Chapter 25 – Seven Thousand

The innkeep, Wilhelm, shook his head as he stacked plates on the counter. "Bad time o' year to be making the climb, 'specially for you, elf. Best wrap up warm at nights, case you don't wake."

Velandryn had nodded. "I'll take that into consideration." He turned to his companions. "We leave at dawn tomorrow."

The first of the 7000 Steps was somewhat anticlimactic. Velandryn looked down at his foot, sighed, took another. Six thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-eight to go. As if on cue, a gust of wind caught his cloak and tugged him backwards. He nearly lost his footing and fell onto Serana, who only raised a hand as if to fend him off. Her face was inscrutable, and her eyes distant and cold. Regaining his footing, Velandryn stomped upwards, wishing deeply he could be anywhere else.

The path rose sharply, and the rough terrain meant Velandryn had little brainpower to waste on anything but putting one foot in front of the other. This might be the best way up the mountain, but only due to a lack of other options. The path was narrow and took odd turns, and each step brought some fresh worry. The stone was slick, and the frozen soil under the snow was nearly as slippery as ice.

Then, they reached an elbow, where the path turned back upon itself and rose even further and faster. Velandryn stared at his feet, taking each step with care. The last thing I need to fall flat on my ass up here! With the luck he'd been having, he'd probably slide all the way back down.

Serana was ahead of him, as she had been all day. She was staring out over the edge, but as he approached she spun on her heel and started up the path again. He sighed, and made to follow her, but then he saw what she'd been looking at.

A vista lay before him, hills and trees and ruins of stone and wood stretching away. Valleys and hills seemed little more than ripples against this vast expanse of land, and even the huge cliff that marked the edge of the Rift—and where he and Serana had spent a fateful day in that cave—seemed diminshed at this distance. They could not have been walking long, but already they were looking down on the countless miles they'd traveled. Well, that some of us traveled. He'd teleported. Was that the right decision? He was still dealing with the repercussions of what had happened in the cave. I just wish I knew what I did wrong.

Lydia was bringing up the rear, and now stood beside him. She looked him up and down. "Something troubling you, my thane?"

"I've missed that razor-sharp wit of yours." He'd forgotten how much he liked Lydia's straightforward style. She saw a problem, she addressed it. I could use a bit of that these days.

She snorted, and looked out over the landscape below. "Quite a view." She fell silent for a moment. "Back at Whiterun, it was always looking out over the plains. All these trees and hills…feels odd to be on top of them."

Velandryn glanced over his shoulder. "And this is the mountain's base. Still six thousand, six hundred and nineteen steps to go."

Lydia closed her eyes for a second. "Umm, hold on. That's…three hundred and eighty-one?" She frowned. "I've only counted three hundred and twelve."

"You have longer legs."

"So did the people who named it." Lydia shrugged. "Down in the village, they said nobody ever got the same number of steps twice. The only one nobody ever gets is seven thousand. Anyone says they did, they're lying."

He chuckled at that. "So, why were you counting?"

A smile. "I wanted to see. Same as you, right?"

He reached up and clapped her on the shoulder, feeling the shape of armor under her thick cloak. "Thank you for everything, Lydia."

She rested her hand over his own. "Of course, my thane." Then, she pressed down with just a bit too much pressure to be perfectly amiable. "As long as you never do it again." Velandryn hissed in pain, and Lydia's hand withdrew with shocking speed. "Sorry, my thane. Forgot how fragile you are." When Lydia smiled like that, it meant she wasn't actually all that sorry.

"No need." He rubbed the feeling back into the offended extremity, when he suddenly remembered something. "By the way, I found the detailed instructions that I wrote out for you in a pocket a few weeks after you left. That didn't…lead to any problem for you, did it?"

A silence. "What kind of instructions?"

"Names, places, people who could ease your journey." More silence from his housecarl. "I'm fairly certain I gave you a copy." A deeply uncomfortable pause. "You did get a copy, right?"

"I kind of want to punch you, my thane."

Lydia packed dried meat and vegetables into her bags. The bulky parcel from Klimmek that held supplies for the Greybeards was resting against the table. She didn't look forward to hauling that all the way up. Maybe she could get Serana to do it; the woman was certainly strong enough.

Lynly was strumming her lute, but her eyes were fixed on Lydia. Finally, she stopped playing and sat across the table from her. "Promise me you'll be careful up there, okay?" She placed a hand on the housecarl's arm, and Lydia felt her heart beat faster. "Those two you're travelling with, I mean no disrespect, but…" Lynly looked at her, deep green eyes staring into Lydia's own. "You have to take care of yourself on the mountain. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you!"

Lydia looked away, feeling her face warm and knowing she must be blushing. She knew that her attraction to the bard wasn't a useful emotion right now, but the woman made it so easy to fall for her. "I promise." She considered her next words. "Velandryn—the elf—is as worthy as Nord I've ever known, and Serana…" Lydia searched for something that wasn't a lie. "She can handle herself well. We'll be fine up there."

Lynly shook her head. "Everyone says it's dangerous this close to winter. Why do you have to go up now?"

Lydia reclaimed her arm from Lynly's gentle grip and stood. She laced her fingers behind her head and stretched to her full height. Something popped in her back, and Lydia grunted in satisfaction. "Once we get back down, I'll tell you the whole story."

Lynly Star-Sung smiled up at her. "I'm holding you to that."

Lydia pointed. "Right there. Everything they gave me to bring to you."

Serana watched as Velandryn visibly transformed before her eyes. Ever since the… incident… in the cave, the tension between them had set them both on edge. But now, as the Dragonborn looked at the boxes and books before him, he came alive in a way that she hadn't seen from him before. His motions grew smoother, and when he spoke, it was with an accent coloring his speech. Harsh, but precise. "You've done well, housecarl."

Now Velandryn's long fingers began gliding across the boxes. "Sealed and trapped. Prudent." He ran his hands along a seam, and held up a string of beads attached to one of the containers. "A Drenlis cipher. Lydia, did they give you a note of some sort, or a number for me?"

The Nord started a bit. "Here." She held out a folded piece of paper. "Dane Lervos said to give this to you."

"It's Deyhn." He opened the paper, and withdrew another piece. "And it is pronounced Llervos." His attention, however, was clearly not on them. "Has anyone attempted to open these packages?"

Lydia shook her head. "There was a close call in Riften, but all of them are sealed."

"Good." Velandryn placed a hand on one side of one box, fingers spread in a deliberate pattern. "I recognize this trap, and I'd hate to have a death on my conscience."

Serana didn't think he was joking, but she couldn't feel anything at all from the packages. She couldn't quite bring herself to talk to Velandryn after…what had happened, but she very much wanted to see what he would do next.

Velandryn looked down at the letter. "Aldra mu'karat lime dua. Igram ko rokkos va nakh burai." He sang the words quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "Bath sho noma, Nerim?" He gave a short laugh, then tapped an unremarkable spot on the box with a lone flared along his hand, and a swirl of bruised red spread outward over the container.

There was a sound like the cracking of a whip, and Serana gaped as the bundles suddenly erupted with magicka. It couldn't be seen with eyes, of course, but no spellcaster could miss such a display. And the amount! "You said a death? That could have killed an army!" The packages sat on the floor, their traps now disarmed. Probably.

Velandryn's head turned towards her as she spoke, and Serana's eyes widened as well as she realized that she'd just said more words together than she had since the cave. She forced her face into stillness, and willed the vestigial beating of her heart to slow. I'm doing fine on blood. It's just…alarm. Ever since that fateful morning, any interaction with Velandryn set her heart pounding, despite the organ being entirely useless. I wish I could just cut it out.

When she said nothing further, Velandryn nodded slowly, something unreadable in his eyes. "These are stronger than is normal, but any documents that could be at risk of interception must be trapped, as per Temple ordinance." He glanced over at Lydia, a spark of light in his eyes. "Next time we're in Blacklight, I'll have to hunt down whoever mandated this and give them an earful for insulting you."

The big Nord looked perfectly confused. "Insulting me, my thane?"

"By insinuating a package you carried needed extra protection." He shrugged. "Of course, if I didn't know you, I probably would have done the same." A pause, as he studied the bags. "However, as you were serving as my representative, it could be seen as an aspersion on me. So, if you wanted to set someone on fire the next time you're back home, I can show you a nice secluded room for it."

Serana studied his face. Is he joking?

Velandryn unclasped one of the bags, pulling out a book. He opened it, gave a quiet grunt, and handed it to Lydia. "They gave you quite the selection."

Serana reached out, and Lydia handed her the book. Silver Tooth and Lashing Tongue. It was in Nordic, old enough that she could read it without any issue. Which probably means that Velandryn is going to have a bear of a time. When she opened it, however, the back of every page was covered in tight Daedric script, though the language was unfamiliar. "Is this a transcription?"

Velandryn plucked the book from her hands. "Probably." He flashed his teeth at her. "It seems you can read one half, and I have the other."

That should have been comforting, a familiar recognition of their differences that still let them be friends. But something's wrong now. After…that…

The way Velandryn was behaving put Serana's teeth on edge. She wanted to snap at him to stop it already, but she couldn't figure out what it was he was up to. It had been like that since the cave. Everything he did was fire on her skin. She hated it.

Velandryn was digging through the satchel again. "On the killing of the Tongues." He held up a slim codex. "Let's keep this one to ourselves."

To take her mind off of the Dragonborn, Serana opened another container. This one had a few books, as well as an odd-looking bundle. It was a box, by the shape, but wrapped in brightly-patterned fabric and tied with a length of something that had never been part of a plant. She carefully unwrapped the outer layer and opened the box, finding a trio of dull grey rings, slightly too small for a Dunmer, let alone a Nord. Curiosity overcoming reticence, she held the box out to Velandryn. "What are these?"

Velandryn froze, and Serana saw something that might have been shock in his eyes. "Velandryn?" Her question did nothing to rouse him, but Lydia moved towards them, and glanced down.

"Oh, those were a gift. From, uh, Nassa. Nassa Nu Ashami, I think."

"Nas-anu?" Velandryn's voice was faint. "You spoke with Nas-anu Assashami?" A hand, moving as if of its own volition, gestured in the direction of the box. "And she gave you…three? Three? Of…dru me'al Sul'Alandro Ro Kan Fatal?" There was something in his voice, a reedy crack that she had never heard before. He pulled the box from her, and reached out gingerly to grip one of the rings between two fingers. Nothing happened that Serana could see, but Velandryn recoiled, and snapped the box shut. He swiftly tucked it away in a pocket, and reached into the bags with what might have been panic. "What else is here?"

It had all gone wrong, from the moment she regained consciousness. The hunger, the cave, Velandryn. All of it had spun out of control, and now she was barely hanging on. What had happened, the feeding, haunted her every time she looked at him. Shame and rage battled for dominance each time she was reminded of his existence. If not for what she'd done to him, then for what he had to done to her.

How DARE he!

Lydia desperately needed a break. Which, considering she'd been bored out of her mind yesterday, spoke to the overwhelming tension within their little group. At least it's not my problem this time. Except, she was sure, it soon would be.

At first, she'd thought Velandryn had turned. Serana's presence, and his own change, made that a reasonable assumption. But even a moment's glance at the two of them gave away the game. And what in Oblivion happened to make them so awkward? Had it been two of the guards in Dragonsreach acting like this, she would have said they were in the shameful aftermath of a drunken tumble. But I really don't think that's the case here. For one thing, her thane was quite straightforward about sex. For another…a vampire? It was beyond imagination that Velandryn Savani would bed a vampire. And, as little as she trusted Serana, she couldn't imagine her forcing herself on Velandryn.

They made camp under a rocky overhand, far above Ivarstead but still only a small way up the mountain. At Lydia's insistence, they had stopped there and began digging in a good hour before sundown. The ranges around Whiterun were bad enough when the winds howled at night; she didn't even want to imagine being caught in the elements on the Throat of the World. This spot had crude low walls of stone that spoke of pilgrims past using it for shelter, just like the innkeeper had described. Each one an easy day's walk from the last. "We've been making good time."

"Nice to finally start." Velandryn chuckled to himself. "I hope the Greybeards haven't all died waiting for me to arrive."

That got Lydia thinking as she piled snow against the outside of the walls. What'll it be like when we get there? It was an odd thought, to actually meet the Greybeards. It would be like...

Like fighting a dragon. They were living in legends now, so to the Greybeards they went.

Velandryn was drawing one of his ritual arrays, doubtless to produce some spell to keep out the cold, with Serana watching him intently from the corner where she had seated herself. There was the telltale feeling on her skin that Lydia now knew came from magic being cast around her, and the air grew still and the tiniest bit warmer. Then, she looked over at her companions, and felt the temperature drop again. What happened, you two?

Velandryn finished the ritual, then retreated to a corner, wrapped a cloak around himself, and was asleep in moments. Lydia had forgotten how easily he could do that.

Which left her and Serana, watching each other from across the sleeping form of her thane. Serana raised a hand, and the air rippled around Velandryn. "In case you wanted to yell at me, so he doesn't have to hear."

Lydia shifted, making sure her dagger was close to hand. "Oh? Do you think that's what going to happen?"

"I don't know what he told you, but I can tell you don't trust me. I figured this was as good a time as any to say what you need to."

"Say what I need to?" In truth, Velandryn had told her very little before they set off up the mountain. Only that she was on their side now, that she'd fully abandoned her family. "We could start with why you came to Ivarstead, following Velandryn through that door like a whipped dog. As best I can tell, something happened, and neither of you thinks you're in the wrong. Given that you're a vampire, that makes me just a little nervous." Lydia rolled her shoulders, loosening her muscles, though she knew she'd be no match at all for Serana, especially now that night had fallen.

She needn't have bothered. Serana just sighed, and slumped back against the wall. "Velandryn…he…I know he meant well, but I can't get it out of my head." The firelight accentuated the unnatural pallor of her skin, and her eyes gleamed a baleful gold. "He's in my head now. Has been ever since the castle. You know what he said to me?" She didn't wait for a response. "Told me I was better than them. Faced a court of vampires, taunted them to their faces, told me that, then vanished."

Lydia felt something odd, deep in her chest. She rose, and moved to sit a little closer. "Do you want to talk about it? Why you can't get it out of your head?" If she was right...

"Because what if he's wrong?" Serana's head was down, arms crossed over her face. "What if I came all this way, left my family, but nothing changed? I tried, but…" She raised her head, eyes blazing, and pointed an accusatory finger at Velandryn. "He did this to me! Since the first time I drank his blood—"

Lydia's knife was pressed to the vampire's throat so fast that neither one of them seemed to realize what had happened until it was done. "You did what? You drank from him? You…you…" Words failed her. She thought of the places she had raided as a guard, of empty bodies lying in dying stupor on the floor. Of Morthal. She pressed the blade harder. "How dare you!"

Serana didn't even seem to notice. She could have killed Lydia in an instant, but instead she just stared at Velandryn's prone form. "He offered." The knife at her throat might as well not been there at all. "He held out his hand, bled into the cup. He gave it to me." Her voice was catching now. "And still, I lost myself." She turned to look at Lydia, heedless of the blade tip now actively cutting into her skin. "He let me drink. He must have used magic, to replenish his blood. I barely remember any of it, but I'd never drank like that before." She closed her eyes. "No trickery, no control. He gave it to me." In an instant, Serana went from tense to almost limp, slumping against the wall. "I should have let the sun take me."

A spike of emotion rose in Lydia's gut. Sheathing the knife, she reached out and put a hand on Serana's shoulder. The sympathy, unbidden, seemed to be forcing its way out of her. "It's okay." She wasn't sure if she meant that.

Serana's eyes were glistening. "I'll never be free of it. I thought I could, but now I want it again! I want his! The Dragon Blood, like nothing…like nothing…" She turned under Lydia's hand. "I'll always be like this. Never be free. As long as he's here, I'll—"

"No." Velandryn stood. "If that's what this is all about, I'll put that to bed right now."

Serana fairly flew backwards, pressing herself against the wall. "You were awake? But I—"

"You were distracted, and all I needed to do was move an ear through the barrier." He sighed. "At first, I thought I'd read your lips, but it turns out that's a fair bit trickier by firelight than I'd thought." Another sigh, this one puffing out his cheeks for a moment. "Ancestors, Serana! I thought I'd committed some sin against you. Is this the reason you've been acting like I butchered your pet bantam?" He glanced back at where he had been lying. "Also, you might want to modify the spell to tell you when someone crosses it. Otherwise you're setting yourself up for a nasty shock."

Serana's mouth was hanging slack, her eyes wide. Velandryn sat across from them, seemingly unconcerned. "So, what, you thought I had too much control over you? That's why you've been like this?" He glanced over at Lydia. "I'm…sorry…for deceiving you two, though. I thought you might talk about it if you thought I was out of the picture."

Serana had regained enough composure to speak, though her words came a little too fast. "I left my father behind because he wanted to control me! I was supposed to be free, but after the cave…I can't…" She looked down at the ground. "Even if I wanted to, I don't think I can leave. I drank too much of it. Of your blood. It's…it's in my head now." Serana looked up at Velandryn, and Lydia was struck by how helpless the vampire looked. "If you bound me, if you made me…do anything, I think I would…just to have more of it."

Now it was Velandryn who looked uncomfortable, for all that his face was still. "I knew you preferred my blood, but…" He rubbed his eyes with one hand. "By Azura, I didn't know it was this bad." He sighed. "The last thing I want is to bind you. You deserve better than that. If I swore, by the Ancestors and the Three, by the flesh and blood and bone beneath that makes me Dunmer-born, would you believe it?"

Serana was curled upon herself now, hugging her knees, head bowed. "I want to…but how can I know?"

"You can't." Lydia didn't realize she'd spoken until the words had left her mouth. "That's what trust is." She looked over at Velandryn. "You can have a feeling, but at the end of the day, trust is giving someone else the power to hurt you."

Velandryn's eyes glowed merrily as he looked over at her. He nodded once, then returned his attention to Serana. "So, I can deny you the blood you crave, and you have the ability to carve my heart out with one hand." A flicker in his eyes. "Even if you don't trust me, hopefully the parity in power can serve to ensure our mutual cooperation."

Lydia rounded on him, feeling the anger rise in her. "And you! If this is how you've been responding, no wonder she's terrified of what it could mean!" She was overwhelmingly fond of her thane, but he could be so infuriating sometimes. "Say it plain!"

They were both staring at her, but slowly their gazes drifted to each other. Serana spoke first. "Velandryn? I don't want to feel this way."

The Dragonborn sighed, deeper and more wearily this time. "I wish there was something I could do or say to set your mind at ease." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sat back against the wall. "All I can offer is the truth: I think we want the same things."

"How do you mean?" Serana's voice was soft.

"The last thing I want is to compel another into following me." Velandryn nodded at Lydia. "Ask her if you don't believe me."

Lydia vaguely recalled what Velandryn had said to her back in Whiterun, how vulnerable he'd seemed while making sure that she wanted to follow him, not the Dragonborn title. "I think he means it."

Velandryn made no move to reach out towards Serana, but his entire body was oriented in her direction. "I can't make you trust me." He shrugged. "If by this point you still think I'll ask you to do something monstrous, I'm not certain I can dissuade you. Of course, if you think you're so weak as to go along with something horrific, then I'd question how well you know yourself at all."

Serana's eyes were golden embers, burning in the dark. Lydia had never seen that before. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore!"

Velandryn started laughing. "Welcome to the life I lead. I've abandoned certainty in favor of a cautious hope that the Mundus won't come crashing down on my head."

Serana's head fell forward onto her chest. "I just…I want to…to…" Her words trailed off, and she slumped down along the wall. "I don't know."

Velandryn glanced over at Lydia. She shook her head just a bit and shrugged, hoping her complete loss of any idea what to do was getting through to her thane.

Velandryn rose, stretched his arms out, twisted until something gave a small pop, and sat down besides Serana, perhaps a foot or two away. "I wish I knew what to say here, but I don't think this is something I can do. I never was much of one for illnesses of the mind, but the healers at the Temple who specialized in that sort of thing always said it was a slow process. There's no spell to mend a broken way of thinking."

Serana looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "Broken?"

Velandryn raised and lowered one shoulder. "I'm not a monster. And, despite what you seem to have convinced yourself of, neither are you. I've seen enough to know that. You're seeing yourself wrong. Call it what you want."

Nobody spoke for a long moment. Then, Serana rose. She grabbed the front of Velandryn's shirt, and hauled him to his feet with the same effort it might take Lydia to lift a cat. "You think I'm broken?" Her voice was flat.

Velandryn did not so much as flinch. "I think you'd have to be, to survive what you have. I saw your father. Why aren't you like that?"

Serana was moving before Lydia could so much as blink. She darted to where Lydia had laid out their simple evening meal and snatched up a lacquered clay cup that had come with them from Ivarstead. Before either Lydia or Velandryn could react the vampire had hurled the cup at the wall. It smashed apart on impact, and the broken pieces fell to the cave floor. She gave an animalistic scream of rage, and a day-old sweetroll splatted at Velandryn's feet. Lydia finally leapt into action, and a plate that would have hit her thane instead clattered harmlessly off of her own crossed arms. "Serana! Get a hold of yourself!" Lydia stepped forward, ready to stop the vampire no matter how futile it might prove. She didn't want to fight her, but if the woman insisted on acting this way—

"Don't touch me!" "This is what I am! I'm broken, right?" Serana's eyes were full of tears. "A monster!" She stood there panting, hands opening and closing. "Broken!"

"No. You broke a long time ago, Serana, but I think you're on the road to putting yourself back together." Velandryn picked up the pieces of what had once been a cup, and pulled a five-septim coin from his pocket. "What you've done, those are the actions of a person, not a monster." He pressed two of the ragged edges together, ran the coin along them, and light emanated from their joining." You're a good woman, Serana Clan Volkihar." There was a sound like a blade slicing through string, and the two pieces were one again, but with a pale line where they had broken. "I've been with you for almost a month now, all told." Another piece, attached in the same way. "You aren't the same person who woke up from her tomb." He was looking at the vampire as he brought the final piece to the others. "And if you dare read metaphor into anything I've said or done here, I'll kick you off the mountain myself." He tossed her the mended utensil, and she caught it worldessly.

Then, as Serana stared at the cup, once more whole but with fine silver-gold lines crossing its surface, Velandryn threw himself down on his bedroll. "It's late, you two! I hate being up once the sun's gone down. You should know that by now!" He wrapped himself in his blanket, back to the two of them. "We'll all feel better in the morning."

Serana said nothing, and only sat herself in a corner and stared into space, the mended cup nestled between her hands. Still, when Lydia offered her a pour of hot mead, she accepted it with murmured thanks and what looked like a genuine smile. She beckoned the housecarl closer, and Lydia obliged. Serana's dark lips pressed close up against Lydia's ear, and her words were almost too soft to hear, even from so close. "Don't ever let him know that helped me. We'd never hear the end of it." She raised her voice as Lydia retreated. "I can take the watch. I don't have to sleep, so go ahead and get some."

Lydia was once more overcome by a wave of emotions that she should never have felt towards the vampire. Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached out and grabbed Serana's arms in a Nord warrior's embrace. The vampire tensed, but quickly relaxed as she realized she wasn't under attack. She mouthed the words Thank you to Lydia, who smiled and nodded back.

Confused, trying to find out why she feels the way she does? And annoyed with Velandryn Savani?

They might have more in common than she'd thought.

Serana was doing her best not to sleep ever again, so she kept watch. The chance that anyone would actually come here was vanishingly remote, but it was better than sitting alone in the cave with nothing but sleeping mortals and her own thoughts. So it was she spent the night alone and restive, alert for a threat that never came.

Lydia slept restlessly. The thought of Serana was a small part of it, but more so were the troubling feelings of unease around the vampire's reaction. Not that she had lashed out; that had clearly been pressure bursting from days on end of inner turmoil. It wasn't good that it was happening, but she understood it. The part that worried her was that she had seen reactions like that before, and if her suspicions were correct, the pain Serana carried inside of her wouldn't stay buried for long. Eventually she managed to get to sleep, but her sleep was fitful and filled with dreams of faceless figures holding knives that shone gold in the darkness.

Velandryn slept perfectly. He always got sleepy after a righteous bout of anger, and ever since becoming Dragonborn, had been blessed with dreamless and restful sleep. The Thousand Rings, what he would face with the Greybeards, all of was like water off a rock. Even his worry about Serana faded away as his eyes closed. When he woke in the morning, he was ready to face the new day.

Their second day on the Throat of the World dawned with frigid wind and clouds so thick about them that even Serana could see no more than a few feet in any direction. And yet, she felt lighter and warmer than she had in days as she helped her companions strike their meager camp and set off into the morning mist.

"Can you still call it fog when we're this high up?" As ever, Velandryn had found something utterly inane to focus on, but it was somehow endearing rather than irritating.

Lydia chuckled. "What a day, you not knowing a piece of useless information."

"In Dunmeris, it's much simpler. Water in the air is voh mast. If you can see it, it's a cloud, vo'ghem. If it's a cloud that touches the ground, mes'vo'ghem. Doesn't matter how high up the ground is. So this is mes'vo'ghem."

"That's kind of a mouthful, my thane. Much easier to just say fog."

"Yes, but is it still fog if it's on a mountain?" Velandryn almost sounded genuinely exasperated.

Lydia shrugged. "Does it matter?"

The Dragonborn gave a little grunt. "Of course it matters!"

As he and Lydia argued back and forth over what type of cloud it was that enveloped them and if the distinction mattered, Serana just let the sounds and sights wash over her. It was a beautiful day, frigid and grey, and she was travelling with people who she was fairly certain weren't going to betray her. If they were planning anything, they'd be nicer to me.

She still wasn't sure where she and Velandryn stood, but last night had broken the tension between them. Throwing the dishes at someone will do that, I guess. The cup was in her pack now; it would have felt wrong for someone else to carry it. And we're talking again.

Not that there was much to say. For all that Serana enjoyed the feeling of the cold and the sensation of water freezing against her skin, neither of her companions felt the same. Their mortal frailty rendered them weak against such conditions, and both quickly succumbed to what seemed to be a sort of determined misery as the day progressed. Velandryn's magicka and Lydia's Nord constitution, as well as their layers of thick clothing, kept the two of them from any real harm, but both were far too preoccupied with putting one foot in front of the other to make conversation.

And that was a shame, since the gloom that had weighed on Serana's mind since that night in the cave with Velandryn was more or less gone today. With the heavy fog—or whatever Velandryn wants to call it—around them, her vampiric eyes could see the mountain path without being blinded. Although, it was odd how a bit of the air up ahead was moving. It almost looks like ice. Something nearly transparent, but definitely there—

The ice wraith hissed as it struck at them. Serana gave a yelp of shock as she jumped to the side and released a blast of ice that was more instinctual than targeted. It missed the wraith's sinuous body completely, and the beast swam through the air towards the Dragonborn. It lunged, and its fangs would have sunk deep into Velandryn's side had Lydia not leapt in front of him. The translucent creature slid along her armored chest and off to one side with a horrific screech of ice of steel.

Velandryn was only now realizing that something was wrong, but to his credit he acted swiftly. His hands lit with flames, and he directed a burst of fire towards the wraith. It dodged easily, however, and came towards them again.

This time, Lydia was ready. Her shield slammed into the creature, arresting its movement. It hung in the air, seemingly stunned. That was enough time for Serana to recover, however, and the monster sunk to the ground under her spell of draining. Velandryn followed up with a swift bolt of flame, and they all watched as the jagged pieces that made up its body collapsed into a haphazard pile on the snow.

"Seht and Sil, what was that?" Velandryn sounded more curious than frightened.

"Ice wraith." Lydia and Serana spoke at the same time. The vampire gestured at the big Nord, who continued. "Some sort of ice spirit, they stick to the coldest spots they can find."

Serana nodded. "I heard someone say once that they were the souls of those who froze to death, changed by the high magic of the mountains."

Lydia gave a shrug that disrupted a bit of snow that had begun falling on her shoulders. "Spirit, beast, or ghost, they're a damned pain." She rubbed her eyes and pulled her hood forward as the snow began falling harder. "Four, maybe five winters ago we got a whole mess of them on the Whiterun plains. Near impossible to track on open ground, but if you light bonfires they mostly stay away." She chuckled. "Had some trouble with Falkreath over it. Our axers in Riverwood went felling lumber from the wrong side of Bent Bear Ridge and their thane rallied his shields, but in the end I think we just paid them for it." She shrugged. "We'll have to keep our eyes open, and light a big fire tonight."

Velandryn was still looking at the creature's remains. "An animate spirit. Elemental, perhaps?" He bent and gathered some of the shards. "I've never heard of these before. The closest analogue would probably be spriggans."

Serana watched as he tucked the pieces of what might be ice away. "Planning on taking a trophy?"

Velandryn gave a short bark of laughter. "Spriggan taproots are worth their weight in any currency you care to name. One of the most potent natural magical amplifiers we know of." He smacked the bag that held them. "If these bits are even a fraction as powerful, I can have some real fun experimenting with them."

Lydia sighed. "My thane, there's a reason normal people pay alchemists to make their potions for them, and it's not like we're short of coin."

Serana smiled as they continued up the path, her companions bickering good-naturedly at her side. I could get used to this.

They encountered few people on the path, but each left an impression.

A woman who would not speak of her past or purpose, only the peace that the mountain brought.

An Orc, bearded and grey, who spun wild tales all the impossible things he had seen in his travels.

Twin Nords, man and woman, but so alike that even in the middle of conversation, it was easy to forget which you were talking to. They were descending, and mentioned signs of some great beast further up.

An old man wrapped in faded robes and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, who carried a long spear and sported only a single eye. He spoke no words but only laughed as they passed, and the sound of that laughter echoed long after he had vanished from view.

A warrior in the clothing of the Stormcloaks, but tattered and worn. She whispered of fleeing the army after a disastrous ambush by the Empire, and wandering alone, without purpose. She was walking the Seven Thousand Steps to find out where it had all began, to discover what it really meant to be a Nord.

Velandryn knelt to wipe snow off of the plaque. "What language is this?" He couldn't make heads or tails of it, but the thing was definitely writing of some sort."

Lydia knelt as well. "Oh, that's Ancient Nordic, no question." She pointed at one squiggle. "See, that one sounds like the 'a' in 'dragon."

Velandryn nodded. "What does it say?"

His housecarl blinked at him. "What? I don't know."

"I thought you spoke Ancient Nordic?"

"I was taught Mountain Nordic, so I can talk to the clans. I can't read Ancient!"

Velandryn sighed, then turned to look at Serana, who was watching them with crossed arms and a small smile. "Care to assist?"

The vampire bent, then nodded. "I think I can piece it together. I recognize the script, at least." Her brow furrowed. "Emblem the…I think that says 'Fifth.' Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of this world. Proving for all that their voice was strong. Although their sacrifices were…many-fold." She shrugged. "Fifth? Looks like we missed some on the way up."

Velandryn's mind had begun roaring at the word Alduin. "Shouted him out of this world. Alduin. A dragon by that name? Or that they somehow banished the god?"

Lydia looked concerned as well. "Must have been a dragon, maybe their jarl? Nobody could banish the real Alduin, after all."

The name had weight just sitting in Velandryn's mind. As though that word was somehow more real than the others that passed through. He could feel his every thought return to it. Alduin. Somehow he knew that it wasn't just a dragon. There was more to it, a difference of kind rather than degree. And a familiarity. As though he knew…

"My thane!" Lydia's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. "What's wrong, my thane?"

Velandryn realized he was lying in the snow. He rolled over and looked up at the concerned faces of his housecarl and the vampire. "Where… what was that about…" he swallowed and pressed his eyes closed for a long moment to gather himself, "Alduin?"

The two women were looking at each other now. "You just…fell over." Serana's cracked a small smile. "How worried should we be?"

Velandryn took a deep breath, and steeled his mind. "Alduin." When he was prepared, the word had little more effect than any other. The shaking in my legs means nothing. The fact that he'd lost all sense of the world around him was slightly more worrying. "I think I have some questions for the Greybeards."

Now he was being stared at by two pairs of eyes. He sighed and climbed to his feet. "What?"

"Are you going to tell us what just happened?" Serana's voice was bone-dry.

"No." The moment after he'd spoken, Velandryn's resolve crumbled. "Yes." He sighed. "I don't know." He pulled himself up into a seated position, leaning against the ancient plaque. "Every time I hear that name, it does something to me." He swallowed, steeling himself. "Alduin. Who or whatever it is, it resonates with Dov, the dragon in me."

He was rewarded with two pairs of blank stares. He sighed again, more for show than anything, and held out a hand. "Help me up? We might as well walk while I dig through the various…eccentricities…that I've accumulated since I became Dragonborn."

When they were on the path once more, he started talking. He told them about Dov and Joor, how he had separated the voices. He left out the flashes of rage, the moments where he saw the world around him as something in need of subjugation. He did, however, try to impress just how much the name of the World-Eater threw everything into disarray.

Lydia approached the issue in her standard manner, which was refreshing. "Apologies, my thane. He—can I say the name now?" At his nod, she continued. "Alduin is one of the gods you don't worry about too much. When he comes, he'll eat the world, but there's not much you can do, so why worry about it?"

"So there's no worship, no shrines, no temples to him? Back in my day, you'd at least leave a candle in the window on the Eve of New Life, to warn him that we were watching." Serana gave a little chuckle. "Not sure what good it'd do, but it was pretty to see."

Lydia shook her head vigorously. "By Kyne, no! the last thing you'd want is to draw his notice!"

"But that plaque says someone shouted him out of world. That makes it sound like there was a dragon by the same name."

"Maybe there was." Lydia's footsteps never ceased their pounding rhythm, even as she spoke. "Could that be where we got the name of the World-Eater? A long-dead dragon, perhaps their High King?"

Velandryn shook his head. "Maybe, but I doubt it. The dragons didn't think he was a king. They thought he was a god."

Serana turned around to look at him, concern in her eyes. "Are you sure?"

He laughed. "Oh, yes." He tapped his temple with a finger. "The way that name echoes in here? It's either divinity or madness, and I spent the better part of two years learning to recognize the influence of Sheogorath."

Lydia shrugged. "I'd wager the Greybeards know. Don't suppose there was anything in those books I carried from Morrowind?"

"No." Velandryn started to shake his head, but caught himself. "Maybe? I got caught up on the Rings, and stopped looking."

"Right, what was it with those, anyways?" Serana's forced casualness could not contain her curiosity. "You looked as though you'd seen a ghost."

"A ghost would have been fine. I'd give my weight in gold for a good family relic right now, just to be able to call on an ancestor." The Rings, though. "The Rings are something else. I'd seen them before, but never wore one. I don't know if they even speak any more."

"Speak?" That was Lydia, as if on cue. "They're rings!"

"N'ayshak Sul'ala'ndro Korrahl. The Thousand Ringlets of Alandro Sul." Mistress Assashami had given him the gift. Perhaps its poison was having to tell its odd story. "Alandro Sul was Nerevar's shield-companion, blessed as the son of Azura. At Red Mountain he dueled Ysmir Wulfarth Ysmir, greatest of the Shar Vohs Gah-Thone, the Five Great Unholy Tongues." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Sorry. You probably have a different name for them."

Lydia grinned back at him. "I'm no historian, but twenty septims says we do. You say he dueled Wulfarth, though? There were a lot of Wulfarths, so I don't doubt it." Her brow wrinkled for a second. "You said Ysmir twice."

"Ysmir was his name and his title, according to the story. He wore it front and back, so no matter which way he came, he was always a king. Anyways, the Tongue would have Shouted Alandro Sul's mind apart, but he wore a chain hood of moon-silver, a gift from Azura herself. It held fast, and Alandro Sul did not die. But, after the battle and the betrayal of the Tribunal, he led those who refused to acknowledge the Tribunal as gods. Most of them were the nomadic Velothi, who became the Ashlanders. He fled with them, taking the truth of the Tribunal's treachery with him."

Serana was keeping pace beside him now, looking thoughtful. "So the Rings are…"

"What's left of his chain coif, or so the story goes. He could not remove the ringmail hood for the rest of his days, since it alone held his mind together. But when he died, and his armor and effects were removed from his body so he could be laid to rest, the hood passed to the Gulakhan of his tribe. When she wore it, she heard his voice. It spoke of what had transpired, and whispered secrets that only the dead could know." Truth be told, most of this was speculation. Those who had heard the voice spoke of it to friend and kin, but so far as anyone could find, none of the messages had ever been written down.

Serana's voice had gone soft. "So his voice was passed down through the generations."

Velandryn shrugged. "Again, so the story goes. At first, the crown of rings was a treasure that only the greatest Ashkhan could hope to claim. But it broke, and broke again, and soon each ring was its own. They wore them as earrings, and each clan boasted a dozen or more. And over time, the whispers grew less frequent." And less sane. But they didn't need to know that. "These days, they're historical curiosities. I don't doubt the three I was given were genuine, but it's still a bit odd."

"Why?" Serana was far too close to him now, pressing in from the side.

"Because I was named for him, for one. My mother gave me a Dunmer name, but in the Ashlander fashion. Veloth-Alandro-Dravyn. The prophet, a hero, and an ancestor. And his most famous story is fighting a Tongue? It just all seems a bit much for a simple good-luck charm."

"So you think the gift was…what, an insult?" Lydia sounded affronted, and perhaps a little nervous. She had brought it to him, after all.

"A warning, perhaps. Not to forget where I came from."

Serana laughed. "Little chance of that."

Velandryn laughed as well, but deep inside he felt a chill. Am I betraying my people? Aiding a vampire, flirting with a jarl, learning to be a Tongue. Each step made sense at the time, but someday he might find himself far from the path he had been raised to walk.

And that's why I can't put on the rings. Gone quiet or not, he did not know what he would do if he heard the voice of Alandro Sul. A Dunmer becoming a Tongue, surely the Shield-son of Azura would lambast him for such a thing. And if that were to pass, it might well destroy him.

Because he had not told Lydia and Serana the whole truth. He was not named for Alandro Sul simply because the mer had been a hero. The Shield-Son of Azura had lived among the Urshilaku, and was counted as one of the Great Clan Ancestors. But more than that, his children, and their children ten times over, proudly carried the knowledge of their lineage. So it had been with his mother.

And so it was with him. Velandryn Savani, descendent of Alandro Sul, was, through no fault of his own, a Tongue.

And, if I seek it, I can ask Alandro Sul what he thinks of that.

The rings stayed in their box.

Serana watched her companions as they prepared their camp. This far up the mountain, the fire seemed to do little more than provide light, as the cold was so oppressive that both Velandryn and Lydia were shivering even with their respective precautions. Lydia had finally allowed Velandryn to cast a shield against frost on her, but such spells were not intended for protection against the weather. As for the Dragonborn, it seemed he was pulling on his own magicka all the time now, in addition to the layers of fur that made him resemble nothing so much as a profoundly portly adventurer.

As she sat there, she felt something prick on her arm. Startled, she glanced down, but there was nothing. Her bare skin was unblemished. She still looked around, wondering if it could be another ice wraith approaching, but she neither saw nor felt anything. Except…

There it was again. Pain, but tiny. Like needles jabbing at her skin. She looked down, trying to make out anything that could be causing it. But there was nothing, just her skin in…

In the air. The cold air, swirling around her arm. But I'm a vampire. One of the blessings of the Volkihar was that the cold would never touch them. They might know it, use it, welcome its coming, but never, never, cause them pain.

Somehow, through some impossible fluke, Serana was feeling cold. She, who had once run naked through a blizzard, was being hurt by the cold.

How long has it been? This unpleasantness wasn't much, was as nothing compared to the wrenching hungers that came with every day as a vampire. But it was new. And so, she sat there, arms and legs bare, and luxuriated in the pain that she now felt.

She didn't realize Velandryn had approached her until he cleared his throat. She jumped a little, then did her best to pretend she hadn't. "What is it?"

"Can I sit?" His voice was soft, as though he were afraid of it carrying.

Serana glanced over at Lydia, who was watching them. "Do you want me to…" She waved a finger in a circle around them.

He blinked. "No! No need for that. I just wanted to see how you were holding up." He sat beside her, legs sprawled out before him.

She ran a hand along her arm, still marveling at the cold. "I can feel the cold. Really feel it. I didn't know that could happen to the Volkihar."

"Interesting." Velandryn was looking at her arm now, and Serana had a sudden rush of self-consciousness. He reached out a hand for a moment, but seemed to realize what he was doing and snapped it back. "This mountain is…different. The magicka in the air, something about it is unlike any I've ever encountered. Maybe that's why you're feeling it?"

She hugged her knees to her chest, leaning back against the rock wall that sheltered their pitiful fire. "I couldn't say…but I like it. A little pain, but in a good way."

Velandryn's chuckle, as ever, was enhanced by the gravelly rasp that underpinned it. "The Cult of Silken Webs would rejoice to hear you say that. They have always been…universal…in their pursuit of ecstasy."

"What?" It seemed Velandryn's mind had gone somewhere very odd.

He just shook his head. "Never mind. You're okay, though? It's been a very long couple of days on this mountain."

She smiled. "I am, but I'm happy to know that you care."

He laughed again. "Purely selfish, rest assured! You're a damn fine companion, and I'd not want anything to happen to such a useful friend!"

His tone was light and his words sarcastic, but the way he said friend sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the cold on her skin. He means it.

A roar sounded from beyond their shelter. Serana stood and drew her blade in the span of two of Velandryn's heartbeats, the elf clambering to his feet behind her and summoning fire that circled his open hand. Lydia too was rising, grabbing her shield from the ground.

"Something must have seen the fire." Lydia moved to the rear of the cave. "We should get back, put the fire between us."

Velandryn did as she said, but Serana strode out into the darkness. Fight in the light? By the fire? She'd take her chances in the dark.

The light of Magnus could still be seen, thin lines of pale blue and orange over the mountains to the west. This high up, she was looking down at the sunset, and took a moment to enjoy the new experience.

Then, something huge leapt from the cliff above. She turned in a panic, and beheld a creature half again as big as she, a brutish hulk of muscle and patchy white fur. Thick arms pounded the ground as the beast squared off against her. Three tiny black eyes blinked at her from under a bony brow, and a mouth studded with misshapen fangs opened and bellowed a deafening challenge.

Serana had never seen a frost troll in the wild, but the head of one sat over her father's seat at Castle Volkihar. To hear him tell the story, it had been a battle for the ages. And that was after he turned. She drew her sword, conjured a spike of jagged ice, and readied herself to attack.

Before she could act, the troll was running towards her, shockingly fast for its size and ungainly proportions. She danced back with ease, but gasped in involuntary shock as one of her feet slipped on the ice and nearly took her to the ground. Cursing, she scrambled to one side in a half-crouch, shouting for Velandryn, for Lydia, for help.

The troll closed, huge arms swinging. She sent a spike of ice through the creature's shoulder, making it stagger back. However, the beast's wound was knitting itself shut, muscle and flesh entwining as it shook the arm and roared in what might have been pain. Within five seconds, it was as though she'd done nothing at all.

Then, it charged in earnest. What had before been a lumbering charge was now a bestial avalanche, claws and teeth bared. Were it not for Serana's immortal instincts, she would have been ripped apart where she stood.

Instead, she managed to get back, avoiding the blows as they came. However, the beast simply kept coming, each swing of its great shaggy arms getting far too close for comfort. He speed did her little good here; the mountain path was simply too narrow to get far away.

Then, a cry from behind, and the sound of metal clanging. Lydia stood framed by the fire, ringing the hilt of her blade against her Dwemer shield. "My thane! Your fire!"

The troll stood between them, startled from its attack by this new enemy, huffing and growling in anger and confusion. The respite gave Serana the chance to look over to her companions, where Velandryn—

What had been a simple conjuring of flame now ringed both his hands, and wrapped along his arms like serpents. A bit of red-gold licked upwards, touching his face before flaring out. For a moment, Velandryn stood, fire alive around him. And then, he attacked.

The fire moved with him. It was not the fire bolts he typically favored, nor the broad bursts of flame he sometimes used. These were focused, acting almost as extensions of his arms, thrusting towards the troll as he pointed. His movements were not those of a warrior, but the fire had clearly spooked the beast, and it leapt back with that same startling agility.

Then, with no warning, it charged once more, focused entirely on the source of the hateful flame. Velandryn began to react, but Serana could see that it would be too little, too late. She willed her body to move, but her speed took a moment to come to her, and she was so far…

With a bestial bellow, Lydia knocked her thane out of the way. She had her shield raised, and somehow, as the troll's claws descended, she did something that sent the beast reeling off to one side. What technique that had been Serana couldn't say, but the troll was knocked aside, and Velandryn was picking himself up off the ground, looking panicked but unharmed.

Lydia was holding her arm, wincing. Serana ran past her, blade out. Need to wound it deep. The troll might heal, but her allies needed all the time she could buy them. She buried her sword in the troll's chest. It bellowed in pain, then something slammed into her from the side. In an instant, her world went black.

Serana was a blur as she charged the troll, driving her sword into it as Velandryn did his best to stand straight. When it hit her, though, he felt as though the wind was knocked out of him a second time. Its arm was huge and heavy, tipped with wicked claws. Serana crumpled where she stood as her sword was forced from the troll's flesh by some force he couldn't see. Can their healing do that?

Whether it could or not, the monster stood over Serana, breathing heavily but without visible injury. It raised great shaggy arms over its head, ready to bring them down and crush the life from the vampire.

Velandryn saw her die. Whether prophecy or imagination he would never know, but he watched those great claws cave in her skull, smash her body to pieces and bleed her essence out upon the snow. He saw white stained black with the death of Serana, and he acted. A moment of pure instinct, destruction and protection as one.

YOL!

The fire was everywhere. It consumed the air, racing towards the troll. And Serana. Ice filled his veins, and he reached out as though he could draw it back as the inferno descend on her.

He was running. Lydia was shouting something, but the rush of blood in his ears made it impossible to hear her words. The troll was bellowing as well, somewhere far in the distance. Did it retreat? It didn't matter. She needs me. The dark shape on the ground was smoking now. He huddled over her, neither knowing nor caring where the troll had gone.

Oh, Ancestors!

Her armor was only slightly burned, but it seemed that whatever special gifts Serana's pure blood granted her did not extend to protection from vampires' most infamous bane. The fire still smoldered on her exposed skin, and as he furiously tried to smother it he watched a spark alight in her cheek and begin to eat its way into her flesh.

No!

He tried to pull the flame away from her using his magicka, but it resisted. Whether it was some quality of vampires or the power of Yol, the fire drew away only a little, and refused to stop burning. Desperate, he lifted her body and dumped her into the snow that had piled up at the base of the cliff. Have to quench it.

He knew that she didn't have to breath, so for a frantic moment he did nothing but bury her deeper and deeper in the snow, willing it to be enough. If I can just get the fire out…

When he pulled her from the snow, her skin was mercifully free of flames, smoldering or otherwise, but the damage had been done. Oh, Blessed Azura. Non-Dunmer were weak against fire, but this…this was something else entirely.

He had done this to her. He cradled her body, looking for some sign—anything—that showed she still lived. The damage is all on the surface. He told himself that, even as he poured healing magic into her body. She'll be okay. She had to be.

Serana's body, however, refused to mend. She twitched, shivered, began moaning, but none of it changed the blackened ruin that spread across her skin. In places, he could see muscle and bone exposed to the air, looking for all the world as if they belonged to a cadaver.

Then, a sound. It was more gurgle than anything else, but it came from her throat. One eye opened; the other was too badly burned to do so. Serana was waking up, and her body began thrashing under him. Her strength was monstrous, and it was all he could do not to be thrown off. "Serana! Stop!" There was only one idea he had left. "You have to drink my blood!"

It only took a second to slice his palm on her sword, and another to press it to what remained of her lips. "Drink!" Something wet was on his face. "Please! You have to!"

A motion against his palm. The faintest sound, beyond her labored, uneven breathing. Her throat moved, and lines of red trickled through the muscles that writhed beneath her broken skin.

Serana began to move. Not the mindless thrashing from before, but a curling of her body around him. Or, more specifically, around his hand. The motion of her tongue against his wound slowed and gained a new deliberate rhythm, even as she began to heal.

It was disconcerting, the way she restored herself. Velandryn knew that he was a better healer than the average Temple priest, and had attended to wounds at least as grievous as these. There, however, the process was hidden from view by the glow of Restoration magic; the light that was emitted as magicka attuned itself with the recipient to mend their wounds. Here, there was nothing but the process itself, and it was not for the faint of heart. Or weak of stomach.

It was like watching a corpse decay, but in reverse, and at far greater speed. Withered muscles pulsed with life as his blood shot through them, and broken tendons shot out to latch themselves to bone. The gaping holes in her skin grew inwards at their edges, knitting themselves together and leaving no hint there had ever been a wound. Her face twisted as the flame-ravaged skin crept upwards, restoring itself to its rightful place on her skull.

Behind him, Velandryn heard Lydia make a choking sound. For his own part, he could not tear his eyes away. I did this to her. Whatever came next—

With a gasp, her eyes opened, and stared directly into his own. They blazed like the morning sun, so different from his own. So beautiful. Serana might think herself a monster, but he knew the truth. She had saved his life too many times to count now...and this is how I repay her.

I don't deserve to look at her. Still, he couldn't tear his eyes away. For a timeless moment, they stayed like that. Then, her voice, from somewhere far away. "For the next troll, let's try a different tactic."

Velandryn wiped away a treacherous tear, unable to say anything. Finally, he managed the smallest voice of his life. "I'm sorry."

Serana was smiling, leaning in even as he sagged, exhausted, against the cliff face. "I don't think I quite caught that."

"I'm sorry." There was something in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. "I'm...I'm so sorry."

Lydia was there now too, looking at them both with an expression Velandryn couldn't read. Serana glanced up at the housecarl. "You alright there?"

Lydia nodded. "I'll be fine." A long pause. "And yourself?"

Serana looked at them both, then sighed. "I'm a vampire. If it doesn't kill me up front, it won't over time. With enough blood, I'm not sure you could kill me even if you wanted to." She stopped, and looked back and forth between them again. "That...may have come out slightly more threatening than I intended."

Lydia smiled then. "I just watched you charge a troll to save us. Can't claim I'll always be okay with every little thing about you being a vampire, but I'm convinced." She held out a gauntlet. "I'm Lydia of Whiterun, Housecarl to the Dragonborn. We're out to save Skyrim. I look forward to travelling with you."

"Likewise." Serana clasped the big Nord's arm. "Serana of the Volkihar. A genuine pleasure." She glanced down at Velandryn, eyes bright. "You, I think I know."

Velandryn could only watch in mute shock. Why isn't she furious? By his own negligence, Serana had almost been destroyed. Fire was the bane of every vampire, but somehow she was willing to act like nothing had happened. "Why aren't...I almost killed you!"

"And then you sliced yourself open to save me." Serana shrugged. "Blood doesn't just sustain us. When I drink, it washes away everything else. Right now, I can think about the burns. I know they were bad, and can even remember how much they hurt. Intellectually, that exists. But...it's not...real, anymore, I guess?" She held out a hand. "Did you mean to do it?"

"Of course not!" He had known he needed fire, and Yol had come. Dangerous, but powerful.

She pulled him from the snow. "I've been hurt by people who were trying. Compared to them, this was nothing." A raised brow. "Now, can we get into shelter before the troll comes back?"

"She won't, probably." That was Lydia. "Big one like that, she's lived a century or more. We get them sometimes in the hills north of the city. If you hurt them bad but don't finish the job, they'll run off and lick their wounds. That's not great for the folk living around there, but right now it means we have a couple of days before it crawls out of whatever hole it climbed into." She stomped back towards the fire. "Shor's bones, is it cold!"

"Care to tell me the truth now?" Lydia's voice was quiet, perhaps so Velandryn wouldn't wake. The fact that Dragonborn had taken nearly an hour to fall asleep after lying down was more than a little unusual for him.

Serana patted the snow beside her as she raised a shield of silence over Velandryn. I will make it bigger this time, though. If the troll was planning to return, she'd not be caught unaware a second time. "I'm certain I have no idea what you are talking about."

Lydia sat, her armor crunching into the snow. "Don't worry, Velandryn's asleep. Finally. I want to know why you were lying when you told him you didn't feel the pain."

Serana nodded slowly. "How did you know?"

"Velandryn can't read faces. He's better now, but he still misses the little tells. Me? I've spent half my life trying to get the truth out of people."

"A useful talent." Serana really didn't want to talk about this, but it also didn't seem like she had a choice. Not if she and I are going to maybe finally be okay with each other. "What if I promise that it isn't nefarious?"

Lydia chuckled. "I'd leave, but I'd still wonder." The big woman looked Serana up and down. "Swift Kyne, Serana, I want to trust you, but you don't make it easy!"

"Yeah." She stared out into the sky for a moment. "Fine."

She tried to gather her thoughts, to figure out how to say this in a way that didn't come across as vying for pity or trying to shock. "You cannot tell Velandryn." That much, she knew. I don't want him to look at me differently.

A sharp intake of breath. "I can't promise that."

"Ice and bone, woman, must you be so...so...mmph!" She swallowed her groan of frustration. "It won't hurt him!" She couldn't quite explain why it was so important to her that Velandryn didn't learn about this. "I just…I..." She swallowed, a long-since useless reflex. Nothing for it but to go forward. "The ritual that turned me into a vampire..." She couldn't continue; the words simply wouldn't come. "Sorry. When I turned, it was the worst pain I've ever felt. After that, everything else just...pales in comparison." Even that much was enough to bring back the feeling of stone under her hands, of rough iron and pressure as the hand gripped her. The hand-

A hand was shaking her. "Serana!" Lydia was peering into her face. "Stay with me!"

And, like that, she was back. She let out a shuddering breath. "Sorry. That's why I don't like to talk about it."

"I don't know if vampires need to breathe, but you were doing it so fast I thought you'd pass out." Lydia's hand pressed down on her shoulder, just for a moment. "I had to make sure you weren't hiding something from us." Her voice was warm

"I wanted to turn him." The words came unbidden.

Lydia froze. "Excuse me?" She hadn't moved, but the warmth was gone.

"Back when we were going home. To the castle, I mean. I thought he'd be good at it, and I'd get to have him close." She could feel that fear again, that he'd leave her and she'd be alone among the Volkihar. "I'd forgotten how much it hurt." The tears were coming now, salty and burning as they streamed down her face. When she wiped them away, her hand was streaked with red. "I...I'm sorry."

Lydia sighed. "Were you this much of a mess before you became a vampire?" She raised a hand. "Sorry, that wasn't kind."

Serana picked up a handful of snow, letting its cold sink into her skin. Lydia's words hadn't hurt. Velandryn had been more right than he knew. I'm broken. "You should see the rest of my family." She managed a smile. "At least I just get sad sometimes."

Lydia snorted. "I'm just happy that you aren't throwing the dishes again." She stood and batted snow from her rear. "I won't tell Velandryn anything, but you two need to talk more." The big woman was silent for a second, then shook her head. "Or maybe just figure out the right things to say?" She shook her head. "It's too cold out here. Have a good watch, Serana."

"Thank you...Lydia." It felt odd to say the big woman's name like that, but she would be remiss not to return the courtesy. "And thank you for talking to me."

Lydia just stood there. "I have one more question, if you don't mind."

Serana ran a hand through her hair and kept looking out into the night. "Might as well."

"How…old… were you, when you turned?"

The diffidence in Lydia's voice surprised Serana more than the question. "I was a few months shy of my nineteenth birthday. Why?"

"Nineteen…gods…" Lydia chuckled, though it sounded somehow bleak. "You were a damned child!"

Serana had to laugh at that. If she hadn't laughed, her anger might have shown. "Excuse me? I was old enough to know what was happening!"

"And when I was nineteen I thought I was going to marry the first girl I'd ever kissed!" Lydia shook her head. "Blessed Kyne, no wonder..."

"No wonder what?" Serana wasn't sure if she actually wanted Lydia to finish that thought.

The Nord just shook her head. "A few things make sense now." She tapped Serana on the shoulder. "You're all right. And if I ever meet your parents, I'm going to hit them. Hard." She grinned. "Have a good watch, and give a yell if you need a hand."

And so, Lydia went back into the cave. Which left Serana alone with the night.

She walked out into the blackness, ears alert for any sign of the troll's return. But all she heard was the howl of the wind about her.

She stood atop the world, looking out over the dark grey of the clouds that covered Skyrim. Should I be afraid? In this moment she was almost beyond feeling; tonight's events, in addition to the constant emotional turmoil of the past week or so, had all but drained her dry.

And yet,Lydia's words warmed her. She knew that neither the Nord nor Velandryn had trusted Serana when they first met, but Lydia had always maintained a stubborn distance that Velandryn lacked. Now, that might be changing. And all I had to do was get set on fire.

Those horrible moments burning in the snow came rushing back, though not quite as they had happened. Despite what Lydia thought, Serana hadn't really been lying. Just not telling the nasty parts of the truth. Drinking blood did wash away pain, and now it was the fear that stuck out to her, more than anything else. I thought I was going to die. She might sometimes think about what it would be like to inflict a mortal wound upon herself and let it all end, but in that moment she had wanted nothing more than to live. She could recall the absolute horror of her body losing itself, peeling away as the fire engulfed her.

And then him. His blood, running through her. She had never before felt life entering her so clearly. It was that feeling that she held onto, as she looked out over the world and waited for morning to come.

The morning dawned clear, but so cold that Velandryn's breath froze before even leaving his mouth, burning his lips and making it difficult to speak. He wrapped a spare shirt around the lower half of his face, and accepted a fur hood from Lydia. He had no doubt he looked ridiculous, but at least now he could exist without pain. Focusing, he warmed the magicka within his body, ensuring he did not lose any fingers or toes. This should be even more fun than yesterday.

Lydia handed him another potion to cure disease, and he downed it without complaint. He'd had one last night as well, but it never hurt to be careful. Though we're going to be running low soon if I double up every time she drinks.

He tried not to think too much about what he had done to Serana as they walked. Somehow he had fallen straight into sleep last night, but this morning he could think of nothing else. Every time she passed into his field of vision, he saw her burned body on the snow. I did that. The fact that she genuinely seemed to bear him no ill will was a bit unnerving, but he clung to it gratefully.

They encountered no other travelers as they ascended, and spoke little. With the air as cold as it was, he didn't dare more than a word or two lest he need to inhale too deeply. It truly is a repulsive temperature up here.

For all of that, though, it was undeniably beautiful. Skyrim spread out below, towns and lakes smudges of grey and blue, with ribbons of river connecting them. It was a little shocking, Velandryn realized suddenly, just how much higher than all of the other mountains in Skyrim the Throat of the World was. It's a difference of kind, not degree.

Such revelations, however, could only keep his mind off the hike for so long. Each step was one more in an interminable procession; he had forgotten what it was like not to be climbing this mountain. Was it three days, or four? Any hope of counting the steps had long since vanished. There was only the climb, and the hope of the Greybeards at the end of it.

Lydia stomped past him, waving as she did so. The sack of supplies they were bringing for the Greybeards thumped against her back. "Keep at it, my thane!"

"Blighted Nords." He made sure Lydia could hear him, and was rewarded with her laughter.

They had come to a broad shelf along the side of the mountain, wide enough for twenty or thirty to walk abreast. Ahead, through the glare of sunlight on the snow, the rocks had a strange regularity—

Velandryn rubbed his eyes. No. Rock that wall might be, but it had been built. As they gained a bit of height, he realized what they were looking at. High Hrothgar at last.

It might have grown out of the Mountain, the way it sat upon the slope. The wall facing them—it looked to be where the main door sat— flat smooth stone, but that regularity gave way to a rough-hewn style that looked to be aping the natural stone which surrounded it.

Lydia let out a low, toneless whistle. "Wow. I didn't think it would be so…"

"It looks like a fortress." Velandryn voiced the thought as it came to him. The Chimer of old had built stone strongholds across Morrowind, fortified wayhouses for travelers. They had been designed to withstand any weather, with beauty a distant secondary concern. Clearly, the same philosophy had gone into High Hrothgar. You could throw a thousand storms against that thing, I doubt it'd even notice.

Serana said nothing. Velandryn had suspected for some time that sunlight impaired her vision, but he doubted he would ever know for certain. Even if he hadn't almost murdered her the night before, that was the kind of question that might well put a vampire's back up.

Another of the stone shrines lay off to one side, though the inscription on this one was written in common Imperial.

Emblem IX

For Years all Silent, the Greybeards spoke one Name

Tiber Septim, stripling then, was Summoned to Hrothgar

They blessed and Named him Dohvakiin

Velandryn studied that last word. Dohvakiin. He sighed. "Dragonborn." He gestured, and a mound of snow splashed up against the tablet, obscuring the words. "Tiber Septim and I, two of a single bloody kind."

Lydia laughed. "Don't tell me you've got a problem with Talos now? We're in Stormcloak land; those are fighting words."

"Talos is a Man-God, and a Divine besides. No concern of mine." He had used far too much magicka moving that snow; telekinesis was almost never worth it no matter how irritated you were. He jammed his hands into the pockets on his heavy robe. "Tiber Septim, though…Historically significant, but not someone I'd much want to be compared to."

"I don't know. There's worse things than being mentioned alongside him." Lydia patted him on the back. "Don't worry, my thane. All you have to do is found two Empires, and nobody will even remember his name!"

Serana was watching them. "Tiber Septim. That was the first of the current line of Emperors, correct? Founder of the Third Empire?"

"Conqueror, more like." There was another plaque ahead, almost at the foot of the steps of High Hrothgar. In spite of himself, Velandryn was curious what this last one said, and moved towards it as he spoke. "The Legions ground more than a few crowns into the mud so that red banners could cover Tamriel."

The last plaque was nine lines, arranged three by three. One column was in Imperial, one in that ancient Nord tongue, and the last in what Velandryn recognized as the Dragon Tongue. He focused on the words in the Imperial column, not letting his gaze stray to the three-clawed marks in the other.

Emblem X

The Voice is Worship

Follow the inner Path

Speak only in True Need

"Thu'um is worship." He liked that. "And I suppose killing Dragons counts as True Need."

"And vampires, my thane." There was a moment of awkward silence as Lydia realized what she'd said. "Serana, I just meant—"

"I was there, remember? If that's what it took to bring down Movarth and save Morthal, you won't hear me complaining."

"Actually, I never used Thu'um against Movarth." He wasn't sure why the accuracy mattered to him, but it did. "It did help me get the edge on that one who was hunting for you, though."

Serana was nodding. "I suppose that makes sense. It did seem odd that the two of you would have been able to kill one of my father's handpicked chosen all by yourselves." She blinked. "No offense."

Velandryn chuckled. "You're not wrong. It was a damn near thing, even with every trick I could pull." He let his gaze finally drift to the great door above and before them. Behind that, the Greybeards. "I was barely strong enough, and they want me to protect Skyrim. That's why I'm here, isn't it? To learn?" He nodded, mostly to himself. "And here I am." He took the steps slowly, a strange reticence settling in his gut.

He stopped on the landing. Only a few steps remained, and then he would be at the door. And past that…

He would have to confront it. What I am.

A hand on his shoulder. Lydia. "This is a great honor, my thane." She was smiling down at him. "I'm proud to be here with you."

Serana's face was shrouded in shadow under her hood, but he could see her smile. "Come on, Vel. If I could reject my entire bloodline, you can open a door."

He grunted in agreement, but did not move. Damn it all. He didn't know where this weakness had sprung from. This is it! The culmination of so much.

And after? Once he opened that door, this whole thing would be out of his hands. The Greybeards might give him answers, but at a cost he wasn't sure he was willing to pay.

I don't want to be the Dragonborn. He could admit it now. The knowledge, the power, he would trade all of it away for the certainty of even a single year ago, when he had left Morrowind. He had been looking for answers, to understand where he fit in the world, but he had known who he was.

And now? He was still Velandryn Savani, but he wasn't sure what that meant anymore. Decades of study, of learning, consumed in a dragon's fire. I'll have to save Skyrim. That was what the Dragonborn did, after all. Every Nord he'd met was sure on that, if nothing else.

"Hey." It was Serana, leaning in close. "It's okay." There was a warmth in her eyes that he hadn't seen before. "There's nothing they can do to you that you can't handle."

He chuckled. "I'm sure." After a moment, though, his levity faded. "If I do this, if I learn from them, there's no going back. I'm the Dragonborn, now and forever."

Lydia stood silently. If she had thoughts on this last-minute doubt, she kept them to herself.

Serana, though, nodded thoughtfully. "I don't think there's much doubt there, Velandryn. I've seen you fight; you're Dragonborn."

He sighed. "I know…but…"

She reached out a hand, but stopped short of touching him. "You didn't get to choose, right? Becoming Dragonborn, it just happened?"

He found himself nodding without conscious thought. "That it did." He remembered the battle, the impossible feeling as the dragon died.

Serana pointed at the door. "Well, now you do." She smiled, and somehow it was the saddest expression Velandryn had ever seen. "I…it's important you get to choose." She made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Nobody's holding you down. You could turn around and walk back to Morrowind, if you wanted to."

"Yeah." In that moment, it crystallized. I can walk back to Morrowind. He could end this story, if he so chose. Nobody is making me do this. If he opened that door, if he faced the Greybeards, if he allowed himself to be both Dunmer and Dragonborn, it was on nobody but him.

Velandryn Savani found himself laughing, laughing so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. "Blessed Azura, mother and teacher, I thank you!" He raised his voice, shouting to the heavens. "Triune Gods, I honor you! Venerable Ancestors, I must walk where you never could!" He laid both hands on the doors. "May those who walk in my footsteps find shelter in the mistakes I will make, and wisdom in the battles I will lose. May my transgressions be of righteous cause, and my victories be truly won. Sul'ala'ndro mo druazall! AE GHARTOK AE MER VAZAR AKA AE!"

He pushed, and the doors swung inwards. Beyond, a stone hall, plain and unadorned, sat bathed in the half-light of sullen braziers. Five figures in grey robes stood in a rough circle, all facing him.

Velandryn stepped over the threshold, and bowed as low as his tired bones would allow. "My name is Velandryn Savani. I am the Dragonborn." He waited, but they said nothing. He raised his head, and noticed that the one in the center had taken a single step forward. He looked into the old man's startlingly blue eyes. "I am not a Nord, and I am not of Skyrim, but I am here all the same."

The Greybeard nodded, once. He waved a hand, and the great doors began to inch together. Lydia and Serana leapt inside before the doors slammed shut, and Velandryn found himself nearly knocked off his feet by his own housecarl. By the time he regained his balance, the old man before him stood not five feet away..

"I am Arngeir, a follower of the Way of the Voice. Be welcome, Dragonborn." He turned to Lydia and Serana, and bowed slightly. "Be welcome, companions of the Dragonborn." He bowed to Velandryn once more. "Let us begin."