Chapter 23 – The Ways to Ivarstead

"Well, it took you long enough."

Velandryn briefly considered a smile, then decided against it. "I'm here, aren't I? Is that not what you wanted?"

Jarl Balgruuf sighed. "I'd be a damn sight happier if you were returning from High Hrothgar, but I suppose this will have to do." He looked over at Serana. "Do I even want to know what happened since the last time I saw you?"

Not thirty seconds after passing through the Riften gate, Lydia heard a shout. "You there, wait!"

And I was so close. Lydia was less than a hundred yards from the last house along the road leading to Ivarstead. So damn close. She turned, sighing, but to her surprise it was neither a guard nor a criminal who faced her. Instead, a Dunmer in the robes of a priest was waving at her from an alleyway. "By the grace of Mara, please! I must speak with you!"

Lydia had no quarrel with Mara or her order, but she'd never been much of one for the Mother. Still, she shrugged and gestured for the other woman to approach. Never a bad idea, getting on a priest's good side. "What's the problem?"

"You're headed to Ivarstead, aren't you?"

Lydia froze, thought for a long moment, and then deliberately put a hand on the pommel of her sword. "Now, what would make you think that?" She remembered Morrowind, and how another pretending to serve the gods had tried to kidnap her. Who better for a spy to disguise themselves as than a holy woman?

The priest, however, only smiled. "You must forgive me, child, but I know of your passing. A lone woman, leading a laden horse, going to Ivarstead with a Dwarven shield upon her back. I could not see her face, but it cannot be coincidence, my meeting you here."

Lydia nodded reluctantly. She might actaully be telling the truth, simply because a lie would be more believable. "A shield, huh? Let me guess, I'm the only woman you've seen leaving town today?"

"My visions don't lie. Mother Mara tells me you'll be going to Ivarstead?"

Reluctantly, Lydia nodded. "What does she want?"

Relief flashed across the priest's face. Well, at least I know she's not from Morrowind. "There's a woman in Ivarstead, barely more than a girl. You'll help her, bring her the Mother's gift."

Lydia had to laugh at that. "Holiness, love's an area I've had little luck in. Still, I suppose I can do my best. Does she like flowers?"

The priest bowed slightly. "She is torn between two men, each offering her a different life. You will know her by her amulet, bearing our Lady's crest." She handed Lydia an amulet of Mara.

Lydia looked down at it, a strange sensation wriggling in her gut. "Look… I'm happy to bring this along but I think you might have something wrong. I'm not the right person for this at all." She'd never worn one of these amulets herself, of course. Typically you only did that when you had a prospective partner in mind. This all feels wrong.

The Dunmer gave her a quizzical look. "Why would you think that, child? Do you believe yourself unworthy of love?"

Lydia snorted at that. "More like I don't have time. There's a lot going on, and I can bring a message if you want, but I think you'd better go to another if this woman needs advice."

"Mother Mara does not lie. You are going to Ivarstead, and when you are there, you will do her work." The priest smiled, and laid a hand on Lydia's arm. Through steel and fur, Lydia couldn't feel a thing. "The Book of Love opens for you, child. Do this, and surely you too will be blessed."

A wave of warmth rushed through Lydia, and she stiffened at the telltale signature of Restoration magic. I just can't get away from the stuff! "What did you do?"

"You will walk straight and true. You will turn, but not stray. Ivarstead lies before you, now go!" The woman's voice had turned commanding, carrying more power than before. Lydia felt herself straightening. "Your legs will not tire until you wish to sleep, and you will not sleep but before the hearth. This is the blessing of Mara, given to those who set out upon the road. Go, child of Mara, and bring her light to the world!"

When she came to, Lydia was walking down the road. She spun, but Riften was already far away, receding into the morning haze. What manner of witchcraft was that? The Hearth-Blessings were powerful, to be sure, but Mara's sphere was not the traveler.

And this is why I'm not a priest. Mara was one of the good ones, held in high esteem by Nord and Imperial alike. She liked gods like that. No matter which side of things you came down on, Mara was alright. If the Hearth-Mother wants me to go to Ivarstead, I guess I can go for her as well.

Maybe her thane was rubbing off on her, or maybe she was just eager to be done with this tortuous side-track.

Humming, she continued west.

Serana might have gaped like a fool upon first seeing the scale of Whiterun Hold, but its grandeur had dimmed somewhat by the third day of trekking across the wide tundra. "By the Mace! How much further?" Whiterun had been small and far from that mountaintop, to be sure, but this was absurd even for the largest plain in Skyrim.

Irritatingly, Velandryn didn't seem phased at all. "A few days, maybe." The plains did have enough hamlets and way-houses that they hadn't had to sleep outdoors since the night of the assassin's attack. Unfortunately, that meant it had been impossible for her to try and get more of the Dragonborn's blood. A single cup wasn't enough to last her for nearly this long, and she was seriously considering pulling him off to the side of the road and just asking him to slice his hand open again.

Every time, though, something stopped her. He offered last time. If she asked, it would be something else. A price for her services, or coercion. No. She'd accept when he offered, and not before. And as to what it means, to crave his blood this badly... She'd think about that later. When I'm not so thirsty.

The sun was hidden by a cloud for the moment, and so Serana's senses, while not at their height, were far sharper than most mortals could boast. Her vision grew washed out and indistinct where the sun shone unimpeded, but her ears were as keen as ever. She felt a shift in the wind, and turned her head to feel it creep under her hood and tousle her hair. Then, on that breeze came the sound of hooves on cobbled road. "Velandryn, someone's coming."

The Dunmer glanced around, and Serana felt a tiny surge of magicka around him. He squinted at the place where the road vanished into the glare of the sun, and nodded. "Nice thing about these plains, you can always see."

I can't. She didn't feel like sharing that information with her companion just yet, though. The ground was mostly flat, so Velandryn could definitely see far further than her. And with magicka, he can make out details as well as I could at night. It might be more work for him than it was for her, but she didn't love the idea of simple spells being able to replicate the advantages her vampirism bestowed.

Even while recognizing that Velandryn had done nothing wrong, Serana felt the familiar tickle of irritation somewhere deep in her throat. He was a noble ally to be sure, but somehow his transgressions, no matter how minor, struck at her in a way nobody else's could.

He doesn't even know what he's doing! He'd cheerfully admitted to modifying night-eye in an attempt to improve its functionality, and even solicited her help when one unfortunate attempt had blinded him for a few hours. Once his sight returned, however, he was right back at it, carefully and methodically trying to destroy what made her special.

That's not fair. The problem was, there was no reason he should stop. Asking him to cripple his ability to fight at night because of her own ego would have been insane, as would her telling him not to try and see things far away. Especially since I can't right now. Still, she didn't have to like it.

The other travelers were drawing closer, and Velandryn's posture shifted. It was subtle, but in an instant he'd gone from simply a wandering Dunmer to someone who was ready to fight.

Serana placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, but didn't pull the cloak away to let it be seen. The odds were low that these travelers would be a threat—everyone they had encountered in Whiterun Hold thus far had mostly seemed eager to be about their business—but ever since learning about this Dark Brotherhood, the thought of danger was never far from her mind.

Velandryn, however, was perhaps being a bit too paranoid. She leaned in towards him. "You know, I doubt they'd ride up in broad daylight."

The Dragonborn gave her a sidelong look. "Which is exactly what they're counting on." Still, he relaxed slightly. Not too much, though. Jokes aside, she too looked sideways at everyone they passed.

This, however, seemed an unlikely group to hide an assassin. Resolving out of the sun-glare was a band of some ten or so riders, each on a heavy horse. Their armor was made of metal scales and tanned hides, and all carried some form of long weapon. She saw spears, halberds, and even a huge spiked ball at the end of a pole that had to be nine feet long. That last was being carried by an Orc, so bulky that, though he seemed to be only a bit taller than his Nord companions, he made his horse look half a pony.

The lead rider, however, was far smaller in size. Likely the leader from the golden trim on his cloak, he looked even smaller than Velandryn himself. Judging by his stature, as well as his thick dark hair, he was likely an Imperial. His most notable feature, however, was the massive network of scars that marred half his face. When he saw them, he raised a mailed fist and blew a short blow on a bronze-chased horn. "Dragon Guard, hold!" This one might look like an Imperial, but his accent was all Skyrim.

Velandryn froze, and, as the column came to a halt, began to laugh. Serana stared at him, but the leader had already dismounted, and was coming towards them at what was almost a run. "Dragonborn! You've returned!"

"Kenrik of…White Bend, was it?" Velandryn's voice was warm, and he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "It has been too long."

"Green Bend, but no longer." Kenrik's hand clamped onto Velandryn's shoulder as well, and he leaned in close. "They're calling me Dragon-Spear now." His voice was too quiet for any mortal besides the Dragonborn to make out.

I wonder if it bothers Velandryn, me knowing everything anybody says to him. There had been a bard at one of the inns they'd passed who had been making disgusting advances on her companion, up until Serana had suggested that she go play in the corner farthest away from them for the remainder of the evening. Better that than letting some vapid farm wench drape herself all over him. The last thing she needed was her companion getting entangled with some simple Nord on the road. Though I'm sure he'd want nothing to do with her.

Velandryn laughed again. "By the ancestors, you earned that!" His voice pulled Serana back to the here and now, returning her focus to this newcomer.

Kenrik Dragon-Spear's face looked fit to split from grinning, though his smile was twisted by scars. He waved at the riders behind him. "We're the new Dragon Guard. The jarl ordered our commission just after you left. I'm second in command, and patrol leader for the western hold."

"A lot of ground to cover." The Dragon Guard might be better-equipped than the group they'd had at Bromjunar, but Serana was still fairly certain they'd collapse under dragonfire. I'd take Velandryn over the lot of them any day. The Dragonborn seemed genuinely interested in the Dragon Guard, however. Or he's better at faking it.

"Oh, it's not just us! We've eight other patrols right now! Nearly a hundred men west of Whiterun alone!"

Velandryn made a noncommittal sound. "So long as you aren't trying to kill them. You'll need more than this for that."

Kenrik tapped his scars. "You don't have to tell me! Our mission is to follow and track, and lead them away if they approach a village. We found that some dragons just roam freely, while others make a sort of roost, a place where they return."

Now that was something worth knowing. And clearly, Velandryn agreed. "You've compiled this information? I'd be interested in seeing what you've discovered."

Kenrik nodded. "Every patrol submits a report back at Whiterun. I think Farengar's keeping them." He glanced back at the patrol. "Is that where you're heading?"

"Aye." Serana did her best to keep her tone conversational. The gap in the clouds was overhead now, and the sunlight was giving her a bit of a headache even with the hood. "You're coming from there?" She just wanted to get going, to get out of the light. I don't think I've ever been this far south before. She didn't much like it.

Kenrik gave her an odd look. "Yes, we're two days out." He looked over at their pair of heavily-laden horses. "I can give you some extra beasts to ride if you need to make better speed." He waved, and a wide Nord woman rode forward with a line of horses following.

The other Dragon Guard bowed deeply in her saddle, eyes bright as she studied the Dragonborn. She detached two, and Velandryn took the reins in hand. "Thank you, Kenrik Dragon-Spear." He raised his voice. "May the Dragon Guard be worthy of you!"

Kenrik was grinning as he blew two short blasts on his horn and the column clattered back into motion. Serana and Velandryn stood to one side, watching them pass.

As they faded into the sunlight's glare, Serana glanced over at Velandryn. "You have some interesting friends."

"Kenrik saved my life. He carved up a dragon's flank and got half his face torn to shreds. I think that's earned him some familiarity." Velandryn chuckled. "And by the look of it, the boy's done well for himself."

That got them into a discussion of the first dragon Velandryn had fought, which burned a bit more of that irritating sunlight. Eventually, however, when Velandryn stopped to stretch, Serana forced herself to confront the inevitable. "Velandryn, I need to…I need more blood."

She was facing his back, and a sudden fear seized her. What if he says no? There was no reason for him to refuse, but—

"Don't we all. Can you make it another few minutes? I'd like to get a bit off the road if we're going to eat."

"We?" The jibe came unbidden, but she barely even registered speaking. It wasn't just the one time. Somewhere in her mind had been the fear that she'd only ever taste of his blood once, and he would turn and reject her the next time she asked. And instead he lets you shackle yourself to him.

And yet, now she found herself drinking again, fighting a desperate battle not to gulp it down as fast as she possibly could. Show some restraint!

Restraint may have eluded her, but this time at least she stayed aware of her surroundings. Unfortunately, that meant that she could almost feel Velandryn's eyes on her. When she put the cup down, she met his red gaze with her own. "Can I help you?" Which of you is the slave? The assassin's golden eyes shone somewhere in the darkness of memory.

He simply shrugged. "Ready to get going?"

She nodded, and dipped the cup in one of the shallow creeks that seemed to be everywhere on the plains. "Thank you."

"It costs me little." Shockingly, she could hear no mockery in his voice. "Sometimes I forget how much we've been through. A bit of blood isn't so much to ask."

Yes it is, and that's a new song you're singing since the last time. But if Velandryn wanted to pretend that it didn't bother him, she was willing to play along. "Two days to Whiterun?"

A grunt of assent from the Dragonborn. "Riding." He studied the horse he'd been given. "I can handle a guar, I even mounted an alit once. But horse belongs on the table, not the road." Still, he pulled himself up with a reasonable amount of grace. And if Serana heard him mutter something and wave a hand to calm the creature before he did so, well, that was what magic was for. She swung onto the horse with only a single hand on the beast, a mount no mortal could have achieved.

Velandryn snorted. "Show off." He clicked his tongue and jabbed his heels, and the horse was off.

Serana spurred hers towards the road as well. Two days to Whiterun? She could think of worse fates. And worse people to share them with.

Lydia kept one eye on the tower as she approached. It loomed to her left, atop a low hill overlooking the road. It was more ruin than fortification, and Lydia had seen the like dotted across Whiterun Hold. Most, however, didn't have light flashing through gaps in the stones or the occasional crack of what sounded like magic wielded as a weapon. Something was happening up there, and she didn't like the look of it one bit. Just let me pass on by, and we don't need to bother each other.

The moment she arrived at the ragged dirt path that marked the approach to the tower, there was a mighty crashing sound, and a gust of icy wind set the horse to complaining. She wrapped the reins tighter around her hand, and, with a sigh that she wouldn't have stifled even if she could, turned to face whatever was coming.

You could always just keep walking. Another cry, and a robed figure was running out the door and down the slope. A second person emerged, and in no time at all the two were throwing ice and fire back and forth. Lydia took a step towards the battle before her mind caught up to her body. What would you do here? She wasn't in Whiterun and had no mandate to keep the peace. Besides, she had no idea which of the two was in the right. Or they might both be foul. Numerous covens of rogue spellcasters dwelt in out-of-the way places like this one, and those who lived outside the law often settled disputes with violence. So, she stood and watched, and kept one hand on her sword.

One of the mages must have made a mistake, and the duel was over with a strangled cry. The winner seemed to notice Lydia then, and raised her hands towards the housecarl.

Lydia was already bringing up her own shield and letting go of the pack horse. The mage was about twenty paces away, over rough but open ground, slightly to her left. Breaking line of sight isn't possible, so move erratically and close fast. Spellcasters were by and large a lot less dangerous once you'd hit them in the face with a shield.

"Wait, no!" The mage was shouting something at Lydia. "Please, you have to help me!" Her hood had fallen away to reveal a young woman, apparently on the edge of panic. "We have to stop her, please!" Or a bit past the edge.

"Stop who?" Lydia stayed where she was, and didn't lower her weapons. She was no stranger to helping those in need, but this was the first time someone had asked her after killing a mage in single combat. "What's going on here?"

"It's my mother. She found a ritual, and she's going to… change! I tried to stop her, but the whole coven is against me!"

I knew it. Magic brought trouble. "Change into what?"

"She said it would give her wisdom, and power, but what she's done… she's killed people!" The woman was babbling, looking slightly past Lydia. Some sort of terrified fervor. "They wanted me to…to… they needed an innocent, but I couldn't!" The woman was on the edge of tears. "I couldn't do it, but she's my mother! I should have stopped her!"

Damn it. Lydia sized up the woman. "What's your name?"

"Illia, I'm Illia."

"Okay, Illia. I need you to take deep breaths." Lydia sheathed her sword and slung her shield onto her back. "Tell me what happened, in as much detail as you can." Some things were universal, and getting a story out of a panicked witness was much the same no matter where you were. "Deep breaths, and maybe I can help."

The woman did just that, closing her eyes as her chest rose and fell. "My mother found a book of some sort. Reach magic, old. She says it's the secret to… to true power. But it needs blood. Innocent blood, she said."

Lydia nodded slowly. And Velandryn wonders why I don't trust magic. "And that's when you left."

"I tried to talk to her, tell her this wasn't right. But the others…" she waved at the body, and shivered. "There was fighting, and my mother…she…I've never…never killed anyone before." She blinked a few times and swallowed. "I have to go back in there and stop her, but..."

"You need me to help you." They always needed that.

The look on Illia's face was answer enough. Kyne, but she's scared.

Lydia knew what she had to do. I've known since she started talking. She sighed. I've been doing that a lot lately.

There was a fence she could lash the horse's reins to; she slipped the feed bag over its head to keep it calm. She glanced up and down the road, but saw nobody. Still, she dreaded the idea of someone taking anything from the beast.

Illia was pacing, clearly agitated. Apparently she'd decided to mask her fear with action. "Come on, we have to go!" When she realized that Lydia was worried about the horse being stolen, she waved a hand. Icy white symbols covered the ground. "There! Anyone gets close, they're frozen. Now, let's go!"

Lydia glanced back at the horse. A dozen good reasons to stay were already rising in her mind, but she knew how this was going to end.

"All right, lead the way."

The outer markets of Whiterun were more crowded than Velandryn remembered, though by the look of things more than a few of these people were not here to buy or sell. Tents stood in open spaces, and families bustled around fires preparing evening meals. Around and among them, the normal trade and business of Whiterun continued unabated. He kept one eye opened for any more Dark Brotherhood lurking around, but suspected that even those lunatics wouldn't be foolish enough to try and murder him in this crowd.

He guided his horse around an Orc being yelled at by a pair of Bosmer, and caught Serana's eye. "What do you think?" He had to raise his voice a bit, since one of the small elves had uttered a blistering stream of insults about the Orc's parentage.

Serana rode closer, leaning in to be heard. "It's incredible. I never thought Skyrim had places like this!" She pointed at a Redguard in what looked to be silken robes, richly embroidered, walking beside a cart being pulled by a horse that had to be a good foot taller at the shoulder than the ones they rode. "Look at them all!" She turned this way and that, before Velandryn saw her gaze arrested by a line of merchant stalls. It was a slow path to the gates of Whiterun, but not an unpleasant one.

They left their horses at the same stable he and Lydia has taken them from so long ago. The place must have had some deal with the jarl, since half the animals there were barded in the city's colors and a pair of guards were patrolling the grounds. When they saw Velandryn, one dropped her spear in shock, and the other nearly decapitated himself trying to salute with his.

Young, even for humans. Ignoring Serana's chuckling from behind them, he strode in close. "You know who I am?" He didn't think he'd seen either of them before. They certainly weren't at the watchtower. Many had been there, but he had a good head for faces and every moment of that battle was seared into his memory.

"You're…you're Velandryn Dragonborn! The Savani!" Either the girl was mixing her words up in awe, or Nord honorifics were far stranger than he'd anticipated. Judging by the way Serana's mouth was twitching, it was the former.

"Something like that. How did you recognize me?" He looked closer at the two of them. The girl gulped and locked eyes with him, and the boy looked away, red rising in his cheeks.

She answered first, having regained her ability to speak straight. "From the hand." She pointed at his chest, and Velandryn realized he was wearing the tunic he'd received from Camilla Valerius in Riverwood. Feels like a lifetime ago.

He nodded. "Keep it to yourselves for now. I would prefer to get up to Dragonsreach without much fuss." Or assassins.

"Be careful then." That was the boy. "Things are getting strained with all of the new arrivals."

"I saw that. Fleeing the dragons?"

"The dragons, the war, bandit raids on the rise." The girl looked around. "People are coming to Whiterun because they think it's safer than staying put, but everyone's on edge."

Velandryn left the stable a good deal less cheerful than he'd arrived. This isn't good. He hadn't noticed any particular devastation or desolation on their trip across the hold, but things had to be bad for people to abandon their lands and duties. Serana too was quiet, though she might just still be taking it all in.

At the main gate of Whiterun, he recognized one of the guards. The last time he'd spied that particular face, it had been screaming in pain in the Western Watchtower. As he did so, he noticed the widening eyes and slack jaw on the man. Oh no you don't.

"You're the-" Velandryn flicked a finger, and the Nord's remaining words were swallowed by silence. The guard blinked, moving his mouth soundlessly. He turned to his partner, but Velandryn was already stalking in close to put a hand on his shoulder. The man was taller than Velandryn by a full head, but still froze at his touch.

"I need to travel quickly and quietly. I need to see the jarl, and I don't want to cause a scene." His words almost hissed out, and the guard began nodding frantically. "I'm taking the spell off now." He concentrated, and the binding vanished. "You fought well against the dragon. Can I trust you again?"

The guard stood straight, looking over Velandryn's head. "Yes, sir!" Well, so much for subtlety. Still, the man meant well. They passed into Whiterun, Serana chuckling again.

When he looked over at her, she smiled at him. "You're a hero here."

Or a target. Still, it wasn't as if he hadn't earned it. Except for the part where I go and visit the greybeards to learn about my power and how to stop the dragons. Well, he would speak with Balgruuf, consult with Farengar, and be on his way to Ivarstead in the morning.

Serana had thought that after Solitude, she'd be ready for any city, since surely no place could be grander than those plazas and high stone buildings festooned with painted art and draped with flowers. She'd thought herself nearly cosmopolitan, ready to take on the world while knowing the kind of things it held.

She'd been wrong.

Where Solitude had lounged in glory, Whiterun buzzed. True, as they rose through the city the buildings grew more ornate and the roads became paved with close-cut stone, but there was an energy here that was almost magical.

She'd never seen so many non-Nords before. They were still only one or two in every ten, but Orcs walked with heavy armor or hunter's skins, and tiny Wood Elves darted through the crowd, many carrying packages or letters. She saw another of those strange cats called the Khajiit, who looked to be female by her...should I call it a mane?

A pair of Redguard men, being escorted down the hill, were dressed in robes and armor that looked to be straight from their desert homeland. One of them, on seeing her, raised his voice and offered her coin if she brought them some woman they were hunting. Not likely.

Even the Nords were more varied than she'd ever seen before. She'd spied a camp of hunters out in the markets, wearing animal hides covered in cloth sashes of green and brown. In brush or forest, they'd likely be invisible to mortal eyes. Others wore little to nothing, or covered their bare skin in the whirling blue patterns that she'd only ever seen on the stones of the giants. Here and there stood priests and cultists for various faiths, shouting their beliefs at the passerby and occasionally each other.

I never thought it could be like this. Skyrim was huge, of course, but she'd never actually considered just how varied it was. And Father wants to rule all of it!

Thoughts of her father's mad ambition were swept aside when someone hit her from the side. She spun, incensed, but they were already vanished in the crowd. Someone else jostled her, and then another. After a moment, she realized that these were no attacks, but simply the reality of moving through a city.

Is this what it's like to live here? Someone else bumped into her, and she shoved back. There was a grunt and a crash, and she turned to see a three people in a pile on the ground. Oops. None of them looked too hurt, and even the woman she'd pushed was getting back on her feet.

That had gotten Velandryn's attention as well. He gave her an amused look, then waved a hand. "Enjoying city life?" His voice was conversational and quiet; he was doubtless counting on her heightened senses rather than shouting. "Or did she say something to offend?"

Serana started walking away from the people she'd… inconvenienced. "How are there this many people in one place?"

She saw the slightest rise of the Dunmer's shoulder. "World got big while you were gone."

She inhaled, tasting the sweat and stink and smoke. "I think it was always like this. I heard the stories, but never understood what it meant." She saw the humans, of so many shades, and the elves among them. "It's chaos, but it's beautiful."

"El'tyem bruhad al'aram." She did not know the words, but Velandryn's voice was soft, and suddenly she became aware of how close he was to her. She could smell blood every time his heart beat, and the faint hint of sweat that, even in this cold, clung to his clothing carried some of that same power.

She blinked, and stepped away, even as Velandryn too seemed to come to his senses. He stepped back, straight into a passerby. The woman gave a yelp of surprise, then turned, eyes blazing. "Watch your step!"

Velandryn, however, was already stalking into the crowd, leaving the irritated townswoman yelling after him. Serana took off after the Dragonborn, finally catching him as he passed under a carved arch into an open stone square.

She wasn't sure what Velandryn was feeling. He'd been almost intimate back there, talking to her, but now his posture seemed to imply anger. No, frustration? Whatever it was, his shoulders were hunched and his steps long. "Do we have a problem?"

He stopped, then looked around at the crowd. "Not here." He pointed at an alleyway. "Come on."

When they were alone – except for the drunk passed out behind some boxes, but he hardly counted—Serana set hands on hips and tried her best to stare him down. "What's going on?" She'd been having her own reservations about exclusively drinking his blood, but if it was bothering him… I'll scale that peak when I come to it.

"Not here." He was still glancing around. "We can talk later, away from others."

She sighed. "Look, if this is about our arrangement-"

"No, not that. Like I said, later."

She let a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in. "Are you okay?" Somehow, the moment she'd realized it wasn't about their odd little relationship, a knot deep in her belly had dissolved.

Another one of those subtle shrugs. "Probably. Let's just get to Dragonsreach, check in with the jarl, and get on our way."

Check in with the jarl. He said it so casually, without a hint of arrogance, and something about it struck her as appropriate. Velandryn could be an arrogant bastard when he had the mind to do so, but he didn't seem to think that his being Dragonborn made him better than other people. She felt a sudden rush of affection for Velandryn Savani, and smiled at him. "Whatever's bothering you, we can tackle it together."

A sharp nod, and they were off once more.

Lydia grunted as her shield smashed into the witch's jaw. The woman went down with a thud, and the ghostly wolf she had summoned shimmered away into nothingness. Illia, who had been keeping the beast at bay with a ward of her own, let out a sigh.

"Why don't I feel bad?" Illia was staring at the crumpled form of the witch. "That's Minja, she came to us from Greyloam. They drove her out when—" Illia shook her head. "It doesn't matter now."

"It's not like she's dead, you know." By the way Illia's head snapped up, the woman genuinely thought Lydia had just killed the other witch. "She'll have a horker of a headache when she comes around, but she'll live." Head wounds were no laughing matter, but blows to the face had to be a lot harder than that to be fatal.

As if on cue, the woman groaned. Lydia stepped in and raised her fist, but Illia darted in first. "Wait! Let me deal with her! She doesn't need to die!"

Who does she think I am? "Kyne's Breath, I wasn't going to kill her!" Guards who made a habit of murdering criminals got a reputation, and their careers typically didn't end with a night at the tavern to celebrate their retirement.

"Oh." Illia looked embarrassed for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."

Honestly. Do all outlaws think like this? She'd taken lives, of course, but usually there was a better alternative. Right now she wasn't sure how this would end, but slaughtering them in cold blood went beyond what she was comfortable with. We get to the top, deal with the leader, and then I figure out what to do with these. It was far from perfect, but it was what she had. "Illia, do you have any spells to make sure she doesn't wake?"

Illia had wrapped the other woman's hands in rope, and pressed a hand against her back. There was a flash, and the witch's body went fully limp. "There. She'll be asleep for hours."

After that, it was a matter of checking to make sure that nobody else was on this floor. Illia had said their coven was small, but Lydia's time with Velandryn had gotten her used to much less equal odds. Now, though, she only had to contend with her enemies one at a time, and none were trained in combat. And yet, Illia seemed nervous. As they climbed to stairs to find another empty room, Lydia asked her what was wrong.

The witch gave a little start at being spoken to. "Oh, nothing, just… I didn't think about what this would mean. I'm fighting them!"

"You tried arguing first, right? And I'm doing my best not to kill." By rights, they should be carting all of them back to the nearest outpost to be held as lawbreakers, but sometimes you had to make do. "Come on."

As they climbed the stairs Illia started talking again. "We're doing the right thing, aren't we?"

Lydia turned and stared down at her. "If you're having second thoughts, we're about three witches too late!" She regretted saying it the moment it left her lips.

Illia looked as though she'd been the one who'd taken Lydia's shield to the face. "I… I just…"

Lydia sighed. Velandryn must have rubbed off on me. "All right." She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "I understand that this is hard for you, but you said yourself that it has to be done, right?"

Illia nodded, and looked up at her. "Yes. We have to stop Mother."

"Well, there you have it." She stepped down and placed a hand on the witch's shoulder. "I know these are your friends, but if they're going to hurt people, I can't just look away."

"Right, that's why we're doing this." Illia's resolve seemed to have returned. "They'll kill someone if we don't do anything."

Lydia had her doubts that this mission could be resolved without any blood shed at all, but she kept those thoughts to herself. I'm doing the right thing here. Of that at least, she had no doubt. She'd seen liars try to turn guards to their own ends, and Illia was a different kind of nervous wreck. Poor girl knows she's doing the right thing, but really wishes that she wasn't.

Still, in a case like this, right and wrong were fairly well delineated. I'll side with the one who isn't going to butcher a traveler for dark power! She strode up the steps, Illia close behind.

"Three months, Dragonborn! Three months, and you haven't even set foot on the Throat!"

Actually, it was less than two and a half months since the death of Mirmulnir, but Velandryn had the feeling that information wouldn't be well-received.

It was somewhat nice, he mused, that the Jarl had adjourned into a private chamber before beginning to yell at him. Irileth was leaning against one wall, watching him, while Serana was studying the carvings on the heavy doors leading back into the main hall.

The room they were in was clearly designed for breakaway meetings like this. A round table dominated the space, with a half-dozen chairs around it. Right now Balgruuf was pacing, one hand reaching out to tap each chair as he passed. "What in Oblivion have you been doing?"

Velandryn sighed. "I got…sidetracked. However, I've not been idle. I learned more about what it means to be Dragonborn, and I've taken down another dragon." The worst part was, the jarl was completely correct. He had kicked his duty as Dragonborn to the side the moment something else piqued his interest. "I'm better able to handle the duties required of me, if nothing else. I'm headed to Ivarstead now, and from there—"

"Yes, yes, to the Greybeards." The jarl sat, finally. "My city hasn't quite fallen to pieces yet, so maybe it'll still be here by the time you get back." He sighed. "I'm almost tempted to have Farengar conjure some wizardry to send you there."

Velandryn had entertained a few thoughts in that direction as well, but he wasn't sure that Skyrim had the magical infrastructure to support fixed-point teleportation. "I could consult with him, see if we could find an acceptable destination array. Are there any mages around Ivarstead that you could contact?"

"What?" Balgruuf's mouth had fallen open for a moment. "You would trust your life to that?"

Velandryn suppressed a laugh. "Nearly every city, temple and fort in Morrowind has some form of teleportation capability. We call them guides, and to be honest your lack of them strikes me as an oversight at best."

Irileth cut in then. "So you could bring an enemy into your hold?" She snorted. "As if we don't have enough trouble without having to worry about Ulfric dumping a squad of Stormcloaks into the main hall."

"There are precautions." Right now, though, Velandryn didn't want to get into an argument about the relative merits of mundane transit as opposed to arcane. Well, that wasn't true, but he had the feeling it would ultimately be counterproductive. "Alerts, sigil locks, a big guard with an axe. We've been doing this for a few thousand years now; I'm honestly amazed you don't even have one."

"Regardless, I won't be having any portals into my keep." Judging by Irileth's tone, the fact that the jarl ruled the city was of little relevance.

Balgruuf raised a hand. "Peace, the both of you!" He sat there for a moment, eyes closed. When he opened them, it was to look straight at Velandryn. "Whether by magic, horse, or your own two feet, you'll go to the Greybeards. Last time I left it to your own judgement, but clearly that was a mistake." He rose, and his voice grew louder as he spoke until it filled their little room. "Velandryn Savani, Sword-Thane and Dragonborn, as your Jarl and Protector of Whiterun in the eyes of gods and men, I charge you to journey to High Hrothgar, on the Throat of the World, and learn whatever they can teach. When you have done so, you will use that power to defend Whiterun against all who would do it harm. This is your duty as thane, to be discharged in defense of this hold. Should you accept, you will take no other task, serve no other master, and pursue no other aim until this mission is complete." He paused, and took a long breath. "Should you refuse, speak now or suffer forever the punishment of an oathbreaker."

And what exactly is that punishment? Velandryn's mind was racing, trying to figure out exactly where he could draw the line to please the jarl while not committing himself to any burdensome promises. There were a few tricks he could pull with wording and carefully timed pauses, but he was worried that using Mephala's Gambit would backfire spectacularly, and he'd need an accomplice to even think about the Morning in Suran. He sighed to himself. "I accept, though I cannot promise that I will rush blindly towards my goal. I will endeavor to complete it, but will take whatever precautions and tangents are necessary to give me the greatest chance of success."

"Meaning, I suppose, that I'll see you back here in half a year with another excuse and companion." Balgruuf gave Serana a long look, which she ignored. "One final question, Dragonborn. Where is Lydia?"

Well, I knew it was coming. "I gave her a task. She should be waiting for me in Ivarstead." Velandryn dearly hoped that that was true. He liked Lydia, and more importantly, at some point he'd begun to trust her. He would be glad to have her at his side again. Plus, if anything happened, I doubt they'll just give me another housecarl. He did not miss Serana's glance in his direction. He'd been intentionally vague about the details of Lydia's trip to Morrowind, but Serana knew full well that his housecarl had been delivering messages designed to harm the Volkihar.

And Jarl Balgruuf might have one of them. He hadn't included information about Serana in his letter to Whiterun, only referring the Volkihar royals as what were likely three exceptionally dangerous vampires. And even if Balgruuf figures it out, I have to imagine that he's smart enough not to do anything rash.

Irileth was glaring at him, the fire in her eyes conveying her wrath more convincingly than the furrowed brows above them. "A housecarl is not a servant, Dragonborn! Lydia chose to serve to protect you, not to be sent off to—"

"Spare me your indignation, sister." It was a calculated mode of address, and it gave Irileth enough pause for Velandryn to continue. "Lydia agreed that this was the best way to protect me. I needed someone I could trust, and she was by far the best option."

Irileth opened her mouth again, but the Jarl rose from his seat. "Enough, Irileth. I would speak with the Dragonborn alone."

To her credit, the housecarl's obedience was immediate, and she even managed to mostly smother the sour look she sent Velandryn's way as she walked to the door. She opened it with a tiny flourish, and looked at Serana. "You first, pale one."

Serana moved as though she were strolling among the paths of the Mycologeum without a care in the world. She paused as she passed Velandryn, and leaned in close enough that her words sent little puffs of air against his cheek. "If you need me to rescue you from the big scary jarl, just say the word." And with a grin, she was gone.

Once the door fell shut with a resounding thud, the jarl sighed. "So, you send me a message warning about vampires, then return having abandoned your task. Lydia is gone, and in her place is this…woman." He placed his hand on a section of wall, seemingly no different from any other. There was a clicking sound, and the jarl took a dagger and a ring from where they had lain, hidden.

"This knife will burn away any magic that binds you." The jarl slipped the ring onto his finger, and the pale skin of his face and hands glimmered with magic. "And this ring was forged by a Clever-Man of old, made of Skyforge steel and blessed by Stuhn the Unyielding. While I wear it, blade and hammer will be turned aside, and magic will rebound upon its caster. You are a thane of Whiterun, so this task falls to me. Hold forth your hand that I may test you and know that you are not enthralled."

Velandryn nodded slowly. Well played. The dagger was little more than a useful tool, but that ring was something special. The jarl had prepared them, and gotten him alone. Good thing I'm not enchanted…

Another thought stuck him, and Velandryn Savani was almost tempted to laugh. He thrust his hand out before him, hoping his eagerness did not show. "Across the palm, please, and not too deep."

Balgruuf had been a warrior once, and his arms still held as much strength or more than Velandryn's own. One hand gripped his wrist, and the other drew the point across his palm, leaving a red line that began to steadily drip blood.

Velandryn met the jarl's eyes, and raised one eyebrow. "Is there a flash of light for a spell undone, or should I just promise you that it's me?"

Balgruuf chuckled. "You saw nothing, but I felt it. No spell bound you."

Having felt the blade's magic probing at his own, Velandryn was forced to reassess. "That's not just some mage's tool. That is a good piece. It didn't just dispel, it searched me for residue, didn't it?" That last part wasn't really a question. The enchantment had swept through him almost imperceptibly, but he'd felt it probing and seeking. "Where did you get it?"

"Winterhold, or so they say. It was carried by the woman who saved my life, back during the War." Balgruuf laughed again. "I accuse you of being under a vampire's thrall, and you show more interest in the tool I use to test it. Most of my people would have been bristling with indignation."

"Honestly, you did me a favor." Velandryn chose his words carefully, aware that Serana would be able to hear every word. "I've wondered, on occasion, if there were some subtle magic making me more amenable to having Serana as a companion. It would seem that is not the case."

"Only the magic of a woman, eh, Dragonborn?" The jarl smiled, apparently far more at ease now that his prize thane wasn't of dubious loyalty. "So you were telling the truth about the Greybeards."

"I've always been easily distracted. When the chance came to head off some sort of vampire uprising, I took it. Did you get my letter?"

"I did, and the map as well." The jarl waved a hand. "I had a copy made for Farengar, and sent another to Jarl Idgrod of Morthal. She speaks well of you, by the way. I don't think any of us can do much, but I thank you."

Velandryn nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. I do take my duty to Whiterun seriously, you know." He thought for a moment. "And I am headed to the Greybeards now. I've put it off for long enough."

"Good. Take a day or two. Rest, get your things together. I'll even let you run your insane teleportation idea past Farengar. The man might be dragon-mad, but on any other topic he's sensible to a fault."

"My thanks. We'll get started at once." Velandryn bowed, thankful for Lydia's lessons so long ago. I do hope I didn't get her killed.

Lydia sat in the chair, as Illia had asked. Right now, she was pretending to be a sacrifice, but there was an uncomfortable feeling that the ruse could become real at any second. She hated this plan, but the older witch was only just out of reach. Illia had asked for one more chance, to talk her mother out of her foul plan. Lydia was willing to give her that, but the moment a knife came anywhere near her she was going to take it away and give it right back. Point first, in the chest. Damn rogue witches. She didn't find Illia too repugnant, but outlaw spellcasters had to be dealt with. And once this one is done, hopefully Illia makes the right choice.

Her ally was pacing back and forth, while her mother stood calmly over a stone plinth, dagger in hand. Before the older woman was a ragged stack of paper that could perhaps charitably be called a book. It looked to have been bound with animal hide, and the writing on the yellowed and irregular pages was the scrawl of an untrained writer. It simply oozed an aura of malevolence, and Lydia found her eyes drawn to it despite the drama unfolding before her.

Illia's voice was uneven, as though she were on the edge of tears. "I brought you the sacrifice, as you asked, but I hate this! You told me that we came here to be safe, so they couldn't persecute us for our gifts! Was that all a lie?"

Her mother laughed quietly. "Oh, my dear innocent girl. They will always hate us. We seek power, and they wish it all for themselves. They exile us from their cities because we threaten their rule. With this, we will finally be truly free!"

"Who?" Illia had asked her to be quiet, but Lydia couldn't help herself. "Who is doing all of this to you?"

The old woman's mouth twisted. "You bound her poorly, daughter, if she can still speak." She turned to look at Lydia. "The jarls, the thanes, all the ones who would keep us in bondage!"

"Somehow, I get the feeling that you'd be a lot more accepted if you weren't trying to murder passers-by! Half the villages on the Whiterun Plain have a wise-witch, and the rest have a hearth set aside for Dibella or Mara. Try living with the people instead of running off to play outlaw in some crumbling ruin, and you'll find things are better for you."

"No! You don't know what it's like! Their gaze turns dark, they hate and fear, they want what you have!" The old woman spun, and placed a hand on the book. "This is power! This is what they all want! And it's mine!"

Illia stepped forward tentatively. "Mother… Mama, please!"

Her mother gave no sign she had heard her. "I know you've betrayed me, Illia. Brought a warrior to help you kill me. Did you think I didn't hear you talking on the other side of that door?"

Damn. Lydia kicked the chair aside, lunging for the old woman. Behind her, Illia brought her hands up and the air crackled with energy. Her mother was already moving, however, and a shimmering barrier isolated her with that damnable book.

"Innocent blood. It will be needed for the full transformation, but not yet." She raised the dagger, and plunged it into her own hand. "Ra-sham-lek-tos-ur-kai!"

The book burst into flames, blue tongues of fire leaping towards the witch. She screamed as they flowed along her arms. Where they touched, her skin split, and feathers began bristling outwards.

Disgusting. Illia had cast some spell on Lydia's sword and shield, so they would pass unseen. She grabbed them from the ground now, and pointed the Dwarven shield's burnished boss straight at the magical barrier. "Illia, can you bring down her shield?"

The only answer she got was a torrent of ice splashing against the ward, causing it to flash and hiss like a hot pan dropped into water. I guess that'll do. She squared her shoulder, lowered her head, and charged. Shor's bones, this had better work!

It felt like hitting a wall of water set aflame. The barrier gave before her, but began pushing her back instantly. Her training kicked in, and she lashed out, using her whole body to bring the shield up and forward. Break the cohesion of the barrier. Most spellcasters in Whiterun Hold were decent folks who lived with their neighbors. If the barrier tears, it collapses. The ones who weren't were the ones she and hers had had to deal with.

The barrier did not collapse, but it wavered. The edge of her shield seemed to have punched through, but even though the barrier couldn't reform, it hadn't collapsed. Damn it! She gritted her teeth and took a step forward. This is going to hurt.

It did. The barrier was hot and cold at once, and even through her armor sent pain lancing through her. This had to be draining the other woman, though. Velandryn had taught her the theory behind the limits of wards, and she knew that her efforts had to be taxing the other woman dearly.

That didn't make it hurt any less, though. Damn! Another step, and there was a cracking sound. Lydia grit her teeth and raised the shield, screaming as she took one more tortuous step into the crackling barrier. There was a feeling and noise like shattering ice, and the ward was gone.

Lydia stood, panting, facing the…thing before her. She'd heard of the Hagravens, and this was not that. They were twisted and deformed, while this woman had only managed to sprout a few ugly feathers out of her skin.

The woman's face was contorted with rage. "I'll kill you both! I'll use your blood to become stronger than any other witch in Skyrim!"

Lydia sighed, and stepped forward. "No, you won't"

The woman raised her hands, cackling. They sparked with lighting, and another feather burst through the skin on her wrist. "Can't you see what I've become?"

The only answer she ever got was the rim of Lydia's shield jammed into her throat. Her head snapped back, and she gave a strangled yell. Lydia smashed her across the face with the shield again, then silenced her for good. One thrust, into the gut, then another at the neck. She'll be dead in seconds.

The woman staggered back, trying to scream through her ruined airway as blood gushed from her wounds. She was still standing, and raised a sparking hand to point at Lydia. She suddenly felt a stab of fear. Did the magic sustain her? Lydia brought her shield up once more. This time you'll stay dead.

She needn't have worried. The not-hagraven crumpled to the ground, a last gurgling sound that might have been a scream managing to escape as she collapsed. Illia screamed as well, and began pummeling the body of the thing that had been her mother with a barrage of ice. She was shouting one word, over and over. "Why? Why? Why?"

Lydia raised a hand to get the witch's attention. "Illia. It's done."

She should have saved her breath. The girl was sobbing now, hunched over her mother's body. Every breath came out as a shuddering, weeping cry.

Lydia barely remembered her mother, and her father's death had been a swift and distant thing, one she'd only learned of when the patrol had returned to Whiterun bearing his body. She could recall lying curled up on her bed and going for two long days with barely a bite to eat, but the pain had long since dulled now.

She also remembered Freya, and how the intoxication of their young love had helped pull her mind from the darkness. I don't think that will work here. While she thought, she removed the book from the pedestal and carefully tucked it under her arm.

Illia looked up. "What are you doing? That thing is evil!"

"Maybe." Lydia looked down at the book's rough-hewn cover. "But my master will be irritated if I tell him this story and don't bring the book for him to see." Velandryn, it seemed, was a bad influence on her. "Besides, I'd think you'd be happy to be rid of it."

"But you mustn't use it! Swear to me that you won't!"

Lydia shrugged. "I won't use it, and I can't see Ve—my master doing that either. If it concerns you so much, come with me to Ivarstead and tell him yourself."

The girl's eyes widened. "Ivarstead? But I can't go into the towns. I'll—" She stopped herself abruptly, looking down at her mother's body. "Can I?"

"I think you're the only one who gets to decide that now." She studied the young witch. The robes were nondescript enough, but for the Daedric lettering stitched here and there. "I'll say this, though: change your clothes and nobody would give you a second glance." Another look, and a moment of thought. "Or don't, if you'd rather show your power than hide it."

Illia shivered. "I haven't been in a city in years. Mother said it was dangerous."

"She would." Lydia wanted to curse at the dead woman's body, but restrained herself. "And Ivarstead's not much of anything at all, from what I've heard. You want to get back to being around people, you could do worse." She wasn't sure why she cared so much, but the thought of leaving this girl in the tower rubbed her the wrong way.

Illia stayed quiet, either thinking or mourning, as Lydia looked around the top of the tower. Have to make sure there's nothing else here that could be dangerous. There was a worrying pile of bones in one corner, but she wasn't sure how to dispose of that. Another pair of journals joined the first book, and she pried open a chest to find a gnarled staff and a coin purse. These she handed to Illia, who took them silently. As Lydia turned away, she heard a soft "Thank you."

On their way down the tower, she nearly tripped over one of the witches, still unconscious on the floor. Damn. She'd forgotten about them.

By the look on Illia's face, the other woman had too. "What do we do with them?"

Lydia chewed her lip as she thought. All her options were bad, but she wasn't about to start butchering helpless people, even if they were outlaws. "Were they like your mother?"

"They followed her, we all did, but I mean…" Illia's eyes were wide with what had to be an awful lot of stress. "They never killed anyone, but they would have, and they attacked us, and…I don't know, I'm sorry."

As Lydia studied the slumbering woman, something occurred to her. "This tower was abandoned when you moved in? You didn't kill anyone to take it?"

Illia shook her head. "We tried to stay out of the way. It looks like a ruin, and the main road doesn't go this far south."

That much was true. Lydia had been avoiding that larger road, since she still wasn't certain where she stood with the Riften Guard. "And you haven't been robbing travelers or the like?"

Illia's hair flew as she shook her head. "No, I swear it! We grow and hunt our own food, and sometimes Mother or one of the others would go trade with…someone, I don't know who."

Lydia didn't love the sound of a black market for outlaw mages, but this gave her an out. "Fine. We leave them. Let them make their own paths from here."

The witch's eyes went wide again. "Really?"

"Yeah." The guard in her didn't like it, but she was a long way from home, and her time in Riften made her wary of subjecting anyone to what passed for justice there. "Leave them tied up, though. I don't want them coming after me."

"Us." Illia smiled at her. "I'm going with you, for now at least. I'll find a way I can do some good with my gifts."

Lydia shrugged, then turned away so before she gave the game away by smiling. "Grab what you need then, and let's be off." She's a good kid. Maybe this hadn't been such a waste of time after all.

Jarl Balgruuf sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Irileth had shut the door behind the Dragonborn and the vampire, and now stood before him, arms crossed.

"So that's that?" Her words were clipped in the way they got when she was irritated. "Runs off for months and you just let him wander off to cause more mischief?"

"As opposed to? Throw him in a cart and dump him on the Greybeards' doorstep?" Balgruuf considered the idea for a moment, then shook his head with a chuckle. "We're not dealing with a reticent child. He's the Dragonborn."

"And he has a responsibility to Whiterun. Lydia is still missing, and now he has a vampire! How does any of that help us with the dragons?" Irileth was pacing now, a nervous tick whose existence Balgruuf knew infuriated her. "I'm getting to wonder if he's worth it!"

Balgruuf rose, smiling down at his housecarl. "You're not a Nord, ma'shova. The Dragonborn, he's…he's everything it means to be of Skyrim, a legend given flesh. Velandryn will find his way."

Irileth's eyes had darkened in alarm and flicked towards the door at Balgruuf's words, but she relaxed upon seeing everything tightly sealed. Sighing, she stepped into his arms and leaned forward, forcing him back down into his chair. "You are a most frustrating man."

Balgruuf laughed, enjoying the feel of her against him. One of her hands had worked its way under his tunic, and he savored her fingers along his chest. "And yet."

She smiled, and planted a small kiss on his chin. "And yet." She twisted a little, as though she could burrow into him. "I shouldn't have taught you that word. Savani would know about us in an instant if he heard it."

Balgruuf chuckled. "Let him. I've told you before, I don't care! Deyna is long gone, nobody's honor is besmirched, and I want you to—"

She put a finger on his lips. "Enough." She rose, and a small noise of dissatisfaction escaped Balgruuf before he could bite it back.

The Dunmer smiled at the sound. "Go to bed, my jarl. I'll be along soon."

Balgruuf smiled as he stripped off his clothing and climbed under the heavy furs. Life went on, as it would. For so long, he had been on the edge of a knife. Imperials and Stormcloaks, and before them the Thalmor. Now, dragons as well, and a strange elf who claimed to be Dragonborn. A vampire, one who bore an uncanny resemblance to the most ancient legends of the Volkihar Purebloods. And yet.

And yet, he felt hope, where for a long time there had been nothing. Rather than dreading the dawn, he wanted to wake tomorrow, to see what it would bring.