trust, and now he was pouring out his own blood for her. He hadn't been happy about it, of course, but she'd rather have an annoyed Velandryn sharing her camp than literally anybody else in Skyrim.
Even now, she could feel his blood within her. It was warmth moving through her body, flowing and spreading like a living thing. It reminded her of having a heartbeat, and every moment sent the tiniest trickle of warmth racing through her.
She turned to look at Velandryn, and suddenly the sight of him set her mind spinning. She bolted away from their campsite, dodging trees and leaping over uneven ground as she sped up the hillside. Every branch that whipped towards her face was dodged with careless ease and every rock that rose from the fallen snow avoided almost without thought. This is what I am.
The Dragonborn's blood was pounding in her ears, as if that meager cup had been ten flagons filled to their brims. She leapt upwards, one hand grasping a branch as it passed overhead. The motion spun her around and sent her careening away, but with inhuman grace she turned the tumble into a graceful downwards spin. She landed in the snow with a muffled thump, and she was off again.
Why am I like this? She was almost luxuriating in this power, as she never had before. Is it him? Perhaps this was what it meant to have the blood of a dragon.
She broke from the trees, and the dark rise that was the mountain's top loomed before and above. She crouched, breathing in and feeling her muscles bunch. Then, she leapt, thirty or forty feet up and ahead, landing with less than perfect grace and jamming fingers into cracks in the rock to stop herself falling back down. Then she was scrambling for purchase up the final few yards that kept her from the summit, until she stood, breathing heavily and with blood pounding in her ears, atop the crest at last.
She was facing north, and the world fell away at her feet. She could see their campsite below, Velandryn's fire muted behind the dull shimmer of her ward. To any eyes but her there would be nothing, but even from this distance of a mile or more, she could see that the Dunmer was curled tightly in his travelling cloak, head resting on the pack that contained what clothes he had. Their horses slept as well, one kicking at some dreamed irritant, and Serana found herself smiling at how normal that little detail was. No foe or beast approached her Dragonborn, and she let her gaze wander farther afield.
She felt as though she could see everything though the clear night air, and peered east and west for miles afield. The mountains and foothills were cold and wild, but far from empty. Imperial camps dotted the mountainside, neat lines of tents surrounded by earthen embankments. So too did the Stormcloak war parties, though she noted that while some of the blue-bannered camps matched their Imperial counterparts for organization, others were strewn about with haphazard abandon. Adding in the hunters, travelers, and bandits whose fires burned new stars against the mountains' shadows, there had to be hundreds of souls sharing these mountains with her and Velandryn tonight.
Looking out and beyond the high ridges and frozen forests, to where slopes and valleys became hills and meadows, she quickly picked out tiny details that no mortal would have been able to discern. There were still lights bobbing in Bromjunaar; after that battle she had the feeling the hubbub there would last for days. A squat stone fort dominating the low road to the west was alive with activity, and even as she watched a gate opened and light stabbed out from the dim grey walls.
And further still, the place where stone met water, and the vastness of what they had jokingly called the Hjaal-Marsh began. Morthal, thirty miles distant or more, was a cluster of reddish pinpricks of firelight, and the villages that squatted on the edge of the swamp itself were little more than smears of brightness in the fog rolling up out of the water.
And beyond...beyond was the marsh itself. Serana found herself seized with an unnerving desire not to peer too deeply into that mist-shrouded blackness. She was able to find the outcropping of rock where Movarth had dug his lair not far from Morthal itself, and she realized with a tiny thrill of terror just how large the fog-shrouded swamplands truly were. It would likely have taken her a full night or more to cross them, even travelling with as much speed as her body could sustain, and far, far longer for any party of mortals. Not to mention, I doubt you can go in a straight line. Since becoming a vampire she had encountered very few things that actually frightened her, but that black morass below was one.
It was with some relief that she tore her gaze away. She spent a moment considering the distant lights of Solitude, so faint and far that they could almost have been an illusion. Her time in that city had been a hazy dream of color and song, and she swore to herself that she would return someday.
Her gaze traveled west, and there…
She couldn't see it, but she knew that if she were to stretch out a hand and point, her finger would make a line directly to the heart of Castle Volkihar. It was usually a feeling so subtle that it was buried beneath the tide of sensation that was her life, but right now the weight of the black altar was strong. She could have been standing anywhere in the world, and she would be able to perfectly know the direction of the place that her first life had ended and her second began.
She couldn't have said how long she stood there, looking at that spot, too distant even for her eyes to find. This is who I am. She might have turned against her father, be carrying his greatest treasure on her back at this very moment, but she was still of the Volkihar, forever bound to the ice and the power of Molag Bal. No matter how far she ran, or what she did, she was—
I'm free, damn it! She had stymied her father's plans, chosen her path, and made it so. She'd chosen to accompany Velandryn Savani on his quest because he was worth following. I chose that! Her power might come from the Lord of Rape, her soul irrevocably defiled by his touch, but she alone chose where her next steps would lead.
As if the thought had conjured it, a wind rose from the south. It pulled at her cloak and set her hair to flutter. She turned to let it play over her face, but was struck still by what she beheld. By the Mace…
Here the mountains rose and fell as they marched south, lines of cresting peaks and slopes that harbored broad forests and secluded valleys. Each was its own world, but together they were merely a backdrop for what lay beyond.
She had never seen the plains of Whiterun, but had always privately believed the stories to be exaggerated. She had seen the ocean before, after all; how could any expanse of land, however vast, compare to that?
Now, though, she understood. Stones rose from the earth like icebergs, and villages and farms carved out small islands, but the plains of Whiterun seemed to go on forever. Grass and snowy earth formed patterns and added texture, but it truly was an ocean of tundra. The sky above was clear, and Masser hung fat and red over the scene while Secunda, high above, shone white.
It took her a moment to find her bearings, and another to pick out the few landmarks she could recognize. Far to the south and east was a shadowed bulk wreathed in light; that could only be the hill of Whiterun. A few rivers, known from her maps, traced their way along the ground, and she could even make out a dark line to the southwest that had to be an outcropping of the Druadach Mountains. The Reach, then. Finally, there was the town of Rorikstead, the second largest settlement on the Whiterun Plains after the hold capital itself. It hadn't existed in her day, but she'd been devouring every map she could get her hands on, and the size of that particular settlement meant it could be nothing else.
She knew that there were mountains to the south, but even from her lofty perch she could make out no sign of them. A few hillocks and lone peaks, but nothing that could be considered a true range. I honestly didn't believe that land could be this flat, or this vast. Mountains had always been a fact of life, and a landlocked horizon without them was a little bit off-putting.
Except…There were some, near Whiterun but clearly beyond it. They rose alone, dark shapes nudging up against the stars. One in particular caught her eye, a monumental bulk of shadow, higher even than the rest. Something about it was odd, though. It lay past Whiterun, and the city's peak didn't even reach the horizon. Not to mention, she could swear that something at its crown put her in mind of swirling winds.
If that mountain is as far away as I think it is, it must be…
Unless her eyes were lying or there was some trick of the land, that summit would have to be miles high. And that means…
She didn't know if she believed as the Nords did, that Kyne had breathed life into the world, but every story of the Nords began on the Throat of the World. The greatest mountain on Tamriel. The seat of the first goddess, where the very wind echoed with Thu'um.
And their destination. Up there, apparently, were a bunch of old greybeards who could teach Velandryn how to use his power. She had to admit, however, that if there was any place in Skyrim where the Voice could be understood, it would have to be Snow-Throat.
And here I stand. She recognized the almost poetic nature of the thing. Poised on the mountain, past and future laid out before her as if on a map. And all I have to do is—
Something was wrong. She spun, searching, but whatever it was that was tickling the back of her neck was—
My ward! Something had, impossibly, penetrated her protection. She could feel it, magic probing at defenses, but whoever was doing it shouldn't even have been able to tell it was there.
Unless…
Unless they were a vampire, and trained in the mystic arts of the Volkihar.
With a grunt, she threw herself off the mountaintop, hurtling down towards their camp.
I can't let anything happen to him!
In his days and nights trekking across the Haafingar coast and mountains, Velandryn had developed a rhythm for sleeping out in the cold. He would make a fire, wrap himself in all of the clothing he could, and then curl as close to the flames as was safe. He slept lightly this way, the cold never far away, and enough of his mind remained awake that he could pull on his magicka. He threaded this through the flame, pulling warmth into his own body and stoking the fire in turn. It was a sort of second breathing, a push and pull that turned the fuel for his fire into warmth within his flesh.
He was privately convinced that this technique had saved his life out there, for some of those nights had been so cold that his breath had caught in his throat each time he inhaled. Plus, it had allowed him to develop some new skills. One was that his control over his own magicka had grown by leaps and bounds, allowing finesse of which he'd never thought himself capable. Another, he learned as he awoke for no reason that he could discern, was an odd sensitivity to anything that disturbed the flame from which he was pulling his warmth.
He opened his eyes slowly, his body resisting the command to awaken fully. Someone was making their way towards him from the darkness, moving gingerly as if afraid of the flame.
Velandryn sighed. "Serana, what are—"
The light caught his companion, and Velandryn Savani's body went tight with shock. Instead of the sweeping black cloak that Serana always wore, he saw a ragged thing that might once have been a fur coat. In place of elegant curves framed by finely-made armor and golden eyes that danced in half-light, he saw a thin body draped in strips of tattered hide, and a face that was mere skin stretched over bone. The eyes were yellow, to be sure, but they shone with cruelty, and a wide smirk revealed rows of sharpened teeth and a pair of wicked fangs.
It's the wrong fetching vampire!
Velandryn pushed on the fire, and it erupted outwards, a burst of orange that hinted at blue as his magicka heated it beyond what wood could provide. He was already connected from his time sleeping beside the flames, and it was the work of a moment to guide a burst of heat towards the intruder. "Who are you?"
The vampire snarled and danced away from the flame. "Doesn't matter. You're the one—" he ducked under a gout of blue fire and patted himself quickly to check for damage, producing a pair of long knives from sheaths strapped to his red-and-black-armored legs. "Doesn't matter!" Blades out, the intruder lunged forward.
Ancestors! Velandryn had been asleep not ten seconds earlier, and conjuring a sword was still beyond his bleary abilities. He threw out a wave of fire, but the vampire dodged to one side, and darted in. Another few steps, and he'd be close enough to strike.
Go fuck your mother, abomination! Anger burned away weariness, and his sword sprang into being just in time to clumsily parry the attacker's strike. His weapon was more unstable than usual, spitting off flame and with jagged edges that flickered into and out of existence. As he drew it into a guard, however, he was pleased to see the vampire retreat warily.
At least he's not as fast as Serana. A flick of his wrist sent fire hurtling towards the vampire, and another sent a gust to take out his legs. The undead hissed and darted away as the flames licked at him, but appeared relatively unharmed. I'd wager that armor's enchanted. It was the first thing he'd do if he was a vampire, after all.
Even attuned to the flame as he was, Velandryn could feel the task of controlling multiple bursts begin to take its toll. Once he moved the fire away from the wood that fueled it, he was essentially practicing telekinesis, and that was perhaps the most draining thing one could do with magicka. Reluctantly, he let the campfire reform its natural shape and once more moved to put it between him and the vampire. "What is it you want from me?"
The vampire stared at him, head cocked slightly. He said nothing, seemingly studying Velandryn. Then, he shrugged. "The Dread Father wants you dead." And with that, he was leaping back into the darkness beyond the cabin's ruined walls.
Four be damned! Velandryn summoned his night-eye, trading sight in darkness for the ability to look at the flames without wincing. He'd been working on it and knew that equalization was possible, but couldn't quite work out how to make it all fit together. This isn't the time, Savani! Something moved above and behind, out of the corner of his eye, and he spun, but far too slow.
The vampire's knives were out and before him, even as the undead hurled himself into the air. Velandryn had sent fire into the air all around him, but the assassin was already turning and landing in a corner, dodging to one side and ducking around the thin flames that were all Velandryn's panic and haste could manage now—
Now! Velandryn didn't even have a half-second's warning before the other was charging—too close now to dodge. He was on him, he was—
A crack sounded through the night, and a dark shape collided with his attacker. A grunt and a thud, and the assassin was thrown into a wall. The whole thing happened so close that Velandryn was knocked bodily to the ground, and for a long moment just laid there, trying to understand. I'm…saved?
It was Serana. His night-eye had been lost as he'd been knocked about, and so she emerged like a wraith from the night. Her luminous skin had never looked more beautiful, and the fury in her eyes—though it was fading fast as she approached him— was more than a little heartwarming.
"I'm so sorry." She was offering her hand, pulling him from the ground with effortless strength. "I didn't think they'd send assassins so soon." The vampire groaned, and Serana's blade was at its pale throat in an instant. "You. Don't. Move."
Velandryn studied the both of them, his assailant's words coming back to him. Dark Father… "You think this is one of Harkon's?"
"Who else?" Velandryn was no expert on faces, but haunted eyes were easy to pick out. "This is because of me."
The vampire, however, didn't seem to think much of that. He gave a harsh laugh, then spat on the ground. "That's for your Harkon! I serve only the Mistress and the Void!"
Velandryn cursed, and Serana looked over at him. "What?"
"I know who he works for." He waved at the assassin. "Why does the Dark Brotherhood want me dead?"
The vampire gave a bark of laughter. "Because someone paid for it! The Black Sacrament was completed!"
"I almost feel honored." Velandryn conjured his sword. "I doubt there's a path out of this where the writ is annulled?" The vampire only stared at him, and Velandryn shrugged. "I want answers, though, so maybe we start there. How did you find me?"
In response, the vampire tried to escape by ducking under Serana's blade. Her other hand, however, was more than capable of driving the wind out of his lungs. He collapsed on the ground, wheezing.
Serana leaned in close. "I take it I should have heard of this group?"
"Most people have. A guild of assassins. I can give you the history later." He squatted before the vampire. "Should I ask again?"
The assassin coughed. "Blood. Had you made leaving Solitude, but lost you in Morthal. Battle with the dragon, though, had to be you. Dragon blood everywhere. Nords keep calling you Dragonborn, even Astr—everyone saying it. Then, smelled your blood on the air tonight. Followed that."
"Hmm." Velandryn glanced over at Serana, who was conducting an intensive study of her gloves and the filigree on her sword. "Potent stuff, my blood."
The vampire snarled laughter. "I always starve myself before a kill. I can smell you from ten miles when the wind blows right."
Velandryn nodded absently. "Good to know." With a glance over at Serana, he said no more.
A long moment passed, as everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Velandryn, for his part, could have happily punched someone out of sheer indignation.
The Dark Brotherhood! It was bad enough to be targeted for death, but one would hope that their assassin would at least have the good sense no to be one of those. If I was back in Morrowind, they would have just used the Morag Tong or sent the Bal Molagmer like civilized folk.
Well, he might as well get this over with. Vampire and Dark Brotherhood? He's dead ten times over. "Anything you want to tell me, or do I just have to stake your body out here as a message for the rest of you?"
The vampire grinned. "Won't be my body they see." Then, as if he were made of smoke, the assassin rippled, and vanished.
Serana nearly left the ground, she started so hard. "He's gone!"
Velandryn was pouring magicka into his senses. Any sound, any shimmer. "Yes, I noticed."
Serana was turning this way and that. "No, he shouldn't have been able to do that. I should have—"
"You've been gone for a while. Maybe the rest of your kind picked up some new tricks." Velandryn exhaled, carefully letting his magicka spread around him. Five paces. If the vampire got that close, he'd detect it. Ten.
Serana raised a hand, and a shudder passed through the air, quite ruining Velandryn's attempts at detection. "I command you! Volkihar! By the blood we share! You cannot disobey!" And now she's shouting. Velandryn almost let his magicka go out of frustration, but managed to hold on. Ancestors, what I wouldn't give for a warm bed in a snug room!
Serana's shout faded. A moment more passed, and Velandryn still heard nothing. "Apparently he can disobey." He was in a strange place, somewhere between terror and fury. It was almost calming, being this close to completely losing his senses. I really just wanted a good night's sleep.
"All Volkihar come from my family. If he doesn't serve my father, his blood can be bound if I so choose. I may not have sired him, but I am a pure-blood." Serana's voice was rising, something not unlike panic slipping through. "Do you think he ran?"
"Doubt it. I've never heard of the Dark Brotherhood giving up, and this bastard hardly seemed beaten." A breath, and his magicka spread further, to the limit of his ability. Where in Oblivion is he?
Serana's head pivoted at something Velandryn couldn't discern, and she darted off without a word. Inside of an instant, she was nothing more than a shape among the trees.
Velandryn swore quietly to himself. Vampires.
Serana could feel the other one ahead, like an itch behind her eyes. His blood was too close to long escape her notice, though the nature of vampire hierarchies meant she might well be able to hide from him. Not like this, though. She could feel the unbearable rage bating in her chest, and this assassin had to feel it as well. Even if he somehow ignored my command. No matter what Velandryn said, unless he was sworn to a pureblood Volkihar…
Mother? The thought came upon her like a sickness, and she shook it away. No! There was no way that the Lady Valerica would harbor assassins and this Dark Brotherhood. She always hated butchery. Serana would catch this one and have his secrets. And then another threat to Velandryn is gone. But the thought remained, a tiny suspicion that refused to die somewhere in the back of her mind. She focused on the chase, and shut out troublesome distractions. Kill this one. Get answers
She caught the vampire's presence ahead, and sent a spray of icy shards through the air. When she heard the tearing of cloth and the sickly smell of a vampire's wound, she drew her blade and closed for the kill.
His flesh was already closing, the shimmering shadows of a vampire's healing swirling around him. When he was near enough to her he tried to do something, but she drove the point of her sword through his belly. He gave a reflexive gasp, and she pulled the blade free and stabbed it deep into his side. Have to cut him to pieces, it's the only way to stop him. As he doubled over, she lifted him bodily from the ground, slamming him into a tree then throwing him back down the earth.
"How did you disobey me? Who is your master?" She had to know. Her mother couldn't be trying to kill Velandryn; it simply wasn't possible.
Even with his guts exposed to the night air, the vampire was laughing. "You're old. Your ward, your magics, old, old old." A hacking cough. "Old blood's weak, they say the first Volkihar are dead or hiding. And I serve the Brotherhood. Sithis shields my soul."
"Sithis?" That made no sense. "The changing void?"
"The Dread Father, you relic!" His face was a rictus of hate. "Kill me, and my soul goes to him forever!" He spasmed, and somehow another blade appeared in his hand. It stabbed towards her neck, but Serana was faster. Her sword severed his hand at the wrist, and he sagged back onto the snow, laughing madly. "What are you, old-blood? So fast, so strong, so stupid!" Another laugh. "You think the elf is your friend? Or something else? I smelled the lust. Thought it was his." He laughed until the sound became a wheezing cough. "There are masters and thralls, and if you aren't one you're the other."
She stared down at him, disgust at his mocking lies threatening to overwhelm her anger. "I'm glad I never made another vampire. I can know I wasn't responsible for you."
"Strong words, elf-slave." He tried to stand, but the stump of his hand was slowly oozing old and coagulated blood. When he tried to brace himself on that arm, it slipped out and sent him sprawling to the ground again.
Pathetic. "Why taunt me? Hoping I'll kill you faster?"
"Pain is…nothing. My soul will…join the Dread Father…in the void." Despite his brave words, he was gasping. "You will … be a slave forever. First the elf…then to…Bal."
"So will you." She hated thinking about that, the fact that, no matter what happened, she would one day end up in Coldharbour.
Another cough, and this time something dark flecked the skin around his mouth. "Sithis…the Dread Father…join… in the Void." He tried to rise one final time, but her master's curse was no longer enough to hold his will and body together. She could almost see it as the life ebbed out of him, and the presence of the nameless assassin faded away. His body too seemed to drain, and less than ten seconds after his death his corpse could have been mistaken for something left outside for a week.
Which left her alone with far more thoughts than she was ready to handle just then. She turned back towards the campsite, but heard something rushing through the underbrush. Another assassin? She picked her blade up off the ground, readying it to skewer whoever—
Oh. Velandryn ducked around a tree with both hands aflame, slowing when he saw her. I must be off my game, not to know it was him. His presence aside, she'd actually seen the light. Feeling a bit foolish, she sheathed her own weapon.
She could tell the moment he saw the assassin's corpse, as his posture changed from one of battle to something that spoke deeply of discomfort. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and then nodded in her direction. "Quite the day, no?" He sounded unbearably tired. He took another few steps, only to stumble over an exposed root and fall to his knees. His hands lost their flame, leaving him looking like nothing more than a tired and freezing elf in a Skyrim winter.
She was at his side in an instant, helping him to his feet as he cursed quietly to himself. She put a hand on his back and turned them towards the camp. "Come on. Let's get back."
She gritted her teeth and made to stoke the fire once she'd sat him down, but he waved a hand and the flames rose higher. "Thank you, Serana." His voice was a bit stronger now, but still quavered worryingly. "I'm not sure what…" he trailed off into silence, and she turned to see his head slumped down, eyes closed.
"Velandryn!" She reached out more by instinct than anything else, and grabbed him before he collapsed fully onto the ground. She was no healer, but a quick inspection with her magicka showed that his vitals were strong. Except that he fell asleep mid-sentence.
A soft shake did nothing to wake him, and he merely groaned when she used more force. Offering a silent apology, she let ice accumulate around one hand, then raised it to the neckline of his heavy clothes. With a thought, the ice was free, and running along his skin.
Velandryn Savani jolted awake, eyes wide. "M'bak velto fil'cheth— S'rana?" His red eyes bored holes into her own.
She didn't bother with an apology or justification. "Something's draining your strength, and I can't fix it without your help. I need you to tell me what you're feeling."
He nodded absently. "Nesseth nrae—mmm, sorry, just so tired. Like I haven't slept in days."
"You're not poisoned." She passed a hand over his brow. "Your blood is clean."
Velandryn chuckled. "Good…bad to have that get dirty…" he started laughing again, quietly and mostly to himself.
Serana was growing more and more concerned. "Do you feel weak? Sluggish?" the elf made no answer, and she found herself shaking him again. "Tell me what's happening to you!"
He was wide awake again. "Not poison! Spell!" He breathed deeply, and his eyes were already closing. "Willpower, and…stamina?" He shook his head. "Can't think. Can't…focus."
Serana cursed to herself as she went rummaging through Velandryn's packs, looking for anything that might be of help. She found a number of potion bottles, but all of them were labeled in what had to be Dunmeris. Damn it all. Unless she knew what to look for, she didn't have time to stumble through translations.
Beside her, Velandryn Savani gasped, delirious and more than half-asleep. Desperately, Serana searched the saddlebags for something, anything that could help.
Finally, she grabbed Velandryn and hauled him to the bottles. "Which of these? Which one dispels magicka?" She could, if she had time, try and divine the purpose of each potion on her own, but curses that drained or damaged the body could be deadly. They were rare, but vampires had always liked them, and a vampire assassin was exactly the sort to use one in exactly this manner. Right at the start. It would act slowly, making sure the target eventually fell. They wouldn't even notice something was wrong until it was too late.
The Dragonborn stared at the bottles for a long moment. "Need to dispel. Rare." He sighed, eyes closing. "Don't have it." He turned away. "Let me sleep. 'll figure it out in the morning."
If you're not dead by then. Right now, every idea going through her head was a bad one. It was possible that if she drained his blood she could take some of the magic into herself. Or, it could kill him.
She could try casting an incantation of dispel herself. Except I'm sorely out of practice healing things as fragile as mortals, so that could kill him. Not to mention, she'd never been much of a healer really.
She could just wait, keep an eye on him and hope that the curse wore off on its own. And hope he doesn't freeze to death before morning. However, the fact that the spell was gone but the effect remained suggested that the effect was not intended to be temporary. Which means…
It came to her like a bolt from the blue. Of course! She's still need to do some translation, but Dunmeris and Old Aldmeris weren't that dissimilar. Hopefully.
And here we have…
When she was done, she had a potion of stamina, one of health, and one of magicka. At least, that's what Velandryn thinks they are. They might not restore him entirely, but with luck they would give him enough of a jolt that he could use his own healing abilities to fix whatever was going on inside of him.
Well, here goes…
Velandryn groaned. He had a splitting headache, every muscle he had was on fire, and he'd vomited out the meager contents of his stomach. He glared up at Serana, watching from some distance away. "Thanks."
"So, your head's clear now?" She'd been insistent that he pour magicka into his body to restore his mind, shouting at him until he'd done so. Now, he was torn between gratitude and a good-natured desire to set her on fire for making him endure this cure.
"An immortal lifespan, and you never bothered to learn healing." He found one of the water skins, and took a drink. "Made me heal myself. What kind of cut-rate companion am I putting up with?"
Serana snorted. "I'm pretty sure you're still holding onto some of my share of Movarth's bounty. When you start paying, I'll start healing."
Velandryn felt just barely self-possessed enough to try and raise an eyebrow. "You really want to start pinching drakes?" He gave her a grin. "I can always stop bleeding, if we're playing that way."
Something not unlike panic blinked through her eyes, but was swiftly replaced by a knowing light. "Now hold on—"
Velandryn couldn't help but laugh. "Seriously, thank you. That was one of the nastier things to happen to me recently. I couldn't even think straight enough to put together a spell."
The vampire nodded. "It seemed like a nasty curse." Then, grimacing, she held out one more potion. "You'll also want this."
Velandryn recognized that bottle, and his blood went cold. "Oh."
"Some spells can also infect. I'm not sure you have it, but by the time we know—"
He'd already grabbed the bottle out of her hand and drained it, ignoring the protest as the pungent mixture hit his stomach. "The last time I might have become a vampire, you were a lot more conflicted."
He got a golden glare in response. "We already had that battle. I respect you enough to accept your choice."
He tilted his head, studying her. "And also, I'll bet it'd wound your pride if some Dark Brotherhood f'ghan succeeded where you failed."
He only got a shrug in response. "Think that if you want." She settled in next to him. "You're in no condition to travel just yet, and I don't think you're going back to sleep." Ignoring his snort of derision, she pressed on. "The Dark Brotherhood, are they all vampires? Is that why you hate them so much?"
"Not quite." He wondered briefly where to start, then decided that he didn't much care. "They're assassins."
"I thought Dunmer liked assassins." Nords liked to gossip when they saw a Dark Elf around, and Serana had exceptional hearing.
Velandryn blinked. "I recognize that assassination serves a vital purpose. Targeted violence can avert larger conflict, and Righteous Murder is sacred to the Three." He sighed, trying to give voice to his complicated relationship with sanctioned killing. "Back home, it's a tool, and one that should only be used with purpose."
"So let me guess. The Dark Brotherhood doesn't play by those rules." Serana's voice was drier than the Foyada Molamma.
"They're a death cult, nothing more. I've heard stories that they started off as Morag Tong, but honestly I don't know too much about them. Just that we drove them out of Morrowind a century ago. Honestly, this is the first I've thought about them in…years, I think." He wasn't lying, or even hiding anything. He honestly hadn't given the Dark Brotherhood any thought in a very long time. As well worry about…the Blades, or the Mythic Dawn.
Serana was silent for a moment. "So, someone wants you dead. Any theories?"
Velandryn shrugged. "I had a few thoughts. The Stormcloaks can't be happy with a Dunmer getting the honor of being Dragonborn, maybe one decided to do something about it. I feel like the Empire would just send their own assassins if they thought I was threatening their legitimacy, but maybe it's somebody acting without orders. I've met three jarls and they all treated me fairly, but one of the others might see some advantage in killing me."
"So that's a no on any actual leads then."
"You asked for theories, and my mind's not quite back to where it was." He drained a full waterskin, which did a bit to stop the headache's slow return.
Serana looked thoughtful. Somehow, she was easier to read than humans. I think it's the eyes. They weren't as revealing as his own, but they helped.
He grabbed a pack, and went to grab the reins of his somewhat leery horse. "Come on." He didn't much feel like joking right now "The sooner we reach the Greybeards, the better." If I'm a target because I'm Dragonborn, I'd be wise to at least seek out masters of the Thu'um."
"You're sure you want to cross mountains at night? In Skyrim?"
"There's not an Orc's hope in the sand that I'll get any more sleep tonight, so we might as well start moving." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm already a shivering mess. A campfire won't fix that."
As they doused the campfire and Velandryn pulled on his night-eye again, he found himself wondering just where Serana had been. When he asked, however, she only gave a noncommittal grunt, and tugged on the horse she was leading hard enough to make it whinny in protest.
Fine then, have your secrets. He doubted she was hunting, and she'd arrived in time to help him. Maybe she was just watching the moons. Chuckling at the absurdity of that thought, Velandryn followed the vampire up the mountain, into the night.
Regarding your previous communication, I have compiled some eighty pages of fact and speculation concerning the Dragonborn Velandryn Savani, and the return of the dragons more generally. Much of what I did find leads me to believe that there is further information regarding the nature of a Dragonborn in the Imperial City, but others are better positioned than I to investigate. Winterhold as well doubtless contains much that exists nowhere else, though I am known to them and would thus face increased scrutiny.
Furthermore, it would appear that the situation with the Volkihar has changed. My familiars tell me that the castle is in an uproar, with patrols leaving nearly daily. There is also speculation that one of the lost members of the Volkihar family has been found. Whether this is the mother or the daughter is unknown at the moment, as is their current location. While I find it highly unlikely that Harkon will make any significant moves, this atmosphere of unrest could work to his advantage.
By the grace of our Order, I remain.