I have an update! OHHH SHITITT. How is everyone doing? I'm really just trying to find the will to finish this fanfic so I can write other fanfics and have the same problem.

I do check this story consistenly (the Doc Manager has got so many ideas) but this isn't something that's a priority, just a hobby but I do want to prove to myself I can finish this. When I was younger I looked super deeply into the lore and tried to be as accurate as possible but now? I'm more worried about character development and actually coming to end this mf.

Thanks for the follows.

Irina opened her eyes and was blinded by the sun that was uncomfortably bright. It took too much energy to keep her eyes open so she closed them, her head throbbed. With a disgruntled sigh, she pushed herself upright into a standing position from the rock she currently used as a seat.

Frea looked her over worriedly, but said nothing. She kept her distance, not yet putting her entire trust into Irina's vampiric form. Still, she was mindful of the woman's fatigue.

It had been approximately one week since she said slain Miraak inside Herma Mora's realm. She seemed different, and Frea wasn't sure if she was under any daedric influence- Irina swore that she wasn't, but a superstitious nord was hard to convince. Despite the fear to be near her, the mortal tossed her a skinbag filled with water.

It bounced off her leg and caught the elf's attention, earning Frea a small frown. Even so, she bent over and brought the bag to her lips for a drink. The liquid ran down her throat and instantly Irina's acute sense of taste noticed the traces of blood. She drank her last gulp and raised a curious eyebrow at the woman.

Frea shrugged "sustenance, right? You need to eat something like all living things."

"I'm not alive-"

"Oh please, you talk, breathe, eat, shit, and sleep. I'm not inclined to care abouthowyou're able to do those things, just that you do."

Irina blushed at the explicit explanation but nodded stiffly anyway. She gave her thanks and tossed the bag back to its owner, it was unmistakably Frea's blood- Irina just hoped she didn't inflict too much damage to herself.

Irina straightened herself out and looked forward to the horizon, a gentle breeze sliding past her shoulders. Her hair had grown considerably longer during her months on Solstheim, she had foregone cutting it at its usual shoulder-length that she preferred. She needed a change, she wanted to have freedom to do more with her appearance.

It was unlike her to do such things.

The dragonborn was more quiet and inside her head these days. Frea had noticed a change a few weeks ago, with curt responses and lack of excitedness that she once had.

Frea swept her blonde hair back behind her head, and tilted her head to the side as she examined the short bosmer. She'd lost a little weight too, but that was to be expected. Once Irina had opened the black book, the one that led directly to Miraak, she had stayed standing for nearly an entire day. Her body rigid and mind elsewhere, Frea wanted to tear the cursed artifact from her hands but she had no idea what that would have done to Irina.

Once the sun had risen her body gave out and she had fallen to the floor, her eyes open but half-lidded. Muscles twitching only slightly to indicate that she was alive.

Battling for her life, alone.

When she came to, two days had passed.

Frea did what she could while she waited. She made small incisions on her arms to drop blood into her mouth. Moved her limbs into a more comfortable position so when she awoke nothing was strained. She returned to her village, only for days worth of food for herself to stay by the woman's side longer.

She was restless, her friend in peril and nothing that she could do to save her. The quiet was... exhausting. Especially, for a woman of action like Frea.

If she died inside Apocrypha, would Herma Mora absorb her soul? Would he have had a claim to it-?

"You're looking scary. Does the sun offend your eyes too?" Irina asked with a knowing smirk.

Frea leveled her gaze so she was eye to eye with dragonborn. A chill down ran down her spine, Irina may have seemed casual and friendly but there was a ghostly tone to her voice. As if she spoke but with no emotion behind it. Then there was her eyes. A golden mysterious glow that came from her vampirism.

"No, I'm just thinking." Frea said with an indifferent tone.

"Ah, let me stand farther away then." Irina joked.

The bosmer narrowly missed the skinbag that was aimed for her head. Frea didn't understand what Irina had meant by that but it sounded snarky, and it made her cheeks flush a rosy color. The nord rolled her eyes and settled her nerves, to hear Irina crack a joke was relieving, she only hoped the light-hearted mood would last.

In contrast to the crisp weather and beautiful mornings on the northern side of Solstheim, Skyrim's weather had been atrocious. Castle Volkihar was being sprayed relentlessly with rain and being slammed with stronger winds. The wind whistled ominously through the cracks of the castle only complementing the atmosphere inside the castle.

Fresh blood and the smell of steel and magic penetrated the nostrils of everyone inside.

"Daughter... you betray me- your own blood." Harkon rasped. A man full of grace and pride, reduced to a bloodied mess in his own hall. Others watched with shock, some with passive expressions and few openly expressed relief. Serana's blade pierced Harkon's chest, a sword made of silver, and blessed on top of that.

It hurt considerably to even hold the weapon in her hands.

She grit her teeth and plunged the blade deeper into his chest, using all her muscle to do so. Harkon struggled against the other vampires who held him back. Vingalmo, Garan Marethi and even the welp Ronthil using some sort of spell to chain his ankles and hands. Their magika was visibly connected together to enforce the power of it, if there was one thing that was benefical from posessing the blood of a vampire lord it was that magic was amplified greatly.

They were visibly strained, obviously having a difficult time of subduing Harkon. Ronthil was on a knee, Vingalmo and Garan Marethi were panting. The same could be said for everyone else who pariticipated in this plot. Serana had the power now, she had allies, at least for the time being.

Indeed, this trust in each other was temporary. They only went along with her plan because it benefitted them in the long run. Each of them had hopes of raising their station in the court, Serana knew better than to think they saw her as kin or that they followed her out of loyalty. Whatever their intentions were, they agreed on one thing and it was that Harkon was not fit to lead them any longer.

Of course that meant that Serana would be in charge next, but that meant nothing to anyone. Serana would not come in between their business and she wouldn't attempt to control them out of fear. Harkon kept everyone on an invisible leash and whipped them like dogs whenever someone thought they had gained his favor, whether it was a physical punishment or psychological one, everyone remained in their places.

Perhaps that's why they had no problem with Serana as head of the Volkihar clan.

Although she couldn't say she cared much at all.

Her blade buried itself deeper within him, coming out his back as he struggled to break free from his confines. Her heart was shattered but she kept her composure, she had plenty of resentment inside of her but she dared not unpack it in the hall. She closed her eyes and poured magic into the blade, the metal began to heat itself for a few seconds before a raging flame erupted from the weapon.

Harkon screamed in agony.

Serana pulled the blade free, the metal still ablaze.

I can't be too careful.

With a strong swing she cut through his neck and watched her father's head fall to the floor. His body went limp and a loud thud was heard as it fell to the floor. She kept the grip on her sword tight, out of fear or caution, she couldn't tell.

Serana narrowed her eyes into slits as she struggled to keep her mind present. She looked her father in the eyes, piercing his soul with her own anger and resentment. Steam slowly escaped his chest wound and his neck, fumes coming from his burned clothes.

She would have worn gloves during a battle where a blessed blade was required, but she knew her grip would be affected and she didn't need the reason for her own death to be from inadequate grip.

Hestla's body lay cold on one of the two tables in the hall. Slumped over and undignified.

Serana released the sword from her tight hold, it clattered to the ground and the sound echoed throughout the castle.

Harkon's eyes soon lost their light, but Ronthil still had his corpse chained with a alteration spell, just in case. Vingalmo and Garan kept the corpse chained as well, the three of them watched wearily as Serana knelt by her father's side, she touched the side of his face for a moment- almost looking at him tenderly, before she took her elven dagger and buried it in his skull.

He's dead.

"Take the body away, do what you want with it. I won't bury him, nor do I want any of you to bury him. Just... take him away from here." Serana sighed with a dismissive wave of her hand. The nord was covered in blood, her own, other vampires and her father's. She needed a bath, right away.

She gave one of the female vampires a knowing look, the undead woman rushed to prepare warm water for the bath while the rest of the castle slowly went about cleaning up the mess that became of the great hall. Serana felt her knees about to give out but forced herself to walk straight, weakness would not be beneficial in front of everyone, even if they were all equally as exhausted.

She placed her hand on the wall and leaned against it, attempting to catch her breath. She looked to her new servants and noticed that Dexion was not among them, it was more probable that the scholar was hiding but she made a mental note to herself to find him later. Her eyes went over to Hestla, the woman's body being carried away by Ronthil and a familiar.

To think that she's actually dead.

With sluggish steps she entered her bedchamber and went to her bath. Serana stripped herself free of clothes, refusing her servants help with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Harkon, my father is dead. Will mother agree to come back with me? I don't see why not.

Should I seek out Irina? Will she even want to see me again- after what I said?

Where is Auriel's bow?

Her bare feet made contact with the stone beneath her, she placed a careful hand inside the water, the temperature scalding. When she pulled her hand out of the water, her hand was visibly steaming. To her, the water was perfect. Serana entered her tub, water coming up to her clavicle, and took a cloth to begin scrubbing at her arms and legs.

Her thoughts continued to roam.

"Before we make it to the village. Explain to me what happened inside." Frea said suddenly.

Irina stopped moving and glanced behind her, the satisfying crunch of the snow beneath their feet stopped and nothing but silence fell between them. It was awhile before Irina spoke and she didn't say anything with much detail. Frea merely listened.

"When I fought Miraak, he succumbed to me easily. It wasn't as difficult as I feared it would be, perhaps due to vampirism or due to my ability. Not to say he wasn't powerful, but I fooled myself into thinking I would die here..." Irina trailed off. She looked around her and tried to find her words, visibly expressing her thoughts on her face.

Frea remained silent.

"Nothing happened inside Apocrypha that harmed me. I think I'm more in shock than anything." Irina explained.

She swept her hair behind her head and crossed her arms. She closed her eyes before taking in a breath, "I find myself relating to Miraak. Having a sense of duty and honoring it. Then being offered a taste of power and accepting it... He had similar traits that I have. I would never abandon my duty but I certainly don't hold the title of 'savior' on noble shoulders."

"I'm inside my head about this because... what made me any different? Why am I the way I am?" Her eyes were distant and her posture relaxed. As if finding the answer to that question wasn't important but worthwhile to think about.

"and in anticipation for this battle, one that I thought would cost me my life... I hurt someone I love because I refused their help. I could have experienced real love, I got in my own way and pushed her away."

"I think I'm getting old. I feel exhausted, having to worry so much- for problems that aren't even my own. I used to think 'there's honor in this sort of life.' but I'm beginning to think otherwise. Sorry, if that kills the faith you had in me... I just can't do it anymore." Irina said with a defeated smile. The sun shone against her armor, and if she didn't look so battered, the image would have been powerful.

But for the first time, Frea saw something she hadn't noticed before, a young bosmer- looking much older than she was, fatigued beyond the cure of a good night's rest. The look in her eyes read distance, as if she didn't expect Frea to understand- as if she expected to be more isolated.

Frea exhaled softly and took a step forward, she placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder before she spoke "you don't have to pick up a sword for anyone else other than yourself, there'll be no pressure if you decide to stay with us in the village. Just for a rest, or longer, if you deem it necessary."

Irina raised an eyebrow "you would allow a vampire to live amongst you?"

Frea scoffed "you're not an exception- you will get cured or you're going to be stuck with just me while we live in a cave- or wherever else."

Irina widened her eyes "you would leave your village to keep me company?"

"You question my resolve, dragonborn?"

"You have responsibility here- you would just leave it all...?" Irina trailed off, realizing her own hypocrisy.

"You are a friend, and you're lonely. If I turned a blind eye to that then I don't deserve to call you that. Let's return to the village and decide what to do from there, if you don't want me with you, then that's also okay- so long as you know I'll make the effort." Frea said. She gave the young woman a squeeze and took a step back.

Irina swallowed a lump in her throat but nodded, they resumed their walking in a companionable silence.