As night fell upon Solitude above the fleeting orange glow of dusk, people were closing up their shops and calling it a day.
"How were the wine sales today, Evette?" Sorex Vinius, the co-owner of the Winking Skeever asked.
"Not like it should be." the Breton woman bemoaned. "With all this talk of the War, Dragons and Vampires, the spice shipments have been very slow. No merchants want to come here. I've had to resort to making plain wine, and nobody cares. They could buy it cheaper at your father's tavern."
"Vittoria Vici must have had to push her wedding date ahead, too." Sorex pondered. "Everything is on the delay. Not many tourists or visitors either."
"Maybe we should outsource to the Legion instead." Evette wondered. "You could always pull some connections, and I could bargain with Captain Aldis for shipping. Maybe I'll even give you ten bottles for free."
Sorex scoffed smugly. "You and me, we're the only people around who aren't complete fools."
As they finished their conversation, an entire mob of people rushed past them, screaming.
Out of concern, Sorex and Evette walked behind the wall of the trade store, Bits and Pieces, to observe what was happening.
City Guards were being attacked by a small platoon of Volkihar vampires, led by the Volkihar Court's own Fura Bloodmouth. At the city gates, she had began her speech. "The Dawnguard will want the Bow, and they will fight us, hard, to get it. We should strike them first before they can muster a larger force. But their time has come to an end. And you will be the one that ends it. We will carry out our Lord's will here, in this pitiful city."
The vampires laughed maliciously. The Dawnguard were sighted throughout the holds, finding sympathetic hideouts therein and fostering diplomatic connections with the local governments as well. It fell to her to root them out in Haafingar.
Though, raining chaos on the townspeople would prove entertaining in its own right.
"Drink the city dry!" Fura commanded her squadron. "For the glory of Lord Harkon!"
She extended her sword forward, and the small Legion of black shadows with glowing red eyes descended upon the populace like a swarm of locusts.
Evette and Sorex quickly rushed to the only place of safety they could find; the well at the center of the marketplace. Sorex leapt down first and pulled Evette down by her hands, and covered the entrance above them with a grate.
Immediately, the Legionnaires took action with the City Guard and began to clash blades with the vampires.
Fura Bloodmouth lived up to her adopted surname; by grabbing a legionnaire by his back and pulling him close, and sinking her teeth into his neck. Blood came spilling out as she tore the flesh off like a rabid dog, and coated the lower half of her face, and neck, in thick, red viscus fluid. The soldier immediately dropped to the floor, dead before the impact.
Invigorated by her kill, Fura began to glow with ominous red energy and mercilessly mowed down a row of City Guards, one at a time like a ruthless lioness in a pack of sheep, biting and tearing a few lambs along the way and soaking the streets of the capital with blood and corpses like a macabre rainstorm.
Citizens panicked, running into their houses and through the streets, though many did not make their way to safety in time to avoid the massacre.
Sometimes a cold body sends a greater message than warm ones, Fura had thought. How many she would leave on their doorstep this night!
The Dawnguard would surely be hindered by the lack of authoritarian support and declared incompetence. Then that Dragonborn, Cura and her foolish friends would bring the Bow right to the Castle for Harkon's taking once they've finished her off as well.
For now, though, first things first: carnage.
Captain Aldis ran down the ramp west of the market with his greatsword clenched in both hands. He cleaved the chest of a vampire and sliced the leg off another as he raced to meet their commander in combat.
He brought his sword down upon Fura, but she deflected it and reached for his neck with her left hand. "Hissss..." she seethed as she pushed him against the stone palisade behind her. "I'll rend you limb from limb!"
Aldis attempted to pry the vampiress' hand off his neck, but her supernatural strength was overwhelming. Then, he recognized their attacker and his eyes widened with shock. "No... it can't be... you're... you're Private... :hack!:" he was beginning to suffocate. "...F...Fura... Morrard..."
The vampiress paused for a moment when the name struck her like a lightning bolt. She then snarled angrily and tossed him to the side, into the bushes. "No longer! I abandoned that name long ago!"
This was her home, once. She served the Legion until she met a deathly fate on the fields in Whiterun, where her platoon was betrayed from within. Their Stormcloak-turncoat leader led them into an ambush, where they fought for their lives and each ended up laying, bleeding onto the earth.
Orthjolf happened upon her on that night, as she was drawing her last breath, and offered her another chance to live. A new life, in Harkon's court.
And now the mortals have killed him.
She recalled that fateful night, where the futility of the Civil War and the foolishness of mankind was revealed to her.
Her mother was right; joining the Legion did kill her, but the Volkihar Court rejuvenated her.
Leave the politics to the fools and the kings. Lord Harkon told her to terrorize the city, so she shall.
And she will relish in the chaos; for she is a Vampire; and so she is free.
Just then, one of the vampires nearby was impaled through his chest with a blade wielded by Jaree-Ra, the Argonian brigand, and another was stuck in the back of her neck by Noster, the homeless war veteran.
The earlier smugness on the vampiress began to subside when a hail of silver bolts came raining down upon her squadron from the rooftops.
She quickly grabbed another vampire and used her as a shield for the bolts headed her way.
The meat shield wailed as the bolts riddled her and melted her flesh.
The Dawnguard arrived on the scene, and they were dipping their crossbows in buckets of holy water, blessed by the priests at the Temple of the Divines.
Fura roared with rage and tore her way forward, bringing the fiends into the heart of the city.
The Bards barred the door to the college with barbed wooden boards in a haphazard, erratic, flurried manner, but thankfully the jagged splinters harmed the children of the night who tried to pry them off.
Fura and the remainder of her legions made way for the Blue Palace, to kill all therein.
Sybille Stentor, the Court Wizard and Advisor stood outside the courtyard, fangs bared, revealing her own Vampiric nature to the assailants before hurling a great Fire Storm their way.
Fura leaped over the spinning vortex of fire and dashed forward with her sword gripped in both hands, readying its mark on the Destruction Master. The two dashed about in a red and black blur through the courtyard, up the castle wall, and back down to the ground.
Fura drove her sword forward into Sybille's right arm, pinning her against one of the exterior palace columns. "A vampire working for mortals? What a waste of time. You should be working for a powerful Vampire Lord."
"I don't need to dignify you with an explanation." Sybille narrowed her eyes. The mage pulled her arm back, sliding off the sword, and palace guards ran to attack Fura.
The violent vampiress lunged to her right and tore into one of the guards' stomachs and pulled out his entrails. She turned her face to steal a look at Sybille Stentor. "You've no chance against a true vampire!"
Sybille snarled and the other guards cringed.
"Why are you doing this?" Sybille asked as irritation overtook her stoic visage. "It's a pointless endeavour, and it will only draw ill attention to our kind." Truly, she had spent decades overseeing the throne of Solitude; she would not allow it to fall here. Nor would she allow her position within to be compromised by this contentious vagabond.
Raising her hands, Sybille raised up a tall wall of fire around their area, creating a curtain to contain the threat for the time being. Having been a vampire herself for far longer, she knew quite a big deal about their weaknesses and grievances.
Fura smiled like a crocodile with prey in its sights. "Simple. When my Lord says 'kill', I kill. Sometimes he doesn't even have to say it."
"Then you're nothing but a mindless puppet." Sybille snorted as she hit her with a quick icicle square in the chest, but Fura only pulled it out and snarled with growing rage.
The vampiress turned into a red fog and moved around the courtyard, dodging more Ice Spikes and materializing behind a Soldier. She sunk her teeth in his neck and fed off of him to absorb some of his life force to heal her wounds.
The city was up in flames as braziers were knocked over through several quarters. Spilled blood acted as a reagent for the flames to carry. The greatest fear at the moment was towards how far these uncontrolled fires would spread.
Potema Septim herself could never have dreamed of this.
The vampires were doing in a single hour what the Stormcloaks themselves have failed to do in years; they've besieged the capital of the Province.
Truly, it seemed more a threat from Harkon to the province more than anything.
Fura's forces swarmed the area, and began to throw the guards around like ragdolls.
Fura rushed into Sybille and tackled her against the nearby wall. Being so close in proximity, the mage had no time to cast a spell. Sybille fought back by clawing at her attacker, catching Bloodmouth by the throat.
In immediate response, Fura stabbed her in the abdomen once and withdrew, and readied her blade to cut the wizard's head off, when suddenly...
Crack!
A bolt hit Fura in her right side, and she screamed in horror as the holy water seared into her flesh like acid.
A Dawnguard soldier led the charge towards the Palace with the Temple Priests behind him, aiding the city guard and Legionnaires by giving them holy water to submerge their blades and arrows in.
Once upon a time, she would have called these men her brothers in arms. That time has long passed, however.
One by one, the soldiers began to push back the vicious night creatures with blessed steel.
The battle was quickly turning in man's favour.
Vampire after vampire were seated and burned.
Fura flew through Sybille's flame wall, taking the painful burns in a flurry of panic and soared over the crowd of raging vampires and steadfast soldiers.
Her army was falling before her eyes, and it was unacceptable.
This wasn't supposed to be!
Another blessed crossbow bolt whizzed past her and exploded on contact with another small warring crowd.
It was futile.
Fura spitefully blasted one of the soldiers with a lightning bolt as she flew overhead, and thanks to the puddle of blood he stood in, the electricity conducted and fried soldiers and vampires around him. Then the ferocious vampiress shapeshifted into a black wolf with red eyes and dashed through more clashing blades and knocked people out of her way before lunging into another soldier and clamping her teeth down on his arm.
"Grah!" the Imperial Soldier exclaimed as he throttled his arm to try and get the wolf off. Fura only sunk her teeth in deeper, causing the soldier to attempt to stick her with his sword.
The sheer audacity of this slab of meat!
Fura thrust her head to the side and tore off the soldier's left arm, causing him to wail in horror, opening him up to an attack by his other vampiric opponent. The black wolf spat his severed limb onto the floor and continued to run and trip other Soldiers and City Guards as she ran through the streets. Taking after her Nord father, she was not going to go out without a fight.
One would even attribute this stubbornness to the Legion training itself. Truly, Aldis raised his men and women up to be vicious on the battlefield.
Sybille's flame wall wore off and she resumed battle against the vampires who were now attempting to flee. "I failed Torygg, but I will not allow Jarl Elisif to fall." She looked to the city guard who blocked the vampires' escape route and they nodded, posting themselves in an arrowhead formation to charge into the oncoming beasts. Dawnguard soldiers took to the left and right flanks with their war axes at the ready to guard against stragglers.
Sybille was uncertain as to where she stood with the Dawnguard, but decided to focus more on the more immediate threat instead. Summoning two great Firebolts, one in each hand, she began the fight by launching them at the vampires caught between herself and the forces.
Four attempted to flee towards the Bard's College grounds, but took the hit and were vaporized on impact.
Fura returned to her humanoid form and swerved through the air, holding her side through the burning city streets ten feet below, losing focus due to the burning pain in her side. She saw the stalls of the marketplace; a sight she'd not seen in years. Blood soaked the stalls as dead vampires' bodies were strewn about, with mortal ones lain around them. Civilians, soldiers, and a couple of Bards. Ignoring the distracting sights, she quickly ducked for cover within Angeline's Aromatics - a familiar location, and closed shut the door behind her as the calamity raged outside.
Damn them. Of course they would have made holy water!
Fura scoffed at the Dawnguard as she leaned against the nearby wall for support. "The more "serious" group of the Vigilants of Stendarr." she mocked as she pressed a hand over her open wound. "Sometimes when you skin a Skeever, you find he has a more aggressive mate. The Dawnguard apparently like killing vampires. Almost as much as we like killing them." She thought to herself as she stained the wall with a dragging, bloodied handprint.
Sybille was one thing, but the Dawnguard were something else entirely - how could Harkon expect her to come out of this alive?
Unless he didn't.
The thought began to creep into her mind. Vingalmo, Orthjolf, Stalf, Salonia...
None of them mattered to Harkon. They were all in his way, or under suspicion in one way or another.
But she was loyal! She obeyed without question! She was supposed to be a Scion of the Night after the Tyranny of the Sun was complete!
He promised them all lies.
As much as she hated politics after her past life, she wound up caught in the middle of them regardless. Harkon was cleaning up his court. He had no intention of sharing the eternal night with any of them. Her loyalty, her devotion, it was meaningless to the Vampire Lord just the same. He only saw them as tools to further his own aims. Why could she not see that?
It was that rotten Breton Vigilant of Stendarr's fault - that rotten, scheming Keeper Carcette. Everything was fine until she entered the picture. Why did they think keeping a Vigilant of Stendarr around was a good idea anyway?
Probably because they were powerless; useless; inept.
And yet that bitch single-handedly set the snowball rolling - and now it was an avalanche, waiting to come crashing down upon their heads. That moment she turned Orthjolf and Vingalmo against each other was what caused this.
No, even before that.
It was better before that Dragonborn, Cura, came under their radar for slaying Minorne. That was when the court grew tense. For the first time, that Court had a potential threat. Cura's refusal to be turned when Serana was presented before the court only grew the flame of anxiety. And then Carcette fooling him into believing she was fully turned. That was what set him off. From that moment onwards, the normally calm Harkon began to descend into madness. Now, everybody was an enemy.
Fura located the hidden entrance to her mother's cellar and bunker, built in the event of war decades ago. She pried open the hidden latch after sliding part of the counter out of its way and descended the small stairwell, and opened the door below.
"Oh, no!" Vivienne Onis cried out as the shadowed figure opened the door. The apothecary was holed down there with her Aunt from the moment the conflict arose, as planned. She quickly unsheathed her dagger and readied a Shock spell in her left hand.
Angeline's old eyes widened when Fura stepped into view. "No... by the gods, it can't be! Fura?"
Immediately the wretched expression fell off the vampiress' face. A look of somberness instead took its place. "Mother..."
She had left her Mother's house in Solitude behind years ago, to join the Legion. It hadn't worked out well between them, but she wanted to serve the Empire and honour her Father's legacy.
Being half-Breton, most would have assumed her to veneer towards the magical arts, or the alchemical as her mother had, but she was a Nord at heart, and more proud of that fact. Her ferocity was unmatched by any other Nord woman she'd known, except perhaps for Hestla.
Hestla. She never should have brought her to Orthjolf's attention, convinced her to leave Jorrvaskr and join her in the Court. She doomed her, as well, she could see it now.
Angeline stood up and quickly rushed towards her daughter, only to be pulled back by her niece. "No, Auntie Angela! Don't go near her! She's one of them! She's a Vampire!"
"No! It isn't possible!" Angeline cried out in protest, in spite of the glowing red eyes. "Fura, tell me it isn't so!"
Fura avoided eye contact with the old woman, and instead cast a Magelight to the nearby wall to allow her bloodied mouth and fangs to speak on her behalf.
Angeline gasped with horror and covered her mouth. She fell back into Vivienne's arms.
Much to her surprise, something in the savage Fura's heart was beginning to warm up. An old, familiar sentiment began to rear its head. Was it love? A bond of some kind? It felt oddly alien to her.
What was it like, being Human? She was so deeply entrenched in the shadows that it passed her. She outgrew it, she supposed.
The setting was familiar to her. She recalled her childhood tending the gardens with her mother and her cousin, and the sunny days where Roggvir and Sorex often came by to play as well.
It was a good time. A happy time.
Those sights and warmth were replaced with the cold, burning feel of the holy water eating her flesh from within, and the view of her weeping mother and horrified cousin.
What was she doing?
Reaching forward towards the two of them, Fura took a step forward. "Mother., Vivienne..."
CRACK!
Something sharp hit her in the back of the head. Blood began to leak out of a hole in her forehead. Her kin screamed at the sight.
Burning. Acidic, divine fluid burned out from the hole in her head, eating her away.
"I'm... sorry..." were the last words choked out by the menace as she collapsed to the floor. She seemed to have her eyes closed, as if she had finally gotten a restful sleep in years, before her face withered to bone, and then to dust, and her body collapsed just the same, leaving behind her Vampire Armour.
Vivienne and Angeline both wailed at the sight and held one another as a Dawnguard figure stepped over Fura Bloodmouth's ashes from the shadows beyond them.
Taking off his helmet, it was revealed to be Durak. "Are you both all right?" the orc asked the frightened women. Unfortunately, he would receive no response save for some bittered tears. A sentiment that would echo through the entire city that night and into the following day in the face of this hollow victory.
The moment Fura died, it seemed as though the remaining vampires sensed it; the thirteen of them throughout the city quickly took to the skies in bat form in attempt to escape into the moonlit wilderness.
The Dawnguard loaded their crossbows and the Imperials their bows, and they began to open fire upon the escaping night creatures, taking out five unfortunate ones, while eight managed to successfully flee the city walls.
Captain Aldis sat down against the well and exhaled deeply as he attempted to mend his wounds. Much to his surprise, there was a knock on the well grate behind him. The Captain gripped the stone top of the well and helped himself back to his feet to peer within and see the source of the racket. Leaning in for closer inspection, he saw Sorex Vinius and Evette San huddled in close proximity below the grate. "What in Oblivion are the two of you doing down there? ...Actually, forget it. I'd rather not know."
"Nothing like that!" Evette cried out defensively.
"We hid in here when the attack began, and now the grate is stuck." Sorex tried to explain. "Can you pull it out from your side?"
"I can try." Captain Aldis asserted as he stretched his arms. He grabbed hold of the metal grate and pushed it down firmly before prying it up and out of its hangings. He then offered a hand to Evette, pulling the Breton woman out of the pit.
"Where's my father? Where's Octieve?" Evette quickly began to look around. "By the gods..." she saw the marketplace, bloodied and in ruins.
Sorex was next, catching his footing outside the well. "Oh, gods..." his voice dripped in horror as he saw the embers of Solitude falling in the open air when the men quickly began to rush into the city with buckets from the dock area below.
Noster, the war veteran, lay dead near the city gates, and many Soldiers were dead, missing limbs, and tending their wounds on the sides of the streets. The Bards from the College were helping with the firefighting effort, and the Dawnguard were searching for survivors throughout the city.
Captain Aldis began to issue out orders towards the continued watch of the city as he would leave Evette and Sorex to check on the welfare of Castle Dour and the Blue Palace.
Legate Rikke and General Tullius emerged into the town square, covered in blood themselves. They demanded a body count be issued and a list be recorded of the damages, as well as a proper recognition be given to the Dawnguard, who were pivotal in defending the city.
News quickly made its way back to Castle Volkihar in the North, mere hours after the fact, and one of the survivors detailed to Feran Sadri, the Dunmer vampire, of what occurred in the city; how they were driven back and their squad leader, Fura Bloodmouth was no longer on the mortal plane with them.
Hestla cupped her hands over her mouth in horror at this, as Fura was a good friend to her. She had told her it was a bad idea, but as usual, Fura only wanted to do one of four things in her unlife: eat, sleep, kill, and serve Lord Harkon. There was no changing her mind or deterring her.
Since the Dragonborn was gone, they thought it the best time, but it would appear the Dawnguard had become formidable foes over the months.
Feran Sadri hated that it fell to him to be the bearer of bad news this time around, but Hestla was too fearful to face Harkon, herself. Hesitantly, he made his way through the oddly silent dining hall and up the stairs and down the hall towards Harkon's private quarters, where he saw his Lord seated before the fireplace.
Feran cleared his throat. This news was sure to enrage Harkon. "M...my Lord, I bring you troubling news."
"Yes?" Harkon asked as he awaited, not turning to look at his subordinate while he spoke.
"The siege of Solitude has failed, but many were killed, my Lord." Feran Sadri bowed to his Lord as he addressed Harkon, who continued to stare at the flames dancing in his fireplace like a man possessed.
"Good, good." Harkon said dismissively.
"Unfortunately, my Lord, Fura Bloodmouth has fallen." Feran said morosely.
"So she has." Harkon took a sip from his bloodied chalice coldly as he spoke.
"My Lord?" Feran leaned back against the wall, confused by his lack of a reaction. Perhaps he misheard him. "Fura Bloodmouth was killed by a member of the Dawnguard."
"So I would expect." Harkon said flatly. "They've grown more powerful, even without Auriel's Bow."
Feran was shocked by what he was hearing. "You... sent Fura to Solitude to die?"
"Or to report on the prowess of the enemy. Whether or not she could escape the city she knew in her past life was not my concern. What matters is that a useless member of my court is no longer within it, and I now have a measurement of the power our enemies hold." Harkon leaned back in his chair, exerting a confident, and cruel air about him.
Feran could scarce believe it. "Fura would have done anything for you, my Lord. With all due respect."
They were witnessing the fall of the Volkihar Court happening before their very eyes, and Harkon seemed untroubled by it. Untouched. Uncaring. Distant. This only added to the tension brewing through the echoing halls.
"Then she has. She has died for her Lord." Harkon took another sip of blood. "Is that not what a servant is expected to do in honour? Lay down their life for their Lord?" He slowly turned his face to glare at the Dark Elf. "Or do you have anything else to add, Feran?" He clenched the armrest of his chair with his claws, dragging them into the wood, carving long streaks into it.
Feran's heart shrunk for a moment, and he backed down. "Of course not, My Lord. My apologies."
Harkon slowly calmed himself. "Good. Go and make yourself... useful."
That last word punched a hole in his chest. Taking a bow, Feran Sadri dismissed himself and walked out of the room to allow his Lord time to brood and stir amongst himself. Though, he feared what that may entail in the future.
Ronthil, the submissive Bosmer, stood outside the door and occupied Feran on his walk towards the dining hall. He observed the grim face on his superior. "Do you... do you need anything, Feran?"
Feran snapped his head towards him. "What?"
Ronthil gripped his hands tightly and tried to reiterate. "Can I assist you? You know I live to serve."
Feran dismissed him. "No, I don't need anything right now. Please stop asking."
"Yes, of course." Ronthil tried to change the subject to what pertained to the current state of affairs. "So... he sent Fura there knowing what would happen. Does he think us all traitors? Should we escape?"
Feran Sadri quickly cupped a hand over his mouth to silence him. "I don't know, but if you're going to say such foolish things out in the open, I'm not going to suffer you a minute longer." He feared if Harkon could overhear them from his distance, and would not risk his unlife on it.
"S-sorry..." Ronthil stammered anxiously as his superior brushed him past.
"I did not turn you so that you could lead to my end." Feran snarled as he quickly slunk into his coffin and slammed the lid shut.
Garan Marethi stood against the railing that Vingalmo used to sit by during his study days and looked at Ronthil, who stood adjacent to him. "I saw more than enough political maneuvering in my time in House Dres. I was tired of it then, and I'm tired of it now."
Ronthil sighed and paced the floor anxiously. "Lord Harkon sent Fura to die in Solitude. Just to measure the strength of the Dawnguard,"
"Well, of course he did. She was an expendable member of the court." the red-haired Dunmer looked baffled at his point in addressing it.
"What if... what if we're next?" Ronthil worried. He was, of course, referring to himself. The only 'expendables' left were himself, Namasur, Rargal, Modhna, and Hestla.
The hall was silent, save for the crackling of the torches along the walls, and Garan stared at him. Ronthil could feel his eyes boring into his soul - or what was left of it, he was unsure. When he agreed to become a Vampire, this was not what he had in mind. He simply was afraid to die. Afraid to die and be forgotten.
Maybe Carcette had the right of it.
This lifestyle was draining - and the end would result in a coward like himself being torn to pieces in Coldharbour. Surely Molag Bal was just champing at the bit to add him to his legion of Soul-Shriven.
Ronthil began to shake uncontrollably. He hurried away from the senior vampire and through the dining hall, heading towards the forge area.
Hestla was tending her forge, and the air was still, and damp with hanging shadows looming above. Ronthil crept down the stairs, and past the sparring post that Fura often used to practice her sword arm. "Hestla? Can we talk?"
"What do you want, elf?" the Nord vampiress sneered as she grabbed a hot blade with a pair of prongs and dipped it, seething red, into a water basin.
"You were in the Companions once, weren't you?" Ronthil asked.
"Aye, I was. Didn't progress very far. Never did care for their attitude, acting like they're better than everyone else. But none of that matters now. I'd like to see any of them try to call me "whelp" again." Hestla reminisced of her time in Jorrvaskr some years ago. "Why do you ask?"
"I think you might need those skills in case..." Ronthil paused for a moment in fear. "in case... you..."
"In case Harkon sends me on a suicide mission?" Hestla finished the sentiment as she placed the blade over the hot anvil again and began to whack it with her hammer.
"Then you heard. We think he's culling the court." Ronthil stated.
"I don't know, but I am going to continue my service to our Lord." Hestla sighed. There really weren't many alternatives. Ronthil could read the subtle, yet present lingering fear in her eyes. She knew what disobedience meant. They all did, now. "Dying in his service will at least give me honour."
Like Hestla and Fura, Ronthil was a newer initiate into the Court, though, before Carcette he was the newest. Of the Originals, only Garan Marethi and Feran Sadri remained. With Orthjolf and Vingalmo out, the Court had fallen into unease.
Where could he go?
Ronthil exhaled. "I'm leaving the Court. This is too much for me."
Hestla looked at him with the corner of her eye. "No matter where you go, he'll find you. You share in his blood. You know that."
"I need to sever the ties somehow..." Ronthil mused as he felt his past sins crawling up his back. "I... I didn't want this."
"Well, you should have thought that through before you accepted this power." Hestla rolled her eyes. She didn't care either way. If Ronthil left, it would just be one less elf skulking about, tainting her airspace. But... it would feel a tad emptier without Ronthil around. So many have vanished already. She exhaled bitterly. "You know what? Fine. Go. Leave. I won't follow you. I'll forget we had this discussion. Just don't ever turn your pointed face back up here, or it will be curtains for you."
"All right, thank you, Hestla. Good luck." Ronthil said as he turned towards the door.
Hestla quickly halted him and approached with a Dwarven Sword, which she discreetly handed him by the hilt. "Here, take this. Always good to have a backup plan, in case the claws and teeth aren't enough."
Accepting the parting gift, Ronthil looked at her sadly and accepted it. "Farewell, Hestla."
Hestla nodded and returned to her affairs. "Yeah. Whatever."
Ronthil turned himself into a mist and flew upwards, seeping through the cracks between the boards that bound the broken ceiling in the dining hall,
The only place he could think of where he could potentially be safe, ironically, was with the Dawnguard. He was banking on the fact that perhaps Carcette would remember how he was kind to her amongst the others and would put in a good word for him. He would help them in any way he could. Harkon has gone too far; he cared for nothing any longer; perhaps even for his own daughter.
The endless night was not worth the trouble Harkon was stirring up in the land.
If only Hestla would have listened to him.
The night was long, and the moon wept over the Sea of Ghosts. Ronthil didn't have much time before his absence would be realized. He had to make his way to the other side of the Province. Thankfully, being able to fly over the vast mountains would shorten his voyage.
Taking to the skies, the Bosmer began his desperate journey.