Dragonborn: Reborn

by Cmdr_Maxwell

Summary:

Everyone believed the Last Dragonborn dead these last few years, after he fulfilled the prophecy and defeated the World-Eater in Sovngarde, and shortly thereafter ended the brutal Civil War that plagued Skyrim, before disappearing from the world.

Although he is done with the Divines, it seems that the Divines yet again have plans for him. For out in the frozen tundra of the Eastmarch Hold, an incident drags a benumbed hunter into confronting reality as he is drawn into another world-ending prophecy, this time involving the nocturnal beasts of the night.

Sometimes, you have to settle the ghosts of your past before you can have a future.

NB tags will change as story develops. Minor grammatical edits may happen here and there (but overall story won't change.

Chapter 1: Happenstance

Summary:

Maxwell comes across trouble.

Notes:

TW: Strong Language, Violence, Death.

Maxwell sighs as his target and payday, a sleek snow leopard, races off down the snowy slope and out of view.

He had been steadily tracking and following this creature over the last half-day, hoping to get its fur for selling as he was low on funds due to it having been an unusually difficult hunting season, and one less predator around these parts was always good. After spotting it up ahead, he had descended from his horse so he could approach it lightly on foot in preparation for the kill. As he lined up his shot, the snow leopard perked its head then suddenly went from a slow walk to a fast canter and peeled off to the right.

Turning to retrieve his horse, the sudden whiff of smoke carried on the slight breeze surprises the hunter. Scanning the horizon as he doubles back and leaves the small pocket of snow-covered trees, a faint plume of greyness against the lighter grey cloud cover attracts his attention.

What on Nirn?

As the cold breeze blows through his armour, causing him to shiver ever so slightly despite his half-Nordic heritage, he squares his shoulders and cautiously moves over to the ridge. As the snow crunches under his feet, he drops to a crouching position just before reaching the cusp.

As his head slowly creeps over the verge of the thinly snow-covered rocky outcropping, the perspective he sees makes his heart pound against his rib cage and prompts him to flatten against the ground in haste.

From his position, the scenes of devastation unfold before him, as two individuals stand outside a snow-capped two storey building nestled in between two large rocky formations. Some of the building is on fire, with slightly different coloured lights momentarily flickering out of the far windows and doorway. The faint sounds of combat reach the hunter’s ears as the wisps of wind curl over the rocky outcropping he’s on.

This prompts an ever so familiar sensation to rise up from the depths of his being, but he manages to keep it restrained. Stomping it out like he has done over the last few years.

Sighing heavily in resignation, leaning his weary head against the snow in thought, Maxwell peers over the edge one more time before deciding to move on and leave these unfortunate souls to their fate. As he does so, one of the individuals standing outside, seemingly not partaking in the fight and happily observing from a distance, suddenly sniffs the air.

After a moment of turning their head this way and that, they immediately spins on the spot and focuses their gaze at his location.

SHIT.

He was sure he wasn’t upwind of them, but nevertheless mentally kicked himself for taking one last look.

The individual snarls, which attracts the attention of the other individual standing next to them. Both turn on the spot and charge, moving unusually fast.

A hint of concern spreads across his mind at this, as he quickly dons his leather helm, hops up onto the rock and pulls out his curved wooden bow. As he nocks an iron arrow, a greater degree of concern crosses his mind as he sees the two approaching individuals have elongated fangs in their open snarling mouths.

Oh shit…Vampires…

Dropping his wooden bow and summoning a bound bow instead, he looses a flurry of ethereal arrows in quick succession from the shimmering blue energised bow at the two approaching vampires, who attempt to dodge the incoming projectiles. One, a Breton female in black clothing, gets peppered with some of the arrows piercing her upper torso, and as she collapses to the ground her remains shimmer and turns to a purple hued dust that starts blowing away in the slow wind. The other, a Nordic male clad in similar black coloured robes, deftly dodges Maxwell’s last few arrows (despite having one stuck in his shoulder), as he closes the gap.

As the snarling Nord is within mere feet, amber red eyes wide in hunger and rage, he growls “It’s your unlucky day, meat.”

Maxwell changes tactics. Throwing the bound bow at the vampire to provide a momentary distraction and free his dominant hand, he draws his sheathed dwarven sword as the nocturnal beast aptly avoids the thrown bow by ducking, before reasserting his form and baring pointed incisors once more. The bound bow shimmers as it thuds onto the snow and dissipates into nothingness.

The Nord attempts to bite down on Maxwell’s forearm, but instead of finding leather and flesh the sound of enamel on metal rings out. As the vampire bites down on the conundrum coloured sword, confusion registering on his face, Maxwell falls to the ground due to the weight of the Nord with a stifled grunt as he wrestles with the vile beast. Saliva drips from the Nord’s mouth onto his leather armour.

After a few moments of struggle with the Nord viciously clawing at his leather cuirass, heavily scratching it, Maxwell yells as he heaves to and headbutts the vampire as he forces a roll, which sends it flailing away. Taking advantage of this momentary relief, Maxwell rolls the opposite way whilst letting go of the sword, tucking into a crouching stance before leaping at the Nord vampire which snarls at him again. It's nose, bleeding a blackish blood. As he turns his amber-gold eyes to the approaching form of the hunter, he angrily growls.

“You’ll pay for that, mea….”

The ebony dagger Maxwell took from the small of his back during the roll thuds into the vampire’s chest, cutting off his sentence. Maxwell grunts as he thrusts the dagger into the vampire’s chest to the hilt, which pierces its heart. The Nordic vampire’s eyes widen in surprise at the weapon sticking out of its chest, before releasing a death cry. As the cry ceases, the vampire collapses to the floor before turning to a pile of purple dust.

Panting heavily and sweat beginning to drip from his brow, Maxwell retrieves his fallen weapons. As he picks up his curved bow, he turns and looks to the burning building, fire now covering more than half of it. The sounds of combat have diminished somewhat.

That familiar sensation claws back with a vengeance. Unable to suppress it this time around, he sighs again in resignation, unsheathes his dwarven sword, and dashes towards the burning building. Bracing against the intense heat and acrid smoke that assault his senses, he enters the building as he struggles to keep his eyes open from the sting of the smoke.

 

 

After a tense few minutes, which involved beheading another vampire and kicking a grotesque dog-like creature with a spiked collar into a fire, he carries out an unconscious woman clad in iron armour, and then goes back in and drags out a grey robed male.

As the fire moves to consume the rest of the building, Maxwell - coughing madly due to the increasingly dense smoke - manages to pull the two people he saved from the building, dragging them some distance away from the inferno.

Gingerly dropping the two rescued individuals into the cold snow, Maxwell kneels into the soothing cold snow and takes a deep breath as he throws his helmet to the side and wipes his sweaty brow with the back of the bracer. Looking over them quickly to ascertain their injuries, he takes in the detail of the two unconscious individuals.

A garbed Breton male in bloodied grey robes that he pulled out from under a fallen bookcase, a blonde haired Breton woman clad in iron armour above a similar grey robe who is unconscious and bleeding from a wound on her thigh. Both heavily covered in soot and blood, smelling of smoke and sweat.

Pulling off his gloves, and putting as much magicka as he could muster into a Restoration healing spell, he lays a bright yellow glowing pair of hands on the bleeding wound of the woman. As the deep wound knits together, she suddenly awakens and viscerally screams in pain for a few moments, before Maxwell puts a free hand on her shoulder to keep her still as he finishes. As soon as the wound is closed and blood reabsorbed, he moves his hands away and she turns over coughing up a mix of blood and bile and takes deep inhales. After a few moments, she turns her blue eyes to Maxwell, who is sitting on his knees next to her and breathing heavily; sweat, blood and soot covering his own features.

“Th….Thank you…sir…” she utters, before another coughing fit interrupts her.

He simply nods, tiredness now catching up with him. As he moves to tend to the other Breton, who is stirring and mumbling to himself, the sound of whinnying horses, clomping of hooves and a mix of battlecries draw Maxwell’s weary attention.

Glancing over his shoulder, a posse of mounted riders charging up the slope towards the trio, armoured to the teeth and dressed in unfamiliar armour with weapons drawn. He pulls his sword out again and raises it in weary readiness. A hand from the Breton woman pulls his sword hand down, and Maxwell looks at her with a mix of shock and surprise.

*Cough* “Don’t…” *cough cough*

Wearing unfamiliar iron armour that is adorned with a sun and shield motif, they settle into a circular pattern around the three. A few of the riders aim their drawn crossbows at Maxwell, as he’s still holding his weapon.

“Hold fast!”

The blond woman speaks up, standing stiffly and holding out a hand in a stopping gesture, but doubling over slightly due to a shockwave of pain emanating from her internal injuries. The riders look at each other then at their leader, a black-bearded and close-shaven Redguard holding a glowing two-handed war hammer, who after a tense moment of looking at Carcette then Maxwell stiffly nods. They lower their crossbows, keeping them in their hands. Maxwell sheathes his sword.

“This stranger….saved Brother Tolan and I….from the fire…he’s okay” The woman says, coughs punctuating her sentence. She lays a hand on her stomach, a soft yellow glow emanating from it, and a wave of relief passes over her.

The leader, donning his giant two-handed war hammer onto his back, and a few others - also sheathing their weapons – dismount. Approaching the trio as their boots crunch in the light snow covering the ground.

A couple of the dismounted riders pull out water skins and various potions, which the two Bretons graciously accept. Another of the riders, in a grey-vestament similar to the pair and holding a staff - apparently a healer - tends to the Breton male who speaks in lowered tones and points to various injuries on him.

One of the other riders offers a water skin and healing potion to Maxwell, who cautiously accepts and downs both, returning the empty vessels with an appreciative nod.

The Redguard speaks in a deep, gruff voice.

“Keeper Carcette, we got your message for assistance via Brother Ghrant” nodding to the grey robed individual who is helping Brother Tolan to their feet. Looking at the burning building, he continues “What happened?”

Carcette, the blond woman, looks at him.

“As you thought, Isran, the vampires are after something of importance. We’ve been monitoring them as you requested, and they’ve been excavating various ruins throughout the Rift hold.”

“Do you know what they are after? Where they are most interested in?”

“No, but it’s certainly something big. Brother Adelvald” she pauses for a moment, looking back at the burning building and a hint of sadness passes over her features “thinks they’re close to finding whatever ‘it’ is, as they have it narrowed down to three potential sites. He had just described the sites when the vampires attacked. I think they followed him.”

“Damn it….” The Redguard utters, stroking his black beard as he intently takes in what Keeper Carcette is saying. “We need to find what they are after before they do.”

Turning his attention to Maxwell, who is now standing slightly awkwardly.

“I am Isran, of the Dawnguard” the Redguard gruffly states, looking over Maxwell and taking in the detail of the leather-clad hunter. For Maxwell, the name Dawnguard rings a faint bell. He’d heard folks in a few hamlets and settlements he passed through, gossiping about an order of vampire hunters who were after new recruits. He paid them no heed, having no desire to join in on another good versus evil campaign. He had enough of that in his previous life.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

“Maxwell”

“Maxwell…?”

“Just Maxwell”

“Profession…hunter?”

Maxwell nods. The leader looks at him intently before nodding slightly in return.

“How did you get involved?”

“I’ve been tracking a snow leopard over the last half day, and came across what was happening. Two of the vampires saw me, and well…” he gestures further up the slope, the remnants of where two piles of purple dust have settled.

Isran’s expression remains passive, but Maxwell sees a slight twitch of his eyebrow indicating respect.

He thrusts his gloved hand out in offer of a handshake, which Maxwell takes. Shaking his hand thrice, Isran continues “Maxwell, for your timely intervention and saving of Keeper Carcette and Brother Tolan of the Vigilants Order, you have my personal gratitude. If you are interested, we always need able-bodied individuals to fight the growing vampire menace.”

Maxwell shakes his head “Thank you but no, I was only passing through the area.”

Isran considers him for a moment, sizing him up and contemplating his response.

Turning to his compatriots, Isran raises his gruff voice which draws everyone’s attention.

“Looks like things are developing faster than we feared, folks. The vampires” he says through gritted teeth, hatred seeping into his tone “are clearly emboldened enough to attack our allies in broad daylight.” Pausing for a moment “We have no choice, we ride for the Riften hold to confront them. May the Divines favour shines upon us.”

Turning to Maxwell, and opting to try a different tactic “Taking down not one but two vampires on your own is no small feat, and you clearly have skills which we need. Every hand will be useful in the upcoming fight. If you won’t join us out of honour…”

Isran looks to and signals to the individual on his left, a blonde haired Nord who looked far too young among the others, who produces a bag of coinage and passes it to Isran.

Holding the bag in front of him, Isran continues.

“This is a down payment to engage your services. 400 septims now, 500 later when the vampires that did this are dealt with. This is more than what you would have got for the fur.”

Looking at the tied leather coinage bag, a thought pops up.

I really shouldn’t accept.

Another thought pop up, and his mind drifts to his extremely light coin-purse.

Then again, that is more money than I would have got from the fur...

Against his better judgement, he accepts the offered back of coinage. As he stows it on his person, Isran nods with a grunt.

“Good. I presume your horse is nearby?”

Maxwell nods "It's not far, maybe 5 minutes"

“Noted. Agmaer, take him to his horse” he says in an authoritative tone, nodding to the light blonde haired individual behind him who had passed the coinage.

As Isran turns to Keeper Carcette and Brother Tolan and speaks briefly in lowered tones, presumably to find out what sites the vampire menace is interested in, the other warriors standing idly by. A few look over Maxwell who approaches Agmaer who gives him a solemn nod before guiding him to his horse.

I hope I don’t regret this…

Notes:

I hope you enjoy the first chapter of my first fanfiction story. Something I've been toying with for ages, before finally deciding to actually do something about it.

Updates will be sporadic, although first few chapters may appear faster than normal as that's what I have prepared thus far.

Follows Dawnguard questline with certain creative liberties taken here and there for flavour or to better fit the story. Mostly follows the lore of the DLC, although again some creative liberties taken. All rights relating to Skyrim belong to Bethesda, although main character is of my own making.

Tags will change as the story develops, what is added thus far is based on what I have written.

Chapter 2: Well ****

Summary:

Maxwell's prediction comes true.

Notes:

TW: Strong Language, Violence, Death.

FUCK…I knew I shouldn’t have accepted….

Looking at the expansive pile of rubble from the cave-in that lies before him as dust and silence descend upon the room, Maxwell can’t help the thought.

After waiting a minute in case anything comes from the corridor ahead - thankfully nothing does - he exhales as he leans against the doorway to catch his breath and leans his sword against the wall. As he pulls off his scratched arm greaves to tend to his wounds, he ruefully reflects back on the last two eventful days….

40 hours ago

The autumn sun is on the verge of reaching its peak as they emerge from the chilly part of the Eastmarch Hold into the warmer Riften hold, and ride along the road to Ivarstead. The shift from the cold weather of the midland region to the warmer moist air of the south of the Skyrim felt familiar to the half Nord, Half Imperial Maxwell. It had been a while since he visited here. As the group pass by the greenery at a fast pace, Maxwell takes in the sights as he rides alongside Agmaer and Brother Tolan. He hadn’t been to the Riften hold for some time, having spent the last few months near Winterhold and Windhelm. The green woodland makes for some decent hunting, although the luxurious furs from snow leopards and other large predators in the colder regions fetch a higher price. The warmer weather is also a nice difference.

After riding at full speed for the day, only stopping intermittently to let the horses rest, the group finally arrive at Ivarstead as the sun starts to dip. Maxwell only looks once at the bridge out of Ivarstead, that they had passed on the way in, as a fragment of a memory floating up of his first time going up the 7000 steps all those years ago, before pushing the memory out of his mind.

As he hands over some coinage from Isran’s down payment for the meagre remnants of the shopkeeper’s stores, to the receptive Nord who was cheerily grinning at all of the monies paid by the Dawnguard members, he glances at two of the fighters who are laughing about something he wasn’t paying attention.

They certainly seem rich enough, this Dawnguard, spending money like it’s going out of fashion.

Thankfully, his own provisions of collected herbs and ingredients he gathered during his travels meant he’d been able to restock on Magicka and Healing potions without spending any money. He had to pay for the herbalist to craft a couple of Cure Disease potions – thankfully at a slightly reduced price as he had provided some of the ingredients -  which, given what they’re about to fight against, seemed like a prudent move (although he was wistfully reluctant to hand over yet more coin from his already dwindling funds). The last thing he wanted was to catch Sanguinaire Vampiris from a bite or wound.

32 hours ago

Sitting alone in the Four Shields tavern shortly after the sun has set, nursing a familiar mead, Maxwell sits in silence as he watches the Dawnguard engage in various conversations, the hubbub of which drowns out the rest of the ambience.

An earlier conversation with Isran had been tense, who had for lack of a better word interrogated him. Primarily about his skillset, experience of fighting vampires (including how he dispatched the two earlier). Thankfully that conversation was brief, and he had been left again to his own devices. A couple of other members had tried to engage with Maxwell, but after only receiving short answers they shrugged and left him to his own devices.

Why do I do this to myself?

As he takes a gulp of the mead to wash away the thoughts, Keeper Carcette - looking healthier compared to when he first saw her – suddenly appears in front of him and interrupts his thoughts.

“Good evening Maxwell” she politely states, holding her tankard in both hands.

“Hello, Carcette” he retorts, putting his tankard on the table.

“I wanted to say thank you again, for saving not only my life but that of Brother Tolan. Bless the Divines you were there.” She graciously says.

“No problem, happy to help” he politely responds with a half-smile. Mentally he recoils at the mention of the Divines.

Screw the Divines. What have they done for me anyway, beyond take everything from me?

“May I join you for a few moments?”

He pauses, considering her words and what she could want from him, before gesturing to the empty seat beside him “Sure” He pushes out a seat and gesture for her to take it.

She smiles as she takes the offered seat, the wooden chair creaking under the weight of her armour.

“You certainly seemed skilled in Restoration, which is surprisingly odd for a hunter.”

“Well, it certainly helps being out in the rough. Never know when a scratch could turn ugly”

“How did you learn?”

“I paid for a wizard to teach me the basics some years ago.” He shrugs “It seemed like a better idea than buying healing potions every time.”

She absentmindedly nods as she digests his answer.

“Well I for one am grateful. If you ever want lessons on a stronger Restoration spell, called Close Wounds, I’d be more than happy to teach you. I certainly owe you a favour” she smiles with genuine emotion.

As Keeper Carcette is speaking about Restoration, Maxwell’s gaze gets drawn to Isran talking in hushed tones with the innkeeper. Unable to hear much over the ambience of the filled inn, the innkeeper Ingrid looks rather concerned about something and is emphatic in her gestures.

After a few moments, Isran appears to waft his hand, and Ingrid becomes dejected, solemnly shrugging before turning away and tending to the stew behind her. Isran’s expression is expressionless, but his stomping away from where he was standing betrays his mood.

Huh, that’s odd…

“How come you’re sat on your own?” her question brings him back to reality.

“Used to my own company, I guess” He shifts somewhat uncomfortably in his seat.

Seeing her reaction, “Uh…although, I appreciate you taking the time to chat with me” he offers a reassuring smile.

As she nods, he asks:

“Actually, I do have a question”

“Sure, what is it?” she pauses.

“What’s his deal?” Maxwell enquires, gesturing with his tankard to Isran, who is now talking with a couple of the warriors on a far bench.

“We had a chat earlier. He comes off a little…. strong.” he raises an eyebrow at the last word.

She wryly smiles.

“That’s one way of putting it. Suffice it to say he has good reason to hate the undead, especially vampires. You know, he and I actually go back some way, before the Civil War and before I became Keeper. A story for another time, perhaps.”

She pauses, as if in contemplation, before continuing.

“Well, I’ll leave you be. Stendarr bless you for the upcoming fight, and think about my offer.” She says as she stands up, nodding and smiling as she grabs her tankard. He raises his in salutation, again mentally wincing at the mention of the Divine.

 

As nighttime descends, he’s settling on his bedroll on the floor of the somewhat cramped room. He manages to get some semblance of sleep. It is short-lived, as Isran bellows down the hallway at first light for everyone to get up and prepare. Groggily waking up, Maxwell silently curses at the disturbance. As the darkness gives way to dusk, they set out towards their first destination.

10 hours ago

After riding at a similar pace to the day before, they approach the first site. An ancient Nordic barrow, nestled in a steep rocky wall and well off the beaten path. There’s evidence of recent activity, with mining supplies scattered, but a brief investigation confirms it’s completely abandoned. Apparently, the vampires didn’t find what they were after.

Isran consults with Keeper Carcette who gives directions to the next location.

2 hours ago

Pushing onto and arriving at the second site as the sun is setting, a Nordic crypt that extends underground, Maxwell winces as memories of previous excursions surface. After clearing a few thralls who were posted as guards, the group dismounts and prepare to enter the buried ruin, he looks up at the entrance way which seems eerily familiar in structure. A particularly emotive memory rises, catching him off-guard.

 

---

 

The moons shine brightly as the pair descend upon the reported location of the bandit hideout within an old crypt.

As they come to a stop some distance from the ruin entrance, to avoid any potential look outs, the pair dismount. After securing their horses to the nearby tree, and as he checks over his gear and pulls out his bow, a question from his companion gets his attention.

“Are you sure about this, my Thane?” the woman asks, an iron-clad Nordic warrior. “Attacking bandits in a decrepit ruin at night?”

“By going at night, we can catch the bandits off-guard as they sleep.” He responds, testing the tautness of his bowstring.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” The woman looks somewhat unsure.

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Stop being so worried.” He cheerily responds.

She pauses for a moment.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, my Thane” as she grips her unsheathed iron sword tightly, moving towards the bandit hideout.

 

Half a day later, as the moons descend and the darkness of the night begins to give way to the faintest morning light from the rising sun, the pair emerge from the ruin. Bloodied and bruised and covered in dust but triumphant, and packs laden with loot much to her chagrin.

As they make their way to where they left their horses, he glances at her. She stares at him, her expression neutral. Her Nordic blue eyes staring intently through her matted brown hair, into his own Imperial brown ones. She neutrally says “I told you that was a bad idea.”

“How was I supposed to know pulling open that door would trigger a cave in?”

The woman’s gaze remains unfazed. He throws his hands up in the air in resignation.

“Fine, fine! You get this one.”

As his arms fall back to his sides, he points at her with a raised brow.

“Although if you tell anyone about this, I will make you carry my pack for the next month.”

A hint of a smirk appears on the woman’s face, before lightly punching him in the shoulder.

“What was that for?”

“For getting us trapped in a ruin, my Thane” as her smirk evolves into laughter. He soon joins her in laughter, their combined voices punctuating the air as they continue their walk to their horses.

 

---

 

He shakes his head to try and dispel the memory. A voice beside him garners his attention.

“Sorry?” he says, turning to the source of the voice.

“Everything alright, Maxwell?” Brother Tolan repeats his enquiry, noticing his hesitancy.

Looking at the Breton warrior, slight concern registering on his face, Maxwell tries to adopt a neutral expression.

“Yeah, just…not keen on being underground.”

“Bad experiences?” Tolan raises an eyebrow.

“Something like that” he responded vaguely.

Taking a deep breath, he gestures Brother Tolan to lead the way, as Isran gathers the warriors for a briefing on the plan of attack.

Soon after entering and cautiously exploring the ruin’s main chamber and ante-chambers, they push further in before running into trouble.

“For the Dawnguard!” Isran yelled, leading the charge with his glowing warhammer drawn as the group rush into the main room. As steel and spell meet tooth and nail, they dispatch with a small number of vampires, death hounds and numerous thralls, who are busy ferrying mining and excavation equipment further in. Only one person needed some healing by Keeper Carcette.

These Dawnguard may be full of themselves (especially Isran) but they sure know how to fight as a unit, Maxwell admits to himself as he picked off enemies from range with his bow, covering Brother Tolan and Keeper Carcette who stay at the rear, playing more of a support role with various healing, wards and Daylight spells.

After clearing the first group of vampires, they pass from the Nordic Crypt into what looks like a much older ruin. Shortly thereafter, they run into another group of enemies. This time, things were not going well.

15 minutes ago

In a particularly long yet narrow room, the combat was the fiercest. Draugr and skeletons from a bygone era litter the ground with a fresh layer of death hounds and thralls as the Dawnguard fight the Vampires.

2 of the Dawnguard have been killed, eviscerated by opportunistic vampires. Keeper Carcette, herself wounded, was tending to a bleeding Isran and Agmaer some distance behind the front line.

Maxwell, panting heavily and bow on his back, yells as one of the vampires - a Bosmer woman - manages to nearly yank off one of his arm greaves, scratching his skin heavily with her sharp fingers as she does so with a vicious grin.

“Fuck you” Maxwell retorts, swinging his dwarven sword which the vampire deftly dodges.

The souls within him surge, threatening to break free, but with so many people about he’s not keen to unleash them. A misstep on his part after a feint from the vampire exposes his side, which the vampire takes the opportunity to pin him against the wall. His sword hand is held tightly against the rough stone by one of the Bosmer’s hands, and the other on his opposite shoulder. Her nails digging deep, through the armour and scraping along his skin, which causes him to wince.

As he momentarily struggles under the vampiric strength of the woman, she sultry says in his ear as her amber eyes fill with malice. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

She opens her jaws and extends her incisors in preparation for savouring on his blood.

Before she can plunge them into his neck, she viscerally screaming as the fire spell from Maxwell’s free hand scorches the woman’s face. Flesh melting, she reels back in pain. The smell of burning flesh irritating his senses as he comes away from the wall.

As he dodges a swipe by the blinded vampire, and twists on the spot to ready his next attack, Brother Tolan utters and fires an overcharged Sunbolt at another vampire which manages to raise a ward in time and redirect it upwards. A deafening explosion rings out as the ceiling takes the brunt of the Sunbolt damage. The intense creaking of rocks soon follow, and as the roof, now rapidly losing structural integrity, collapses on top of the intermingled group of warriors and vampires, someone shouts above the cacophony:

“CAVE IN!!” one of the bloodied Dawnguard warriors shouts out.

Turning to flee to the exit, Maxwell is grabbed by the blinded vampire and pulled back. As he’s spun on the spot, he elbows her in the face, which she yelps at and releases him. As he turns around, the vampire snarls before being squashed by a rock that falls on top of her; her skeleton crunching under the weight of the rock.

As more of the ceiling comes down behind him, instinct takes over and he rushes further into the room, towards the other exit. He manages to dodge out the way of this ceiling slab, whilst narrowly avoiding another slab that shatters on impact, which almost trips him over. One of the vampires he passes takes an opportune swing at him, which he dodges and shoves the vampire into the way of a chunk of rock, which creates another morbid cracking noise as his skeleton is crunched.

Running to the entranceway at the back, as the ceiling collapse comes to a crashing crescendo, he coughs and breathes heavily, sweat dripping from his brow from both the exertions of combat and dodging falling rocks.

As the ceiling collapse finally stops, with the kicked-up dust settling and silence permeating the atmosphere, he takes stock as he wipes the sweat and dust from his brow, wincing slightly at the pain from his scratched arm.

Finding himself alone.

SHIT.

Looking at the cave in, which now covers the width and height of the room, he notices an arm of one of the vampires squashed under the rock dissipating into purple dust. He also spots the legs of a Dawnguard warrior, sticking out from under the debris. Poor fellow.

It’d take an army to try and move all of that rubble in a timely manner. There’s no hope he’d be able to manage on his own. In addition, there’s the inherent risk of further collapse if the pile is disturbed.

Double Shit.

After taking a minute swig of water from his half empty waterskin followed by healing the claw scratches, downing a Cure Disease potion just in case and re-fitting the armgreave, he searches the part of the room that has remained untouched, warily keeping a keen eye on the ceiling in case of further cavein. He finds a wooden chest that had remained untouched by the collapse, apparently pending being moved further in, but riffling through it doesn’t find anything of use. He slams it shut in frustration.

He had some supplies, thankfully having bought some at Ivarstead, but it wasn’t substantial and it wasn’t going to last long if he couldn’t find another way out.

Triple Shit.

Now

Putting the waterskin away, Maxwell considers his next action. Trapped in an ancient ruin, with limited supplies, limited options and fuck knows what further in, he comes to a stupid decision.

Taking a deep breath, he tightens his grip on his drawn sword, throws up a weak Candlelight orb which floats slowly above him, and pushes on down the dark and foreboding corridor.

I should have never accepted that damn coin.

Notes:

Another chapter as promised. Barring any major life disruption, next one should be up shortly.

Thanks for all the kudos and bookmarks, I hope you're enjoying my work!

Chapter 3: Underground

Summary:

Maxwell finds two surprising things underground. Both beautiful in their own right, but one of them he thought he'd seen the last of.

Notes:

TW: Foul language, death.

Okay, what is this place.

Shortly after leaving the room with the cave in, he noticed recent disturbances in the dust. Presumably from vampires and thralls that have gone further in. The disturbances soon proved to be useless as a guide, as the passageways seem to loop and twist, intersecting with each other and with rooms that had multiple entrances. Creating a horrifying labyrinth that created a growing feeling of dismay within Maxwell.

Other than the sound of his own rapid heartbeat, shallow breathing and light footfall, the dead seemed to reign this place with absolute silence.

After a tense few tiring hours with every sense on high alert, passing through the maze of passageways and rooms that contain collapsed skeletons and dismembered thralls in threadbare clothes that look as though they killed each other. Maxwell briefly stops a few times to check over the bodies for anything of use. Noticing that the undead were armed with silvered weapons, he raises an eyebrow. Nevertheless, he grabs a few and stows them into his enchanted pack, keeping one out and sheathing his dwarven sword.

At one point, he leans against the dusty corridor wall. What he’d seen thus far was not making him feel well. He focused on his breathing, trying not to get too agitated.

Whatever this place was, it was both ancient and expansive. It didn’t look or feel Dwemer in origin, which he knew from before could be extremely complicated and extensive. It almost felt like this place was intentionally confusing. The additional fact that the undead had silvered weapons was not lost on him. Evidently, they’re guarding something that that is specifically to protect from vampires, but what? And why?

Passing through a few more rooms filled with only skeletons gave him a moment of hesitation.

I guess they ran out of thralls.

He soon runs into another ‘protection’. As he turns a corner, the sight ahead gives him pause and he ducks back behind the corridor corner. Peering out, he observes with bated breath. Four piles of purple dust, standing around an inert grotesque gargoyle-like statue, claws covered in dark blood.

Frowning, he summons a bound bow and fires an ethereal arrow at the inanimate figure. The sounds of cracking emanate as the ethereal arrow takes a chunk out of it. Firing off a few more causes the statue to collapse once the ‘head’ is destroyed.

Soon after, something gives him grave concern. Entering yet another chamber, he notices two gargoyle-like statues that have been obliterated, remnants scattered around the room. A couple of piles of purple dust mark where vampires fell.

Maxwell gulps slightly at the implication. Damn, at least one capable vampire ahead.

 

Later on, a dim glimmering light on the corridor wall ahead attracts his attention, and he cancels out the weak Candlelight. Cautiously approaching the light pouring through an open entranceway, he guardedly peers around the corner of the entranceway.

A somewhat large cavern. In the middle, some sort of wide circular structure made up of gothic archways and separated pillars. Approaching it on a brazier lit bridge – the main source of light - three individuals. A male ashen-coloured Orc clad in ornate metal armour holding a battle-axe, and two fair-coloured Bosmer women clad in dark leather garb holding swords.

As the three come to a stop - seemingly trying to listen to something – Maxwell’s heart drops as he realises he’s been made.

Shit.

Immediately summoning his bow once more, although this time it takes an agonizing moment to materialise. Taking a deep breath to steady his resolve and maintain the focus on the spell, he fires a volley of ethereal arrows. As soon as he starts letting loose, the heads of all three spin on the spot and look in his direction. The ethereal arrows almost imperceptibly whizz through the air.

Despite the distance and his tiredness, he manages to land arrows in two of them.

The third – the Orc - manages to dodge behind one of the Bosmer which takes an arrow to the chest. As the vampire reaches for the arrow, the sound of crackling punctuates the still air as the Orc throws a stream of lightning from his free hand towards Maxwell. The lightning courses through the air like a knife through melting butter and before he can react, the spell hits him in his shoulder. Yelling as pain radiates through his entire being, his right arm goes numb, and the bow dissipates as the flow of magicka is interrupted.

Falling to a kneeling position and just resisting the urge to hurl, the sound of approaching armoured footsteps shortly reach his ears. Slowly looking up through slightly blurry vision, the Orc now stands a small distance away, slowly alighting the last few steps carved into the stonework. Its battle-axe sticking out from behind his pauldron.

In a deep gruff voice dripping with malevolence.

“I don’t know who you are, mortal, but you made a grave mistake.”

The Orc sneers, his features contorting.

“Although I should thank you for killing Inar and Lorel, I never did like them.”

As he approaches, like a predator moving in for the impending kill, his amber eyes emblazoned with malice and saliva covered fangs protruding from the underbite, Maxwell momentarily closes his eyes and in silent resignation concentrates on a long-dormant part of him and chants something he has not said in years. Shouting as he raises his head, and pain radiating throughout his person as he does so:

“YOL TOOR SHUL”

The cavern is suddenly bathed in the brightest yellow light, akin to the surface of the sun, as the intense dragon fire emanates from his gaping mouth. The Orc, his amber eyes widening in surprise then horror, tries to dodge out the way but the sheer size of the concentrated dragon fire completely incinerates it, with a faint screech of death emanating from the creature.

As the pain builds to a crescendo, the Shouting stops. Collapsing to the ground, taking in deep breathes of fetid stale air and fighting the urge to throw up, he tries once more to stomp down that part of him he had also denied for years. The fire within eventually accede to his efforts, but he could feel the resistance from the souls that he carried. He hated using Shouts, as it brought up memories from a life he tried ever so hard to forget.

Returning to reality in the underground cavern, Maxwell spins to lay on the floor on his back, looking at the dimly lit stalagmite-covered ceiling. Trying to blank his mind once more.

Would it be so bad if I lay here for a while?

A wave of pain and tiredness intermingles with a pang of hunger and thirst remind him of his mortality.

Heavily groaning as his laboured movements wrack pain throughout his tired form, he moves to sit against the wall. Slowly and tiredly retrieving various items from his enchanted pack. Drinking the last remnants of water to quench his parched throat, along with a few healing and magicka potions and dried jerky, the various pains slowly recede.

As the pain finally abates, leaving a hollow tiredness, he sighs as he finally stands up using the cavern wall to support his tired form.

The cavern and ancient structure have now returned to the previous level of illumination, with the braziers still lit as far as the now-dead vampires had reached.

Putting away the silver sword again now that the vampires are dead, he slowly descends the staircase that had been cut from the rockface, eventually crossing the stone bridge that connects the rockface to the ancient central structure.

Picking tiredly at the purple dust where the two dead vampires rest, he pockets some sort of amulet, a ring and a dagger.

Crossing onto the ancient building, a massive circular platform with gothic arches around the exterior, with various pillars sitting in various grooves, braziers on the outer edge lights up in consecutive order as he crosses the end of the bridge. This bathes the cavern in a soft orange glow.

Okay, this is odd.

Noticing that the grooves all circled the central feature, an ornately coloured slab that looked slightly out of place from the rest of the platform stonework other than the pillars which have the same ornate colour.

Tapping his foot cautiously on it, nothing happens.

He tried pushing the pillars, nothing happens.

A frown forms as Maxwell takes a slow walk around the pillars. He notices there’s no further pathway.

Fuck, looks like I can’t go any further this way.

A stone lever, nestled in a corner of one of the archways, suddenly coming into view distracts him. Seeing nothing else of interest, he tentatively puts his non-dominant hand on the lever. A sensation of what feel like a thousand pinpricks shoot up his arm.

“AH SHIT” he yelps, pulling his hand away. Shaking his arm to try and get rid of the numbness left by the sensation, the lever drops on its own accord. A muffled click reaches his ears. Trying the pillars once more, the very last one moves against the groove which causes him to almost stumble.

Ah, they do move but only in certain directions.

As the first one clicks into place, the distant click of the next one draws his attention. As the last pillar clicks into place, a silent hum suddenly appears that puts every sense on alert.

All the pillars suddenly glow a wraithlike dark purple, a shade darker than his bound bow. The central slab also glows purple as well, drops slightly and underneath a nearby stone, and a six-sided stone structure ascends from the gap. The purple colour dissipates almost as quickly as it appears.

Cautiously approaching the mysterious hexagonal feature that has appeared, he notices a square feature on one side of it. Almost like a button.

Seeing no other feature of interest, he cautiously approaches the now present feature. Noticing it looks like it can be depressed into the stone, he pokes it with the tip of his sword. Nothing happens. He puts the pommel of the silver sword against the button and pushes.

After some initial resistance, it depresses until it’s level with the smooth stone surface. A soft clicking sound appears, and the three sides (the one with the depressed button and two adjoining sides), begin to quickly slide down. He takes a few steps back, grasping the sword and deciding at the last moment, prepares to Shout.

As the lid slides downwards into the floor, instead of an undead like he had been expecting, the head of an auburn hair coloured Nordic woman of undeniable beauty causes his breath to catch in his throat.

For the briefest of moments, an extremely emotive memory appears. A mental image of her, a lifetime ago, asleep in their shared marital bed, looking serene in the early morning sun shining through their window at Breezehome as he gazes lovingly at her through slumber-filled eyes.

As the lid continues to slide down, revealing more detail of the slumbering woman, the mental image disappears and the Shout evaporates within him as emotions start to swirl within.

Leaning against the back of the coffin, head lolled slightly to the side and eyes closed, he takes stock of more detail as the lid slides further downward. Clad in figure-hugging black attire with some sort of symbolic brooch affixing a large black cloak to her slender hourglass figure, arms hanging by her side.

As the lid finishes sliding out of sight, a glint beside and below the sleeping feminine figure draws his gaze, and simultaneously causes him to both freeze and jaw drop. Time seems to momentarily freeze like a particular Shout he knows. Something he has only seen once before, a lifetime ago. A cylindrical object, leaning casually against the rear of the coffin. Ornately decorated in fantastical gems and covered in runic symbols, in an almost shimmering bronze tube. An Elder Scroll.

Poignant memories flood back. The opening of the device housing the scroll in the dwarven oculary. Reading it at the Throat Of The World amidst a snowstorm. Leaving it in the place he left it.

What the…

Before he could fathom the full scope of the implication of an Elder Scroll buried here, a light groan from the woman distracts him and the memories are washed away.

As her eyelids flutter open, and she inhales a couple of times, she stretches slightly. She looks around and notices him in a defensive position. Her eyes - a deep amber and now wide in a myriad of emotions - peer at him through the bangs of her wine-red auburn hair that’s braided around her fringe. Her hand closest to the Scroll instinctively grabs the end of it, tightly. The other, partly hidden by her hip.

Heart beating fast, he tightens the grip on his weapon.

In a light tone, the woman hesitantly asks something in a foreign language.

He cocks an eyebrow and asks “Who are you?”

She tilts her head ever so slightly and mutters something. A faint blue aura briefly emanates from her partly hidden hand before disappearing.

“Who are you? Were you sent by my mother to wake me?” she hesitantly asks again, slowly as though testing something.

“No…who were you expecting?”

“Someone…like me”

“A vampire, you mean?”

“Well, yes.”

“What was that you just cast?” He warily asks.

“A simple Tongues spell, so we can understand each other.” She nonchalantly adds, although she glances down at his sword.

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move.

“What year is it?” The woman asks.

“Currently? 4^th Era, year 208”

Confusion registers on the woman’s face.

“I don’t recognise that calendar system. Who is the current High King of Skyrim?”

“We don’t have a High King. Queen Elisif currently rules but she’s in league with the Empire.”

“Empire?”

“From Cyrodill”

“Cyrodill…is the seat of an empire…?” she quizzically repeats his words, her gaze dropping.

Just how old are you?

As the Nordic woman is deep in thought, her face scrunched up trying to work something out, he chances to ask some questions of his own.

“Just how old are you? Why are you buried here? And more importantly, why are you entombed with that?!” he points at the scroll.

She looks at him, slightly bewildered by his barrage of questions. She grasps the Elder Scroll, moving it behind her.

“Those are all rather personal questions, which I’m hesitant to reveal to you just yet. I’m sorry.”

Wait, she apologised? What is happening?

“Also, were you never taught to ask a woman her age?” she smirks with a semi-serious face, hand still on her hip which she jaunts out slightly as though to empathise her point.

He swallows slightly at the action, but clears his throat and retorts.

“I admit, it’s bad manners. I apologise. But counterpoint” he retorts “it’s a valid question, if you haven’t heard of the Empire from Cyrodill. You must be…”

“…ancient?” she adds, slightly smirking.

He half shrugs.

“So how did you, a mortal, find this place?” she asks.

“Long story”

“And what about that?” she asks pointedly, pointing a red-coloured fingernail behind him. He glances over his shoulder and sees what she’s pointing at – the two piles of purple dust of the dead vampires.

“Also, a long story.”

She stares intently at him, her amber eyes piercing his own brown eyes, and something mysterious about them breaks his resolve.

Sighing in resignation, he explains.

“Long story short, I was hired to assist in tracking a band of vampires excavating ruins in this region, by the Dawnguard - a band of Vampire Hunters….of which I’m not affiliated with” he adds quickly, before continuing “there was a cave in, and I ended up trapped here. I thought to explore in case I could find another way out, to which as of yet I have not found. I encountered them. Presumably looking…” pointing to the scroll “…. for that.”

He shrugs “They saw me, I saw them. It was kill or be killed.”

She places a hand her hip, staring at him intently as he finishes speaking. He returns her gaze, and can’t help but admire the captivating detail of her amber eyes.

“And you say they were excavating?”

He nods. “From what I understand, several locations including this one.”

“What emblem did they have? Like this?” She points to the brooch that affixes her cape.

He shakes his head “I didn’t see any emblem on them”

She furrows her brow, evidently trying to work something out. A tense silence hangs in the air.

Turning to Maxwell, her features softening, she states in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve been asleep for a long time, a lot longer than originally planned. Evidently, as I’ve not heard of this Empire you speak of.” She pauses “I was supposed to be woken up by someone I know.”

Pausing again, as if considering her next words.

“I’m a vampire, you’re a mortal. Kill me, you kill one vampire. But whatever is going on here is bigger than anticipated. I need to get home and find out what’s gone on. I don’t know what’s happened in Tamriel since I was entombed, and having a capable guide will be of extreme help. Will you help me?”

She has a point…and she hasn’t tried to bite me yet. This is odd, right? Also, I thought Sanguinaire Vampiris caused deformities after a protracted period?

“Depends…do you know of a way out of here?”

“Which way did you come from the entrance? Left, or right?

“The right, but it’s a labyrinth of chambers and corridors.”

The woman gently nods.

“There’s another entrance I know of, to the left.”

Thank fuck for that.

Pausing for a moment, he adds “And what’s in it for me?”

“Other than getting out of here?” She simpers “I’ll ensure you are paid your weight in precious gems for my safe return.”

“Okay, last question: where is your home?”

 “Assuming it’s still there, near Solitude. Assuming that’s still around.”

Shit, that’s far.

He considers the woman’s proposal.

All of this is weirding me out, but she raises valid points. She hasn’t tried to bite me, which is atypical. Also, what was the alternative? Be stuck down here for the rest of my presumably short life?

Glancing briefly at the Elder Scroll again, he comes to a decision.

“If you show me the way out of this place, I’ll escort you as far as Helgen which is several days from here. You’ll be able to charter a carriage to Solitude from there. As long as you do not act or take any aggressive action to me, I promise to do the same.”

The woman considers his response with a raised eyebrow.

“Is there no….”

“I have business elsewhere.” He quickly adds, his cadence almost betraying his thought.

The woman hesitates for a tense moment, as if considering something.

“I agree to your terms. Escort me to this Helgen, and…” She quickly pulls something out from behind her, and before he can say anything gently throws it to Maxwell.

Catching it just in time in his free hand, he turns it over. A shining cut hexagonal diamond, as big as his thumb.

“...this is your payment.”

Pocketing the diamond in his coin pouch, he gingerly stabs his sword into a gap in the slab work that keeps it standing up, pulls off his glove and tentatively holds the free hand. She cautiously accepts, placing her hand gingerly inside. The coldness of her skin is rather surprising to Maxwell. Squeezing gently, he initiates the handshake.

The Nordic vampiress looks at him intently again.

“I’m called Serana. Pleasure to make your acquaintance…?

“Maxwell.”

She nods, a captivating genuine smile appearing. He can’t help but look at her.

Clearing his throat, he dons the glove and retrieves the standing sword, as he observes Serana place the scroll on her back. Pulling some sort of vial containing a dark red liquid, she graciously downs the entire thing and sighs in relief.

“After you” he gestures towards the entrance.

“Not that I don’t trust your word, but given that happened” gesturing to the dust of the dead vampires ”I’d rather keep an eye on you.”

“Likewise” Maxwell keeps a steady gaze on her. “…. side by side then?”

She stares at him for a moment before acquiescing.

Side by side, the two slowly walk back to the cavern entrance in relative silence.

Notes:

Next chapter as promised. Hope you enjoy :)

Thanks again for all the kudos and bookmarks.

Chapter 4: Freedom

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana finally get out from underground, and start making plans.

After about 5 minutes of muted silence, the two continue walking through the ongoing maze of rooms and twisting tunnels, with only the very slight hum of a more luminous Mage Light cast by Serana.

Maxwell couldn’t help but glance at that thing, the Elder Scroll, bobbing behind her as she strides forward. He’d been on edge since the moment he walked into this ruin, and it had only grown in intensity since being trapped. That thing makes him downright uncomfortable.

As they approach a doorway she tilts her head slightly, as though sensing something, before suddenly whipping around and placing her left hand on Maxwell’s shoulder. He abruptly stops mid-stride as though he had walked into a wall. As he is about to say something in indignation, she turns to him and puts a finger to her lips to indicate silence. She mouths the word “Undead”, and gestures around the door.

Holding her hand up to indicate he should stay put, she moves silently – Maxwell could swear she was floating ever so slightly off the ground - to peer around the corner. A significant number of skeletons and draugr, standing idly with silvered weapons drawn. Standing motionless - like a dormant zombie horde - awaiting some activity to spur them to action.

She gestures to move back slightly, to which he follows, and once sufficiently distanced from the doorway she whispers “I don’t remember those being here when I passed through here before. They’re holding silvered weapons as well, which is odd.”

“Yes, all the undead I’ve seen so far have been armed with silvered weaponry.” Maxwell whispers back. She raises an eyebrow, as though indicating for him to expand.

“The entire place has been full of skeletons and Draugr, too many to count. From what I’ve seen, all have been holding silver swords, axes and so on.”

Her brow furrows.

“Something’s wrong….” She mutters under her breath.

“I should also men…..” Maxwell begins, before Serana confidently moves back to the entrance way with a purpose, lightning crackling from her left hand and ice forming on her right hand. He struggles to keep up, unsheathing his sword as he does so.

She steps around the corner and starts blasting the undead, with the quietness being suddenly broken by the fulminations of lightning blasts and smashing of icicles blowing apart bone and sinew. The initial group of undead don't have a chance to wake up. Those further back become more animated before they too get blasted. Watching her cast the destructive spells with such grace, he can’t help but feel a slight sensation of unease rise up his spine.

He takes out a few skeletons and Draugr that are on the periphery, but at the rate she’s clearing out the horde his efforts are almost hilariously inconsequential.

As they further move in, stepping over the remains of the skeletons and Draugr, two vertical stone slabs abruptly blow off the wall and collapse to the ground with loud smacks that cancel out the sounds of lightning. Two large gargoyle constructs appear from the recesses, and stomp with surprising speed as they make a beeline straight for a surprised Serana.

As she throws lightning at them from one hand and icicles from her other hand, two more crashes emanate from behind them draw his attention. As Maxwell spins on his heel his gaze falls on two more large gargoyles that move out of the walls.

“Two more statues, behind us!” he calls out over the sound of combat. Dropping his sword with a clatter and summoning his bow once more, he starts firing off the ghostly arrows. An arrow blows out the head of one, and the other takes a couple more before going down.

As the last one crumbles to the ground, he turns to Serana who has an eyebrow slightly raised as she gazes at the bow, a slight look of impressiveness on her face. The two in front, blasted apart and covered in scorch marks and ice. 

“I ran into one earlier, and found this works well against them.” Maxwell states.

He keeps the bow summoned, firing off a few choice shots as the pair deal with another group of undead that come to investigate the noise, as well as two more gargoyles that spawn in. Soon, the constant magicka drain soon starts to tell as a slight headache appears and slowly grows in pressure. As the last of the undead fall to the ground and the remnants of the statue scatter, the bow starts phasing in and out of existence as Maxwell struggles to maintain the spell, and the headache reaches a painful peak as it finally winks out of existence. He collapses to the nearby wall, head in hand.

“Are you alright?” she asks, taking a step closer and concern bleeding into her cadence.

“Just tired, it’s been…a long day. Give me….a moment.” He breathes out, wheezing slightly.

Rummaging through his potion pouch and pulling out a stamina potion and immediately downing it, and as the warmth and serene calmness of the potion effect after works its way through his torso he breathes a sigh of relief. The headache abates, and even though the tiredness feels like its soaked into his bones, the potion takes the edge off.

“Let’s hope there aren’t anymore” he comments.

“If there are, lets not take any chances.” She pauses before adding. “And…thanks” she looks over to the constructs that appeared behind them, indicating the reason for her gratitude.

“You’re welcome” he replies "Thanks for dealing with the rest."

She treats him with a genuine smile, as she nods.

“Although the way they were going straight for you…” he ponders, as he slowly steps back to retrieve his fallen sword. “maybe because they could somehow sense your being a vampire? That would make sense, given the undead have silvered weapons.”

Her smile disappears.

“Possibly” She contorts her face slightly, seemingly thinking of something before she shakes her head and gestures onward.

“Let’s uh…keep moving. It’s not too much further.”

 

Making their way through to the next corridor, she decides to try and make small talk.

“So, you know magic?”

“Yeah” he casually responds, after a momentary pause “A few basic spells for utility and a bit of Conjuration. Basically the bow.” He shrugs “Nothing compared to what you can do.”

“That’s useful. The bow is pretty impressive in of itself. Although as you say, I’m quite adept. I know a litany of spells of various schools. Destruction for example” she nonchalantly shows her hand, crackling with lightning before dismissing “And obviously Necromancy.”

“Oh” he responds casually, before recognition passes over his features “OH”.

A tense silence descends on the pair before being broken by Maxwell.

“I suppose…that makes sense” he mutters. A thought suddenly causes his features to crease up, and when he turns to glance at her she can’t help but notice how intently he’s staring. “Although….if I happen to die down here, please don’t resurrect me.”

“No promises” she jokes.

His frown deepens as he locks his gaze on her.

“I’m joking” she retorts, holding her hands up in a humorous manner. Dropping them, she adds “Talk about being on edge.”

“Well” he retorts, his tone betraying his tiredness “being trapped underground for ages in a decrepit crypt with various kinds of undead and animated statues, and finding a vampiress with an Elder Scroll making wise cracks about resurrecting me kind of puts me on edge.”

“Valid points” she concedes “Sorry.”

He simply grumbles at that.

---

The moons of Masser and Secunda are just rising behind the faint wisps of thin cloud as a hidden door opens and the pair - covered in dust, cobwebs and sweat (one of them anyway) - escape from underground into the crisp air. As the door, well camouflaged against the stone of the mountain, slams shut the pair move away.

“By the blood, it’s nice to be outside” Serana breathes out, eyes closed as she inhales the crisp cool early night air.

Maxwell lets out his own exhausted sigh in response, as he sits on a nearby large rock to take a rest and savour the coolness of the breeze. Taking his helmet off and wipes his brow with the back of his leather gauntlet, in relief of finally being out of what could have been his final resting place.

Looking over at him, she notices he has his brown hair cut very short, and a couple of scars along his chin and jawline that were hidden by his helm. She soon joins him on the large rock, although keeping a modicum of distance between them.

A long silence punctuates the air between them before she finally speaks.

“Well, a promise is a promise. Do you happen to have a map so I can see where we are?”

He nods in agreement. Moving his enchanted pack in front of him, he opens the lid and after a bit of rummaging pulls out a folded leather sheath from it.

He offers it to her, which she takes with another smile. As he stows the pack to the side and stretches his weary form, she unfolds the leather to expose the internal parchment.

Looking it over, she can’t help but admire it. It’s a uniquely detailed map with various symbols and handwritten scribbles here and there indicating the various settlements, points of interest and the like. A few are crossed out. A well-used pencil sits inside a fold, tied up by a knotted string. The map itself emanates a very faint magical aura, which she deduces is more for protection against the elements.

It’s certainly seen a lot of use, and despite looking old it’s well maintained, she thinks.

As she grasps the edge of it, she notices a small inscription at the bottom slightly covered by her thumb. Moving it out the way, she quickly reads it. It looks rather feminine compared to his masculine writing, and it looks slightly worn down compared to the rest of the map, as though it’s been thumbed over several times.

“So you can always find your way home to me. L”

She smirks slightly.

“What?” Maxwell asks, eyebrow raised as he notices her expression.

“Nothing… just admiring your handiwork…it’s a fine map.”

“Thanks, it’s been useful from time to time.” He replies in a casual tone.

She moves closer to him to show him the map, noticing he moves away ever so slightly.

“Where are we?”

“We are….here” he points with a finger, towards the bottom of the map. “This whole region” he gestures to the bottom section. “is the Riften hold.”

“Thanks” she replies “So where is Helgen? It’s not a place I’m familiar with.”

He points a gloved finger to the symbol for Helgen, a hammer within an anvil.

“Here. First things first though, I need to resupply. Being trapped down there, I’m out of a few things. That” he points to the symbol for Ivarstead - an axe under a mountain - which is closer to their location “should be our first call. A small detour but a much needed one. There’s also a small lake not far from here” pointing closer to where they were “maybe a half hour on horseback. I can at least get some fresh water from.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to reach Helgen then?” she asks.

He considers it for a moment before responding.

“Assuming no issues….4 days including the detour to Ivarstead. Although in reality it’ll depend on a few factors. Are you okay travelling during the day?”

“I would prefer not to, but if it came down to it I can just about manage if I pull my hood over me.” She responds.

“What about sleep? What about…” He hesitates “blood? I’m guessing that was what was in the vial.”

“Rather personal questions” she can’t help but retort.

He swallows slightly “Well, you asked how long…”

She shakes her head “No I understand. Sleep, not a problem for me unless it’s an extremely exhausting day. It’s more of a recreational thing, although it can be helpful if we’re extremely tired. As for blood….” She pauses “I can manage.”

He looks at her, eyebrow raised.

Leaving the statement hanging, she motions to get up. Maxwell sits still.

“One other thing.”

“Hmm?”

“That” he gestures to the Elder Scroll, tied onto her back. “That’s going to draw a lot of attention.”

His heart does a double beat before he half-heartedly states “I can hold it for you if you would like.”

“I’d rather you didn’t” she adamantly responds, before clarifying “it’s not…that I don’t appreciate the offer. I can’t let it go.”

“Unless you can hide it, I don’t see any other choice.”

“Well….” She trails off. She wafts her hand, silently casting a spell, and the scroll disappears from sight.

Maxwell stares, coming to ease after seeing her gesturing cease.

“…okay” he utters with an air of incredulity “that’d do it.”

“A simple invisibility spell. No one will be able to see it unless I dispel it.” She says with a smile.

“What about its weight?” he asks, before realising what he said.

“Not a problem. Doesn’t weigh that much to me. Although” she couldn’t help herself “I wanted to ask. You seem familiar with them. Have you held one before?”

He stiffens slightly, giving a quick answer “No…read about them once. The book said they’re heavy.”

She narrows her amber eyes slightly, disbelieving him but choosing not to press the issue. Certainly seems more to him than he’s letting on.

“Anyway” she stands up, stretching slightly. “Shall we make a start?”

“Agreed” he responds, folding up the map and putting it away.

----

After descending the slope with some difficulty, Maxwell curses as they approach the dimly moonlit entrance to the Nordic ruin.

Noticing Serana quizzically looking at him. “Those damn bastards took my horse.”

I shouldn’t be surprised though, if they thought me dead.

He groans tiredly “Guess we’re walking...”

----

The next hour and a half pass by rather uneventfully, with only the sound of their feet trudging across the ground.

Eventually coming across the small lake that Maxwell described. Serana can’t help but take in the sight, as the light of the twin moons bathes the lake in moonlight. A few fireflies dot the opposite waterfront, and a faint breeze passes over them.

Maxwell takes off his helmet, and kneels down. After refilling his waterskin and drinking from cupped hands, he washing his face, neck and head to get rid of the sweat and dust. Breathing a sigh, he takes a moment to sit back and relax.

Serana does the same, although only to her face and hands.

After a couple of minutes of silent contemplation, she comments as she looks over at Maxwell.

“Do you want to make camp around here?”

He considers her statement for a few moments.

“Well, if you’re okay with that, we could make camp by the lake. Of course, we’d be losing the night…”

“I’ll be fine. I’d rather you rest and recover your strength for the journey given you’ve been stuck underground, and to be honest you look absolutely exhausted.” She casually responds.

Plus you kind of smell bad.

Maxwell says something she doesn’t quite register.

“Hmm?” She says, noticing he’s looking at her.

“I’m guessing I smell bad, huh?” he repeats.

Surprise registers on her face, as she looks at Maxwell with amazement.

“How…?”

“You’ve been wrinkling your nose slightly ever since we met, and you just did it again. I’m guessing I don’t smell as nice as a bed of daisies?” He states, smirking slightly at the last part.

“…sorry.” She mutters apologetically.

“Don’t be, I can smell how bad I am.” His smirk widens, before catching himself. Clearing his throat, he says in a more serious tone “Anyway, lets head over there and see if we can find somewhere sheltered to set up camp for the night, and I can finally have a wash.”

Soon after finding a hidden alcove between two rock formations near the waterfront, and a laborious 10 minutes that feels like 20 setting up the tent, Maxwell tiredly uses his flames spell to get a small fire going. As he’s tending to the fire to coax it into life, Serana suddenly asks.

“Please could I have the map again, and…you don’t happen to have anything to read?”

He’s surprised at her question, but replies “Uh…sure, I do have a couple of books, although more for practicality than pleasure.”

Pulling his pack and extracting a couple of thin books and the map, Maxwell hands them to her.

“Thanks” she smiles, accepting the offered literature as he sets his pack back in the original spot and he sits by the growing fire.

After looking over the map once more to familiarise herself with the Skyrim province now that many centuries had passed, she picks up Maxwell’s books that she placed beside her.

The first one didn’t really interest her, Ilaria’s Fishing Trap Guide. Flicking through it, she noted a page that had a corner folded, presumably for ease of reference. A few handwritten passages are dotted on several pages, the handwriting matching the notes on the map. One note in particular aside a rather complex trap, scribbled haphazardly in bold letters and underlined several times, makes her silently chuckle.

DO NOT USE TO TRY AND CATCH SLAUGHTERFISH, DESPITE WHAT THE BOOK SAYS!

Putting it aside, the other one she finds significantly more interesting: Madge’s Flora Guide of Skyrim. She reads it with interest, catching up on the field despite how limited the information is in the thin book. A few handwritten notes are also scribbled in here, listing a few other details. As she reads, she realises that since it had been so long since she had read anything, most or all of what she knew would be out of date. A melancholic feeling rises up, combined with the fact of how much she has missed the simple act of reading.

A statement from Maxwell draws her attention as he stands up.

“I’ll be back, just going to wash.”

Serana looks up and simply nods before going back to reading.

Grabbing a clean shirt from his pack, Maxwell disappears behind the rock, stripping off his dirtied armour and undershirt, and slowly has a wash at the edge of moonlit lake. The minutes stretch longer and longer by as the tension in his muscles gradually evaporates into the cold water, leaving only a dull tiredness. The serene calmness of the lake being a stark difference to the stressful life-or-death situation he found himself in over the last day or so.

As he throws up a weak Candlelight and sluggishly washes his armour in the dim light, his thoughts turn to his predicament.

Now what I have gotten myself into? This could only end about 10 different ways, progressively from bad to worse.

He mentally kicks himself for getting involved in something he didn’t want to find himself in. That thing could only mean one thing: trouble. The loss of his horse didn’t help, as that meant he’d have to spend more time in the presence of that thing, even though it was out of sight. The sooner he could put some distance between it and himself, the better.

Unseen by him, Serana peers around the rock out of sheer curiosity as some time had passed. His Candlelight, hovering just above him, illuminates his back which makes various injuries stand out. The sight of many scars and blemishes stun her, significantly more than she expected. Among the myriad of cuts and scars that tell the tapestry of his life, the most prominent elements draw her attention. A large knot of reddened skin on his left shoulder, large elongated claw marks that descend from nape to the small of his back and a large darkened circular mark on his waist. Even though he was moving slowly, he didn’t seem to be in any discomfort.

She wondered what beast or beasts he had encountered that did that to him.

As the faint Candlelight floating above him winks out of existence, she silently dashes back to her spot. Maxwell gets drawn back to reality as he plunges back into natural moonlight. As a shiver creeps its way up his torso from the cold water, he cautiously makes his way out of the water and onto dry land, donning his clean shirt that clings to his damp body.

Upon his return to their nestled campsite, Serana is back in her spot. As he passes, she looks up and offers another disarming smile.

As he stoops to place his damp leather armour by the fire to dry out, she glances up again. Illuminated by the dancing firelight, she can see more detail of the scars that were previously hidden by his armour. A large prominent cut on his left forearm takes her attention first, before she notices other cuts and scars on his forearms, evidently from a lifetime of hunting.

 

After a silent 15 minutes as the heat of the fire warms his aching body from the coldness of the night, he rolls his head with half closed eyes and raises a free hand to massage his neck. Serana speaks up which draws his attention. As he looks over, her amber eyes - looking quite bright in the firelight - stare intently at him.

“It’s okay, I’ll stay on guard. Remember, I don’t need rest. And besides, I think I’ve slept for long enough.” She finishes with a half-smile.

“Thanks. Er…good night then Serana. Wake me if anything happens.” He replies with a nod.

“Goodnight Maxwell” she says, returning to the book “and I will.”

After donning his mostly dry armour, he settles down on his bedroll in the tent, and reflects on what’s happened in the last 48 hours.

Despite his reservations about his predicament, he can’t help but think about his charge. In addition to trying to fathom why a Nordic Vampiress was buried underground - apparently from a long forgotten era - what he’s seen contradicts what little he knows about the disease. An individual almost always loses themselves and become a feral beast if it isn’t cured in time, yet she has somehow retained her humanity in addition to her apparent beauty. Despite his qualms about her extremely potent spellcasting abilities, he couldn’t fathom her actions since freeing her. Making jokes, asking a personal question about him, her apparent kindness as though she was trying to put him at ease. A conundrum wrapped in an enigma.

As his tired body eventually submits to the pit of unconsciousness among the faint sounds of Serana stoking the fire, his final lucid thought is one he wholeheartedly agrees with.

This is going to be a long trip.

Notes:

This was originally over 6000 words as I wanted to include something from Serana's perspective, before I decided to scrap it during a rewrite as it felt like too much too soon. This will appear in a later chapter, once I've reworked it.

As always, hope you enjoy this and thanks for all the kudos. The chapters moving forward will be further spread out now that things are kicking off.

Chapter 5: Déjà vu

Summary:

The pair finally reach Ivarstead, and an event evokes a memory that Maxwell has tried very hard to forget.

Notes:

TW: Foul Language, Violence, Violent Death (beheading, impalement), Violence, PTSD/Panic attack.

The lake is bathed in a light veil of fog as dawn breaks. As Maxwell exits the tent carrying his bedroll, Serana is watching the lake but looks over and warmly smiles as she sees him stand up.

“Good morning” he jovially responds, stretching his arms before starting to roll up the bedroll.

She looks at him quizzically for a moment before realisation passes over her features and she recasts the spell that allows them to understand each other.

“Good morning Maxwell, did you sleep well?” she asks.

“I did, thank you.” He pauses before continuing. “I think we need to have a chat about a few things.”

“About…?” her eyebrows raise in consternation and her smile disappears as his serious tone catches her off-guard.

Finishing his action, he looks at her “If other vampires have been excavating in this area, for that” pointing to the still invisible Elder Scroll “I think a few precautions may be prudent. Such as adopting a false name to travel under.”

She considers his proposal for a moment “Any suggestions?”

He thinks on it. “Hanna?”

Serana raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“That’s a bit…common.”

“More common the better. A unique name can draw too much attention.”

 She acquiesces.

“What else?”

He stares into her amber eyes, and motions to say something else. Cutting him off, she states.

“Let me guess…my eyes?”

He nods in response.

In response, she blinks but holds her eyes closed for a few moments, brow furrowing ever so slightly. As she slowly opens them, her eye colour changes from amber orange to Nordic blue. The change is stark, and he can’t help but gaze into them. A small cough from Serana brings him back to reality.

“That….err…a useful trick” he manages to force out, the words catching in his throat. “Is that something all vampires can do, or...?”

“It’s just a basic illusion spell.”

Finally, the topic he was hesitant to broach again.

“What about blood?”

She remains nonchalant. “As I said yesterday, don’t worry about that. I’ll manage.”

“Right.”

Leaving it at that, he finishes packing up. Serana pulls her thick cape over her head to avoid the early morning sunshine which is starting to cause irritation on her exposed skin, and tucks in her hair so as to not obscure her vision.

Setting off from their campsite, the journey is relatively peaceful in as the faint wisps of fog curl in the morning sunlight, accompanied by a faint chill. As the fog eventually lifts and the sunshine starts to warm the air, the chatter between them is very minimal. Maxwell stops a couple of times to gather alchemical ingredients they pass, such as a few sprigs of Blue Mountain Flower and some Pine Thrush Eggs from a nest. Serana is just happy to take in the sights, in this part of Skyrim that she’s never visited before.

They pass by a couple of simple ancient structures, namely pillar in various formations with the reason for them being that way lost to the ages, which Maxwell points out as they pass. This prompts Serana to question Maxwell about historical events that have happened, although history is not his strong suit. He only touches on a few major topics, some of which Serana knows about – such as the fall of the Dwemer – and others she doesn’t, such as the Oblivion Crisis, the Septim Empire, the war between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire and finally the Skyrim Civil War.

Maxwell doesn’t notice she subtly stiffens at the mention of Molag Bal and her expression changes only for a moment. The mention of wars of succession doesn’t surprise her. Although she observes Maxwell tensing up about the civil war, and his heartrate steadily increase when he mentions the return of dragons.

Serana looks at Maxwell, aghast.

“Wait…dragons?!” She gasps, struggling to comprehend the detail. “You’re serious? Dragons came back?”

“Yeah”

“Why were they coming back?”

“I don’t know, but they disappeared almost as quickly as they arrived. I don’t think there’s been a sighting for years.” He curtly retorts before swiftly moving on.

As the conversation dies out, Maxwell is trying to push several intrusive memories out of his mind, and Serana is staring into the distance as she processes what he has said.

Before long, the changing view breaks them out of their self-imposed stupor. As they approach the Throat of the World, the largest mountain in the Skyrim province, Serana can’t help but slow down first and take in the sight of the vast mountain looming ahead of them. The many snow-covered rocky outcroppings and geological features that make up the mountain face, reflecting the afternoon sunlight.

As the sun begins its descent from the midday peak, the buildings of Ivarstead appear further up the road. Serana walks up to join Maxwell and speaks up. “So, what’s first?”

Turning to look at her, he clears his throat and states "Well, I need to visit the shopkeeper for food stuffs, the alchemist for more potions and the blacksmith to sell some stuff. Depending how much they are, I can see about horses as well.”

He glances up at the sun. “It shouldn’t take long; we’ll be back on the road well before sundown.”

---

Their first point of call - the blacksmith – goes well as the soot-covered Nord, with a wide physique who is a few years Maxwell’s senior, happily takes the various silvered weaponry that Maxwell offloads to him. He shrugs when he spots Serana looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Moving away from the store and trudging down the stone path past the sawmill that sits aside the river, the sound of wood cutting reaching them, they pass by a few residents going about their business. He notices Serana curiously observing them, which he briefly smirks at. A sudden whisper from Serana makes Maxwell makes him jump slightly and wipe the smirk off his face.

“Something’s wrong.”

“How so?” he glances over, unable to resist looking at her new eye colour for the briefest of moments.

“People seem subdued. There’s something bothering them.” Her expression, one of consternation.

Maxwell recalls that the innkeeper – Ingrid - did act a little out of sorts following whatever conversation she had with Isran.

"I hadn't really noticed, as I kept to myself when we passed through a few days ago."

The shopkeeper is a bust, having not had a chance to fully restock since the Dawnguard came through. He mentions that Ingrid may have some stuff to sell, before comically salivating when Maxwell produced the sizeable diamond in his possession to exchange for appropriate coinage. He also couldn’t miss the man gazing lewdly at Serana as she idly looks over the various shelves as she stands behind Maxwell.

The alchemist, a blonde-haired Imperial, is delighted to see Maxwell again, and is more than happy for him to use her equipment again to brew his own potions. Serana watches curiously his movements as he deftly uses the numerous apparatuses to grind up and convert the various ingredients he has, including a few he buys from the Imperial. As he transfers the mixtures into the glassware, errant memories of her lessons of alchemy with Valerica crop up, which she thoughtfully smiles at.

Maxwell’s voice interrupts her thoughts. "What's wrong?" he queries, pausing his motions and holding the mush covered pestle in one hand.

"Nothing" she quickly responds, pushing the memories out of her mind "Just thinking you seem very prepared."

He shrugs. "Call me a pragmatist. I wouldn't be very good at survival without certain skills. Plus, most alchemists seem happy to let me use their equipment. Apparently not many people willingly demonstrate the skill."

Serana soon leaves him to finish up and ends up idly chatting with the alchemist about various tenets of the science. Before long, Maxwell leaves the side room stowing the crafted potions away, and Serana joins him after bidding farewell to the smiling alchemist.

“What’s that?” noticing her stowing a book into her own small bag.

“Just something she offered me during our chat. Your book on flora was interesting to read, but this has more information.”

“I did notice you seem to be reading that one with interest. I gather alchemy an interest of yours?”

“You could say that, “She wryly laughs “Although most of what I know is likely out of date”

“Fascinating” genuine interest registering on his face “Maybe we could have a chat about it at some point.”

“Sure” she smiles broadly.

Entering the Four Shields tavern, it’s mostly empty aside from Ingrid who is sweeping by the fire and a few patrons at one of the tables.

"Hello travellers...oh it's you!" Ingrid calls out, recognition flashing on her face as she notices Maxwell "…Max, right? You were with the Dawnguard folk a few days back."

"Maxwell" he corrects her "Yes, I came through here with the Dawnguard although I wasn’t with them, only as hired help." Wanting to swiftly change the topic, he adds “The shopkeeper said you may have some food I could buy."

Ingrid props the broom to the side and wipes her hands on her apron “I can spare some bread, meat and vegetables, although not much. You Dawnguard folk ate a lot." She adds wistfully. She then looks to Serana and adds “Who is this fetching lady? Your new travelling companion?”

"I'll take it, and thank you." He responds gratefully, handing over the requisite coinage. “This is Hanna, we met on the road.”

As Ingrid nods before disappearing into the kitchen to gathers the foodstuffs, Serana steps up and asks “Would you mind if we got a drink?”

“Uh...sure. I actually wouldn’t mind sitting for some time. What’s your poison?”

A look of confusion on her face makes him hastily clarify “I mean, what drink do you want?”

“What would you recommend?” She offers a small smile.

He ponders for a moment. “Honningbrew Mead is fairly popular around here. Bit of a kick to it.”

Noticing the other patrons busy with their own conversation, he quickly adds in a hushed tone “What about your…you know?”

She quickly shakes her head “We can still eat and drink, although it’s not as sustaining.”

He holds his stare, before briefly nodding. As Ingrid returns with the foodstuffs wrapped in cloth, he pulls out additional money and asks “Hey Ingrid, please could we have two Honningbrew Meads as well.”

She smiles slightly at the patronage “Oh, sure.” She pours then passes two tankards, full to the brim and threatening to overflow.

Moving to a table in the corner, Maxwell watches his companion take a swig then recoil slightly as the mead hits her undead taste buds. “Wow…that’s sweet.” Serana says with slight surprise.

He chuckles slightly. “Yeah, I did mention it’s got a kick to it”

As the two idly chat about alcohol and then alchemy, more and more town folk come in as they finish the work for the day, and soon the atmosphere becomes a bit livelier, although they seemingly give the pair a wide berth.

Glancing up at one point, Serana notices a few folks looking over in their direction, who turn away when she looks at them. This raises her concern. A couple of gestures in their direction as the group talk in hushed tones among themselves raise them further. As she turns to say something, Maxwell talks softly from behind his tankard.

“I notice it too. Keep casual.” She nods.

A moment later, Ingrid – at the gesturing of one of the men - comes out from behind the bar and slowly heads over to them. As Ingrid walks over, Maxwell makes eye contact with her. Noticing a few of the folk taking notice in his peripheral vision, he puts his tankard down and his other hand on his lap.

“Hi Ingrid, you look troubled. What’s the matter?” He politely asks, trying to keep the concern out of his tone.

She hesitantly clears her throat, glancing between the two before stating to Maxwell.

“Sorry to disturb you both, but…we have an issue. You’re a hunter right, Maxwell?”

“Indeed.” He replies, wondering where this could be going.

A moment of gladness appears on her face as she continues, a bit more confidently.

“There’s something that’s been taking animals, now and then over the last few weeks. We haven’t seen what it is, only the damage after it’s visited. We think it’s out in the barrow that’s about 20 minutes east from here, but we daren’t enter that foul place. We’ve asked for help but the Jarl in Riften isn’t interested in helping, and your leader outright refused saying the vampire menace took priority.”

Ah, so that was the topic of their conversation.

"Well, you seem like a capable fellow. Maybe you could investigate, and deal with whatever it is? We’d pay you for your assistance.” She hastily adds.

That familiar feeling swells up, nudging him to help those in need. He stomps it out. The silence drags on for a few moments, with Ingrid apparently holding her breath awaiting his response.

"I... I’m afraid I can't. My companion…” he begins to say, before Serana sits forward and tersely interjects.

“Actually, that can wait. These people clearly need help. Something stealing livestock is never good. We’ll head out right now, whilst it’s still light.” as Maxwell looks at her in astonishment.

Ingrid looks extremely relieved. “Ah thank you!”

As Serana finishes her drink, she moves to get up. Maxwell silently does the same, almost shellshocked at what’s just transpired.

As Ingrid walks back to the bar and fills in the nearby tables who watched the interaction with a vested interest, Serana leads the pair out of the Four Shields. As the door closes, Maxwell turns to Serana with a frown, as she pulls her hood over her.

“What was all that about?” he queries.

“Why did you pause?” she queries back.

“Because I was thinking that I’m currently escorting you to Helgen. Also, we’re supposed to be maintaining a low profile.” Maxwell retorts.

She shrugs.

“You have a point, and yes I want to get to home as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t mind exploring a bit along the way. And besides, aren’t you a hunter? Isn’t this your livelihood?” She suddenly flashes a disarming grin, before marching off the porchway.

"Wait...!" he calls out in a low tone.

"Well, are you coming or not?" she nonchalantly calls back.

He stares at her confidently striding up the road, before sighing in resignation at how the last 10 minutes have played out, and runs to catch up.

After a short time with Maxwell leading them in the easterly direction, the sight of the stony form of the barrow creeps into sight from behind the treeline. As Maxwell spots some tracks in the dirt and starts to head over to look, Serana suddenly gets a whiff of something. Her hackles immediately raise. The slow wind has carried a scent which her heightened sense of smell has picked up on. The smell of wet dog. Werewolf.

She tightly grasps Maxwell’s arm to stop him, and as he jumps slightly at her touch she lets go.

“I think I know what the creature is.”

“Oh?” he turns, breath caught in his throat.

“Werewolf.” She says with as much seriousness as she can muster. Maxwell’s eyes widen in horror.

“Oh…shit.” Creasing his brow in thought, he tries to recollect what he knows on werewolves. The feral beasts have a lot of strength and stamina and are very dangerous, with only a few weaknesses. One springs to mind. A particularly strong aversion to silvered weaponry…of which he just sold a bunch.

“Wait…aren’t werewolves weak against silver?” he says, with an implying tone.

Her expression flashes realisation at the implication, and she quickly nods before they turn back.

After a quick stint to the blacksmith, Maxwell tensely holds the silvered sword in front of him as they move to the entrance way of the open-top section of the barrow. There’s clear evidence of activity, with the bones of the stolen animals scattered everywhere, and large blood stains and streaks across the exposed stonework to match. The smell of carrion permeates the slow breeze as they enter the unkempt open area and cautiously make their way to the aged iron door that’s hanging slightly ajar.

Before they can enter the bowels of the barrow, a piercing muffled howl from within reaches their ears. As Maxwell tenses even further, the iron door blasts open and hits him as the beast barrels through it. Pain ripples throughout as the wind is knocked out of him, with the silvered sword clatters to the floor.

Head spinning from the impact, he manages to fire a quick healing spell to keep conscious. As the healing energy bleeds into him and his blurry vision clears, the shadow of the black furred beast, standing staunchly on its hind legs over him and staring intently with maw wide open. As he looks up in horror, the beast bares its teeth and starts to growl before its nose wiggles as if sniffing something. Its eyes widen and hackles raise, and as the beast growls even louder and turns, concussive lightning blasts hit it and cause it to stagger past Maxwell. The enraged beast, with darkened blood starting to seep from its chest wound, launches off the wall and charges straight for Serana who has her hood down.

Moving with extreme agility, she easily dodges the wild clawed swings of the werewolf, her cape and hair billowing behind her as she moves. Her eyes have reverted to their previous colour, although even brighter now, and with fangs extended she’s snarling as loudly as the werewolf. With the beast’s back to him, he grabs the fallen silvered sword, holds it in front of him and charges towards the beast. Thrusting the sword to the hilt into the back of the creature, he loses grip on the sword as the werewolf howls in pain and writhes its body. As more darkened blood seeps from the wound a blackness spreads indicating a reaction to the silver. Maxwell manages to grab a hold of it, before pulling free and begins slashing at the back of the creature, with more blackness appearing where the silver makes contact. The creature beast falls forward into the nearby wall and there’s a myriad of sounds as the limbs convulse. The two take several steps back as the body writhes even more, with the black fur receding to reveal stained flesh with cuts along his back where the silvered sword made contact. Bones crack and features disappear as the creature reverts to human. As the transformation ends, the man - a dirtied half-naked dark blonde haired Nord - collapses to his knees and heavily gasping for air.

The Nord eventually looks to Maxwell, dark blue coloured eyes surrounded by several bags and displaying a myriad of unreadable emotion.

 “Please…. finish it. Kill me.” the man manages to weakly cry out.

Maxwell glances over at Serana who is looking more like herself, amber eyes blazing and fangs exposed but her expression one of surprise.

The man continues, now kneeling and moving slowly towards Maxwell “I’m cursed….and I can’t…. live like this. Do it.”

As the stranger drops his head, waiting for the killing blow, this prompts an extremely distressing memory to immediately appear for Maxwell, causing his countenance to plummet.

-----

In the great Palace of Kings in snowy Windhelm, the throne room has been thrown into complete disarray. Furniture and various items lie scattered and broken, some of them destroyed beyond recognition.

A few guards and members of Ulfric’s court, cowering in doorways and archways, look upon the scene before them with terrified expressions.

A dishevelled Ulfric, bloodied and beaten and on his knees in his blood-soaked Stormcloak clothing, looks up defiantly as the Dragonborn stands before him, staunchly resolute with only one objective in mind. His grasp on the drawn ebony sword tightens to the point his bloodied knuckles turn white and begin shaking.

“I bow to your Thu’um… Dragonborn.” Ulfric states, pain bleeding into his voice. “My people will sing songs of our battle…”

He, breathing very shallow, tersely interjects as he raises the sword; his tone betraying his hatred and resentment for the individual before him.

“I. don’t. care.”

As Ulfric bows his head and utters “I go gladly to Sovngarde”, the sword silently cuts through the air, and one thud follows another as limb is separated from torso and the head of the Bear of Markarth hits the floor before rolling away.

Deed done, the Dragonborn turns on the spot and marches out of the room as the few guards move quickly out of the way; his mind now numb to the world.

-----

Maxwell staggers back, the silver sword dropping from his hand as he shakes his head madly with wide eyes, whilst his breathing becomes very shallow and rapid.

The haggard man bellows as he looks up and makes for Maxwell “what…. what are you waiting for….do it! I…”

An icicle smashes into his head which crumples inwards with sounds of bones cracking. As some sort of gargling sound comes from the man, two more icicles pierce his throat and heart with more bone cracking sounds. His form soon drops dead to the floor and blood starts bleeding onto the mossy stone floor.

Serana stands nearby, ice crystals on her hand. Fangs retracted and bright amber eyes aimed at Maxwell.

“Maxwell, are you alright?” concern bleeding into her tone and expression. He leaves the question hanging, as he stumbles past her out of the barrow without the sword. With vision blurry and heart beating fast as hyperventilation sets in, he struggles to evict the memory and associated emotions from his mind and control his breathing. Leaning on a tree nearby for physical support.

Serana appears near him, hand outreached to try and comfort.

“Maxwell…” she begins.

“Don’t…”

“But…”

“I said DON’T!!” he shouts in her direction, the air shuddering ever so slightly. She recoils in shock and horror. Closing his eyes to momentarily ease his stress, he looks abjectly at her.

“Just…back off…please” he slowly yet tensely states. She takes several steps back, eventually sitting on a nearby log. She occasionally glances at him, but leaves him alone.

The sun eventually dips behind the horizon and light begins to fade when his breathing is somewhat back to normal, and he silently nods to Serana before moving away. She immediately catches up.

The walk back is in extremely subdued silence, only broken by their footfall through the undergrowth. Maxwell sullenly walks ahead with Serana following a few steps behind. She really wanted to ask about his reaction and if he was alright, but his temperament clearly says not to push the issue.

Her thought is interrupted by Maxwell stopping before throwing over his shoulder “your eyes.” Getting the insinuation, she recasts the basic illusion spell to alter her eye colour back to Nordic blue, and as she looks to him, he simply grunts before carrying on.

Arriving back in Ivarstead as night sets in, the stars and twin moons shining, the news of the beast being dealt with is received with loud praise. Ingrid for one is extremely pleased, and despite some surprise at his demeanour she happily comps them two separate rooms for the night in gratitude, in addition to the financial reward which Maxwell silently takes with a stiff nod.

Sleep avoids him for most of the night, and the sounds of him tossing and turning a lot go through the shared wall.

 

 

The next morning, as they come out of their respective rooms, Maxwell simply states “I’ll get us some horses. The pass should be clear, and we should be in Helgen before the end of the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay Maxwell” she replies monotonously.

Soon after a quick breakfast of bread and butter, he does indeed purchase two horses – a piebald gelding for him and a dapple-grey mare for Serana – in addition to basic riding equipment, at a slightly reduced cost as gratitude from the stable owner for dealing with the beast.

The air between them is palpable, but after a few hours since Ivarstead disappeared behind them, Maxwell decides to at least make small talk to dissolve the awkwardness between them. He slows his gelding to a stop. As Serana slows her mare alongside him, curiosity in her eyes that peak from under her hood, he turns to face her. Her eyes searching his face cause him momentarily forget what he wants to say.

“Look, about yesterday…I apologise for shouting at you.” Pausing to consider his next words, he exhales before continuing “what happened…reminded me of something. But...it’s not something I want to talk about.”

“Of course.”

Clearing his throat, “So…you were explaining to me about the potion of night vision before Ingrid interrupted us. Mind telling me more?”

Serana, after a momentary pause, returns a small smile “Of course.”

The atmosphere between them soon releases most of its tension as they get involved in their conversation, although it's clear to Serana that Maxwell is clearly trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

Notes:

What's this, another chapter? *gasp*

I managed to finish this one ahead of schedule. I also realise that the inn in Ivarstead is called Vilemyr Inn not Four Shields (which is in Dragons Bridge), but I like the change so I'm keeping it.

Thanks also for all the recent kudos; it makes me smile, knowing people are enjoying my writing!

Chapter 6: Memories

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana finally get to Helgen, where things happen. A snap decision by one affects the other, changing the future for both of them.

Notes:

TW: Mental manipulation, mentions of death and loss, swearing.

As the warm afternoon sun winks in and out of the slow-moving grey clouds, Maxwell grows more frustrated as the conversation with the Liaison Officer proves fruitless.

“I’m sorry, there’s no one available.” The Imperial, a short lean man with hair cut extremely short to the skin and a temperament to match, states with a tone of exasperation as he passes Maxwell who sidesteps out of the way. The officer starts digging in the nearby desk for something. His voice muffled slightly due to head in the desk “The Forsworn have been raiding caravans along both the Falkreath to Markarth and Rorikstead to Dragons Bridge roads and the few that are willing to risk it have already been sent out via Whiterun.”

“What about Imperial escorts? Shipments to Solitude?” he asks.

The officer huffs in frustration before stopping his movements and turns to look at Maxwell with a look of annoyance before gesturing with his free hand as he explains.

“The Empire pulled out of Skyrim following the cessation of the rebellion, with only a few regiments to maintain the peace. We’re not sending out another shipment by carriage for a while, and most are sent to Solitude by boat anyway. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do to help you. Now please leave, before I have you thrown in the dungeon for interfering with Imperial business.”

As the officer moves from the desk and brusquely pushes past him once more, Maxwell moves out of the way again and hums in vexation before leaving the open tent. As the cloth drapes flap as he passes through them, he visibly sighs before stomping away. A minute later, he comes up to where he left her. Serana, hood pulled over her head, is standing idly nearby observing the passing crowd. She looks up and gives a small smile, which slowly disappears as she sees the look on his face. After approaching her, Maxwell leans against the nearby wooden beam and sighs heavily.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well.” She says, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

“A complete waste of time.” Maxwell sullenly states, rubbing his gloved hand against his temple.

Looking around at the hustle and bustle of the various denizens of Helgen, commoners mixed with traders and a few Imperial soldiers going about their assigned duties, he takes it all in. Helgen is still in the process of being rebuilt following the dragon attack that almost completely levelled it in 401E, with scaffolding scattered around the keep and various stone structures. It slowly grew more prosperous thanks to its proximity to Cyrodill and as a throughway on the major routes to Whiterun and Falkreath which means it sees a lot of trade commerce. The throngs of people going about their business and the hubbub of the marketplace are testament to the progress of commerce.

With their horses safely stabled nearby for the moment, he gestures to the side and says “Let’s find somewhere quiet to chat.”

Eventually finding such a place tucked away between two buildings where they can't be overheard by anyone and can talk uninterrupted. After leaning against the wall of one of the buildings, the invisible Scroll digging into her back slightly, Serana contemplates for a small while before commenting.

“Look, I know the agreement was to escort me to Helgen, which you have done. I get that you have business elsewhere, but my original point still stands: having a capable guide would be extremely useful.”

She pauses, as though mulling over her words.

“And…despite what’s happened…you’ve proven you are trustworthy and capable….and besides, your company isn’t that bad.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, which she offers a disarming smile.

“My original offer still stands. As soon as we get to my home, I’ll ensure you are more than sufficiently recompensed.”

Maxwell shakes his head.

“That is indeed a generous offer, but as our business is now concluded I have other places to be.”

If she has picked up on his reluctance due to the Elder Scroll, still invisible on her back, she hasn’t shown it at all. As he squares his shoulders, Serana’s next question isn’t surprising.

“Where will you go? If you don’t mind my asking.” Her tone, gentle.

“Back the way we came, past Ivarstead. Good area for hunting.”

“Ah.”

As a heavy quietness appears, only interrupted by the many conversations in the crowd, he looks at Serana who leans further against the wall. She’s staring out towards the crowd as well, her expression unreadable.

“Well…” he clears his throat as he turns to her, causing her to turn as well. “…it’s certainly been something of an adventure these last few days.” He pauses for a brief moment, considering something. “You can keep the mare, consider it a parting gift.” He states with a half-smile.

She has a brief look of surprise. “I guess so…thanks for everything, Maxwell.” She returns with a wan but grateful smile.

“I bid you goodbye and good luck, Serana.”

After a brief moment, she holds out a hand. As he takes it gently and initiates the handshake to bid her farewell and conclude their business, he stares into her piercing eyes as they peer out from under her hood and braided hair. He sees the Nordic Blue, which somehow suits her. Serana is curiously gazing at him, eyes intently focused on his own.

What he doesn’t see is beneath this façade, her amber irises shimmer ever so slightly as the spell she just cast with her other hand behind her back takes effect. A senseless sensation passes over him that leaves no trace beyond the modified memory.

As the spell effect takes hold, he double blinks.

“Uh…what…what was I saying?” He stammers, slight confusion in his tone.

“You agreed to take me back home.” She simply states, still maintaining her smile.

A small voice somewhere in the back of his psyche whispers that something is wrong, but it’s muffled by the cacophony of other thoughts in his mind and the ambience around them.

“…alright. Let me have a look at my map, and plan out the best route based on what the officer said.”

Moving to the jutting out piece of stone nearby, Maxwell pulls out his bound leather-bound map and lays it open on top. His gaze passes over the two options.

If what the aggravating Liaison Officer said was true, going along the Falkreath to Markarth road was the riskier proposition. He was sure that they could certainly deal with any aggressors with ease, but that risks bringing them undue attention. And it would add several days to the journey. This left only one option - go through Riverwood, then turning north east towards Rorikstead. Of course, taking this route would mean seeing the place he was always hesitant to see.

“How long will it take to travel to Solitude from here?” Serana’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Assuming good travelling conditions, about 12 days from here, if we go this route.” he says out loud without turning, his finger tracing along the proposed roads. “I presume you’ll still be okay travelling during the day?”

“Yes.”

“And with…you know what?”

A momentary pause before she stiffly replies.

“I’ll be fine.”

Maxwell is a bit taken aback at her short answers, but decides to leave it as he continues looking at his map.

 

Serana, who is standing serenely behind him, observes the back of his head as he ponders his detailed map. Her countenance not displaying her current emotions.

By the blood, what are you doing? He clearly wanted out, that much is painfully obvious ever since he freed you.

As fatuous as it seemed, even with her vampiric powers and superior magical prowess, the prospect of making the trek alone in this unknown time period was frankly unnerving. She really didn’t want to, but the aforementioned prospect was enough to convince her to do something before losing Maxwell for good. So as the two shook hands, she silently cast a modify memory spell boosted by her vampiric charm to impress upon him her will, and she mentally breathed a sigh of relief when the spell had taken hold.

And to be honest, she was fascinated by her liberator. Knowledgeable and practical yet simple mannered and reserved. And generous. His stating that she could keep the horse he paid for had wholly surprised her. Certainly not like anyone she’s ever met before back at the Castle. Their camaraderie, as shallow as it had been, was also enjoyable. She had immensely enjoyed the conversation about alchemy.

Recalling what she saw on their first night, the injuries certainly alluded to interesting tales of his life before they met, but his soft brown eyes clearly said there was more to this man than he presented to the world. Ivarstead had proven that beyond any doubt. Plus, that smell was still ever present in the background. It invited something more than curiosity, as odd as it felt.

As Maxwell rolls up his map and puts it back into his enchanted pack, he says “Well, if we’re in for the long haul, I’d better stock up on a few things. There’s some merchants up on the other side of town that’ll be a bit more fairly priced than the ones here.”

They chatted a bit more about the logistics, agreeing that unless the weather was extremely sunny, they’d travel during the day and rest during the night with Serana keeping watch.

Whilst he was haggling with the Khajiit trader over a new cloak, as the weather was getting colder by the day, Serana spots a shelf with books, which gives her an idea. With the last gem she has, she picks up a few titles of interest, including the first two volumes of 2920 and An Explorer’s Guide to Skyrim.

After another hour, he’s sorted out what he needs. They eventually make their way back to the stables to retrieve their horses. After paying the stable hand, Maxwell glances over to Serana who has her back turned as she straightens her saddle.

Even though they’d only been travelling for the last few days, he couldn’t help admit there was a curious fascination about this individual. This mysterious vampiress from ancient history, looking and asking about Skyrim with a curious fascination. She seemed extremely knowledgeable about alchemy, which surprised him. The way she spoke about it, he couldn’t help notice that she almost seemed to be in reverence of the subject, as though it meant a lot to her.

Despite that, he never let himself forget what she is, especially after seeing her in action against the undead underground and then against the werewolf. Even then, how she had acted beyond those moments in between did confuse him. Her concern after what happened with the werewolf, her protecting him during their fights.

He still had lingering questions about her vampirism, but seeing how defensive she got about blood, he got the sense it’s a touchy subject. After all, he had a few himself (he shudders when he recalls the werewolf incident a mere two days ago). In a way, it’s almost unsettling. She seemed to be a contradiction of everything he knew about Sanguinaire Vampiris or vampires.

Either way, this is going to be an interesting journey.

As she turns around after finishing what she was doing, he focuses his immediate attention back to the buckle he was tightening. The gelding brays slightly at this, but Maxwell pats its neck reassuringly.

Once done, he clears his throat again.

“Shall we?” as he motions to climb aloft his horse. Serana nods in return, her hood rustling slightly with the motion, as she mounts her mare, and the pair slowly ride away from the stables and through the crowds towards the northern gate.

---

Over the first day and a half, as they try to settle into a new routine, a silence starts hanging between them almost like another companion, albeit not wholly unwelcome. As Serana takes in sights she’s never seen before and Maxwell pointing out a few things of note. They talk on occasion about various topics of interest, such as what information the book she picked up in Ivarstead had within its pages. One particular conversation provides some insight into how Serana ended up so far from home.

“You’ve never travelled through Skyrim before?” His question, with a confused tone.

She shakes her head.

“If that’s the case, how did you end up in the Riften hold?”

“Teleported.” She casually answers.

His gaze of amazement prompts a curious look from her.

“Is that not something widely known?” she probes.

“…no, that’s not something I’ve heard of. Maybe the College in Winterhold has heard of it, or a few places in the Imperial City."

Serana explains the bare bones of the spell, with Maxwell growing more incredulous at her description.

“That seems….incredible, if I’m honest. So you place a Mark, then cast Recall to teleport back to the Mark? So if you have a Mark at your home, you could cast Recall and be there instantly?”

She nods “Almost instantaneously, and only if I had a Mark placed there. Besides, based on how long I was entombed, it would have long expired.

Maxwell whistles at the power and utility of such a spell.

I wonder what else she knows that has been lost to time.

 

They stop on occasion as well during this period, to check out something of interest. A pond, a small thicket, an ancient stone structure. A few times Maxwell finds some sort of reagent or plant which he takes for future use. They pass by a few other travellers, barely offering anything beyond a nod and a hello.

At night as he sleeps, she keeps a dutiful watch over their camp and horses, never leaving her spot. She quietly reads her books. In the afternoon of the second day, as the pair crest the notable hill that lies south of Riverwood, they stop briefly at the top to take in the view.

A faint gasp escapes Serana’s lips as she takes in the picturesque sight, which looks like it could have been taken from a painting. The warm afternoon sun illuminates the town that lays before them, sitting alongside a wide river between the familiar large mountain on the right side and a smaller mountain on the opposite site to form a valley that the river and town sit in. On the southern ridge, an ancient structure with large stone archways that dominate it.

“Oh my…this place is beautiful…” she quietly comments.

“Yeah, it’s something alright.” He says, hands folded in front of him as he holds the reins.

“What’s that structure?” she points ahead, to the ancient structure.

“Ah, I thought you might ask.” Pointing towards it “It’s an ancient Nordic barrow called Bleak Falls Barrow. Built by the ancient Nords in worship of the dragons.”

Stopping briefly to let their horses rest and drink from the river when they get to the bottom of the hill, Serana remains quiet as she keeps her gaze on the upcoming town.

Maxwell chuckles slightly as he tends to the horses, as it’s been a while since he saw someone lose their words at the view, which he himself agrees is undeniably gorgeous and unique. The merriment soon dissipates, as realisation hits. Another few hours, they’ll be within sight of that place. Some emotions start to swell but he’s quick to push them down. As hard and as much as he can for as long as he can.

Passing through Riverwood, a few buildings look familiar but even more look new, evidently indicating that the town had grown. It still seemed to retain the unique atmosphere though, with a few residents and travellers nodding at them as they pass.

 

As the sun is three quarters of the way through its descent, dipping in behind a large cloud, a familiar feeling of tension starts crawling its way up Maxwell’s spine as they crest the familiar gentle sloping and wooded hill before them. That soon evolves into a knot in his stomach as he tries to retain his composure. As they emerge from the treeline, the sight before them elicits another quiet gasp from Serana.

For Serana, she hasn’t seen such an open plain. Standing in the middle of it, a large city, with an equally large stone wall that encompasses it, with various fortifications built alongside. Several farms and other associated buildings nestled in the shadow of this great city.

Standing atop at a higher elevation, a stone and wooden structure towers above everything else.

Dragonsreach.

She knew of Whiterun and its history, from her many books back at the Castle and most recently the Explorer's Guide to Skyrim, but that all pales in comparison to seeing it herself. She’s so enraptured she doesn’t immediately sense Maxwell’s reaction.

For Maxwell, he hasn’t seen this sight for good reason. His former home. Even though he had been mentally bracing himself since passing through Riverwood, the avalanche of memories threatened to overwhelm his defences. It was a twofold dilemma as the deep knot in his stomach was attacking from the other side.

One particularly powerful memory almost breaks his resolve. A memory, of that fateful day.

-----

Standing in the bowels of Dragonsreach, the sun blazing in the warm and almost cloudless sky, the winged beast breathing heavily behind them now that the restraints have been removed and retracted into the ceiling.

He stands in front of her.

The others have fallen back to the room’s edge to give them some space.

“Hal…Don’t go” His armoured wife sullenly states.

He turns to her, resignation on his face.

“Lydia, my love…I don’t really have much of a choice. If I don’t do this, all of Tamriel falls to the World Eater. This is what everything over the last two years has led to.”

“Why can’t I come with you?”

“Believe me, there’s nothing more I want than for us to be side by side, facing down Alduin, like we always have. We’ve come this far together, but…you heard the dragon: only I can make the journey to Sovngard..”

“And the thought that the dragon could be lying to you hasn’t crossed your mind?” Her tone, threatening. To him, he knew that was only a façade for her true feelings.

“It has, but I have no reason to believe he is lying. He doesn’t believe in Alduin anymore, and he respectfully bows to my Thu’um.” He reassures her.

“Also…” he takes a deep breath to compose himself “you know me, through and through. I’m fucking terrified. I have no idea what’s going to happen, or even if I can win this fight.”

Seeing that she’s about to interrupt once more, he places a finger on her lips to silence her.

Taking another very deep breath, he gazes into her with resolution in his eyes “But part of the journey is the end. This is the end, either for him or for me.”

Now taking both of her hands into his own, he stares into her bright Nordic Blue eyes that are starting to well at the very edges as she once more accepts the reality of what he’s just said. Moving his hand upwards and wiping a tear away that threatens to fall, his thumb gently rubbing against the softness of her reddening cheek, he solemnly states.

“Just know that, no matter what happens…I would not trade these last few years for anything…and I’m so happy to have met and fell in love with you…my Housecarl” he says the last two words with a small, endearing smirk. Their titles, once meant to define their respective station, now meant as a term of endearment.

Lydia furrows her brow as she opens and closes her mouth slightly, as though trying to find the words. Huffing slightly as she can’t find the words, she grabs her husband and slam their lips together in a passionate embrace, hands around the back of his head as their tongues dance with each other. The moments stretch into infinity as the sounds of the dragon breathing behind them fall away into almost nothing, and the sight of the others – the Jarl, his housecarl, his court wizard, the various guards – awkwardly looking away become a blur in the background.

Before they suffocate, she breaks the kiss and tightly hugs him against her body in a vice-like grip as though she never wants to let him go. Slowly lifting her head, she whispers into his ear.

“My Thane…if you don’t come back, I’m going to find a way to you and drag you back to the realm of the living. That’s a promise.”

He heartily chuckles at that. Tightening the embrace even more as he kisses her neck before whispering back.

“On that, my love, I have no doubt.”

------

“Hey Maxwell, are you alright?” a feminine voice interrupts the memory and brings him back to stark reality.

Taking a pained breath, Maxwell closes his eyes to try and pull himself together, before glancing over to his companion, who is curiously looking at him.

“Yeah…just, uh…taking in the sights…it’s been a while since I was last in this area. That’s, um, Whiterun.” He gestures to the settlement in the distance.

Serana nods at his answer but continues to enquiringly gaze at him, which makes him suddenly feel awkward. Clearing his throat – and once more repressing the memory into the recesses of his mind, along with a thousand others – he urges his gelding on. Serana soon follows.

When they pass by a few farms that sit by the road that leads to Whiterun, with a few of the workers – Nord, Khajiit, Dunmer, Bosmer – working hard in the fields, stables and other buildings, Serana looks out from under her hood. She overhears a couple of the conversations when the workers are nearer to the road, and they’re seemingly light-hearted.

A few of them nod and smile at the pair as they ride by, which she returns.

Wow, Whiterun looks to be quite the place. Everyone seems to get along well.

As they approach the turning to Whiterun, Serana slows down her mare and begins to take it. Maxwell canters on straight ahead. As she notices and catches up, she decides to try and lighten the mood.

“What, are you in trouble with the law there?” she quips.

Maxwell just gives her a look, akin to the one in Ivarstead, that clearly implies don’t.

“Oh...” was all she could respond with, the humorous tone disappearing as her planned retort died in her throat.

It was Ivarstead all over again.

---

The silence that surrounds the pair becomes tense, which only begins to abate as they get further away from Whiterun. Serana notices Maxwell doesn’t look back at Whiterun, at all. His gaze remains resolutely on the road ahead of them, even as they pass by an old stone fortification which she asks about, and he gives a short answer about it being used in the civil war.

As Maxwell sets up camp that evening, Serana loses herself in one of the new books she picked up in Helgen. She studiously maintains her focus on the book, although the words don’t really register.

Glancing over once more at Maxwell, who has his back to her and is staring intently into the fire as he absent-mindedly pokes it. She can’t help but wonder.

What on Nirn happened in this man’s past to substantiate such a reaction?

A familiar hunger rises up, slightly more aggressive this time around, but she pushes it down once more. She has to.

Maxwell, as he pokes the fire, can feel Serana’s gaze on him again, the umpteenth time since Whiterun, but he pays it no heed. He sees the faces of his deceased friends and companions from his former life – Balgruuf, Farengar, Adrienne, Ulfberth, Elrindir, Arcadia, Carlotta, Ma’diq, Ka’Dra and several others; and of course her – in the flames.

Eventually moving to his nearby bedroll and muttering a silent "Goodnight" to Serana, he lays on his back and stares upwards at the night sky, the stars twinkling in the distance.

So peaceful.

Sleep does not come, as the poignant memories chase it away whenever he closes his eyes.

Notes:

This has been one of the most emotionally draining chapters to write.

And yes, I did take that line from Endgame. I think it's a strong and emotive sentence that captures the essence of such an action perfectly, although I have added to it slightly.

A bit of history on Maxwell: He was part of a Khajiit caravan before becoming Thane of Whiterun and Dragonborn. Ma'Diq and Ka'Dra are Khajiit from this timeframe that he kept in touch with, as they remained with the caravan that stopped frequently at Whiterun

That's also how he developed his skills as a hunter, in addition to his knowledge about the alchemical properties of various flora.

Anyways, thanks again for all the kudos, and I hope you continue enjoying my writing. Next chapter is partly done, but won't be posted for a bit as I work on future chapters now that certain things have happened.

Chapter 7: History

Summary:

After encountering a group of bandits, the pair finally reach Rorikstead. Serana gets something of a history lesson from a passing traveller.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, violence, death, mercy killing.

Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors.

On the sixth day of their journey together, a short distance from Rorikstead, misfortune strikes.

As the afternoon sun hides behind the dark veil of growing greying clouds, and a chilly wind starts to build as time slips by, they pass by a wooded area. The companionly silence hangs over them once more, but now it seemed different. Maxwell soon notices Serana is no longer beside him like usual, which was the third time that day alone.

Slowing his gelding down, he frowns as he glances back like the previous times. Serana is intently focused on the tree line ahead rather than appearing lost in her thoughts. A momentary sense of dread appears at the base of his spine as something feels amiss. As he tenses and slowly moves his hand to his sheathed sword, the sound of cracking breaks the silent atmosphere as a tree near to the road begins ripping itself apart and starts to topple over. His beast whinnies loudly in fear as the tree angles over, with the thunderous cracking reaching a crescendo as it lands against the ground.

His gelding suddenly rears onto its hind legs, throwing Maxwell off violently despite his best efforts to remain seated. As he lands awkwardly with a painful thud, his bow and quiver fall loose from his shoulder. As he comes to his senses, an iron arrow lodges into the ground, only mere inches from his knee.

SHIT! AMBUSH! His addled brain manages to register the danger.

Rolling away from the arrow and narrowly avoiding the stomping hooves of his gelding which is now loudly neighing in panic, the throaty intermixed yells of the charging bandits draw his immediate attention. An iron clad, axe wielding male Dunmer and a leather-clad sword-wielding female Bosmer. Standing bolt upright, he manages to draw his sword in time and raise it to deflect the Dunmer’s blow, with the axe head clanging against his blade. On the downswing, he parries the sword swing of the Bosmer.

Over the Bosmer’s shoulder, Maxwell briefly notices Serana is no longer there, and her mare galloping away in fear. There are unearthly sounds coming from somewhere in the nearby treeline, and the sound of approaching thudding barely registers, but he can’t make much out above the sound of his own fight.

Despite being two against one, the bandits are clearly no match for his skill, with Maxwell quickly and effectively fending off their attacks. The Bosmer gets a fire spell to the face, which chars the skin and causes her to yell in pain, and the Dunmer gets his throat slashed after he fails to dodge Maxwell’s slash following a feint.

As he finishes off the screaming Bosmer with a vicious stab to the gut, the neighing sounds of his gelding abruptly cease, and as Maxwell turns to look at why, his jaw drops slightly. An iron clad and broadly built Orsimer, with a long iron sword, is slashing at the gelding. As he stands momentarily stupefied by the vicious attack, an arrow lodges itself in his thigh, with the immediate rush of pain almost causing him to stumble.

Briefly scanning the treeline, he can’t see where it came from, but the cracking sounds of lightning sound closer.

With a throaty roar, despite the pain radiating from the lodged arrow flowing through him, he throws his sword down, summons his bound bow and starts slowly moving sideways and letting loose the ethereal arrows at the Orsimer. The injured gelding - blood pouring from the inflicted wounds – crumples to the ground. The agony in Maxwell’s leg causes him to aim slightly askew, with most of the arrows shooting wide.

As the Orc turns around, an evil grin breaks out on his face, the under bite becoming even more prominent, he shrugs off the few arrows that find their target.

“You’re not going anywhere now. I’m going to enjoy gutting you…”

A bone-wrenching crunch sounds as an icicle pierces his chest with the bloody tip sticking outwards. Dark blood starts to seep from the wound and drip to the earth from the protruding shard. As the Orc looks down in surprise, an ethereal arrow pierces his neck as Maxwell finally lands a shot.

As the Orc bandit somehow starts to step towards Maxwell, another ice shard pierces his rear armoured ankle, pinning it in place. As he roars, the echoes emanating all around them, and turns to the source, another ice shard slams into his helmeted head, causing it to explode. The shard, having lost most of its momentum, falls to the ground with a gentle thud as bits of Orsimer brain, skull and blood fly in random directions. Some fly onto Maxwell who manages to cover his face with his left forearm to shield from the flying bits.

With the bandits defeated, Maxwell dispels the bow before grunting as he pulls the iron arrow out, sending another wave of pain rippling across his leg. He silently pulls off a glove and lays it on the injury before summoning a brief healing spell. A light green glow emanates from below as the healing energy stitches the wound together, and the ache and pain slowly abates. He rolls his eyes slightly in relief.

With the arrow sorted, he retrieves his fallen weaponry, before approaching his deathly-looking horse.

Fuck.

The beast, faintly writhing on the ground with blood steadily pouring from where the Orc had attacked, gently nickers through its pained laboured breathing. The red blood, matting its white and black furred neck and upper body. Maxwell sighs in more ways than one as he draws his dagger. He lays a hand on the beast’s neck and mutters a few soothing words before plunging the dagger into its heart. The gelding breathing becomes slower and less laborious as it submits to death. It exhales one last time as its sunken eyes go lax and the body slumps to a standstill.

As he wipes the blood off the blade on the leather armour of the dead Bosmer, he becomes peripherally aware of Serana standing nearby, her amber eyes blazing. In a quiet voice, she say “I’m sorry I disappeared; I could sense another 6 in the tree line…I thought you could handle the others.”

Grunting as he stands up, he looks over at her.

“No worries. Thanks, by the way…” as he gestures to the gristly remains laying nearby.

She nods, rather stiffly. He studies her. With her hood down, he can see that her wine-red auburn hair is still braided but slightly dishevelled from the exertions of her fight. Her amber eyes, the spell changing them having been dismissed like before when they fought the werewolf, glance intently at the various blood pools forming from the nearby bandit bodies, and her nose flaring ever so slightly. She’s practically salivating, yet standing stock still. Remembering how dismissive she got whenever he asked about blood, he decides to take a stab in the dark.

“You’re not feeding…because of me right? To make me feel at ease?” He asks with an uncertain tone.

Without looking at him, she meekly nods.

“Do you only have a few of those vials of blood?”

“I had three…but they didn’t last long…I’ve been hungry since shortly after Helgen.”

Almost a week…without feeding? That is definitely not normal. She should be feral, and yet…

He sighs, both from adrenaline wearing off and the dull ache from where the arrow landed.

Looking fastidiously at her. “Look, I’ve noticed you’ve been becoming more…distracted, as of late. I’m guessing from not drinking blood.” He pauses before continuing “These bandits are dead, and their blood is going to waste.” Gesturing to them “Have at them.”

She stares at him, almost incredulously. Her iridescent pupils, wide and shifting. As her expression drops, a dreadful aura emanates as her form begins visibly quivering and as incisors elongate before she dives for the nearest body. The sounds of feasting break the silence, and Maxwell turns and looks away, keeping an eye out in case anyone approaches.

“Hey Serana” he calls out without turning.

The sounds of feasting lessen, indicating she’s paused to hear what he’s saying.

“Might be worth refilling those vials.”

---

As he washes off Orsimer guts by his water skin, Serana has finished with the three and disappeared to the others. Searching these three bodies, he only finds meagre coinage and a couple of stamina potions. After pocketing these and the weapons to sell, he starts to move the three bodies off the road – albeit rolling the Orc – to behind the treeline.

As he attends to the Bosmer, Serana reappears, straightening out her hair.

“I’d, um, better go retrieve my horse.” She states, quietly.

“Yeah, it ran further up” He gestures back up the road “I’ll see if I can find their camp; it can’t be that far. I might find another horse.”

His guess pans out as he finds the bandit’s camp about 400 meters away, tucked away behind a rocky formation. No horses, which surprises him. 9 bandits, he thought they would have horses.

Looking through the camp, he again finds a meagre assortment of coins and gems, although in a small sack he discovers a few stashed valuables including a gem-embedded amulet with some sort of inscription he can’t make out. Pocketing these as well, he returns back the road, finding Serana standing nearby with her mare, reins in hand. Evidently, either it hadn’t gone that far or she moved fast. She’s looking more alert, yet more composed. She gives a weak but disarming smile.

“Did you find anything of value?” she queries.

He shakes his head. “Not much, only a few gems and other curiosities including a necklace. I can sell those in Rorikstead. No horses either, which is a shame.”

She ponders for a moment. “Do you want to take my horse?”

“No it’s fine.”

Noticing her smile drop, he shakes his head and clarifies. “It’s not that. What I meant is I could do with walking for a bit. Walk off the adrenaline.”

She nods before alighting. As they slowly make their way past the gelding’s corpse and around the fallen tree, the mare’s hooves crunching through the broken branches and leaves, and as he glances up at the greying clouds, Maxwell’s thought is yet another one he finds himself agreeing with.

What else is going to happen on this damn journey?

----

The greying sky, which had been growing steadily darker and more foreboding as the cloud coverage built up over the passing few hours, suddenly breaks out in a heavy shower that soaks the pair almost instantaneously.

Great, just great…

Thankfully, the wooden buildings of the settlement of Rorikstead were only mere minutes away at a gallop, so Maxwell urges the mare on by digging his knees into her sides and prompting her to pick up speed. Serana grabs a tighter hold on his back to try and retain her position behind him.

Pulling their respective hoods further over them, the rain thudding and dripping against the rim as it accumulates on their clothing. After a few minutes of galloping through the stinging and soaking rain, the duo finally enters the quaint town, passing by a few lit homes that form the edge of town.

As the horse slows to a canter and Maxwell guides it into the stabled area adjoining the centrally located Frostfruit Inn, Serana silently jumps off followed by Maxwell’s thud on the hay-covered muddy floor. As he takes the reins and guide the beast silently to the rear-most empty stall, a peel of lightning briefly illuminates the sky shortly followed by a thunderous crack. The mare startles but he manages to keep a hold, and finishes guiding her to the back of the stall before securing the reins to the wall, and patting the mare’s neck whilst uttering silent comforts.

Serana stands off to the side, trying to wring and shake off the rainwater from her hood and cloak.

Looking towards the entrance way, the rain hitting the ground at an angle and thudding against the thatch-covered roof of the building.

“It’s really coming down now.” Maxwell quietly states.

“Yeah, this must be that beautiful Skyrim weather I’ve heard so much about.” Serana quips.

He smirks at that before turning to stroke the mare’s nose as the beast sniffs at the empty hay bag. “Indeed.”

He really wanted to push on for…reasons, but the heavy downpour washed that idea away.

Pushing open the interior door, the wave of heat provides a welcoming sense of relief for Maxwell. The sound of the rain pelting against the thatch-covered roof intermixes with the crackling of the centrally placed open fire. Glancing around, he takes stock of whom is in the building.

A small Redguard woman standing behind the bar talking to a patron, a blonde-haired Nord with seasoned skin and hands clasped around a steaming cup of something, and a couple of weathered Nord farmers sitting in a corner. They give the pair a once over before going back to their conversation, although one of them stares at Serana for a few moments, presumably in surprise at her apparent beauty.

As he mentally grins at that, said reaction fades as he spots the stringed instrument sitting next to the blonde-haired individual, which he slowly recognises as a lute.

Oh great…a Bard.

“My goodness, you both look drenched!” the Redguard woman audibly cries out, her jaw dropping slightly.

As Maxwell hangs his soaked over cloak on the hook near to the main door, “Yes, we got caught out in the rain, although thankfully only for a few minutes. Thought we’d stop in and wait it out.”

The Redguard smiles warmly, as she states “In that case, welcome to the Frostfruit Inn. My name’s Liral. What can I get you both?”

“Warm food and drink please, and some feed for our mare which is out back.” Maxwell manages to get out, wiping the remnants of rain from his brow.

“Of course, I’ve just put on a hot stew. Get yourselves seated by the fire.” Calling to the rear “Nora, can you feed the horse out back?”

“Okay, Ma!” a small feminine voice calls back, before a girl – no more than 12 or 13 - swiftly comes out of the kitchen and cuts through the room. She glances at Maxwell, before stopping and briefly staring at Serana with wonder, before disappearing through the door which creaks open and close.

 

After consuming the meal and feeling content and several degrees drier, and noticing a lull in the rainstorm due to the lack of rain hitting the roof, Maxwell departs for the blacksmith to sort out the acquired loot from their earlier fight, leaving Serana to smile into her drink. Soon after the door closes, she notices the bard glancing over, before grabbing his cup and slowly yet certainly making his way over to her. She looks up with genuine curiosity.

“Well hello there, fair maiden. May I say, your eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. What name have the Divines blessed you with?”

Glad to see bards are still charismatic in this era.

“Hanna, and thank you for the compliment.” she replies, almost giving her real name.

He smiles as he bows, “A pleasure to meet you Hanna. The name’s Talsgar the Wanderer, one itinerant minstrel and wandering wastrel, at your service”

Asking a probing question “Your partner, is he…?”

“Oh, he’s just my travelling companion. He should be back soon.”

The Bard’s eyes light up ever so slightly. “Well, allow me to humbly welcome you to this fine establishment. Mind my asking, what brings you here?”

“We’re just passing through. I presume you know some folk songs?” She asks, changing the topic away from this line of interrogation.

“You presume correct, milady.” He bows, acquiescing to her lead in the conversation.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing one, although do you have any recommendations?”

“Hmm, what would milady like…Ah, I know. May I recommend either The Dragonborn Comes or The Brave Ones of Old. Both are very unique to this province.”

“The Dragonborn Comes?” She queries, eyebrows raised.

“Ah yes, a favourite of mine and of many people in this noble land.”

“By all means…” she gestures as she leans back slightly, now curious to hear this song.

As he retrieves his lute, spends a moment tuning it, and begins strumming a solemn melody on it, he clears his throat before singing in a tenor voice. The song, beginning to fill the room.

 

Our Hero, Our Hero

Claims a warrior’s heart

I tell you, I tell you

The Dragonborn comes.

 

With a Voice wielding power

Of the ancient Nordic art.

Believe, Believe,

The Dragonborn comes.

 

It’s an end to the evil

Of all Skyrim’s foes

Beware, Beware

The Dragonborn comes

 

For the darkness has passed,

And the legend yet grows

You’ll know, you’ll know

The Dragonborn has come.

 

Towards the end, Serana notices the two farm folk have stopped their conversation and are nodding their heads to the tune, a solemn expression on their faces. Liral has also stopped what she’s doing, and is paying attention.

As he finishes, there’s a faint round of claps from everyone. Serana’s curiosity is piqued, as she’s heard of Dragonborns; mortals who are born with the soul of a dragon who have the ability to Shout the language of dragons using their Thu’um.

As the others return to their activity, she asks with a degree of curiosity “Please can you tell me more about this ‘Dragonborn’?”. 

Talsgar looks at her as though she’s just grown a second head.

“Milady...Hanna, no offense intended but have you been hiding under a rock?? How have you not heard of Haldrin, the heroic Last Dragonborn” he confusingly states. Serana internally laughs. If only you knew.

“I’ve travelled from far away. Please, do tell.” She gestures, motioning to Maxwell’s empty seat for him to sit in.

Talsgar takes the proffered seat, putting down his lute and moving the empty plate out of the way, before explaining.

“Well, to begin with, are you familiar with the Skyrim Civil War?”

She nods “I am, but please start from the beginning.”

“To start this tale, we have to roll back the days to just over eight years ago during the four hundred and first year of this Era, and the Bear of Markarth - Ulfric Stormcloak, the then-Jarl of Windhelm - killed the then-High King Torygg with his Thu’um…his Shout; he wasn’t Dragonborn, he just had that ability, not unlike the ancient order of the Greybeards. That action precipitated the start of the Skyrim Civil War. Stormcloaks against the Empire. Brother killing brother, father killing son. Those were dark days.” Talsgar explains, voice becoming heavy at the last few sentences.

He pauses in recollection, before carrying on.

“And then, one day that year, Alduin the World Eater - the foul, winged black demon from the annals of history - appeared out of thin air somewhere near Helgen, which was decimated beyond belief.”

“Yes, I noticed” Serana interjects ”I came through there with Maxwell, it looks like they’re still rebuilding.”

“Indubitably. As I was saying, The World Eater had returned. Shortly thereafter, more dragons started appearing, supposedly returning from the dead, and began viciously attacking the populace of this land. Which, in addition to the ongoing civil war, made it feel the end times. Everyone started losing hope.”

As he gestures, he stands up once again drawing the attention of everyone.

“And then, a miracle from the Divines. The Dragonborn! Haldrin Quivicius, The Last Dragonborn! Revealed to the world, amidst the glory of battle! Soon after, he began travelling the lands, slaying every one of the beasts he could find, and through that saving the lives of many people and returning hope to these blood-soaked lands.”

He pauses once more, turning to look at Liral. “I believe he saved this town from one such attack. Is that right Liral?”

“He did.” Liral confirms, nodding sombrely “although it was before my time, before I bought the place from Erik.” Talsgar nods before continuing.

“Soon after he was revealed, Haldrin managed to establish a truce between the Empire and the Stormcloaks - which in itself is a Divine miracle – so that the dragons could be dealt with once and for all. Shortly thereafter, Alduin disappeared. Some say to Sovngarde, others say to another part of Tamriel. But who knows? Either way, rumour is that Haldrin called and captured a dragon and flew off after Alduin, which if the rumours are to be believed meant he followed him into Sovngarde. Which, to me, doesn’t make sense as you have to die honourably in battle.”

Serana’s jaw drops slightly at the mention of Haldrin riding on a dragon.

By the blood, he…summoned and flew on a dragon? That’s…unbelievable.

“One day, shortly after their disappearance, for only a few minutes the sky clouded over this province with the darkest clouds you could imagine. Day turned to night. Then, the sky screamed, as though it was in pain. The earth trembled, as though shaking in fear.” He shudders as he recalls that day. “Then…nothing. The earth stopped shaking, and the sun returned. It only lasted mere minutes.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Everyone waited with bated breath, but alas nothing else happened. Some feared both Haldrin and Alduin perished, fighting each other to the death.”

Talsgar pauses for a moment before continuing, his tone becoming slightly softer and sombre.

“It is here that my tale takes a sorrowful turn. That damned traitor Ulfric, may he rot in the ground. That bastard broke the truce by attacking Whiterun shortly after he disappeared and the aforementioned events happened. The coward waited until the Dragonborn wasn’t there and presumed dead to try and capture the city for his own nefarious purposes. That was truly a sad day. Many were killed, including Haldrin's wife.”

Serana’s hands fly up and cover her open mouth in shock, at what Talsgar said. “No…” she slowly exhales.

He slowly and solemnly nods. “Whiterun was their home. When Haldrin – somehow – returned from the dead, despite being hailed a hero, people say he was beside himself with grief. At the first chance he got, he stormed directly to Windhelm and challenged Ulfric to a battle of their Thu’um. Their battle was bloody, before Ulfric got his comeuppance and died by Haldrin's hand.”

He wryly curls the corner of his lips as he clasps his hands on the table. “I guess the Divines have a morbid sense of irony.”

“After that, the Stormcloaks lost their will and eventually surrendered to the empire. The dragons soon disappeared after the war ended. As for Haldrin?” leaning back at the last part. He shrugs. “He disappeared almost as quickly as the dragons did. The most common belief is that he perished at sea during a violent storm. Another more ludicrous rumour is that he summoned the dragon again and flew off into Sovngarde.”

Pausing in contemplation, he adds with an air of melancholic finality.

“Some Nords…”

He’s abruptly interrupted by the wooden door slamming open, as a burly Nord with soot-covered skin and clothing and motley dark hair barrels into the inn, with Maxwell just about keeping pace.

All eyes fly to the sudden interruption, with Talsgar becoming silent. Maxwell briefly glances at Serana, and he can’t help but notice the bard’s close proximity to her. A small pang of concern appears.

The burly Nord makes his way to the rear of the bar, grasping something in his hand.

“You’re not gonna believe this, Liral!” he rushes out, his deep voice with a heavy tone of surprise.

“What?” she responds, flustered with hand on her chest and eyes wide open from the sudden interruption

“Guess what this fine gentleman here….” He turns to Maxwell and gives him a solid thump on the shoulder “just presented to me.”

“What, dear?”

“This!!” He opens his palm and shows her it. As Liral’s hands fly to her mouth and she suddenly gasps in surprise, Serana sees what he’s holding. A gem-embedded necklace.

“How…” she breathlessly asks, looking to Maxwell. The hunter stands a bit awkwardly, catching his breath. “We” he gestures to Serana, taking another glance at the bard “ran into bandits yesterday….and I found that in their camp.”

As Liral gingerly takes the necklace and turning it over in her hands, her eyes suddenly become wet. She gently moves past her smiling husband, and ends up in front of Maxwell. She suddenly pulls him into a brief hug. His hands are hanging, and surprise on his face.

She gently says “Thank you…I thought we lost this forever when the bandits raided us last week…”

“Ahh…you’re very welcome.” Maxwell awkwardly responds, gently letting her go.

“Are they…”

“Dead? Very.”

She looks at him, as he straightens his armour and gives a wry half smile and small nod. She fumbles in her pocket before handing the coins back.

“Your meal and drinks are on the house.” She warmly smiles again.

As Liral and her husband fawn over their returned amulet with Nora clutching at her mother’s apron trying to get a look at what their attention is on, Maxwell slowly walks back to the table.

Piping up as he approaches the pair “I guess that answers the mystery of the necklace.”

Talsgar stands up from his seat, taking a look over Maxwell before speaking “My apologies, Maxwell. The name’s Talsgar the Wandering Bard. I was just chatting with your lovely companion Hanna.”

Before he can respond, Serana speaks up “Maxwell, please could give this fine gentleman a few coins, as patronage for his story and song.”

Maxwell glances to Serana before shrugging and handing over the coins that Liral handed back to him, which Talgsar bows gracefully upon receiving.

“May the Divines bless you both. I’ll take my leave. It was my venerable pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hanna.” Talsgar smiles widely as he grabs his empty cup and lute, and heading back to the bar.

As Maxwell sits down in the now vacated chair, she whispers “What took you so long? As soon as you left, the bard wandered over. Said my eyes were the most beautiful he ever saw.” She flutters her eyes, as though emphasizing the point.

“Classic bard, charismatic as ever.” Maxwell rolls his eyes. “Anyway, sorry. It took longer than I thought to sort out the loot.”

In reality, shortly before seeing the stable owner and blacksmith, he’d been idly sitting outside, enjoying the peace and quiet for a moment, watching the dark storm clouds – which had stopped their downpour shortly after their arrival - passing by whilst trying to stamp out a painful memory.

“By the way, thanks to the gems from the bandit camp I’ve managed to acquire another horse from the stables. Also, the storm has stopped and it looks like the clouds are heading south. We should be good to get back on the road.”

She nods. As a few more farmfolk enter the tavern and look over them, Maxwell decides now is a good time to leave.

As they grab Maxwell's overcloak and wave goodbye to Liral and her husband who wave back, they leave through the sidedoor to her mare, who nuzzles Serana’s hand and huffs at Maxwell slightly, causing Serana to smirk.

As Maxwell checks over the riding gear, Serana suddenly asks “Wait, why aren’t we staying the night here? It’s getting late in the day.”

As he tightens the reins a bit, much to the annoyance of the mare who jostles him slightly, he gently pats her muzzle before answering. “I’d rather push on, now that I’ve got a new horse. Make up some time, thanks to the storm. Unless you want to be accosted by the Wandering Bard again?”

She laughs slightly.

Maxwell decides to ask, with a small undercurrent of concern. “Anyway, what was he chatting with you about? It looked serious.”

“Don’t worry, he was harmless. He was just telling me the story of Haldrin, the Last Dragonborn.”

“Oh.” He flatly responds, dropping the strap as he finishes.

“How come you never told me about him?” She quizzes, eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, it slipped my mind. I wasn’t in Skyrim at the time. From what I know, he disappeared as soon as the dragons did.”

“What do you know of him?”

“Not a lot. Shortly appeared after Alduin returned, he fought and killed dragons, then fought and killed Alduin, and then disappeared. I was stationed in Cyrodill during the civil war.” Maxwell lies, desperately trying to keep the tone neutral. 

As she considers his response, he motions for her to alight, before they depart for the main stable to pick up his horse as it had to be saddled and sorted out ready for pickup. Departing from Rorikstead at a canter, Maxwell breathes a quiet sigh of relief, before glancing wistfully at the far off hill to their left.

Notes:

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I had been tempted to make a few chapters during this section (Whiterun to Solitude) to demonstrate the growing familiarity between the two, but have instead opted for just this one and a summary in the opening of the next. This is partly why the chapter is bigger than the others.

Next chapter will be up shortly (I figure within the next few days), as I've been writing it at the same time and have some final edits to do.

As always, thanks for the kudos, subscriptions and everything in between :D

Chapter 8: Revelations (Part 1)

Summary:

After entering the Haafinger Hold, their decision to detour to Solitude comes at a price. Secrets on both sides are revealed.

Notes:

TW: Panic attack, swearing.

After several days of tumultuous travel, involving yet another bandit ambush, a forsworn raiding party and a pair of ravenous wolves that cross their path, Maxwell sits uncomfortable in his damaged armour as they finally enter the Haafinger Hold. The weather has turned even colder, with some thin coverings of snow appearing on the ground. The road has become slightly busier as well, as they pass by a couple of convoys that had left Dragonsbridge for Whiterun.

Stopping briefly at the busy Dragon’s Head inn at the ancient settlement of Dragon’s Bridge to rest their horses, Serana’s temperament has changed to one of pensive broodiness, despite a momentary look of curiosity at the giant dragon-head covered bridge. She gives Maxwell short answers and doesn’t really look like her former self, one whom had looked with curiosity at the sights as they pass.

As they finally approach the stony path that leads further north to the coast, she hesitates at the intersection. Maxwell stops alongside her, concern on his face.

“Everything okay there, Serana? You seem distant as of late.”

She mulls over a thought, before looking at Maxwell and enquiring. “Please can we go to Solitude?”

Not expecting this question, he gives her a surprised look. “Uh…why?”

“It’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to go see.” She responds, neutrally.

“You’ve never been?” He responds, with slight surprise.

She shakes her head.

That’s...odd. Her home is practically within striking distance.

He shrugs “I guess we could, it’ll add a day or so of travel, plus however long we’re there.”

A slight irritation from his collar gives him an idea. He adds, as he scratches his neck “Thinking about it, I could do with getting my armour adjusted and repaired. These last couple of weeks have really taken its toll.” He glances down at the scored cut in his pauldron, where a forsworn raider had narrowly missed him with an axe throw.

He frowns before asking. “May I ask…why do you want to go now?”

She shifts uneasily, before answering.

“Given how close we are to my home…I don’t think I will get another chance, and besides…as my capable guide, you can give me the personalised tour.” She gives a coy half smile at that last part.

There’s definitely more to it than that, but I could really do with sorting my armour out. He pulls on his collar once more as it starts to dig into his neck again. Despite it being several years since he was last here, his years out in the rough had somewhat changed his physique.

As long as we keep our heads down, I can’t see the harm.

“If you really want to, I don’t see a problem. Though, I guess this makes us even.”

She tilts her head, puzzled. He glances over and explains. “Ivarstead. You agreed to my detour at the start.” He then turns the horse towards the eastern path rather than the northern one. Serana treats him to another one of her disarming smiles, with a hint of gratefulness in her spell-covered eyes.

During the course of the following morning, the sight of Solitude grows exponentially larger as they ride closer. The uneasiness seems to abate almost completely, as the feeling of wonder starts to replace it for Serana as she basks in the sights. The Solitude Windmill, standing proudly on the precipice. The ships in the harbour, bringing or taking cargo and people from all over Tamriel. The large geological formation that the city resides on, still standing resolute.

Leaving their horses at the stables outside the city, they join a group of people entering the capital under the watchful eye of the city guard. As they make their way through the main gate into the welcoming plaza, Serana can't help but look up in awe at the architecture of a place she has always longed to visit. Even though however long had passed since she was last awake, she couldn't help but be elated at finally seeing Solitude, whose spires she had seen from time to time from her bedroom window when the weather was exceptionally clear. It certainly seemed like it’s seen some rough days, but the city seems and feels vibrant and full of life.

As the crowd disperses and start heading to their destinations, Maxwell has to tap Serana’s shoulder to garner her attention.

“Let’s see about lodging before I leave my armour at the blacksmith and give you the guided tour you’ve requested.”

“Lodging?”

“Yeah. I figure if we spend the day exploring after I sort my armour out, we can relax at the inn before leaving tomorrow morning.”

She nods in understanding.

They manage to get two neighbouring rooms at the Maidenhead, a nice-looking inn near the rear of the city and somewhat out of the way. Geirund, the balding older Nord innkeeper, and his wife Mirabel, a blonde-haired short Imperial, are grateful for their patronage. After checking out the rooms, with Maxwell changing to simple travelling attire and with armour in hand, depart for the blacksmith who is happy to make the adjustments and replace a couple of pieces, although it’ll be later that day before it’s available.

As they pass through the main marketplace once more, the throngs of marketgoers going about their business. A few people glance at the pair as they pass, but it’s simply nothing more than idle glances (although a few men of various repute stare at Serana for obvious reasons).

Making their way through the rear half of the capital, Maxwell points out a few things of note, such as the Museum of Solitude, the Bards College, the Armoury, the various Embassies and the Blue Palace to name a few. He offers what he knows, which admittedly isn’t a great deal, but Serana surprises him with recollecting what factoids she’s read about Solitude. Receiving this insight from ancient history really demonstrates just how much has changed over time. They get heavily invested in their conversation as they explore.

During their visit to the Blue Palace, as they share more of what they know from their respective temporal perspectives, Maxwell looks up at the foreboding ancient structure once more. His gaze is drawn to the decorative wooden front doors which prompts a memory to encroach upon his current mindscape.

--

As the summer sun shines on Solitude, the atmosphere in the Blue Palace is one of awe. The pair, who stand stoically yet uncertainly in front of the Jarl and members of her court, along with General Tullius, Legate Rikke and others; both sweaty, bloodied, beaten, and his arm hanging limply in a makeshift sling.

Haldrin speaks in a monotonous tone to Elisif’s question. “It’s done. The bitch is dead. I gave the bones to Styrr to bless, as agreed.” He glances to a younger-looking Falk at the last part.

Jarl Elisif grimaces at how short his answer is, before she continues her questioning.

“May I ask, what else did you face down there? It looks and sounds you were up against…a lot.”

“Oh, just various undead, vampires, spectres. They’re all deader than dead.” He winces as pain rides up from his injured arm.

She contemplates his answer, before slightly shivering at the notion of various evils lurking beneath the great city.

As she stands, everyone else in the court stands to attention.

Clasping her hands in front of her, she gravely speaks out “On behalf of myself, my council and everyone in Solitude, we recognise your heroic efforts and thank you both for your actions. Potema returning…would not be a very good thing for all of us.”

Murmurs of agreement come from various individuals in the crowd. She alights from her throne and steps down, coming to a stop a few feet from Haldrin.

“On a personal note…I am sorry we did not listen to you, Haldrin. What with the war going on, and dragons returning to these lands after an age…people have been claiming all manner of things. You were right, and I for one should have given heed to your words of warning following what happened at Wolf Skull Cave.”

“Yes, well” He shifts his weight, the pain undulating down his leg “…you may want to send a detachment there to finally deal with the cave.” He straightens up. “Sealing it would be advisable, for a start.”

He glances to look at his trusty Housecarl Lydia, who quietly nods in agreement at his suggestion. Her unkempt, sweat and blood-soaked brown hair wafting slightly as she holds her shield limply to the side. As they start to turn away, Jarl Elisif speaks again “There is still one matter to discuss, Haldrin. General Tullius” gesturing to the white-haired Imperial nearby who takes a step forward “would like to speak with you about a few matters. Apparently, your report about Forsworn activity on the road has caused some concern.”

He grimaces, pain shooting through his broken arm as he jostles it as he turns back.

“That…can wait. We need to see a healer first.” He tiredly states, through gritted teeth. “No offence, General.”

“None taken, Haldrin. Whenever you can, before the end of the day ideally” the General speaks up.

Jarl Elisif quietly nods in understanding at the conversation between the two.

---

He dispels the thought and motions they move onto their next destination. Serana gets a vague weird sense at the back of her mind as well, but she’s too caught up in the excitement of finally being in Solitude to pay much heed to it. As they turn, they fail to notice one of the curtains on the second-floor twitch ever so slightly as the woman holding it stares surreptitiously yet intently at Maxwell.

Going back to the main market and checking in with the blacksmith, who advises his armour is now repaired and, in his words, “better than new”. After a quick fitting, with Serana watching with curiosity, Maxwell is impressed with the work although a couple of adjustments are needed on the left pauldron and chest.

A half hour later, now wearing his cleaned and repaired leather armour they turn into another courtyard which he explains forms the rear part of Castle Dour. As Maxwell looks around, gesticulating as he talks, the sight of the large mural surrounded by a crowd at the far end catches his attention. His voice abruptly stops as he silently takes in the details. Serana, who has been absorbing every little detail with eagerness, notices the interruption. Turning to look at him, she sees his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

Following his gaze, she notices what he sees. A rather large and intricate mural, covering a huge section of a wall of the castle. It’s a largescale depiction of an armoured man, holding a sword and shield against a prominent massive black dragon flying above, which is breathing fire onto him.

There are a few people mulling around, looking up at the artwork. Various tributes have been left, namely flowers, some weaponry. Moving closer to investigate, she spots a plaque when one of the crowd moves away. Written upon a centrally placed epitaph, in various languages, it reads "In Memory of Haldrin Quivicius, the Last Dragonborn. 4E179-4E203. Slayer of Alduin, the World Eater."

“Maxwell?” She gently asks.

He breaks out of his stupor. “Uh…sorry, I’m just surprised. This is new…it must have been put up recently.”

With their attention on the size of the mural, they fail to notice the presence of the young child standing hidden in the archway, glancing now and then at Maxwell as she secretly follows him on the orders of the ashen-faced lady who had spotted him from the window.

Shortly after leaving the mural, Serana spots a bookstore tucked away in a corner. She practically peels off, dragging Maxwell along. Inside, she gazes in wonder at the many rows of books and tomes of knowledge; she’s like a child in a sweet shop. Peering around a corner at one point looking at the titles of the books, she spots Maxwell leafing through a book on the Dwemer and their downfall with a thoughtful look. She internally smiles before returning to her wandering. As she picks up one particular tome about a wizard’s thoughts on the applications of illusion magic, she finally remembers she doesn’t have modern day currency or any gems. As she puts it back, Maxwell appears next to her and places in her hand a pouch filled with coins.

As she looks in surprise, he clarifies with a grin “From our fights. I figure it’s your share anyway.”

She flashes a grateful smile, before pulling out the tome again and going back to retrieve a few of the other books that caught her eye.

---

Returning to the inn after a tiring day of walking everywhere, and after taking just a bit longer in the washroom to wash off the sweat from the day, he lays down on his bed and sighs loudly. Drifting on the verge of a nap, the sound of rapid light knocking his door awakens him. He grunts as he gets off the bed, and calls out, ever so slightly annoyed.

“Who is it?”

A light voice speaks through the door “It’s Mirabel, sire. Please could you open up.”

“One moment.”

As he strides to the door, he opens the door to see Mirabel, with panic and concern etched on her face. Before he can ask, Mirabel quickly states, her eyes reading Maxwell’s face with a flash of suspicion. “I’m sorry to disturb you sire, however the city guard is downstairs asking after you.”

His face drops, as immediate concern flares up. Uh oh.

As he quietly locks the door and pockets the key under Mirabel’s curious gaze, he follows her down the stairs. As Mirabel opens the door situated at the bottom of the staircase, which separates the upstairs from the downstairs, the sound of Serana’s door opening behind him registers on his hearing. As he turns the corner into the tavern area, he freezes in horror.

The establishment is empty beyond Geirund and the 6 heavily armed guards, who are in the classic iron armour of the Empire branded with the Solitude coat of arms – a Wolf’s head on a cross - emblazoned on their chest pieces and shields, are standing around the bar. All are standing upright when the two descend, and the nearest one – a Captain – adjusts his chest plate before taking a step forward. A few have their hands resting on their sheathed weapons. Mirabel silently moves past the Captain to re-join Geirund behind the bar, watching this interaction with a shared look of trepidation.

The Captain clears his throat before speaking in a serious tone “Good afternoon sir. I have orders from Queen Elisif to escort you to the Blue Palace. Please, come with us.”

Fuck me to Oblivion.

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Maxwell states. “What’s the meaning of this?”

 “As I said, sir, please come with us. Queen Elisif has requested your immediate presence.”

“And if I refuse?” his voice, growing dangerously neutral.

The Captain bristles, hand hovering over his sheathed sword. “It would be best if you agreed on your own accord to come with us, sir” The tone, thinly veiling his growing annoyance at Maxwell’s resistance.

As the Captain and Maxwell stare each other down, each standing resolute against the other, a light footstep on the stairs behind him and a question break the tension.

“Is everything okay, Maxwell?” she enquires, her hood down and auburn hair wafting slightly as she descends from the top of the stairs after listening to the conversation. The guards look at her, some with their jaws dropping slightly. Nevertheless, a couple of them tighten their grips on their weapons at her sudden appearance.

As she silently prepares a spell on her hidden hand behind the adjoining wall in case violence breaks out, the door slams open and a masculine voice from behind the group shouts.

“Stand down you fools!! The Queen said to invite him, not threaten him.”

As the individual in fine brown clothing – an aged Nord with many wrinkles on his sun-tanned skin and with hair as red as fire – stands in front of the guard, giving him a We’ll sort this infraction out later look, he turns to look at Maxwell.

Maxwell looks like he’s seen a ghost. Well fuck me to Oblivion, back to Nirn then to Oblivion again.

The red-haired Nord studies him curiously, as though trying to discern something. After a few moments, surprised recognition appears on his expression. Almost breathlessly, the individual says.

“By the Nine, it IS you!”

Finally finding his voice, he forces out “…Falk?”

The individual nods thrice. Falk, looking a few years older but nonetheless familiar, lights up at Maxwell’s recognition of him. “It is I.”

Stammering slightly due to being stupefied, Maxwell utters “I…I thought you...died after the siege…at Dragon’s Bridge.”

Serana dismisses her spell, curiosity now piqued at the abrupt change of direction in this situation.

Falk guffaws slightly “HA! Isn’t that ironic” before looking at Maxwell with sincerity again “No, I survived with only minor injuries, and still serve Queen Elisif. I don’t know how, and frankly I don’t care; it’s good to see you alive after all these years.”

Turning his attention to Serana, Falk raises an eyebrow and asks “Who might this fair lady be? A friend of yours?”

Stiffly speaking, as he’s still in his induced stupor “This is my Hanna…I mean, my travelling companion, Hanna.”

Falk nods in assent. “Then she is most welcome to join us. Please, Queen Elisif is - as you can imagine - understandably quite eager to see you.”

“I don’t think…” Maxwell responds, slightly horrified at the implication.

"It's fine. Where you go, I go." Serana adds, stepping up to Maxwell. An odd expression appears on his face as he glances to her, his eyes almost pleading something. She couldn’t quite tell. As the moment passes, Maxwell shakily breathes a sigh out and closes his eyes, in resignation of the horrifying situation.

Turning to Falk, he sombrely states “Then we better not keep her waiting. Lead the way.”

As they leave the inn under the scrutiny of the innkeeper and his wife, and the guards trailing behind, Maxwell beckons to Falk. "How did you know I was here?"

“Sybille.” Falk glances over his shoulder as they walk down the stone path.

“Okay, but how?”

He shrugs “She has her ways.”

Maxwell’s brow furrows, for more than one reason.

Serana walks evenly just beside and behind him, wondering where this could be going. A summon from the Queen herself? This isn’t normal. Maxwell’s reaction also made her curious.

To the average human, Maxwell’s clearly uncomfortable. To her elevated senses, he’s extremely uncomfortable. She clearly hears his pulse steadily climb and breathing shallowing up. He walks rather hesitantly behind Falk, glancing at the guards a couple of times. He doesn’t look at her, which makes her concerned.

Entering the Blue Palace, Serana takes in the sites of the grandiose staircase and entrance way. It’s very different to the Castle, with vibrant colours everywhere and various flora – a few she immediately recognises - scattered here and there. A number of guards stand guard at various locations, who pass their eye over the advancing group.

Even with the Elder Scroll completely hidden out of sight, she can’t help but feel a sense of trepidation, although nothing as close to what he is feeling. As they pass through the doors into the lower area, and begin walking up the sweeping staircase, Maxwell seems to be dragging his feet to the top. With each step, the sense of foreboding realisation and apprehension swells to greater proportions. As he crests the stairwell, and his gaze falls upon the individuals at the far end, only one thought comes close to describe the myriad of emotions running through his mind.

 

Shit.

 

Entering the court at the upper level just behind a tense Maxwell, Serana sees a middle-aged woman in a flowing Nordic blue and green dress and a jagged crown of thorns sitting atop her blonde hair which is cascading down to just past her shoulders. A few wrinkles on her face betray her age, but she still has the visibility of apparent youth about her.

The High Queen of Skyrim, Elisif the Fair.

She seems to be animatedly talking to someone, a short lady in a grey hooded garment. They both turn to look at the group, and the lady – ashen coloured complexion and curiously slightly sunken eyes, whispers something to Elisif before standing back behind the throne, although she throws Serana a curious gaze with a slight head tilt. That weird sense from earlier comes back with a vengeance to Serana.

The Queen’s eyes focus intently on Maxwell before lighting up. She immediately stands up, approaches him and takes one of his hanging hands, enveloping his in both of hers. Serana can’t see his reaction, but his heartrate and breathing just flatlined.

After a brief moment, Queen Elisif calls out in an authoritative voice "Everyone but my Council and personal guard, out."

Once servants and most of the guards have left, other than a couple of Legionnaires of her personal guard, Falk and Sybille - she turns to Maxwell with a genuine smile.

"It is SO good to see you alive, Haldrin. We feared you perished when we heard of the ship capsizing in the storm.”

Serana stares nonplussed at the back of Maxwell’s head. Like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place, the picture builds in her mind. What the bard in Rorikstead said about the dragonborn. The reluctance to go to Whiterun. His odd behaviour whenever dragons or civil war were mentioned. Various other events of note. That ever-present smell.

As the realisation hits her like the blinding light of the sun, the two Legionnaires exchange a confused glance with each after staring at Maxwell.

For Maxwell, the moment he’s been dreading for years hits harder than any dragon he faced, although Alduin comes very close. He shuts his eyes as his face contorts at the mention of his old name. Inhaling shakily as his skin crawls, he musters a serious tone and plainly states "I, uh, go by Maxwell now, Elisif."

Elisif’s countenance falters slightly. “Ah, well…Maxwell then. My apologies.” She takes in the sight of him before continuing “By Talos’ grace, it is good to see you again, even though you look so different from when we last saw you.”

He shifts his weight uncomfortably “Yes, well…it’s been a few rough years.”

She smiles meditatively, before motioning with her right hand towards the doors on her flank. "Please, come. Let us go to my sun deck where we can talk over refreshments.”

Once outside on the porched veranda, a veritable assortment of plated food and drinks arranged on the various tables. The sunlight starts to irritate Serana, whose hood is down. She fastidiously maintains focus on the current situation. Struggling to comprehend the reality she’s found herself in, and almost kicking herself for not picking up on it earlier.

I’ve been travelling with him, THE Last Dragonborn.

In a commiserating tone, Queen Elisif expresses "Please know that all of us, especially myself, were extremely saddened to hear of Lydia's death. What Ulfric did was vile. You have my deepest and sincerest condolences."

Another puzzle piece falls into place in Serana’s mind. The message from L, on his map.

“…thank you.” Maxwell quickly changes the topic away from his deceased wife. "I was...surprised...to see the mural. At the castle.”

Elisif nods slightly. "Given your legendary exploits and what you did for not just for Skyrim but for all of Tamriel, it only seemed fitting to do something to eternally symbolise it. I commissioned it shortly after your, ah, ‘death’. I still remember that day, when the skies darkened and the ground trembled. I also remember what you did for us with Potema."

The memory of fighting that undead bitch in the bowels of the Solitude sewer system reappears.

 “My sincerest apologies, I’ve been caught up in the revelation that you are still alive. Who may this fetching lady be?" Elisif turns to Serana, her tone slightly apologetic yet curious.

Maxwell also turns slightly and asserts "This is my current travelling companion, Hanna."

She can’t help notice he’s avoiding eye contact, although his heartbeat and behaviour is saying more than enough. Serana offers her hand and does a slight curtsy, which Elisif returns.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Queen Elisif.”

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Hanna. Might I ask, what brings Maxwell and yourself together? Travelling with the Dragonborn is an honour."

Out of the corner of her eye, Maxwell grimaces. Why’d you have to say that.

"He's helping me with something." Serana politely responds, not wanting to elaborate further as she senses his thought.

The queen considers her response, but bows in acceptance with a gentle smile “That sounds like him.” She looks like she wants to add more, but leaves the sentiment hanging as it is.

Queen Elisif turns back to Maxwell and starts talking about something else. As she tries to pay attention, Serana suddenly feels a piercing pair of eyes studying her on the left. Looking around, she notices the short ashen faced woman in purple garb now standing curiously behind Falk. Hood pulled over her, staring surreptitiously at her. She stares back, curiosity mixed with concern. Why was a vampire a member of the Queen’s court? Also, the proximity to the castle, the capital of Skyrim....could she be in league with her parents?

Her attention falls back on the conversation between Maxwell and Queen Elisif.

"…your house, Proudspire Manor, is no longer available as we reclaimed it following your reported ‘death’, although I ensured your possessions are safely secure in our vaults after someone tried to break in. If you would like, I can bring them out. I can also restore the house to you although it will take some time to sort out the current occupants.”

Maxwell crosses his arms and considers her offer. “I appreciate the gestures, but I won’t be needing the house or items… thank you.”

Keeping his arms crossed, he continues. “I would also prefer that news of my survival is not made publicly known, especially to the Empire. I left all of that behind…I’m sure you can understand why.”

Elisif considers him for a while.

“…Of course, Maxwell.” She looks to Falk “Make sure anyone who knows is made aware to keep their absolute silence, otherwise they’ll face severe punishment.”

Falk looks slightly surprised but nods in the affirmative of her instruction. She looks back to Maxwell.

“Falk says you’re staying at the Maidenhead Inn. If you would like, you can reside here for the duration of your visit.”

“It’s fine. We’re not staying long. Just to sort out a few things.” He quickly adds “…thank you.”

“Well, if you change your mind. Know that you are always welcome here, Maxwell.”

He stiffly nods.

Elisif continues speaking about various things, with Maxwell wishing more and more that the ground would split in two and he’d be swallowed right up.

 

20 minutes later, the silence during the walk away from the Palace and back to the Maidenhead is so thick the knife would get stuck partway through, with Maxwell refusing to even look at Serana who follows.

As he pushes the inn door open with enough force to almost take its hinges off, Geirund and Mirabel - at various stages of serving customers – and the patrons look up in surprise at the sudden interruption.

Approaching the bar, he mutely states “Bottle of Honningbrew mead”, dropping more than enough coinage on the counter. Mirabel looks to Geirund who shrugs and pulls out a bottle, placing it on the counter. Grabbing the offered bottle with a stiff nod, he slowly ascends the staircase, his footfall betraying his emotional state.

The innkeeper and his wife exchange a confused look, and the patrons stop their conversations in shock. Serana quietly follows, ignoring the stares of everyone.

As he slowly gets the key from his pocket and unlocks his room, Serana pipes up.

 “Can I come in?”

He pauses, hearing and processing her words, before acquiescing and leaving the door open. She follows, and closes the door gently. Now that they were in his room, Serana looks at Maxwell. Her expression, a mix of emotion. Surprise, confusion, awe, befuddlement to name a few.

"Well…" is all she can manage to say.

Maxwell looks over at her after he takes a swig from the bottle, his face betraying his own mix of emotion.

“Yeah….”

He motions to the chair near him, and the weight of the bed creaks as he puts the bottle on the side table before placing his head in his hands and sighing heavily. An extremely heavy solemnness hangs in the air.

Through his hands, "Well, now you know. My former name is Haldrin Quivicius, and I’m the Last Dragonborn who slayed Alduin and Ulfric Stormcloak.”

“And Lydia was your wife?”

He looks at her forlornly, the reality weighing heavy on him.

“Yes. She died defending our home in Whiterun when Ulfric attacked.”

A pregnant and tense silence covers the room, as neither are able to find the right words.

Serana is the first to break it. She says, genuine concern bleeding into her tone. “Is there anything I can do?”

Maxwell replies, his brown eyes betraying his sober emotion.

“…I need to be alone for…a while.”

“Of course,” she gravely states as she turns and walks to the door. Pausing as she rests her hand on the door handle, she adds “I’m sorry” before opening then walking through door which shuts with a gentle thud.

Maxwell takes a deep swig from the bottle, the familiar alcohol numbing the pain ever so slightly, but not fast enough.

---

A couple of hour later, she’s walking through the streets of Solitude once more which are starting to empty as the sun begins setting.

She’s replayed every interaction with Maxwell since they met at least twice, over two weeks ago. So much makes sense now. His reluctance around the Elder Scroll she carried. His reaction to seeing Whiterun. His reaction with the actions of the man-turned-werewolf. Why he kept to himself.

As she’s glancing around, she spots a scruffy looking kid – a girl, no more than 6 or 7 years old – who is running up to her. The young girl, which also happens to be the one that had followed Maxwell, stops short of crashing into her before shoving a crumpled and folded piece of paper into her hand. The girl looks at Serana with a cheeky grin before dashing off around a nearby corner. Confused, she surreptitiously moves to a corner of a nearby building and reads the note.

“I know what you are, ‘Hanna’ (if that is indeed your real name). You no doubt know that I am like you. Meet me on the sun deck at midnight tonight.”

Shortly after sunset, she ends up sat in a quiet corner of the Red Castle, an interesting tavern not far from the Maidenhead, holding a tankard of something she barely touches in between her hands. A few men try and talk to her, a lone beautiful woman sitting contemplatively, but she pays them no heed and dismisses them quickly. Her mind is on other matters. Maxwell, for one. The note, for another.

As midnight approaches, she eventually enters the Maidenhead which is extremely quiet, with only a couple of late-night revellers at the bar. Mirabel is also behind the bar, sweeping. She smiles upon seeing Serana.

“How is he?” Serana cautiously asks.

“I, ah, haven’t disturbed him. We heard a smash earlier, but after that nothing. What happened at the palace?”

Her hair billows as she shakes her head “It’s not my place to say, I’m sorry.” Mirabal looks confused at her response, but opts to leave it alone.

After closing the adjoining door, she climbs up the stairs and as she passes his room, a light snoring from within gives her an idea. Casting Muffle and a spell to unlock the door, she enters his room without making a sound before locking the door. He’s snoring faintly, laying on his side towards the wall. The bed cover looks as though he’s been tossing and turning. The bottle he had been drinking from, smashed against the opposite wall and debris lying on the floor in a vague pile, as though he had attempted to clean up before stopping.

She leaves the Elder Scroll hidden in the room by him, invisible.

Mother, I know I shouldn’t, but I just can’t risk it. Besides, it’s safe with him. Of that I’m certain.

Silently climbing out of his window she moves through the shadows with supreme ease, avoiding all the guards on patrol and the late-night wanderers. Eventually making her way to the porch where the Queen had taken them only hours ago, which is now in complete darkness aside from a small amount of fire light coming through the gaps in the door.

As Serana alights the stone wall that forms the edge of the veranda, she immediately spots the ashen faced vampire standing in the shadow, leaning against the wall. Her amber eyes looking at her.

"So" the vampire states "you're travelling with the Dragonborn. That's…something."

"Are you in the employ of my parents?" She asks, standing up after stepping off the stonework.

The ashen-coloured vampire raises an eyebrow, as though to prompt Serana to clarify.

"Harkon and Valerica of Clan Volkihar"

A glint of recognition appears in her amber eyes.

"I recognise that name, which must make you...Serana, their daughter. I thought the emblem was familiar."

"And what do I call you?" Serana retorts.

"Sybille. To answer your earlier your question: No, I am not." She pauses for a moment. "I presume the Dragonborn is escorting you back to the Castle?"

Serana considers her response before briefly nodding.

Sybille takes a step forward "I implore you, do not go back to Castle Volkihar. I've heard...things...about what is happening over there.”

"But why?" she asks, questioningly.

"Your father....is not himself."

“And my mother? Is my mother there?” She asks, concern bleeding into her question.

“I do not know.” Sybille’s eyes dart to the side, as though seeing something that isn’t there.

"I must go, I'm needed elsewhere. Heed my warning, Serana of Clan Volkihar." Sybille states before heading to the door. A brief second later, she strides through it and silently closes the door, leaving Serana alone. Confused, she stays still for a moment to try and process Sybille’s words. Her father…not himself? That’s always been the case, but it was how Sybille said it that seems to add an extra dimension to the warning.

A thought occurs, and she casts something before departing.

Returning back to the quiet inn, Maxwell is still fast asleep and his breathing is even. The Elder Scroll is still where she left it. After retrieving it and getting into her room through the window, she takes off her boots, cloak and the Scroll, and lays down in bed before contemplating everything that’s transpired. In the early hours of dawn, she comes to a resolute decision.

--

In the morning, sun briefly shining through the wispy clouds, Maxwell wordlessly leaves his room. He glances contemplatively at Serana’s door with a raised hand, before shaking his head and pushing on. He wants to put off that conversation for as long as possible. As he enters the wash room to wash away the previous day’s activities and memories, a feeling of combined dread and acceptance works its way through him. As he dries himself, he looks in the mirror. Taking in the detail of his face, different from how he remembers back in his previous life due to the years of living out in the rough.

Well, there’s no point waiting any longer.

Taking a deep breath, he strolls over and knocks on Serana’s door, but there’s no answer. Brow furrowing, he opts to try later. As he enters his room, Serana is pensively sitting in the one chair. She looks up as he enters, her expression one of determination.

“Uh…what are you doing?” He asks with a confused tone. She silently stands up, pushes past him and locks the door before casting something. Turning around, she turns to stare intently at him. Her amber eyes, determined.

Noticing his eyebrow raise, what she states carry more weight than pretty much anything they’ve said to each other.

“A ward to deafen sounds. We need to talk.”

That earlier feeling doubles in size. “About yesterday, no doubt.” He adds, his voice tight.

“To begin with, yes.”

“I’m sure you have questions. Go, ask away.” Crossing his arms, mentally bracing himself for a barrage of questions. Rather, what happens next catches him completely off-guard.

Serana silently steps up to him and gingerly places a hand on his arms, gently squeezing. Her amber eyes, determination giving way to understanding and assurance as she stares deeply into his own.

“Believe me, I have many questions but I know it’s a sensitive topic for you so I won’t ask bother you with them. I only have one, if you happy to answer it…when you went after Alduin, did you really capture and travel on a dragon from Whiterun into Sovngarde?”

Not the question he was expecting. After a moment to process her words, he responds.

“Yes, I did, but not into Sovngarde, only to a portal that led there. An ancient temple that belonged to Alduin, somewhere in the Velothi Mountains.”

Her expression changes to one of awe.

“Wow. That's like nothing I've ever read in any story...that must have been a sight to behold.”

For the first time, he laughs. A genuine laugh, from deep within.

“Oh, believe me, you have absolutely no idea!”

As the camaraderie settles, the tension starts to slip before being added to again by Maxwell’s next words. “Given what’s happened, I want to ask something of you.”

Predicting what his next words are going to be, she interjects “If it’s about not revealing your history to anyone, I wasn’t going to reveal it. Your secret is safe with me.” She gives the most genuine, reassuring smile she can. He stares at her slightly astonished “…Thank you.”

The reassuring smile gives way to the determined look again, as she continues “Seeing as I found out about your past, I need to tell you things in return.”

Maxwell stares wide-eyed at her. Where the fuck is this conversation going.

“To start with, when I left you alone yesterday, a child ran into me and passed me this.” She pulls out and hands Maxwell the note, who reads it intently. Flipping it over in case there was anything on the other side “Who sent this to you? It sounds like another vampire.”

“Sybille, Queen Elisif’s councillor.”

“Wait, what?” he states incredulously.

“She’s a vampire.”

“Why would…I don’t…. that doesn’t make sense.” His eyebrows dance, as he tries to process the information. “…well, I’m guessing Elisif knows. Sybille was there when Torygg died, as she served his father.”

Shaking his head, he continues “Something about her always made me feel uneasy but I just put it down to her personality. She can be…quite intense.”

A thought arises with questions that he should be asking rather than waffling.

“What did she want? Is she with your parents?”

“She wanted to know who I was, and why I was travelling with you. She isn’t, but she did warn me about going back home.”

“Specifically, about?”

“My father. She said something’s wrong.”

The gravity of what she’s saying doesn’t sit right with him, for some reason.

“Well…shit.”

Serana continues.

“Things with my family are…difficult. My family is, well, for lack of a better word – dysfunctional.”

Why did that feel like an understatement?

“My father and mother have never really gotten along. She, Sybille, says my father is there but not my mother.”

She pauses, as though wanting to say more but stops short.

“I mean, do you still want to go home? Even after her warning?” he quizzes.

“I…I don’t know.” For once, she looks absolutely uncertain. A tense silence follows. Coming to a decision, Serana shakes her head. Strands of her unbound hair, swishing slightly with the action.

“I still think it’s the best way to find out what’s gone on and to get some answers, such as how long I was entombed. And besides…I still have to pay you for services rendered.”

She pauses.

“Speaking of which, the next thing I need to tell is about my home itself. I’ve told you it’s off the coast, and – assuming it’s still there – there’s a boat that will take us there. What I haven’t told you is that it’s a castle.”

Maxwell thinks she’s joking, but the serious tone undercuts that thought.

“…you’re serious? Your home is a CASTLE?! Why didn’t you mention this before?” Maxwell states in amazement. He realises he’d see it eventually, so is curious as to why she brings it up now.

Serana looks at him, her hands gesturing as she speaks.

“I didn’t want you think I was of those…. you know, a Lady who just sits in a castle all day. I mean, I did do that but…I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. That’s not really me.” She explains, a slight intonation when she mentions her title.

“Lady?”

“Yes, that’s my royal title.” She clarifies.

“You’re royalty?!”

“Yes. Lady Serana Volkihar.” she curtsies, pulling out the edges of her cloak and bows regally.

He falls to the bed which creaks loudly, absolutely dumbstruck. What the actual fuck. I’ve been travelling with vampire royalty.

His tone is one of shellshock. “I’m sorry, that’s just…I need a moment to process that.”

A small light-hearted chuckle from Serana catches his attention.

“Now you know how I felt, finding out I’m travelling with the legendary Dragonborn” she states, with a humorous undertone.

“True…”

“Now, as my father is still there, I think it would be safer for you to wait outside the Castle. The sights within are not for any mortal, legend or not. And once my debt is paid….” She utters the last part rather forlornly “depart from the island.”

A quietness descends, before Maxwell states “I did think that was where this was heading. Us, parting ways.”

She meekly nods, accepting his words. Maxwell feels compelled to add. “Hey, we agreed for me to escort you to your home. I didn’t actually think within, rather just to the front door. That’s the agreement, that’s what I’ll do.”

She looks as though a weight has lifted off her shoulders. She says “Maxwell, I am certain I will be saying this again, but…thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She gives him a unique smile, one that she hasn’t given him - well anyone before – one filled with genuine thankfulness and admiration mixed together.

He returns a similar one himself, and briefly bows. “You’re very welcome…. Lady Serana.” Smirking slightly as he does so, Serana’s reaction is a small eyeroll.

Notes:

Well, it looks like this detour to Solitude has blown the popsicle stand wide open with secrets flying everywhere.

I had great fun writing this chapter (despite being the largest chapter to date!), as it really solidified a few things and represents a turning point for both of them. Plus it was nice to give Sybille some love, as I felt it something of a wasted opportunity in the Dawnguard DLC.

Also, notice how Serana has neglected to mention about her modify memory spell? Yeah, that’s still something to come. She specifically and carefully left that out, among other things.

The next chapter won't be as massive, nor posted for a small while.

Chapter 9: Revelations (Part 2)

Summary:

After reaching their destination, Maxwell and Serana finally part ways.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, assault.

When Serana said her home was a literal castle, that was a complete understatement.

Standing on the rocky and uneven salt-covered shore after stepping off the boat they’d used to travel here, he stares up at the foreboding massive ancient stone structure which had grown steadily more visible through the thick veil of fog that surrounds the island. A large castle, with several towers and structurally foreboding keep, looks steeped in history. Saying that, it looks like it has seen better days as certain parts have fallen into varying degrees of disrepair.

Glancing over to his companion, a mix of worry and dread on her face, he frowns.

The journey here had been in relative silence after they turned north, with the excitement of their visit to Solitude rapidly evaporating at that point. It was at that point that Serana had grown once more somewhat distant and tense, increasing in intensity the closer they got to her home.

 “Hey Serana, are you alright?” genuine concern in his question.

“Yeah, just…a lot of memories in this place.” She looks and offers a half smile “Thanks for asking.”

“I empathise…”

She nods in understanding. Whiterun, of course.

“Just let me do the talking, and things should be okay.” She says, uncertainly.

“Should be?”

“I mean they will be.” Her tone, with forced certainty.

She steels herself and squares her shoulders, and somewhat confidently crosses the bridge, striding by the gargoyle statues that stand guard. Maxwell eyes them warily, the memory of fighting similar ones just over two weeks ago creeping into his mind.

Remain outside, with these things? Sure…

Approaching the dulled ancient iron portcullis that stands tall at the end of the sloping bridge, a male Altmer with amber eyes looks at them through the gaps with a somewhat concerned but surprising stare.

“Welcome home, Lady Serana.” He states, in a somewhat genial tone.

She seems surprised, but responds quickly.

“…Hello, Vingalmo.”

The Altmer pulls a lever, and the ancient iron portcullis slowly open, the chains creaking under strain, and once fully aloft he fervently gestures her in, giving Maxwell a curious once-over.

Asking Serana “Is he your thrall?”

“No.”

A look of grave concern immediately passes over him. He immediately rings a bell, which Serana looks back to Maxwell in confusion. As the inner wooden doors swing open only seconds later, several armed thralls rush out and swarm around Maxwell. As he glances around sternly at the armed individuals, his hand hovering over his own sword and gaze scanning each one with a keen eye, the Altmer vampire says in a commanding tone.

“Don’t do anything stupid, mortal. Please, follow me.”

Looking to Serana with a serious expression “Your father has been expecting you, and he will want to hear what’s happened; especially why you haven’t enthralled this…mortal.” Vingalmo throws the last word in Maxwell’s direction with a hint of disgust.

As the Altmer leads Serana and the closely guarded Maxwell through the double doors, she glances back once more with a confused yet concerned expression.

As they enter through the inner wooden doors into the inside of the keep, and despite being somewhat forewarned by Serana back in Solitude, that again was a complete understatement for the sights and smells that accost him as they step atop a sweeping staircase which sits at one end of a regal throne room, lit somewhat by various torches and candles.

Almost the stark opposite to the Blue Palace, which seemed full of life, this castle is full of death. He tries to avoid balking at the grotesque sights of several well-dressed vampires eating on various limbs and carcasses of slain mortals, their amber eyes full of hunger as they take in the group. Blood, everywhere. A Nord male on one table with bowels cut open. A Dunmer female on the other, her severed head to one side. Several black dogs with spiked collars and dark sunken red eyes moseying among severed remains on the ground. Some stare at him and growl but make no movement. One of the vampires lays a hand on one that growls, petting it on the head.

Crap, those look familiar…

A Nord man, clad in a masculine version of dark armour akin to what Serana is wearing, sits laid back in a deep throne, hand on fist as he studies them intently. He has a trim goatee and brown hair sleeked back impeccably. His amber eyes, unreadable at this distance, stare intently at Serana. His gaze becomes piercing, and in Maxwell’s peripheral vision Serana, who seems to have shrunk slightly, shifts somewhat uncomfortably under his gaze. He immediately wafts a hand which glows and the invisibility around the Elder Scroll is instantly dismissed. His eyes snap to it, immediately followed by the eyes of every other vampire who stop their feasting.

His thinly pursed lips evolve into a smirk. As he stands, he holds his hands out high and calls in a loud baritone voice as he steps down from the throne with authority in every movement.

“My long-lost dearest daughter finally returns home. I see that you have brought home my Elder Scroll.”

Serana seems to grimace at that, and Maxwell can just hear “That’s the first thing he says?” before loudly stating “Yes Father…I have returned.”

My Elder Scroll? Well fuck me, that can’t be good.

Glancing to Serana, who seems a degree smaller as she becomes very meek and quiet. She doesn’t look at Maxwell, but the slight turn away says she’s aware of his gaze.

Well, no wonder she seems uncomfortable. I get creepy vibes from him and I’ve only just met him.

“Come, let me look at you.”

As she makes her way down the stairs, each step measured, the Altmer gesture to Maxwell to follow. The thralls follow closely as he descends the staircase slower than Serana, who soon ends up in front of her Father in the centre of the room.

As Maxwell approaches, he looks her up and down before sighing.

“Tsk tsk, you look weak my dearest daughter. Have you not been feeding?”

She quietly states “No Father, I daren’t risk it for fear of death by mortals.”

He considers her form, before looking to Maxwell. He sniffs the air ever so slightly and looks curiously at him for a brief moment before turning his attention back to Serana.

“No matter, you are here now."

He pauses, as though for dramatic effect, before continuing "Now, if only your traitorous bitch of a mother could see this. I would gladly let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike and adorning it to a wall. Now tell me, my Daughter, who is this mortal you have not enthralled yet?”

“This is my….protector, and guide, Maxwell. He’s the one who found me, freed me and escorted me here.” She gestures, briefly glancing at him. Her expression, uncertain and uncomfortable with this line of questioning and his earlier comments.

“And may I enquire as to why you haven’t enthralled him?”

She squirms under his gaze.

“I….we came to a mutual agreement.”

He raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. Looking over Maxwell’s form with his amber eyes, and Maxwell feeling as though they’re piercing his very being.

“Curious. There is something to you. What it is I cannot say it is something I am familiar with.”

He ponders a moment, before continuing.

“Nevertheless, it is of no import.” He gestures to Serana to take her place beside him. She meekly does so. He holds out his hand, and she gingerly takes off the now-visible Scroll and places it in his own.

As he holds it in a death grip, his eyes flare in ambition and a smirk starts to appear on his thin lips.

A twinge of fear worms its way up Maxwell’s spine.

Oh gods, what have I done?

After taking stock of the Scroll, he turns his attention back to Maxwell. “I presume my daughter has explained what we are?”

“She has, yes.” He tensely states, the fear growing slightly more powerful.

“And yet for you to willingly agree to escort her to such a place, I wonder…I presume she has offered you a large volume of gold and gems for her safe return?”

Keeping a straight face, “It was mentioned.”

Harkon laughs maniacally, although not out of humour but pride, as there is a palpable undercurrent of distaste and disgust.

"Ah yes, material wealth. Material wealth for a mortal is a dalliance, easily acquired and lost. What I offer is worth so much more..." as he passes the Scroll to a nearby thrall, who stands mute holding the ancient artefact in their hands.

Serana looks at her father in abject horror, realisation dawning on her at what he’s about to offer.

He floats into the air slightly, an evil aura emanating from him. Similar to the one from when Serana fed, but much more potent. In a guttural voice that booms across the hall, Harkon affixes his gaze to Maxwell.

“For the safe return of my Elder Scroll, I, Duke Harkon of the Volkihar Clan, offer something far more worthy to you than material wealth. My blood is what I offer instead. Power beyond anything a mortal can acquire with gold and gems. Take it, and you will be a lion among the sheep of mortals. Take it, and you never need to fear your own mortality again!"

His gaze is piercing, as he hovers a few feet off the ground. His presence is dominating.

His skin beginning to crawl at the offer, and the souls within reacting like never before, Maxwell briefly breaks contact to quickly glance around the room, his every sense on alert. The members of Harkon’s court, who seem to be observing this interaction with morbid curiosity mixed with something akin to fear. As his gaze wanders past Serana, she’s looking at him with a horrified expression. She almost imperceptibly shakes her head.

Inhaling deeply – and instantly regretting it due to the acrid smell of the bodies – he stares stoically at Duke Harkon. Feeling like what about he is about to say is going to cause his untimely demise, he confidently responds. Forgive me, Lydia.

"Thank you for your…offer…but I refuse."

He starts to summon a familiar Shout just in case things go sideways.

Harkon face descends into a scowl. After a very tense moment, he speaks again in that guttural voice that resonates with power, "Mortal…I should kill you where you stand for your insolence in rejecting my gift.”

Maxwell opens his mouth

“But for the safe return of my Elder Scroll – and that of my daughter - I will spare you only this once. This is my reward to you. Be gone, and never darken my home again!!"

He waves his hand in the air and turns, and Maxwell braces for a spell that never comes. The thralls who escorted him inside, having stood idly behind, interpret their master's signal and forcefully grab Maxwell by the arms before he can say or do anything. As he is dragged across the cobblestones towards the stairs, unable to significantly move his limbs from the vice-like grip of the thralls, his eyes meets Serana’s amber eyes which are very wide and jaw dropped in shock.

As Maxwell and the two thralls disappear up the stairs and through the inner door which creaks shut, Serana turns to look at Harkon who has now returned to his throne, the thrall holding the Scroll slowly following.

“Father, why did you do that?! He rescued me!” she cries in an astonished tone.

He speaks loudly which echoes in the hall.

“For which I have demonstrated far more gratitude than he is worthy of. As I said, I will spare him this once. And as for you, my dearest Daughter, do not presume you can freely offer my wealth to anyone, especially mortals.”

His features soften ever so slightly and he speaks in a lower tone.

“Now feast and rest, Daughter, you look weary. We shall talk again in due course once you have regained your strength."

A thrall appears and guides her away, towards the ‘kitchen’. As she gives her father one last look, she meekly nods and follows the thrall, her soft footfall diminishing.

As she is taken away, Harkon awaits until he sure she is out of hearing. Turning to the court, he issues in a commanding low voice "Whomever brings me the head of that mortal after tonight will have my gratitude. We cannot have a stranger know our secrets, in addition to punishing him for his insolence." Some of the court wickedly smiles as they begin feasting again, their amber eyes filling with malice.

--

Landing with a heavy thud on the stonework outside as soon as the thralls turf him out, Maxwell winces as his sheathed sword is caught on his leg. As he stands, straightening his armour and dusting himself off, he notices the Altmer and thralls are looking at him. The Altmer whistles, and the two thralls disappear back into the castle, with the aged wooden doors crashing shut with a resounding thud. The Altmer pulls the lever and the portcullis comes down painfully slow again. As it does so, the vampire never breaks his unblinking gaze off Maxwell.

Huffing slightly as the adrenaline wears off, he backs away from the Altmer who smirks ever so slightly. After a few tense moments where nothing happens, he risks turning and striding away as fast as he can.

As he passes the inanimate gargoyles once more that dot the large stone bridge, giving them another side-eye, the thoughts running through his mind are plenty in number, and of varying intensity. Trying to process what just happened, he gets into the docked boat and pushes off, with the innate magic directing the boat over the water at a brisk pace back to the Skyrim shore. With the shoreline disappearing behind him and the ancient fortress fading into the fog once more, he mulls over his next options.

Seeing Harkon’s reaction the Elder Scroll really unnerved him. The way he described it as his, the way he held it, the way he smirked. 

As he considers it, that familiar sense of not wanting to be involved with one ever again comes back with a roaring vengeance.

Sighing heavily as he comes to a resolute decision, he glances out towards the distant albeit fast approaching shore and steep hills beyond.

Time to catch up with the Dawnguard. They can deal with this, and I can go back to not giving a damn about Scrolls or prophecies.

A final thought concerns him. I really hope Serana keeps her promise...

Notes:

After the monster of the previous chapter, I was writing the next one when I decided to split it up, although I couldn't decide where to put it. I ended up with this much smaller chapter.

Also, after doing some research on royalty family structure, I decided that Harkon is a Duke, Valerica is a Duchess (wife), Serana is a Lady (daughter). I know the lore says he was a king prior to becoming a pureblooded vampire, but I feel the Duke title fits better.

Chapter 10: Reunions

Summary:

As time passes, Maxwell reconnects with the Dawnguard. Later, Serana finds Maxwell and the meeting leads to…something.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, Death, Violence. Reference to beheading.

As the season changes from late autumn to just after mid-winter, with snow becoming a common sight on the ground, and the weather grows several degrees colder, the general ambience of the various Dawnguard activities are abruptly interrupted by a booming shout. Everyone within range halts what they are doing, some looking at each other with surprise.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Isran’s words echo around the ancient fortress, as Maxwell explains to him in not so many words that he just escorted an ancient vampiress with an ancient artefact to her father in his ancient fortress. Maxwell opted to keep it simple and leave out certain details, including their entire detour to Solitude. Thank fuck I didn't include that I escorted her into the capital, he'd probably lose it completely.

As he collapses into the nearby chair, the wrinkled Redguard mutters. “By the Nine, what have you done…”

Maxwell remains silent, unable to offer anything of substance.

Around their leader, the others have varying reactions to Maxwell's news. Agmaer is looking shocked to the core, Sorine is nonplussed with her eyebrows almost rocketing off her face, and Gunmar is blankly staring at Maxwell like he’s grown a second head. Durak, the Orsimer who escorted him to meet Isran and the others, stands like a statue in the corner, his expression unreadable.

Agmaer is the first to find his voice “There’s no fucking way you willingly escorted a fucking vampire with a fucking Elder Scroll to its home!!!”

Gunmar adds, his tone dancing between disbelief and shock “It must have entranced you somehow, that’s the only logical explanation. Why it didn’t just kill you from the beginning, or feed on you since then, that’s what I can’t understand.”

Opting to ask a question of his own, he pipes up. “What do you know of the Volkihars?”

“They’re one of the oldest and most powerful vampire families that exist in Tamriel.” Isran explains, without missing a beat as he looks at Maxwell from the chair “They rule from that damned island stronghold of theirs. They’ve been quiet until recently.”

Maxwell raises an eyebrow, which Isran notices. He continues in his gruff voice, gesturing slightly with his hand.

“Remember the vampires that attacked the Hall of the Vigilants, and were also sniffing about those ruins we went to? Those were allies of theirs, led by several of the Volkihar clan.”

Well, shit. That makes sense.

“How come they aren’t affected by the disease?”

Isran curiously looks at him, eyebrows raised slightly at the question. He gestures for Maxwell to continue.

“I thought, after time, the disease – Sanguinaire Vampiris – if not cured in time, takes over and they become feral beasts. She didn’t show any of that.”

He considers Maxwell's question, before answering “The Volkihar family are pure-bloods.”

“Wha…what does that even mean?” He asks, confused.

“We don’t know, exactly. Only that they are unlike your average vampire. Stronger, faster. We think they get their vampirism from the source.”

Pure blood? Oh, fuck me sideways. I’ve escorted an ancient, pure blooded royal vampire across the breadth of Skyrim…and who knows my secret.

Isran's sentence breaks his thought process. Vampirism has a source?

“The source?” he asks, his cadence one of questioning.

“From Molag Bal, although we don't know exactly what the process entails.” Isran responds, without missing a beat.

His spine shivers at the mention of the Daedric Prince of Domination. One of the worst ones out there.

As Maxwell internally freaks out, Isran continues “Going back to Gunmar’s point, it must have hypnotised you, when you released it. There’s no way you’d willingly escort it and deliver a fucking Elder Scroll to its coven.”

Maxwell opens his mouth to counter, before closing his mouth again, as he recalls everything from their initial encounter and subsequent journey. Everything he saw doesn’t make sense.

We agreed no harm to each other, and she kept her word….yeah, she cast that spell to understand and allow us to communicate…she drank blood from a vial and didn’t consume blood to try and put me at ease…hell, she even protected me during fights.

Thinking about any odd behaviour during their entire trip, the memory of the handshake in Helgen comes to mind. Wait…back in Helgen…that handshake, her stare, the confusion…

As he realises what transpired in that moment, an anger swells up within him as his face contorts. Isran notices the myriad of emotions playing across his face.

“Ah…so it did. Remember lad, it’s an ancient Vampiress, and a Volkihar at that. They’re powerful, and deceptive.”

“Apparently so.” Maxwell sullenly agrees through gritted teeth.

Sorine, finally finding her voice, states “What I don’t understand, though….is why they let you go. Knowing what you know, you should be dead.”

Agmaer grunts in agreement, and Gunmar nods. Maxwell rubs his neck and sighs.

“Well, actually…I have run into several vampires, before I ran into one of your associates on the road who kindly stepped in. I thought I was imagining it...”

Isran raises a bushy eyebrow. Maxwell responds, lowering his hand and attempting to keep his tone neutral “…They’ve been dealt with.”

Sorine and Agmaer look at each other, Gunmar looks impressed, Durak looks stoic, and Isran’s eyes glisten slightly in admiration, before being replaced by his own stoic look and a frown. “Well whatever, this does not bode well… the timing of what you’ve told us can’t be co-incidental. We’ve heard rumours from Riften of a Moth Priest passing through into Skyrim.”

The term doesn’t ring a bell for him.

“Who is that?” Agmaer asks, inquisitively, as he looks to Isran.

Durak interjects “They’re a religious order based out of the Imperial City. They seek out, collect and look after Elder Scrolls, and are able to read them.”

“You don’t think…” Agmaer starts to say, before stopping as Isran holds up a hand. After a few moments of tension, as a realisation dawns on everyone, Isran immediately stands up and states authoritatively "We need to find that Moth Priest before they do.”

Turning to the blonde-haired Nord standing cross-armed beside him.

“Agmaer, take Sorine and Gunnar to the war room. I’ll be along shortly.”

As Sorine leads the way, the three go through the door, leaving Durak, Isran and Maxwell.

Turning to Maxwell, he states “As for you…gah, even after you’ve done, the information you’ve given is invaluable and it’s evident you have skills that we need. Join us.”

Maxwell huffs in indignation. The implication of what this conversation has alluded to hasn’t helped at all, and Isran’s offer is the final nail in the coffin of something that he's kept buried for years.

Man, fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“Look, do with the information as you please. I’m out.”

“What do you mean, you’re out?” Isran retorts, eyebrows raised in surprised; not expecting the candid response. Durak looks mildly surprised as well, uncrossing his arms.

“I’m out, I’m done. I’m not joining your cause. After what happened, I simply came to deliver the information to the professionals and leave.”

A thought appears, and he adds “And…to claim on your debt.”

“Debt?” Isran repeats, slightly confused.

“Technically, you still owe me 500 gold and my horse.”

Isran’s frown twists into confusion before realisation sets in and is replaced by a stern look. He spits at the ground.

“After what you’ve done? You’re damned lucky I haven’t knocked you on your arse.”

Maxwell bristles at the threat but remains resolute. “And you’re damned lucky I was willing to travel all of this way to give you this information.”

Isran glares at him, before recognising the validity of what Maxwell says. Sighing heavily, he turns to the Orc to his side.

“Durak, give him 600 septims from our coffers, and then escort him out of here.” He turns to Maxwell “Your horse isn’t here, and we can’t spare one. Your stuff on it was taken as we presumed you dead.”

Go figure.

“Now go, as I need to try and sort out this debacle.” Isran dismisses him, as he stomps off towards the war room. Maxwell stares at the disappearing form of the Redguard, before a grunt from the Orc grabs his attention.

--

As Durak silently leads Maxwell from the vault and to the main door, they run into Keeper Carcette standing idly by the large wooden doors. She stands up straight as she sees them approach.

“Durak, please could you give us a minute.” Carcette politely asks, looking at the Orsimer with a knowing look. Durak looks at her then at Maxwell, then nods once before standing aside.

“Good to see you alive, Maxwell.” A momentary glance of sincerity on her face as she looks to Maxwell.

“Likewise, Carcette. It’s been a while.” He responds casually. “You’re looking better.”

She nods, before her expression devolves into one of concern.

“I’ve heard the rumours about what’s transpired. Is it true what they’re saying?” She fervently asks.

Maxwell considers his next words before throwing caution to the wind “Yes, you’ve heard correct. I’ve escorted an ancient pure-blood vampiress to the island fortress of her pure-blood father, and yes she had an Elder Scroll.”

Carcette’s reaction reminds her of Isran for a moment. “By Stendarr’s Grace, what were you thinking?!”

“Isran seems to think I was entranced”.

“What do you think?” She quizzes, a hint of suspicion in her tone.

He hesitantly shrugs before sighing and rubbing his nape “I…I don’t know. I have to agree, it makes sense.”

She looks at him curiously, but nods in understanding as she sighs.

“If it’s part of the Volkihar clan, you’re lucky you survived. I don’t understand why they let you go, but thank the Divines they did otherwise we’d be in the dark.”

She pauses, before grasping him on the arm “Well, despite the circumstances it was good to see you again. Take care of yourself out there, Maxwell.” She solemnly says, before nodding to Durak and walking back into the fort, leaving them alone. Maxwell stares after her, watching her form disappear around the corner, before the Orc grunts once, getting his attention.

----

Ten days later, in the northern part of the Whiterun hold well after night has fallen and the moons and stars are out, Maxwell grunts in pain as he draws his summoned bow once more and aims towards the Bosmer vampiress who has accosted him and is toying with him, having scored several scratch and dagger marks along his leather armour.

As he fires, the Bosmer deftly dodges out the way again. The Bosmer flashes an evil grin, showing a fang or two before she starts stalking towards him once more, her eyes filled with playful malice and dagger in hand.

As he pulls back on the string once more, her eyes suddenly glance over his shoulder, and they widen as her expression changes from malice-laced playfulness to recognition mixed with surprise. As the Bosmer begins snarling, louder than before, the whizz of several icicles slicing through the air shoot past Maxwell and slam into the snarling vampiress, the crunching of flesh and bone and armour happening in quick succession.

As his dumbfounded senses finally kick in, he spins on the spot whilst holding back the ethereal string back on the bound bow. The shock of recognising the familiar form of the individual is the only thing that stops him from firing.

"...Hey, Maxwell...." the familiar feminine figure quietly states as she lowers her frost-covered hand, with her braided wine-red auburn hair down. Loose ends, like her cape, billow slightly in the in the slow cold breeze, and combined moonlight and starlight illuminate her almost porcelain features. She has a serious look in her amber eyes that stare at him, although her lips are slightly curled upwards.

 Maxwell stares at Serana in utmost surprise and shock, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he lessens the bow’s tension.

Before he can say anything, she pulls out and throws a sizeable bag of precious gems that clack as the pouch lands on the snow-covered ground. “What I owe you.”

As he stares at the pouch, laying softly in the small snowy crater from where it landed, he eventually finds his voice. "Serana…what the fuck are you doing here??"

Her humorous remark that she had planned to say dies in her throat, as she wasn’t expecting that response. She frowns slightly before saying "I need to talk to you."

A thousand things run through his mind, but he settles on the following. He shouts as he gesticulates, the bow winking out of existence as his concentration is broken.

"And why the fuck would I do that? Ever since I freed you, it’s been nothing but trouble. I've had fucking vampires hunting me down ever since I left the castle!!” A worrying thought creeps up” Did you tell your father about my past?!” he demands.

She frowns further, a look of concern on her features.

“No, not even when he pestered me about you. He knows I wasn’t telling him everything, but I know how to placate him.”

He considers her response before asking the question he really wanted to ask.

“There’s something else I need to know.” He states, with thinly veiled anger. Levelling his narrowed eyes to hers, he aggrievedly asks “Did you entrance or charm me, when we first met?”

She hesitates and raises her pristine eyebrows in surprise, not expecting this question. As she furtively glances between his narrowed eyes, she pleads “Maxwell, I didn’t. That spell was only the Tongues spell to allow me to understand you. We also swore an agreement to do no harm to each other.”

“And in Helgen?” he spits out.

Her countenance drops completely and her amber eyes widen, realising she’s been made. “That was…” she begins squirming, her hands wringing over and over.

After a tense few moments, she sighs heavily before quietly stating “I was going to be alone in an unfamiliar time, a long way from home. You were going to leave me…I…I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What, exactly, did you do?” he tensely asks.

“I…modified your memory, only to make you forget about leaving me and to make you think you willingly agreed to escort me home. That’s it, I swear.” Taking a deep breath, she continues. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“And the vampires hunting me down?”

“That's my father's doing. I swear, I didn’t know he was behind that. I only became aware after some of the lower court members didn’t come back.”

“How did you find me?”

“I’ve been traversing the area for the last few days, until I heard the fighting. As I got closer, I could smell you.”

He raises an eyebrow. What the hell does that mean? He’s so lost in that thought, he doesn’t think to ask how she had covered so much terrain in such a short period of time.

“What do you mean by that?”

She cocks her head slightly, but continues “You…have a scent. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like ash.”

The way Harkon looked at him makes sense now. As his eyes bulge out of his head as he processes this factoid, she sighs "Look, things are not what I thought, at all. My father, is not who I remember. I....I need your help.”

Breaking out of his stupor, he asks in a dangerously neutral tone, "With what?”

Her next words cause his heart to plummet through the ground to the depths of Blackreach.

"To stop my father, and prevent him from completing a prophecy called the Tyranny of the Sun."

After he stares at her in bewilderment, he suddenly laughs like a maniac into the air. After a minute, his laughter stops and he stares at her with intent. “You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I was.” She replies, solemnly. Arms crossed, as though hugging herself. The action accentuating her lithe form.

As he glances upwards towards the bright night sky, he thinks to whatever Aedra, Divines and gods know what else may be listening. You’re fucking kidding me, right? Haven’t I been through enough in my fucking life?!

As he holds his gaze up before turning to look at her once more, he states. "Serana, you know exactly what, and who, I lost because of a damn scroll and prophecy..."

"I know, and I’m so sorry. You experienced something truly horrible. But I…I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“Those damn things are fucking cursed. Ever since…"

He takes a moment to compose himself before speaking more neutrally “Ever since Lydia died and after I did to Ulfric when I cut off his head...I've had it with the fucking things.” 

Her reaction to his confession stirs something in him.

“…you hate the scrolls because of what happened.” She sombrely adds” Believe me; I know how you feel.”

He demands "Oh really? How could you possibly know?"

She stares at him, her gaze deadly serious before softening.

"Look what this damn prophecy has done to my family. You’ve seen my father and how he reacted to the Scroll; he’s completely delusional. He’s lost his sanity over it. My mother was no better. They’d argue, for hours on end. Eventually they just stopped talking." She seems to hug herself again, as she explains.

"I can't do this on my own, Maxwell…I need your help….” she forces out.

Those words twinge at the strings of his former self, prompting that ever-so familiar desire to help those in need to reappear. Shaking his head, he demands with a knowing tone. "Why me?"

Her answer shocks him, not at all what he was expecting her to say.

“Because you've already proven you are reliable, and trustworthy, but most importantly there's something about you…you care. You remember what Queen Elisif said, with Potema Septim. You remember Ivarstead. When you mercy killed your injured gelding. That bard, Talsgar, told me about what you did, hunting down the dragons that ravaged this land.”

She pauses for her words to sink in, and seeing Maxwell look bemused she continues.

“Yes, you may have hardened your heart because of what you went through, but beneath that I can tell you are still the same man. The man who cares, who helps those in need. You agreed to help me before when you first found me, even though you could have easily killed me. That’s a unique strength of character.”

Her words resonate within, cutting a swathe through his anger and opening the way for his emotional turmoil to seep out. His cadence softening slightly as a more tearful tone bleeds through, he states “Serana…you know what I lost…who I lost…” his voice begins to break.

Opting to try something else, armed with a question she’s had since his past was revealed.

“Let me ask you this...after the storm, you’ve stayed in Skyrim even though you’ve always had the opportunity to leave. Yes, living a new life as a hunter away from civilisation, but here nonetheless...why are you still in Skyrim?"

That...was a hell of a question.

And the answer is not one he wants to reveal to anyone, not even her.

The slow cold wind passes through the pair, blowing up a bit of snow that dances between them. Serana gazes intently at Maxwell, who is staring back but unfocused.

After about a minute of this, he groans and drops his shoulders, mostly from the heaviness of what she’s asking of him.

“My camp…it’s just behind that tree line. Wait for me there. I need…” Maxwell gestures haphazardly behind him, before running his hand on his taut shoulder in resignation and leaving the sentence to waft away in the breeze. She considers him but quietly nods, before striding away with barely a crunch in the snow, and leaving him alone with his emotional turmoil.

--

The next half an hour passes slowly by, Serana remains impassively at his campsite, stoking the fire every so often to keep it alive against the cold. Thanks to her vampiric hearing she can hear Maxwell pacing back and forth and muttering to himself from time to time.

A sudden piercing yell breaks the monotonous silence, which attracts her immediate attention. As she scrambles back towards him, Maxwell is kneeling on the snow-covered ground, head and shoulders dropped. The snow tracks showing just how much pacing he had been doing.

“Fine…” he sullenly states. “If I do this, a few conditions. Tell me what you know, the whole truth. No more spells on me, ever. And questions about my former life are off limits.”

She dejectedly agrees, but adds “A condition of my own: the details of my vampirism are off-limits.”

“...Agreed.” He had wanted to ask about her vampirism following what Isran revealed, but to keep the peace he agrees.

Standing up and half-heartedly dusting the snow off of his soaked knees, he gestures behind her.

“Let’s go back to my camp, then we can talk as I warm up.” as a shiver runs through him after being so long from the heat source.

She follows quietly, footsteps barely making a noise on the fallen snow.

As he sits on the log near the welcoming fire, he gestures to the opposite side, where she sits down as well. Noticing her shift slightly, he asks “I gather you have the Scroll?”

She nods, and dismisses the invisibility on it. The artefact appears strapped on her back. His heartrate elevates.

“Alright, tell me about this prophecy.” Willing his heartrate back to normal.

“If you recall, I said my family is dysfunctional. They were never always like that, but things happened and they became distant. Since…” She pauses” we became vampires; they became even more distant. Then my father found out about this particular prophecy called the Tyranny of the Sun, and he’s completely lost himself in it. My mother began arguing with him over the years, and it devolved from there…”

“And the prophecy itself?” He repeats.

“I don’t know the full prophecy, only the specific part that he’s become obsessed with. It said that vampires would no longer need to fear the sun. Through this prophecy, vampires would – somehow - be able to control the sun… “

“That…that’s….insane.” He stammers, realising the scope and ramifications of the sun being blotted out. He rambles “Blotting out the sun would impact plant life, which would affect animals and therefore us. The food chain would collapse….”

“Now you see why he needs to be stopped.”

“What about your mother? What were her thoughts on all of this?”

“As far as I know, she vehemently disagreed with this. Why though, I really don’t know. We rarely spoke like before. She always seemed to have her own agenda. One day, after not being around for a while, she appeared in my room and demanded that I leave with her. She then teleported us to where you found me, with one of the scrolls.”

His stomach figuratively drops out of him and thuds on the floor. Struggling to speak, he manages to force out in a quiet voice.

“…one of?”

She cocks her head at his reaction, but continues “There was another. She took off with both when we fled the castle. Where she, and it, went…I don’t know.”

Oh, fuck me sideways, now there’s TWO of them involved?!

“Any other revelations you care to share!?” he shouts as he throws up his hands.

Serana looks astonished at his reaction, before adding.

“I was entombed at least a thousand years ago, and can understand you now without the Tongues spell.” she quietly adds.

He pauses his gesticulating and stares at her, his expression becoming unreadable.

A thousand years? And it had to be me to find and free you. This is a joke by the Divines, right?

He glances up to the starry sky once more. Whoever you are, up there, behind all of this….this isn’t funny in the fucking slightest.

He falls to sit on the log, head in hands. After a few moments, he mutters through his hands.

“I heard a rumour that a Moth Priest entered Skyrim. Is that your father’s doing?”

“Yes, he’s after one as they can read the scroll. He had a rumour spread of the scroll being near Morthal. That’s partly why I had to find you so quickly.”

Making a decision, he stands up as he starts to throw snow on the fire, which starts fizzling out. As he does so, he states. “We go to Rorikstead first.”

“Why? We need to get to Morthal” She asks with raised eyebrows.

He stares at her, before responding “I buried some things out there from…before. I’m going to need them.”

“Understood.” She meekly says.

“After that…Morthal for the Moth Priest…then the Dawnguard.”

Now it’s Serana’s turn to stare at him, this time incredulously.

“Wait…the Dawnguard?! That vampire hunter guild who hired you?! You can’t mean that…”

Maxwell remains resolute. She continues, beginning to shout as the fear becomes evident in her voice “Maxwell, I’m a vampire. They’re vampire hunters. They’ll kill me the second they lay eyes on me!”

“Yes, but not if you’re under my protection.”

She stares at him in bewilderment.

“But, would they take you at your word?”

“They will if I reveal I’m Haldrin.”

She stands aghast.

“But…”

Holding up a hand that quietens her, he states “Don’t get me wrong, I have serious misgivings about you. Especially with what you did in Helgen. But…”

He exhales heavily, rubbing his neck.

“Even after all that, you never harmed me, in fact saving my life a few times. Now with the Bosmer, the statues and undead underground, the werewolf, the bandits and the Forsworn. You willingly didn’t seek out blood whilst we travelled, to try and put me at ease. I saw how you reacted when we met, and when we got to your home, as well as when…certain things happened. And even when you found out my past, I remember what you said and promised. If you were truly evil, you wouldn’t have any of that, let alone all of them. There’s something different about you...”

As he lists the reasons verbally, a small voice repeats an earlier comment of hers.

She was alone, in an unfamiliar time and surrounded by strangers. Can you really blame her for wanting to keep you around after rescuing her?

He continues “I’m not saying all is forgiven…but I do want to trust your intentions.”

Her expression visibly relaxes, as though a weight is lifted off her shoulders.

“But if we are to stop your father, we will need the help and resources of the Dawnguard. If I’m trusting you on what you’re saying, you need to trust me on this.”

She nervously swallows at his statement. He had a point, but it was a horrible prospect and not what she was hoping for. In the midst of her panicked thought process, a realisation occurs. Her amber eyes, soft yet searching, look to his own.

“You’d reveal your existence to them…for me?”

He considers her reaction before sighing and shrugging.

“Believe me, I’d rather not…but it’s the only way I can think of that should hopefully convince them not to kill you on the spot, even if I explain the other reasons.”

Her expression becomes one of genuine sympathy mixed with sincerity at his proposed action.

“Where are the Dawnguard based?”

“Near Riften, in a valley in the area.”

She considers his answer, before stating. “I’m going to place a Mark here.”

As he looks at her, she adds “Time is of the essence, this’ll cut down our travel time once we find the Moth Priest.”

“…good idea.”

As he continues his actions, he pauses. Looking to her, he asks “Serana…about blood…”

“Don’t worry, I thought of that.” She pulls out a string of blood vials, more than she had before; the red showing against the paleness of her hand.

“Besides, I’m sure between us, we can rustle up some bandits” she says with a smirk.

“And if we don’t?”

“Maxwell, seriously, I’ll manage. Don’t worry” she responds, signifying the end of this conversation.

As she stows the vials then moves slightly away to cast the spell, Maxwell finishes covering the fire with snow and packing up what little he had taken out before the Bosmer appeared, before alighting his horse which whinnies slightly. Walking his horse to in front of Serana who has just finished placing the Mark, he rests his hands in front of him and studies her before sighing and offering his hand, which she takes with an extremely weak smile before alighting behind him.

Once she's settled, she nods and he urges his horse on into the night, vehemently wishing he'd never fucking taken that damn coin in the first place, and regretting he sold the other horse shortly after leaving the castle.

Notes:

Hopefully you enjoy this chapter, I sure did!

The next one won’t be up for some time, as stuff is happening IRL and I need to deal with them before continuing. Do not despair though, I have been writing out future chapters in preparation, so once IRL stuff is done I'll be back to posting.

As ever, thanks for all the kudos!

Chapter 11: Priest

Summary:

After the brief detour to Rorikstead, Maxwell and Serana ride for Morthal.

Notes:

TW: Violence, death, blood, more death, more violence, more blood. Also swearing.
Basically, this is a very bloody, violent chapter.

Several days of hard riding later, they reach the outskirts of Rorikstead as evening turns to night. The atmosphere between the two during this time is tense, compared to the relaxed one between them during their initial journey; aside from the moments at Whiterun and Ivarstead.

As they ride to the eastern hill he’d gazed when they passed through previously, each passing moment makes Maxwell grow in trepidation at what lies ahead. After coming to a stop not far from his destination, he casts a Candlelight before dismounting.

“Stay here Serana…I’ll be back shortly.”

“Ok, Maxwell” she replies neutrally, as he passes the reins over. She casts her own Magelight spell as he departs around the rocky outcropping, his Candlelight fading behind the geology.

A few minutes later, he arrives at the spot where two rocks meet to form a nestled hidden cove. He kneels, and begins digging barehanded through the snow and then dirt. Eventually, despite tiredness and coldness seeping into him, his hands fall upon the buried chest. He downs a potion of Stamina, which also helps abate some of the nervous feeling that’s been building. After hauling up the locked wooden chest, he places his head on it in resignation before cracking the lock and opening it up to reveal the long-buried contents of a life he left.

Serana is now standing by his horse, gently stroking the beast’s maw every so often as it recovers from the hard ride. After about half an hour, the approaching light and sounds of Maxwell’s footsteps reach her heightened senses. As he comes around the rocky outcropping with a Candlelight hovering over him, the difference is stark. In place of his leather armour, he’s now wearing enchanted glass armour and a helmet. His gaze is on her but he seems distant.

In his hands, a number of items – two long, one small – are tightly wrapped and bound in cloth.

She also can’t help but stare as she senses a myriad of magic energies coming from what he’s wearing and in his hands. The silence is solemn aside from the crunching of snow under Maxwell’s footsteps and the breathing of the horse. As he comes to a stop near her, he gives her a curt nod as he exhales from the exertion and places the cloth items on the nearby snow-covered rock. He takes off his helmet and puts it alongside.

“I can sense the enchantments from here.” She states with a gentle tone, trying to diffuse the tensioned silence between them.

He looks over at her with a curious look before shrugging. As he starts to unwrap the items, she looks with curiosity at each one.

The first one is a straight ebony sword in a plain looking sheathe. As he pulls it out, it glows a very dull red like the dying embers of a fire. He checks it over before sheathing and strapping it to his waist.

One is an ornate bow with a polished metal inset. There’s also a moderate bundle of finely carved arrows sticking out of a leather quiver, and as he pulls out a couple of them they are tipped in the blackest material which Serana instantly recognises as ebony. He checks the bow’s tension before inspecting the extracted arrows, before placing both in his pack.

The last one chinks slightly as he unwraps it. Unravelling reveals a pair of enchanted gem necklaces, far more ornate than Liral’s one from the bandit camp. The central gem is a deep red square ruby that also glows a slightly ember red. Set in gold, and the chain is a slim chain of finely crafted gold.

He pulls and lifts one up and gazes into it, thumbing the gem a few times before placing it around his neck and tucking it within his enchanted armour. He then picks up the other and holds it out for Serana.

Dumbfounded, she squeaks out. “Wait…for me?”

He nods.

“…are you sure?”

He offers a wry half smile. “I don’t mind. It’ll probably come in useful.”

“What’s the enchantment, specifically? It's like a ward” she politely asks, as she takes it from him and inspects it. As he places the cloth with the others and bundles them up, he answers neutrally.

“Pretty much. It provides a strong and permanent boost of resistance to incoming spells when wearing it. A unique gift from the College of Winterhold for when…” he stops speaking, realising he’s waffling.

A question slips from her as she places it around her neck “Why did you bury it out here? Whiterun was your home.”

He pauses his action.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”

As he throws the now useless cloth pieces aside, he turns to look at her, his gaze neutral. “This is a special place for me. That’s all you need to know.”

As he straightens out his armour and does a final check, Serana contemplates something. In silence, she dispels the invisibility, takes off the now visible Elder Scroll and holds it out to him. His reaction is one of shock, scanning her amber eyes for meaning.

“I trust you with it. Besides, if we’re going against my father’s court I’d rather not risk them seeing it, and I’ll be less encumbered without it.”

He slowly nods, before hesitantly taking it. The weight of it, causing a rush of emotion and memory from when he held the one that he learnt Dragonrend from. He quickly stows it in his enchanted pack, where even with the weight reduction it still feels like he’s carrying it on his shoulders.

--

After a couple of days and nights of hard riding, they approach the road to Morthal as midnight approaches.

“Tell me again why your father wouldn’t take the priest back to the Castle?” Maxwell asks, still confused on their current topic.

“It would be much easier to break his spirit and enthral him as soon as he was captured, before taking...” Serana suddenly stops talking, and after a tense moment taps Maxwell on the shoulder. As he slows his horse to a stop and looks behind, her gaze is fixed ahead and nose flaring ever so slightly.

“Blood ahead. A lot of it.”

Maxwell considers her before nodding “Let’s get off here and leave my horse here.”

She nods before silently jumping off. Tying his horse up some distance off the path and patting it’s snout a few times, and putting on his helmet before drawing his ebony sword, they approach the location of the fight. In the moonlight, it’s a scene of utter carnage. Many guards, in heavy armour adorned with a dragon head motif, and horses are scattered everywhere. The cart is overturned and its contents spilt and rummaged through. Blood is everywhere, and a couple of the bodies are dismembered.

“Their armour is from the Imperial City, I recognise the motif. This is no doubt the Moth Priest’s escort.” Maxwell states. He soon kneels closer to the ground, as he studies the snow-covered ground, before passing a gloved finger over a couple of the footprints. “The blood is fresh, maybe less than an hour old? I’m counting at least a dozen. I’m not seeing anyone else here, so they took the priest alive.”

Damn, if we hadn’t stopped in Rorikstead we’d have intercepted the priest! But I needed to get my gear. I hope we’re not too late…

Scanning around, he soon spots some disturbances leading away. It looks like the tracks had attempted to be swept away and covered. Serana appears beside him, gazing in that direction. She sniffs once before stating “They took him that way. There’s more blood in that direction.” Maxwell nods in assent and leads the way.

After a few furtive minutes of following the marks and small drops of blood, they come up to a large rock outcropping. Serana points to a particular part. As they approach, warily keeping an eye out for guards, he quickly asks.

“Can we save those that are enthralled?”

“No, they will be too far gone.”

“And the Priest?”

“If we’re quick enough. Let’s hurry.”

There’s a hidden entrance just behind the rock. Surprisingly, no one standing guard. Looking into the dark maw that is the entrance, they pull back slightly.

“I’m going to cast a Magelight.” She states, raising a hand.

“No, don’t” he quickly responds.

She looks at him in confusion. He explains “It might give us away”

“But how are you going to see? It’s dark in there. Not an issue for me but for you…”

He rummages in his pack quickly, and pulls out a potion. Holding it out to her, the yellow contents swirling. “Remember our chat about alchemy?”

She looks at it for a moment before recognition flashes across her face. “The night vision potion? You...actually tried it?” she raises an eyebrow with a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Well yeah” he says, nodding slightly “Seemed like a good idea to try it out at some point.”

He downs it, and closes his eyes. After a moment, he opens them. Furtively glancing around, he lightly groans. “…it’s not worked.”

“You must have prepared it incorrectly.”

“I followed the instructions as you gave me.”

“Including fresh Gaddar Root, cut straight from the plant?”

“…it was a dried cutting.” He admits.

“No, it has to be cut straight from the plant and used immediately. The fluids are the key component.”

“Well…shit. That’s a waste.” He thinks for a moment.

“I guess that only leaves this.” He closes his eyes once more, before breathing deeply and quietly muttering “Aak Miin Vulom”.

As he opens his eyes, Serana stares in surprise. His soft brown eyes have now been completely replaced with jet black eyes, like that of a dragon. His pupils, unrecognisable.

“What…” she quietly breathes out.

“A Shout that allows me to see in the dark.” He responds, glancing at her. The feeling she gets when staring in to the dark abyss that is now his eyes is one of strange unease, which she mentally shakes off.

“Why use the potion then?” the question escapes her lips.

“It takes concentration to maintain the effect.” He responds without missing a beat.

She nods. A quietness descends as they ready to enter, before she adds nonchalantly “So, I’m not the only one who can change the colour of their eyes?”

She glances over, and his dark eyes are unreadable, but the rest of his face indicates realisation.

“I guess not.” His lips curl up slightly. “After you.”

 

As they enter, she whispers “Maxwell, I need to know: Are you okay if I resurrect bodies?”

He grimaces. He had forgotten she could do that, given she never did it during the journey. He also hated the thought of defiling bodies, but given what they’re up against logic override emotion.

“If we get spotted, then yes. An extra body or two will help. Until then, hold off.”

She nods in agreement.

For Maxwell, every detail within is illuminated as though lit by a strong Candlelight spell, although with a slightly greyed tone. Following the twisting passageway, it leads to several small rooms which are all empty. Maxwell can’t help but admire just how quiet Serana is as she slinks through the shadows. Figures.

Serana quietly comments at one corner “It must be Sindra that’s in charge, she’s always been a bit of an idiot. Not leaving sentries outside? Sounds like something she would do.”

 

---

 

Soon, the tunnel opens up into a large chamber, lit by various light sources which bathe it in a low glow. An ancient stone fort, built within the room. It strongly reminds Maxwell of Wolf Skull Cave, but this one is a lot smaller. He dismisses the memory as quickly as it appears.

On the left, various dogs and a couple of thralls meander about. On the walls, yet more thralls. At the top, a shimmering white portal, surrounded by a lot of individuals.

Gesturing to fall back slightly, he quietly mutters “What in Oblivion is this place?”

“I think it’s one of my father’s forts” Serana responds, just as quietly with a slight degree of amazement.

“One of your father’s? Why would he need an underground fort?”

She looks at him, brow furrowing as she thinks. “Must be from…before.”

He considers her action before shrugging. “One problem at a time. I’m guessing the moth priest is up there in the shimmering ward, surrounded by all those individuals.”

Serana nods. “They’re trying to enthral him as I said on the road. We need to hurry. He doesn’t have long.”

Maxwell considers their options carefully. As soon as they do anything that draws attention, they’ll alert everyone and then all hell will break loose. They need to keep a low profile for as long as possible. Which means getting closer, which means dealing with those death hounds and thralls on the lower flank.

“Quietness is our friend. Let’s take out those death hounds first and thralls on the left first, and take it from there.”

He pulls out his ornate bow and several ebony arrows, turns the corner quickly, slowly descends the stairs to get into a better position, quietly shouts “TIID” and starts firing off arrow after arrow in quick succession.

The arrows fly absolutely silent through the air, and the death hounds and thralls drop dead without a sound. As the shout wears off and the time returns to normal, there’s no immediate reaction from anywhere on or in the fort. Serana silently appears right beside him, causing him to jump slightly.

“Nice aim.” Serana whispers quietly, slightly impressed.

“Thanks. I wouldn’t be a decent hunter if I couldn’t hit my targets.” He quips.

“The enchantment…muffle?”

He nods before whispering “On the bow, yes. Summoned bow makes a noise.”

Silent castings of ice and shooting of more muffled ebony arrows gets them closer to the outer wall. However, after skirting this outlying wall, a loud yell from above breaks the silence as one of the vampires higher up spots them and points in their direction. As yells start emanating from within the fort, Maxwell glances to Serana as he stows his bow and arrows and draws his ebony sword. “Well shit! There goes our advantage. Time to go loud.”

She nods, before she summons lightning in one hand and a red mist appears in her other as she resurrects a couple of the killed thralls near them.

The cave soon becomes alive with the loud sounds of combat. Throaty yells, screams, crackling sounds, loud thuds, Shouts.

After a hard 5 minute slog from the outer wall to near the top of the central tower, after carving and Shouting his way through the mass of thralls and a few lower vampires, Maxwell finds himself between two more thralls - a heavy set Nord with a large battleaxe and a nimble Argonian with a shortsword - and a Dunmer male vampire in regal clothing throwing the odd spell, who now shifts his attention away from the resurrected Altmer thrall that Serana resurrected earlier.

Serana is above in her own combat, having pushed on to try and save the priest. The devastating noises of lightning, ice and other unworldly sounds reach the hunter’s sense of hearing, over the efforts of his own combat.

After dodging an icicle from the vampire, and a parry from the Nord, he manages to slices the sword-wielding hand off the Argonian with a quick upswing. The hand and sword fall to the floor, before the Argonian is stabbed cleanly through the gut. Seeing the vampire preparing another icicle, Maxwell Shouts "YOL TOOR SHUL" in its direction. It manages to duck behind a wide support pillar, the flames licking around the room and singing the bodies of the fallen thralls. Exhaustion from Shouting so much in quick succession builds up, but he mentally pushes on.

With the vampire distracted, he finally tries to deal with the Nord, which doesn’t go well. He yells as the Nord’s upwards axe swing glances off his sword, shoulder and helmet in quick succession, scoring the armour slightly and knocking his helmet clean off, which clatters to the floor. He stumbles into the wall from the energy behind the hit. As he lands against the wall, his eyes widen and the hunter ducks just in time to avoid the follow up axe swing, which instead of decapitating him thuds loudly into the stonework above him and gets stuck. Taking advantage of this, he quickly draws his ebony dagger from his belt and thrusts it into the heart of Nord, who barely registers the hit but eventually stumbles back.

As the now-dead Nord thuds to the ground, the large battle axe comically sticking out from between the cracked brick and the ebony dagger protruding from his chest, Maxwell barely has a moment to recuperate before the Dunmer is on him. Wrestling on the ground for a few moments, a fire blast on the vampire’s side causes enough of a distraction for the hunter to kick him in the gut and push him off. Rolling away and grabbing his fallen sword, Maxwell cleanly beheads the vampire.

As that one turns to purple dust, Maxwell breathes a heavy sigh of relief as sweat drips from his brow. As he scans the room just in case anything else was hiding in the shadows, the sounds of combat above continue. As he turns to quickly grab his helmet, the sight ahead stops him. A female Nord vampiress is descending the stairs on the other side with a modicum of authority. She begins casting something, her hand swirling with blue energy, as she locks her amber eyes on him. Serana is nowhere to be found, which concerns him. Maxwell steels himself and readies another Shout, despite the growing exhaustion and now aching muscles. Hence, he fails to Shout in time to stop the vampiress from casting her spell.

Rather than a destruction spell he was expecting, his perception shifts and he finds himself on a wooded bank of an endless river, rather than fighting thralls and vampires. The sounds of water and nature reaching his ears, the river’s edge lapping against his feet. He’s no longer wearing armour or weaponry, but rather a simple tunic and pants. The sun is shining. It’s peaceful. He could find himself relaxing here forever.

Yet…something doesn’t feel right. The souls he carries within him flare up like never before, like a fire that increases in intensity in a split second, overwhelming his senses and - more importantly – his perception. As they do, the illusion falters and his perception warps immediately back to reality.

 

The female Nord is striding towards him, her dagger drawn and aimed at his heart.

 

As Maxwell's eyes widen in horror, reflexes kick in and he manages to just drop slightly and raise an arm up, deflecting the dagger thrust to instead pierce his shoulder. It lands, deep, and pain immediately shoots throughout him. He emits a loud bloodcurdling yell, as the damage is done. The vampire is looking semi-annoyed at the mental spell being broken and the killing blow being deflected.

Before she can pull it out, an icicle whizzes from nowhere and hits her hand. The limb practically gets sliced off, with the dagger stuck in his shoulder, the hand falling to the floor and the ice smashing into the stone wall.

The female vampire howls in pain, before crackling lightning shocks her and cause her form to shiver uncontrollably and stumble back. She then gets body slammed by the resurrected Nord into the wall and stabbed in the gut by Maxwell’s dagger.

As the reanimated Nord slams both of them into the nearby wall, the female vampire latches a hand on the Nord’s shoulder in an effort to drain him and rejuvenate. Another icicle appears and slices that hand off as well, embedding itself in the back of the reanimated Nord. This earns another howl from the female vampire.

Maxwell breathes heavily and painfully, eyes semi-closed due to the pain as he slowly seats himself up into a more comfortable position. Serana reappears in front of him, genuine yet severe concern etched on her face and in her eyes.

“Maxwell!! Are you alright??” She frantically searches him, hands gently holding him.

“I’m fine….just a…stab wound” he breathes out the words through gritted teeth.

“Can I do anything?”

“Anyone…left?”

“No, just the priest and her.”

“Then please…kill the bitch….”

As he pulls off a glove and begins loosening his armour, Serana silently nods, her concern being replaced by a serious one, before standing up and strides over to the restrained vampire.

As silence falls on the room, aside from the warping sounds above, Maxwell’s laboured breathing and movements of the struggling female vampire under the reanimated Nord, Serana slowly stalks over. The female vampiress, restrained against the wall by the reanimated Nord and black blood seeping from both her severed wrists, snarls loudly at Serana.

As Maxwell grunts as the vampire's dagger is extricated, Serana monotonously states “Hello Sindra.”

“Lady Serana, you traitorous harlot. Working with this mortal against your father? Why? Do you want his throne??” The vampiress hisses, hatred on her face as she stares Serana down.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” She retorts, before summoning another icicle and sends it slamming into Sindra’s face, which explodes with a loud crunching before the body crumples to the ground and changing into purple dust. She also dismisses the reanimation spell, and the Nord drops dead again to the ground as well.

Now with Sindra's dagger out, he quickly takes off the pauldron and lays his left hand on the now bleeding wound and summons the healing spell. The glowing healing energy knits the wound together, and blood flow stops. What has bled out is reabsorbed. As he leans his head back and closes his eyes, a small gasp from Serana draws his attention. He notices her nose flaring ever so slightly, and amber eyes staring intently at his exposed scar covered shoulder. She’s holding his dagger, blood cleaned off. Concern momentarily flares up, before her next words completely reassure him.

“You’re not hurt anywhere else?” she manages to breath out, staring at the various scars along his exposed shoulder.

“I’m tired, and aching all over, but I’m okay…thank you” he tiredly responds, glancing up. He offers a weak smile, but Serana’s expression remains taut.

“…I’m sorry” she utters.

He looks her, confused. “What for?”

“For dragging you into this, for not being able to stop you from…getting injured.”

“Comes with the job.” He responds, the glow disappearing.

“But you shouldn’t have…” she glances down once more at his exposed, scarred shoulder, including the fresh one from the dagger.

“Another one for the collection, I guess.”

Serana quietly nods, her expression still taut.

He pauses his actions on donning his damaged pauldron, and looks at her.

“Serana, I’m fine. We’re fine. Okay?”

She nods. “I’ll, um, be upstairs.”

As she passes him, she stops and offers back his dagger, hilt first. He looks at it then her before gently taking it. She simply nods weakly before striding away, her cloak and hair flowing behind her.

 

As he re-secures his armour, he retrieves his fallen sword and helmet before grunting as he slowly ascends the stairs. The way she almost doted on him after being stabbed spark a few memories of Lydia doing the same thing, but he quickly dismisses those memories and focuses on the task at hand.

Alighting himself on open top of the tower, the shimmering ward quietly warping nearby, with the bearded monk standing stock still in the middle. His expression is unreadable, partly because of the shimmering and partly because of his far-off gaze.

There are several piles of purple dust around, with a lot of ice impact marks dotted about, as well as the extensively scorched and burnt unrecognisable remains of what must be thralls. He grimaces slightly, noting never to piss off his companion. Who is standing by some sort of stone pedestal, leaning against the wall. Her expression, incomprehensible.

“How do we…?” he gently asks as he approaches.

Serana quietly pushes something on the dais, and the shimmering ward dissipates into nothing. He simply nods, before starting to skirt around the pedestal. Her hand immediately shoots out, holding his upper arm. As he glances back, eyebrows raised, she drops her hand and quietly states “He’s enthralled, or at least in the beginning stages. Let me try and dispel it.”

She closes her eyes, breathes deeply once before throwing out her other hand. Opening her eyes, the amber irises flare up several times as a red and blue hued energy swirl around her hand. As they return to normal, she lowers her and exhales at the same time as the Moth Priest collapses to the ground as well.

She looks to Maxwell, and states “He’s okay, thankfully we got here in time before any permanent damage was done.”

Thank the Divines we got here when we did, although he grimaces at the lost time due to his detour to Rorikstead. He doesn’t regret it though; if he’d been wearing his previous gear and weapons he’d be dead. He does notice Serana is unusually subdued, which concerns him.

Cautiously approaching the wizened Moth Priest, wearing cream coloured robes and sporting an impressively large greyed beard, who is shaking his head as the effect wears off, Maxwell offers a hand. The priest takes his hand and is gently lifted to his feet.

In a sincere tone, the priest speaks as he straightens himself out “…thank you for breaking that foul vampire’s hold over me. It was strange, I could see through my eyes but yet I could not do anything. Very odd…”

“Are you alright?” Maxwell gently presses.

“I’m quite alright now, thanks to you. My name is Dexion Evicus, a Moth Priest of the White Gold Tower. You are…?”

“Pleasure to meet you, Dexion. I’m Maxwell, and this is Serana.” Gesturing to himself then to vampiress who approaches.

“My thanks to you as well, Serana.” As Dexion looks up, he notices her amber eyes, and makes a start. “Wha…!”

Maxwell places out a reassuring hand on the priest’s shoulder “It’s alright, she’s trustworthy. She’s with me.”

Dexion glances at Maxwell with a look of uncertainty, and he nods stoically.

“…I guess I’m still a little shaken. My apologies, Serana.”

“It’s quite alright. I promise to do you no harm.” She states with sincerity.

He seems surprised but relaxes at her promise. Maxwell smiles gratefully at Serana who responds with her own, before he turns back to the Moth Priest and asks “Do you know why these vampires captured you?”

Dexion considers him “I presume they had some nefarious purpose for me, but they didn’t allude to what. Are my guards…?”

Maxwell solemnly nods, and Dexion bows his head. Pausing to let him absorb the news, Maxwell presses “I know why they needed you; it’s because we need you for the same purpose.”

Dexion snaps to Maxwell, gazing intently. “You do? That’s…interesting. Alright then, enough mysteries. What is the reason for all of this?”

Maxwell takes a breath and states “We need you to read an Elder Scroll.”

Dexion studies him carefully “You have an Elder Scroll?” he pauses before exclaiming “Remarkable! The rumours are true! Do you happen to have it?”

Maxwell nods, and a moment passes as he pulls the legendary artefact out of his enchanted pack. Dexion’s breath catches in his throat and he gingerly places a hand on the ornate casing. His soft eyes, wide in awe, take in the sight of the artefact.

“Oh this is indeed remarkable!”

His excited expression soon wavers slightly. In a less enthused voice, Dexion states “I see now, the rumours were both a trap to lure me here and to get me to read the scroll for them. I’m presuming this is it?” Maxwell nods.

Dropping his hand, and looking to the pair, he speaks up. “What do you need of me?”

“There’s something in this that relates to a specific prophecy, one that involves vampires. We need you to read this scroll so that we can try and understand a few things, and attempt to stop it from happening.”

Dexion nods in understanding, before responding “Of course, although I’ll need to rest and do some preparation beforehand.”

“Not here.” Maxwell adds, shaking his head. “Too risky. We can escort you back to the Dawnguard. Are you familiar with them?”

Dexion frowns, scratching his beard in thought. “If my knowledge of history serves me well, I recall they are an ancient order of vampire hunters, based out somewhere near Riften?”

Maxwell nods in assent. “I have a horse not far from here. Do you need anything before we get out of here and escort you there?”

“If you have a stamina potion to spare, I would be most appreciative.”

Maxwell immediately pulls one out, after putting the Elder Scroll back. Dexion downs it, and he visibly looks several degrees more energised.

“Thank you once again” he offers the empty vial back to Maxwell, who pockets it, and looking with sincere appreciation to the vampiress “And to you as well Serana.”

“My, our pleasure” Maxwell replies, glancing to Serana who returns another smile.

As they walk back through the fort to the entrance, Maxwell picks up what ebony arrows he can recover. A half hour later, after retrieving some leftover water and food rations from the attacked carriage as well as some of the Moth Priest's belongings, Maxwell and Serana move and cover the bodies of the slain soldiers. Once ready, Serana Recalls them to her Mark where she reunited with Maxwell.

 

---

 

As the warping finishes, and everyone breathes in the cold air, Serana looks momentarily in pain. Maxwell notices and moves closer to her, with words in his throat before she holds a hand up.

“I’m fine” she offers a genuine yet weak smile, as she pulls out a blood vial and downs it. As she notices Maxwell still giving her a concerned look, she offers “It’s been a while since I Recalled with so many people…and horses.”

“Remarkable!” the wizened Moth Priest exclaims, looking around at the stark change of scenery “I’ve heard of the spell from ancient texts and a few other sources, but to actually experience it…I’m amazed. You’re quite proficient in the arcane arts, Serana.” He says to her, in awe.

Maxwell chuckles “That’s one way of putting it” before he notices Serana glancing over. He shrugs with a half-smile before gently leading his horse onwards.

 

---

 

That night, as Dexion is fast asleep in a tent they recovered and his light snoring reaches the pair who are fastidiously keeping watch. Maxwell is inspecting his armour, and Serana is staring into the fire absent-mindedly with her porcelain-like hands clasped on her knees. As the slight ache from where he got stabbed reappears, it prompts him to think now is a good time to try and find out what’s bothering his companion.

Maxwell moves to sit next to her, and she looks up at him in mild surprise.

“I can tell something is bothering you. What is it?” He asks gently.

“Sindra” as she looks back into the fire. Her answer clears up any confusion he had.

“Ah”

After a brief pause, she sombrely adds “Maxwell, she was about to stab you through the heart. If you hadn’t broken through the illusion when you did, you would be dead right now. “

She turns to look at him, her amber eyes searching his face. Her cadence, questioning. “How did you break through it? That was a high-level Illusion she cast on you…”

He contemplates, looking into the crackling fire. As he picks up a stick and moves one of the burning pieces, he responds with sincerity in his tone. “The souls.”

“I don’t follow…?” She cocks her head slightly.

“The souls, I carry. They flared up, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and that’s what broke the illusion.”

As a silence falls over the pair once more, as he motions to stand up he says “Anyway, I really need to rest. Are you okay to keep watch? And…” he pauses before asking “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t really respond beyond a furtive nod. He sits back down next to her, and lays a gloved hand over hers, which surprises her slightly. As she looks up, her amber eyes questioning, he offers “Serana, you intervened before she could try it again. As far as I’m concerned, you saved me there. And for that, I’m extremely thankful. As for the scar? As I said, another one for the collection.” He offers a sincere smile.

She considers his words for a few moments but gives a wistful but genuine smile in return.

 

--

 

With Dexion on the horse and both walking either side, the journey to the Dawnguard Fort is thankfully without difficulty, just slow. They stick to the wild rather than the roads for most of the journey. He notices her glancing at the stab mark visible in the pauldron, and he reassures her once more.

As the days tick by, the Moth Priest fields many questions from the pair – mostly Serana – about the Order, Elder Scrolls and such topics, and Serana fields many questions from him about a few things from ancient history. Maxwell reveals his status of Dragonborn to Dexion who looks like he’s about to pass from shock, before he recovers. Apparently, his status is well known in the Cyrodillic capital, although from what Dexion describes most people think it’s just Nordic propaganda from the civil war; a figurehead if you will. Maxwell is unsure how to feel about this.

At one point, they have a frank discussion about the prophecy based on the limited information Serana knows of it, which Dexion responds to with shock, but he adamantly agrees that that is a bad thing to let come to pass and he is sincerely willing to do whatever he can to assist the pair.

The conversations between Maxwell and Serana once more become like those on their original journey, the fight at the fort having removed most of the tension that hung between them since their initial meeting, although the agreed upon topics remain off-limits. Maxwell remembers to write the updated instruction about the Gaddar root for the nightvision potion, which makes Serana laugh.

 

--

 

As the year 409 is ushered in with the transition of cold winter to the increasing warmth of spring, the trio find themselves in front of the wooden palisade wall of the Dawnguard with the morning sun trying to peak through a grey veil of clouds, with several crossbows aimed at them.

Isran, standing stoically just above the gate, gives Maxwell a deep frown before gruffly calling out.

“Are you insane? You brought it to us!?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought the respected vampire hunter guild would like to know of the prophecy relating to vampires blotting out the sun?” Maxwell shouts back.

“And why should we take you at your word? And how do we know it hasn’t enthralled or hypnotised you and Dexion?”

“I haven’t.” Serana calls out, carefully eyeing the various Dawnguard archers who tense up as she speaks. She bristles at Isran’s tone, but remembers Maxwell’s prior warning about his hatred and not to rile him up.

Maxwell gives her an appreciative look, before looking back up to Isran.

“Several reasons. Because she’s come with me willingly, despite knowing the risks. Because she has brought this.” He nods to Serana, who dismisses the invisibility around the Elder Scroll and hands it to him. One of Maxwell’s brighter ideas; by having them see her hand the scroll over, it might give them a reason to trust her.

As murmurs begin to mount, Maxwell continues “In addition to that, she’s killed her own kind to protect me.”

Durak, eyeing the interaction with a suspicious gaze, leans over to Isran and calls out, purposefully loud enough for everyone to hear.

“This could all be a ruse to ingratiate herself as a way to root us out and take us out of the picture.”

As murmurs of agreement come from a few individuals, Serana speaks up after looking at the Orsimer “If I went back now, my father will likely kill me where I stand, as he thinks I have betrayed not only him but all vampires. Especially after taking out various members of his court, let alone taking his Scroll.”

As the tension doesn’t abate, Dexion decides to speak up “I have conversed many times with Serana and Maxwell after they rescued me; rest assured they are speaking nothing but the truth, and I do not doubt their motives.”

A tense silence falls on the interaction, each side considering the other.

Seeing this going nowhere, Maxwell decides to play his ace. He inhales deeply before saying “There’s one other thing you should take into account, Isran.”

He spits on the ground over the palisade wall, and angrily retorts “And what would that be?”

He solemnly states after a moment’s pause “Because I’m actually…Haldrin, the Last Dragonborn.”

All eyes instantly shift to him, even Serana, although she is the only one who knows why he’s saying it now. A pang of sorrow mixed with gratitude flutters across her dead heart. This must be hard for him.

He keeps his gaze fixed on Isran, aware of everyone staring keenly at him. His heartrate is elevated and a wave of uncertainty passes through him. I hope this is worth it…

Mutterings intensify as disbelief starts growing. The Dawnguard leader, his gaze piercing and absolute, carefully studies Maxwell. As he holds up a hand to get everyone’s attention, the murmuring stops. As silence descends, Isran responds, his voice tempered yet heavy with distrust.

“You can’t be him; he died years ago.”

Whispering to Serana and Dexion “Cover your ears.”

As they do so, he steels himself and Shouts “LOK VAH KOOR” up into the air.

The effect is immediate, as the Shout clears the grey cloud cover away to allow the weak spring sun to start shining on the valley, which bathes the Dawnguard fort in a brighter light and brings out the whiteness of the ageless stone. The horse neighs loudly and starts bucking but Dexion just manages to keep it under control. Serana also lays a hand on the horse’s maw to calm it down.

As the clouds give way and the echo fades out, all Dawnguard eyes intensely fixate on Maxwell who is bent over coughing slightly. Serana steps over, reaches out and lays her hand on his shoulder. As he looks to her, her amber eyes are soft, and touch is light. She gives a gentle smile as Maxwell has done something that now can’t be undone. Even though no words are said, her message is clear: Thank you.

The assorted Dawnguard members begin mumbling to each other as they lower their bows and crossbows, although not by much.

“By the Nine…I don’t believe it…”

“…it really is him...”

“How….I thought he died…”

“What the fuck…”

 “I trust that proves who I am?” Maxwell calls up, after clearing his throat. Isran, his expression one of shock and confusion.

After a stunned silence, the Redguard leader shakes his head in disbelief and shouts down “Well, I’ll say this about you: you have a goddamned flair for the dramatic.” Turning to the side, he shouts out “Open up the gate!”

Maxwell adds, his cadence extremely serious “One other thing: Serana is under my protection. If anyone dares harm her, they will answer to me.”

He looks at him, brow furrowing, before agreeing “…fine, but if it does anything untoward anyone, legend or not you will answer to me.”

“Duly noted.”

Serana breathes a massive sigh of relief, which Maxwell picks up on and glances over. She gives an extremely grateful smile. He momentary lifts a corner of his lips and nods briefly.

Isran turns and nods to someone out of sight. A few moments later, the sounds of exertion reach the group as the wooden doors are dragged open with loud creaks. As the trio walk through the now open gate, the Moth Priest guiding the horse, a grave quietness hangs above the congregated group as the various Dawnguard members stand in a mix of awe and astonishment at the apparent return of the legendary Last Dragonborn. Several take a step back slightly, partly from shock and partly because of the ancient pureblood vampiress who walks closely behind the Last Dragonborn, eyeing the ones who haven’t dropped their weapons.

For Maxwell, with each step the feeling - akin to what he felt in Solitude – starts appearing…but it’s slightly tempered by how Serana reacted which surprises him.

Isran, with Carcette, Tolan, Agmaer and the other members of Isran’s leadership behind and beside him with their weapons lowered or sheathed. All but Isran with their own continued expressions of shock, disbelief and incredulity at this historic revelation. The Dawnguard leader considers the approaching figure with a curious look, his beady eyes looking over his face and form, before a playful half-smirk appears as he finishes taking stock of the living legend who stops before him.

Saying loud enough for everyone to hear, his voice heavy with admiration and respect.

“Well, Dragonborn, welcome back to the world of the living. Care to help keep it that way once more?”

Notes:

This was a really fun chapter to write. I admit I did take some creative liberties here, as I disagree with Bethesda writing it so that the Moth Priest walks by himself across Skyrim, after just been kidnapped by vampires. I also created my own shout, as there’s other aspects to dragons that would be useful. This one seemed appropriate. It translates as: Aak (Guide), Miin (Eyes), Vulom (Darkness))

As ever, thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks and everything in between.

P.S. The IRL stuff hasn't turned out to be as bad as I thought, however as one thing is resolved something else invariably crops up. Work is going to be extremely busy for the next two weeks, so posting may or may not happen.

Chapter 12: Reading

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana find out more about the Tyranny of the Sun, and afterwards discuss their plans.

Notes:

TW: Swearing.

After just 20 minutes of being under the intense scrutiny and stares of everyone - observing each for different reasons – his vampiress companion quietly suggests they sit outside which he adamantly agrees to. Finding a shaded spot, they try to relax as afternoon turns to evening and then to early night, before being summoned for the reading.

As the reading progresses with more details revealed about the Tyranny of the Sun, a cold lump starts forming in the back of his dry throat.

When Dexion says “Hearken all: among the night’s children, a dread duke will rise and herald in the age of night”, he chances a look at Serana who – somehow - becomes a shade paler despite not moving a muscle the entire time.

At the mention of the prophecy being written on two additional scrolls, it is at the mention of one of them being  “one that describes the ancient secrets of dragons” where the aforementioned lump drops down his throat, reverberating as it bounces off the sides, eventually thudding in the empty pit of his stomach. His blood drains from his own face, and the rest of the reading becomes a heavy blur.

Oh no…gods no…not that one…

As Dexion wearily closes the scroll after finishing the reading, he is gently assisted to the nearby seat by Brother Tolan.

A subdued Serana quietly utters in a monotonous tone which he barely registers “I’m going to wait outside” before silently striding away without awaiting a response. As she proceeds towards the main door, various Dawnguard members move well out of the way. The ancient door creaks open then thuds shut as she passes through it.

When his senses finally return to some semblance of normality, he clears his throat and cuts through the mental and emotional storm going on inside.

Approaching Dexion, who weakly looks up from where he sits and gives him a tired smile. The Elder Scroll, leaning comically against the wall next to him like a brush. Maxwell refuses to even glance at the thing.

“I suspect you have questions, Maxwell. Know that reading the scroll saps quite a lot of my energy and I need to rest very soon. But, for you, I’ll try to answer to the best of my ability.”

“What do you think of what your reading has revealed?” he gently asks, ignoring the apprehension that is building within.

“I wish I could provide more information, but without the other scrolls the information is incomplete. Still, Serana’s father is likely just as much in the dark as we are. Now we need to find the other two and fill in the gaps in our understanding.”

“Do you know where the other one is?” Maxwell inquires, not realising he gave the singular rather than the plural.

Not having heard the difference, Dexion replies “I cannot, I only feel the whispers and threads faintly binding them together. If things were different, I’d send you to the City to seek answers at the Library, but ever since the entire collection vanished over several hundred years ago, we have only retrieved a mere handful. That is primarily why I came to this province; to retrieve this one for our collection.”

Maxwell nods, before saying “thank you Dexion”, softly laying a gloved hand on the elderly priest’s shoulder.

“Of course, Maxwell. For you, I’m happy to do whatever I can.” Dexion weakly smiles. As he coughs slightly, he continues “Now, forgive me, I must rest. I’ve grown much wearier than I thought.”

“No worries Dexion, rest well. I know Isran and the others will take care of you.”

“Thank you, Maxwell, and please give my regards to Serana. I wish you both good luck and await your return.”

Maxwell nods before bowing out. Dexion grabs the attention of one of the Dawnguard and asks him to be taken to his room. As the tired individual slowly walks away carrying the scroll, supported by the Dawnguard member, Maxwell is deep in thought for more than one reason.

A knowing voice from behind him breaks through his thoughts. The gruffness clearly indicating who the speaker is.

“Dragonborn, a word.”

“Please, Isran, I have a name.” Maxwell eyerolls as he turns to look at the man standing behind him, opting to put the apprehension and emotional turmoil on the Deal With Later list.

“Fine…Haldrin.”

Maxwell stares him down, frustration growing “My other name…”

Isran stares back, then amusingly smirks. “Maxwell.”

Gods, this man is infuriating.

Following the Redguard to his spacious office, he shuts the door before offering Maxwell a seat. The man remains standing, and Isran looks at him. Shrugging nonchalantly, he takes his own leather chair.

“Is there any reason why I fucking shouldn’t slay it where it stands?” Isran outright states, dropping any hint of his former humorous temperament before replacing it with a serious one.

He really doesn’t let up.

Maxell massages his temple. “We need her, Isran. If she didn’t seek me out, we’d all be in the dark…perhaps, quite literally. I get you hate her, but try and put that aside for the moment and see the larger picture.”

“Put my hatred aside? Not a fucking chance.” he spits, the glob landing in the far corner. He wastes no time asking his next question, his dark eyes staring at Maxwell fastidiously “Why do you trust it so implicitly, especially after what it did to you?”

Maxwell crosses his arms, the enchanted glass armour scratching slightly with the motion.

“What happened when we saved Dexion solidified it, Isran. She’s the reason I’m still alive after that. If she was like her father, that wouldn’t be the case. There are other reasons too. As for what happened in Helgen, well...that’s between me and her.”

Isran studiously looks at him with his signature frown, considering his words carefully.

Maxwell sighs, before changing the topic to one less fraught with tension and distrust “What do you know of this bow that Dexion spoke about? Auriel’s Bow, was it?”

Isran leans back in the chair. “It shows up in legend now and then. If you believe the legend, it’s imbued with the power of the sun. It’s not been seen in several ages. I personally don’t believe it ever existed. But if it is real and is still around, well…”

Maxwell nods, deep in thought. Isran studies him before continuing.

“You know something. What?”

Rather than beating around the bush, Maxwell straight up states “I know where the scroll regarding dragons is.”

Isran’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly. “How…of course. Dragonborn, scroll about dragons.” He ponders, hands resting on his head, before continuing “Well, where is it? Hopefully somewhere secure.”

“Somewhere safe and that only three people…I mean, two, including myself, know” he continues, moving away his slipup that the third person is no longer alive “In fact, probably the only place I felt comfortable leaving it.”

“Well, where?” Isran repeats with a hint of annoyance, although a slight glint of recognition appears at Maxwell’s slip of the tongue.

“The College of Winterhold.”

Isran looks at him but accepts his answer. “What about the other scroll? The Blood one?”

“That one I’m not sure of. Maybe reading the Dragon one will tell us where the next one is. Dexion did just tell me he could sense the link between them. Maybe having the other one will strengthen the link?” Maxwell says, rubbing his temple as he grasps at straws; completely forgetting that Serana told him that her mother has it.

The Redguard leader leans back in the leather chair which creaks, staring intently at Maxwell.

“Fine, I’m sending Carcette, Tolan and Agmaer to retri…”

“No.”

“No? What in Oblivion do you mean, no?!” Isran treats Maxwell to a furrowed brow with a hint of concern in his cadence, dropping his hands and leaning forward in the chair.

Maxwell uncrosses his arms to enunciate the reasons “No. There’s three main reasons. Firstly, we need you to look after Dexion and this Scroll. He’s our only way to read them, and Serana and I can’t bring him along with us. Too much of a risk.”

“I thought you read the Dragon one?”

Maxwell grimaces at the memory. “…yes, but that was a unique set of circumstances. Anyway, as I said he’s our only way to read the scrolls. Secondly, the individual I left it with at the College will only give it to me once I reveal I’m still alive. Thirdly, Serana and I can move much faster unencumbered.”

A thought occurs “and, if my horse is here, I’ll be taking him as well.”

The Redguard visibly baulks at the idea of just the Dragonborn and It going after another scroll alone without support or oversight, but concedes to his points about the college and guarding the one scroll plus the means to read them, and affirms his original horse is around.

Isran considers his proposal before wearily stating “None of this sits well with me, and I can’t say I’m joyful at it working with us. I don’t trust its intentions.”

A tense pause follows, when the Redguard leader eventually continues with a sincere tone. "But for you to reveal yourself, that says a lot.”

He stands up, and moves to stand in front of Maxwell. A heavy pause appears, before Isran sighs and holds out a hand. As Maxwell grabs it, the Redguard initiates the handshake. As the handshake nears completion, he speaks up “And Dragonborn…don’t come crawling back crying if you get turned by it.”

After leaving the leader’s office as the leader sits back in his chair, and exhaling the stress and tension away as soon as the door thuds shut, Maxwell picks up the pace and begins walking through the halls of the Fort with many people staring and whispering at him as he strides by.

I’d better get used to this sort of look, and fast.

Whilst distracted by that thought, he runs into a familiar armoured blonde-haired individual as he turns the corner as she waits for him in the entrance hall archway.

“Oh, Carcette.” He says, coming to a stop.

“Maxwell.” she tersely states, standing to attention. “I have so many questions.”

“Of which I’m only going to answer one.” he quickly retorts, crossing his arms.

His candid answer surprises her, and she opens and closes her mouth as she tries to think of the one question. Settling on one, she asks.

“Why do you trust it?”

“She has a name, you know…and to answer your question, despite what happened earlier, she’s proven herself to me. Her actions speak louder than words. Suffice to say, she’s the reason I’m still alive after we found Dexion. If she was like her father, she wouldn’t have done that.”

“And the thought that we’re all playing into its hands? Vampires live for a very long time, and all of this is like a game of chess to them. For all you know, it could be doing this just to take over the coven.”

Carcette’s words make him bristle at the insult, but he keeps his tone neutral. “I don’t believe that’s the case. She doesn’t want this prophecy to come to pass.”

“It told you this?”

He stands quiet, not wanting to reveal more. Carcette searches him before sighing, and leaning back against the stone wall, her metal armour scraping as she does so.

“Sorry, Maxwell. I have to stand by my oath to Stendarr. At the first sign that it’s going to betray you, please promise me that you’ll kill it.”

Maxwell considers her request with distrust, exhaling heavily and rubbing his aching shoulder.

“Carcette…I know you, Isran and the others don’t trust her. In Isran’s case, I’d go so far to say he outright hates her to Oblivion and back. Fine, I get that. But try and trust me.”

“I’ll…try. Just…watch your back.” She responds, uncertainty in her voice.

“Duly noted.”

“And…good luck. May Stendarr bless you.”

Maxwell curtly nods before leaving Carcette standing there, contemplatively.

Fuck me that was stressful.

---

Pushing his way through the main entrance way under the gaze of the few Dawnguard who stand idly chatting – shutting up as he goes past - the cool breeze passing over him and washing away the dust and cobwebs and visceral hatred of vampires he found himself wading through.

He exhales the stress, emotional turmoil and everything in between away. A familiar feminine voice breaks the serene silence with something of a sombre tone.

“You took your time in there.”

There’s no one visible, so it could only come from one individual; although Maxwell spots a couple of sentries on the faintly lit upper towers looking over the whole valley, and a couple more on the far-off palisade wall, glancing in his direction now and then.

Squaring his shoulders, he turns and sees a pair of amber eyes staring out from the shadows. As his eyes adjust, he sees his wayward companion sat atop a small haybale nestled in a shadowed corner. Hood is down and arms crossed. The night sky has a faint aurora over them, the various light hues wafting slightly as the energy shifts.

He joins her on the hay bale, his armour creaking as he finishes sitting next to her.

 “Yeah, sorry about that. I was chatting with Dexion about the reading, then Isran wanted a word before Keeper Carcette cornered me.”

She pauses before asking “what did they want?”

He breathes out in a short huff “Dexion says thank you again and wishes us luck, Carcette told me not to trust you, and Isran said…well, I don’t want to repeat it.”

After a few moments, she looks away and quietly states “maybe you shouldn’t trust me.”

He studies her. “Why do you say that?”

Her response is soft “Because I’ve dragged you into this, and you’ve almost been killed because of it. I saw your face dr…”

“Serana, you saved my goddamn life in that fight. If it wasn’t for you, I would have surely been killed and drained. That bitch meant business.”

As the uncomfortable silence joins them, he decides to try and lighten the mood.

“Anyway, what’s on your mind? You’re pensively brooding, and it’s unsettling.” he jokes a bit.

She continues staring out. A few minutes pass, then she looks to him and states. “We need to find my mother.”

It takes a moment for him to register, recalling her earlier comments “…because she has the other scroll, the blood one?”

She nods. “There must be something on that one that prompted her to act.”

“Why didn’t you remind me inside?”

Turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow, she throws caution to the wind. “Look, I trust you Maxwell. I don’t trust them. Most of them still look like they want to kill me on the spot, despite ….what you did” the last part somewhat wistfully.

After a moment, she adds as she reads between the lines “…you didn’t actually tell them that my mother had the other one, did you?”

He rubs his nape in exasperation.

“No. To be honest, I forgot you said your mother had it. A lot has happened since then, and the reading kind of unsettled me.”

She smirks slightly at the truth in his statement. “Me too.”

Changing the subject back to the topic of conversation, he clears his throat and asks “did she ever say where she was going?”

Serana’s face drops “…no, she didn’t. She never told me; only demanded that I pack and follow her.”

He considers her words with a furrowed brow.

Wait…what?

“So, she just dragged you to the far side of Skyrim without any explanation or consideration for yourself, before you went into that stone coffin?”

She solemnly nods.

“I’m sorry Serana, that just doesn’t sit well with me. Why would she not tell you, or at least give you some idea as to why she did what she did? I get you said things are not good between your parents, but what she did sounds incredibly selfish.”

Serana opens her mouth to argue, but it's at that moment she realises he has a valid point. Because of what Valerica did on that day, she found herself over a thousand years in the future in an unfamiliar time, away from everything she ever knew and having to trust upon the help and actions of a stranger. Well, stranger-turning-friend now.

“Did she say anything else?” his question breaks her thought.

“No, nothing.”

“Did she give you anything, or do you know if she went anywhere a lot?” Maxwell says, wracking his brain for ideas.

“She disappeared now and then but never said where. I did find this, shortly after you woke me.” She pulls out a thin book from her pack, and offers it to Maxwell. “I’ve read through it several times, but there’s nothing to indicate anything of use. It’s just research notes from our alchemy lessons.” She half-hearted smiles as the memories swell up of her lessons under Valerica’s tutelage.

Taking it from her, he pulls off his glove and flicks through it. An italicised feminine cursive in blue ink fills most pages, with some annotated diagrams filling the rest. The words are unfamiliar, the ancient language indecipherable to him, but the penmanship does suggest a highly educated and attentive individual.

As he scans through it, one page in the middle grabs his attention. A blank page. It’s the only blank page, as even the inside of the covers has been written on. There’s nary a mark on it.

“What do you make of this?” he offers to her. She glances down before shaking her head, wafting her braid from side to side.

“It’s just a blank page.”

“Serana…it’s the only blank page in a book full of notes…”

She raises an eyebrow, and takes it back. She’d read it several times, and just assumed she’d accidentally picked it up when she had rushed packing at her mother’s insistence on that fateful day.

The end of the section before, talked about thermodynamics and the reaction of reagents. The next section starts with the alchemical properties of…

She recalls a memory. Valerica once showed her briefly how to read hidden writing that was written in heat-sensitive reagents that only become visible over a heat source.

 

It only came to her because of the nature of what Maxwell said.

 

Coming back to reality, she demands “cast your flames spell.”

“…what?” he responds, confused at the sudden shift of her voice.

“Please, just do it.” she adds, fervently.

Maxwell raises an eyebrow with curiosity but cautiously summons the fire spell on his exposed fingers over his lap – given what they’re sitting on - which covers them in a faint writhe of fire. Serana holds the paper close to it so the page is heated but not ignited, and after a few tense moments faint dark writing appears in her mother’s cursive.

Maxwell’s other eyebrow joins his first raised one “That’s….interesting.”

“A hidden message…how clever, Mother.”

“What does it say?” he says, with bated breath.

Serana translates the short message which reads:

 

My Dearest Daughter, if I don’t wake you, find me where you fell.

 

As she finishes, she recalls another memory. The one day she accidentally tripped on the stone staircase in the central courtyard, carrying a tray of seedlings from the High Rock province that they were going to plant in the garden. Her mother exasperatedly sighs before helping her up.

She relays this to Maxwell, whose expression goes from mild curiosity to moderate horror. After glancing around to ensure they’re not overheard, he exclaims “wait…back to the castle? Surely your father would have found her by now. Not to mention, wouldn’t he notice us going back?”

“I can sort that out. But it would mean casting a protective spell on us.” she gestures with her free hand. Remembering their earlier conversation about conditions which include no more spells on him, he sighs before asking.

“What would it do, exactly?”

“It’ll shield you from prying eyes. Think invisibility, but enhanced.”

“How long would it last for?”

“As long as I maintain concentration on it. For both of us, I can manage that easily.”

“Noted.”

Thinking on what Serana has said, he frowns. “Serana…something still doesn’t add up. Why would she entomb you on the far side of Skyrim then go back to the Castle? Surely she would go further away?”

Serana can’t give an exact answer. “They were always trying to frustrate one another. It’s not too far to think she would do it just to snub him, although whether that’s her intention I honestly don’t know.”

She smiles wistfully.

“They weren’t always like that, at least not at the start. She and I shared many activities. Alchemy, gardening, magic lessons…until…” here she pauses, and a pang of something passes across her face before she shakes her head and continues “…and then things changed, then he found that scroll and the prophecy; after that everything got worse.”

Maxwell notices her change in emotion, and feels compelled to press, but something about how she’s looking now says not to. He clears his throat and changes direction.

“Okay…putting that aside for the moment…we go to the castle; we find your mother. The front door is obviously out of the question, so I’m guessing you know of another way.”

She nods, internally grateful that Maxwell hasn’t pressed about her slight change in demeanour.

“There’s an unused inlet on the northern side. It’s been there forever, and it’s hasn’t been used in centuries. It was one of the things I checked before leaving; it’s not in use at all.”

She has a thought. “I’m going to place a Mark here”

He seems surprised. “How many Marks can you maintain?”

“Several.” He raises an eyebrow, and she simply shrugs.

“The one out where we met?”

“I no longer have that one, it was in the middle of nowhere.”

“Okay, although might I suggest doing it away from the fort. If any sees you casting it, not to mention when you teleport in, that could be…bad.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to do it right here.” She gives him a disarming smile. “I’m a vampire, not an idiot.” Her tone, humorous.

As a silence descends, Maxwell ponders the various facets of the difficult journey before them.

He eventually states, “Ok, so the plan is: leaving Dexion here with this scroll, we go to the College of Winterhold….”

Serana looks at him inquisitively, her eyebrows gently raising and amber eyes widening in recognition of the name. “The…College?” she says, with slightly bated breath.

Oh right, she wasn’t with him when he told Isran.

“It’s, uh, where I left the scroll regarding dragons.” he admits.

She gives him a curious gaze but doesn’t press further, only accepting it and gesturing for him to continue with his plan.

“As I mentioned, we go to the College for that scroll, then go to the Castle and somehow don’t get spotted by your father or any of his minions...”

Serana interjects “Are we not Recalling back here?”

“I’m assuming it’s one way?”

“Yes.”

“Then no, we continue to the Castle. We’ll lose too much time travelling from here to the Castle.”

“Well…” she gestures.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I have another mark I’ve been maintaining.”

That surprises him. “Where is it?”

“Solitude.”

He stares at her, incredulously. “Ok…why?”

She shrugs “With what Sybille said about my father, I thought it prudent in case I needed to get out quickly….and I’ve maintained it just in case.”

He considers her form, before nodding slightly “Very smart.”

“I have my moments. As I said, I’m a vampire not an idiot.” She quips.

Her tone then becomes serious, and she shuffles slightly on the balls of her feet. Wearily sighing, she levels her gaze. “The only problem is that it takes a lot of focus to teleport anyone else in addition to myself. It was a strain teleporting us three and your horse. I had a serious headache for a while.”

Maxwell’s jaw drops at that. Recalling how she acted just after completing the spell. “Why…didn’t you say anything at the time?”

“I didn’t want you to worry…” she begins, but he holds up a hand.

“Serana, if something is bothering you, I need to know. This trust thing works both ways.” concern bleeding into his voice.

She stares at him inquisitively, but quietly responds “…I’ll try to remember that.”

Repeating his plan, he continues “So I guess, we ride to the College, offload the horses…” as a realisation hits, before he shakes his head and continues “….anyway, we offload the horses, get that scroll, Recall here and give it to Dexion to read, then assuming nothing new turns up from his reading, teleport to Solitude and go to the Castle on foot.”

“Sounds like a plan…although you don’t want to let Isran know we’re going after the other scroll?” she queries, cocking her head slightly. The pause at his mention of the horses also piques her interest.

He rubs his neck “I’ve had enough of the Dawnguard for now. Dexion is going to stay here with the other scroll, and Isran agreed to guard them both whilst we retrieve the one regarding dragons, at the College.” He smirks slightly “besides, if he found out we were going back to your home again he’d probably go completely nuts and kill us both on the spot. He was mad enough when I told him last time.”

For the first time since arriving here in this bastion of vampire hatred, Serana snorts in laughter before putting a hand on her mouth. She then nods in understanding.

As they move off the hay bale and straighten themselves out, Maxwell says as he leads the way to the stables on the other side of the outer fort.

“Oh, and there’s someone I want you to meet.”

As they enter the stable area, the two stable hands look shocked at his presence then horrified at her presence, before one of them timidly asks “uh…Maxwell..hi, what…um…what can I…we, do for you?”

As he scans the stables, Maxwell half glances to the timid stable hand saying “I’ve just come to retrieve my horses. The brown thoroughbred there…” as he gestures to the beast nearby, his eyes fall on another beast nuzzling a feed bag: a dapple grey Lipizzan gelding. He breaks into a smile before pointing “…and the grey one at the end.”

The stable hands look at each other before whisking off to retrieve the two horses and equip saddles and harnesses.

“What was all that about?” Serana politely asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see. Hopefully he’ll remember me.” Maxwell responds, glancing back to her.

The first stable hand brings the brown thoroughbred out which Maxwell passes the reins to Serana who takes it with a modicum of confusion.

The second stable hand – the one who spoke - brings out the Lipizzan which neighs slightly at being dragged away from food; the beast follows nevertheless. It looks well, although its coat is slightly darker than he last remembers. Coming to a stop just in front of half-Imperial half-Nord man who had stepped several strides closer and who lifts up a hand, the horse leans its head forward slightly to sniff his proffered hand. As its nose inhales, it suddenly becomes animated as it recognises his scent. The horse immediately pushes forward and nuzzles him, and Maxwell chuckles as he pets the horse’s maw and utters sweet familiarities.

“It’s good to see you too buddy, I’ve missed you!” he says as the Lipizzan whinnies heartily.

“Thanks” Maxwell nods to the stable-hands who look bemused at the interaction before they disappear. Serana is also looking somewhat bemused as he approaches her leading Rocky who follows closely. It nuzzles him on the shoulder once more.

“Serana, I want you to meet…Rocky” Maxwell genially states, patting the horse as he says the name.

Her eyebrows fly up in surprise “Rocky?” 

“…what?” he raises an eyebrow.

“You named your horse…Rocky?”

“Y’know, grey coat, like a rock.” he gestures.

“You named your horse…Rocky.” she repeats.

Turning to the beast, he states “Are you hearing this, Rocky? She doesn’t like your name!” he says in a feign tone of indignation, patting the neck once more. As though agreeing with him, Rocky neighs loudly.

“See? You’re in a minority here” he smirks.

Serana reaches out a hand to stroke the main of Rocky, who sniffs her un-gloved porcelain-like hand a few times before immediately nuzzling it, although not as animatedly as with Maxwell. The hunter observes the interaction with a hint of curiosity.

“I think he likes you. He doesn’t normally warm up that quickly to people.”

“Nice to meet you, Rocky. I think it’s a great name, by the way” she offers, half glancing to Maxwell at the last part. Rocky neighs once.

Maxwell pats his companion once more before turning to Serana and explaining. “he’s been my ride for the last couple of years, until getting separated the day I got stuck underground, when I found you.”

“I see.”

Once everything is set, they leave the fort walking with Serana taking the thoroughbred and Maxwell taking Rocky. The gate is opened for them by one of the members on patrol that Maxwell grabs the attention. The brown-haired Nord stares at Serana with narrowed eyes before becoming one of awe when he glances to Maxwell. As they head to the canyon entrance out of earshot of the outer wall, Maxwell pipes up.

“Serana…can I ask you something? It’s something of a personal question.”

“What is it?” she responds, with slight hesitancy in her voice.

“What will you do if we do - somehow - find your mother at the Castle?”

Not the question she was expecting, but something that she had been dwelling on for some time, especially since the reading.

She slows to a stop, looking to him and places a hand on her hip. “To be honest, I’ve been asking that myself. I…I don’t know. Knowing what we know now about the prophecy, I want…no, need…to understand why. There’s something that she knows but didn’t tell me; that’s the only thing I can think of that prompted her to act the way she did. Why she had to seal me away. Why all of this…” she gestures into the air, with a cadence of frustration and sorrow.

He mulls over his next words carefully. “Well, I guess until we actually find her, you won’t know for certain.”

She glances over, her amber eyes searching his own before she sighs wearily.

“…I guess so” she considers his words “I didn’t expect anyone to care how I felt about her…thank you.” She returns a warm smile.

Maxwell smiles back, leaving the words unsaid. He starts moving again, thinking on something. Despite elation at getting his original companion back, and the camaraderie earlier, a tension starts snaking its way through him. In a secluded area out of sight of the ancient fortress, and as he holds the reins of both beasts who graze on the nearby grass, he observes his vampiress companion go through the requisite motions of placing her Mark.

Well, this is it. No turning back now.

Notes:

Work continues to go from one problem to the next, but I thought I'd make myself feel better and get this chapter out. I liked this one, but I've rewritten it twice.

The changes to the mentioned excerpts of the prophecy are intentional, to fit the narrative (e.g. mention of a Duke)). I also thought long and hard about how to write in about Valerica being at the castle.

In other news, the next chapter is somewhat written, but I'm still working on how I want to portray the actions. I can say with certainty it's going to be in two parts, with a possibility of a third.

Thanks again for the kudos, bookmarks and everything in between. Stay safe out there!

Chapter 13: Adversity (Part 1)

Summary:

Setting off from the fort and journeying to Windhelm, the first leg starts off rough. But through adversity, barriers begin breaking down.

Notes:

TW: Panic attack, swearing, violence of varying degrees.

Shortly after leaving the beautiful Dayspring Canyon, despite the bastion of vampire hatred that lay within it, they review his map and agree on the best route to Winterhold. They'll carry on as before, travel during the day and Serana maintaining a watch at night. They’ll stick the roads until near that place then cut across country; pretty much the most direct route. He’s hesitant as it’s within striking distance of that place, but time is now against them.

When Serana says the cold won’t bother her, Maxwell can’t help but remark “Well that’s useful. When I freeze into an icicle you can carry me”, prompting a polite chuckle from her.

Shortly after setting off from their temporary stop, the sights are once more something to behold, now that spring is now in full effect. The various light and dark shades of green of the flora foliage make for a beautiful sight. On the road, a few wild animals spot them and scamper away. They pass by a few travellers, with Serana adopting the spell every time.

They make good progress past Stendarr’s Beacon, which sits atop a large mountain separate to the mountain range on their other side. Serana observes her companion with mild curiosity.

Maxwell seems to be in better spirits, despite the circumstances the pair now face. His Lippezan gelding, Rocky, certainly has a good disposition. Extremely responsive to his commands, barely needing more than a nudge or a small sound from him. Also always seems to try and nuzzle him on the shoulder every now and then.

As they ride past the turn off for the large settlement on the horizon, Serana calls out. “Are we not stopping in Riften?”

He slows Rocky down and waits until she’s alongside before matching her pace, and responds in a serious tone, gesturing towards the town on the horizon.

“That place? Not even the clothes on your back are safe. It’s grim. The Jarl doesn’t care about anyone but themselves, and everyone and anyone there has an agenda. If you’re not careful you’ll end up hooked on something, with no septim to your name. I’ve been there a few times, and put it this way: I’d rather sleep on a rock.”

She observes him before nodding and pushing on.

A half day away from Riften, with the sun winking in and out of the various clouds and a nice breeze in the air that ripples across the blossoming trees, a tall rickety wooden structure appears up ahead. A long rope bridge hangs across between two wooden towers, with various figures moving along it.

Maxwell huffs “Trouble. Probably going to ask for a fee to let us pass, as a ‘security tax’.”

Getting no response from his companion, he slows Rocky down and glances back. Serana is staring intently at the treeline ahead. The memory of what happened on the way to Rorikstead makes him reach for his sword without hesitation.

She continues staring for a moment before sternly stating “I can sense several individuals in the nearby trees.”

“How many?” he asks with a serious tone.

“Ten on the right” she quickly responds.

He balks in concern. Fuck, that’s a lot.

Considering their options, he starts to propose a plan with “Okay, let’s…” before being rudely interrupted as she immediately jumps off with barely a sound and dashes into the treeline, disappearing from sight seconds later.

“Wha…?!” Maxwell loudly exclaims, as her thoroughbred starts neighing loudly.

Coming immediately to his senses, he jumps off and grabs the reins of her beast before it runs away. Rocky follows without much hesitation. Maxwell rushes to tie them to a nearby tree, giving both a quick reassuring pat, before running closer towards the as he equips his ornate bow and nocks an ebony arrow.

There are unearthly sounds coming from the right side, evidence that Serana is letting loose against several unfortunate combatants.

Swiftly moving up to the wooden towers, he scans the structure quickly in case anyone was remaining on there; there’s nobody on it. Evidently drawn to reinforce their ambushers in the wooded area.

Before he can start moving into the treeline and attempt to catch up with Serana, a cracking sound on his left makes him draw the string back and aim the bow.

The ragged-looking blonde haired boy in tattered cloth armour, looking no more than 14 or 15, freezes as the stick beneath him snaps. He’s holding a small iron sword out in front of him with both hands grasped tightly around the hilt. What’s more, he’s shaking – heavily – and the look of fear is all too evident in those wide eyes.

Maxwell lowers his bow and lessens the tension.

The sounds of combat suddenly cease behind him. Fearing the worst is about to happen, he instinctively calls out behind and throws a hand up before glancing back.

“SERANA, WAIT!!”

His vampiric companion, mid-stride as she rushes from the foliage, stares wide eyed back at him as ice forms on her fingers.

The young lad yelps in horror.

“Don’t…” Maxwell commands, staring intently at her. Serana shifts between him and the lad with a weird look, before lowering her hands and the ice spell disappearing.

He shakily breathes a sigh of relief, before lowering his own hands and weapon.

Turning back to the boy, dropping the bow and arrow to the ground, he softly asks “We won’t harm you. Are you from Riften?”

“Err…yes..yes sir”

“Is your family still there?”

The boy gives him a weird look “Um…yes sir.”

Maxwell pulls out a gem, before striding forward and placing it in the palm of the nervous lad.

“This isn’t the life for you. Take this, forget you saw us, and go home to your family.”

“Ye….yes sir!” The boy gathers the gem then his wits and scampers off with only a quick look behind.

Unsurprisingly, Serana’s tone is laden with suspicion. “Why did you let him go?”

Maxwell stands up and puts the ornate bow back on his back. As he puts the arrow back in the quiver, he simply replies “Not everyone you run into on the road is bad, Serana.”

Noticing she is giving him a look; he sighs before explaining “I’ve seen it before in this area. He didn’t look more than 15. How he looked at me in fear said enough; he was clearly being held here against his will.”

She searches his face before nodding in acceptance. As she straightens her hair before donning the hood again, he mentally takes stock of what just happened. There’s something about how she immediately flew off that doesn’t sit right, but he can’t quite place his feelings on it.

Deciding to change the topic he begins asking “how are you doing for…”

She interjects, withdrawing the pouch containing the blood vials. “I already had that thought, Maxwell.”

He simply nods “I’ll check the rest of the bodies…” before adding with a hint of a smirk “…you never know, I could find another amulet that needs returning.”

She laughs, which causes the friction to begin ebbing away.

As she leads him to the bodies, the sight and smell assault his senses. He notices the obliterated remains of several individuals killed. This was one hell of a one-sided fight.

When he searches the bodies he can, finding some salvageable gear, Maxwell reminds himself once more to never get on the bad side of his companion; although he can’t help the nagging feeling that there’s something else.

 

---

 

The next day, after passing a mining encampment where Maxwell offloads the loot from the bandit camp, he nervously glances up at the growing grey clouds that appeared only a couple of hours ago and have been growing darker since.

“I don’t like the look of those clouds. We could be in for some rain.”

He stops Rocky with only a word. As Serana catches up, he gestures towards the nearby mountains on the right.

“Come on, let’s find some shelter in the rock face. There may be an overhang or a cave where we can wait it out.”

The effort pays off, as they surprisingly find a small cave which is empty, although there are signs of a large predator that had recently vacated the cave for some reason.

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t return.” He states with a raised eyebrow. Serana simply nods.

She guides the horses inside and he goes to retrieve some wood. As he straightens up with an armful of branches, the heavens open and rain start coming down fast. He quickly runs back to the entrance, exhaling the water dripping from his brow.

Once a small fire is going to provide a modicum of warmth and light, Maxwell stands beside a crouching Serana just inside the cave entrance, watching the rainfall. As a fresh deluge comes down, she releases a melancholic sigh before commenting “there’s something peaceful about a good rainfall.”

Prompted by several recollections of getting caught out during spring and summer storms during the years of his self-exile, he responds. “Agreed…although it’s not so nice when you’re out in the middle of nowhere with no shelter.”

Turning to his kneeling companion, he asks “I gather your home got a lot of storms coming from the open sea?”

“Now and then.” She glances up in response, her amber eyes offering a gentle look, before she stares back out.

The silence joins them once more, only broken by the sounds of their horses within and the heavy rainfall on the myriad of surfaces above and around them.

The faint wisp of a memory of Lydia and him doing the exact same thing whenever it rained in Whiterun prompt a small, sad smile from him.

“What’s wrong, Maxwell?”

Damn, she never misses a beat.

“Just…it’s nothing.” He quietly responds, leaving his companion to watch the rainfall, retreating to the fire to warm his sorrowful mood.

 

--

 

Sometime after the storm has passed, and the grey clouds are thinning out, the pair canter along the road to make up for lost time. They pass within sight of the surface ruins of the ancient Dwemer city of Mzulft, standing alone and abandoned.

Serana suddenly asks “Have you ever explored any Dwemer ruins?”

He pauses, before turning and looking over “Several, actually.”

She stares at him with mild curiosity “What were they like? I’ve read about them, but I’m curious to hear your perspective.”

He describes a couple of them, recalling the automatons, the internal architecture, the rhythmic reverberations of their long-abandoned advanced machinery which he was fascinated with.

Thinking how he can surprise her once more, he smiles before continuing. “Actually, there is something. Are you familiar at all with a place called Blackreach?”

She furrows her brow, trying to recollect what she’s read, before responding “Yes I am. Rumoured to exist deep underground, connecting several cities of the Dwemer. I remember reading about several attempted expeditions in my time. Those that attempted to find it never came back. Why do you ask?”

His knowing look says it all. As realisation dawns on her, she states breathlessly - almost akin to when he answered her question about riding on a dragon - “Wait…you found it?”

“Yes.”

Her jaw drops, and her amber eyes widen in surprise. “By the blood…what was it like? How did you, of all people, find yourself down there??”

“That’s where we found the Elder Scroll.”

“The one you left at the College?”

He nods in the affirmative.

As Serana begins asking more questions, he answers them. During it, a particular moment appears.

 

 

----------------------------------

 

 

The date is 23^rd Sun’s Dusk, 4E 202.

On this particular day, the ancient and abandoned room housing the unusual contraption of the Dwemer stands silent and alone, as it has done so over the many millennia.

Suddenly, the metallic doors at the base creak loudly, breaking the absolute silence. This is followed by more creaking and a thud, then several more thuds as nearby items are placed in front of it.

Heaving panting and breathing then interrupts the serene silence, as the two tired and exasperated partners slowly and cautiously make their way up the sloping metal ramp, scanning as they go.

After almost two weeks of desperate searching through the vast underground maze, they’ve finally found the place they have been after.

“Thanks for covering me there.”

“You owe me. I hate those damned Centurions. I’m just glad you managed to finally take it down.”

Coming to the top, they look at the domed room with the various bronze-coloured metallic appendages with crystallised material at the end of several of them.

Looking around, the half Imperial-half Nord Dragonborn stares wide-eyed in both intrigue and confusion, seeing the contraption laying ahead of them. Haldrin audibly gasps, and says “This has to be the place. It matches the loose description that Calcelmo gave me, although he’s not going to believe we actually found it.”

“What…is it?” queries his sweaty and panting brown-haired warrior companion, holding her pained midriff.

“Based on his research, Calcelmo believes it is some sort of device that the Dwemer built to read an Elder Scrolls, but I never thought it’d be so…big. I guess we’ll try and work it out?”

Lydia wryly laughs before wincing from the injury where the Centurion had gotten a lucky strike. She weakly offers as she glances to her partner “you can, I’m just going to sit here and pass out”

As she teeters slightly, he grabs her arm and holds her. “Hey, stay with me, my House Carl.”

“Always, My Thane. Just let me pass out first.” She flatly responds.

Haldrin laughs, the echo reverberating around. He gently guides then lowers her on a stone bench near where there’s an ornate metallic pedestal covered in an assortment of buttons and levers, before summoning the healing spell and healing some of her injuries.

Once he finishes, she pulls him in for a brief kiss despite both of them being covered in sweat, dust and gods knows what else

“…thank you.”

“Always” he lovingly but tiredly smiles.

After a tense few minutes of pressing buttons that light up in no apparent order and pulling levers which sometimes resist and sometimes acquiesce, the abandoned silence only broken by their breathing and the creaking of the Oculary machinations, all the buttons finally light up and there’s a hiss of steam that suddenly puts both of them on edge.

As the various arms move about, an ovoid shaped metallic thing descends from the ceiling recess above, before the movements stop and it comes to a rest at the slightly raised central pedestal. It creaks open, revealing the legendary item they have been looking. The embedded gems and raised symbols, glinting in the light from the Oculary.

Lydia wearily stands beside him, her eyes gazing intently in awe at the object, before grabbing him and giving the tightest hug despite the healed wound on her arm sending a small wave of pain through her.

“That’s it! I can’t believe we actually found the damn thing!”

As she loosens the hug, he offers “I guess…we go back to High Hrothgar and ask Paarthunax what the next step is.”

Lydia heavily grimaces at that, making her feelings evidently clear “Do we have to? Urgh, I hate that climb.”

Haldrin guffaws. "Me too.”

He adopts a sardonic tone and continues “actually, it’s ironic if you think about it. We descend however far we’ve come into the earth, only to then having to go to the tallest peak in Skyrim.”

She gives him a feign deadpanned look before lightly punching his shoulder.

He rubs his shoulder slightly in response before seriously states “Before that though…when we get out of here, I’m treating us to a round at the Four Shields in Ivarstead…” before Lydia interjects, focusing her gaze on him.

“Forget that, Haldrin!! You’re buying the whole damn bar!!” she sharply retorts in mock anger, although there is a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Haldrin heartily laughs as he nods in affirmation, before he moves the now-opened ovoid object. He hesitantly places both hands on the ornately decorated mythical item and lifts it up; the weight of the thing surprises him.

 

 

----------------------------------

 

 

Maxwell finishes the regaling of the adventure below ground – minus certain details for obvious reasons – the next question from his current companion isn’t wholly surprising “Maxwell, that’s a monumental discovery! Did you tell anyone about it?”

He places both hands in front of him, retaining a grip on the reins. “I did mention it a few times, but everyone – other than that researcher I mentioned, Calcelmo - didn’t believe me or called us liars, so we just…stopped.”

Serana immediately moves her horse closer, and looks at him with sincerity and also laced in her tone. “Well I for one believe you.”

“…thanks” he offers a genuine smile.

When they push on, the familiar revulsion of the mention and memory of the Elder Scroll rises, but the effect is lessened by a degree…which surprises the Oblivion out of the hunter.

 

---

 

Later that day, as the sun disappears behind some clouds causing a slight chill to appear, the pair are cantering once more down the loose path. They haven’t passed another person for ages, given this is a back road.

There’s a weird sensation growing from that part deep within him where the souls reside, one that hasn’t ever happened before. He tries to stomp them down, like many times before, and most do subside…aside from one. It seems to somewhat resist every effort.

As he continues this internal struggle, they turn the corner and begin the slight descent as the path follows the contour of the slope. Serana suddenly exclaims loudly as something draws her attention on the right. “Is that what I think it is?!”

He’s never been back to this particular region since that day, more so as it’s on the far edge of the hold; also, by being distracted with this weird sensation, it’s no wonder Maxwell forgot what transpired here all those years ago.

Taking the distraction for what it is, he turns Rocky around and returns to her side. He follows the direction…and instantly regrets it.

The skeletal remains of a beast from a time both ancient and recent lies half buried in the undergrowth, partially hidden by the treeline aside from the exact spot Serana is stopped at. Most of the remains are buried under undergrowth, but the great skull - despite heavy discolouration due to weathering over the years, still retains its dominating presence. The two angled voids, where the eye sockets are, seem to stare in their direction. The jagged teeth, seemingly retaining their sharpness, are visible even with the bushes growing out of the lower jaw.

A combination of instant recognition, panic, fear and an intensified reaction from that one stubborn soul sends Maxwell into an instant fit of terror as the memory of that brutal fight resurface with a maddening vengeance. It’s the latter that prompts him to instantly jump off Rocky who whinnies at the sudden action, landing with a loud thud before uneasily staggers over to the nearby bush, dry heaving. His ornate bow falls off his back from the effort, landing with a soft thud.

“Maxwell?!?” Serana incredulously shouts, her tone heavy with immediate concern. She instantly dismounts and follows him.

His hands are shaking violently as he ends up leaning haphazardly against the rockface.

“Are you alright??”

Breathing his way through the panic, Maxwell eventually answers somewhat shakily.

“That’s the…remains of a dragon I fought…years ago. It was…a bad fight.”

Putting some distance between them and it, he eventually comes to a stop prompting Serana to stop alongside.

He simply states “if you want to go back and have a look…I’ll stay here with the horses.”

“…are you certain?”

He nods in quick succession, as he leans against the nearby rock and places a hand on his lap.

“I don’t mind. Probably unlikely to see one again.”

She gratefully nods before handing over the reins of her thoroughbred which he takes with a wry smile, and after a final glance leaves him sitting on the rock. When she is out of sight, he sighs heavily and leans his head back on the rock, closing his eyes and wincing at the major injury he sustained in that fight.

As Serana strides over to where the skull is, she almost trips on a bone jutting out from the ground but buried deep under the undergrowth. Stepping cautiously over it, she slowly walks around the remains, taking in every detail of this monstrous beast from the annals of history with a modicum of awe and concern. One thought appears in her mind. How on Nirn did he survive?!

What she read about dragons’ pales in comparison to seeing in physicality the sheer size.

It’s a solid 15 minutes later before she returns, a curious expression on her. Maxwell is looking several degrees better. He looks over, inhales and levels his gaze as she approaches. Expecting questions from her, he braces.

“If you don’t mind my asking…what happened?” she offers a sincere and reassuring smile as she asks.

After a few moments, he straightens up.

“There’s not much to tell. I was travelling with a caravan from Windhelm, when that thing appeared out of nowhere and attacked. We managed to ground it, but the damn beast tore up my back before dying. I was out of action for a few weeks.”

The question escapes her lips “Can you show me?”

He gives her a quizzical look. That wasn’t a question he was anticipating. In an uncertain tone, he responds. “Uh…sure, I guess?”

He doffs his armour, leaving it on the rock, before turning around and pulling up the back of the undershirt. This elicits a small gasp from his companion.

Standing so close, compared to the night they escaped from underground and she saw them under his Candlelight as he bathed, the details are much sharper. She absentmindedly reaches out to feel them, before realising and stopping herself.

Her amber eyes scan over them, barely able to count how many there are. There’s so many; some small and inconsequential, others much more significant. The three most apparent – the large knot of reddened skin on his left shoulder, the elongated claw marks that descend from nape to the small of his back and the large darkened circular mark on his waist – draw her attention once more.

Glancing over his shoulder, Maxwell quietly states. “The long scar is from that dragon.”

“The knot on your shoulder?” looking at his shoulder.

“Another dragon.”

“And the discoloration by your waist?” shifting down to his waist.

“Stabbed by a hagraven.” He grimaces at the memory. Not a fun time, that one.

She considers his words carefully before almost deathly whispering “Do they hurt?”

He exhales slowly. When he lowers the shirt, he turns and looks to her with something of an odd expression. “That’s, uh, a rather broad question. At the time? Yes. Now? Not really.”

As he puts his armour back on, she becomes rather subdued as she processes his answers and injuries. Trying to lighten the mood ever so slightly, Maxwell offers “Hey…I wasn’t kidding when I said I had a collection.”

Serana looks momentarily confused, before recalling what he said after the fight to rescue the Moth Priest, and weakly smiles.

 

---

 

During the ascent of the spring sun to its peak in the sky the following morning, which had been spent in yet subdued silence, they push on. As they ride side by side and approach a large butte, Serana suddenly tilts her head and her gaze becomes unfixed.

“What’s wrong, Serana?” he asks out of concern, noticing her reaction.

“I’m sensing something…” she cautiously states.

She immediately glances over to the approaching rock face of the butte, stating “There’s a necromancer nearby. I can sense the Necromancy energy from their…activities.”

Guiding them both to the butte, sure enough there’s a somewhat hidden cave entrance. He jumps off Rocky and equips his bow, before freezing as Serana quietly commands “No…please stay here.”

Turning and staring intently at her, searching for meaning behind her command. Her expression is somewhat unreadable.

“Okay…why?” Maxwell probes, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

She ignores the tone, and outright commands “From what I’m sensing, this is a powerful Necromancer. I’ll deal with it Maxwell. Please, stay here with the horses.”

Before he can interject with anything beyond a concerned frown, she continues as she offers her classic disarming smile “I’ll be fine”, although there is a hint of something in the undercurrent of her voice.

After jumping off herself and passing the reins of her thoroughbred over, she turns and begins walking to the rockface. As she departs, she casts something over herself as a whitish hued energy shimmers her diminishing form before dissipating.

Okay, there’s definitely something up. Once is a coincidence, twice is a pattern, and she’s been quiet since I showed her the scars…

A couple of minutes pass, before macabre and horrifying sounds come from the cave mouth. He struggles to maintain a hold of her horse, before deciding to move away a bit.

After a further 5 tense minutes that seem to stretch to 10, his companion suddenly reappears from the cave entrance and strides over. She looks unharmed, although her expression is dead-panned and hair has fallen from her braid.

“It’s done.”

He decides now is the time to verbalise the metaphorical woolly mammoth in the plain. Gently asking “Serana…did you ask me to stay so that I wouldn’t get hurt?”

Bullseye.

The subtle way she stiffens as she sorts her braid out provide enough of an answer.

Sighing, he quietly asks “Do you want to talk about it?”

Serana shifts her weight uncomfortably, before exhaling and sending a waft of fallen fringe out the way as she lowers her hands.

“Maxwell…I’ve never had…this.” She gestures between them. “I’ve always had to rely on myself for everything. The kindness you’ve shown me…I’ve never known it. Seeing you hurt after Sindra, not to mention all those scars yesterday…it really shook me. I…don’t want to see you hurt again.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise at her candour and the brutal honesty in her statements.

As he leans against Rocky, stroking the mane, he responds with sincerity “I sympathise about having to rely on no one but yourself.”

Now her eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I’ve been on my own these last few years, remember?” he offers, before a neigh from his equine companion interposes the conversation, as though taking insult at being forgotten. Maxwell smirks slightly as he pats Rocky’s maw, prompting a lighter neigh of apparent approval. “Well, aside from Rocky here.”

Looking back at Serana, Maxwell continues.

“Serana...look, I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I can handle myself. I’ve faced down dragons and survived. Sure, I took a few hits along the way, but I’m pretty resilient.” Referring to the scars.

He pauses to let his words sink in before continuing. “Besides, what’s happened has happened, there’s no changing that…beyond how you live with it."

Shrugging halfheartedly, he concludes “Believe me, that’s something I know…”

 

That night, as the slow evening breeze flows between the trees and over them, Maxwell snores quietly with a hand resting on the sleeping Rocky’s maw. As ever, Serana maintains a constant vigil but does cast her gaze over to her companion now and then, as she reflects on his earlier words.

That sentiment he said – about what’s happened has happened and the only thing you can do is learn to live with it - resonates with her, for more than he knows.

He continues to surprise her, such wisdom coming from a mortal. Then again, he’s no normal individual. From what Talsgar said and what she discovered during her reading back home in order to catch up on recent history, he could have let this world burn in dragon fire, or drown in blood, or he could have potentially ruled the world.

Yet he did not, rather risking his life to save it, and to help those around him; despite sustaining the myriad of physical injuries and enduring more than any mortal could possibly endure in several lifetimes. Even with the losses he has endured, the man still seems to put one foot in front of the other.

She’s seen what power like that can do to those that become drunk on it, but to see the opposite is unexpected. Apparently, whilst absolute power corrupts absolutely…not absolutely always.

Hence, her admiration for him grows.

A sudden sound in the distance garners her immediate attention, but it’s only a deer. It scampers off before too long, sensing the duo.

 

---

 

Several days later, as the early morning sounds of spring continue play out around them and snow starts appearing more on the ground as they push closer to Windhelm, Serana calls out from behind. “Hey, Maxwell.”

He brings Rocky to a stop, who neighs slightly but obediently follows. He pats the neck before glancing back. “ Yes Serana? Is everything alright back there?”

She comes up alongside. “We’ve been non-stop since rescuing Dexion. I know what we’re up against, but please could we stop somewhere for something light-hearted for a while.”

Something in her voice suggests there’s something more to it but he relents. Gesturing to a fallen tree slightly ahead, he says “sure, let’s stop over there and I’ll have a look at my map. Proper food sounds good, actually.”

She offers a sincere appreciative smile as she follows him to the tree.

As they move over and dismount, Maxwell reflects as he pulls out and unfurls his map. Things had been a bit tepid since their small heart to heart post-Necromancer fight, but had since started improving. They’d talked about some of his adventures over the last couple of years, as they pass by various places he’d visited in this hold, and she regaled some of the stories she read prior to being buried. It was fascinating to hear the difference in literature over a period of more than a thousand years. She’d also even begun making a few jokes now and then, and he found her sense of humour endearing in a way. It was also evident that Serana seemed to be living vicariously through some of the stories of his exploits.

As he glances up to his companion tending to her thoroughbred, her back turned towards him, a nuzzle from Rocky breaks him out of his stupor. He shakes his head and returns his gaze back to the map.

There’s one possibility up ahead - somewhat close to that place. He hesitates before stating it, drawing her attention “there’s an inn – Braidwood Inn - about a half day from here. I’d rather not, given how close it is to Windhelm but I think we can chance it. Besides, the armour I’m wearing isn’t what I used to wear…before.”

She gives a knowing look before nodding.

As the sun passes its peak and begins descending, their destination appears further up. Braidwood Inn, nestled in between a mine and a logging encampment, both of which serving Windhelm.

On their approach, they get a couple of curious glances from people milling about. This prompts him to say “Let’s just keep our heads down and maybe we’ll get lucky. They shouldn’t recognise me, after all this time.”

After tying up their horses near the front, Maxwell squares his shoulders and pushes the front door open. He instantly grimaces as the duo enter.

Gods damn it, looks like everyone’s on break.

The tavern is full and bustling, and every patron is a Nord. Several of them stare at Serana, a few lewdly as they drink in her physique.

“Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea.” Maxwell whispers to her.

“It’s okay, I can handle a few drunks. Besides, I have you to protect me.” She briefly smirks. He looks at her before rolling his eyes and walking to the bar as she follows before taking an empty table in a secluded corner away from the main crowd.

About 5 minutes later, as they watch the ambience and enjoy a tankard of some form of ale which Maxwell frowns at, he spots trouble in the shape of a drunk Nord with something of a potbelly and mottled black hair. Said drunkard, stumbling and walking into things, makes his haphazard way over to them lazily holding a tankard.

“Oi, what’s yer name lass?” the Nord slurs his words slightly, looking to Serana with a wandering stare. She simply raises an eyebrow.

Maxwell speaks up “Please leave, you’re disturbing us.”

The drunkard glances to Maxwell “I’m jus’ tryin’ a make conversahtion. Yer companion i’ pretty.”

“I think you’ve had enough, friend.” Maxwell says, a little more forcefully as he puts down his drink with a small thud.

The drunk stares at him now, wobbling uncertainly and spilling some of his drink on his rough tunic. “Yer not ma da, or ma friend, therefur yer can fook right off” in a voice that is way too loud.

The atmosphere almost immediately drops, as everyone’s attention shifts to the commotion in the corner.

Maxwell, sensing every eye on him, grows uncomfortable but steels his resolve. He stands up, and moves to stand aside the drunk who sizes him up. The Nord unevenly puts the tankard down on their table, just a little too hard and spilling more of his drink which splashes.

“Come on…” Maxwell gestures away from their table.

“Yer wastin’ yer time wi’ this fool. Come wi’ me, ah can show yer a gud time.” He cajoles as he slurs his words, wafting Maxwell’s guiding hand away and leering at Serana who looks unfazed. There are a few calls of drunken agreement from nearby.

Fucking Nords…

Opting to try a different tactic, he pulls out a few septims and states in a commanding tone “That’s enough. Here, why don’t you have another drink on me.” He puts the coinage in the Nord’s open hand.

The Nord looks drunkenly down at the coins, before tossing them aside to the chagrin of those nearby. As they clatter to the floor, the Nord angrily retorts.

“Think yer can bribe me? Ah’ll teach yer a lessun.”

The Nord goes for a right hook, which Maxwell – seeing the drunk starting to clench it moments prior – deftly dodges. The Nord misses and connects hard with the wooden beam that was behind Maxwell. The drunk howls in pain.

“MAH HAND! YER BROKE MAH HAND!!”

Several of the workers at the bar stand up, their stools and seats scraping. Serana has adopted something of a cheeky grin, her hand covering most of her mouth. Maxwell casts her a subtle stink eye before turning his attention back to the Nord and glancing briefly at the crowd.

The Nord attempts to swing with his non-dominant hand, which Maxwell grabs mid-swing. As quickly as possible, Maxwell has his arm in the nook of the Nord’s arm, in an arm lock and his other hand pressing down on the Nord’s hand – hard – to restrain the drunk.

The drunkard falls to his knees, once again howling in pain. The sound of more chairs and stools scuffing the floor occur as the rest of the workers jump to their feet at this sudden development

Serana suddenly stands up, taking on an atmosphere of authority. “Please, gentlemen. There’s no need for violence.” Turning to Maxwell “Please could you kindly heal this man’s broken hand.”

Maxwell looks at her somewhat searchingly before shrugging. He grabs the broken hand before summoning his healing spell. As the bones fuse back together causing the drunkard to yelp in pain, one of the other workers shouts out throatily “He’s using magic!”

“Hey, I’m just doing as my lady asks.” Maxwell calls out, glancing at the group “if you have a problem with it, take it up with her.”

Sensing Serana smirking at his comment, he internally groans. I’ll be paying for that later.

As Maxwell finishes and the green healing energy dissipates, the drunkard falls to the floor and knocks the table slightly, whimpering as he does so. Serana finishes her drink, gingerly places the tankard down, stands up then strides next to Maxwell who also stands up. The whimpering Nord coils further under the table,  holding his now-healed hand.

“Well, this has been an enjoyable diversion but we really must be getting back onto the road. Maxwell, if you please.” Serana gestures before them, towards the door.

When he starts to walk, some of the workers glance to each other, unsure of what to do. They outnumber the duo, but the ornately armoured half-Imperial half-Nord that is giving them all a stern look is enough to make them hesitate their plan.

As the duo walk confidently towards the main door, with Serana just behind Maxwell, one of the nearby workers suddenly grabs her tightly by the upper arm.

SNAP!

Before anyone can react, she whips around, breaking the arm with a gut-wrenching snap before drawing her ebony dagger and placing it on the guy’s throat, with blood starting to appear at the tip.

“Nobody touches me like that. Ever.” She vehemently hisses into the Nord’s ear, albeit loud enough for everyone to hear. Her spell-covered eyes stare daggers at everyone.

The sound of weapons drawing ring out as the workers who are armed draw axes, swords and daggers. Maxwell - without hesitation and without thought - draws his own ebony sword and stands in front of her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He threatens, cautiously but efficiently aiming the sword in a wide arc around him. Some of the workers take a timid step back, out of reach of his weapon.

The injured Nord who Serana has her dagger against calls in a pained and strangled tone “I yield! I YIELD!!”

Pausing for a tense second, Serana removes her dagger and forcefully pushes the Nord to the floor with a resounding thud, and he screams bloody murder as he lands on his broken arm. Amidst the screaming, a loud statement emanates from one of the other Nords in the middle of the group, his eyes bulging out of his mottled and rough-shaven face.

“Wait, I recognise that blade…” staring intently at Maxwell’s drawn ebony weapon. An instant realisation occurs to the hunter.

Fuck.

Maxwell walks backwards, tersely stating to Serana who is still holding the dagger and staring into the crowd “We’re leaving. Now.”

The burly Nord, now staring intently at Maxwell as though studying his features, suddenly shouts out “By Talos…the fucking Dragonborn is alive!?”

As the heavy suspense grows, and everyone holds their breath as though waiting for the other side to react, someone hoarsely shouts.

 

“GET HIM!!!”

 

This ignites the mob, and the assorted Nords charge, gruff yells punctuating the air as they quickly raise their weapons. Maxwell steels himself and prepares a Shout to disarm them all.

Before enchanted ebony sword meets cold iron weaponry, Serana throws out a hand and a purple and red hued energy wraps around her fingers. Everyone in the tavern – other than Maxwell - comes to a dead stop, idly drop their weapons which clang and rattle onto the floor, before laying down and promptly going to sleep.

Dumbfounded and confused at the sudden change in circumstances, Maxwell glances back with his sword drooping and Shout fizzling out in the back of his throat.

“What did you do?!” he exclaims to Serana, who limply drops her hand.

“Sleep spell. They’ll be fine. They’ll wake in a few hours and not remember a thing” she sullenly states, stowing her dagger back in its sheathe.

“Wait, you altered their memory as well?!” he states, incredulous.

She turns and glares at him, her now amber eyes narrowed dangerously as all trace of her former humorous temperament evaporates.

“Would you rather they remember?!” she answers in a loud voice, gesturing to the sleeping forms.

“I…” he begins, but she forcefully interjects.

“Maxwell, I’m not talking about this. Let’s just leave.” she commands, before turning and striding towards the door her hair and cloak briskly billowing due to her fast pace. The wooden door slams vehemently shut behind her, almost shaking the whole building. He looks once more at the sleeping pile of bodies, before shaking his head in disbelief and sheathing his sword.

An idea pops in his head and he quickly ducks behind the bar to grab the nearest ceramic bottle, leaving coins in its place.

As he alights Rocky who obediently follows his command, Serana is already on her thoroughbred, staring into nothingness.

“Let’s go” is all she says.

The next few hours, as they put significant distance between them and the inn, is extremely tense. Maxwell gives Windhelm a wide berth, not even bothering to look to the city as it appears briefly on the horizon, despite his rising heartbeat and quickened breathing as the memories of that fateful day resurface.

Only stopping briefly to rest their horses, they push on further away from the area in case anyone is following them. As night descends, and there’s no sign of pursuit, Maxwell makes camp far off the beaten path, in a secluded wooded thicket. Serana sits cross armed staring in the growing fire.

Just before he’s about to say what’s on his mind, she coldly states “before you ask, I remember your conditions. No spells on you. I didn’t, hence I didn’t break it.”

He frowns slightly. She had a point, but that’s not the point.

“Serana…” he quietly begins, before she sternly interrupts in a rather threatening tone.

“Maxwell, I said I’m not talking about this. Just drop it.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, and returns to tending the fire. Exhaling a sigh out into the cold night, he stares into the flames.

Well, at least they won’t remember. The sooner we’re away from here the better.

 

---

 

The next day is strained, but not to the same degree. As the twin moons rise as evening rolls in, and they settle down once more around a fire in a secluded rocky enclave with their horses tied up a short distance away, Maxwell brings out the bottle he picked up.

“Hopefully this will help improve the evening, Lady Serana” trying to inject a bit of humour into the atmosphere.

She rolls her eyes slightly at the playful use of her title once again, but upon seeing the bottle she exclaims “…you didn’t steal that, did you?”

“Hey, I’m a gentleman. I left payment…although probably not enough now I think of it” Maxwell raises an eyebrow, as he offers up the bottle. Noticing her staring, he continues without the humorous tone “….given what happened, I thought it would be nice to actually try and enjoy a drink in peace.”

She quietly shakes her head before taking the offered bottle with a small smile. “What is it?”

“I….actually have no idea. I just grabbed the first bottle in reach” he admits.

She raises an eyebrow before she uncorks it and has a swig. She slightly reacts “it’s strong, is what it is. I think it’s Velvet Le Chance?” as she passes it back for him to try.

He does so and winces “well damn, it is Velvet Le Chance. That blackberry and spiced flavour is a dead giveaway. Pricy. I definitely didn’t leave enough money.”

She chuckles loudly at that, and the tension finally ebbs away. They share the bottle as night falls, and the camaraderie between the two is light; it’s as though the incident never happened.

Notes:

Work continues to be, well, work. What has turned out to be a tiring fortnight is evolving to a tiring 3 weeks as a monster of a project deadline looms. I thought I'd publish this part first to make myself feel better.

I can confirm this section is in 3 parts. Next part should be up before too long.

As ever, thanks again for all the comments, kudos, subscriptions and everything in between. Please feel free to leave comments; apologies I haven't made that clear earlier.

Chapter 14: Adversity (Part 2)

Summary:

The pair encounter trouble in various forms. Barriers break down even more.

Notes:

TW: Violence, death (including two rather gruesome deaths), swearing.

As they push further north into the eternally snowy Winterhold hold, a thicker blanket of snow starts appearing on the ground now and the sun starts disappearing behind greyer cloud and snow flurries more often than not. Camped at one end of a small clearing, it’s just past midnight with the twin moons dimly providing some rare moonlight as Maxwell hugs himself in his enchanted fur, sleeping through a formless dream. A violent shaking and a call of his name awakens him.

Seeing Serana standing over him by the tent entrance retracting a hand from his shoulder, he groggily asks “Serana…what is it?”

Her amber eyes are extremely wide as she states in a stern tone “We have company.”

After a second of processing her words, his brown eyes widen in horror at the inference and he shakes off any semblance of sleep as every sense goes on high alert. Within a matter of seconds, he’s out of his tent, donned his helmet and summoned the bound bow. Serana has ice and lightning spells already on her hands.

As he tensions the bow string to form the familiar ethereal arrow, a sinister voice calls out from somewhere in the darkness, well outside the range of the firelight. “Hello, Lady Serana...you traitorous bitch. Like mother, like daughter. Aw look, you have your Dragonborn lover with you.”

Maxwell quietly Shouts “Aak Miin Vulom” to adopt night vision as Serana calls back in a taunting manner. “Hello, Namasur. Is Modnha still following you around like a lost Death Hound?”

“I’ll make you swallow those words.” A feminine voice calls from the same direction as the other.

Serana stiffly laughs. “You two were always at the edge of the room, vying for just a modicum of attention from my Father. Tell me, does he know you’re both here, about to meet your end?”

“He’ll know soon enough, when we deliver your head and that of your Dragonborn lover. Tell me, how is he?”

“He’s doing fine, thank you for asking.” Maxwell calls out, summoned bow in hand and imbuing his words with some of his Thu’um. “Come out and I’ll show you just how…” before being cut off by the feminine voice.

“How quaint, he has a voice after all. I was wondering if you would be letting your Lady do all the talking.”

The two vampires – a Breton female with an extremely low-cut top and a Redguard male with bulging biceps - appear at the edge of their vision at the back of the clearing and charge directly at them. The sound of combat soon rings out, shattering the peace of the night. Namasur goes for Serana, Modhna for Maxwell.

As Serana opens with a volley of ice shards at Namasur who strafes left and returns with his own volley and a powerful shimmering ward, Maxwell moves right whilst shoots his summoned bow thrice at Modhna who is quick to dodge each shot, shifting slightly further to his right.

He Shouts “YOL TOOR SHUL” as the Breton nears but she narrowly dodges that too, although the clothing on her upper arm is singed. He throws the bow at her as she closes. Modhna rolls and leaps at him with fangs extended. Expecting this, he sidesteps and as she passes, he draws his ebony sword and scores a slash against her abdomen which cuts deep and singes from the enchantment. She howls in pain as she rights herself. Charging at him again, this time ducking under his follow-up swing before jabbing a fist into his ribs. His Glass armour deflects the blow but it winds him slightly.

As they back off and start circling each other, even with heart pounding in his ears Maxwell can just make out the morbid sounds of Serana’s fight with the Redguard. Modhna – who straightens up despite viscous blood seeping out from the abdomen wound and down her armour - curls a lip upwards and with her hand gestures to accentuate her rather voluptuous bosom as her other hand falls to her side.

“Like what you see, Dragonborn? These are much better than those of that traitorous harlot.”

As Maxwell instinctively shifts his gaze down, with her dropped hand she immediately draws and throws an iron dagger at his head. Reacting on instinct he tilts his head and the dagger whizzes past.

Righting himself, Modhna is once more rushing him. Without hesitation he throws a stream of fire at her head which her eyes partially widen at and she narrowly dodges, the fire just burning the ends of her hair.

“Two can play that game.” Maxwell scoffs.

The Breton sarcastically laughs before closing the distance once more.

After trading another round of blows, on the edge of his vision, he notices a surprising number of interspersed walls of ice separating them. Before he can guess why, Modhna suddenly sneers and evilly taunts “Are you going to fail Lady Serana like you did your dead wife?”

Maxwell’s reaction is immediate as his breathing flat lines and he becomes non-plussed; oblivious to what’s about to happen.

 

After several rounds of spells, Namasur calls out tauntingly whilst holding up the protective ward and starts circling. “Has your lover had his way with you, like our Master?”

His taunt works, prompting a surge of unwanted emotion within her. Despite this, she remains resolute and throws an ice storm at the Redguard while calling back. “Damn you, Namasur. You’ll soon join your doxy in death.”

Noticing the combined efforts of the two conniving opponents to turn Maxwell around so his rear is exposed, she unleashes an intense volley of lightning that loudly crackles and briefly illuminates the snow as the energy surges which forces the Redguard to go on the defensive. With her free hand, she throws up a snow flurry to block his sight, before managing to quickly throw up several ice walls to permanently block line of sight and protect Maxwell from the flanking attack.

As the snow storm wears out and she cancels the lightning, a small tiredness creeps up on her from the exigent expenditure of magicka. The Redguard strafes left and throws back his own lightning, which she deflects with ease. He subtly shifts his gaze over to the summoned ice walls as they come into view and whistles slightly, before a corner curls upwards as he makes eye contact with his partner.

“Clever move, Lady Serana…but you missed a spot.”

Namasur suddenly throws an overcharged lightning spell, crackling through the air towards her ice walls. To her horror, it blows apart the wall edges of a very small gap in between two of them.

 

Still momentarily stunned at Modhna’s taunt, Maxwell releases a pained yell as the overcharged lightning spell from Namasur explodes through the ice wall and connects painfully. It feels like every one of his cells is electrified; thankfully the enchanted amulet around his neck takes the majority of the damage out of the otherwise lethal spell. However, it’s sufficient to weaken him enough to give Modhna an opportunity. As he drops to a knee, head spinning slightly and the night-vision Shout wearing off, the Breton presses her advantage. Tackling the hunter into the snow-covered ground with a heavy thud, she decidedly smirks as she knocks his helmet off with a swipe and sword out of his other hand with the follow up. Maxwell manages to get off a weak Candlelight on reflex.

 

With him distracted, Serana throws a spell at Namasur’s feet which turns the snow underneath to ice, causing his feet to slide and the Redguard to lose his balance, lightning spell and – more importantly – his protective ward to fail. Hearing with perfect clarity what’s happening on the other side of the wall, she outright kills him with concurrent charged lightning blasts. Before his heavily scorched corpse falls or turns to dust, she turns on a Septim and runs to the wall. As she throws a spell to collapse part of the wall with one hand, with the crystals of an ice shard forming on her other outstretched hand, her dead heart momentarily freezes at the sight before her.

 

After falling to the ground with head spinning slightly, in the combined dim moonlight and weak Candlelight Maxwell has his hands on Modhna’s upper body, trying to keep her away. Spittle is flying onto his armour and face. His right hand gets knocked away by her flailing. With one of his arms out the way she attempts to bite on his exposed neck. He grunts as he throws his freed right forearm in the way which ends up in her mouth, and she bites – hard – immediately piercing through the armour which creaks and cracks. He roars loudly as blood starts seeping through his armour and dripping onto him, mixing with the saliva already there.

Suddenly, a whistling appears and a sizeable ice shard slams into the Breton’s side. This sends her careening off sideways, and with a slight snap fractures one of her fangs which is now comically stuck in Maxwell’s arm greave.

He immediately struggles to get to his feet whilst trying to keep his injured arm up. Modhna – despite the shard stuck in her side and dark blood dripping out of the various wounds – snarls as she rights herself. Before she can do anything else, an emotive Maxwell struggles to restrain the fires within, and they burn hotter than ever in years. In a renewed sweat he Shouts a rage filled “YOL TOOR SHUL” in her direction, incinerating her completely as well as melting a huge swathe of surrounding snow in the clearing and igniting several nearby trees in the line of literal fire. Serana, approaching from behind, can feel the intense heat wash over her with a modicum of utmost surprise…and dread.

As the dragon-breath fans out into nothing and night returns, aside from the various trees that are now burning, Maxwell weakly collapses into the snow; all feeling in his forearm nearly gone and the souls within returning to their previous level. Serana immediately appears by his side, her expression something unreadable.

“My…pack…” he manages to force out through the pain as he rolls over slightly, pulls off the damaged arm greave and glove, before laying a healing hand on the bleeding wound. Serana stiffly nods, and disappears before returning moments later with his pack as he moves to a kneeling position. After healing the wound to at least stop the bleeding, Maxwell attempts to unclasp his pack for potions; with only one hand somewhat working due to the pain and adrenaline he struggles. She silently takes it from him and unclasps it.

He flashes a weak smile of gratitude as he rummages through and pulls out a Cure Disease, Stamina and Healing potion, downing each one consecutively and throwing the vials to the side.

After further healing the wound with a second round of his healing spell, sensation begins to return to the limb. “Thank you…” he feebly states.

Serana quietly nods before helping him up. Stopping to retrieve his discarded and fallen gear, she gingerly holds his good arm as they go back to the subdued fire. He sighs heavily as the welcoming warmth of the fire registers on his form, as she helps him sit down on the fallen log next to it. She grabs her pack and sits next to him.

In silence, he summons the fire spell and bolsters the subdued campfire, and she pulls out and downs an entire blood vial herself, the invigorating energy flowing through her.

After a tense 5 minutes, which includes him extracting then silently huffing as he throws the broken tooth from his greave, he turns to her and quietly asks “How are you doing, Serana? I mean, with the Redguard calling you a traitor.”

Her breath hitches ever so slightly, thinking for a split second he’d heard what Namasur said.

“I’m okay…thank you.” she lies, offering a weak smile as she glances over. He looks back, noticing her amber eyes are piercing. “Are you alright? I heard what Modhna said…”

He quietly shrugs, half batting his eyelids before lying "I'm doing okay, thanks."

Feeling the conversation reaching a forced end followed by a wave of tiredness, he summons the fire spell once more to bolster the fire, and haggardly states “Well, thank you again Serana. If there’s nothing else...”

“Goodnight, Maxwell.” She curtly replies with only the briefest look and smile, as she settles back and stares into the now-crackling fire.

“Goodnight, Serana.” He promptly responds with a small smile and nod before turning and heading back to his tent.

They each know the other is lying, but neither wants to broach the respective issue.

For Maxwell, sleep comes quickly thanks to the efforts of the fight and the late hour, but the nightmares that follow plague his slumber. One particularly powerfully poignant memory prompted by the now dead Breton’s taunt plays havoc on him. One he has replayed a thousand and one times, well one thousand and two times now.

For Serana, even though she is attempting to read her book that she picked up soon after Maxwell went to sleep, the words are not processed as she is facing her own set of painful memories of that Summoning Day. She finally manages to push them out of her mind and lock down the emotions once more. She notices Maxwell tossing and turning in his sleep.

 

The next morning, the tension has abated somewhat. As he checks the saddle on Rocky who neighs a few times from his actions, Maxwell opts to try and alleviate the remaining strain hanging over them. He starts with “I meant to ask, how did Rocky and your thoroughbred not wake up last night? The fight was loud.”

“I put them to sleep before waking you so they didn’t run off when those two attacked.” She quickly responds.

“I guess those two are, or rather were, members of your father’s court? I don’t recall seeing them that day.” He turns to look at her, pausing his actions.

She doesn't turn, but responds with a sigh “Two minor members; stupid idiots. No one is going to miss them. They always were overconfident. It makes sense, actually, that they’d foolishly try to take us on by themselves without thralls or anyone else.”

“Well, I’ll say this: your father’s court sure know their spells.”

With an air of awe twinned with a modicum of anxiety, Serana stops and turns to look at him. “You say that, yet your last fire breath…I’ve never seen anything like it, Maxwell. It was, in a word, scary. I could feel the heat from behind you. Not even a Master Destruction mage can produce an effect like that...”

“Huh.”

After a moment, they both return to their horses.

Finishing his checks, he makes an offhand comment “Maybe we need to reassess a few things...”

She freezes before turning back to Maxwell with a surprised expression “What do you mean by that?”

As he pulls his pack and opens it up, he notices her expression and promptly explains “Our travelling arrangements for one. Our planned route for another.”

He pulls out his map. Unfurling it, he explains with a sincere tone tinted with remorse “Me sleeping at night puts a target on our back as we’re stationary, and I recall you’re uncomfortable due to the daylight. I’m sorry I never asked earlier, I didn’t think. I took it for granted.”

A twinge of something occurs within her. “I understand, although the current arrangement is amenable for me.”

Maxwell looks surprised. “Are…you sure?”

“Yes, being in the sunlight is somewhat uncomfortable, but that’s a small price to pay for the distance we can cover during the day when the others can’t risk moving in the sunlight.” Serana pauses before finishing. “Thank you though.”

He raises an eyebrow, which she responds to with a genuine smile “For considering my comfort.”

He responds with his own, before moving onto his next point. Maxwell continues. “You once said that I had a unique scent. Did they find us because they picked up on that?”

She pauses to consider it. “It’s a possibility.”

“Is there anything you can do to reduce the effect?”

Serana considers that request heavily, furrowing her brow as she considers her spell arsenal. Finally replying with “I can try and cast an Illusion spell to suppress it, but….” leaving the sentence hanging in the cold air; the inference clear.

He did trust her, but still feels a twinge of unease based on what happened in Helgen and then in Braidwood Inn. Deciding on a compromise, he states “What about on my armour?”

She considers the option, before looking at him. “I’ll give it a try. Ready?”

He nods, and tenses slightly as she casts the spell, a blue energy swirling around her fingers as she directs the effect to Maxwell’s enchanted armour. Once cast, she stands and sniffs once, her nostrils flaring slightly.

“It’s worked. It’s not as good if I had cast it on yourself, but nevertheless it is significantly reduced. I will need to recast it every day, though, to maintain the efficacy.”

“Duly noted…and thank you, on both counts.”

Internally, Serana begins to almost immediately miss it…which surprises her. She had become familiar with it, equating it to his presence and his strength.

Maxwell continues “My next thought: our planned route. If they found us here, either they got lucky or they anticipated. What do you think if we cut further out, give a wider berth from the road” gesturing to the now open map “This mountain will be a problem, but we can skirt around this side. It’ll add a few days, but I doubt they’d expect us to journey so far out.”

She observes the map before shaking her head. “That’s an idea, but I disagree. The sooner we get there, the better. Besides, as I said they were idiots. I sincerely doubt they told anyone of their intention.”

Maxwell concludes with “My final idea: we see if College has anything we can purchase. Perhaps a stronger enchantment or gear.”

A thought occurs to him, and he asks “Saying that, is your armour or dagger enchanted? I never thought to ask.”

“Yes, to both; the armour has several. Fortification of Magicka, resistance to Magic, among other similar enchantments.”

The mention of resistance to magic surprises him, and he hesitantly asks “So is the amulet useless or…?”

“It’s actually stronger.”

“Good, that’s…uh, good.” He responds with, as he stows the map back in his pack.

 

---

 

The day passes with barely a word between them after their initial conversation, and by afternoon they decide to make camp earlier than normal at Maxwell’s insistence, albeit further off the beaten path. Maxwell sits with his back against a stone by the fire, inspecting his damaged arm greave once more. Serana is staring off into the distance, chin on her hand, pondering something.

“You’re pensively brooding again. What’s wrong?” he says, looking over.

“Nothing…I’m just thinking.”

He responds “it’s obviously not nothing. What’s bothering you?”

Serana sighs herself before looking at him. “Modhna turned you around so Namasur could hit you from behind with a spell. That’s why I put up those walls of ice, to try and block his line of sight.”

Maxwell rubs his nape to think, reflecting back on their earlier conversation, before simply commenting “Thank you for that. As for the spells, that’s actually one of the reasons why I retrieved the amulets. Extra magic protection. Lydia was always running into trouble headfirst and I had to...” before suddenly clamming up, realising what he just said. He drops his hand in muted silence and shifts back to look into the fire.

Serana gives him a curious look.

“Sorry, I…”

“Don’t worry” changing the topic, she asks “how much experience of fighting against vampires do you have?”

He turns to look at her, briefly passing a look of thankfulness across his face before shrugging as he answers.

“Before all this? Some, but isolated incidents. Mostly during the Potema incident, but those were feral. A couple of times on the road as well.” He returns to his armgreave inspection.

She considers his words, carefully, before stating “If we’re going against my father and his court, you need to know how we move, how we think.”

“I mean, I’ve seen you in action. You throw lightning and ice like there’s no tomorrow. Kind of scary in a way, actually.” Maxwell retorts without looking up from his armour.

For the first time since the fight, she lightly chuckles. Although she soon adopts a somewhat serious expression once more.

“Did you ever use your Shouts during your self-exile?”

“Not really.” He glances up, with a slight raised brow at these questions. Seeing no response forthcoming, he returns to his ministrations.

After a minute or so, Serana suddenly stands up. With her cloak and hair billowing behind her, she strides over to him. He looks up with surprise at the sudden motion. Stopping before him, she commands “Stand up.”

“Say what now?” he replies, confused at the immediate instruction.

“Stand up. It’s time for some training. Leave your sword and pack.” She orders.

Training? What…training?

He does so, leaving his pack and sword as instructed, although slightly hesitant. He dons his arm greave that he took off and follows her, wondering what’s about to go down. “What do you mean, training?”

“You need to build up your resilience to using Shouts so that you don’t tire out so quickly. Think of it like a muscle that’s atrophied due to not being used for so long. But that’s for later. Right now, we’re just working on the basics.”

After striding a distance away into a clearing far enough from their resting horses so the sounds of combat don’t spook them, she turns to face him. The expression on her porcelain-like face is a serious one. He swallows a small nervous knot, before querying. “Are you sure there’s no one around?”

“Only us.”

She immediately summons and throws a compact snowball at him. On reflex, he sidesteps out the way and it thuds to the floor. She immediately summons and throws several more. One of them goes for his head so he twists his upper body to move out of the projectile’s path, thereby breaking eye contact. As he straightens up; his eyes flare up in horror and he steps back. She’s right in front of him.

“…now you’re dead. You broke eye contact, so left yourself blind. Always maintain eye contact.”

After moving back, she throws another one, this time Maxwell anticipates and he moves to the side where she immediately throws another one. He instinctively ducks below it, before Serana is once more in front of him, right in front.

This happens several more times, and soon after Serana summons a snow flurry completely blinding him.

“Hey, no fair!”

A compact snowball hits him in the shoulder.

“We don’t play fair, Maxwell. That’s another lesson.”

A whiff of memory of Modhna’s taunt wafts into his mindscape.

After yet another volley where he breaks eye contact and she is once more in front of him, she states in a serious tone “You broke eye contact again. I thought you were good at this, given your reputation?” That last part, she flashes a genuine smirk.

Oh, you’re enjoying this? Fine, if you want to play this game…

“Fine…again” he commands.

As she gets into position and throws yet another volley, he sidesteps whilst maintaining eye contact as he quickly throws a hand out. Serana arches an eyebrow as she prepares another volley.

He Shouts “QO”, before bringing his hand down. After a second, a crackling lightning bolt strikes the tree behind her, splintering it into a thousand fragments.

As she turns in perplexed surprise at the sudden action, he Shouts “WULD” and dashes right up to her, stopping a few feet away. She immediately snaps back to him hearing him approach, and he grins. Her amber eye flare and widen in surprise as she backs off slightly.

“Now who broke eye contact?”

“What…” she breathlessly exclaims.

“Expect the unexpected. Besides, you did say you don’t play fair.” He offers with a grin before laughing slightly.

As Serana observes her laughing companion, a thought occurs. I know what will put him in his place…

She sets her jaw to determined, before saying “Let’s try something different…summon your bow. Try and hit me.”

The laughter immediately dies in his throat, not expecting that response. Maxwell stares in abject surprise before asking “Serana… are you sure?”

He notices her amber eyes have a knowing look to them.

“Of course, Maxwell.” She gives a disarming yet knowing smile as she gestures for him to move back.

After doing so, he summons the bow and tensions the bowstring. As he aims the summoned bow and arrow, he hesitates before shooting. To his immense surprise, she immediately transforms into a swarm of bats which fly around him and reintegrates right behind him only a second later. The arrow thuds into a tree behind where she was.

“Expect the unexpected.” She playfully states, cocking an eyebrow as her amber eyes alight with mirth as she throws his comment right back at him.

After the shock wears off, he Shouts “TIID”, and moves behind her, dropping the bound bow which slowly falls to the ground before winking out of existence.

As the Shout wears off, she snaps around, the mirth disappearing.

“Indeed.” Before he coughs a couple of times.

Serana is immediately concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…I’m good…thanks.” he straightens up, levelling his brown eyes to her.

“Are you okay to continue?” she asks.

“…Yes?” He responds, a hint of concern in his cadence.

“Good” before she suddenly smirks once more and summons a snow flurry, blinding him.

The training continues.

She throws up another large snow flurry which blinds him, and as he shouts "LOK" to clear it, he gets hit with a snowball in his shoulder.

She throws several more, and he Shouts "WULD" to avoid. She casts a spell to turn the ground to ice and he just manages to keep his balance.

She throws weakened lightning, and on instinct from the spell of Namasur he Shouts "LIZ WAHL" and a sizeable ice stalagmite suddenly appears from the ground up between them; her spell slams into it. That one takes her completely by surprise.

After this, Maxwell grows dizzy and leans against a nearby tree, the familiar exhaustion from Shouting so much appearing. “That’s…enough…for now.”

Serana walks beside him as they return, their stuff still there and horses still asleep - somehow.

As he recovers, she sits there intently staring at him; her amber eyes focused.

“Just how many Shouts do you know?” she asks, incredulous.

He looks at her curiously, before she realises what she asked.

“Sorry…” she begins, before he cuts her off.

“No, it’s…fine. I guess I had it coming. It’s…hard to say. It’s like the knowledge is there, but I have to know the words beforehand. Some are easier to do, like that one to let me see in the dark or the sprint one. Others are much more forceful yet draining, like the ice or fire shouts.”

“That ice shout was incredible. Why have you never used it before?”

“To be honest, I kind of forgot I could do it. I’ve only used it once; it’s really draining.”

Seeing that barriers are now breaking he opts to ask a question of his own.

“Can I ask…turning into bats, is that something any vampire can do?”

She considers his question, before inhaling deeply and shaking her head sending her hair waving from side to side. “It’s only something that we – Father, Mother and I – can do. It’s because we’re Vampire Lords.”

Wait. Vampire…Lords? What in Oblivion does that mean?!

His look of incredulity matches the confusion in his voice as he questions “Vampire…Lords? But Isran once told me you were pure-bloods…”

Her countenance immediately changes; she cocks a head and her expression becomes dangerously neutral, her amber eyes narrowing to slits as she intently studies him.

“What else did Isran tell you?” her tone, monotonous yet icy. The instant change from her rather cheerful demeanour to this is astounding…and scary.

Sensing he’s treading on extremely thin ice and not wanting to break through it; he carefully considers his words. “Err…not a great deal. Only that, and that you likely got it from the source.”

The tension just grew a hundred-fold. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

Her intense stare becomes transfixed on his, eyes narrowing even more. A small knot of fear crawls up his spine.

“Stop.”

“I don….”

“Maxwell...don’t.” She maintains her intense glare.

He holds up his hands and backs off.

After a while, she sighs. “I’m sorry. It’s…something of a sensitive topic.”

Without missing a beat, Maxwell’s response surprises her. “No need to apologise Serana. I get it. I really do.”

She gives him a curious gaze with a slightly cocked head before breathing out “…you do?”

“Whiterun? Ivarstead?” he responds, giving her a slightly quizzical look.

Remembering how he reacted upon the respective event at each location, she understands his point.

 

---

 

The next day, after another training session which Serana again wins - much to his chagrin - she asks.

“Maxwell…what is it like?”

“Hmm?”

“What is it like, carrying the souls of the dragons?” she quickly adds “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“It’s…” he pauses, not having been asked this question in a long time. “Now that’s even harder to describe. Best way I can describe is it’s like a fire, deep within. Each time I Shout, it flares up, before being tempered again. I’ve…had to repress it, over the years…”

“…thank you, Maxwell. I know it’s a difficult subject.”

He wafts a hand dismissively as he tends to the fire. “Eh, I figured you’d ask, sooner or later.”

He did feel a bit put off that she was asking all these questions and she was hesitant to answer his; nevertheless, he got the heavy impression it was something she really didn’t want to talk about, so he wouldn’t pressure her to do so.

After a little while, she adds “Isran is right, in the broadest sense.”

Maxwell glances over, not immediately understanding her sentence.

“A pure-blood – also known as a Vampire Lord - gets their power from…the source” she quietly states.

“From M…” he absentmindedly starts, before being immediately cut off.

“DON’T SAY HIS NAME!!” Her voice rises by several pitches, echoing around them.

He clams up. As an apology is on his lips, she interrupts “To answer your question: Yes.”

“Thank you, Serana.”

“For what?”

“For…” he pauses, deliberating his words “…answering my question. I, um, understand if you don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

She simply offers a weak smile.

 

---

 

The next day, and the day after that, and the other days that follow as they push further north, they continue the training. Maxwell’s Shouting ability becomes more resilient, after years of not being in as much use.

They have a back and forth after some of the training sessions, where she asks some questions about his past as Dragonborn and he asks questions about some of her Vampire Lord powers. Lydia (for him) and the origin of her powers (for her) are the unspoken topics that are off limits.

After one training session, one particularly powerful question Maxwell is surprised at. Serana asks “Maxwell, how did you find out you were Dragonborn? Talsgar – the bard in Rorikstead - alluded that it was in the heat of battle. Said it was grandiose.”

He winces heavily as the memory resurfaces. “That, er, is one way of putting it, although grandiose it was not. A dragon attacked Whiterun in the summer of year 400, and we assisted in defence. During the fight, I was knocked unconscious by the dragon’s tail after killing it. Apparently, the dragon’s soul flew towards me. That’s when…things changed.” He explains, the last part with a cadence of heaviness.

“Tell me more about her…” Serana softly asks.

His breath catches in his throat. After a moment, he forces out in a quiet voice. “Maybe…another time…Serana…”

The conversation ends here, and the companionable silence becomes strained for the remainder of the day.

 

----

 

The next night, about 4 days from Winterhold, after they’ve made camp in a secluded rocky alcove, he motions to get up as she approaches but she shakes her head. She sits in front of him.

“Er…what are you doing Serana?” He quizzes, looking for meaning in her expression.

After a moment to consider her words, Serana focuses her amber eyes and quietly states “I want to help you improve your mental resistance to external influence.”

Memories of Helgen and Braidwood Inn flash up into his mindscape, and he exclaims “Woah, wait! The physical training is one thing, this is something else entirely.”

She immediately asks “Do you trust me Maxwell?”

“You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I say my Father is not one to hesitate to try and impose his will onto mortals when he feels like it. Even with who you are, I fear he will try to dominate you should we find ourselves in front of him.”

She had a point, and the thought had occurred a few times, but despite his trust in her what happened in Helgen was enough to give him pause.

“Wait...if that’s the case then why didn’t he do it to me when we got to your home?”

She considers it. “He was quite occupied in the Scroll’s return, I guess he didn’t think to.” There’s an undercurrent in her tone of something unrecognisable.

“I see.” He responds.

After a moment of the two looking to each other, Maxwell breaks the ice. “I appreciate the offer Serana…I really do, but I hope you understand I’m not entirely comfortable with my head getting messed with. Maybe the College has something that can help, an enchantment or something…” his words taper off.

Serana’s expression becomes slightly unreadable but she offers a weak smile and nods before motioning to get up; Maxwell on instinct reaches out to stop her, before the memory of what happened in Braidwood Inn gives him pause.

 

----

 

As they make their way through a snow drift amidst a snow flurry, a morbid sound catches his attention. His heart freezes; there’s piercing howls…a lot of them.

He glances back, and Serana matches his own wide eyes.

A large pack of rabid wolves rushes out of the treeline. Maxwell turns Rocky to the side, summoning the bow and taking out a couple of the wolves at range.

Serana manages to take out a few more with ice shards, and an ice wall to block more.

Shouting “FUS RO DAH” pushes back most of the wolves as they get close, but Rocky panics at both the approaching pack and his action, and begins bucking. Trying to stay on the frightened beast, one of the leading wolves manages to charge and leap, knocking Maxwell clean off.

Landing in a tangle on the floor, the bow shimmering out of existence, the snarling beast tries to bite at him; the hunter manages to wrench his dagger out and stab the beast in the neck, killing it.

The horrific and blood curdling shrieks of pain coming from his equine companion immediately draw his attention.

One of the last surviving wolves – injured but still very much alive - has latched its jaws onto Rocky’s neck and is violently tearing flesh asunder. An ice shard pierces its side and rips it away, which essentially tears Rocky’s neck further open. More red blood starts spurting everywhere as his equine companion flails before collapsing to the ground.

Maxwell immediately drops his dagger, dashes over and summons the healing spell, but unfortunately the damage is too extensive. Rocky passes away moments later, the sunken eyes looking terrified.

As he gingerly lays a hand on Rocky and bows his head, Serana appears beside him.

“I’m sorry M…” She apologetically begins before being interrupted.

“Serana, will you stop that?!” A distraught Maxwell shouts.

She backs off, a myriad of emotions fleeting across her face.

He breathes once before quietly stating “Just…please…”

After a moment, she solemnly states “I should go after my horse” before bursting into bat-form and disappearing after her galloping thoroughbred.

Once alone, he sheds several tears as he lays a mournful hand on Rocky’s maw, before closing the sunken eyes. He kneels quietly in the befallen silence to lament his loss, retrieving his dagger and kicking one of the wolf corpses for good measure. He begins piling snow on Rocky’s corpse.

Serana returns about 10 minutes later, leading her thoroughbred. Maxwell has finished burying his dead equine companion under the snow, laying a hand on the pile as he silently lets out the stress and emotion.

When his vampiress companion cautiously approaches, not daring to say anything, Maxwell simply offers “I’m really going to miss him.”

He stands up, brushing off the detritus and snow from him. Looking to his companion with a levelled gaze, Maxwell states. “My apologies for shouting at you Serana, it was uncalled for. Thank you for trying to save him.”

At her insistence, he alights her thoroughbred before offering a hand to help her up. Despite feeling somewhat stiff every time she sat behind him, she doesn’t say anything this time.

He pauses the thoroughbred near the snowy mound for a moment before kicking his feet into the sides and getting it into a canter. They ride off in relative silence.

Notes:

Slightly delayed with this one due to work stuff overflowing into Friday (yesterday).

I did have fun with this one, but I did rewrite the fight with Modhna and Namasur a total of three times as I tried different ideas (e.g. play by play of each action, concurrent then shifting perspectives). Please do let me know what you think to it; apologies as well if it seems slightly disconnected.

Also, LIZ WAHL is another shout I created. It means "Ice Build" or (in my mind "Build up Ice").

As ever, thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks and everything in between. It really brightens my day :)

Chapter 15: Adversity (Part 3)

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana encounter several unique forms of trouble.

Notes:

TW: Swearing (quite a bit I'm afraid), death (including suicide by fire), violence, panic attack(s), some mention of blood and gore, some horror elements.

The tension from losing Rocky has abated to some degree from the companionly silence hanging over them, although Maxwell is still somewhat withdrawn and rarely makes conversation.

The next day, after spotting a surprisingly large pack of aggressive-looking trolls moving about on the upcoming mountain face overhanging the pass, they opt to circumvent by going around the large rock formation to the right instead. Admittedly adding another day or so to their journey, but much better than becoming troll food.

As they push onwards, Serana’s head suddenly turns to the side, her hair whipping into Maxwell’s neck; he jumps slightly. Stopping the horse, he tensely asks “What is it, Serana?”

“Blood. Including human, and a lot of it.”

There are no disturbances in the snow other than their own. He frowns in consternation. “That’s…not good. Which way?”

“Over there, several hundred metres away.” She points to the south east.

After navigating her thoroughbred to a safe location, they ready themselves. She stalks over the terrain, moving with deep intent, before coming to a dead stop near a rocky ledge.

She silently points to a couple of areas, and he can see the signs of a cave hidden by the rocky outthrusts. There’s semi-hidden blood scattered around the entrance.

She tilts her head, gaze unfocused, before levelling and looking back to Maxwell. In a serious voice, Serana outright states. “There’s several individuals down there but they’re masking their magicka pools. It’s going to be dangerous. We could leave.”

“This close to the road? There’s some reason they’re here, and Winterhold is quite remote and isolated. We can’t let them prey on passers-by. Besides, between us I’m sure we can handle it.” Maxwell replies with a hint of a smile.

She stares intently, as though wanting to say something, but sighs and acquiesces. “Okay Maxwell…I’ll lead. Stay behind me.”

She casts that shimmering spell again. Noticing him staring, she states “Ebonyflesh.”

His eyebrows raise slightly. Yet another thing from another age.

“I’ve never heard of that. Something else from ancient history?” He says with a small hint of humour. She smiles, but a disconcerting look briefly flashes before she steels her gaze.

Quietly entering behind her, the sounds of combat soon ring out as they’re beset by the hagraven coven that resides within this sizeable cave. Despite the various fireballs and destruction spells that the vile creatures throw at them, the duo gains the upper hand especially as Maxwell can literally breath dragon-fire.

The last surviving hagraven, seeing her sisters killed by these intruders who have stepped into their isolated home and disturbed their activity, moves to the entrance before viscerally screaming some nonsensical words as she immolates herself with a fireball. The resulting inferno and explosion brings down the cave entrance, much to Maxwell’s horror.

Maxwell quickly ducks behind his damaged ice stalagmite, the wave of fire glancing off his trailing arm. After a brief moment, as the debris settles onto the floor and a silence appears, the hunter peers out from behind his protection as he covers his mouth with a gloved hand to prevent dust inhalation. Groaning slightly at the realisation of being trapped underground once again, he shakes his slightly singed arm as he sheathes his sword, more so to work off the adrenaline and dust.

“Are you okay, Serana?” Looking over to her as she approaches from behind the nearby cave wall.

“I’m fine Maxwell, thank you. What about you?” she queries.

“Yeah, just my pride that hurts.”

She continues to give him a look, glancing down at the somewhat singed armour pieces on his left arm from the Hagraven’s suicidal explosion.

“Honestly Serana, I’m okay. One of the enchantments is for protection against fire.” He offers in a reassuring tone, raising a suggestive eyebrow to infer why it had such an enchantment. She recognises it and nods.

Looking around at the remains of the coven in the cavern, Maxwell sighs heavily before saying with a heavy tone “Never thought I’d see hagravens this far north.”

Gesturing to the now sealed entrance, he frowns and huffs as he leans against a dust-covered rock. “Talk about déjà vu…”

After a moment, Serana speaks out “I can Recall us out.”

He shakes his head as he rubs off the scorch mark from his armour, with a slight chuckle as he thinks back to the last time this happened – well over a month ago now - which started this whole debacle. “That’s useful, but then we’d lose almost two weeks of travel…not to mention your horse. Let’s explore, this cave is pretty sizeable. Maybe there’s another way out.” Maxwell stands at the last part, straightening out his chest armour and pauldrons.

She shrugs but joins in the search of the dimly lit cave; various light sources and fires maintained by the hagravens. They look around; there’s various grotesque sights which make Maxwell wince and cover his mouth and nose at, such as a pit of desiccated and bloody remains in one corner and a heavily blood-stained sacrificial altar in another. For Serana, this is tame compared to the sights in the Castle. They don’t find a great deal of useful items, beyond various alchemical ingredients such as Namira’s Rot and Eyes of Sabrecat at some makeshift alchemy set up which Maxwell takes.

In one far darkened corner, somewhat separated from the rest of the hagraven activity, Serana spots something odd. For some reason, the hagravens have built up a fake wooden wall blocking an ancient yet simple stone door. After removing the barricade and testing the stone handle, the door slowly creaks open inwards which sends a wave of dust and web cascading downwards, as it opens to reveal a descending stair case into a dark abyss.

As they cast their respective light sources, Serana suddenly quips “You take me to all the nicest places, Maxwell.”

He groans slightly as he looks over, although there’s hints of a grin. “Do you want to lead?”

“Good idea.” She renews her Ebonyflesh, and motions past him.

Following the descending staircase, it bottoms out into a small ancient ruin with recognisable Nordic features. He’s very rarely been in this part of Skyrim – given how bone-shiveringly cold it is - yet this ruin feels oddly familiar to Maxwell. They cautiously go through the mixed assortment of rooms and corridors of this long-forgotten ruin. They clear out a number of Draugr and undead that appear and accost them, which isn’t wholly surprising for such a place.

In one corridor, Serana sees a large intricate mural on a wall ahead. Moving to it, she looks at it with a pondering look before calling him over.

“Maxwell, have a look at this. I think I found the purpose for this place.”

He steps towards it, and immediately balks. The deeply etched drawing of a draped figure standing with arms wide above a crowd of skeletons and surrounded by dragons causes a sudden and heavy realisation to dawn on him.

“FUCK!!” He vehemently shouts, turning around and clenching his fists; his voice echoing through the rooms and corridors.

“Maxwell?” Serana’s voice becomes tinged with alarm.

“I know what this fucking place is for.” Maxwell tensely states, turning back to his companion.

“A Dragon Priest?” Serana asks, her cadence slightly tight. He looks momentarily surprised but grimly nods in affirmation, as he stares intently at the mural with a look of dread on his features.

Her amber eyes dart back to the mural, before commenting with a hint of concern “I thought so. I’ve read about them extensively. Among other things, I recall they use Shouts like you can. I’m guessing from your reaction you’ve fought one before?”

Once he gets his breathing under control, he nods in assent. The stress in his voice betrays his inner emotion. “Two, and this is the third time that I’ve seen the mural. The first priest almost took my arm off. I’ve encountered them in similar ruins; that’s why this place felt weirdly familiar. There’ll be a large circular room with stone pews. If there is a priest there…well, we need to kill it quickly.”

Her lips become taut at the prospect of fighting something akin to Maxwell. “Good idea.”

“The good news is there’s always been a second exit. I think a secret entrance way of some sort.”

As Maxwell looks hesitantly down the dark corridor ahead of them, she offers with a smile “I’m with you.” He quickly nods, before inhaling and leading the way with sword drawn, his Candlelight hovering in front of him.

As he leads the way, Serana internally grimaces. Having seen his Shouts in action, especially his dragon-fire one which is beyond the strongest fire spells known in either time period; being on the receiving end of them is not something she is keen to experience first-hand. She really hopes there isn’t one here like he said had been the case once before, and if there is…it doesn’t know the dragon-fire Shout.

Passing through a few more corridors and tight rooms, the duo eventually finds an open doorway into a very dark room that seems to go on. He quickly Shouts “Aak Min Vulom”, and as the details of the room become visible, he grimaces. He looks to Serana, and she nods back before bracing herself. His grip on his sword tightens, the armour creaking. As they cautiously enter the room, a number of aged stone braziers immediately alight, bathing the room in glowing fire light. He dismisses the Shout to avoid being blinded. As the details of the room become visible, his stomach contorts in recognition once more. It’s a somewhat sizeable semi-circular room. There are consecutive stone pews that line around a central raised platform with support columns around an off-centre dais, just as he predicted.

Scanning the raised altar area with a pathway leading behind, the immediate difference is that the Word Wall isn’t where he expects it to be, at the rear of the raised area. He relaxes, just a bit.

Huh, maybe there isn’t one here. It’s wouldn’t be the first time. Thank fuck.

As soon as the thought finishes, an explosion sound rings out as part of the altar floor flies up and smashes into the ceiling, which creates a cascading shower of rock and stone that clatter back down to the ground. A grotesque undead creature with very thin limbs dressed in broken tatters of a hooded robe and holding a warped material staff of some sort immediately flies out and stares at Maxwell intently and menacingly. Its sunken yet glowing eyes full of hatred and anger.

Without hesitation, Maxwell immediately Shouts “YOL TOOR SHUL” to incinerate it. As the dragon-breath fast approaches it, the Dragon Priest in response Shouts “FEIM ZI GRON” and turns ethereal, its form now a wispy ghostlike visage. As the fire breath expires into nothingness and the room returns to its previous illumination, it seemingly smirks at the stunned duo.

“What the…” Maxwell utters, his face becoming pallor and eyes widening in absolute horror. Serana’s jaw is almost unhinged.

The Dragon Priest dons a mask before its form returns to normal and it immediately throws a fireball at Serana who throws up an ice wall which blocks the effect. It then summons two flame atronachs by her before shouting “ZUN HAAL VIIK” at Maxwell. The result being his enchanted sword flying away from him, clattering to the floor. He summons his bow and starts firing; the priest Shouts “FEIM ZI GRON” again and turns ethereal. He grunts in anger before shifting targets to the atronachs who are bearing down on Serana.

The subsequent fight is a hard slog, with the priest using that unknown shout almost constantly, but eventually Maxwell recognises a pattern – the Dragon Priest is ethereal for 18 seconds before becoming corporeal. After the priest once again turns ethereal to avoid a dishevelled Serana’s ice storm which coincidentally eliminates the last summoned flame atronach, Maxwell counts out the seconds in his head.

1…2…3…4…5

The Dragon Priest continues hovering above where it was, passing the staff to its other hand. Serana ducks behind a pillar.

6…7…8…9

The Dragon Priest hovers over to the other side of the pedestal. Serana moves around the corner, preparing another ice storm in one hand.

10…11…12…13…

Maxwell moves into position in between the rows of pews, dismissing the summoned bow to free his hands and to lure the Priest to attacking him.

14…15..

“SERANA, COVER YOUR EARS!”

She glances briefly over, looking in concern at where he is standing but follows his instruction and ducks out of sight. The priest notices this, turns to look at Maxwell and smirks before raising his staff.

17…18…

As the priest raises his staff to its highest and his form becomes corporeal again, Maxwell throws his hand out before forming a fist and Shouts “LIZ SLEN NUS”. The air around the priest suddenly freezes into an amorphic ice shard, with the Priest frozen inside. The tip of the staff is the only thing outside of the ice. When the shard starts to fall, Maxwell immediately shouts “FUS RO DAH”, with the built-up energy slamming into the ice block and carrying it into the far wall, smashing into smithereens due to the sheer force. The priest is instantly killed, with pieces scattering everywhere in a dazzling shower as the echoes of his Shout bounce around the room.

As the final pieces fall and silence descends, Serana emerges from behind her hiding place, uncovering her ears with a look of amazement.

“That was amazing” she breathlessly states, amber eyes glancing at the ice remnants scattered everywhere.

When he bends over and coughs a few times, she strides over but he straightens up and gives a weak grin as he pulls his waterskin out and downs some of it to quench his slightly parched throat. After finishing the drink, wiping the dust, sweat and leftover water droplets from his lips. “I have my moments”

She smirks, as she straightens her hair.

“Are you okay? Sorry, I had to be loud there.” He asks in an apologetic tone.

“My ears are still ringing a bit but it’ll pass. Thanks for the warning.” She offers a disarming smile.

Spending a few minutes to recuperate, their actions include her downing another vial of blood from the huge magicka drain and he retrieving his fallen sword.

“I’ve never seen that Shout before. That was…” Maxwell observes as he approaches whilst sheathing his sword, his sentence incomplete as he can’t find the right word to describe it.

“…otherworldly?” Serana offers.

He shrugs with a slight huff. “Yeah…”

Moving up to where the priest had lain for thousands of years, there’s nothing of value. However, as soon as he approaches the rear wall of the altar, a sudden yet subdued utterance appears in his mindscape along with imagery and emotion…familiar yet deeply unsettling and horrifying.

“No..no no no no…it can’t be…” Maxwell utters in a tight panicked voice, as he rapidly backtracks off the altar and descends into a panic.

“Maxwell?” Serana expresses deep concern at his sudden reaction.

He stumbles haphazardly back several meters before coming to a stop near a stone pew, breath shallowing and his complexion becoming pale once more.

“Maxwell, what’s wrong?” she repeats.

Trying to get his breathing under control, he forces out in between gasps. “Behind the wall…is there…curved mural…can you check?” gesturing to the altar area.

She studies him curiously before acquiescing, and after walking over she disappears out of sight momentarily, before returning a few moments later. In a voice with a modicum of surprise, she queries “there is a curved mural there…how did you know?”

Damn it!

Trying to keep his voice level, Maxwell explains “That’s an epitaph…to the priest. If I get closer…I can hear chanting and…I see things. Part of is imbued with…some sort of power. It’s how I learnt some of my shouts.”

She considers his words carefully. The mention of hearing and seeing things from stonework is unusual, and she’s never heard of such a thing before. Nevertheless, she considers a few options before settling on one.

As his complexion and breathing begin returning to some degree of normalcy, Serana offers in a kind tone. “Let me put a Mark on the other side, and I can Recall us past it.”

He looks up, before nodding in assent.

She strides back, her auburn hair and cape fluttering behind her, as she disappears around the corner, down the adjoining corridor, places a Mark and then returning to his side.

“Ready?” she gently asks.

Taking a deep inhale, he nods apprehensively “I’m ready.”

However, as soon as the warping completes and they appear at her Mark in the corridor, he abruptly yells in pain and his hands fly to his temples, stumbling into the wall. His armour scrapes against it as he slides down to the floor, visibly shaking and with both heart rate and breathing rapidly increasing again. Serana calls his name but he’s completely non-responsive; caught up in the storm of his renewed panic.

Forgive me, Maxwell.

Throwing caution to the wind, she drops to her knees in front of him with a resolute expression. She quickly takes his helmet off and tosses it aside, and raises her hands to either side of his head. He suddenly grabs them tightly, his unfocused gaze fixed on her.

“A Calming spell.” She quickly states, trying to summon as reassuring tone as possible.

He stares at her curiously, his panic-stricken eyes searching her own, before mutely dropping his hands. She casts the spell, a faint blue surrounding her digits that reach out to his temples. His breathing and heart rate plummet back to normal and he looks significantly more relaxed. His brown eyes relax and become half closed as the calming effect takes a hold.

After a minute or so, he looks almost like himself again, although rather sweaty.

As he grabs the discarded helmet and stands up, his brow furrows as he stares off into nothing and expression becomes blank. He cocks his head, as though listening to something that isn’t there. Before she can say anything, he mutters “FEIM”, and suddenly his form becomes ethereal, just like the priest. Serana is non-plussed, taking a step back in shock intermixed with amazement.

After a few seconds, he returns to corporeality.

Throat tight, she forces out “What…”

“That’s…useful.” He incredulously utters, staring at her with a shocked expression of his own.

Shaking her head in disbelief, her wine-red auburn hair swishing back and forth, she asks “Uh…do you need to rest?”

“Once we’re out of here.” he quietly states, putting the helmet on his belt.

The rest of the walk is in relative silence, and shortly after they find the hidden entrance – thankfully intact although the door needs a shove from both of them – and emerge not far from where they entered. After retrieving her horse, washing the grime off with snow and putting some distance between them and the underground structure, camp is made when night falls.

As he stares into the warm fire, massaging his arm meditatively, Serana closes her book and scoots next to him.

“Hey, I’m the one that’s supposed to pensively brood, as you call it.”

“Yeah…sorry.” He replies, dropping his arm.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She softly queries.

He takes a moment before answering, shoving aside the misgiving of what she did. “It’s…hard to describe. Whenever I get close, I hear some sort of chanting – I can’t make out the words - before seeing…things. Horrible things.” He shakes his head at the last part.

“What do you see, Maxwell?” She softly presses.

He frowns, a myriad of facial expressions as he tries to find the words. In a terse voice after swallowing a lump, he quietly says “Death and destruction.”

The silence slips in between them on the fallen tree, adopting a unique atmosphere.

“In any case, that Shout would have been useful at times.” He quietly jokes, offering something of a weak smile. Dropping the humour, he continues. “Anyway…I’m going to turn in. Are you okay to keep watch?”

He glances over to her, and she nods in the affirmative as she stokes the fire to keep it alive. “Sleep well, Maxwell.”

“That I’m sure I will do. Goodnight Serana.”

Maxwell pauses at the tent entrance.

“Hey, Serana?”

She looks up, cocking her head slightly as she was not expecting anything further.

“…thank you.” He gives a genuine smile, although its tinged by the earlier misgiving.

She returns it, and watches him enter and close up the tent.

As he places his helmet and sword to one side and wraps himself in his enchanted fur, he leans back with arms behind his head and sighs heartily, exhaling the stress of the last few hours outwards as he looks at the ripples in the tent covering due to the wind.

The memory of the last time from when he learnt a Word of Power floats up, which took a while for the induced panic to subside. Despite his misgivings about her altering his mind again, he silently breathes a sigh of relief at how quickly she managed to subside the panic in him.

Opting to try and distract himself from what transpired, he settles on his newfound ability; the first in more than five years. Feeling the knowledge of the new Shout settle in his mind. Despite the various applications he immediately thinks of, Maxwell dreads to think what would happen if something was within him when it expired; something he was not keen to put to the test.

A wave of tiredness creeps up, and he shuts his eyes despite the now stiff breeze stirring the tent.

 

----

 

Progress around the large geological formation is slow going thanks to deep snow drifts, but they manage to navigate a way through. This is the furthest off the road Maxwell as ever gone off the road in this area, and his map is blank in this particular region so this is literally uncharted territory.

Stopping briefly to rest, they find themselves nestled behind a rocky outcropping, huddled around a weak fire as the gelid weather turns much colder thanks to a front moving in from the sea to the east.

As another breeze comes in from the north-east, Serana’s head suddenly pops up, nostrils flaring. She suddenly stands up, standing stock still as she scans the horizon with an intense look in that direction.

Maxwell immediately stands up, drawing his ornate bow.

“What is it Serana?” His tone, questioning yet serious.

She sniffs again before stating in an extremely concerned tone, one that she’s rarely used “….I don’t know, and that concerns me.” She starts striding away in that direction. He grabs his pack and follows her.

Something she doesn’t recognise? This….can’t be good.

The vampiress stalks over the snow-covered terrain for a minute or so, scanning the various features of the visible horizon before stopping. As he catches up with her with a question on his tongue, her amber eyes are as wide as dinner plates in…surprise? shock? horror? It’s hard to say, but it’s enough to kill what he planned to say. He follows her gaze, and he himself freezes in the icy weather; his own eyes growing wide as primal fear takes a hold.

“What in Oblivion…is that?!” he manages to croak out.

On the slanting wooded slope with several rocky outcroppings at the base of a large hill that lays nearby, about a mile away, a ghostly white humanoid form is hiding behind a tree. Whiter than the snow. The face, indistinguishable for Maxwell at this distance, seems to be looking in their direction. “I’m…not certain.” Serana says in an extremely low voice.

 

 

The apparition moves closer. It’s now behind a snow-capped rock.

 

 

That primal fear works its way through his gut. He’s fought spectres, ghosts and apparitions; this is on a whole other level of creepy.

“Let’s move away.” Maxwell states in a fear-laden voice, maintaining his gaze at this apparition. Serana jumps slightly at his voice but grimly nods and steps back with him, also not breaking her gaze.

 

 

The ghostly humanoid moves closer.…much faster this time. It’s peering out from behind another large tree.

 

 

Maxwell whispers, the fear becoming even more obvious “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.” Serana exhales, extreme tension and concern in her cadence.

As the creature gets closer once more, now hiding behind another tree about 800 meters away, Maxwell quickly states “That’s it, I’m lighting the thing up.”

He throws a hand in the air, Shouts “QO” and brings it down on the otherworldly humanoid figure. As the lightning cracks when it connects with the entity, something happens.

 

It screeches, loudly.

 

 

The screech pierces the surrounding atmosphere, horrifying both of them to their core. It sounds ghastly, like the air itself is screaming in agony. Maxwell literally shivers in fear, his hair standing on end as though it was electrified.

As the creature’s shriek continues, various copies come out of it; 6 in total.

A renewed wave of primal fear rides up his spine with quickness, as he struggles to comprehend this sudden development. Serana’s complexion has become even whiter, somehow, as she immediately casts Ebonyflesh over both of them and prepares spells on both hands once more. Maxwell barely registers the energy of the spell passing over him.

The original one seemingly winks out of existence as it dies from the lightning strike.

The apparitions that came out of it scream their own shriek, almost matching the tone and energy of the original one, before they rush over.

 

 

RAPIDLY.

 

 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he Shouts “QO” again, and the lightning strike blasts one of the apparitions apart. Serana throws ice then lightning, which connect and destroy two of them; the remaining three are closing the gap fast. Suddenly, two of them go wide on the left and the other one shifts to the right. They seem to be gliding over the terrain. Serana takes the left, Maxwell takes the right.

He Shouts “WULD” to get out of the way of the frost spell the solitary ethereal creature throws at him, whilst maintaining eye contact at all times. He Shouts “QO” once more but it goes wide as he had to dodge another frost attack.

As it gets closer, he can see more details of the feminine form the visage has. The hint of an open bosom, the flowing contours of its upper and mid-body, the ghostly draped remnants of what looks like an open bodice, the siren-like look in its hollow grey eyes. It looks serene…and inviting. Something in the back of his mind subtly urges him to walk closer to it, but the souls within burn hot and incinerate that compulsion.

Seeing it’s enrapturing attempt fail, the visage snarls before suddenly throws a hand up, and it seems to be chanting something which makes its outstretched hand become brighter. Maxwell suddenly feels his strength sapping; his Glass armour, hell even his eyelids, feel heavier. Somehow, despite the Ebonyflesh, it’s found a way to overcome it. Nevertheless, the souls within him ignite and he manages to force out a “YOL TOOR SHUL” which destroys the visage with barely a whimper. Maxwell momentarily kneels to catch his breath and refocus his energy.

After managing to get his breathing and senses under a modicum of control he stands and turns to Serana who is about 10 meters away, who has dispatched of the two she was facing and is now facing him. An ice wall stands up with a part blasted out of the top stands to one side, from where she had summoned it to protect her flank.

Before he can say a word, her amber eyes glance behind him and suddenly widen. She then abruptly bursts into a swarm of bats…heading right for him. His own eyes start to enlarge in horror before she reforms a split second from him, and essentially upper body slams him into the ground, thudding heavily as their combined weight lands in the shallow snowdrift. Her lithe form above his own and her hands splayed on his shoulders. As the cold immediately registers on him, her unkempt wine-red auburn hair obscures some of his vision and her porcelain-like face – only mere inches from his own - with amber eyes the widest he’s ever seen and her open red lips as she tensely exhales from the action block the rest. Her expression is…confusing to interpret. The very faint smell of snowberries mixed with something sweeter float up his nose as this is the closest she’s ever been.

As his mind catches up with what just happened, loud whizzes are heard as the large ice shards shoot over them…which would have impaled him if he had still been standing there.

She immediately gets up without a word and throws her own spells back with such ferocity it’s terrifying in its own right. Barely processing what just happened, he cautiously stands up and looks where Serana is intently focusing her attacks.

The original ethereal visage is now much closer; its details much more pronounced than the copies they fought, and its eyes are much brighter. Nevertheless, it is looking worse for wear as it throws spell after spell at Serana who deflects every single one. The thought crosses his bedraggled mind.

That thing survived a direct lightning strike?!

With its attention clearly on Serana, and despite the growing tiredness, He Shouts “QO” once more, and the apparition blasts apart with another scream that ignites the atmosphere. Its form evaporates and collapses into a sizeable pile of white dust where it stood, which starts blowing away in the wind.

Serana paces over to him, and goes to reach out but stops herself. Asking with heavy concern. “Are you feeling alright, Maxwell? That apparition tried to strength drain you.”

“It f-felt l-like it-it was-s d-draining me-e of-f en-energy” he begins stammering, as the adrenaline wears off. He somehow manages to take his pack off but struggles with the clasp due to his shuddering hands. Serana immediately assists, getting out the potions of Stamina and Healing. He takes both and quickly downs them as he throws his head back; the shuddering stops and he shakily breathes out a sigh of relief with eyes closed.

“Thank you.” Maxwell sincerely says as he opens his eyes once more, stowing both empty vials back into the pack and re-clasping it. She nods imperceptibly, although her red lips are extremely rigid, before turning around and quietly striding over to the dust pile. As it is blowing away in the wind, she kneels down and begins poking at it.

“What in Oblivion was that thing?!” he wearily exclaims as he puts his pack back on and crosses the short distance to where his companion is sifting through the otherworldly pile of white dust. She suddenly pulls out a white fibrous material, and studies it intently. She looks up, holding the material in her hand. Her amber eyes are deadly serious and focused.

“That entity was a Wispmother.” She outright states, although there is a tangible amount of fear in her voice.

“Which is…what, exactly? I’ve never even heard of anything like it” he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and dread.

Holding up the material closer for him to inspect, Serana explains “I remember seeing one in my alchemical studies with my mother; this is called a Wisp Wrapping. I’ve read about Wisp Mothers before, although I wasn’t certain that’s what it was until I saw this. The theory is that they are what remains of the spirits of sorceresses who manage to achieve some sort of undeath, although how…no one knows. Hence the feminine features. Said to be very rare…and extremely dangerous.”

“No shit…” his memory jumping back to the shrieks, the otherworldly way it and the copies it produced moved, the actions and spells they performed. The fact it survived a direct lightning hit. Only one other type of creature he’s faced has ever survived such a strike; namely the source for the vast majority of his scars. He shudders once more, out of fear.

As a chill, colder than anything previous, passes through them, a sinking feeling appears in Maxwell’s stomach. Serana quietly instructs as she pockets the Wisp Wrapping. “We need to get out of here…fast.”

“No argument from me. I’m thinking we double back and go to the road. I’d rather fight the pack of trolls than one of those things again.”

She quickly nods at that, her face pulled taut.

When they get back to their camp, with the now dead fire, their jaws drop.

 

Her thoroughbred is gone. Not just run away, it’s straight up gone. There’s only the foot impressions from where it was standing that are the only remaining evidence it ever existed.

 

He looks to Serana in abject horror, and her amber eyes are flaring in heightened concern. She shakes her head, as though indicating she can't sense anything.

“How far from Winterhold are we?” she queries, her cadence extremely tight and forced.

“We’re not far, although now that we’re on foot it’s going to slow us down. Let’s just get back to the road first.”

Serana doesn’t offer anything further, before looking behind one last time; moreso out of concern. They are quick to stride away, the aforementioned primal fear not leaving either of them for some time. Hence, Maxwell doesn't even give a second thought to Serana casting yet another spell on him.

 

Behind a tree, near where the first one had appeared, which is well out of sight now...another one pops up.

 

----

 

Two days later, after seeing the troll pack had moved on, they’re back on the main road and closer to their destination.

Suddenly, as they come around a curve in the snow-covered road, up ahead there’s a series of horse drawn wagons approaching them from the opposite direction. Maxwell glances back, and Serana has already beaten him and changed her eyes to their familiar Nordic Blue.

As they pass the numerous wagons that form the caravan, on the last one which is straggling behind the others, a father and mother are holding their child between them and all three are wrapped in a bundle of furs and blankets. The father, a lean black-haired Nord with uneven facial hair and faint blue eyes, and the mother, a leaner brown-haired Nord with even fainter blue eyes, look at the intrepid duo who move further out of the way to give the wagon enough clearance.

“Mama, who are dey?” the girl – a brown haired lass who couldn’t be more than 7 or 8 - weakly asks, looking at Maxwell then Serana.

“Adventurers, sweetheart.” The mother gently respnds.

“I like ‘er” she points to Serana who has her hood down.

As they pass by, the young child suddenly coughs several times, and it sounds raspy. Maxwell stops in his tracks, before turning around.

“Maxwell, what ar…” Serana begins asking, before he interrupts as he throws over his shoulder “Wait here.”

As he catches up with the wagon, the father looks shocked to see him suddenly reappear and his free hand immediately hovers over his sheathed weapon. The wagon comes to a dead stop, and the other wagons ahead begin increasing the distance. Maxwell puts his hands up in a yielding gesture, before asking in a kind tone “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing your daughter’s cough. It sounds very painful. Is there anything I can do to help?”

The mother considers him, searching his face, before timidly speaking up as she glances at the disappearing wagon ahead of them. “We’re leaving Winterhold. With Laila growing weaker, we need to get out of the cold.”

Maxwell briefly nods before he pulls his pack in front of him; the father and mother look at each other in confusion. As Serana reappears just behind him, the father casting her a look, he rummages for a moment before extracting two Healing potions and some coins. As he reclips his pack and stands, he passes them to the father “Give Laila a potion now, which should help reduce the symptoms, and the other one if it gets worse again. The money will allow you to purchase another one, if needed.”

As he hands them over to the mother who is bewildered, on the periphery of his vision he can see Serana has raised her eyebrows. Maxwell notices a dirty bandage on the father’s right forearm. The father spots him looking at it, and comments in a deep voice “We were attacked by a wolf pack earlier. We managed to kill them, but not before one of them scratched my arm. It hurts like a sumbitch”, wincing as he moves the arm.

“May I?” Maxwell gently asks, putting his left hand out, palm up.

The father looks uncertain, but a nudge from the mother makes him slowly offer the injured limb. As Maxwell gingerly lifts it to inspect, he attentively takes the bandage off with his right hand. The smell coming from the wound is sour, and the wound is starting to turn bad.

He gently lets the arm go and starts pulling off his gloves; the father retracts the arm with a look of fear on his face.

“Just a simple Healing spell. Please trust me, I can help.” Maxwell offers reassuringly.

The father looks at his wife before looking back and nodding weakly, and reoffering the arm.

“This may hurt a bit. Please tell me if it gets too much.”

Maxwell once more gingerly lays them on top of the festering wound. He summons the healing spell which glows green. As the wound begins knitting together, the father grimaces and twitches, but holds his wife’s hand tighter and remains steady. Once the healing is finished, Maxwell removes his hands and grabs some snow off the ground to clean his hands. The father and mother look at the healed injury. The wound is completely healed with only a very thin scar in its place.

The father’s eyes are wide in amazement.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Maxwell asks, looking at the mother. She shakes her head, her brown hair swishing slightly. As she stops, a worrying look appears on her face. “We don’t have much to repay you, kind sir…” the mother begins to state, before Maxwell holds up a hand.

“Don’t worry. Just happy I could help.” As he gives a wide reassuring smile.

 “You…” she begins, a number of emotions crossing her face. He continues.

“Again, don’t worry.”

The mother, tears welling in her eyes, suddenly grasps Maxwell’s hands and timidly shakes them, a look of genuine sincere gratitude on her face. She lets go after a tender moment before the father shakes his hands as well, also with a look of sincere gratitude. “Thank you, kind sir” the father states with sincerity.

“Look after yourselves, and I wish you all the best.” Maxwell offers with sincerity, standing back.

As the caravan rides off at speed, with the voices of the trio talk animatedly about what’s transpired, Maxwell straightens his armour, and catches Serana staring at him inquisitively.

“What? They had a problem or two, I had the resources.”

As they press on, he asks “Hey Serana, question for you.”

“What is it, Maxwell?” Mentally bracing herself for a question about something personal.

“I’ve been meaning to ask; the daughter’s comment just reminded me. It’s a bit personal, so no pressure if you feel uncomfortable…the iris colour you chose, is that your original iris colour?”

She pauses mid-stride, not expecting this question.

“You okay there?” he asks.

“No…it’s just, I wasn’t expecting that question.”

“…what question were you expecting?” he raises an eyebrow, half in jest and half out of curiosity.

She doesn’t dignify that one with a response, only responding with “to answer your other question…yes, it is.”

“Oh…wow.” As a unique silence stretches the moment out, he comments with admiration as he turns, not exactly thinking ahead. “For what it’s worth…it really suits you.”

Realising how it could be misconstrued, he hurriedly adds as he turns back with a hint of concern “Not that there’s anything wrong with the amber, which also really suits you.”

His vampiress companion’s reaction is totally unexpected; she raises her fine eyebrows in complete and utter surprise at his compliment and her jaw dropped slightly revealing her pristine teeth.

“Serana?”

“Uh…” she breathes out, her eyes staring at him but unfocused.

“You? Speechless? That’s rare.” Maxwell chuckles.

Serana stammers slightly, struggling to process his earlier words.

“…Serana?” Maxwell’s face becomes one of concern. A worrying thought pops into his head. Have I fucked up?

He continues “Please say something, you’re scaring me now.”

She looks at him, her eyes penetrating his own with a stark softness to them.

“It’s just…that’s one of the most genuine compliments I’ve received from anyone...”

“Oh…I, um…I’m sorry.” He awkwardly says, shifting his weight to the rear.

She strides up to him, borderline uncomfortably close. “No…please, don’t be, Maxwell. I, well…thank you.”

As they stare at each other, a gelid wind blows through and causes Maxwell to shiver, breaking the moment. He takes a small step back. “We’d, um, better make a move on. Winterhold isn’t that much further.”

As he leads them away, their steps crunching the packed snow underneath, she’s still mentally reeling from what he said.

Ever since her father sought to cheat death all those eons ago, which precipitated the downfall of everything, kind words become very much non-existent. The members of her father’s court were always saying things, which to the untrained could be construed as nice comments, but in reality these always came with an ulterior motive such as to curry favour or with a hint of malicious intent. What Maxwell said had no such attachment, only genuine appreciation and admiration; hence her reaction.

A day later, as the sun is halfway through the sky, a recognised settlement appears in the distance; Maxwell deeply inhales causing his lungs to really feel the cold weather.

This is it, finally – Winterhold. I wonder if he still has that damn thing, after all this time.

Notes:

I REALLY had fun writing this chapter.

It allowed me to try out a few different techniques to convey the fear during the Wispmother encounter. I always avoid these in game as I find them terrifying, so thought to include in my fanfiction (especially as I've noticed no one has seemingly included it before in the various ones I've read).

The reason why this section is in 3 parts: I didn’t feel that 2 parts were enough to capture the growing closeness between the two. This is one of the few times where there is significant travel time between locations so it would make sense that with the increased time they would grow closer, especially after all of the various fights and events.

I don't have plans to repeat this. Of course, there will be a few two parters down the road.

As ever, I hope you enjoy! If you're in the UK like I am, keep safe during the current and upcoming heatwave!

Chapter 16: Disclosure

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana finally reach their destination: The College of Winterhold.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, Death (references only).

On the approach the age-old settlement, after Serana has once again adopted the spell to alter her eye colour, the companionly silence adopts a unique aspect that has only happened once before: akin to when they entered Solitude.

This is joined by a fresh wave of ice-cold weather that blows in from the Sea of Ghosts which causes Maxwell to shiver. As he wraps himself further within his cloak, he admittedly comments “Damn, I hate how cold this part of Skyrim is.”

Serana, looking ever serene, looks at him nonchalantly. “Nords are supposed to be used to the cold.” She says, before smirking.

He retorts “Remember, I’m only half Nord. It’s the Imperial half that’s freezing. I’ll be an icicle before too long, I’m sure. Remember what I said?”

She laughs. “I think I can manage that. I’ll have to ask the College to melt you though, seeing as I can’t summon fire.”

Finally entering the edge of Winterhold, Maxwell whistles at the sight of several buildings that appear to have been restored or rebuilt from the ground up. Nevertheless, it still seems as decrepit and forlorn from all those years ago which doesn’t surprise him one bit.

During the walk down the main road, passing by a few denizens huddled in thick furs and clothing going about their business, Serana’s eyes go from building to building. Her demeanour has changed from excitement to confusion.

Maxwell stops by a roaring fire within a stone brazier once more to warm up, Serana stands beside him. A helmeted guard looks intently at the two before continuing on patrol. Maxwell silently breathes a sigh of relief.

“What…happened? Everything looks…dead.” She quietly asks in a despondent tone, her gaze passing over the myriad of buildings within sight before setting on him.

“A calamity, a long time ago. I’m not sure exactly what the cause was, only that some sort of huge wave from the sea came and washed much of Winterhold into the Sea of Ghosts. A lot of people blame the College for what happened. What remains pretty much serves the needs of the College.”

She seems to languish at his words. “I don’t understand….it used to be the capital of Skyrim, even bigger than Solitude…Father used to travel here a lot. I can’t believe…” Serana quietly says to the air, as she stares into the roaring brazier. She hugs herself and becomes distant.

Maxwell looks at her somewhat incredulously, before shifting his gaze to the lit brazier as well. He immediately has several questions, but seeing how she is he doesn’t press.

Even larger in size than Solitude? That must mean the coast was a lot further out than it is now!

Choosing to try something else, he clears his throat and softly suggests “Come on, let’s head to the inn. I could with some proper food before we hit up the College.”

He points ahead to the two-storey building further up the road with the creaking sign emblazoned with Winterhold’s motif, a three-point crown within a shield, and the name ‘The Frozen Hearth’ underneath. She only resignedly nods, before walking ahead of him.

What Maxwell says is a half-truth; he is indeed hungry. In reality, he wants to delay as long as possible. A nervous sense of apprehension has appeared since laying eyes on this place, as the realisation hits with a dull thud that he’s once more within striking distant of the ancient item from the annals of history that he left here all those years ago.

The Nord owner, a fair blonde-haired lady by the name of Eirid, serves Maxwell as Serana finds a secluded corner and sits against the wall. As she looks over Maxwell and then Serana over his shoulder, Eirid jovially comments “Welcome, travellers. I gather you are here to join the College? There’s little other reason for adventurers such as yourselves to visit this place.”

“Not quite.” He monotonously replies.

She looks at him with a slight hint of confusion, but shrugs her shoulders as she takes his order. After a few minutes she brings over their food and drink. He heartily tucks into the stew and vegetables, and she essentially toys with it. Maxwell tries to make small talk, but Serana only responds in one-word answers. He soon keeps quiet, leaving her in peace with her thoughts. The silence between them is only broken by the ambient inn sounds around them.

After a while, she pipes up. “I’m sorry Maxwell, I know you mean well. I just…it’s difficult to see how much things have changed since…before.” She alters her original wording as someone walks by their table. In a lower tone after the individual is out of earshot, she continues. “I’ve always wanted to see Winterhold, and the College, but to see it like this is almost unbelievable.”

“Serana, you don’t have to apologise. I can only imagine how you’re feeling. We can just grab the Scroll and go, if it will help.”

She looks at him, her eyes piercing, before smiling slightly.

“I appreciate the gesture Maxwell, but after what we’ve gone through since leaving the Dawnguard, I think we could do with stopping for a bit.”

She adds with a hint of excitement. “And besides, it’s the College of Winterhold. I have to see the Ysmir Collective.”

A look of confusion appears on Maxwell’s face. “The…Ysmir Collective?”

“Their library?”

“OH. It’s called the Arcaneum now.” He clarifies.

That earlier forlorn look quickly appears then disappears, as she nods and looks away.

 

---

 

A half hour later, their respective hunger sated and Serana’s mood has slightly improved, they make their way through the various buildings to the northern part where the front of the ancient bridge connects the mainland to their destination. Swallowing the nervous ball of tension growing at the back of his throat, he leads their approach to the individual on guard next to a roaring fire.

The sitting Altmer woman, with dark blonde shoulder length hair and wearing a grey cloak, watches them approach; she stands as they get closer. She tenses up but then cocks her head slightly as she looks at Maxwell. She gives Serana a brief yet curious look, focusing briefly on her spell-covered eyes. Serana maintains her gaze, but internally a degree of concern appears.

Holding up a gloved hand, she stands up straighter and authoritatively yet guardedly asks. “Good afternoon, I am Faralda of the College of Winterhold. May I ask who you are?”

As they come to a stop, Maxwell politely responds. “Hello, Faralda. It’s been a while. I’m Haldrin.”

Faralda’s eyes snap over, curiously studying him. After a tense pause, she states in a voice laden with suspicion mixed with something. “You…can’t be him. He died in a shipwreck over 6 years ago.”

“Rumours of my demise are actually false. I survived that, and I’ve lived in secret since then, away from everything after what happened. It’s been a few rough years, and the armour is different to what I used to wear, hence why I look different from when you last saw me.”

She narrows her eyes, as though challenging his words. “If you are really him…prove it.”

Not wanting to reveal to Winterhold his existence with a Shout like he did at the Dawnguard, an idea pops into his head. He reaches to his neck, and pulls out the enchanted amulet.

As Faralda’s eyes look down, she studies it for about 12 seconds before realisation hits. Her guarded gaze softens.

“Is that…?”

“Yes, it’s one of the amulets Sergius made for me after the incident at Saarthal. Hanna?”

Serana copies his actions. Faralda looks at both in surprise.

“There’s also this.” He drops the amulet and summons the bound bow.

Faralda’s eyes widen as her gaze shifts down to the glowing purple bow, recognition becoming apparent. She soon stares incredulously at the hunter. “Haldrin…it is really you…” she breathlessly releases.

“I go by Maxwell now, which I would prefer.” Maxwell responds with a polite smile, dismissing the bow and stowing the amulet back under his armour before shivering slightly.

“Of course.” Faralda responds with a respectful bow.

Briefly looking to Serana once more, she asks. “Maxwell, I have to ask: why are you travelling with a vampiress?”

Serana’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, although she guessed something was amiss. Maxwell is also surprised. Seeing their reaction, Faralda bats her eyes and comments in a slightly condescending tone. “Please. I can sense the Illusion spell. Good idea though.”

The subterfuge no longer working, Serana dismisses the spell and returns her eyes back to their usual deep amber. “In that case, my name’s not Hanna, it’s actually Serana. Another idea of Maxwell’s.”

Faralda raises an eyebrow at the stark difference, before turning attention back to Maxwell awaiting his explanation.

“We’re here for something I left.” He replies, not keen on revealing why.

She studies him before saying. “I’m guessing, for you to figuratively return from the dead, it must be something big.”

He sighs at that. “You guess correct. Is Urag still about? What about Arch Mage Savos?”

Faralda’s expression drops. “Urag is, however…Savos died a couple of years ago due to old age. Tolfdir, if you remember him, succeeded as Arch Mage.”

His countenance falters at the mention of Savos’ passing. “Oh…I’m sorry to hear about Savos. He was a good man.” Maxwell offers his condolences.

“Indeed.” She mournfully states. Coughing once and changing the topic, she gestures behind her. “Please, follow me. Although you may want to wait here, Serana.”

“No, she comes with. She’s trustworthy.” Maxwell immediately interjects. “You have my word.”

Faralda looks stunned and somewhat uncertain. She eventually responds, looking to Serana again. “Okay, but you may get some strange looks.”

“Thank you.” Serana politely responds.

Faralda nods, before leading them across the narrow bridge. Serana, after giving her companion another sincere smile at vouching for her, can’t help but glance over the side at the large size of the drop as the cold wind blows through the trio. The foreboding interspersed sharp rocks and other debris on the ground below.

She then looks up at the approaching ancient structure which sits atop a lonely geological formation, only connected by the thin stone bridge they are walking on. A bastion of magical knowledge and practice.

Eventually entering the College through the large aged grey archway, despite her earlier feelings she feels a sense of awe at finally visiting yet another place she has longed to visit. Stepping into a central circular courtyard, Serana takes in the sights which mainly consist of a prominent circular firepit with a massive roaring purple fire, and a large statue of a robed man holding out two hands in a claw-like fashion, as though summoning mystical energies. She instantly recognises it as Shalidor, the founder of the College.

Faralda steps over to one of the other faculty standing nearby – a bald and tall Breton Mage that Maxwell doesn’t recognise - and asks him to stand guard at the entryway in her temporary absence. The other teacher looks over the duo, staring only slightly longer at Serana for obvious reasons, before saying an affirmation to Faralda and disappearing behind the trio.

Faralda gestures to the arched doorway at the other end, in the foot of the bigger building. “This way please.”

They pass by a few students mingling just in front of the door, who curiously look over the two. Two students in particular, a Dunmer female and a Breton male, Maxwell has a vague whiff of passing recognition. The group curiously look over the visitors, before Faralda’s scowl gets them scampering elsewhere.

She beckons them once more to follow her into and then up the several flights of stairs within the Hall of Elements. As they pass by the first floor, the aged dark oak double doors are inscribed with the word “ARCANEUM” across both sides. Serana notices, and her eyes glisten over.

Coming to a stop on the third floor, before another set of aged dark oak double doors that is inscribed with “ARCH MAGE’S QUARTERS”, she raps thrice on the door.

A masculine voice calls out after a moment, “Who is it?”

“It’s Faralda, Arch-Mage. I have someone of importance here to see you.”

A moment passes, before the voice responds, slightly annoyed. “Whoever it is, they can come back later. I’m in the middle of something.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. He says its urgent.” Faralda gives them a knowing smirk, instantly making her look a few years younger.

A huff is heard, before the voice calls out “Fine, fine! I’m coming!”

Faint footsteps approach, and the right-hand door swings open to reveal a wizened elderly fellow with long white braided yet unkempt hair, in fancy wizard robes and a heavy chain around his neck. The scowl on Tolfdir’s wrinkle-etched face mars his features.

“Yes?” He states in slight indignation at being disturbed.

“May I present, Serana and Maxwell…formerly known as Haldrin.”

His gaze, like Faralda, snaps to Maxwell at the mention of his former name. After a moment of deeply scanning Maxwell’s face and form, with a glint of recognition he utters “It can’t be…”

“It is.” Maxwell pulls out the golden amulet once more. Tolfdir’s eyes fall to it and he almost immediately recognises it.

“By the Divines, it’s really you.” He quietly states, before glancing up and staring at Maxwell, recognition mixed with genuine surprise.

“I’m getting that a lot lately.” Maxwell jests, trying to ease the tension.

Tolfdir laughs for a few seconds, which echoes around the stairway and room, and his serious attitude disappears completely. He shakes his head in disbelief and beckons the two of them in, opening the door wider. He looks at Faralda, who steps behind Maxwell as though to enter. She looks at the Arch Mage who only needs to raise an eyebrow to remind her she is supposed to be on duty.

As Faralda steps away, Tolfdir closes the door and moves to stand in front of them. Taking one of Maxwell’s hands in both of his, saying “It’s not every day that someone returns from the dead. It’s good to see you alive, Hal..sorry, Maxwell.” Letting go and taking one of Serana’s hands for a few moments, before stepping back and gesturing to the two seats in front of his desk. “Please, both of you, have a seat.”

He pauses, his tone becoming one of sincerity. “But first Maxwell, on behalf of the College I must express our sincerest condolences about Lydia. She was a fine individual, as proven by what happened at Saarthal. News of her passing saddened us all greatly.”

Maxwell solemnly nods “…thank you, Arch-Mage.”

Serana perks up at the mention of Saarthal, and her companion’s apparent involvement. She remembers what he said about the amulets. A unique gift from the College. I wonder what happened there…

Tolfdir’s words interrupt her reflection. “Please, Tolfdir is fine. Now then, I’m interested to your tale and how you find yourself with your fetching companion, Serana,” as he looks at her with genuine curiosity and a hint of admiration “who appears quite the talented mage as well.”

Serana cocks her head, and Tolfdir explains “I can sense your magical abilities. They’re…powerful and extensive; I’m impressed. I gather your vampirism…?”

“Illusion, mostly. Some Necromancy as well.”

“Interesting…anyway, apologies for the diversion. Please, do tell me what’s happened and what brings you both here.” His hands take on an academic form as he leans forward in his deep chair.

Slightly baffled by his nonchalant attitude towards the vampire sitting right in front of him, Maxwell shakes his head and recounts an abridged version of what’s transpired, including a bit about his years in self-exile. Serana adds in here and there. Tolfdir’s expression remains stoic until the mention of the darkening of the sun. He asks several interspersed questions to both of them, nodding at their answers. His pallor lightens at the mention of the Wispmother, and his eyes also widen slightly at the mention of roughly how long Serana had been entombed. At one point, he interjects that he knew of Maxwell leaving the scroll all those years ago even before coming Arch Mage, much to the hunter’s surprise.

Maxwell eventually finishes with “…that’s why it’s of the utmost importance that I retrieve the scroll I left, Tolfdir. Suffice to say….”

“…we’re all in terrible danger?” He quips. “For you to reveal yourself alive after all these years, I can only infer one thing from that.”

He leans back in his chair which creaks, clasping his hands once more in an academic gesture.

“I’m pleased to say Urag still has it in his possession.”

Maxwell breathes a heavy sigh of relief, and runs his hand through his short hair.

Tolfdir lets him finish his ministrations, before commenting. “Please also know that you are both welcome here.”

Serana is slightly surprised, and feels compelled to add. “What about my being a vampire? Forgive me for saying, you do seem very laid back about it.”

Tolfdir doesn’t bat an eye. “From what Maxwell has said, including the fact that he’s revealed his apparent survival, and your evident temperament I do believe you to be a trustworthy individual. It may also surprise you as well that we have had vampires among our student populace at one time, although a long time ago. However, I do regretfully have to impose some conditions on you.”

His serious attitude returns with a vengeance.

“Serana, firstly please do not use your powers – vampiric or otherwise - on anyone here. Secondly do not feed on the staff, students or residents of Winterhold. Breaking either of these, you will answer to me.”

After taking a moment to consider the Arch Mage’s sentiments, she agrees. “Agreed, Tolfdir. I have blood vials that will sustain me whilst we are here. Although there is a problem, as I was hoping to Recall us back to the Dawnguard once we had the Elder Scroll.”

The serious attitude instantly evaporates and his expression becomes studious mixed with curiosity at the mention of the ancient spell.

“Really?? I thought you might know it, given how long you’ve been entombed. In any case, I’m afraid the spell wouldn’t work within our walls. One of the many protections that we have instilled here is to prevent any teleportation or portals. But I am genuinely interested to hear more about it from yourself. I’ve read of the spell from some of the older texts we have, but the forms and base structure have long since been forgotten. I presume you can place multiple Marks?”

“Yes, actually.”

The Arch-Mage’s eyebrows almost launch off his face. Almost as though he’s an unwanted afterthought in the wake of this new discovery, Tolfdir barely glances to Maxwell as he immediately grabs a sheath of paper and writing equipment from the top drawer of his desk.

“Maxwell, as always Urag is in the Arcaneum. If Serana wouldn’t mind, I would like to learn about the forms for the Recall spell.”

Before he can object, Serana offers her classic disarming smile and happily states. “I’m happy to offer what I know. We won’t be long, Maxwell.”

As Serana starts explaining the spell form and structure to Tolfdir who has dabbed his quill in the inkwell and starts enthusiastically scribing, Maxwell quietly leaves the room. As the doors close with a thud cutting off their conversation, he finds himself alone for the first time in a while. It’s oddly peaceful, yet a small part of him instantly misses Serana’s presence.

 

Making his way downstairs, passing by one of the students who gives him an odd look as they almost bump on the stairs, he sighs before pushing on the doors to the Arcaneum. As they open with barely a sound, the smell of aged parchment wafts over him. He steps into the room and glances around, looking among the various filled shelf stacks and other library furniture in an attempt to locate its keeper.

Within seconds, a familiar booming voice that seems to fill the room calls out from somewhere.

“So. Haldrin…I see the rumours of your demise have been…”

The brown-skinned Orsimer, in his similarly coloured garb, appears from behind a hidden bookshelf holding a stack of books and rolled scrolls. He looks several years older, but that serious deadpan look hasn’t changed one iota.

“…greatly exaggerated.”

“That is correct Urag. It’s good to see you again. Please, call me Maxwell.”

Urag considers his words for a moment, before grunting once.

“I gather you are here for the Elder Scroll you left with me?”

Urag was always one for being straight to the point, and a perceptive one as well. Two main reasons Maxwell liked this odd individual.

“Yes.”

“It’s here…somewhere.” Urag stares at Maxwell, his dark eyes focused intently. “I’m curious, why are you travelling with the vampiress?”

“Her name is Serana. She’s…we’re working on preventing a world-ending prophecy from coming to pass.”

No need to beat around the bush with him.

Urag considers his response with his standard utmost indifferent gaze.

“I see. This prophecy must relate to vampires to some degree, for you to be working alongside one. Hence, the Elder Scroll has information you need…which means, you need a way to read it. Which means…you must know of the Moth Priest visiting Skyrim, Dexion Evicus of the Moth Priests of Cyrodill?”

Maxwell’s astounded reaction confirms the Orsimer’s guess.

“I see. An envoy sent by him stopped by here not long ago, seeking information about an Elder Scroll the Priest had heard rumours of. Although as per our agreement, I did not reveal the scroll you left.”

“Thank you, Urag. I knew I could entrust it to you. Actually, we – Serana and I – rescued him from a group of vampires who had lured him into an ambush. He’s safe.”

Urag considers his response before grunting once more, and then asking. “I presume you will leave it with me once Dexion has read the scroll?”

Maxwell shrugs. “Possibly. It’s hard to say. It’s actually one of three we’re after.”

For only the second time Maxwell has known him, the librarian raises his thick eyebrows in surprise.

“Three? Well, things must be serious.”

“Quite serious.”

“Alduin-serious?”

“Close.”

Urag huffs, before moving to and putting the literature down on his standalone desk, and putting the scrolls on the lower section.

“Wait here, Maxwell. I’ll be back.”

Within seconds, he’s gone. Maxwell, knowing how Urag would break both of his arms for even thinking of touching anything in this room without his express permission – living legend or not - stands cross-armed by the librarian’s standing desk. His eyes scan the literature on Urag’s desk, but nothing of interest stands out. Some notes on the disappearance of the Dwemer, a theory on the Psijic Order, a tome on how to cast protective enchantments against ice spells.

About 5 minutes later, the Orsimer reappears as quickly as he disappeared, holding the familiar ornately decorated scroll. A sense of foreboding claws its way up Maxwell’s spine like an enraged dragon, and he tensely inhales at the sight of it.

When Urag hands it over, almost like a newborn baby, he is quick to put it into his enchanted pack.

Almost comically timed, the entrance doors open. The wizened Arch Mage strides in, looking quite pleased with himself as he holds a bundle of annotated papers. Serana, looking somewhat frazzled, appears behind Tolfdir.

Her frazzled look quickly evaporates the moment she lays her eyes on the sight before her. Her jaw practically unhinges as she scans the various walls adorned with many cubbyholes and shelves, and pretty every one of them packed full of literature and knowledge.

“Maxwell, please could I have a few moments with you.” Tolfdir asks, before nodding to Urag then turning and leaving the library.

Maxwell, growing slightly concerned, quickly says to the librarian. ““Thanks Urag, I’ll be back once Tolfdir has said…whatever he wants to tell me.”

The Orsimer librarian only offers his signature affirmative grunts in acknowledgement.

Maxwell walks to Serana before stopping beside her. He gently asks “How was your chat?”

Her non-responsiveness makes him chuckle, and he has to shake her shoulder slightly to bring her back to reality.

“…It was okay…I’m okay…this is…” she breathes out.

“Just a word of warning: don’t annoy Urag by touching anything. He will not hesitate to break your hands.”

His companion almost imperceptibly nods, barely hearing the words. Maxwell chuckles as he leaves her standing in wonder.

 

---

 

As the door closes behind him, the Arch-Mage is leaning by the window with crossed arms, with the sheaf of papers on the sill.

“I’ve already offered this to Serana and she wanted to speak with you about it. You’re both welcome to stay and recuperate before leaving. From what Serana and yourself have said, you’ve had quite the rough journey here. I simply cannot fathom the fact that you encountered and survived a Wispmother; they are extremely rare but extremely deadly creatures.”

Maxwell grimaces at the memory of that foul encounter “Yeah, that’s definitely something I don’t intend to repeat.”

A thought prompts him to add “I think you should know, if we do stay here…”

“That vampires may try to force their way in? From what you said, the thought had crossed my mind. I’d like to see them try. Nevertheless, it is prudent to exercise caution. I’ll ask for those on guard to double up for the time being, and alert the Jarl in case of trouble.”

A concerned look from the hunter prompts Tolfdir to add “I won’t mention you’re alive or about vampires, only to alert the guards for anything suspicious. I know how to placate him.”

Feeling reassured by his words, Maxwell now feels a pang of guilt, and sincerely apologises “I’m sorry to put you and everyone else at risk whilst we are here; that’s one reason…”

Tolfdir holds up a hand to cut him off. “Maxwell, after what Lydia and yourself did for us at Saarthal, this is no trouble.” He pauses, as though contemplating, before continuing. “Serana is a fascinating individual, and perhaps once all of this nasty business is over, she might consider joining. By all accounts, based on her knowledge alone she could end up teaching the teachers.” He finishes with a casual wink and grin.

Maxwell is somewhat bewildered. The memory of the events at Saarthal flare up again, unwantedly. He also recalls the College is somewhat laid back, but this surprises him. In a curious tone, he asks “She is indeed, although wouldn’t her vampirism be a major source of concern?”

“To others, it might. The Jarl might have something to say if he found out. Here though, with what she could teach us, let alone her evident temperament, we’d do what we could to make her comfortable. Remember, I did say that we have had vampires among our populace a long time ago. It would be remiss of me to dissuade someone like Serana from joining.”

Maxwell is further surprised, but not in a bad way.

Speaking in a sincere tone “Your offers are extremely kind, Tolfdir. Thank you. I’ll speak with Serana about staying here for a while. I do mean to check in with Sergius about some further enchantments, and I need to resupply on a few things. Nevertheless, I am keen to get back to the Dawnguard as soon as possible with the scroll.”

Tolfdir nods understandingly. “I understand, Maxwell. If you do change your mind, the Western Wing in the Hall of Countenance is not in use and you’ll both be undisturbed there for the duration of your stay. Sergius, if I recall, is currently teaching in the main hall here. You’re also both free to join us for meals.”

As he grabs the papers from behind him, Tolfdir asks “I do have one final question: when this is over, will you be leaving any or all of the scrolls with Urag?”

Maxwell considers it, before simply shrugging. “To be honest, it’s a possibility. There’s no one else I trust more to guard the scrolls. But we won’t know where things stand until everything is over.”

“Understood. Well, whatever you decide.” The Arch-Mage holds out his forearm, which Maxwell immediately takes

“Thank you Tolfdir. For everything.” Maxwell states with sincere gratitude.

“My honest pleasure, Maxwell. Now, if you will excuse me, I have several scholars who will be besides themselves with the information Serana has kindly provided me about the Recall spell.” He smirks at that, looking many years younger. Maxwell chuckles and bows in gratitude as the Arch Mage leaves his presence.

I do like this place, its people. Shame to hear about Savos, but I’m glad to see Tolfdir succeeded him.

 

---

 

Serana, having finally come to her senses, is scanning through the various literature under the watchful gaze of Urag who stands behind his desk, as he steadily processes the books and literature he placed there earlier. When Maxwell returns to her side, she quietly utters out. “I could stay here for a long time. There’s so many books to read.”

He says “Tolfdir told me of his offer. I’m all for going back before nightfall, but if you want to stay longer, I don’t mind.”

The words “Could we stay here forever” almost slip off her tongue before she mentally catches them. With regret, she forces out instead “Could we stay for a couple of days, and then leave at night?”

Maxwell notices her subtle micro-expressions but disregards them “Sure. I’ll see you in the Western Wing after I speak with Sergius; he’s the Master Enchanter. That’ll take a while. Urag can tell you the way, if that’s okay?”

A grunt from Urag affirms it. Maxwell nods in thankfulness.

Serana gives him another disarming smile before returning to her perusal of the bookshelves. “Okay Maxwell, I’ll see you later.”

 

---

 

Leaving her once more, Maxwell makes his way down the stairs towards the main hall, the Hall of Elements. The familiar large room, with its large consecutive arched pillars and windows that surround the centrally placed large fire that bathes the room in a uniquely purple light.

Taking position just inside the entrance way, he observes the class going on at the other side. The bald-headed, green clothed Imperial Master Enchanter is standing atop the three stairs on a dais of some sort, gesturing to a large diagram of something arcane as he explains an enchantment to a smattering of apprentices.

The Imperial casts a sideways glance to the idle hunter, before doing a double take. His eyes widen in abject surprise and he audibly gasps. One of the nearby students grabs him as he almost stumbles off the dais, and pretty much every eyeball in the room turns to stare at Maxwell who straightens up out of reflex.

Once he regains his mental faculties, the Imperial cuts the lesson abruptly short with his deep voice. “That’ll be all, everyone.”

As the students disperse, a few talking in animated tones over the subject matter and most about the sudden ending of the lesson, Maxwell give something of a wide berth as he walks over to the teacher.

The Master Enchanter waits for the room to be clear before uttering “By Shalidor’s grace, Haldrin…it is you! I heard the students talking about two visitors including one in enchanted Glass Armour, and I said to myself ‘it couldn’t possibly be him.” He holds out his hand.

“Hello Sergius. It is indeed I.” Maxwell takes it and shakes the Imperial’s hand.

“I only ever enchanted one full set of Glass Armour, and that was for you. I sense you’re also wearing one of the amulets I made for you.”

 Maxwell smiles before adding “I go by Maxwell now.”

“Understood. My sincerest condolences about Lydia. I can’t believe Ulfric did that…”

“Yeah…” Maxwell interjects, not wanting to speak about her once more.

Sergius continues. “Is it true what the students are saying, your current travelling companion is a vampiress?”

“It is, and her name is Serana. We’re…working on something.”

“From what the students have said, she’s absolutely stunning. I’m guessing she’s wearing the other amulet?”

Maxwell nods on reflex, although he’s slightly uncertain why he’s asking.

Now it’s Sergius’ turn to look surprised. “Are you two…?”

Realising the actual nature of the Imperial’s question, given it was him that created the amulets at his request all those years ago, Maxwell immediately clarifies. “No. Only for the defensive enchantment on them. We’re just…”

And for the first time, Maxwell struggles to define their association. Travelling companions simply doesn’t seem appropriate anymore. An ancient royal vampiress of a bygone era, who had saved his live a few times by now. She knew some of his secrets, and he hers. They had shared experiences, stories, trials and tribulations. They have a few things in common. Working together the way they did would invariably mean a degree of closeness, but there was something about her that felt different. In addition to that, her apparent beauty was not lost on him, and by all accounts someone in a position like hers could have the world wrapped around their finger, but her evident temperament seemed counter to that.

By all accounts, he - a hunter of predators, and her - the most feared predator - should be fighting each other to the death, not sharing jokes or stories or protecting each other in fights. He was genuinely fascinated about her.

He finally opts on a word. “…friends.”

Sergius gives him a raised eyebrow but and goes to say more but shakes his head and leaves whatever it was unsaid. “Anyway, what can I do for you Maxwell?”

“I’ve come for some specific enchantments.”

“Of course, please follow me.” As Sergius gathers his lecture materials and then leads the way, he continues as he looks at Maxwell once more. “Please forgive me for staring, I’m simply astounded to see you alive after all of these years. How did you survive that horrific storm?”

“I don’t know how, only that I did survive it Sergius.”

After several minutes of walking through the various corridors, conversing briefly about what’s transpired, the Master Enchanter leads Maxwell to his bespoke enchanting room beside his quarters in the Hall of Countenance. It’s a sizeable room afforded to the Imperial given his station, with many shelves holding various enchanting goods. Soul gems of various sizes and quality are scattered everywhere, and the enchanting table situated in the centre. Scrolls on another side, and a few pieces of armour and weapons that are awaiting enchanting on the other. There are also some wooden staffs in one corner.

Setting down his lecture materials on the wooden desk, Sergius turns and asks “Alright Maxwell, what specific enchantments are you after?”

Maxwell unequips his dagger and places it on the desk beside the papers. “A damage one for this dagger, possibly some new enchantments on the armour, and do you happen to know an enchantment that can protect from mental influence or illusion spells from vampires?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

That surprises Maxwell. “What about the amulets? That’s a pretty powerful enchantment. I would have thought…”

He holds up a hand, as a glint of recognition appears in his dark brown eyes. “That protection is one thing, and yes I know of a few enchantments to help strengthen the mind against Illusion spells. But those are more for static illusions. Against vampires, especially extremely well-trained ones, well…pretty much all of those are rendered useless.”

He gives a concerned look. “This isn’t because of…?”

Maxwell immediately shakes his head. “No, not her. Rather someone else we ran into. Another vampiress who tried to mess with my head.”

After some back and forth, there’s not much more that Sergius can add, given the myriad of enchantments already on the gear. He does wipe and place Fortify Stamina on the boots, places Shock Damage on the ebony dagger, and casts a spell that repairs and cleans the damaged sections of the Glass armour.

As Maxwell hands over payment, the Imperial places the funds in a secure iron chest before turning and says “Well, Maxwell. It’s good to see you again. Will Serana and yourself be staying for long?”

“Thank you Sergius, and for a couple of days. We’ve had a rough journey here and Arch-Mage Tolfdir said we could stay.”

A knock on the door suggests someone else is wanting to speak with the teacher. Sergius breaks into a smile. “A teacher’s life never stops. Well, I’ll hopefully see you at evening meal, Maxwell.”

“Thanks again, and possibly.” He responds, shaking the Imperial’s hands once more.

Passing the student who looks surprised to see Maxwell, he hears Sergius adopt his lecturer voice and ask what the student is seeking him out for.

 

---

 

Navigating his way back through the building and into the courtyard, once more earning several looks from denizens of the College. As he passes by the large statue of Shalidor, a call of “Hey, wait up!” from behind stops him mid-stride. Turning around, he spots the tall Dunmer female and not so tall Breton male from earlier, making their way over at a fast pace. The mutually shared expression on their faces, surprise mixed with recognition.

“Is it really you, Haldrin?” the Dunmer quietly asks, her dark eyes scanning Maxwell over.

After a moment of trying to put names to faces, stark realisation hits him. “Brelyna and Peryn?”

The students nod in quick succession, and animatedly fire off multiple questions. “I can’t believe you’re alive, Haldrin!” “Where have you been?” “Why are you here?” “Why are you travelling with a vampire?”

Maxwell smiles slightly at the barrage of questions, although an awkwardness appears. Gesturing to the nearby purple fire to keep warm, he responds. “Slow down, slow down. Yes, it’s me; although I go by Maxwell now. I’ve lived in exile since the war after surviving the storm. My companion is called Serana and yes, she’s a vampiress. We’re working together, and we came here for something.”

They chat for a bit, and at one specific point Maxwell asks. “How have your studies been?”

Peryn grins “She once turned J’zargo into a toad.”

“PERYN!” Brelyna loudly exclaims, slapping his shoulder before covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.

Maxwell lets loose a laugh. “Oh, I would have loved to have seen that!”

The main doors creak open and his vampiric companion appears holding a large leather-bound book. Approaching the group, she smiles upon seeing her companion. “Hey Maxwell.”

“Hi Serana.” He returns her smile with his own, before carrying on “May I introduce Brelyna and Peryn.” Gesturing to each of the students in turn. “They’re apprentices here.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She shakes both their hands.

“Likewise, Serana.”

“What do you think of the College?” Peryn asks.

“It’s nice, actually. Everyone seems open with each other. It’s so different and welcoming.”

The quartet talk a bit more, talking about a few things, and soon Brelyna asks an obvious question. “How did the two of you meet?”

Serana replies. “That’s a long story, maybe over evening meal I’ll explain in some detail.”

Before Maxwell can interject, Peryn’s eyes grow wide in confusion. “Wait…do you actually eat normal food? I thought vampires didn’t get sustenance from…normal food.”

She politely smiles. “It’s not as nutritious, but it can help. Taste is lessened quite a bit.” She changes the topic. “How do you know Maxwell?”

Brelyna’s expression becomes momentarily serious. “Hal…Sorry, Maxwell… and Lydia saved us during the incident at Saarthal years ago.”

Sensing an opportunity, Serana respectfully asks “I’ve heard that mentioned a few times. I’m curious to learn what happened there, as well as more about Saarthal itself.”

“Maybe another time, Serana.” Maxwell quickly interrupts, a fleeting look of something appearing on his face. Brelyna and Peryn glance quickly at each other in slight confusion.

Sensing the conversation becoming tense, Maxwell concludes “Well, we’d better head off. It’s nice to see you both again, and I’m sure we’ll speak again before Serana and I leave.”

“See you both later. It was nice meeting you, Serana.” Brelyna mentions, before dragging Peryn away who offers the same sentiment.

 

---

 

As they leave and head towards the Hall of Countenance, rather than wondering what is causing Maxwell to avoid talking about Saarthal, Serana queries “I wanted to ask. How did Lydia and you find yourselves here? It sounds like you spent quite a bit of time here.”

Maxwell takes a moment, debating on answering before opting to give something of an olive branch given the avoidance of directly answering about Saarthal. “We came to deliver something for the Arch Mage at the time – Savos – and study up on a few things including Elder Scrolls, which took quite a bit of time. In return, we assisted the College with a few matters.” Stopping for a moment before adding “Also, to purchase new enchantments.” He gestures to his armour with a knowing smirk. “I told you, Sergius’ expertise doesn’t come cheap.”

As they continue chatting, they soon find themselves in the Western Wing, which has a bit of a draft. Huddling further in his cloak, he opens up one of the nearest rooms. It’s barren aside from a made-up single bed, a cloth-covered chair, an empty bookshelf, a rack of pegs and a stand for clothing, and a chest.

Serana takes the room next door, but soon returns as he gets settled in. Standing by the door, she observes his actions. As he tries to get the fire going with his flames spell, Maxwell asks “I meant to ask, how did you convince Urag to let you take a book? He’s adamant that you have to be a student or faculty before he’ll let you take anything.”

“I charmed him.” She casually responds.

A look of concern has her laughing. “I’m joking, Maxwell. I just said I was curious about any advancements in the field of Illusion, and he seemed happy to let me borrow the book.”

Stoking the fire, he comments as a joke. “I bet you could write a book based on what you know which would surpass that.”

A familiar pained look on her face as she realises again just how much time has passed. Noticing his joke has landed badly and had the opposite effect, he stops his motions and starts issuing an apology “Sorry Serana, I didn’t mean…”

“No…it’s alright. The talk with the Arch Mage and with Urag really affirmed once more just how much things have changed, how much knowledge has been lost…” her expression becomes despondent, as she bows her head slightly.

As the crackling growing fire punctuates the air and begins warming the room, he offers “Hey…remember what Tolfdir said. If we get through this, you can always come back and teach them what you know. I know he’ll love that.”

Her expression becomes one of excitement, before being tempered by realisation of their wider problem and the whole reason for their visit.

“If…” she breathlessly releases.

Maxwell grimaces. “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

He suddenly stands up, moving closer to her. “Serana.” She looks up in mild surprise. “We have gotten one of the scrolls, despite what’s happened. Despite drunk Nords, Dragon Priests, Wisp Mothers and Vampires. I consider this a small victory.”

The mention of the priest reminds her of what happened, what she did. Quietly, she begins “About what happened after the Dragon Priest…”

He interrupts her “Serana, what you did…I appreciated it.” There’s more he clearly wants to say, but he leaves them unsaid.

Altering the topic ever so slightly, this prompts her to ask. “How did it go with the Enchanter? Did you manage to get an enchantment from him about protection from Illusion spells?”

He shakes his head “I sorted out a couple, but that? No, he doesn’t know of any enchantment that’s strong enough.”

She smiles in response, but doesn’t add anything else to the conversation. She soon departs back to her room to read the book, and Maxwell retires to the bed and eventually falls asleep, having missed the comfort of an actual mattress.

 

 

When he wakes up hours later due to a chill, the fire has died out to almost nothing and the candles are nearly out. Noticing how dark it is, he glances out the narrow window. Nightfall has appeared.

Damn, evening meal will have come and gone by now.

After restarting the fire, replacing the candles with fresh ones and having some trail rations to satiate his hunger, he finds some water and freshens up including a shave. Just about finished, a knock on the door is followed by a familiar voice calling out. “Maxwell?”

“Hang on Serana, just a moment.” He quickly dries off and dons his shirt, which sticks to him in places. Striding over, he unlocks and opens the door. She’s standing there, her amber eyes standing out in contrast to the darkened corridor. They briefly glance down to the shirt sticking to him in places, where he hadn’t quite dried off in time, as well as to his face where he’d shaven. She’s holding something in her clasped right hand.

He offers “Just woke up and thought to wash and shave.” Stepping back, he leaves the door open as an invitation. Turning, he continues with a hint of a smile as she enters. “What’s up? Did you disappear off to the Arcaneum again?”

As he tidies up, she says from behind. “For some time, but I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?” Maxwell responds, mildly astonished. When he turns, she’s standing near him with her right hand outstretched, where a small golden brooch with a ruby gem sits.

“What’s this?” He gingerly takes it, looking between it and her. Her answer floors him.

“It will protect you from someone trying to mentally affect you with Illusion spells. I don’t believe it work will against my Father if he uses his Vampire Lord power to dominate, but against other vampires like Sindra it will more than suffice.”

Maxwell is momentarily speechless. Finally finding the words, he states. “What…Serana, I don’t know what to say, other than thank you.”

She offers a sincere smile, her deep amber eyes also full of sincerity.

As he turns it over, he takes a few moments to take in the detail, the sentimentality behind the gesture, as well as absorbing the fact of yet another phenomenal skill of Serana’s. Maxwell eventually feels compelled to query. “I hate to ask, but how did you pay for it? Sergius’ services don’t come cheap, even for myself.”

She shrugs. “I showed him the forms for this and another useful defensive enchantment from my time.”

There’s also an undercurrent of something else, but he doesn’t pick up on it due to being caught up in the situation at hand. After offering another sincere gratuitous smile, he puts the brooch on his chest armour that sits nearby; she quietly observes his motions.

What she has neglected to mention is that she had also tried to ask Sergius what happened at Saarthal but got a non-committal response. She debated it, and ended up tracking down Brelyna and Peryn shortly after the evening meal and asking them. After gently pressing, they told her some details of what transpired. Enough to make her realise why Maxwell had rarely alluded to the events that transpired, as well as the significance of the amulet that she wears.

After leaving her companion to rest once more, she sits in her bed and turns the amulet over in her hands, like the first night after receiving it outside Rorikstead, only this time observing it with new understanding. Like before, there’s was no inscription or anything to denote its significance beyond the glowing gem and the enchantment.

 

---

 

The next day passes by uneventfully. Serana reads more literature from the library, and Maxwell catches up with a few noted people as well as restocking on potions and other things. He asks Serana if there’s anything else she needs or wants, and she says she’s all set aside from the blood potions. He jests “The only thing I can’t buy for you is the Arcaneum; Urag would rather sell the rest of the College beforehand.”

They chat about mundane things, mostly centred around the topics of books she’s taken from the Arcaneum. He’s not well versed in a lot of the topics, but offers his own insights and thoughts. At times, he does notice a slightly odd look now and then from her which quickly passes as soon as he looks in her direction, but he attributes it as apprehension at going back to the Fort.

They decide to check in with Sergius again, as Serana had a question about a specific enchantment. After the discussion, as they’re about to leave, the Imperial motions to the hunter “Maxwell, a moment. I want to show you something you might find useful for what you’re up against.”

He raises an eyebrow in mild surprise, but responds “Sure…Serana, I’ll meet you by the Hall of Elements.”

“Okay Maxwell.” She departs, leaving them alone.

After waiting a few moments until the sound of the door at the end of the hallway closing reaches them, Sergius says in a very lowered tone. “Maxwell, I thought I should let you know she asked about what happened in Saarthal. I didn’t tell her, but I have a feeling she may have sought answers from someone else who was there.”

Oh. That would explain her slightly odd looks.

Maxwell simply shrugs. “Well…I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s asked a few times but I’ve never really answered. Thank you for letting me know though.”

“Indeed. I’ll see you at evening meal?”

“Yes, unless I oversleep again.” Maxwell says with a hint of a smirk. Sergius grins at that.

A minute later, the camaraderie leaves Maxwell as he lays a gloved hand on the hallway door leading into the Hall of Elements, and inhales at the conversation that’s about to happen.

Pulling the door open and walking confidently through, Serana is standing against the wall looking at him. The moment she locks eyes, her expression softens. Without missing a beat, she states. “Sergius told you I asked about what happened at Saarthal.”

“He did. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m guessing someone else – perhaps Brelyna - told you what happened?”

Serana nods. “And Peryn, last night. Enough for me to get an idea of what happened.” She solemnly pauses before asking. “Please can we talk about this, Maxwell?”

He sighs again, before gesturing to the main door. “Come on. Let’s get back to my room and have a chat.”

Eventually entering his room, he offers to the chair which she takes, and he gets the fire going once more. This is all done in relative silence.

When he sits on the bed, he levels his gaze to her and launches into an explanation. “I’m not sure how much they told you, but to summarise: one of the things Lydia and I did to assist the College in lieu of payment was to escort a group of them to their excavation in Saarthal and assist in clearing out the usual dangers, given our expertise and reputation. During that, we almost died because of an absolute fucking cretin by the name of Ancano who was an assigned advisor to monitor the College, but was actually a Thalmor agent. He messed with an ancient artefact and ended up murdering a few members of the College, and would have killed more if I didn’t intervene. When we fought, he killed himself trying to use the artefact again which, I guess, backfired. Whatever it was, it was destroyed at the same time as him.”

With a hesitant tone, he concludes “And yes, that event is what led to our marriage.”

After a pregnant silence that seems to stretch, Serana quietly states. “About the amulet…”

He cuts her off. “Serana, the reason I gave you the amulet was purely for practical purposes; for the defensive enchantment given what we’re up against. There was no other meaning behind it, and it doesn’t bother me that you’re wearing hers.”

“Just like the brooch.” She counters.

“Exactly.”

As the silence grows long and uncomfortable once more, Serana clears her throat. “…thank you, Maxwell. For explaining.”

He simply nods. Changing the topic slightly, he realises something.

“This…thing that Ancano used, you might recognise it. Hang on, let me see if I can find some paper.”

He finds a piece of parchment, and after taking the pencil from his map he crudely draws the device. A hexagonal shape with a hexagonal gem located centrally and with two jutting out pieces at the top.

Offering the drawing to her, she analyses it before shaking her head. “I’ve never heard or seen such a thing. From what you said of what happened, it sounds like a device housing concentrated Magicka, but as for it’s purpose or intent I can’t fathom.”

“Thanks, I was only curious.” He offers with a half-smile as he throws the paper into the fire. She returns it.

Sensing that she had other questions as he puts the furled map back in his pack, he figures now is a good time to get everything out in the open. Sitting back on the bed which creaks, he gently asks “Did you have any other questions you wanted to ask?”

She nods, and pauses to consider her words before asking with a somewhat serious tone “I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while. Maxwell…why didn’t you kill me when you first found me? I mean, you knew what I was the moment I awoke. You could have done it there and then.”

His eyebrows almost rocket off his face. “That’s….a question and a half, Serana.”

She tilts her head, not understanding the turn of phrase. He clarifies “Sorry, I mean it’s an odd question I wasn’t expecting.” After a few moments, he offers “I was...stunned.”

“Stunned?” She furrows her brow.

“Initially, yes. I was expecting an undead. I mean, a Draugr. A coffin ascending from the ground? My experience told me to expect a Draugr. I was not expecting, well, you. Or an Elder Scroll. As the cover stone came down, you looked…peaceful. Then when you awoke, I saw how you reacted. It didn’t feel….” His words falter at this point, and his face contorts as he tries to find the right word.

She soon interjects. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“I’ve thought about this ever since you stopped me with that young boy outside Riften. I guessed it was a similar reason, but to actually hear you say it…well, thank you.”

She pauses for a moment before continuing. “That leads me to my next question. You also seem extremely comfortable around me. I mean, you know what I am. You know vampires are treated as abominations who seek out blood, and yet you comfortably sleep in my presence. I know you trust me – and I you – but I’m curious as to why.”

“Talk about difficult questions, Serana.”

She only offers a half smile.

He rubs his nape, in thought. “How do I put this? Yes, I know what vampires are like, and how they are perceived. And yet…you’re different. You’ve challenged any pre-conception I’ve ever had about them. If I'm honest…you’re extraordinary.”

Her jaw drops slightly as her amber eyes widen at his answer. He thinks…I’m extraordinary?

There’s also another reason of a similar energy, but in relation to Dragons. This one he doesn’t reveal; only two people ever knew of that reason, and they’re both dead.

Shaking the memory from him, he wryly laughs as the conversation with Sergius floats up to takes its place. “You know what I told Sergius when he asked me about us? I said we were friends. Serana…I haven’t had a friend in years. Not since…” His words trailing off at the insinuation.

Her surprised expression is elevated to a higher level. Internally, she’s experiencing a whole host of emotion. The silence between them grows long and wide, before she quietly replies. “…I’ve not had a friend in a long time either, Maxwell.”

Now it’s his turn to be surprised. “Wait…really? What about your Father’s court? Did you…”

She sardonically laughs, giving him a half smile. “That bunch of snivelling sycophants? Please, I have a modicum of decency, Maxwell.”

Her tone becomes sombre again. “Before…I did. A visiting trader and his family. Then my Father became possessive, and decreed I was to never leave the island or castle. My Mother was a friend of sorts, before things devolved even further.” There’s more she evidently wants to say, but she leaves the words alone.

Maxwell considers her words, his heart breaking more for his companion. To be denied freedom…no wonder she devoted herself to her studies, her reading. Also explains why she looked at every new place with a sense of awe, in addition to how she seemed to live vicariously through my adventures when we spoke about them...

Changing the topic, he comments “I have a couple of questions myself.”

She leans forward. “By all means, Maxwell.”

He clears his throat before asking with a faint hint of concern “This may sound rather blunt, but surely the passing of the prophecy would be beneficial to vampires including yourself?”

She gives an odd look, but surmises why he is asking. Her answer has a genuine tone. “Maxwell…you’ve seen first-hand. Father is drunk with power, and he’s completely lost himself in this prophecy to end the tyranny of the sun. You don’t know what he’s done in the name of it. If he succeeds in achieving it, the amount of devastation he will bring onto Tamriel will be unquantifiable. Not just the ecological damage, but the bloodshed from the ensuing war that would happen between mortals and vampires. I think that’s one of the main reasons why my Mother acted the way she did, although I think she went about it the wrong way.”

He nods his head, for more than one reason. What Ulfric had done to this province had a very similar energy to it.

“Thank you Serana, I figured as much but for you to say the words means a lot.”

She offers a smile.

His next question is one that he knows she will very likely react badly to, but with barriers essentially broken, their status as friends affirmed and what he’s told her of Lydia, he figures to chance it.

“My other question: I get this is an extremely sensitive topic, so please feel free to not answer this one…why did you all become purebloods? From what it’s done to…”

As predicted, a heavy silence drops to the depth of Blackreach at the same rate as her countenance, and she completely shuts down. She only shakes her head.

“I’m sorry Serana. I thought it'd be okay to...I won’t ask anymore.” Maxwell profusely apologises, sincerity in every word.

The conversation ends there.

 

---

 

The following day is spent mostly relaxing separately, the pressures of what they’re up against temporarily forgotten yet steadily creeping closer. Most of it is in relative silence, as they each process each other’s answers and motivations from yesterday’s rather emotive chat. At one point, he knocks on her door and apologises again. She responds with “It’s okay Maxwell. I know you’re curious – I would be if I was in your place. It’s something I just don’t want to talk about.”

“I won’t bring it up ever again, Serana. I’ll leave that to you.” He offers, which she looks surprised at but gives a wan smile.

Serana doesn’t join for a couple of the meal times, and when queried Maxwell responds with a non-answer about her being occupied with something.

 

When the sun starts to dip below the horizon and the stars begin taking their place, they get ready for their return to the Fort and issue their farewells to everyone. Sergius and the Arch-Mage wish them well, Faralda, Brelyna and Peryn look forward to their return, and Urag simply grunts with a small nod. Leaving the College, Serana once more adopts the spell to change her eyes.

As they enter Winterhold and walk by the Frozen Hearth, Maxwell stop by the same brazier from two days ago for a minute to enjoy some momentary warmth, before highlighting “You do realise what’s next, right?”

She cheerlessly nods. “I do. Before that though, I need to refill my blood vials. Once we’re back, I’ll sort it out.”

He nods, before concluding. “Also, let’s not tell Isran and the others anything about the third Scroll, your mother, or our insane plan to go to your home to find her. He'll lose his mind.” He recalls the Redguard’s booming exclamation when Maxwell described their last journey to her home.

She smirks but agrees. “On that, I’m in complete agreement.”

As soon as they leave the outskirts of Winterhold, they finding a secluded area behind a rocky outcropping and out of sight of the road. Returning her eyes back to normal, but before she places a Mark, she turns to look at her companion. “Maxwell.”

He stops his ministrations, and looks at her curiously. “…yes, Serana?”

“Thank you. For, what we spoke about, and for bringing me to another place I’ve longed to visit.”

He gives a genuine smile “you’re very welcome…Lady Serana.”

She gives a deadpanned look, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips at the playful use of her title once more. As Serana shakes her head, she places a Mark before casting Recall to take them back to the fort. Maxwell, once more struck by her movements, has to shake himself. As the familiar shimmering warp bubble forms around them, his thought is a simple yet heavy one.

Two down, one to go…

Notes:

Something of a monster chapter, as there was quite a bit I wanted to include. I've also rewritten parts a few times, so apologies in advance for any errors; I may rewrite a few sentences here and there (whilst keeping the general tone) to try and make it flow better.

I've also decided to adopt a new line break, although I haven't settled on one yet. These will appear in the near future in this and previous chapters.

I hope you enjoy, and as ever thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks and everything in between! Please feel free to comment

Chapter 17: Mistakes

Summary:

The duo return to the Fort, where one mistake forces them to expedite their plans, and another mistake almost derails said plans.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, physical violence, reference to death (including beheading).

The darkness of night once more welcomes them as Serana recalls them back to her Mark near the Dawnguard Fort. Thankfully no one is about, although the stars look a little different down here, there’s more cloud coverage and its significantly warmer which Maxwell immediately relishes in, shaking the snow from his boots. She suddenly stands stock still and grabs his arm, forcing him to stop.

“Maxwell, wait.” She breathes out, just above a whisper. She cocks her head; her expression becomes serious…and instantly recognisable. Before he can do anything though, she tilts her head up and tersely mutters. “Above. Stay here.”

She suddenly wafts her hand, and disappears into thin air. A faint gust is felt on his exposed skin as though she motioned upwards extremely fast. He draws his ornate bow and knocks an arrow, just in case. Looking up at the rockface above, faintly illuminated by the stars, he can’t see anything.

The sound of combat suddenly rings out above for a few moments, followed by a masculine scream which is consecutively followed by another louder yet more visceral scream that grows rapidly in volume. Maintaining his gaze, Maxwell sees the flailing shadowy form of a man falling towards the ground. The individual, a short hair Breton male with glowing eyes, thumps heavily into the ground with the sound of several ribs breaking. Wearing dark clothing, similar to Serana but significantly plainer looking. One of his hands has been cut off, and there’s weapon marks along his armour. Dark blood is seeping out of his various wounds.

Levelling his tensioned bow at the groaning vampire but not firing, Serana glides down with her cape billowing out behind in the light breeze. She lands on the grass beside him with barely a sound, sheathing her dagger. She throws up a Magelight which silently hovers over the trio, illuminating everything in range with a harsh light against the darkness.

She states, her gaze unwavering “I don’t know him. He’s not a member of my Father’s court.”

At the mention of her Father, the Breton vampire turns over and hisses, dark blood continuing to seep out and amber eyes flaring in hatred as it holds the dismembered arm in its other hand.

“Lady Serana, you traitor! How can you betray your own kind?!” The Breton spits out.

“What are you doing here? Waiting for us?” She demands.

“I’ll never say, you bitch.”

“Who is your master?” Maxwell pointedly asks.

“Like I would tell you, mortal. Or should I say Maxwell the Dragonborn?” The Breton sneers, looking at the hunter.

The vampire spits out a glob of blood to the side, before staring at him once more and continuing “Yes, I know who and what you are. Harkon knows all about you. Know this: he has a special plan for you.”

Maxwell remains resolute, although his hands clench the bow and string a bit harder.

Turning back to Serana, the vampire continues “You may be hiding here with the Dawnguard and with him” throwing the word scornfully to Maxwell “but they will not be enough to save you from your Father’s wrath.”

He suddenly lurches forward, before being stopped by an ebony arrow piercing his ankle which pins him in place. As Maxwell nocks another one and levels it at the Breton’s face, he authoritatively commands “I wouldn’t move a muscle, or you’ll get another one in your eye.”

The vampire snarls loudly, his light amber eyes narrowing once more.

“Harkon will not stop until he unites us all and ends the Tyranny of the…” he starts shouting before slumping to the ground unconscious as Serana waves a hand, purple energy curling around it.

“That’s enough from him.” She states, lowering her hand.

“Are you alright?” A concerned Maxwell immediately asks.

“I will be.” She smiles, although there is a subtle twinge of an underlying emotion.

“Talk about a warm welcome.” He says humorously, stowing the bow and arrow on his back once more.

The mention of ‘special plans’ for him generates something of a deepening pit within, but that’s nothing new. Several individuals had made that threat to him before, and he’s still standing. Still, Harkon of the Volkihar clan is a force to be reckoned with; even more so if he is now uniting vampire factions.

To distract himself from that morbid thought, Maxwell drops to a knee and quickly pats down the Breton vampire. The only items of note are an iron dagger and a coin pouch containing coinage and a gold ring. As Maxwell checks the ring over, Serana reaches out for it.

“Wait, that ring. Please can I see it?” She enquires.

He offers it up, a simple gold ring with a dark gem of some sort with an insignia. Two clenched hands and forearms forming an X.

Studying it briefly, Serana explains with a modicum of concern. “This is someone from the Mountain Fist clan. A small remote, reclusive clan in the High Rock province. My Father used to have dealings with them before he cut them off over some disagreement. I guess that’s changed. This Breton is definitely here on his orders.”

Standing up, he sighs and comments “That would make sense. He must know we’re after the other scrolls to learn more about the prophecy, seeing as we saved Dexion from Sindra. And if he knows of the Fort, then we need to be careful.”

She nods. “Either way, we’d better warn the Dawnguard they’re being watched.”

As if on cue, the thudding of approaching hooves reaches them as several Dawnguard ride out to investigate the loud screams that were released by the vampire. Crossbows are levelled in their direction.

Prompted by sudden instinct, Maxwell immediately moves in front of Serana putting his hands up. The illumination from her hovering Magelight is enough for the Dawnguard recognise him and lower their weapons as they approach. Among them is Durak, who after observing the scene before him is the first to speak in an incredulous tone mixed with suspicion.

“Maxwell? Serana? What is the meaning of this??”

Maxwell notes Durak staring intently at him, as though trying to ascertain something. Serana stands beside and answers monotonously, gesturing to the prone vampire. “I sensed him above. He’s spying for my Father. I don’t recognise him but he is from the Mountain Fist clan in High Rock. Whether he was lying in wait for us or to gather information on your numbers I don’t know. He’s still alive, just unconscious.”

“And how do you know this?” The Orsimer challenges her.

Serana tosses him the ring, and Durak looks down after catching it. A glint of recognition appears in his dark eyes as he studies the symbol. He immediately pockets the ring, then looks to the two individuals beside him and motions to the unconscious vampire. They quickly dismount, putting the Breton in restraints, then putting it onto one of the horses and riding off back to the Fort.

Turning back to the intrepid duo after a moment of watching the prisoner being taken away, Durak states “You’d better come with us, Isran will want to speak with you both.” There’s an undercurrent of something else, but Maxwell can’t interpret it.

 

They’re a bit slower on the approach, for some reason. Nevertheless, they enter through the open palisade gate, and the two are escorted through to the main entrance hall. Entering the main hallway, the Dawnguard members have their weapons out but lowered. The two that left them are behind Isran who has his warhammer out.

Standing beside Isran is a new individual, a dark-skinned Imperial wearing an amulet of Arkay over his standard Dawnguard iron armour. He raises a hand, which momentarily has a light blue aura around it. He casts it, observes for a moment before nodding to Isran who visibly relaxes, before standing back.

“What is the meaning of that, Isran?” Maxwell demands.

“Just a precaution.” Isran steps before him, stowing his warhammer; a few of the Dawnguard motion forward as well, lowering their weapons completely. The leader continues “Welcome back, Maxwell. We weren’t expecting you for a while longer. How did you return so quickly?”

Putting whatever that was to one side, Maxwell responds with a raised eyebrow "Well I did say we travelled fast.” Hinting back to the earlier conversation almost two weeks ago.

“Without horses?” someone who rode out to meet them calls out. Isran glances to the member before staring intently at Maxwell for an answer.

The hunter simply shrugs, although internally he realises how odd it looks; they leave with two horses and return with none. “We ran into trouble on the road.”

Isran looks to the unconscious vampire being held between the two Dawnguard members; he huffs before continuing, his tone dripping with suspicion and sarcasm. “Evidently…I see you both brought company.”

Maxwell frowns, but Serana interjects with her own sarcasm “Isran, he was already here when we arrived, hiding in the rockface above the entrance. I sensed and dealt with him. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Isran only huffs at her sarcastic comment, before Durak moves closer whilst pulling out the ring and stating “It’s from the Mountain Fist clan. See the insignia?”

Isran takes and looks at the ring, his brow furrowing even more. After a quiet moment of consideration, Isran handing the ring back to the Orsimer “Well, whatever, we’ll interrogate it and find out what it knows.” He nods to Durak, who motions to the two members dragging the unconscious vampire to follow him. As the quartet disappear around a corner, Maxwell dreads to think what that will entail.

Maxwell suddenly states “By trouble on the road, that does also include the fact that we were accosted by two members of Harkon’s court.” Isran raises an eyebrow at this, and he adds “They’re both deader than dead.”

Opting to change the topic, he pulls around his pack and extracts the Elder Scroll. “As promised, we’ve got the Elder Scroll relating to the Dragons.” He offers it.

The Redguard leader and those around momentarily gaze upon the legendary artefact with a sense of awe, however Isran doesn’t take it. Rather, shaking his head Isran responds. “Good. At least in that regard.”

Maxwell furrows his brow, recognising the undertone in his voice. “Something else is wrong. What’s happened, Isran?”

Isran gestures behind him. “Come with me. You need to see Dexion.”

The duo share a look of concern between them, as Maxwell stows the Scroll away.

Isran growls through gritted teeth at Serana. “You. Remember your manners here.”

The Dawnguard members keep their weapons lowered but start tensing up. Maxwell glares at Isran who glares back.

“Understood, besides I’m not feeling particularly hungry right now.” She sarcastically quips, which earns her a frown from the leader.

Maxwell rolls his eyes slightly and gestures forward “Lead the way, Isran.”

As they enter and are guided through to the medic area at the rear, a sense of fear intermixed with concern starts forming in Maxwell’s gut. As they enter, Keeper Carcette is tending to Dexion who is laying on one of the beds. His skin colour has paled slightly since they were last here, and he’s looking a bit gaunt.

Striding over, Maxwell immediately comes to a stop by the bed. Serana appears beside him, earning a small glance of concern from Carcette.

“Dexion, what’s happened?” Maxwell asks, voice laden with consternation.

“A side effect of reading the first scroll. It’s not uncommon. Keeper Carcette has been attentive, and is making this easier.” Dexion weakly responds, looking up at him.

Serana asks “Will you be alright?”

“I will be, just give it time.” He suddenly enquires. “Does your return mean you have the other Scrolls?”

“Only the one I’m afraid, relating to Dragons.” Maxwell responds, extracting then offering the scroll to Dexion who, despite his condition, reacts with a wondrous look like the first time in the underground fort, and reaches out for it. Carcette immediately grabs it from Maxwell with a deep frown, and puts it next to the bed.

Dexion, looking momentarily dejected, coughs weakly before stating “Maxwell, Serana…if you are wanting me to read it to try and discern the location of the other scroll, or for more information about the prophecy, I’m afraid in my current condition I cannot assist. Not until I’ve sufficiently recovered.”

“It’s okay, Dexion. Take as much rest as you need. Remember, we need you. You are kind of key to us saving the world.” Maxwell responds with a small genuine smile.

Dexion wryly smiles back and retorts with “No pressure, then” before another bout of coughing hits.

Carcette gives him a healing potion before saying “That’s enough Maxwell, he needs to rest.”

Maxwell rests a hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy, my friend.” Serana adds “Indeed. Rest well Dexion.”

The wizened priest smiles weakly, before leaning back and closing his eyes with a sigh.

“Carcette.” Maxwell states with a curt nod. The blonde-haired Keeper simply nods back, before returning to Dexion and checking him over again in case the conversation and actions have worsened his condition.

Maxwell strides back over to Isran who is leaning against the wall, observing their conversation with a modicum of interest. With Serana just behind and beside him, Maxwell asks in a low voice “When did this happen?”

Isran pushes off the wall he was leaning on and straightens up. “Initially, shortly after you left. He then got better, before ending up like this about a week later. He’s been in here since then, not getting worse but not getting better either. From what he says, this can happen after reading a Scroll, and he believes he'll be okay. Nevertheless, Keeper Carcette is doing what she can.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

As Carcette hands the scroll to a Dawnguard member who moves to stand beside Isran, the Redguard leader gruffly asks as he turns to the pre-occupied Maxwell who is looking back to the prone Moth Priest.

“Speaking of Elder scrolls…any luck with locating the final one?”

Maxwell is deep in thought, and responds absentmindedly “Hmm? Oh sorry. Um, no…not as of yet. Well, nothing solid.”

Isran raises an eyebrow “What do you mean by that?”

Serana doesn’t react outwardly, but inside her dead heart just jumped to her throat.

Maxwell, realising his blunder, begins lying to Isran. “I, we, er…spoke with the College when we were there, as they’re a pretty smart bunch. They surmise that it could be in a Dwemer ruin.”

“The Dwemer?” Isran states, confusion bleeding into his voice.

“Yes. That’s where I originally found this one, in one of their ruins during…”

A flash of recognition on Isran’s face indicates his apparent belief of the lie, and he cuts Maxwell off “Ah I see. You think if they had one, they could have others?”

“That’s what the College concluded.” Maxwell continues his bare-faced lie, keeping his face as straight as possible.

Isran contemplates his statement, and asks after a few moments “Do you have any leads?”

“A couple.”

He stands up straighter, and commands “In that case, give me the locations. I’ll send out some scouting parties. I also want to discuss what has happened on your ‘trip’".

Wanting to delay, and stop himself digging a bigger hole, Maxwell politely asks. “Please could it until morning, Isran? I need to sort out potions and other supplies first, then rest. It’s been a long journey.”

Isran strokes his beard in thought, his beady eyes studying Maxwell’s form, before acquiescing “Morning it is then Maxwell. Find me after breakfast.”

The Redguard soon leaves their presence, taking the scroll from the other member and presumably putting it with the first one. The other Dawnguard follow suit except Carcette and a couple of guards standing nearby.

Maxwell mentally sighs, feeling Serana’s gaze penetrating him from behind.

 

---

 

Playing into his lie by visibly buying a few extra Stamina potions with the gold from the vampire’s purse, Maxwell continues to feel Serana’s gaze penetrating the back of his head. He opts at the last minute to keep the dagger, as it could be handy to have an unenchanted one; and the fact that the Dawnguard already have plenty of cold iron daggers.

As soon as they’re alone in an unmanned section, Serana practically pulls him into an empty bedroom and shuts the door with intent. She exhales before turning around and tensely comments, her amber eyes staring “By the blood Maxwell, you had me worried there. I thought you were going to reveal our plan then, despite what you said.”

He sighs “Admittedly, a slip of the tongue. Sorry, Serana. I’m just concerned about Dexion.”

She considers him, before sighing as well “Me too. I hope he’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure he will be. Carcette is decent at Restoration. Besides, he’s pretty spry for his age.”

She chuckles.

Now that they are alone, he opts to ask “Do you know what was that spell that Arkay Priest cast? I didn’t recognise it.”

“It was Detect Life. It felt horrible.” She shivers at the recollection of the highly uncomfortable sensation washing over her.

He frowns. After a minute of trying to process why they’d do that, the only answer momentarily stuns him. “Wait, they thought you’d…?”, leaving the insinuation unsaid.

After a long moment that is as wide as Skyrim, Serana gently offers “You can’t blame them, Maxwell. You’ve spent significant time alone in the presence of a pureblood vampire.”

“I understand, but still…” he utters, the bed creaking under his weight as he sits down and rubs a hand through his short hair in frustration.

She takes a step forward “You can’t give them false information, Maxwell. That’s not going to…”

He interjects, a serious look in his eyes “I’m not. We’re leaving, tonight.”

She looks surprised. “That won’t look good either.”

Maxwell sighs again, massaging his forehead as he realises once more the size of the hole that he has dug them into. In a grim tone, he stands up and gestures as he states “I know, Serana. But if your Father has spies snooping about, then we need to press on. Plus, if Isran and the others even gets a hint of where we are going, I’m afraid they’ll try and stop us.”

“…Agreed.” She pauses before stating the obvious problem. “I still need to go off and find some blood to refill my vials.”

“Right. Er…if you go back to where that wooden tower bridge was, that might be back in use. That’s not far for you. I’ll cover for you, and get ready.”

She nods “Okay. I’ll leave now and be back soon. We’ll leave on my return.”

“Duly noted.”

She turns and walks to the door, but pauses as she lays a hand on it. Looking over her shoulder, they share a look of ‘we’re really doing this’ before she quietly departs from his presence.

 

---

 

Over the next hour, he does various actions to distract himself including but not limited to sorting out his gear, washing and counting out his potions. After another hour and a bit, with no sign yet of his companion, he decides get some air to try and ignore the growing apprehension at what they are about to embark on.

Walking through the fort to the roof access, a few people seem to be milling about doing late night activities; those that are talking in hushed tones cease when they see him.

He soon finds himself on an isolated part of the upper fort, overlooking the darkened valley. There are a few members on patrol but other than a side eye now and then they pay no heed and leave him alone.

The clouds upon their arrival have moved on, revealing the stars and the faint wisps of an aurora which shifts and twists in the atmosphere. After a while of just enjoying the silence, he starts thinking about how they’re going to enter the Castle based on the information Serana has provided thus far, and comes up with a few questions for clarification.

His thoughts are interrupted by approaching footsteps mixed with jangling of armour. Turning to look at the approaching individual, a black-haired Nord with a crossbow on his back, Maxwell straightens up.

“Everything alright, Maxwell?” The Dawnguard patrol civilly yet cautiously asks.

Crossing his arms, Maxwell politely responds “Yes, thank you. I couldn’t fall sleep, so I thought I’d get some air. Nice night.” Gesturing to the aurora and open sky.

“It is. And it’s understandable, especially if you’ve been travelling with that thing and had to watch your back every second.” The tone, now palpable with a third emotion.

Sensing incoming hatred, Maxwell stays quiet.

His guess is proven only mere seconds later.

“How can you trust it? Why haven’t you dispatched of it yet?” The Nord interrogates, dropping all hint of former politeness, and replacing it with suspicion.

The annoyance surges once more, but Maxwell forcibly reminds himself of what building he’s standing.

“She’s an…ally, and I for one trust her.” Maxwell gestures as he responds; almost saying friend, but catches the word just in time.

“But why? It’s a bloodsucking cretin.” the Dawnguard demands.

“I have my reasons.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Excuse me?” Maxwell uncrosses his arms in surprise.

“Maxwell, I lost my entire fucking family to vampires months ago. Every fucking one of them needs to die, so no other person goes through that.”

The words escape unfiltered from his mouth before he can catch them “And the fact that some of them could be different?”

The Dawnguard member suddenly looks incredulous, staring wide eyed at Maxwell as though he had lost the plot “Different? What in Oblivion do you mean, different? They’re vampires!! They’re all blood sucking fiends that need to be put down the instant they’re known about!!”

Wanting desperately to put an end to this sordid conversation, Maxwell offers in an apologetic tone “Look, I’m deeply sorry to hear what happened to your family, but you can’t let yourself be consumed by hatred and veng…”

The Dawnguard member spits at the ground and sarcastically interjects. “Like you after what you did to Ulfric?”

He instantly bristles at the words. Through gritted teeth, Maxwell angrily states. “Your point?”

The Dawnguard starts animatedly gesturing as he shouts in anger “The fucking hypocrisy! Preaching about not being consumed by hatred, yet beheading Ulfric because of what he did to your wife. You know, I bet she’s turning in her grave at what you did…”

SMACK

His fist connects hard with the Nord’s face, and the Dawnguard member stumbles back into the wall, blood immediately pouring out from his now broken nose, running down his chin and coarse beard. The crossbow clatters to the floor beside him. Those on patrol immediately look over, but don’t move closer.

As the Nord looks up in stunned anger, Maxwell tersely barks out “Shut your fucking mouth.”

The Nord yells once more and tries to kick at the hunter’s nearby leg; he misses. The Nord then goes to grab his nearby fallen crossbow, but it’s torn from his hand by the irate Maxwell who steps back and throws it over the wall whilst spitting out “Don’t be an idiot.”

Focusing on his breathing to quell the anger, Maxwell sullenly states after a tense pause “I think I’ve had enough fresh air.” And immediately leaves.

After coming to his senses, the Nord huffs and spits a glob of blood and saliva to the side, before getting back to his feet when Maxwell has gone from sight. Shaking his head and touching then looking at his blood-covered hand, and ignoring the stares of the other members on patrol, the Nord mutters under his breath “Fuckin’ Dragonborn. Should have stayed dead.” He soon leaves his post to sort himself out.

 

---

 

Back inside his room a short time later, Maxwell releases a heavy sigh and lets the emotions ebb away. Dismissing the intrusive thoughts, he starts cleaning up.

A minutes later, a light knock sounds on the door before it’s opened, revealing Serana in all her beauty. He gestures her in, and she shuts the door softly behind her. As she moves closer, he asks. “Did you manage to get some blood?”

“I ended up locating and bleeding a deer. It’s not as sustaining, but it’ll have to do.”

 

In reality, she had found the deer almost as soon as she had left Dayspring Canyon, and spent the rest of the time just sitting and staring up at the stars, watching the aurora weave across the night sky as she tried to deal with the maelstrom of emotions mixed with apprehension at returning home.

Upon her silent return, she was floating up the wall to re-enter the fort by the roof access, when she sensed Maxwell was out for some reason. She had intended to playfully surprise him but the Nord gentleman had approached and put a stop to that plan. Waiting with bated breath, she listened intently as the conversation evolved; almost intervening when the Nord went for his crossbow before seeing it fly over the edge and thudding in the bush below.

 

Noticing the way that she’s looking at him, Maxwell pauses his ministrations. “Let me guess, you heard?”

“…every word.” She softly responds.

He grimaces, massaging his hand. “I know I made a lot of people unhappy with what I did, but…”

“You don’t have to explain, Maxwell. He was out of line.” She sincerely offers. She doesn't repeat the last words from the Nord.

He offers a thankful smile, before it drops. “I’m also getting annoyed that people don’t seem to be see that you’re clearly different.”

She half-heartedly laughs “You’re fighting a stigma that has existed for as long as vampires have been around, Maxwell. Especially with a vampire hunter guild.” She stresses the word.

He resignedly exhales, before clarifying “I get that, I really do. Yet I would have thought actions speak louder than words. Clearly there are those that are not...” He quickly shuts up and shakes his head, biting his tongue.

She tilts her head, giving him a curious look. After a brief pause, she clears her throat and motions “Anyway, now is as good a time as any to leave.”

“Okay…let me get sorted out.” He quietly says.

She leaves the room to let him change, and he calls her back in once he's armoured up. After another minute, Maxwell straps his weapons and moves to stand aside her. Before she starts to cast, he immediately says as he lifts a finger to point to her face “Your eyes. You might want to…”

“Oh, right.” Serana responds, before casting the illusion spell. “Thanks.”

As he lets go of his now-affixed sword, he offhandedly adds as she begins the motions. “Just in case, given the late hour. You did say it was in Solitude.”

A thought occurs. He turns to her as she completes the spell “Speaking of which, where exactly in…” but the question is way too late as the warping commences and they appear on her Mark on the firelit veranda at the Blue Palace. Almost immediately, a loud gasp draws their immediate attention as the whirling vortex disappears. A Dunmer maid holding a broom mid-sweep, stands wide eyed in horror as she gawks at the pair, before loudly screaming in shock.

Maxwell balks then stares at Serana in horror. “This is where you put the Mark?!”

“Yes, did I not mention?” she quickly responds.

“No, you didn’t…” he forces through gritted teeth.

“Oh…I’m…I’m sorry.” She sincerely apologises, her spell-covered Nordic Blue eyes wide. He stares into them. Thank FUCK I reminded her.

Before he can say anything else, the doors violently burst open and two burly armoured Legionnaires charge through with swords drawn, followed closely by an armed Falk. They fall silent upon noticing Maxwell and Serana, standing there awkwardly by the stone fence. Falk is the first to break the silence after recognising them. Patting the Legionnaires on the shoulders who relax their stance and lower their weapons, the fiery red-headed aide struggles to put into words his confusion.

“…Maxwell? Hanna? What…how…”

High Queen Elisif suddenly appears behind them, striding in authoritatively as she pushes open the doors, with her green Nordic dress and hair flowing behind her. A hooded Sybille follows closely, wearing her notable purple garb. Evidently, they were in the middle of some late-night court business.

“What is the mean….” the High Queen starts to demand in a loud voice, before she too falls silent, noticing the intrepid duo. After a tense moment of gawking at Maxwell and Serana, Elisif states in a commanding voice “Everyone but Falk and Sybille, out.”

Once the veranda is cleared of everyone not mentioned, and the doors are closed, Elisif inhales deeply. She then looks to Maxwell as she takes stock in the stark difference since last seeing him, whilst maintaining her regal composure despite the confusion in her eyes and tone.

“Maxwell. Hanna. You have a flair for the dramatic. I presume either of you can adequately explain how you are standing here, on my private sun deck, in the middle of the night, without coming in through the front door?”

Maxwell bows slightly before promptly responding, gesturing to Serana. “My sincerest apologies, Elisif. Hanna is gifted at magic. She Recalled us in.”

“Recalled?” Elisif responds, unfamiliar with the term. Sybille arches an eyebrow. Falk is quietly observant.

“Sorry, that’s the spell name. Um, it’s like going from one place to another in an instant.”

Elisif is dumbstruck, barely processing his statement. Sybille looks impressed, and Falk is confused.

“And why have you…Recalled in?” The High Queen persists, slightly pausing to ensure she’s used the term correctly.

Serana is dead silent, letting Maxwell take the lead in this difficult conversation.

He swallows the nervous ball of tension forming in his throat, not realising how badly he didn’t want to be having this conversation. “Elisif, I…I can’t explain what’s happening.”

A moment passes before he realises the futility of the situation, and that he can’t lie to the High Queen. He exhales resignedly before glancing to Serana and then back to her, adding “But suffice to say Elisif…Tamriel is once more in danger.”

The High Queen’s countenance drops completely, horror appearing on her face. Falk’s complexion has become deathlike with blood draining from his face, and Sybille is staring intently at Maxwell then Serana through her own spell covered eyes.

Elisif’s strained voice, barely a whisper, utters a few seconds later “Like Potema?”

Maxwell solemnly shakes his head. Swallowing the nerves once more, he levels his brown eyes into Elisif’s own “More like Alduin.”

She gasps, loudly. Her hands fly to her mouth, and she breathes through them “By Talos, you can’t be serious….”

Falk looks like he’s about to pass out, before Sybille catches him and lowers him onto a chair nearby.

 “I’m afraid so.” Maxwell gravely states.

After a moment, Elisif asks “You didn’t come here just to warn me, did you Maxwell?”

He rubs his nape in exasperation “…to be honest, I didn’t know this was where the Mark was.” He briefly glances to Serana, who shifts uncomfortably. “We Recalled to get to where we need to go. I’d, uh, strongly recommend keeping what I’ve told you quiet. And of our arrival as well.” He quickly adds the last part.

Elisif stares pointedly at him, her gaze becoming intense. “You haven’t told me much, Maxwell, other than the world may be coming to an end…again. I do trust your intentions after everything you’ve done, but I need you to explain what exactly is going on.”

Maxwell looks to Serana with a grave look, who returns it. She nods. He droops his shoulders as though to emulate the weight of the burden of saving the world. Again.

“A vampire is planning to permanently block out the sun.”

At his words, Elisif’s expression completely fails her, and she takes a few small steps back – almost tripping on her dress edges - at the gravity of Maxwell’s words. After a few seconds of her own face becoming deathlike as well, she gives a deeply concerned look to Sybille. Falk turns even paler, before glancing to Sybille on reflex as well.

 

As Elisif looks back to Maxwell and stammers as she struggles to process his last sentence, Sybille fastidiously gives Serana a penetrating look. She notices and looks back. Sybille taps on her shoulder, the same location where Serana’s family emblem is situated on her armour. Realising the inference, Serana imperceptibly nods. Sybille’s eyes widen. She mouths “We need to talk.”

 

Eventually finding her regal composure once more, the High Queen exhales heavily before clasping both hands together and with a sincere tone states “…can you tell me more?”

“I can’t Elisif, it would put you in danger, and we really need to be going.”

“In that case, may the grace of the Nine Divines be with you both. As soon as you can, please let me know.”

Exhaling through the nerves, he bows and solemnly responds “Thank you, Elisif.” As he bows, Serana follows “Thank you from myself as well, my Queen.”

Sybille resolutely requests “My Queen, I would like to escort Maxwell and Hanna out.” She gives a specific pointed look. Elisif nods as she reads between the lines.

 

---

 

Passing through the quiet Palace – although the Dunmer maid, sat with another maid for company, gives them a stare down - Sybille leads them to the main entrance before suddenly veering off to a nearby side room. Maxwell is about to object but Serana shakes her head, sending her braid swishing back and forth.

Once the door is closed, Sybille immediately turns and faces Maxwell. Not wasting a second, she launches into her question “I gather you know what I am, Maxwell?”

“I do, Sybille.”

“And is that going to be a problem?”

“No, unless you’re working with Harkon. Then, we’re going to have a problem.”

She arches an eyebrow before smirking “Nice to know you haven’t lost your bite, Maxwell. For what it’s worth: I’m not. I never agreed with Harkon over the prophecy, although I never knew the specifics beyond it only somehow involving the sun. My one and only concern is Queen Elisif. I owe that much to Torygg.”

Sybille dismisses the illusion spell, revealing her light amber eyes. Maxwell studies the change intently, before turning to Serana, who has also done the same. Sybille also turns to Serana and says “Lady Serana, you can read my thoughts to prove to yourselves what I say is true, as further reassurance of my motives.”

With a slightly apprehensive look, and after a nod of assent from the vampiric councillor, Serana does so. She closes her eyes and focuses. After a half minute, Serana inhales as she opens her eyes and looks at Sybille who relaxes, then to Maxwell. “She is telling the truth, Maxwell. About everything.”

Maxwell considers her response, noticing the sincerity in her amber eyes, before leaning back and gesturing for Sybille to take the lead in this conversation.

“Okay Sybille, what do you want to talk about?”

She offers a simple nod to Maxwell, before turning and gazing at Serana who stands back. “So, Lady Serana. I thought I warned you not to go back home.”

Serana gesticulates as she explains “Just Serana, please, Sybille. And I thought it through, and I realised that if I had any chance of finding out what had gone on, I needed to go back. Sybille, what you said was the truth. He is completely insane. Even worse, more than a thousand years later… put it this way, if Maxwell didn’t find me when he did, his underlings would have found me and I dread to think how that would have turned out. Now that I know what he is planning on doing – at least from the part of the prophecy we know of - Maxwell and I are going to stop him.”

Sybille observes Serana, before replying “I suspected something was up when we received a report of Imperial guards killed outside Morthal, with no sign of the Moth Priest they were escorting. I was…concerned until I heard a rumour that Harkon was not pleased. I’m guessing that was actually you two?”

“Yes, it was.” Maxwell responds.

Sybille looks seriously impressed, before it evolves to a stern look. “If that’s true, are you working with the Dawnguard, perchance?”

“Yes, we are. I haven’t joined them nor told them about you, before you get concerned. We’re only working with them to stop this prophecy.” A thought occurs. “You can tell Elisif that; I presume you’re going to tell her what we’ve spoken about?”

“Only enough so that she doesn’t worry, but I will mention the Dawnguard are involved.” Sybille smirks. Turning back to Serana, she asks “I gather by your appearance that you are planning on going back to the Castle. Why?”

Serana looks to Maxwell, as if for approval. After glancing over to Sybille, he looks back and nods “Tell her, if you want to.”

“Yes. To find Valerica.”

Sybille’s eyes widen. She quietly releases “That’s…unexpected. What makes you think she is there?”

“She left me a hidden message indicating she was there. It makes sense…in a twisted way.”

As the two study each other, Maxwell feels inclined to change the topic and ask “Sybille.” She looks to him “Last time we were here, Falk said you recognised me but didn’t say how. How did you? Because of my scent?”

Taking a moment to recall that day, she casually responds. “Yes. When you visited the Palace, I was passing by a window when I smelled you. Physically, you’ve changed. But I’d recognise you anywhere.”

“Fair enough. I was only curious.”

She looks at him before querying. “If I may say Maxwell, coming to Solitude that day...you must have known the risk of being recognised was increased.”

“I did…but I thought the risk was minimal and worthwhile.” Glancing over to Serana.

With a curious undertone, she comments “…I see.”

Standing up straight to signify the end of this chat, Sybille clasps her hands in front of her and states “Well, I wish the both of you good luck, and please be careful.”

“Thank you, Sybille.” Serana bows.

Maxwell ungloves a hand and offers a handshake, which surprises the vampiric councillor, but she takes it willingly; her cool touch not surprising the hunter in the least. She goes to say something, before seemingly changing and going with “I’m glad to see you back at it, Maxwell.”

Now it’s his turn to be surprised.

“Saving the world, I mean.” She clarifies with another smirk. There’s a sincere tone in her words.

That’s, uh, new?

 

---

 

Once Sybille has guided them out the main doors, Maxwell exhales at the sudden turn of events over the last few hours. Quietly mentioning “Well, this night has not turned out how I thought it would..."

“Indeed." Pausing before adding, Serana reaffirms "Sybille is telling the truth about her non-allegiance to my Father; I want to stress that again Maxwell.” 

“I believe you, Serana.” He offers a reassuring smile, before frowning and adding as he remembers “Also, you could have warned me you’d placed the Mark there.”

“I apologise, I thought I did mention it.”

He takes her in before sighing “You didn’t, you only said it was in Solitude. But it’s my fault too; I should have asked earlier.”

Interesting diversion aside, the former apprehension swells once more to the forefront of her mind, Serana says "I’d better cast that protective spell now, just in case.”

He inhales and straightens up. “I don’t think we can get a horse. It’s going to take a few days to get there…are you going to be okay to maintain the spell for that long?

She smiles at his concern for her once more and responds “It will be somewhat difficult, but I can manage. Don’t worry.”

“And are we okay to talk during the…?”

“Yes, I’ll combine Muffle into it. Although I don’t believe it will cover your louder Shouts.”

“…okay. In that case, I’m ready.”

She looks at him for assurance, and he nods in assent. As she casts the combined forms of the various components of the protective spell she has planned, he’s struck by her fluidity and beauty as her hair wafts and her hands move. A faint tingling sensation washes over him as the amalgamated spell takes effect.

Before they leave, Serana quickly adds in her normal voice “I've also included Invisibility.”

“Wait…what?” He looks incredulous “But I can still see myself…and you.” He states in a confused tone, as he holds out a hand and turns it around. The rare time Lydia and he had to use invisibility; they were completely invisible not only to each other but themselves.

She tilts her head before chuckling. “What’s the point if you can’t see yourself to move about? And that’s because I’m allowing you to see me.”

He raises an eyebrow, and she smirks as she adds “I’ve noticed when I’ve been casting the spells. I thought I wouldn’t deprive you.”

Squaring his shoulders to disperse that notion – as well as his own apprehension – he gestures before them. “Shall we?”

She nods before leading the way, not a single sound coming from her footsteps on the stone road. He follows, a sound also not coming from him.

 

Watching her hair bob as she walks ahead with her hood down and braided hair flowing behind, his only thought is how she continues to surprise him.

She had indeed noticed her companion staring whenever she was casting Recall or other spells requiring physical movement, so there was a modicum of truth to her playful statement, but she had said it mostly to distract herself from where they were heading to.

 

Cautiously making their way out of the capital, with barely a word between them, they approach the main gate. They have to climb over a wall – well, Maxwell does - due to the gate being sealed shut for the night. But thanks to the amalgamated spells, in addition to the invisibility, no one hears, sees or senses anything amiss.

Once they are on the stone path leading away from the capital, and with trepidation growing in each of them, the two silently and invisibly set off into the night towards the northern road…and to her home.

Notes:

Well, things have suddenly veered to the left for the intrepid duo.

Bit of a sizeable chapter, but I've been looking forward to posting this one since I had the idea of going from one mistake to another (Maxwell's slip of the tongue to Serana failing to mention where her Mark was exactly and Recalling when Elisif was present).

As ever, thanks for all the kudos. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 18: Home

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana make their to - then within - Castle Volkihar.

Notes:

TW: Violence, death, swearing (lots of it), panic attacks (plural). Um...I think that's it?

Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors. Some minor edits may happen here in the near future. See end notes as to why.

With the new enchantment on his boots, they cover a lot of distance. On the way, they briefly discuss their plan of action. They’ll stop every so often, but do not risk to make camp or a fire. When they’re within range of the boat, they’ll stop and let him sleep. He’ll consume Stamina potions in between rests; Maxwell silently thanking the Breton for the coins to buy extra Stamina potions.

If they find her Mother, great. If she isn’t there, or there’s a clue leading elsewhere, they’ll decide there and then the next action.

The stark realisation that everything is now more against them forces a tension unlike any other so far encountered. Deciding to try and alleviate it, Maxwell starts a conversation about something other than where they are going - beginning with something she had said to Sybille.

“Does it bother you when I playfully use your title, Serana?”

“Why do you ask?” She turns with a curious look.

“You asked Sybille to not use your title.”

“…no, it doesn’t, Maxwell. Although if I so desire, I could issue a decree for you never to do it again.” She smirks.

“If I was one of your subjects.” He reminds her.

“You’re assisting me, which upon arrival at court you could be considered my Courtier. You would then have no choice but to follow any issued decree.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I never bothered to learn the manners of high society.”

She laughs “I had noticed. Calling the High Queen of Skyrim by her first name? Tsk tsk, talk about a lack of respect and decorum, Maxwell.”

He shrugs. “Well, saving the world kind of does away with formality.”

“How did you get to be so familiar with the High Queen?”

“Long story.”

“We have time.” She gestures before them to emphasize her point.

He explains what happened with Potema and how Elisif had initially then subsequently reacted to his warnings. For services rendered, she had wanted to make him a Thane, which he turned down out of principle. She then gave him a house as a compromise; he didn’t live there but only used it once or twice. This then leads onto discussing the civil war in limited detail, and then how various individuals and organisations had tried to use him for his power once he was revealed.

Dodging a low hanging branch of a birch tree they pass under, he eventually says “…so the only one who actually treated me like a normal person was…Balgruuf.” His face contorts slightly at the name, before he concludes “I considered him a good friend, even after he made me Thane.”

The name Balgruuf rings a bell for her, from the Explorer’s Guide of Skyrim. Balgruuf the Greater, the Former Jarl of…Whiterun. She then stops, realising his last words.

“Wait, but you said you turned down all the other Jarls.”

“I know, but this was before the Civil War broke out and my being Dragonborn was revealed. I didn’t want the title, but he was adamant after I saved his family from cultists.” He stops himself short of saying “and that’s how I met her.”

As she’s about to ask another question as they pass under another birch tree, she freezes mid-stride and looks concerned; he stops immediately. She moves to him and just a hint above a whisper utters “Wait. There’s a vampire approaching.”

They stand still in the shadow of the tree, with bated breath. She focuses more on the spells, ensuring that the effects are strong.

After a few minutes, a cloaked Khajiit appears with glowing eyes. It slinks through the shadows, passing by within about 10 meters of them…but he doesn’t sense a thing. As soon as he disappears, they both relax.

“Nice work; with the spells I mean.” Maxwell comments with a smile.

“Thank you.” She returns it.

As they advance again, this prompts her to ask “I wanted to ask, why haven’t you learnt more schools of magic? You have an aptitude for it.”

“Ah, not really.” He throws a hand in the air to dismiss the comment.

She slows down to look at him. “That Bound Bow you can summon, that isn’t an easy one to master. Yet you seem to summon it with ease.”

“Only after about 7 months of practice, Serana, and a lot of headaches. Not to mention the utmost patience of Farengar.” His face contorts at the name.

“Who is that?”

“A mage I…used to know…back in…” The inference is clear. He clears his throat, and continues. “Anyway, the fire spell and the Candlelight spell didn’t take me long to learn; I learnt those when I was with the Khajiit caravans. The Restoration took me a couple of months to get to grips with the basics. As for the bow? 7 months.”

“So why only that one Conjuration spell?”

He half-heartedly chuckles at the reasoning, prompting her to arch an eyebrow. “This is going to sound stupid…I learnt it so I would stop losing bows.”

She looks confused.

Maxwell slows almost to a stop as he explains “I’ve spent a lot of money on bows over the years, Serana. Including some very expensive ones, like the ornate one with the Muffle enchantment, only to end up losing them in some way. There was one I was extremely proud of, only to have it cut in half by a bandit the very next day.” He huffs in recollection at that memory.

He looks pensive for a moment before adding “it also happened to be useful for fighting the…well, you know what.” He then weakly shrugs “Not to mention as well, it was then I soon started learning the Shouts.” Shuddering slightly at the memory of every time those horrible images and sensations entered his mind.

“And after?”

Pausing for a moment to understand what she’s inferring. “Eh, I’ve made do.”

She considers his response carefully before offering in a gentle tone. “I understand, but it is a shame Maxwell. It really is useful to know a wide variety of spells, especially defensive ones. And in a situation like this, where you can’t fall back on your Shouts.”

“I get it, but that’s where you come in. You’re the mage, I’m the warrior. We go well together.” He grins.

She returns with a polite chuckle.

Deciding to flip it, Maxwell asks “Anyway, what about you? When did you learn you were good with magic?”

She sighs at the memory “From a very young age, which pleased my Mother immensely. As soon as I could learn, she began teaching me. I think, in a way, she saw me as a protégé, someone to impart all of her knowledge. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed our lessons.”

She explains in some detail some of her lessons with Valerica, and also describes a few more spells that she knows; one in particular captures his immediate attention.

“Wait…you can lift things with your mind?” Maxwell incredulously asks, his jaw dropped. She nods. He excitedly looks around before pointing to a nearby log. “Can you lift that fallen log? Please?”

“I could, but remember I’m already concentrating on several spells, Maxwell.” She raises an eyebrow, before politely laughing at his child-like enthusiasm.

“…ah…right.” He sheepishly responds.

They talk a bit more, and on the topic of defensive wards and spells she suddenly queries “I’ve noticed you don’t make use of a shield. Why is that? I mean, I know the amulets offer protection from magic, but surely you would benefit from the physical protection a shield affords?” The memory prompts her to add. “Wait…the mural, back at Castle Dour; that depicted you with a shield!”

He shrugs “Well, a shield is useful and I did sometimes use one, but I was always the one with a bow; Lydia was the one who had the…” he bites his tongue, realising he’s talking about her.

After a pregnant pause, Serana softly comments “You did mention once she was always “running into trouble”; it makes sense she would make use of a shield.” A heavy silence, before she asks in a very gentle tone “How did you two meet, Maxwell?”

He stops, and looks at her with a soft yet pained look “Serana, I…can we talk about something else? Anything else? Please.”

 

Later, as she answers some of his questions, including if Harkon would ever leave the island, she decides to flip the question.

“Enough about my parents. What were yours like?” She asks with sincerity. She then adds “Actually, do you have any siblings?”

The surprise hits him hard. Noticing his reaction, she quickly adds “If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”

Maxwell shrugs, and starts to explain “It’s okay, I don’t remember much. They died in a house fire and I was the only one who survived. Their neighbour took me in…” he briefly goes into some detail but stops as it becomes too much.

She stops again and turns to look at him, sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear what happened to them, Maxwell.”

“Thanks Serana.” he solemnly admits.

The silence that follows is brief, before Maxwell lightly jokes. “Serana, please could we talk about something more cheerful? Where we’re heading, I could do with cheerful.”

She politely giggles “Me too. Ask me a question that isn’t about an unhappy topic.”

As he ponders the possibilities, one comes to mind. “I know…tell me about your favourite book.”

She literally freezes mid-stride. “…you’re serious?”

Feeling like he’s said something wrong, the only thing he can offer is “uh…sorry?”

She turns, putting a hand on her hip and giving him an intense stare with a hint of a humorous smirk. “You expect me, an avid reader, to choose one book out of everything I have read as my favourite? You ask the impossible, Maxwell.”

They talk about more light-hearted topics, like literature and alcohol, but before long the talking ceases as the apprehension builds once more when they realise they've reached the road to the north.

 

---

 

A few days later, with apprehension swelling further as they close in on the boat, she gestures to an out of the way sheltered outcropping for his long rest. As he settles against the rock, she smiles and comments “Sleep well, Maxwell.”

“I’ll try, Serana.” His eyes widen slightly at something, before he suddenly guffaws and she jumps. Before she can ask, he’s smiling as he adds. “Well, this certainly beats sleeping in Riften.”

She tilts her head in slight confusion before recollecting his comment as they passed Riften on the way to the College, and snorts before covering her mouth and looking wide eyed.

He chuckles, his brown eyes alight with mirth “Goodnight Serana. Please wake me at first light.”

He closes his eyes and soon falls asleep. As his head lolls slightly as he lightly snores, arms crossed across his chest and legs cross as he lays in a seated position, she keeps watch. Her thoughts turn to her companion. She recollects what they spoke about, with a smile at a couple of parts of their conversations.

For all that has happened, she was thankful that Maxwell was the one that found her, and had become her friend. She was also appreciative that he was talkative, to at least try and distract them from what they were embarking on.

As she drinks another vial, her thoughts soon turn to Valerica, and the day her life was turned upside down. She only really had one pressing question: Why did you act the way you did that day, Mother? It must have to do with this stupid prophecy, but what was it?

 

----

 

The following morning, as the wisps of a fog roll in from the ocean and the weak spring sun fails to punch through, they steadily make their way towards the shore where the boat is docked.

Passing by a couple of horkers who warily watch them pass by, Serana comments. “We can’t use the boat; the magic will alert Father it’s in use.”

“Can’t you remove or subdue the spell?”

“I can, but that will alert him as well. He’s paranoid like that.”

“What about Recalling in?”

“He’ll sense that as well.”

Maxwell frowns “Well I’m out of ideas. If we can’t Recall in or use the boat, how do you suggest we get over there? I don’t normally keep a spare boat in my pack, and there’s no way I’m swimming…”

Serana smiles at his comments, but she has an idea from her time spent practicing when she was alone in the inlet.

She kneels down on the end of the jetty, and places her finger tips into the water. Ice crystals immediately appear on her hand, and then in the water before rapidly expanding out. After a few seconds, a sizeable flat iceberg has formed – big enough for them to stand on. She then moves over to the side nearest to two horkers they passed, and gazes intently at them. They slowly shuffle into the water.

Drying her hand on her cape, Serana says in a cheerful tone. “Stand on. It’s stable.”

Expecting to immediately sink, he uncertainly steps forward; the iceberg barely shifts despite his heavier weight. As the water disturbances indicate the horkers’ approach, he stares and comments “Wait…are the horkers going to push us?”

During her actions as she casts another spell, Serana only responds with “Yes.”

“And what are you doing now?”

“Extending the invisibility.”

As soon as she finishes, she’s clearly having to concentrate a degree harder judging by her furrowed brow. He offers his hand to help her alight. She looks surprised but takes his proffered hand, stepping onto the iceberg with ease before letting go.

The iceberg suddenly shifts forward before moving at a steady pace. Looking behind, the water is slightly disturbed by the horkers’ motions underneath as they push the iceberg forward with their heads.

Maxwell quietly states in awe. “Okay, this is extraordinary, Serana.”

She stifles a chuckle, and quickly commands. “I’m focusing on a lot here Maxwell, please don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry.”

Looking out towards the island, which is shrouded in thick veils of fog like before, he softly states as though to reassure himself “At least there’s some fog, that’ll give us some cover.”

Serana doesn’t react, keeping her brow frowned as she concentrates on the myriad of spells, and the growing headache.

It’s relatively slow going compared to the boat, but they soon make it around the northern part via the eastern side as the sun ascends higher. Maxwell looks up at the foreboding ancient castle, dreading to see someone looking out of a window.

 

As they pass around a large rock, a large void soon appears. Getting closer, there are clear signs of the decrepit ruins of a dock and inlet that cover the three internal sides of the formation.

Approaching a level rock, the horkers push the iceberg to the edge, and the duo gingerly step off with Maxwell offering a hand once more. The horkers immediately disappear, and the iceberg floats away on the tide.

She dismisses various spells, only keeping the ones that suppress their presence. She downs two blood vials and sighs in evident relief at finally not having to focus on so many spells.

Stowing them, she instructs her companion “Just be careful on stepping over the rocks, it’s somewhat uneven.” She adds “Let me lead, as there’s various dangers down here. And I’ve dropped the Muffle and Invisibility given where we are, so please don’t use your Thu’um at all unless you can do it quietly.”

“Duly noted. I was thinking that anyway, Serana.” At the mention of ‘various dangers’, he suddenly adds in a tight voice. “You said he’s extremely paranoid. Surely he knows of the inlet, and will have things in place?”

She shrugs “That is a distinct possibility, but he never went down there Maxwell. He’s a Duke, the sewers are no place for royalty.”

“Says the Lady.” He retorts with a cheeky grin.

She offers her own smirk, and throws back “As you said, I’m different. Actually, the word you said was ‘extraordinary’.”

Rolling his eyes, he changes the topic. “Fair point. Anyway, how are you doing? I mean, with blood, concentrating on the spell for so long, and being back home?”

“Fine, thanks for asking.” She offers a disarming smile, as though to hide the nerves “I just hope she’s here, or a clue to where she went.”

He maintains his gaze, and she finally relents “Honestly, I’m okay Maxwell. I do have a light headache from maintaining the various spells for so long, but now that I have dropped some – especially the Invisibility - it’ll pass. As for blood, I have gone through vials a bit faster than I would like, but that’s only due to continuously maintaining spells; I have more than enough to last whilst we’re here.”

He considers her before nodding in acceptance, and starting to lead the way over the rock.

Approaching the nearest side of the inlet, there’s nothing other than the slow sea breeze rolling in, and some seagulls that kick off as they approach. As the waves lap against the weathered rock, Serana pauses to scan the inlet from behind cover. She looks back after a tense moment “It’s clear, I’m not seeing or sensing anything. “

As they step out, she gestures “We head over there. There’s a door that accesses the sewer system. From there, it’s slightly upwards then further in.”

They cautiously make their way to the damp staircase on the that leads towards a weathered aged wooden door tucked away behind a corner, which seems to only be held in place by the damaged iron bandings. Before they step onto the staircase, she immediately tenses up.

“Wait, there’s vampires above.”

She strides up to the top, and then throws an arm in an arc with a volley of ice shards thrown forth. The feral vampires drop down from the high up ledge…and drop dead as they hit her shards. Thudding to the floor with bones crunching and viscous blood soon seeping out of the wounds.

As Maxwell approaches, Serana kneels and turns them over. The two females and one male are in very thin clothing that are essentially rags. They have massively sunken dark eyes, very thinned out hair and sharp teeth exposed. Skin is extremely pallid and taut.

“Who were they?”

“I don’t recognise them; I’m guessing members of the court who lost favour, and were banished. They must have found their way down here and didn’t want to leave the island. Without food…” she gestures to them. She seems to think, and adds “Also, that’s evidence enough that no one has been down here. These would have been killed.”

He nods at her last point.

She takes a step forward before turning with a knowing look. “Oh, Maxwell?”

“Yes?” Raising an eyebrow at his companion’s curious expression.

“Watch.” Serana gestures to the three bodies.

As he turns, she flicks her wrist thrice. The three corpses suddenly launch off the ground one after another and go flying into the water, making three splashes. He jumps slightly back, before looking back in slight shock.

“That’s the Telekinesis spell I was talking about.” She simpers, her attempt to lessen the tension even slightly having worked.

“Wow…that’s useful. And good idea, disposing of them.” Maxwell responds, gesturing to the bodies that start sinking into the water as he squares his shoulders and clears his throat.

Coming to then pushing through the wooden door that creaks heavily under her hands, a wave of fetid stench rolls out, and his hand flies up to his nose as Maxwell gags. “Ugh, that’s disgusting!! What is that?!”

She barely winces, and offers “It smells like the kitchen has been busy.”

Realising the implication, and remembering what the Breton vampire had said, he queries with a very concerned tone “…because your Father has company?”

Her face drops at the realisation. When she looks back to answer, her eyes display the sheer concern. “Possibly.”

The silence that follows is extremely strained. They mutely progress through the sewers with a renewed sense of dread, with only silent gestures from Serana – illuminated by her Magelight - as to where to step or to be careful.

 

After a while, Maxwell decides to ask some questions to distract them.

“Ignoring the horrifying prospect above us, I have a question for you Serana. You mentioned in Winterhold that you couldn’t leave the castle. Did you have any favourite places to hang out?”

She glances back. “A couple.”

“The courtyard seems like an obvious one from how you’ve spoken about it. Where’s the other?”

She gestures around her with a knowing smile, to silently infer her answer.

“…ah…” Grimacing as the putrid smell once again assaults his senses. “It has a unique charm” he offers after a moment.

She politely chuckles at his comment, and responds with “I promise it smelt better back then, Maxwell. There was less blood, and the rats and skeletons were friendlier.” She smirks, before adding slightly wistfully. “You must think I’m weird, making friends with rats and skeletons.”

“Serana, I’ve spent the last few years on my own. I ended up talking to Rocky most of the time. Whether he understood everything I said, I will never know.” He quips with a mock shrug before a sudden pang of sadness hits at his last words.

She laughs, at the thought of Maxwell, quietly chatting away with his equine companion as he makes camp. A small pang of sadness appears in her too at the recollection of what happened.

As a melancholic silence descends, her Magelight runs out. Serana gestures after renewing it. “Anyway, we should keep going. There’s a lot of corners and narrow parts coming up, so please watch your step, especially when I say so.”

He nods and follows her lead.

 

Pushing further into the sewers, they come across a nest of giant spiders which they promptly dispatch with. Passing through more twisting and interwoven corridors which include lowering bridges, they encounter yet another spider infested room with several offshoot passageways filled with cobwebs.

Maxwell exclaims he stabs the final spider in the thorax. “Ugh. This place feels confusing. It’s like a maze down here. I’m glad you know the way, Serana.”

Stepping over the splayed legs of a dead spider, Serana shrugs and responds “Thanks to Father and his paranoia. He spent years adding lots of things like this. Just…be careful.”

“No argument from me. This is all you, I’m just the guy who Shouts.”

She snorts again, before covering her mouth upon reflex.

“At least I hope I’m better company than rats and skeletons…” Maxwell jests.

“Oh, much better company.” Serana retorts, a genuine smile as she glances back to him.

 

Feeling like now is an opportunity as she is on familiar ground, and to try and distract them once more, he gently asks her about some of the happier memories and events during her life here. She gladly talks about them, noticing why he is asking. It’s clear though, that most are before the family became pure bloods. A story involving finishing a very expensive wine bottle and earning duties for a month as punishment has him laughing as she rolls her eyes in mock indignation.

 

---

 

As they close on their destination after carving their way through giant spiders, giant rats and various undead, Maxwell asks another question he just thought of, as he pushes past a cobweb. “Hey Serana, I remember you said Harkon once decreed that you could never leave the island. Did you ever break that?”

She stops mid-stride, and her expression devolves to one of sadness as she recalls the mournful memory.

Seeing this, he offers “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. I only thought….”

She shakes her head and turns, which makes him pause. She limply shrugs and explains in a sad tone “I did…a few times. As I said, I couldn’t go really go anywhere other than the courtyard or down here without someone always following me. Always watching my every move.”

“Anyway, there was…one time, when my father was having a celebration and the court was populated, I decided to sneak off and went to the nearest settlement on the mainland. Before I got there, Father appeared looking both annoyed and angry, and dragged me back. The next day, he told me he had a gift for me. He took me by the hand, back to the settlement and…and he’d slaughtered every single person.”

She winces, recalling the depressing memory “I never attempted leaving again after that…”

Maxwell’s reaction is one of genuine and absolute horror. “That’s horrible, Serana!”

She seems to hug herself, once more becoming small and withdrawn, and looks away as the emotive memory runs rampant.

His heart breaks for her, and he stands closer. With the sincerest tone he can muster as he leans into her view, Maxwell softly assures her “Hey. What happened that day was not your fault. That lies with your father.”

She offers a grateful but wan smile as she weakly nods, looking forlorn.

After a minute of them standing like this, she gestures behind her and inhales to steady herself. “The secret entrance to the courtyard isn’t far now.” She silently leads on, her Magelight trailing behind.

Maxwell stands wordless, before silently following her muted form, his footsteps thudding down the corridor behind her much quieter footsteps as they come to then ascend the stairs leading to the inner courtyard wall.

Pushing their way through the hidden stone door that leads into the open-air courtyard, the fresh air washes over them and Maxwell automatically breathes a sigh of relief.

 

As they step onto the stone platform at the top of the courtyard, a pained gasp from Serana catches his immediate attention. Looking over, she stands completely aghast with dropped shoulders, leaning against part of the broken stone wall as she surveys the damage with a dropped jaw and a dismayed expression.

The garden, the main focus of the courtyard and a place that she holds dear, is in a complete state of disrepair. It looks like it hasn’t been touched in centuries, and everything is either overgrown, dead or destroyed. The only thing that remains untouched is a decorative central bronze-like feature with circular shapes of varying star signs dotted around it.

She slowly and silently descends the stairwell, looking wistfully left and right at the devastation, and the intermixed shock and sadness naked on her face.

“Serana?” Maxwell quietly asks, slowly descending the stairs after her. Silence is all he gets.

 

Slowly passing by one section, the memories run amok. Planting various alchemical ingredients with her mother, watching them grow. Planning out over the years where they would plant the different species and ingredients. Her father never came down, except one or two times to take her elsewhere in the Castle; he was always downright disgusted with the garden. Claimed it was a waste of space and too peaceful…

She looks tearfully from one part of the garden to the next as she continues her slow walk. More memories erupt. The memory of when she accidentally dropped a tray of seedlings after catching her foot on the stairs. When the flowers bloomed as the seasons changed. Dealing with the plants after a particularly nasty storm that caused some damage. Valerica watching her reaction when she had removed her hands covering Serana’s eyes and showed her the ornamental feature for the first time.

 

Maxwell stands awkwardly to the side, crossing his arms as he leans against a broken bit of wall on the lower section.

Opting to let Serana wander around alone, he looks over the garden from his vantage point, recognising a couple of plants – completely overgrown and unkept – and a few others he didn’t recognise, but most of the garden is practically dead, a former shadow of itself. The garden was well laid out though, despite the carnage and neglect. A clear sign of it being a labour of love.

He continues observing his companion slowly meandering around looking at various areas. He wants to say something, anything, but everything feels inadequate.

Deciding to try and distract himself instead, Maxwell shifts his gaze to the central feature. Studying the star symbols as he slowly circles it, recognition hits that these are actually the star signs depicting the 13 Standing Stones scattered across Skyrim. Recognising the symbols for the Serpent, the Tower, the Warrior to name a few.

Nothing seems amiss, other than the fact it’s the only thing untouched by the surrounding devastation.

 

When she eventually albeit slowly completes a full loop of the courtyard and returns close to where they entered, she absentmindedly hugs herself. Father must have gone on a rampage after Mother and I left, destroying anything that reminded him of her.

As the memories from their earlier chat and now seeing her favourite place like this threaten to overwhelm, she decides to seek solace from the figure standing in the corner of her eye.

 

Sudden movement from his companion interrupts Maxwell’s thoughts about the metal feature. He glances over to look at her, as she wordlessly paces straight towards him. Her amber eyes, surprisingly resolute. Turning fully and straightening up, concern registering in his voice and expression, he begins to ask, “Serana, are you…” before faltering as she strides right into him, puts her arms around his torso and hugs tightly. Putting her head on his chest, the words of his original question fall away into nothing.

 

The constant thrumming of his heart, albeit slightly elevated in surprise at her action, and heat of his body proves fruitful as the memories start to abate and she begins to feel several degrees warmer than her usual cold self. Drawing solace from his mere physicality. His scent, which had become synonymous with his presence - even though it’s currently supressed - also helps. She never fully noticed just how hot his body is, heat-wise.

 

Maxwell is extremely confused, his hands hovering uncertainly in the air. Sure, there had been some light touching – arm squeeze here, shoulder taps there, a body slam once – but this was something new entirely. The slight smell of snowberries and something sweet rushes up his nostrils once more.

 

Somewhat non-plussed, he eventually yet gingerly places his arms around her upper back, and she tightens the hug slightly in response.

Muffled slightly, Serana soon wistfully comments. “Do you know how beautiful a garden can be when it’s tended to by a loving master for a long time? Mother would be devastated to see it like this.”

Thinking very carefully, Maxwell tenderly replies “I can only imagine, Serana. The damage isn’t permanent, and the garden can look beautiful once more.”

After reflecting on his words, Serana sighs into the embrace, and after another minute softly mumbles. “…thank you again. For everything.”

“…you’re very welcome.” Maxwell quietly responds, his chin and cheek resting gently against the top of her forehead, the braid tickling slightly. He also realises just how cold she actually is.

After another minute, she pulls back. He does so as well, expecting another question or comment. Rather, something subtle shifts in the moment. Her amber eyes, now like two pools of liquid sunlight, have something delicate in them. A quality that’s not appeared before now. As he starts to fall into them, he manages to huskily utter “Serana” which seemingly brings her back to reality.

The subtle quality is suddenly replaced with surprise. With her amber eyes flaring wildly, she abruptly breaks the embrace, quickly turning her head away and taking a few steps away. Her auburn wine-red hair whips up and catches him across the chest and chin.

The void left by her sudden departure is confusing. He’s lost for words to describe what just happened.

As she mentally kicks herself, feeling somewhat embarrassed and confused, she absentmindedly looks over the ornamental dial. Noticing something odd, she states in a matter of fact tone “Wait…the dial…something’s off about it.” Clearly trying to forget the moment that’s passed.

Maxwell, deciding to leave whatever in Oblivion just happened alone, moves to stand alongside, although he maintains some distance.

She doesn’t look at him, but comments “Mother spent a fortune paying an artisan from High Rock to install it.” She smiles weakly “Father hated that, but she was adamant about having it installed.”

“You said something’s wrong with it.” Maxwell quietly repeats.

“Yes…the star signs…they’re out of order from what I remember. I’m also sensing a very faint magic aura from it…”

She closes her eyes to focus on it. After a minute, a heavy sense of realisation hits her, she opens her eyes before speaking with a sense of awe. “It’s a unique detection spell. We’ve studied this before…she’s put this here, Maxwell. It’s tied to the pieces. I think they’ll only unlock for direct blood descendants…like myself…”

She only missed it because of being caught up in the maelstrom of emotions within.

 

For Maxwell though, the vague memory of using his blood to open up the Akaviri temple at Sky Haven Temple floats to his mind. The image of a certain blonde-haired Imperial woman and a wizened Imperial man appear, and he internally groans. The nerve of those two, what they had asked him to do when they last spoke, which he adamantly and outright refused to do. He hadn’t thought about those two in years, for good reason. Also wanting me for my power. Yet more people I couldn’t care less about.

Distracting himself from that sordid memory, he offers “Well, I guess that’s evidence enough that she is, or was, here.”

Serana continues not to look in his direction, only responding with “Agreed.”

 

After a few minutes of kneeling down, prying out the metal pieces which unlock for her, and swapping them around, a clicking sound is heard underground as the hidden mechanism triggers. The interior stone drops slightly, and the segments move underneath the surrounding stone with barely a sound. It reveals a descending spiral stone staircase, at least one full rotation. It is abysmally dark down there.

Steeling her expression, she eventually looks over to her companion, who looks up. His own expression matches hers - trying to focus on the task at hand.

Serana shrugs as she states “I never knew this was here, or that the metal pieces could even be moved, so I’m not sure what will be down there. Just…let me lead, Maxwell.”

Drawing his ebony sword once more, Maxwell responds neutrally. “Okay, Serana.”

When she starts descending, drawing her own dagger but not casting a Magelight for some reason, he thinks on what just transpired.

Something had shifted by a degree, and it felt weird. Sure, everything they’ve experienced so far had induced a casual familiarity that had grown into something. They had slipped from being strangers to travel companions to friends. But what she was going through was emotional turmoil, and they needed to focus on finding her mother.

Putting it on the mounting Deal With Later pile, he tightens the grip on his sword, quietly Shouts “Aak Miin Vulom” and follows Serana’s diminishing form.

 

Pushing down the stairwell, it eventually leads to a corridor leading away under the garden. As he steps off the last step, the sound of stone moving above them makes him jump. Serana points to a lever that clicks into its original orientation under their combined look as the cover stones finishes moving into position. “The cover stones have just returned to its original position.”

“Where is this heading?” he asks.

“To the Northern tower. Although I was always told it was completely solid within.” She contemplates before adding “Apparently not.”

Coming up to an ancient solid dark wooden door, she stops as she seems to sense something. She waves her hand, a curious green energy pulsing around her fingers. The door seems to shimmer as the spell takes effect.

Over her shoulder, she says “Dispelling a ward.”

“I’m guessing not a nice one?”

She nods in the affirmative.

Pushing it open to reveal dark, cobweb covered corridors with nothing adorning the walls or the floor. The dark corridors down here have been long abandoned. Grim, dank, full of cobwebs and pitch black.

As they progress along, she realises she forgot to cast Magelight. Serana throws a Magelight ahead of them before throwing up a couple more. She tags one to Maxwell, and neutrally states “It’s very dark down here. Given what we’ve run into, I’ll throw more up for better visibility.”

“Thank you.” He dismisses his Nightvision, and steels himself as she starts leading them on again.

Her combined light sources, hovering silently over and in front of them, further illuminate the barren halls and corridors, the dark recesses somehow appearing darker.

The silence between them also grows longer and longer, almost as long as the shadows before them.

 

---

 

Stopping now and then to dismiss more wards, some subtler than others, they eventually push into a sizeable square room, where there are aged skeletons everywhere, standing silently and dormant. There’s a lot of them, a massive horde…all with silvered swords.

The undead immediately become animated, and every single one of them make a beeline to Serana who begins blasting them with her spells. Carving his way through with his sword, and throwing fire in a few directions to burn some, more start appearing from the upper level. A sudden temptation to use the Unrelenting Force shout builds, but he remembers her warning about using his Thu’um. Resolving to do things the old fashioned way, he carves his way through those that Serana doesn’t deal with.

When the last one clatters to the ground, he breathes out a sigh of relief, and jests as he moves to quickly check the upper level “Leave some for me Serana, you seem to be doing all the work here.”

She weakly smiles, before gesturing “Do you want to take some?”

“Don’t tempt me.” He offers a half grin, before becoming serious. “Seriously though, let’s just focus on the task at hand.”

She nods in acceptance before leading them further.

 

Several traps later, mostly consisting of wards or undead with silvered weapons, they coming up to an unusually set up corridor with several intermittent blind spots due to jutting out columns. Serana suddenly whips around and pushes Maxwell against the wall. His heart does a double beat.

Before he can say anything, Serana whispers as she pulls her hand back.

“Sorry…I think there’s a trap ahead.”

As Maxwell straightens up, he quietly comments “for whatever is here, your mother has put a lot of protections in place. Which doesn’t surprise me.”

Serana turns and looks at him, inquisitively.

“Remember, when I found you, there were a lot of protections. The maze-like feel, the undead with silvered weapons. I feel like I’m back where I found you, to be honest.” As a realisation dawns on him, he adds “Which means, there’s likely to be animated statues somewhere along here.”

He immediately sheathes his sword and summons his bow. “Let’s not take any chances.”

His prediction turns out correct, as the trap turns out to be 8 gargoyle statues that all activate at the same time, much to their chagrin. These ones seem tougher, harder, than those they fought before. Nevertheless, with a clever trick of Serana turning parts of the floor to ice to make some of the gargoyles stumble, the duo deal with them. After the last one gets obliterated by her lightning and his ethereal arrow, Serana looks over to Maxwell who shakes himself off.

“She really wanted to protect herself or whatever she left, I’ll give her that.” He offers, dismissing the bow and wincing from his injury.

She looks over the remnants before responding “My Mother had a thing for constructs. She thought they could be more useful than human thralls. More durable, stronger, not needing to rest; that sort of benefit.”

Laying a healing hand on his right shoulder from where one of them had managed to land a solid hit there after he failed to dodge its swipe in time, Maxwell breathes out in a pained tone “No wonder my shoulder hurts so much.”

Serana throws him a somewhat concerned glance, and he clarifies “I’m good, just failed to dodge in time.” Kicking the remnant of the gargoyle for good measure.

 

Pressing ahead, they find another rectangular room – similar to the one with the undead horde - but this one is completely barren and appears to be a dead end. After 10 minutes of fruitless searching, Maxwell leans against the wall.

“This makes no sense, Serana, there must be something here given all of the…” before being cut off as the brick he just leaned against - happening to be the precise activation stone - sinks into the wall. The adjacent wall section screeches as it moves back then aside, to reveal another corridor.

“Huh. I guess, speak and all shall be revealed?”

He arches an eyebrow to his companion who approaches and treats him to a respectful smile as she passes. Following her into the now-open passageway, which leads to a final ascending twisting stairwell.

After reaching the top, a heavy looking solid iron door blocks their path. She dispels one more ward before turning to look at him, renewing her Magelights for them.

“This must be it, Maxwell. We’re at the top of the tower. Are you ready?”

“I am, Serana.” he holds his sword out, grip tightening. “Are you?”

She nods, steeling herself before pushing on the door which creaks heavily under the strain of being moved for the first time in eons.

 

---

 

It opens up into a high raised and heavily furnished room, with rotten shelves covering a lot of the available wall surfaces. No windows mean the only sources of light are their respective floating orbs. Some shelves are still standing, others have collapsed sending various literature and materials cascading to the floor. There are a few glass cases, covered in cobwebs, containing various alchemical ingredients and instruments which have been protected from the passage of time.

 

There’s no Valerica.

 

What there is, however, is a raised platform at the back with stairs on both sides. There’s a standing bowl next to a break in the stone barrier on this upper echelon. There’s also a multi-ringed circular stone structure in the middle that draws their attention. He looks over the structure.

Huh, that looks…familiar… _wait …

As Serana is about to say something, realisation hits him – hard. His heartrate sky rockets and breathing shallows as panic sets in. With blood draining from his face, he stumbles back into the wall causing his sword to fall to the floor. Wide-eyed in horror, he loudly shouts “FUCK!! NOT AGAIN!!”

He then rushes into the corridor amidst unheard words of concern from Serana who immediately joins him. As the iron door thuds shut behind her, separating them from the source of his panic, she gently repeats her words.

“Are you alright?? What is it??” She reassuringly asks.

After a tense minute, he nervously forces out pointing vaguely to the door “That’s a…fucking portal stone…”

She raises an eyebrow before suddenly realising. She presses “The one to Sovngarde…it looked like that, didn’t it?”

“Ye…yes.” he forces out, trying to control his breathing. “Although…bigger…much bigger…”

She motions to do the Calming spell, but she remembers the brooch she made for him and stops. He utters “it’s okay…I’ll be okay...”

Changing the topic slightly, he adds once the panic subsides some more. “I’m guessing…that’s why your father…never found her.”

She grimly nods, taking the change of topic with earnest. “I never knew she was attempting anything like this, Maxwell. There was an alchemy station in her study which we used for our lessons, but that is nothing compared to this.”

Serana says “I’ll have a look through the bookshelves. She was always a meticulous note taker; she must have left something here. A notebook, or a diagram.”

As he straightens up and nods, he mutters “I’ll join you soon, Serana. Just…give me some time…please.”

She nods, before leaving him. The door creaks open then closed, and he shakily breathes out. A portal to somewhere…of fucking course…

 

---

 

It takes a small while further for his panic to subside, and he jumps when the Magelight runs out. Immediately throwing a Candlelight, he decides it’s now or never. Nervously exhaling, Maxwell lays a hand on the door and pushes, and casts a furtive glance at the portal stone upon entering.

Serana, standing on the opposite side reading a book, briefly looks at him with a soft look.

“Have you found anything, Serana?

“No, not as of yet. Do you want to take that side? I haven’t gotten there yet.” Gesturing to the corner on his right.

“Sure.” As he begins motioning through the various bookshelves, desperately ignoring the stonework on the edge of his vision, she looks at the back of his head for a brief moment longer before returning to her book.

Some books are nothing but dust, others are magically protected but yield little information of use; their writing completely alien to him. It’s a solid 15 minutes later before he notices a handle on the brickwork behind a book he just pulled out.

“Hey…Serana?” he calls out over his shoulder.

“Yes, Maxwell? Have you found something?” Her feminine voice calls out from the other side of the room.

“Maybe. Come and have a look at this please. I don’t want to touch it in case it’s warded.”

She strides over, following his gloved finger to the handle. She stares at it for a moment, before shaking her head. “Not warded, but good to be wary. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

He pulls on the handle, which gives way after a bit of effort. Inside, a small bound leather journal. Serana instantly grabs it, unwinding the still-intact string with intent. Maxwell, placing the stone cover on the shelf, steps over and looks over her shoulder as she opens it up. The cursive italic handwriting – in black ink this time - immediately looks akin to what he saw back at the Fort, when Serana showed him the filled notebook of alchemy.

Serana begins flipping through it, reading a few pages now and then. On one page is a heavily annotated diagram of the circular structure mere feet from them. She pauses to read the notes around the image, and he stares at it with growing concern and dread.

Serana’s light voice interrupts him. “This is what we’re after.”

She turns to him with a wide reassuring and disarming smile – one of the most potent she’s ever given – as she looks directly into his eyes.

“What?” he raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly.

“I was just thinking…you continue to improve upon your reputation as a hunter, Maxwell. Lost necklaces, secret passages, notebooks…is there anything you can’t hunt down?” Serana playfully states.

Before he can retort, a weird look briefly passes over her before she quickly turns around and strolls over towards the reading desk nearby, reading the notebook thoroughly, flipping through the pages as she reads silently and intently.

“Oh…no…” she exhales, a tone of exasperation mixed with sadness.

“What’s the matter?”

Turning to look, her expression betraying her emotion, her words shock him “She’s found a way to travel to the…Soul Cairn.”

The name immediately sends a wave of fear, concern and a half dozen other emotions throughout the hunter. In a tight voice, Maxwell says dryly “That sounds like a horrible place to go. What do you know of it, Serana?”

She nods slightly as she explains, gesturing with her free hand now and then to enunciate certain points.

“The Soul Cairn is a sliver of Oblivion, filled with trapped souls. It’s ruled by unseen beings called the Ideal Masters. Necromancers sometimes manage to communicate with them by sacrificing souls as a form of payment, namely using black soul gems, to trade for power over the undead or for other Necromantic powers. It’s, well, very business-like. But any agreement always favours the Masters. They’re ruthless, conniving and tricky.”

Massaging his furrowed brow, he ponders “So if your mother is there…”

“She must be there, hiding away.” She interjects, completing his sentence. “She wouldn’t need more power over undead; she’s already powerful in that regard.”

 A realisation dawns on him with blinding light. He moves closer to her and explains in an extremely serious tone. “Wait…Serana, remember what I said about the Oblivion Crisis? The gates were sealed, permanently. Passage between Oblivion and Nirn can’t happen. If this Soul Cairn is a realm of Oblivion…I don’t think we can go there.”

Internally, he’s massively relieved at the prospect of not having to travel to another realm.

A mix of emotion flows across her face, as she takes stock of this factoid. She soon quietly utters “The only way to know for sure, Maxwell, is to try.”

He’s goes to say more, but the awareness that Harkon will not stop in his current crusade to blot out the sun stops him. Sighing heavily as he runs his hands through his hair, Maxwell eventually acquiesces. “Do it then, Serana. If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to reconsider what we do next.”

His companion observes him, before nodding and returning to read more of her mother’s notes. She looks up after a moment and says “I need some time to work out the ingredients. She’s not explicitly listed them; I’m guessing for the eventuality my Father found this rather than me.”

He nods in the affirmative, and leaves her to it “Okay Serana, I guess…let me know if you need anything?”

She offers a wan smile in response, before leaning against the wall to continue reading.

Maxwell slowly meanders around the room, mostly looking over where he didn’t search initially. The effort is half-hearted, as he’s actually trying to distract himself from the anxiety that is once more rapidly clawing its way through him like an enraged dragon.

 

The only other time he travelled to another realm to save this world, his own world fell apart.

 

10 minutes later, after making some notes and calculations on a piece of intact parchment she found, Serana cries out and slams a hand down on the desk. “Fuck!!”

“What?” Maxwell quickly asks, moving to her side. He also raises an eyebrow at the use of the curse word she’s never said before.

“One of the ingredients she refers to is ‘her life force’, which means her blood...which if we could get that, we wouldn’t be here trying this.” She stands up and begins pacing, deep in thought.

He ponders the dilemma facing them. Not familiar with the art of necromancy and portal creation, he struggles to offer anything of substance. The only thought that crops up is: Blood has power. If it requires her blood, maybe…her bloodline would suffice?

“Well, you’re her daughter.” He eventually offers, leaning back as he crosses his arms.

She stops, turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow, before gesturing for him to continue.

“You’re descended from her. Would your blood do?” as he motions with his hand. “Blood has power, right? And it would kind of fit, given that spell you mentioned that was on the star sign pieces.”

She ponders the thought, her fine eyebrows seemingly dancing as she thinks over the proposal. “No, that spell was different. But you do have a point…I suppose, it could work…although I really don’t know if it will. Such practices require very explicit components, Maxwell. If we’re wrong, the results could be, well, bad.”

Her expression is extremely serious, but she shakes her head. “I need to collect and prepare ingredients; please could you help me?”

He nods, and they soon shuffle along the shelves and glass units to find the various ingredients she’s worked out.

Trying to lighten the mood, especially from his own sense of foreboding, he makes an observation “Also, when did you start cursing like that? It seems unbecoming for you, Lady Serana.”

“It must be because I’ve spent too much time around common folk such as yourself.” She’s quick to retort, opening a glass case to extract some Void Salts.

“What do you mean, common folk like myself? Need I remind you, I’m the Dragonborn.”

For the first time since the courtyard, she laughs a genuine laugh. Turning to look at him, she has a sincere smile and her amber eyes are soft yet piercing.

The light humour soon dies, and uneasiness replaces it again.

 

 

After a few minutes of ingredient preparation, she puts all of them into the stone bowl near the open gap in the upper level, and takes the nearby dusty sacrificial knife which she cleans beforehand.

The sense of trepidation starts growing as she hovers the knife over her fingers. Maxwell feels compelled to stand next to her, despite the heavy sense of foreboding. She gratefully smiles before stabbing her finger, barely wincing. Dark black blood seeps out and she squeezes it to force several drops out, which drip onto the crystal mixture. The drops immediately and violently react upon contact with the mixture, crackling and fizzing into the air.

She takes a step back, dropping the knife with a clatter. Her right hand on Maxwell’s chest and a large blood ward in her left hand in front, large enough to protect them.

Like in the corridor, his heart does a double beat at her action; she doesn’t pick up on it given what’s happening right before them.

A few seconds later, the ring stonework below starts to crack and break apart, shattering the quietness of the room. The broken pieces spin in a cyclonic fashion before forming a crude stairwell into a streaking portal of various hues of dark purple. Even though the colour is significantly different, the resultant sight before him renews his panic.

Oh fuck me…it’s worked…

With his heartrate increasing once more and breathing flatlining, Serana looks to Maxwell with deep concern, before realising she still has her hand on his chest. She immediately drops it, and clearing her throat she quietly states in a tense voice, with an undercurrent of something “You don’t have to come Maxwell, I can manage...”

He cuts her off “There’s too much at stake, Serana. Just…give me some time. This isn’t…easy for me.”

She nods silently but with understanding, before stepping to the top of the makeshift staircase, looking into the shimmering portal whilst crossing her arms to await his decision.

 

As Maxwell mentally talks himself over the next few minutes into stepping through to another realm for the second time in his life his thoughts are mixed. The temptation to remain here is very alluring.

You can do this. You’ve done this before, just take a deep breath and walk through….Gods, why does it have to be called the Soul Cairn? Sovngarde sounds so much nicer…

A final thought is surprising, as he glances to his vampiric companion; her lithe hourglass form standing expectantly as she awaits his decision.

And, you’re not alone this time.

 

Serana, intently looking out at the portal this entire time, is running through her own mixed emotions. She couldn’t believe it worked, and they’re now within reach of finding her Mother to answer that burning question of “why?”.

Her thoughts turn to him, standing behind her. She can hear every heartbeat, every breath, every movement, all indicating his ensuing panic. She can only imagine what must be going through her friend’s mind, the prospect of travelling to another realm; given what happened the last time he did.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, she recoils in embarrassment at her earlier joke, which she had said to try and alleviate some of the tension. It had come out more playful than intended.

 

Inhaling once, he makes his decision. As she turns at the sound, Maxwell dons his helmet, pulls his ebony sword out and strides to stand alongside.

“Shall we?” Serana quietly says, looking at him with a very small smile, and a seemingly grateful look in those deep amber eyes of hers. Here we come, Mother.

“Into Oblivion we go…” Maxwell softly replies, looking back at her whilst trying but struggling to return a smile, his own brown ones betraying his mixed emotion. I hope we don’t regret this.

The two cautiously descend the staircase side by side, reach the end…and disappear into the purple shimmering haze.

 

---

 

Later the next day, long after the sun has set and the emissaries of the few clans that have accepted his invite are talking to one another over their delicious meal – a Nord and a Khajiit – an underling stands beside Duke Harkon. They await a signal from him to approach, and when they lean down, they whisper into his ear about three bloated bodies of feral vampires found on the beach. Duke Harkon’s stern face slowly grows into an evil smirk as he dismisses the underling and stands up.

Finally.

Notes:

Well, this was a very fun one to do; although I have written, rewritten, and re-rewritten parts.

I know things jump a little bit in this one. I had originally intended a double chapter here, but the next two chapters I've partially written I think go better as a two parter. Hence why this is a very long one (over 9k words!).

Also, what could be Harkon be upto now?

On a serious note, this chapter deals with yet another egregious oversight of the Dawnguard DLC that has always irked me. Harkon has had a very long time to hunt down his wife; yet in the game he never thought to check his own backyard? Bethesda - what were you thinking!?!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the kudos, comments and everything else in between.

Chapter 19: Wounds (Part 1)

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana enter the Soul Cairn to locate Valerica.

Notes:

TW: Swearing (lots of it), panic attacks, mild reference to past abuse.

Apologies for any grammatical errors; some minor edits may happen in the near future but overall content won't change.

The stairway descends into the middle of nowhere, a dead and unyielding landscape.

Everything is terrifying for Maxwell as the sole mortal in this realm, as he nervously scans their surroundings as the two step off the portal stone stairway.

The sky is perpetually bleak and cloudy, with heavy wisps of purple hued clouds that seemingly permanently swirl. Above them, a large black circular void. There is a moon, which looks like a copy of Masser, that is stationary.

The horizon, as far as the eye could see, is more of the same of what’s around them.

There is a wind but it's slow moving, kicking up light plumes of dust.

There is no fauna, and all flora is darkened, decaying, dying or dead. Various structures, made of monotonous dark grey toned brickwork, are dotted around. Piles of blackened bones of various races are scattered everywhere in between the dead flora or buildings. Tall standing stones stand within the piles here and there, as though to signify something.

Various spectral orbs and visages stand and hover around them, some seemingly floating in random directions.

Without the sun, this place literally feels like death.

There's no other word for this place: desolate. This entire realm reeks of death, and not in a good for a mortal. Whereas Sovngarde also felt like death, it was more of a warm embrace as though returning home. This is a bone-shivering cold handshake, as though completely devoid of emotion.

And the silence, when the lightning did not strike the ground. Silence in Nirn had been warm and cosy, as though heated by the sun. Here, it is cold, unforgiving, perpetually eternal.

 

The ball of tension hanging in the back of Maxwell’s throat doesn’t go down, rather growing in size until it almost chokes him.

He croaks out, more strangled than intended, when he notices the orbs and visages. “Are those…souls?”

“Yes, but there’s nothing we can do for them. They’re bound to this place.”

Serana suddenly says. “Maxwell, I’m going to dismiss the spell that supresses our presence. I was not expecting to be travelling to another realm, and I don’t want to drain my blood vials too quickly. I will cast Ebonyflesh on us, just in case.”

Very valid point, but there’s also a valid point of keeping it up.

Hoping they don’t regret it, Maxwell looks to her and weakly nods. “…okay Serana. Do it.”

She takes a moment to dismiss the spell on both them, then casts Ebonyflesh. As the shimmering passes over both of them, Serana visibly breathes a sigh of relief.

Downing another blood potion in its entirety before sealing and putting it back in the pouch, Serana doesn’t outwardly react to the last few blood vials at the bottom of the pouch. Thankfully it’s the last of the human blood she had arrived back at the Fort with from Winterhold; much more potent than the deer blood she had been consuming since leaving Solitude.

His words interrupt her. “Serana, please could you place a Mark here.”

“Good idea.”

She goes through the motions, but when she finishes her actions, the look of stupefied confusion only adds to his unease.

“…I can’t, Maxwell.” Turning to him, her pupils as wide as plates.

Uh oh.

“Wait…what? Why not? Wait, what about the others in Tamriel?” He immediately quizzes, his lips slightly taut.

“I can’t sense those either.” Pursing her red lips tightly. She seemingly pales a fraction as well.

Double uh oh.

“That’s…not good, Serana. At all!” Maxwell forces out, a renewed sense of fear and dismay working its way up his spine.

A worrying thought occurs, and his brown eyes bulge out. He flatly asks “You don’t think….”

“…The Ideal Masters?” Serana completes his sentence, apparently having the same thought. She considers it for a few moments “I…I guess so, but I don’t understand why. The spell should still work, and I’m not sensing anything untoward…”

 

They stare at each other, concern and dread etched on both their faces.

 

Maxwell is the first to speak up.

“Let’s just focus on finding your mother. We’ll worry about this later.”

“Haven’t we gotten enough already to worry about?” She quietly says, her mind flitting to the blood she has left…or lack thereof.

He goes to make a weak joke about adding it to his growing list, but the lightning strike that hits the ground about a kilometre away from them makes them both jump of their skin.

Recovering a modicum of control, Maxwell strenuously exhales; the nerves nakedly exposed in his cadence. “Okay, that…that needs to fucking stop.”

This prompts Serana to take a step closer and softly ask. “Are you doing okay?”

His reaction is understandable, the question not so much.

“I…can’t give you an answer to that question, Serana. Not until we leave this place. Let’s just focus on finding your Mother. Speaking of, do you know which way to go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wait, can you not sense her?”

“I’m sensing a lot of undead things Maxwell. I can’t discern between them; only the difference in their respective energy.”

“Oh gods…” Maxwell nervously exhales as he rubs his face in his free hand to think and try to allay some nerves; eventually speaking through his fingers before dropping his hand entirely.

“I really don’t want to speak with the Ideal Masters from what you’ve said of them, and I’m guessing you don’t either.”

She grimly nods. “Vehemently agreed. And I don’t want to walk in a random direction and get lost in this place.”

“Vehemently agreed on that too.” He tosses back.

As he wracks his brain to try and think of something, Serana suddenly mentions “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

She approaches the spectral visage of what looks like a Nord farmer, standing idly to one side staring off into the distance.

“Hello, do you know where we can find Valerica, a pureblood vampire like myself?”

“Who is that? I don’t…remember…” before the apparition returns to its pose.

As she comes away, he stares incredulously. “This is your idea!?”

“Yes, unless you have a better one?”

 

When he stepped through the portal at Skuldafn and landed in the warm, soft, loamy grass of the Nordic afterlife, it was clear where he needed to go. The mist, and the great hulking monstrosity he had come all that way for, made sure of that. He adamantly shakes that painful memory out of his head.

 

Being extremely unnerved, what sounds like a stupid idea makes sense.

“We could try shouting her name?”

Maxwell inhales to do so, but finds his mouth instantly covered by Serana’s hand. The coldness is the first thing to hit, then the pressure. His eyes almost blow out of his head, at both the action and that smell once more going up his nose. Shifting focus to her, her expression is a mix of seriousness and shock.

“Don’t!!”

Serana whispers whilst moving his head ever so gently. After she stops, he sees and understands why that wouldn’t be a good idea. A trio of armoured hulking undead with glowing eyes – skeletons with tatters of desiccated flesh and sinew hanging in between the bones – suddenly standing in a doorway; watching them intently. Two have large swords, the other a battleaxe.

She drops her hand, and pulls on his arm. Once some distance, she shakily breathes out the tension.

“Sorry about that. Let’s ask another one. Let’s, um, try that one.” Serana pointedly directs the conversation away from what just happened, whilst motioning towards to what looks like a Dunmer male, further away, pacing back and forth between a rock and a tree. Maxwell dumbly nods, and follows her.

It gives a flat look at her when she asks, then points in a direction before disappearing without a word.

“Huh…do we go in that direction?”

“I guess so. It’s not like we have many options, Maxwell."

Turning back is an option. The words almost slip from him, but Maxwell quickly grabs then kills that notion. As nervous and unnerved as he is, he’s not about to abandon her here.

They go in that direction. Every sense is on edge, eyes narrowly focused on every facet around them.

The ground crunches under their feet.

After a few minutes, Serana suddenly says with a half smirk; moreso to distract from what happened.

“You’d think a vampire would be right at home here, right Maxwell?”

“Evidently your mother has made it home.” Maxwell flatly responds.

Her planned retort expires immediately, and her expression drops.

Seeing this, he bites his cheek and apologises, his features softening slightly “Sorry Serana, I know you mean well. Let’s just focus on the task at hand, please.”

She meekly nods.

They carry on in relative silence.

Time seemingly becomes irrelevant, as there’s nothing to indicate the passage of time. No stars, no sun. The moon hanging above them does not move.

The only signs of actual life, other than the apparitions and souls, are the undead. Skeletons as black as a starless night, scattered absolutely everywhere but mostly congregated around buildings. Some pay them no heed; others watch warily but make no advancement. There are a few large armoured skeletons with iron swords or battleaxes in some of the buildings.

Maxwell apprehensively again attempts to swallow the ball of nerves, for the umpteenth time.

 

---

 

“Is it just me, or does time seem to be passing faster here?” Maxwell quietly says at one rest period, downing more of his waterskin which is becoming rather light. “I feel like I’m getting thirstier and hungrier faster than normal.”

She explains. “Time works differently across the planes. Here? Yes, although I don’t know the exact ratio. And it’s affecting you more because you’re mortal.”

His stomach drops. I forgot about that…

“Let’s just hope we find your mother before too much time has passed. I have enough food for now, but I’m running out of water. I can make do with some potions but I don’t want to use too many. How are you doing for blood?”

“I have enough, if I stretch it out.”

“Speaking of that...how would your mother have survived all this time without it?”

Serana stops her actions, and turns to him with a thoughtful look.

“That…is a very good question, Maxwell. My initial thought is that she has entombed herself, to remove the need. If we find her, we can ask her.”

 

---

 

It seems like hours or days pass, although with nothing to indicate the passage of time other than the pangs of hunger and thirst, it’s hard to tell. They stop now and then, slowly but steadily progressing through their dwindling supplies.

 

---

 

After they speak with a few spirits along their current vector who continue to point in the direction they are going – although one that goes "Beware, Beware, Beware..." unsettles Maxwell immensely - one gives hope.

“You, you don’t belong here.” Looking at Maxwell who looks non-plussed.

Turning to Serana, the spirit comments. “You though…I know of one like you.”

“You do? Which way?” She perks up, standing up straight.

“That way…not far.” Pointing to a large cubic structure in the distance, which seemingly has a faint purple aura around it. The ghostly visage then bows before winking out of existence.

“Finally! Some good news!” Serana says with a painfully relieved smile.

Maxwell wanly smiles back, but doesn’t verbalise the thought that it could be a trap by the Ideal Masters; especially given not being able to place a Mark. It could be his paranoia, but it subtly feels like the Masters are watching them intently. Everything in this place feels like it’s watching them intently…or watching him.

 

---

 

As they cautiously approach the ancient cubic structure, which has a pronounced ethereal purple hued energy shield around it, Serana suddenly shouts out loudly, putting Maxwell even further on edge.

“Mother? MOTHER?!”

A figure appears by the ward, staring in her direction. A faint call responds, although the language is unfamiliar.

Serana frantically rushes closer to the shimmering ward at an unnatural speed, and he follows slightly behind at a quickened pace as his feet thud on the ground.

They ascend a five-step elevation which leads onto an open platform that goes right to the shield, and to where the feminine figure stands.

As Serana comes to a stop before the individual, she repeats the same unfamiliar words following Serana’s call. They silently stare at each other with wide eyes and slightly dropped jaws.

Maxwell cautiously approaches a few seconds later, inhaling deeply to calm his almost burnt-out nerves, and takes stock of the individual standing within.

Looking physically a few years older, but much more regal, a more pronounced hour-glass figure with a slightly larger bust providing a hint of visible cleavage through the open neckline, and her auburn wine-red hair in an unusual braid – two swirling buns. Wearing armour similar to Serana, right down to the family crested metal pin that affixes a black hooded cape to her back. She also has quite the authoritative posture, as though standing tall above everything. Physically, the mother-daughter resemblance is very strong.

 

Valerica, of Clan Volkihar, in all her splendour.

 

Her intense deep amber eyes flit and scan Maxwell briefly as he approaches and stops beside his muted companion, but he is paid no further heed.

Turning back to her daughter, Valerica starts saying something animatedly in the unfamiliar language, and Serana looks over the purple ward with darting eyes. At this point, Serana notices Maxwell’s confused look, which prompts a quick one from her before she realises why.

She casts Tongues on him, and Valerica’s conversation suddenly becomes understandable.

“…Harkon know you are here?” A worrying expression briefly flickers on Valerica’s face “My Dearest, are you in league with him?!”

Serana shakes her head frantically, her wine red-auburn hair billowing with the movement “We’re not, Mother, and he doesn’t know we’re here. I…”

Valerica interrupts her, giving her an intense stare “We? Please clarify, My Dearest.”

Maxwell, seeing the opening in the conversation, takes his helmet off and bows ever so slightly. Valerica’s intense gaze snaps to him at his action.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Val…” He politely begins, putting confidence into each word.

Valerica’s countenance drops further. She snaps back to Serana, cutting him off.

“By the Maker, the mortal is not a thrall?! Have you been completely robbed of all sense?!”

Serana quickly explains, gesturing to him as he stammers before shutting up.

“Maxwell is the one that freed me. He’s helping me now. He’s also D…”

She bites her tongue, before looking at him; he interprets her look, and nods in affirmation.

Serana returns back to her mother and repeats “He’s also Dragonborn.”

Valerica’s eyes bulge ever so slightly and she flicks back to the hunter, carefully yet studiously scanning him. He stares back, but internally a concern grows. There’s a small glint in her eyes of something, and not in a good way.

“That is most curious.”

“He knows about the prophecy, as do I.”

Valerica shifts her gaze back to Serana, and demands “My Dearest…please explain yourself. Now.”

Serana spends an energetic 10 minutes explaining what’s transpired, from the moment Maxwell found her to rescuing Dexion to how and why they are standing here. Valerica doesn’t blink or visibly react, except at two points. At the mention of the Dawnguard, she visibly bristles and flits her narrowed eyes to Maxwell. Her eyes further narrow at the mention of two of the Scrolls already in their possession.

Maxwell stays absolutely quiet, cross-armed with a neutral expression. Internally, his misgivings about what she did to Serana all those years ago grows.

This is her reunion, after all. Don’t say a damn thing to ruin it.

As Serana finishes, Valerica absorbs the detail before raising her hand to her brow and sighing loudly, rubbing her finely trimmed brown eyebrow.

“My Dearest Daughter…you truly don’t know how short-sighted you are.”

Serana falters, not expecting that. She glances to Maxwell momentarily before looking back in confusion. He returns it, dropping his arms. Wait…what?

Valerica exhales in exasperation once more before explaining “Harkon doesn’t just require Auriel’s Bow. That is merely the machination of which the prophecy can be realised.”

She pauses.

“The missing vital component that he requires, but does not realise, is our life force.”

“What?? Mother, I don’t…understand…” Serana responds, confusion in every facet of her response and expression.

“As a Daughter of Coldharbour, he will sacrifice one or both of us and use our life force to permanently corrupt Auriel’s Bow. That is the information I gleaned from the Elder Scroll in my possession, and what prompted me to act that day.”

She recites, as though memorised.

“The blood of Coldharbour’s Daughter will forever blind the Eye of the Dragon.”

Serana has become as still as a statue; her complexion somehow even lighter than ever. Her lips are taut yet quivering, and her gaze becomes unfocused.

As a very tense silence descends over the trio, broken only by the slight warping of the shimmering ward, mild confusion prompts Maxwell to ever so cautiously ask with a soft tone.

“I’m sorry, Coldharbour’s Daughter? Is that another way to describe what you are?”

Valerica looks at him, huffing slightly. Crossing her arms in slight indignation at the gall of this impudent mortal, she answers with a dangerously neutral tone

“I am extremely loathed to reveal such a closely guarded secret of my kind to a mortal, Dragonborn or not.”

A small sense of annoyance grows, but he stomps it out.

A pause, before she uncrosses her arms. “However, only for what you done for my daughter…I will entertain your question, Mortal.”

“Suffice to say, upon our Master’s Summoning Day, Molag Bal appears from his realm of Coldharbour to those that are specially chosen. A ritual is performed and for those found worthy, He imbues with his honoured blood gift. Those that survive emerge as Daughters of Coldharbour.”

Isran’s words and Serana’s allusions float to his mind at Valerica’s intonation at the words “ritual” and “imbues”. Pure Bloods, gained from the source. Molag Bal. Prince of Domination.

Like a puzzle, the pieces fall into place. Her reluctance to discuss her vampirism, the pauses when she did vaguely touch on her vampirism or when she spoke about becoming a pureblood, and her reaction at Braidwood Inn.

 

The resulting realisation is absolutely sickening to him.

 

With that horrified horror turning to draconic anger, something snaps in Maxwell’s mind, making him forget all about holding his tongue.

In a raised voice, he sternly challenges. “Did Serana choose to go through with that or did you make her?”

Valerica’s eyes narrow dangerously. "Explain yourself immediately, Mortal.”

Stepping closer to the shimmering ward, Maxwell repeats “Did she choose, of her own free will, to go through with the ritual? Or was she forced to choose because you and Harkon demanded it?”

Valerica studies him carefully, her narrowed amber eyes scanning his features before responding “She chose, like I did. You do not refuse such a blessing.”

“BLESSING?!” Maxwell becomes apoplectic, the draconic rage building even further.

Valerica’s gaze stiffens as she stares daggers at him, her amber eyes pointedly sharp and focused. “Why does it matter to you, Mortal? You’re a hunter, in the employ of a group that seeks the extermination of our kind. You care absolutely nothing for our plight, let alone my Dearest Daughter.”

He scoffs in disdain. “Oh, how wrong you are, Valerica. Unlike you or your damn husband, I care about her wellbeing.”

Both of them look at him, Serana in shock and Valerica in a scowl. The latter is the one to respond first, her tone dangerous.

“You impudent mortal! How DARE you insinuate I don’t care about my own daughter! Why, everything I did, I did to protect her!!”

Maxwell huffs and continues, gesticulating wildly.

“Are you…fucking insane?! What she went through was not a blessing!! You’re her parents! Parents are supposed to keep their children from harm, not expose them to horrors like Molag fucking Bal!!”

“Mortal, I should…”

“Fucking shut up and listen. You are just as selfish as your husband. You plot and scheme against each other, not giving a damn about Serana. She’s just a damn pawn between the two of you, to be used without a care for what she thinks or how she feels. I mean, you fucking stuffed her into that damn coffin without asking her how she felt about it. You haven’t even asked her how she’s doing since we arrived!! And she…”

A painful grasp on his forearm stops his tirade. Glancing to Serana, who has stepped closer and is gripping his left arm tightly in both of her hands, he sees she has an intense look that clearly conveys one word: Stop.

 

…Shit.

 

As Maxwell tightly shuts his eyes and mentally kicks himself for losing his temper, the briefest hint of realisation at his last sentence passes across Valerica’s eyes, before being replaced by rising anger. Squaring her shoulders, visibly riled by his words, she sternly turns to her daughter who is still staring at Maxwell.

“Serana my Dearest, I don’t know why you have aligned yourself with such an infuriating and impudent mortal who would seek the extermination of our kind; nevertheless, you need to…”

“Shut up, Mother.”

Valerica’s jaw drops slightly, not expecting these words from her own daughter.

Serana suddenly looks at her mother, amber eyes blazing with emotion.

“I've held my tongue, but no more. You plot and scheme against each other, trying to spite the other. I mean, coming back to the castle and hiding away right under his nose?? That sounds EXACTLY like something you would do. And not only that, you dragged me from my room on that day, Recalled to the other side of Skyrim to some damned crypt, before shoving me into that stone coffin with no explanation beyond ‘guard this Scroll with your life’. Me, your own damn daughter!! Did you know I cried to myself when you left me there, in the dark, until the sleep enchantment took effect?!”

Now it’s Maxwell’s turn to be shocked.

Serana continues, her voice elevating to an even higher pitch and becoming more emotive as the feelings come pouring out during her verbal diatribe.

“It took the kindness of Maxwell, after more than a thousand years of slumber, for me to know what it’s like to be treated as a person. He has done more in the short time I have known him than either of you in hundreds of years. He’s done things without expectation, without an ulterior motive. He trusts me, he makes me laugh. He’s my friend. I c…” she bites her tongue heavily at the last part, almost drawing blood.

After a tense pause, Valerica softly states “My Dearest, you can’t possibly think that a mortal can care…”

Serana cuts her off. “You know what, Mother? I don’t care what you think anymore.”

She launches into her tirade once more.

“I KNOW Father has lost himself in this prophecy, Mother. He’s even worse now, a thousand years later. I thought once I found you and found out why you did what you did, we could perhaps stop him together. I thought, maybe…just maybe, we could be together like before, side by side as mother and daughter. To have some semblance of a family again. But you never gave me a choice, only demanding that I follow you without question. Now I see the truth, that you only did what you did because of your own selfish desire to best him. Both of you are so obsessed with your own paths and selfish desires, I got left behind…left on my own. Do you know how it made me feel – continues to make me feel - watching the two of you constantly fight, trying to outdo the other? I resent both of you for tearing our family apart!”

She sighs and closes her eyes, heavily slumping her shoulders as the emotional weight of her words evaporate into the stillness, before straightening up and staring once more at her mother.

“Father has killed so many, and he won’t stop until he is stopped. Hide away here for all eternity, fine, but please give us your Scroll so that we - Maxwell and I - can stop him.”

Visibly nervous, Serana inhales before continuing, not daring to look at her shocked mortal friend standing beside.

“As to what happened that day…when He appeared…if I…If I had really known…what would happen…what He would do…I…I’d have…ha…”

Her hand flies to her quivering lips, and she’s shaking violently, looking as though she’s on the verge of breaking down.

 

Maxwell instinctually goes to say something, but the intense stare of Valerica and his own thoughts makes him stop. Stay quiet you idiot, you’ve already done enough damage!

 

As she shakily breathes her way through the panic, Valerica turns back and looks at her visibly distraught daughter whilst clearly considering the emotion-laden words carefully.

After a while, once Serana has visibly calmed down, her mother speaks in a much softer tone.

“I am sorry, My Dearest Serana. I have been the one that is short-sighted. I have allowed my hatred and anger of Harkon to truly blind me to what was happening to you. Perhaps one day, I hope you find it within to forgive me, but I truly understand if you don’t. Allow me to retrieve my Elder Scroll for you.”

She suddenly turns and gracefully yet purposefully walks towards a pillar nearby. She lays a hand on it, and the wall panel lifts upwards. Pulling out a familiar shaped item, she grabs both ends of it tightly and contemplatively holds it for a few seconds, as though deciding something.

Moving back to the ward, Valerica stares daggers at Maxwell.

“Mortal, I wish to speak with my daughter. Alone.”

He motions to say something, but is only stopped by how his companion is looking at him.

“It’s okay Maxwell.” Serana so very softly says, her amber eyes piercing yet resolute.

“Sure…Serana.” Maxwell quietly responds, nodding slightly. He then steps back a distance, almost to the edge of the raised area.

 

Over the next few minutes, he stands idle as he watches Valerica speaking in a very hushed voice to Serana, who has her head bowed slightly, responding quietly now and then. Her mother glances once in his direction, before she holds out a hand which glows purple. This makes a small hole in the ward, and she passes the Elder Scroll through to Serana. However, the moment she tentatively lays her hands on it, Valerica’s grasp tightens on the scroll, and whispers something else. Serana viscerally screams at the top of her voice, making him jump.

“YOU CAN’T MEAN THAT! MAXWELL WOULDN’T DO THAT!!”

As his senses return, Maxwell immediately strides forward. Her grasp on the scroll lowers, and she’s visibly shaking again, her braided hair finally working itself loose.

She stumbles back, staring wildly at Valerica, before turning and fleeing with barely a sound. Maxwell stops mid-stride, unable to move or speak as he watches her run away at an unnatural speed.

Valerica watches the disappearing form of her daughter as well for a few seconds, before casually tossing the Elder Scroll in Maxwell’s direction before closing the ward; it lands near his feet and garners his attention.

As he looks down at it then at her in surprise, Valerica demands in an authoritative manner.

“Mortal, come here. I would have words with you.”

He’s sorely tempted to tell her to fuck off and run after his distraught friend, but something in her tone invites morbid curiosity. He quickly grabs then stows the Elder Scroll, and moves closer, warily watching the Vampire Lord before him.

“Yes?”

“I do not know what your intentions are with my daughter, nor do I trust them. However, heed my words: a mortal and a pureblood do not belong together. It is against the natural order, and will not end well. I demand that you cease your association with her, if only for her own safety.”

He shifts his armour, as he bristles at her tone. Didn’t we just go over this, denying Serana the freedom to choose?

Maxwell soon levels his narrowed brown eyes at Valerica, and keeps his voice as neutral as possible.

“My intentions with Serana are what they are: she is my friend, and we are going to stop Harkon together from completing this insane prophecy. Now, as unpleasant as meeting you has been Valerica, I’m going to find Serana, ensure she is okay, and then leave this place.”

Valerica loudly huffs again, with a small upwards curl of her red lips at his biting insult, before turning on the spot and striding away. She then stops, glances back over her shoulder with a wider smirk and coldly states.

“I have one more word for you, Dragonborn.”

“And what would that be, hmm?” Immediately not liking the change in her voice or choice of words.

“Durnehviir.”

Valerica then retreats further into the structure, disappearing from sight moments later.

His eyebrows fly up rapidly

What does…

The souls within react violently as though they recognise the name, making an unbearable sensation as his innards contort from the primal feeling that burns its way through him like a familiar beast’s fire.

_oh

As his heartrate begins to spike, a panic induced sweat appears and he starts dry heaving, a faint feminine laugh comes from within the structure.

He stumbles away, taking deep breathes of the stale air to try and push his way through the ensuing panic.

Of course, there would be a fucking dragon here…

 

Leaning against a rock some distance away, Maxwell continues hyperventilating and dry heaving before eventually throwing up, the bile stinging his sore and parched mouth. He manages to get his near empty water skin out, but his shaking means most of it is spilt; the droplets ending on him and the floor.

He yells loudly in frustration into the desolate realm, and throws the uncorked water skin as far as he can. It sails over the dead trees before going out of sight, landing with a very soft thud.

Collapsing on the rock, he puts his head in his hands and continues hyperventilating.

After a while, the panic abates enough for clearer reason to prevail, and the more immediate concern comes back to mind: Serana.

Putting the horrifying prospect of a dragon appearing at any minute aside, Maxwell begins moving in the direction his friend had fled; thankfully in the same direction they came from.

 

 

---

 

 

A few minutes or hours later, Maxwell carefully stands on a rock as a better vantage point to try and find her.

Scanning the bleak and desolate horizon, he spots her about 20 meters away.

Hunched up on a large brick with her back to another one that sits atop. Her knees are tucked her chin and head bowed in crossed arms that rest on her knees. Her hair, completely unbound, streams down from her head and over her slumped shoulders like a cascading wine-red auburn waterfall.

He carefully approaches, the crunching sound of the stone underneath his footfall and jostling of armour breaking the quiet atmosphere - beyond the lightning that periodically strikes in the distance.

She doesn’t look up.

The emblem of her family and her cloak are beside her, haphazardly discarded.

Maxwell hesitantly steps onto the large brick; she doesn’t look up.

He tentatively sits himself near her, but leaves a metre or so between them out of respect.

As a tense moment envelops the duo, Maxwell heavily exhales with resignation and begins. “Serana…I’m so sorry I lost it at your mother and ruined everything.”

He considers his next words extremely carefully before throwing caution into the stillness; seeing as there’s little wind in this damned realm.

“I didn’t ask for this…thing. Why I was given this…I will never understand. My life has been messed up ever since I found out. Whereas you had a choice…but that choice was forced upon you by your parents, without a care about how it impacted you. Finding that out, and realising what had happened…I just lost it. I’m so sorry for that.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I can’t begin to…” he falters, unable to think of the words of assurance. Eventually, something forms. “What was done to you…no one should ever have to go through. The fact that you survived, not to mention how you are, is a testament to your strength of spirit.”

A thought occurs, based on Valerica’s warning and subsequent taunt. Deciding to verbalise it, he inhales to centre himself before quietly offering.

“If you want to disappear to get away from all of this…just say so.”

At this point, she looks at him in severe shock. Her face is stained from the intense crying; her amber eyes looking despondent yet confused. He continues.

“I’ll take the scroll back to the Dawnguard and work with them to stop your father.”

As she opens her mouth to speak, Maxwell shakes his head and holds up a hand which makes her pause; he presses on, almost waffling to fill the silence.

“When we confront your father, this is very likely to end with him dead, and I don’t want you to see that. It's not something you want on your conscience. You still have a chance to have a relationship with your mother. And besides, you heard what she said. This prophecy calls for your blood. Being the centre of a prophecy can really mess with you, which I painfully know, and I also know what it’s like to have people after you for your blood. And there…”

“Please stop.”

He immediately shuts up.

The minutes seemingly stretch into hours once more.

Visibly swallowing the nerves, Serana quietly and dejectedly comments. “About what I said, about the ritual…I…”

He cuts her off, sincerity in his tone and brown eyes. “Serana, I said at the College I would never bring it up again. That has not changed. Of course, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

The silence once more becomes heavy, so heavy it feels like the weight of Nirn is crushing upon them, in more ways than one. Her deep amber eyes study him intently, before she responds.

“I don’t want to talk, Maxwell. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to do anything, but just sit here with you.”

“Okay, Serana. We’ll sit here for a while.”

After a moment, she shuffles closer; he looks surprised. She motions for his right hand with her left hand; he offers it. Wrapping her delicate hand into his armoured one, she squeezes tightly; as though he was an anchor in her storm of emotion. Half a minute later, she leans her head on his shoulder; her hair cascading over his pauldron. 

"Thank you, Maxwell. For being my friend."

"Always, Serana."

They stare out silently into the realm of death, which stares back at them.

 

After some time of this, Maxwell realises he needs to warn Serana about the impending threat now, rather than when it actually turns up.

He sighs before admitting “Serana, there’s something else you need to know.”

She lifts her head to look at him, her deep amber eyes flaring in…concern? dread? confusion? All three? It’s hard to say.

He forces the words out as he begins losing himself in her eyes. “Your mother said this to me after you left: ‘Durnevhiir’. “

She begins to look further confused at the insinuation.

He doesn’t beat around the literal dead bush. “It’s the name of a dragon, Serana. There’s a damn dragon here.”

Her jaw drops and she looks in hopeless horror mixed with recognition.

“That’s why she said that I had to leave you here…” she breathlessly says to herself.

He internally grimaces but returns his mind back to what needs to be said.

Steeling himself, and gripping her hand tighter as though to steady himself now, Maxwell looks to her, and states.

“When Durnevhiir appears, and I know it will…you run. Take my pack, which has the scroll, and run."

Her expression passes through a sequence of emotions, one after another as she struggles to process his instruction. She finally finds her voice; one of indignation.

“No…Maxwell, you can’t mean that…I can’t, no…I won’t leave you here!”

“Serana, I don’t want to see you hurt…or worse. Fighting a dragon is terrifying. You’ve seen my scars. One here, in this place…I dread to think what it can do. I have a better chance of surviving, given who I am and that I have…experience…”

He stammers as she extricates her left hand and looks away, but doesn’t move.

After about a minute in muted silence, only broken by their breathing and the ambience around, Serana says a single word.

 

“No.”

 

She repeats it more forcefully, as though to put substance into the word.

 

“No.”

 

Serana turns to look intently him, those deep amber eyes – and the rest of her expression – exhibiting her sheer determination.

“We do this together, Maxwell. Like always. When this Durnevhiir appears, we fight side by side.”

Every word is said with more confidence and conviction; her candour completely surprises him. There is a very subtle hint of something threaded throughout Serana’s words, but with everything going on Maxwell misses it completely.

In a quiet tone she commands “Now please can we get out of here; I’ve had my fill of this place.”

“Wholeheartedly agreed on that, Serana.” Maxwell breathes out, the mutual feeling palpable in his tone.

She offers a weak smile, before standing then helping him up and retrieving her discarded cloak and emblem. Once they’re sorted, they set off back to the portal.

 

--

 

The third companion on their journey– the silence – is so solidly thick the knife would break as soon as it comes into contact.

It is only broken by their footfall on this otherworldly terrain, their general bodily movements and the other realm ambience around them.

Walking side by side, they scan the darkened sky, but it is well and truly half-hearted. The thoughts in each of them are running rampant at the various prospects, revelations and topics that have been revealed.

 

For Maxwell, ignoring the terrifying fact that this is very likely going to be the second time he encounters a dragon in another realm, his thoughts are divisive.

Now that they had the third Scroll in their possession, the dreaded sense of fate wore heavy. This meant the next big step in stopping her father: reading the scrolls to discern the full extent of the prophecy.

Finding out what she went through at the behest of her parents, without a care for her wellbeing, it both unnerved him yet broke his heart. She was going through something he could only begin to fathom.

And that’s not even touching on what was revealed prophecy-wise.

Whereas he had years of self-exile to reflect on what happened since he discovered his role in his own prophecy, she was going through it right now. She needs time to process everything; but with the three scrolls now located, they could afford little pause.

 

He realises they need to talk about, well, everything.

 

For Serana, where to begin.

First the visit to her home and seeing her two favourite places the way they were made her unhappy.

Then the divisive conversation with her mother, let alone the implication of what was revealed prophecy-wise, and being forced to confront what she endured that day, messed with her completely.

The only point of stability in the intense emotional storm of her mind was her mortal friend, walking alongside.

What her mother had said about him was completely unfathomable, and after the shock wore off, she adamantly refused to believe her mother’s words and lies.

And finding out that he cared about her wellbeing…she didn’t know how to process that. She’s always relied on herself for everything ever since her family fell apart. Vampires don’t have friends; they have thralls and underlings, enemies and conspirators.

It was also surprising just how well they got along despite only knowing each other for a short period of time; almost laughably short for her.

He, a scarred mortal Dragonborn. Her, an immortal pureblood Vampire Lord.

He, a hunter of the day. Her, a predator of the night.

Almost diametrically opposite individuals…and yet here they are, walking as friends in a realm of Oblivion.

 

She decides that they need to talk about, well, everything.

 

However, neither of them starts that conversation; not with the looming threat from above flying somewhere over them.

 

---

 

After what feels like an age and a half, the portal doesn’t seem any closer which is a growing cause of concern. They’ve definitely made progress as they’ve passed by a few recognisable areas. Nevertheless, the duo halt by yet another undead tree for another short break.

Maxwell is the first one to speak, for the first time since they left their spot.

"Is it just me, or does it seem like we're not making any ground? I swear it didn't take us this long coming this way to pass that building." Gesturing to the 4 arched open building some distance behind them.

"I...can't tell. I know that we are making progress, but it feels…odd? It's very weird. I can’t explain.” She explains, a twinge of nervousness in her answer.

He sighs, heavily. Great, just great. Yet another thing to add to the list.

As Maxwell downs a Stamina potion, which only serves to take the edge off both his thirst and nerves, Serana is now looking at her blood vial pouch, resignation visibly etched on her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m out of blood…”

His jaw drops and he exclaims “Why didn’t you say you had so little left??”

Serana throws up her arms “I…I DON’T KNOW!! So much has happened, and I’m just…AHHH!!”

She screams slightly, before standing up and tossing the vial pouch to the floor, which lands with a small thud mixed with clattering, before striding several steps away and hugging herself as she leans against the tree.

Maxwell goes to say something, but it dies in his semi-parched throat. In this place, blood isn’t exactly easy to come by. They would have better luck getting blood from a stone in Nirn rather than from a stone here.

 

This left only one obvious source.

 

He stoops down to pick up the pouch. As he pulls around his pack, and extracts the iron dagger - which he took off of the vampire outside the Dawnguard fort - she turns, before realising what he is going to do.

“What…Maxwell, you can’t!” Serana loudly exclaims, eyes wide in surprise and shock.

She dashes back, grabbing his arms to stop him. Looking up with a resolute expression, she continues exclaiming “What about the dragon?!”

“There’s really no choice, Serana.” Maxwell solemnly states, looking at her with acceptance.

“Maxwell, I refuse! I won’t…” shaking her head vehemently in denial.

“Serana.” His authoritative tone stops her. When she looks at him again, he says in a gentle manner. “You need your strength for when it turns up. I’m literally the only source of blood in this entire place.”

Tone softening even more, Maxwell offers with a half-hearted smile “I’m afraid I can’t rustle up any bandits for you this time, Serana.”

Serana’s eyes search him intently, before they become soft and thankful. She offers a wan smile supported by a weak laugh, and she releases his arms.

Lining up some uncorked vials on the rock next to him, Maxwell pulls off his glove and places the iron dagger it on his palm. He winces as the blood immediately starts seeping, but he clenches and starts filling the vials, moving his hand across them. He fills two and is partway filling the third before the dizziness appears out of nowhere and he stops. Healing the incision quickly before Serana supports him into a seated position against the rock.

“I feel dizzy all of a sudden.” Maxwell says in confusion at how quickly it happened. “It’s not enough blood to…”

“It’s this place, and with you being mortal it’s really affecting you.” She interjects with a gentle smile as she sorts out the pouch and vials, filled and unfilled. He downs another Stamina potion which removes the dizziness; his third to last one.

She hesitates, glancing to him once more, before downing the partially filled vial…and audibly gasps. Maxwell looks over just as Serana opens her eyes; her deep amber irises emblazon wildly as they flash and dance like they are lit by dragonfire.

“By the blood, that’s…I can’t describe it.”

“...extraordinary?” Maxwell offers, the slightest shadow of a grin.

Serana looks momentarily surprised, before recognition flashes, and she throws her head back with genuine laughter; the only sound that makes him smile since entering this place.

“Yes, extraordinary.”

As he gets up after a minute of recuperation, and straightens himself, Serana thoughtfully considers him. Once Maxwell ceases his ministrations, he notices her staring.

“Maxwell?” She quietly says.

“What is it?” He responds, slightly hesitantly.

After a moment, she steps forward and opens her mouth to say something, but stops as she notices him stand stock still, his breath flatlining and his skin turning as white as the Wispmother they faced. Before she can ask, three words suddenly ignite the silent atmosphere around them, both interrupting her and causing the still air to become alive. It also causes Maxwell’s heart to stop, drop and roll onto the floor, as he instantly recognises the language.

 

As his features continue dropping in utter horror, hers follow a second later as the ground becomes alive.

 

“DIIL QOTH ZAAMME”

Notes:

Extended comments will be in the notes of next chapter which I'll post shortly.

Chapter 20: Wounds (Part 2)

Summary:

Durnevhiir turns up.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, violence, fighting, physical injury, references and inferences of death.

NB. like with previous chapter, apologies for any grammatical errors, and minor changes may happen but overall story won't.

Several minutes later, in a desperate fight for their lives, the undead dragon Durnevhiir – a foul looking sickly green beast with many a scar or open wound on its marred body, maw or tattered wings that somehow leak a seemingly endless amount of fluids – once more Shouts “DIIL QOTH ZAAMME”, summoning even more opponents much to their despair.

It’s staying well out of range of his Shouts and her spells, somehow able to summon legions of undead at will from range.

 

Serana, after renewing their Ebonyflesh, is throwing spells galore in every direction; including summoning her own army of skeletons to try and stem the wave of approaching black Bonemen who are armed with weaponry made of the same black material they are. She’s summoned ice walls to try and corral them into a kill box, or to protect their flank. She’s even throwing out waves of blood red energy that wash away swathes of the summoned Bonemen.

Frankly, the level of power she’s demonstrating is utterly astonishing – and frightening. Whether that’s because of the circumstances or because she’s been holding back this entire time, Maxwell doesn’t afford himself a single second to consider it.

Maxwell is shooting his summoned bow at the larger undead and Shouting various destructive shouts. He quickly realised “ZUN HAAL VIIK” does not work on the black shadowed enemies as the weapons immediately reform in their hands, nor on the hulking skeletons with glowing eyes as they seem to resist the effect.

Dodging yet another arrow that whizzes past him, he turns in that direction.

“YOL TOOR SHUUL”

A huge column of Mistmen is incinerated, along with the Wrathman that fired the arrow.

Turning to his left.

“QO”

Another Wrathman with a large bow bursts apart as it aims at Serana.

“FUS RO DAH”

4 Wrathman are torn asunder.

 

Durnevhiir, banking in the distance once more, stares intently at Maxwell. It silently initiates a challenge.

The exhausted Dragonborn senses this, and stares back at Durnevhiir after incinerating 3 hulking armoured skeletons that charge at him. He accepts the challenge.

 

The undead dragon banks once more in the distance, only this time it releases a different roar; all of the undead suddenly collapse to the ground, before breaking down into nothingness.

The intrepid duo, both heavily gasping for stale air, and looking completely dishevelled and covered in dust - and Maxwell dripping in sweat – stare around them.

They glance briefly at each other, unrecognisable emotion on each of them, before looking at the approaching beast. Maxwell braces for the challenge.

Durnevhiir continues to approach; closer and closer.

Maxwell suddenly shouts in a hoarse voice. “Go away from me, Serana!! I’ll lead it away and try to kill it!!”

“Maxwell, I won’t…”

“SERANA, GO!!!” His momentary intense look of instruction shuts her up, and she quickly but reluctantly nods.

He turns then Shouts “WULD”, kicking up a slew of stones and bones as his form dashes across the terrain. She explodes into bat form and flees in the opposite direction.

The green liquid that the dragon spews out misses them both. The dragon curls its head in Serana’s direction in an attempt to direct the spray on her.

It then stops spewing and banks to fly in Maxwell’s direction.

 

When Serana rematerializes, the tail end of the spray is almost on top of her.

She immediately throws up an ice wall on reflex, which cracks and begins melting under contact of the acid.

Some droplets make it over as the wall finishes building; landing on her exposed skin, namely her right cheek.

Serana screams – piercingly loudly - as the liquid essentially cauterises her delicate skin.

 

Heart pounding hard, Maxwell hears her scream, which causes him to slide to a halt and turn in horror. He doesn’t see her but sees the ice wall, which is melting and cracking.

Durnevhiir approaches, and looks to be preparing another breath attack.

Without hesitation, Maxwell unleashes Dragonrend.

“JOR FAH ZUUL!!!”

The dragon’s face contorts as it is forced to confront the uncomfortable truth to dragons: mortality.

It suddenly drops to the ground as its wings cease functioning. Slamming into the terrain with an insanely loud crash thanks to its momentum; a storm of rocks, bones and other detritus go flying.

Stancing himself, Maxwell Shouts with as much focus and strength as he can muster.

“FUS. RO. DAH!!!”

The massive wave of energy rips up the terrain as it exponentially grows in power, slamming into the dragon which comically rolls over; the bones in its wings twisting then snapping under its own weight.

Gasping for stale air, despite the overwhelming urge to throw up – not that he has anything left in his empty stomach – the atmosphere-shattering roars from the upside down Durnevhiir, who is writhing in pain as its broken wings hang limply, remind Maxwell to drive home his advantage before it is lost.

Drawing his enchanted ebony sword, Maxwell approaches the writhing beast with the intent of killing it quickly, then rushing back to Serana.

The undead dragon, upside down, suddenly looks in his direction and Shouts an unfamiliar shout.

“GAAN LAH HAAS”

Suddenly, it feels like his blood is on fire, with the heat leaving his body as the energy is ripped from him. As Maxwell’s head violently spins and vision blurs, a horrible cacophony of cracking sounds emanates from the dragon as the broken bones in its wings forcefully re-join and heal. Durnevhiir rolls over to right itself.

Falling uncertainly to his knees, a sudden prompt from the souls within gets him to Shout “FEIM” which turns him ethereal, cutting off the drain and ending the horrible sensation.

Durnevhiir locks its sunken eyes on the ethereal visage with what could be construed as surprise.

The seconds tick pass as Maxwell tries to recover a modicum of control, but the Shout wears off too quickly. As he becomes corporeal, Durnevhiir Shouts another unfamiliar shout.

“RII VAZ ZOOL”

Maxwell’s perception is instantly plummeted into the blackest void. Without physical form or structure, he seemingly only exists as energy. There’s no pain, no exhaustion, no sweat, and no memory. Only the eternal black void which stares back. As he looks without looking, the words slowly form in what would be his mind.

What…happened? Am I…dead?

The black void doesn’t respond beyond absolute silence.

Soon, sensing without seeing, there seem to be other non-physical entities nearby, their energy stronger than his own. They dance around him….no, they’re flying. There’s 5…no, 8…wait, 13…more that appear from the abyssal blackness.

Are they…the souls of the dragons….I carry?

As the souls fly around, they start coalescing into a bigger mass, the energy becoming increasingly palpable. Eventually, all but his own are merged into this large mass of energy. The merged souls then seemingly roar that reverberates his own essence, before flying into him at an incomprehensible speed.

The transition from unconsciousness to consciousness is sudden…and painful.

Maxwell’s eyes instantly fly open as he suddenly gasps for stale air and claws frantically at the ground. Laying prone on the dust and bone covered ground, the pain and memories and everything else in between rush back with a vengeance. His eyes darting desperately around, he sees her.

Serana is kneeling nearby, hand outstretched. Her expression is completely naked and betraying her raw emotion, as tears once more stream from her sad deep amber eyes which are now widening in shock and disbelief. Her right cheek is partially burned.

The undead dragon is banking off in the distance, evidently turning around to come back.

 

For Serana, the emotions passed through her at a blindingly fast pace.

Panic at them splitting up and the incoming breath attack.

Pain from the droplets landing then burning her cheek.

Amazement when Maxwell Shouted that unfamiliar Shout, and the dragon literally dropped from the sky.

Awe when he used the Shout that tore up the earth.

Relief when its wings snapped; increasing when Maxwell approached to deal the killing blow.

Horror when Maxwell seemingly collapsed the first time.

Confusion when he turned ethereal.

Everything and nothing when he collapsed a second time; his heartbeat fading. At that point, time just…stopped.

When the dragon started approaching along the ground, towards his unconscious form, time started again…and she didn’t hold back.

She summoned a massive ice wall to stop the beast; forcing it to look in her direction, its sunken eyes piercing into her very being.

She then unleashed a titanic beam of lightning that crackled through the air and electrified the dragon, causing it to writhe in pain. It took off, its wings kicking up a massive storm – her wall thankfully protecting Maxwell’s prone body. This didn’t deter her as she threw a large volley of ice shards that score many marks among the dragon and perforated its wings even more; it still somehow manages to ascend in Maxwell’s direction.

Unleashing one last discharge of lightning with a scream, despite the near depletion of her immense Magicka pool and massive headache that grew in size, it hears this and does a roll mid-air so that it misses, before flying off in the opposite direction.

She nearly collapses to the ground herself in exhaustion, before reality hits her - hard.

Dashing over at her unnatural speed, she openly weeps as she drops to her knees beside him; her mortal friend, who lay dying before her.

As something breaks within, and Serana reaches out to touch his form…his eyes fly open before loudly gasping for air and clawing at the ground. When they make eye contact, Maxwell’s panic-stricken and haggard brown eyes stare right into her own then to her burned cheek. Serana is completely non-responsive; unable to think or react.

 

The sight of her injured cheek, the sight of this foul beast approaching and the memory of her scream ignites something primal in the Last Dragonborn: pure, unbridled, draconic fury.

Standing with lethal purpose, and leaving his fallen gear on the ground, Maxwell levels his narrowed brown eyes to the approaching dragon.

Fuelled by the myriad of emotion, he Shouts.

“JOR FAH ZUUL”

Durnevhiir drops straight down once more. This time, Maxwell is prepared.

“LIZ WAHL”

Durnevhiir is impaled on the huge growing ice stalagmite, torn apart limb from limb. It dies in seconds.

The torn and eviscerated remains immediately begin dematerialising – skeleton included – into the once familiar multi-coloured energy vortex. But this time, rather than going into him…it shoots upwards into the void above and disappears completely.

A mere second or two later, the draconic raged second wind is depleted and the deep exhaustion and fatigue resurge with a vengeance. Maxwell stumbles then collapses to the ground once more, teetering on the cusp of unconsciousness; soft feminine hands catch and cradle his dirtied and sweated head. A second later, a healing energy runs through his body as the liquid of a Healing potion works its way down into him. Then the energy from his remaining Stamina potions replaces some of the aches in his muscles and abates some of the painful headache. Then another Healing potion, and another.

As more liquid works its way down his throat, he becomes more lucid and can barely keep up; starting to cough and splutter.

 

Serana, having broken out of her stupor the moment the dragon died in the fantastical way it did, rushes over and catches him, and uses Telekinesis to throw Maxwell’s discarded bag to her hand. She pulls the bag open - almost ripping it in half – before frantically pulling out every restorative potion he has. She then kneels there, his head in her lap, carefully yet intently coaxing each one down his throat. Every empty vial is tossed aside as she grabs the next one.

 

After spluttering and coughing, he returns to some semblance of consciousness.

“Thank…you…” Maxwell weakly croaks out, gazing up at her with a tired but grateful look in his half-closed eyes.

Serana cry-laughs as she holds him, the glass from the spent vials clattering slightly in the dry dust and stone of this realm, before he groans in pain and she relents. After quickly gathering his fallen gear and stowing everything – including her pack – into his, she wears it.

Downing the first full vial of his blood to rejuvenate, Serana gently lifts him up. Despite the fresh blood, which is significantly more potent than anything she’s ever had and both removes a significant portion of the headache she feels and restores a great deal of Magicka…she is tired.

Using her own strength to support his own weakened form, they make much slower progress towards the portal, which seems even further away now.  

Half carrying him with his right arm around her shoulders, his feet trudging and struggling and head bowed. Pain clearly evident in his expression.

 

---

 

A few minutes later, her mix of confusing feelings from everything that’s happened in this realm continue to be pushed aside in earnest as she focuses on their survival.

“Please stay with me, Maxwell!! You need to stay awake!” Serana desperately pleads. “I can’t lose you here!”

“Serana, you…need to…” Maxwell feebly utters in response, before laboured coughing ripples across his form.

A painful minute passes, before a sound ignites the air once more.

 

 

A familiar dragon’s roar.

 

 

She stands stock still, barely able to process it. Maxwell droops his head languidly, in resignation of their fate. After a few seconds, he weakly forces out as he tiredly looks over to her; his cadence heavy with emotion.

“Serana…leave me. Save…”

Serana immediately interrupts him, her cadence just as emotive and her grip on him growing tighter.

“Maxwell, stop that!! I am not leaving you!”

He wants to press further, tell her that he’s begun to make his peace with meeting his fate here and now, but how she said those words prompts something within, before it’s lost in the maelstrom of his exhaustion and fatigue.

As the familiar undead dragon flies closer, it speaks in common.

“Stay your Thu’um and spells. I wish to speak with Qanhaarin.”

 

 

This surprises the Oblivion out of both of them.

 

 

The rematerialized dragon – with no hint of damage from their fight - lands with a thud in front of them. The gust of wind and dust threatens to blow the exhausted Dragonborn over, held only in place by Serana tightening her hold. She jostles Maxwell ever so slightly to keep him awake.

Maxwell tries to cut through the mounting exhaustion and weakly calls out in a pained, hoarse voice.

“Qanhaarin?”

“The title I have given you, Dovahkiin. It means Vanquisher. For you are my Vanquisher, with the power of your Thu’um which is impressive. When I felt the fall of the One, I could not believe it. I, Durnevhiir, bow to you.”

The dragon bows its head.

To Serana’s utmost surprise, after bowing, the dragon locks eyes with Maxwell and speaks an odd guttural language which she doesn’t understand. To the untrained, it sounds like simple noises. But for a highly educated individual such as herself, it is evident this is a language with structure and syntax.

What’s more surprising is Maxwell immediately responding in this foreign language, much lighter yet raspier given his condition. He looks very pained to be speaking like this, coughing at times.

Curious, she surreptitiously casts the Tongues spell…which doesn’t work. The only educated guess she can come up with is that this is Dragonspeak; Dovahzul.

The thought is broken when the undead beast, in the middle of what could be construed as a sentence, utters the words “Ideal Masters” and her spirit plummets.

The beast pauses, then shakes its maw, before continuing.

She arches an eyebrow, then the other when Maxwell gestures to her, his pain evident in those tired brown eyes.

The two talk for another long minute, when Maxwell says something then stops, and looks expectantly at the beast as though awaiting an answer. Durnevhiir then roars, causing Serana to immediately tense up, before it responds animatedly and then bowing.

Maxwell visibly exhales and relaxes, equanimity becoming apparent.

He coughs as he stops speaking in this language, before weakly rasping out “he…a portal …return…”

“In exchange for…?” her cadence betraying her confusion and concern. Clearly something has been agreed, but what?

Maxwell tiredly shakes his head, instantly regretting the decision as the headache multiplies in intensity.

“But the other portal…” she begins.

“Too far…” Maxwell feebly says, before his knees give out and Serana has to hold him closer against her. She notices his skin colour is becoming more pallid, and eyelids are beginning to droop.

As the dragon Shouts in a booming voice, a shimmering purple and blue hazed portal appears before them. Durnevhiir bows once more to them, holding it in place this time.

Despite her apprehension at whatever agreement has been made with Durnevhiir, Serana wastes no time in ensuring they have everything before supporting Maxwell’s weak form through the whirling portal.

 

---

 

The portal deposits them on a ice and snow-covered mountain top. Thick grey cloud cover envelops them, and the wind is absolutely biting – yet neither of them feel it.

As she stumbles from the sudden change in terrain, he slips from her grasp and limply collapses to the ground, ending half buried in a deep snowdrift.

Immediately finding her feet, Serana instantly kneels down into the snow to grab Maxwell, who is fading fast.

“Nononono…please stay with me Maxwell! Please…I can’t lose you!!”

Looking up through his drooping eyelids that feel so very heavy, Maxwell croaks out.

“Ser…ana…fort…urgh…”

He finally slips into the dark empty realm of unconsciousness.

Notes:

Whew, this was an absolute joy to write. I’ve had this idea for ages.

This chapter is significantly smaller as I split it up for dramatic effect.

Just to clear up a couple of things from a narrative perspective: the Ideal Masters immediately sensed Maxwell when he approached the portal, and allowed him passage (fits with the lore), because of their overwhelming desire to acquire his souls-filled soul.

On their return, the Masters were altering the world in a subtle way, so as to tire them out more before Durnevhiir turns up to claim his soul for them; the dragon reneges on this following their battle of their Thu’um, and has agreed something with Maxwell.

I mean, the Ideal Masters rule the place; a little bit of reality alteration doesn’t seem to far a stretch for them to me.

Serana’s demonstrated abilities here is due to the consumption of
Maxwell’s extremely potent blood, which allowed her to sustain the level of spellcasting she was doing. She has also been holding back, especially on the necromancy side.

Maxwell has been holding back, but seeing his friend hurt literally let the dragons out of their cage.

Next chapter won't be out for a while - approximately 2 to 2.5 weeks I envisage - due to IRL stuff including being without computer access for a week. As ever, I hope you continue to enjoy. Please feel free to leave comments.

Thanks as well all the kudos, comments and everything else!

Chapter 21: Plans

Summary:

Plans are revealed and modified.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, some violence.

Emitting a guttural low groan to the myriad of faint aches and pains that cover his torso, in addition to the pain from his parched throat, the blurry but recognisable brickwork of the ceiling above is the first thing Maxwell recognises.

The Dawnguard Fort.

A familiar blonde-haired Imperial immediately appears in his clearing vision, the bags under her eyes betraying the exhaustion of her vigil and healing of him. After calling to a nearby Dawnguard member to get Isran, Carcette looks him over studiously. As he rasps for water, she immediately grabs the nearby drinking vessel and brings it to his parched lips.

Maxwell gladly drinks the entire proffered vessel; the parched throat mostly disappearing.

Sighing loudly in relief, he raises his hands and rubs the final blurriness from his eyes, feeling significantly better. Finding his voice, which still comes out a little hoarse, Maxwell says with a small wry smile. “Thank you Carcette…I guess this makes us even now?”

Carcette nods with a genuine but wan smile as she put the drinking vessel aside, recalling the day they met. “Indeed, Maxwell.”

“How…ugh…how long have I been out?”

“Just over 2 and a half days. Thankfully you recover fast, although you did some help.” Carcette politely responds with another weak smile.

“And how long before that?” He queries, the cadence betraying his concern.

She looks confused and her smile drops. “What…do you mean, Maxwell?”

“What’s the date?” Maxwell clarifies, concern bleeding further into his voice.

She looks even more confused, her eyes – despite the evident exhaustion – searching his face for meaning behind his insistent questioning. “Maxwell…it’s the 3rd of Rain’s Hand! You and the vampire disappeared over 2 months ago.”

His face drops, and he sinks into the pillow, barely registering Carcette saying further about how completely livid Isran was when their disappearance was discovered the following morning.

Over 2 months…that’s not good.

Isran suddenly storms in, his feet stomping heavily on the ground and looking brusquer than ever. His beard looks somewhat bushier, and his dark eyes are extremely narrowed. The Dawnguard member follows closely behind, just managing to keep up.

As Carcette sits up straight adopting a neutral expression, Isran comes dangerously close to the bed, and outright demands in a loud voice. “Well Maxwell…care to explain to me EXACTLY where you and it went, and what happened for you to end up on the brink of death??”

“Isran…you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Maxwell glances up, deflecting slightly.

“Well? I’m waiting.” The Redguard expectantly crosses his arms, awaiting a proper answer.

Mustering as serious a tone as possible – and deciding to keep the details limited – Maxwell looks up at Isran’s piercing glare and flatly states. “We fought and killed an undead dragon for the final Elder Scroll, Isran.”

His words cause Isran’s stare to change from piercing seriousness to complete shock. Carcette’s eyes almost blow out of her head, they’re that wide and horrified. As the healer and leader stare at each other in mutual astonishment, the Dawnguard member behind them suddenly turns various shades of green before turning and hurling into a nearby bucket.

Sudden realisation dawns at the mention of ‘we’, and as Maxwell glances around he notices a certain vampiress is not present.

Sitting up, despite his torso slightly rejecting the action, Maxwell’s voice climbs several octaves and slightly threatening. “Where’s Serana, Isran? I swear, if you’ve harmed her…”

Finding his senses, Isran shakes his head and holds up a hand, his usual gruff voice a degree softer. “It is unharmed, you have my word Maxwell. After carrying you here, handing over the Elder Scroll and taking your gear, it demanded a room in an unmanned section. It’s been there since, and hasn’t bothered anyone.”

There’s clearly more the Redguard has to say, given the look in his eyes, but they remain unsaid. Maxwell stares up at him intently, before looking to Carcette who affirms Isran speaks the truth. Laying back down, he’s immensely relieved that she’s safe, and alive, but concerned she’s been alone all this time.

“There’s something else you need to know, Maxwell.” Carcette pipes up. Looking to her, she explains. “Dexion...his condition worsened soon after your disappearance. He’s now permanently blind.”

Maxwell looks at her searchingly before looking at Isran who nods in affirmation.

Sitting up in the bed further this time so his back is now against the wall, Maxwell utters. “That’s not good. Without Dexion, we don’t have a way to read the other Scrolls.”

The vestige of a memory of reading a certain Scroll on top of a certain snow-covered mountain starts ascending to the front of his mind, but it is rapidly submerged again.

Isran holds up a seasoned hand and states. “Don’t worry about that Maxwell, we’re working on something. For now, rest up. We’ll talk again when you’re fully recovered.”

The Redguard nods to Carcette who nods back, and turns before leaving the pair. Carcette soon moves over to check the unwell Dawnguard member, and as she disappears Maxwell rests his weary head once more as he attempts to process everything that they just discussed.

Soon, his thoughts turn to his wayward companion.

 

Later that day just past mid-afternoon, after a hearty meal to stave off the intense hunger pangs that appeared shortly after awaking, Maxwell is on his feet and leaving the medical area despite Keeper Carcette’s strong objections. The first thing he does is thank her once more for the healing and he’ll be back soon but he has something he needs to do. The second thing is to wash, shave and don clean clothing. The last thing he does is locate her.

Following a member’s instructions to the unmanned wing, Maxwell gingerly climbs the spiral staircase; leaning against the wall now and then for support.

Upon reaching the top, he leans against the metal railing and glances around the corridor full of iron-banded wooden doors, trying to determine which room is the right one. As he’s about to call her name, the door directly opposite flies open and thuds against the wall as a cape-less Serana in her usual armour briskly marches out, unbraided hair streaming behind.

Maxwell starts to form a welcoming smile, which soon evaporates as the indignation in her narrowed amber eyes registers, along with her quickly approaching raised hand.

SLAP

As Serana’s cold hand makes immediate and hard contact with Maxwell’s left cheek, he’s almost knocked over before she instantly grabs him and tightly hugs. Her hands reach around his chest and her head into the crook of his neck, her hair tickling the exposed skin. Maxwell groans slightly from the intensity of the embrace and the pain; she lessens the hug slightly, but keeps her arms in place. Once steady, he hugs her back.

After a moment, with pain radiating from his left cheek and the shock wearing off, Maxwell quietly utters into her hair. “Well it’s good to see you too, Serana.”

Serana exclaims in vexation. “Don’t you dare do anything like that again, you idiot!! I thought I lost you.”

On release from the hug, Maxwell gingerly touches the pained cheek and winces slightly. The hand he raised glows the familiar soft green glow which removes the pain and heals the already reddening mark of her handprint. Saying as the healing finishes, he sighs and states. “Firstly, ow that hurt. Secondly, I guess I deserved that.”

“Damn right you did, Maxwell! What were you thinking, taking on Durnevhiir by yourself!?” Serana sternly exclaims.

“Old habit, I guess.” He shrugs.

She motions to say something, before leaving it alone. Her expression and form visibly deflating as though the anger is evaporating. When she next speaks, her tone is extremely soft. “Why are you here Maxwell?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay, Serana. Evidently you are, given how much that hurt.”

Noticing the almost disappeared scar from where the acid spray hit her right cheek, Maxwell absentmindedly reaches out with his already raised hand to touch it. Serana gently grabs his wrist, giving him a momentary odd look. He realises what he’s doing and quickly drops it, clearing his throat; Serana lets go of his arm.

Replacing the odd look with a neutral expression, she quietly says. “Honestly, I’m okay Maxwell. It’s almost gone; I heal fast.”

“That’s good to know. That makes two of us then.” He replies, trying to alleviate some of the tension from what just transpired.

It looks like Serana has more to say, but a light scoff and a wan smile is all she retorts with. She motions to her room, and slowly follows Maxwell as he walks in, as though analysing for any pain.

After finding the solitary chair and sitting down with a loud exhalation, finding comfort in finally being off his feet, Serana turns to close and lock the door before casting a deafening ward. Maxwell takes stock of her room.

The room is moderately equipped. It’s got a single bed and mattress, a bed side table, a weapon rack that has her sheathed dagger hanging from it, a plain table beside him, a chest at the foot of the bed, and the chair he is on. Her cloak is on a hook on the now-closed door, and a half empty vial of blood sits aside a couple of books sit on the bedside table; clear evidence of what she has been doing during his recovery. The unmade bed also shows that she has lain in it for a while.

“I need to say something, Maxwell.” Her voice interrupts him. Looking over, Serana is standing in the middle of the room with crossed arms and a neutral expression.

“Wait Serana, please. I wanted to ask first: are you alright? I mean, with everything that happened?”

She gives a tempered look before adopting the neutral expression once more. “I’m alright. Now can I say what I need to say?”

Frowning ever so slightly, he acquiesces to her lead in the conversation and leans back into the chair. “Okay…Serana. What did you want to say?”

As though rehearsed several times, she inhales before locking her amber eyes onto him and states with a resolute tone. “Once we’ve found Auriel’s Bow, I’ll deal with my Father with the help of Isran and the Dawnguard.”

Maxwell stares bewildered at Serana, eyebrows dancing in consternation before he exclaims. “Uh…what? Why?!”

“I don’t want to see you like that again…” Serana starts, before Maxwell interjects as he stands up, his tone rising slightly in frustration.

“What did you tell me in the Soul Cairn, Serana? Oh, ‘We’ll do this together!’”

Serana scoffs incredulously, her jaw dropping slightly. “Says you who stupidly decided to fight a damn dragon alone!! You…you almost died in my arms, Maxwell…twice!! If I hadn’t gotten you back in time, you very well could have!! I would have been alone, and I…just…” she stops and turns to look away.

As a heavy tense silence envelops the room, Maxwell is the first to cut through it with a quiet utterance. “It’s not my first time not dying.”

Serana suddenly glares daggers at him. He does a surrender gesture. “Sorry, bad joke.”

She loudly scoffs. “Please don’t joke about it.”

Rubbing his hands over his face, Maxwell says in an extremely apologetic tone as he takes a step closer. “Ok ok…Serana, I sincerely apologise for what I did, and almost dying on you…twice. I just didn’t want to see you hurt – or worse. Saying that, I thought you did die, when I heard your scream.” His eyes glance down to her scarred cheek. She notices and turns her head slightly to hide it.

Closing his eyes in resignation, Maxwell sincerely asks. “Look Serana…please can we start over?”

“Yes please.” Serana instantly replies, almost a degree too quickly. She soon adds “And…thank you.”

He nods quietly in acceptance. Serana suddenly takes a step closer, prompting a look of concern from Maxwell. “I don’t just mean that for the apology, but for…well…” the words fail her, as Serana struggles to put into words her gratitude for what he did by going to another realm despite what happened the last time he left Nirn.

Seemingly understanding what she’s trying to say, he responds casually. “It’s okay, Serana. If anything, I need to thank you for saving me; thank you. Speaking of which, please can we talk about what happened in the Soul Cairn?”

“Not right now, Maxwell.”

He raises an eyebrow at both the suddenness and wording of her answer. “…at some point Serana, we’re going to have to.”

Her voice rises a few octaves. “I know we do! But…please, not now. Not in this place.”

“…okay.” He relents with a shrug.

Serana’s expression suddenly drops completely as realisation hits and she exigently asks, her amber eyes almost pleading. “Wait…PLEASE tell me you haven’t told them about where we went and…” in a quieter voice “…what was revealed.”

Realising what she’s asking, he vehemently shakes his head in denial and says. “Of course not, Serana! I only said we fought an undead dragon to get Isran off my back. I haven’t said anything about the Soul Cairn, going to the Castle…or anything else. I promise I will never reveal…that. Just like you’ve kept my secret when you found out about my history.”

She visibly exhales and looks significantly relieved. As they stare at each other, the tension still palpable, Maxwell half-heartedly rubs his aching neck with a raised eyebrow.

Seeing the vial in the corner of his eye, Maxwell gestures to it. “How are you doing for blood, Serana?”

His vampiress friend looks incredulous and lightly scoffs whilst muttering under her breath “that you’d even offer…”, before briefly closes her eyes and sighing before opening them with a unique smile. “I’m fine, thank you Maxwell.”

“I can give…” he starts, but her immediate stern answer stops that idea.

“Don’t you even dare. Not in your current condition.” Her cadence returns to one of sincerity. “Your blood is much more sustaining. I’ve barely felt the hunger and it’s lasting a lot longer than normal. I also feel more…powerful.”

Now that she says that, Maxwell does notice that she seems to have a slightly more dominating presence. Subtle, but noticeable once direct attention is paid to it. Probably why they’ve left her alone.

“Well, that would explain the level of spellcasting in the fight. Thanks, by the way. Our training during our trip to the College certainly paid off there. If we had gone into that fight without doing it, it would have been shorter for me.”

The deadpan look from her prompts him to backtrack. “Sorry, I’m...anyway, going back to what you said. I guess it’s because of who I am; power in blood and all that.”

“That’s my guess as well.” She replies.

Trying but failing to find another topic that doesn’t include the Soul Cairn, Maxwell remembers something. With a hint of trepidation, he quietly says. “Serana, I meant to mention. It’s been over 2 months since we left that night. It’s the 3^rd of Rain’s Hand, according to Isran and Carcette.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh…wow. That does makes sense though Maxwell…if you remember I did mention about the time difference across different planes, but that’s…more than I thought.”

His tone becomes even more serious. “There’s one other thing. Dexion is now permanently blind.”

She grimaces but nods. “I feared that might be the case, upon seeing him ill on our return from the College. I can’t say I’m wholly surprised he’s now blind though. Reading an Elder Scroll comes with great risk. Sooner or later, a Moth Priest will become blind.”

Maxwell responds. “It does leave us in trouble though. Without Dexion, we don’t have a way to read the scrolls.”

That earlier idea pops into his head, it’s fervently drowned once more.

“So, what does that mean now? Do we go to Cyrodill for one of his colleagues?”

He shrugs uncertainly. “I…guess so? Isran did mention the Dawnguard are working on something, but I haven’t been told anything yet. He probably doesn’t trust us, seeing as we disappeared in the middle of the night.”

After a moment, the look of pensiveness from his companion prompts Maxwell to ask “What is it, Serana?”

She bites her lip for a few more moments before asking. “Maxwell, I really need to know something. What did you agree to with Durnevhiir, after you killed him?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about what happened in the Soul Cairn?” He responds with a weak grin.

“Maxwell…”

“I’m only trying to lighten the mood, Serana.” Maxwell then becomes legitimately confused. “Also, I agreed something with Durnevhiir? I don’t…remember that.”

Her eyebrows immediately fly up and her pupils narrow slightly. “You don’t remember? Maxwell, Durnevhiir reappeared after you killed it, you two spoke in Dovahzul I think. You gestured to me, then asked a question, and apparently came to some sort of agreement. It then roared a portal in front of us and let us through.”

He drops back into his seat and massages his brow, offering after a few moments of contemplation. “I…can’t really remember, Serana.”

“Maxwell!! How…” she starts before he interposes.

“No seriously Serana, I don’t recall! I was, well, not with it after it did that weird drain Shout after I grounded it with Dragonrend. All I have are flashes, uh, images. I remember you over me, then Durnevhiir reappearing, then I think I was drowning in snow? It’s all…very confusing. If it does come back, I’ll tell you. Promise.”

The memory of her leaning over, tears streaming down her alabaster skin whilst reaching out, evoke a painful response mixed with guilt. No wonder she slapped me.

She carefully studies him. Another memory floats up and he grimaces, prompting Serana to immediately enquire. “What?”

“Speaking of remembering things Serana, one thing I do vividly recall is completely losing my temper at your mother. Again, I am so sorry about that. And…especially about the swearing. I know I have something of a foul mouth.”

Serana tilts her head, not expecting this apology. She soon responds. “It’s…okay. I lost my temper as well, so that makes two of us.” Before adding with a humorous smirk. “And you do, by the way.”

He feebly smiles, before a tiredness suddenly creeps up from deep within. Teetering slightly which prompts Serana to quickly close the distance and grab his arm to steady him, Maxwell says. “I’d, uh, better get back before Carcette gets too worried. I don’t think she’s slept the entire time since we arrived. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Don’t, Maxwell. You need to rest.”

He shrugs it off, half seriously half playfully. “Try and stop me, Serana.” Serana’s serious look prompts him to clarify. “That’s a joke, by the way. I’m still coming to see you; that part I was serious about. Just promise me you won’t slap me like that again.”

“Don’t do something stupid like that again Maxwell, and I won’t.”

He smiles gratefully, before taking a step. Teetering a bit more, she grabs him by the shoulder, her cold hands grasping a degree tighter to support him. Looking to her with slightly drooping eyelids, Maxwell tiredly asks. “Please could you walk me back, Serana? I don’t trust that I’m going to make it down those stairs in one piece.”

Serana smiles her classic disarming smile, tempered by something. “I’d like that.”

 

After slowly escorting Maxwell back to the medical room and seating him on the bed under the wary gaze of a certain Keeper, Serana silently strides back whilst ignoring the looks of the Dawnguard members who observed them walking side by side. As soon as the wooden door to her room closes behind with a resounding thud, Serana quietly lays a hand on the door and breathes out the emotions.

After a very short rest, she had spent the entire time attempting to process everything that had happened at the Castle and in the Soul Cairn, including but not limited his two near deaths. In the midst of her emotional turmoil, she recollected something. Something that Maxwell had offhandedly said in one of their post-fight chats made her realise that taking it one day at a time isn’t such a bad idea.

For today, her friend was alive. That’s all that mattered.

She replayed parts of their conversation, including one particular moment over and over: his hand gently reaching out to touch her slightly scarred cheek. That was odd, but she had checked on him after several fights so couldn’t fault him for doing the same. However, this moment felt…different. She couldn’t fathom it. There was also one question she desperately wanted an answer to. What on Nirn did he agree to with the undead dragon that somehow involved her?

 

---

 

The next day just as the sun rises, Maxwell returns as promised. As soon as Serana opens the door, the mixed look of concern with shock makes him stop mid-stride.

“Maxwell, you didn’t!!”

“What?” Maxwell queries, feigning confusion.

“Bring a vial full of your blood for me.”

His cover blown, he sighs in resignation. Sheepishly stating as he pulls out the filled vial. “Damn it Serana, I was hoping to surprise you. I guess I forgot your sense of smell is insane.”

She lightly laughs and takes it, giving a sincere smile full of gratitude in return.

Over the next half an hour, they talk about everything and nothing as he sits on the chair and she on the bed. What happened in the Soul Cairn remains unspoken. She returns his gear that she was keeping in the chest, and he looks it over. It’s been cleaned and repaired, evidently something Serana had done.

Taking stock of everything left in it, he grimaces at the meagre number of potions left; a painful reminder of what had transpired.

“I’ll help you make more, Maxwell.” Serana quietly offers, noticing his reaction.

“Thanks Serana, I’d appreciate that.” Maxwell weakly smiles, before it widens and he adds. “It will also mean I finally get to see how good your alchemy skills really are.”

“Oh, you doubt them, Maxwell?” she arches an eyebrow threateningly, challenging his words.

Not so subtly changing the topic, Maxwell stands as he puts the pack onto his back. “Walk me back again?”

She smiles, and stands alongside. When they leave her room and get to the top of the stairs, Serana suddenly stiffens and tilts her head. Whispering in a hushed tone. “Someone is coming this way.”

He whispers back, looking deadly serious. “Act normal.”

She nods again, and they continue onwards. Descending the stairs, walking down the corridor and turning the corner, despite her forewarning Maxwell is quite surprised – and concerned – about who they run into.

Rather than Isran or another Dawnguard member, a tall Imperial officer with a stern look on his youthful features is the individual walking in their direction.

“May we help you?” Maxwell posits, steadying himself. Serana stands aside, her hands hanging loose with a neutral expression.

The guard looks between the two for a moment before focusing on Maxwell. “Good morning Sir, Madam…I gather you are Maxwell and Serana?”

“Yes, we are; what’s wrong?”

The guard quietly states with a hint of urgency. “My name is Allan, I’m a guard from the Imperial City for Adept Dexion Evicus. He has requested your immediate presence – both of you. Please, follow me quickly.”

He looks to Serana wide-eyed, who looks back with evident surprise. Maxwell quickly turns back to the guard. “Uh…sure. Please lead the way, Allan.”

The Imperial simply nods, turns and leads them on.

As the trio navigate their way through the fort, the various Dawnguard members that are going about their duties give odd looks; Serana glances to Maxwell who subtly shakes his head. At one point, a Dunmer stops the trio with a raised hand and a demanding tone.

“Where are you taking them? They’re not meant to be in this section.”

Allan curtly responds with a neutral tone. “Adept Dexion has requested their presence to say farewell before we depart for the Imperial City later today. Ask him yourself if you doubt the veracity of my orders.”

The Dunmer considers the answer for a moment before nodding and stepping out the way. “Understood. You can proceed.”

When they’re alone, Maxwell queries with a hint of concern. “What’s all that about, Allan?”

Allan only responds over his shoulder as they continue on. “Adept Dexion will explain.”

The two share another concerned look.

 

When the trio turn the corner to Dexion’s room, two more armoured Imperial Officers are tensed up due to having heard their approach, but a curt nod from Allan gets them to relax. Both look over the two passively, their expressions devolving to one of awe at both the living legend who ended the Skyrim Civil war and the drop-dead gorgeous woman alongside him.

Allan, the only one who didn’t respond like that, gives them a stern look each with a cough; they salute before standing back to attention, their eyes fixed straight ahead. Allan then steps to knock on the door.

Speaking loud enough for his voice to go through the door, Allan speaks quickly. “Adept Evicus, it’s Allan. I’ve brought Maxwell and Serana as requested.”

“Thank you, Allan. Please, send them in.” A familiar voice calls out.

The Imperial officer opens the door and pushes it open, then steps back and silently gestures to the door.

Maxwell nods to Allan who salutes.

Turning to walk into the room first, Maxwell stops midstride as his eyes fall on the thick linen bandage wrapped around the wizened priest’s head and feels a deep pang of concern. Gods, they weren’t joking about him being blind.

Once they enter and the door is closed, Dexion ‘looks’ in their direction and welcomes them as he stands. “Hello, Maxwell, Serana. I’m glad to hear you’re both okay. Please, come in.”

“Hello Dexion. Are you in pain? Is there anything we can get for you?”

“I’m sorry to hear what happened, Dexion.” Serana adds.

He smiles in appreciation. “I’m not in pain as such, but I thank you both for your concern. This is unfortunately my own doing, but I do not regret it for an instant. Please have a seat.”

After they’re seated on either side, Dexion asks once everyone is settled. “Before I begin, I heard you found the final scroll but it came at great cost. Are the rumours true, you fought an undead dragon? Are you both alright?”

“It is, and we are.” Maxwell affirms, with a glance to Serana who returns a smile.

“It’s been something of an adventure, Dexion.” Serana says.

The Moth Priest pales slightly at the confirmation, before kindly chuckling at Serana’s comment. “I can only imagine!”

When the humour passes, Dexion ‘looks’ to Serana and asks. “Serana, I presume you know a ward to deafen sounds?”

“Yes.”

“Please could you cast one on the door and lock it; I wish for us to converse unhindered.”

“Why?” Maxwell immediately queries with a quizzical look as Serana stands with one of her own.

“What I wish to talk about includes secrets of my Order I wish for only for the two of you to hear.”

Maxwell becomes befuddled. “Uh…I thought you summoned us to say goodbye?”

“Not quite, Maxwell.”

She goes through the motions, and on her return says. “Okay Dexion, it’s in place and the door is locked.”

“Thank you, Serana.”

Once she’s seated again, Dexion ‘turns’ to the hunter and says. “Maxwell. Please could you retrieve the blade that’s in the side table near me.” Motioning in the general vicinity of the side table in between them.

Sharing a confused look with his friend, Maxwell leans over and opens up the top drawer. He finds a curved two-handed blade of some sort. It has ornate handles, the blade in between is slightly serrated on the top and is slightly bowed.

“What is this for, Dexion?” Maxwell asks with confusion.

“What you hold, Maxwell, is a draw knife. It is used to remove bark from a Canticle Tree, which will allow you to carry out the Ritual of the Ancestor Moth.”

Maxwell freezes, as Dexion’s words rattle around his head and combine with that idea he so hurriedly drowned. When they combine, he deathly repeats one word. “Me?”

“With my eyesight gone, the fate of Nirn hanging in the balance and time now against us…you’re the next logical choice to read the Elder Scrolls.”

Maxwell becomes non-plussed, almost dropping knife as he limply drops back into the chair and starts to pale; Serana reaches over and gently takes it from him, a look of deep concern on her face.

After a minute of trying to process Dexion’s words, Maxwell softly exhales and quietly says. “Why me?”

“You’ve read an Elder Scroll before, have you not Maxwell?” Dexion pointedly asks.

Maxwell tries very hard to keep the emotion out of his words. “Yes…but it was a one off. A ‘unique product of particular circumstances driven by the tides of fate’, someone once said.”

Serana raises an eyebrow, at the eloquence of the wording.

Dexion suddenly smirks, breaking the tension slightly. “Your familiarity with them made me realise.”

His smirk disappearing, he explains. “As you know, reading scrolls is risky. Reading one takes the utmost preparation and years of training, the former of which I have failed to do correctly. How you read one before is, I believe, because of who you are.”

Pausing momentarily to take a drink from a nearby cup, Dexion continues.

“Most Priests sometimes read the same scroll several times over their tenure, sometimes two. But reading three in a row…well, that is extremely rare, and for good reason. Such a thing, as far as I remember, has only been done a handful of times in the history of our Order.”

Closing his eyes, Maxwell hesitantly asks. “I feel like I’m going to regret this Dexion…but why is that?”

The response is even worse than he thought.

“I won’t lie to you, Maxwell. The Priests soon went insane and died shortly thereafter, the Scrolls proving too much for them.”

Maxwell looks like he’s about to pass out once more. The blood draining from his face and breathing shallowing. Oh gods, I really regret asking now…

Serana motions to move beside him, but Maxwell dumbly shakes his head before forcing out. “Wait, Dexion. Please…”

In an extremely reassuring tone, Dexion responds. “Of course, Maxwell. I know this is very unsettling news. Please know I do not suggest this course of action lightly, and I have my reasons which I will explain when you are ready.”

Maxwell stands and moves to the nearest wall, leaning a hand against as he bows his head in distress. Behind him, Serana politely asks as she carefully watches her friend’s slouched form. “Why Maxwell? What about one of your fellow Adepts? Would they not be able to assist in your stead?"

Dexion interrupts. “Following the sacking of the Tower during the Great War, sighted priests or ‘Adepts’ as you said are so few, and are scattered across the Empire. I was sent here as I was the only one available to undertake the endeavour. None have returned to the Tower since I left, from what my guards tell me.”

Silence descends on the room.

Two minutes later, after inhaling then exhaling nervously, Maxwell quietly says as he turns around and returns to his seat; the cadence clearly convening trepidation. “Okay. What makes you suggest me, Dexion?”

“Returning to my proposal: for you Maxwell, a mortal with the soul of a dragon gifted by Akatosh…I honestly don’t know what will happen. I suspect though, it will play out differently for you. Your…energy, I believe, makes you more in tune with that of the Elder Scrolls, and aided by the energy of the Ancestors Moths this should allow you to read the three Elder Scrolls without the degree of preparation we Moth Priests must do. Nevertheless, you must follow my instructions precisely. If the Divines bless you and the ritual does work, you should be aware that you will see things. Hear things. If that happens…it is imperative you remain grounded, otherwise you could lose yourself.”

Maxwell considers the words heavily, with Serana sitting solemnly in the seat with her hands clasped on her knees holding the draw knife giving him the most reassuring look and smile she could muster.

“And how do you suggest I do that, Dexion?”

“Focus on Auriel’s Bow, and only the bow. Ignore everything else. No matter how strong the pull, no matter what the scrolls present to you…focus on that.”

Pausing to let those words sink in, he turns to the vampiress on the other side.

“Serana…when Maxwell starts the ritual, it is imperative you do not approach or touch him. The Ancestor Moths will naturally leave once the ritual is complete. Interrupting will have devastating effects.”

“Such as?” she asks.

“Your death, most certainly. Maxwell’s, potentially.” Dexion states, his tone extremely serious. “Assuming the ritual is successful and once the moths have completely left him, Maxwell will need time to recover. He’ll need you then.”

“I fully understand.”

After a moment, Maxwell asks. “Dexion, I hate to ask this. Assuming I don’t…become insane or…die…am I at risk of becoming blind?”

Dexion doesn’t miss a beat, responding with a reassuring tone. “It is a possibility, Maxwell. But as I said: because of who you are, and the fact that you read one before and came away with no ill effects, I believe the same should happen here.”

Resignedly placing his head in his hands, Maxwell tries to breathe his way through the emotion. No ill effects? Other than my life becoming messed up, sure…

“What does the ritual involve exactly?” Serana asks, seeing Maxwell struggle with his internal thoughts once more.

“To start the ritual, you will need to use the draw knife like so….” Dexion begins explaining various facets of the Ritual of the Ancestor Moths, including a few secrets such as exactly where the nearest Ancestor Glade is and how to find it. Maxwell marks it on his map, although his hand is slightly shaking.

After some back and forth, Dexion is satisfied that their understanding of his instructions is sufficient. A heavy pause occurs before he speaks once more. “Maxwell. Serana. In the chest by the bed, you will find the three scrolls. Please take them and hide them on your persons.”

Maxwell turns to Serana in surprise. She, being the nearest, gets up and checks, and indeed pulls out the three bound items with ease.

Upon seeing them in physicality, despite the rush of emotion of seeing all three together for the first time, Maxwell immediately queries. “What’s going on, Dexion? Isran said he was working on a new plan. Is this not it?”

Dexion disapprovingly shakes his head, before explaining. Maxwell’s stomach drops to the depths of Blackreach at his answer.

“No, it isn’t Maxwell. I completely disagree with what Isran is going to do soon. The Dawnguard are going to subdue Serana and use her as bait in an ambush for her father and attempt to kill both of them. They are going to imprison you to keep you from interfering. As for the scrolls, he asked me this morning to take them back to the Order; hence why I urgently asked to see you both.”

Dexion suddenly leans forward. “But I truly believe in you two, and that together you have a better chance of stopping this prophecy from happening. With a little help from me, of course.” The last part is said with a smirk.

Maxwell sits there for a few minutes, deep in thought with a whole slew of emotions ranging from trepidation to indignation, frustration to fear. His hands tightly grasp the sides of the chair which creaks, and his knuckles whiten from the effort. Serana gives him a look of concern before moving alongside to kneel and rest a hand on one of his forearms. He places his on hers and offers a wan smile before returning to his maelstrom of thoughts.

After a minute, Maxwell tensely states. “I don’t know how we’re going to convince Isran to abandon this insane plan he’s concocted. He’s one stubborn bastard.”

“If you recall Maxwell, we agreed we’re in this together.” Serana reassuringly states.

He suddenly looks to her, and a glint in his brown eyes makes her tilt her head as his expression becomes thoughtful. “What is it?”

“You’ve…just given me an idea, Serana.”

After discussing this idea with the two, they agree to their parts. Serana is somewhat apprehensive at what might be revealed, but he reassures her only if pressed. Without hesitation, she affirms. “Okay Maxwell, I trust you. Completely.”

His brown eyes widen in surprise at just how forthright her candid honesty is, but smiles and utters. “Thank you, Serana.”

Taking off his pack, Maxwell hands it to her for the Scrolls and draw blade to be put in. “Please wait for me nearby and Recall back to the Palace if I suddenly run to you.”

Nodding in acknowledgement with a resolute expression, she stows the items then turns the pack invisible.

Taking Dexion’s hand once more, Maxwell states with sincere gratitude. “Dexion…thank you, not just for the warning but for everything else. You’re a good person.”

The Moth Priest widely smiles at the compliment, and says as he places his other hand on Maxwell’s. “Rest assured, I will remain here for as long as required, should Isran agree to your plan. And do not worry if he is annoyed or doesn’t agree to your plan; my guards will ensure my safety. And besides, I know a couple of tricks.”

“Thank you from myself as well, Dexion. I’ll be certain to keep my eye on Maxwell.” Serana states, before realising her faux paux and suddenly clamming up with wide eyes. Dexion laughs loudly at that. After dismissing the ward, they bid their respective goodbyes and leave, with the three guards saluting in respect.

 

On the way, the realisation hits once more and Maxwell suddenly leans against the wall and slumps his shoulders, exhaling forcefully. The prospect and revelations suddenly weighing heavy. Memories of what happened the last time he did this appearing with a vengeance.

Serana immediately crouches alongside and quietly asks. “This may be a poor question Maxwell…but are you alright?”

Breathing shakily, Maxwell nervously shakes his head before stammering a response.

“…N..n…no..I’m…I’m not, Serana.” After another minute, he continues. “I get where Dexion is coming from, but this…isn’t what I signed up for. I read the first one, oblivious to what would happen afterwards. Reading three, including that one again, and what Dexion said could happen…I…I’m really struggling here. Gods…”

Putting aside once again the pang of guilt for involving him in what essentially amounts to her family trouble, Serana forcefully but softly commands as she stands to her full height and offering a hand to help him up. “Stand up.”

Maxwell suddenly glances up in confusion. She simply maintains her gaze and stance. He gingerly takes her hand. She helps him up then immediately pulls him into a tight hug, which he gladly returns. The poignant memories and worries ebb away.

A minute passes before Maxwell says tenderly into her hair. “…thank you, Serana.”

“You look like you needed one.”

He coughs out a stifled laugh. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

As they part, she offers a sincere smile. “I meant what I said. You have my complete trust, Maxwell.”

His hand finds hers and squeezes gently. “I know, Serana. Thank you. I feel the same.”

Her expression devolves into an extremely genuine smile.

With the moment officially over, they adopt a serious expression each and stride off with intent; Maxwell steeling himself for the possible confrontation.

 

Striding through the Fort, he spots the nearest members and heads over. As the individuals turn on hearing their approach, Maxwell internally groans – one of them is the Nord he had the altercation with before they left.

They stop talking as the other notices they’re no longer alone, and both looks extremely surprised. The Nord’s eyes widen in horror. “Maxwell!! What, er, can I do you for?” the Nord uncertainly asks, backing up with the other one.

“Please could you tell me where Isran is? I need to speak with him urgently.” Maxwell pointedly asks.

“He’s, uh, speaking with Sorine, Durak and the others in the war room. I can, uh, escort you there.”

“No that’s okay, thank you. I know the way.” He curtly nods, and both promptly spin on the spot and head that way. The Nord shares a look of concern with the person he was talking with. “What in Oblivion was that all about?”

 

---

 

Approaching the penultimate corridor where the war room sits, they share a final glance of “this is really happening”; Serana then waits next to a pillar as Maxwell goes to the nearby door.

Approaching and hearing voices on the other side – including a familiar gruff one – Maxwell braces himself and nods to Serana, who unlocks the door with a spell.

He then pushes opens the door with some force to make an entrance.

In a wide room with a few bookshelves and locked units lit by a myriad of light sources, Isran is standing between the assorted members of the Dawnguard leadership around a moderately sized round table, gesturing to a detailed map of some sort which he immediately covers up.

Among the gasps and exclamations of Sorine, Durak and the other members, Isran shouts out in extreme surprise mixed with anger. “Maxwell?! What are you…what is the meaning of this?! You’re…”

Not wasting a second, Maxwell neutrally states as the wooden door thuds closed behind him. “I know what you’re planning, Isran.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know the Dawnguard are plotting to use Serana as bait to lure Harkon into a trap to take them both out. It won’t work.”

Isran’s eyes bulge out, his plan apparently revealed. After a moment, he growls through gritted teeth. “How did you find out…wait, was it Dexion?”

Maxwell’s silence is the only response. Isran mutters something under his breath and looks to the Orsimer. Durak, being the closest member, suddenly charges to grab Maxwell at Isran’s instruction to prevent him from Shouting. Maxwell Shouts “FEIM” and turns ethereal, causing the Orsimer to charge through his ghostly form. Durak tries to slow down but his heavy armour prevents that, and he stumbles before forcefully crashing into the door behind with a heavy thud and crunch. Collapsing into a heap, Durak moves to a seated position and looks with horror at Maxwell, blood pouring from his broken nose. As the others utter cries of shock, fear and horror, Maxwell glances behind to the seated Orsimer and internally chuckles. You know what, this shout is becoming rather useful.

“What the fuck…” Isran breathes out with a completely naked expression of astonishment.

Turning back to corporeality a few seconds later, Maxwell exhales and commands authoritatively. “Isran. I don’t want to fight you and the Dawnguard, but I will if you intend any harm to Serana. It seems you forgot that she is under my protection.”

Agmaer cautiously approaches and helps up the Orsimer before leading them back to the table, casting a furtive side eye to Maxwell. As this happens, and deciding to not aggravate the one man in Tamriel who could potentially level this entire building, Isran relents and agrees.

“Okay Dragonborn, speak.”

Maxwell doesn’t react to the taunt, and wastes no time launching into his explanation. “This plan of yours will not work, Isran. Harkon is too powerful, and he will kill everyone save for Serana; what he will do to her I dread to think. We need to read the scrolls to find Auriel’s Bow and use that to stop him.”

Isran challenges him “And with a blind Moth Priest and no other nearby sighted Priests, how in Oblivion do you propose we read the scrolls?”

“Me.”

“You?”

Putting the nerves, apprehension and other assorted feelings on the Deal With Later pile, Maxwell curtly responds. “Yes. Dexion strongly believes because of who I am, and also the fact that I’ve read the one relating to dragons before…I’m the only viable alternative to read them.”

Isran seemingly considers this point, remembering the time Maxwell told him about reading a Scroll. “Interesting proposal. That still isn’t good enough, Dragonborn. You’ve clearly been compromised by that thing. I know you’ve been visiting it since awakening.”

Expecting this, Maxwell chooses his words carefully.

“Isran, I have not been ‘compromised’. My mind is clear. Yes, I have been visiting Serana, because we just went through literal hell and fought a damned undead dragon together, and I wanted to make sure she was okay. Yes, I’ve spent significant time with her, and I’m still me. You can clearly see that; just like after Winterhold and presumably whilst I’ve been recovering.”

A glint of recognition confirms that suspicion. Maxwell continues.

“Serana hasn’t harmed me, rather the complete opposite; she’s saved my life more times than I can count at this point. Yes, Helgen happened, but that was a long time ago when we barely knew each other. She is not like Harkon, at all. She’s different. She has betrayed her own kind and is risking her life to work with those that despise her and her kin. She’s killed her own kind to protect us. She’s a powerful ally. She’s essentially going to lose her home and be an outcast. I mean, when I was half-dead, she could have taken me elsewhere or left me. What did she do? She came back here, knowing the risks.”

The facial expression of the Redguard leader evidences the realisation to the truth in a lot of Maxwell’s statements, and for a moment it looks as though he buys it. Isran suddenly spits to the side and growls something non-sensical before yelling and slamming both fists on the table that creaks. Pointing a finger at Maxwell, Isran explodes.

“I still don’t buy it! It’s a fucking Volkihar pureblood!! Whilst you’ve been gone, we’ve been hounded by vampire attacks sent by its father and lost some damn good people. The spy you oh so kindly brought to us confirmed that other vampire factions are joining forces with the Volkihar clan!”

Deciding to play his ace, Maxwell squares his shoulders and levels his gaze to the irate Redguard leader. “Isran…if you don’t agree to at least hear me out…I will inform High Queen Elisif you have betrayed me.”

Everyone reacts in extreme surprise, before all eyes shift to Isran who practically has his jaw unhinged. He yells loudly that it starts echoing through the corridors.

“WHAT?!”

Letting the ringing in his ears subside, Maxwell clarifies with a dangerously neutral tone. “I never told you this, Isran. High Queen Elisif knows I am alive, and that I’m working with the Dawnguard. She won’t be pleased to hear you’re no longer assisting the Last Dragonborn in saving the world.”

Realising the corner that he’s backed into, Isran suddenly shouts in anger once more. The contempt is barely veiled. “Fine, FINE!! What is your plan…Haldrin?”

Maxwell twitches at the mention of his former name, but doesn’t take the baited taunt when responding. “Serana and I will leave for the Ancestor Glade to read the scrolls and…”

“Like fuck will I allow that!!”

“Just hear me out, damn it!”

Isran glowers, but gestures for Maxwell to continue.

Starting anew in his explanation, he clarifies. “The Scrolls will remain here, with Dexion and under your continued protection. He has already agreed to stay for as long as necessary. Serana and I will leave for the Ancestor Glade. Once we arrive, Serana will Recall us back here for the three Scrolls and take them to perform the reading.”

Isran’s face contorts in surprise mixed with shock at the mention of the ancient spell.

“I’m guessing you already suspected that, but yes she knows the Recall spell. That’s how we returned from Winterhold so quickly.”

As most of the gathered individuals utter a cry of amazement at this information, Maxwell presses on. “When we come back, we’ll take the scrolls and Recall back to the Glade. I’ll perform the reading, then when I’m well enough to travel we’ll Recall once again and take it from there.”

Pausing for breath, he concludes. “This way, the scrolls remain guarded until needed, Serana and I can move quickly and unencumbered, and - if this works - we know exactly where Auriel’s Bow is.”

Isran questions further. “What are the chances of you being followed, or this Ancestor Glade being under watch?”

“From what Dexion said, the Glade is extremely secluded and its location is secret. As for being tracked, Serana knows a few protective spells that will mask our presence.”

Taking a step forward, which prompts the Dawnguard leadership to tense up, Maxwell levels his gaze at the Redguard leader and continues.

“Isran…Harkon will not stop, until he is stopped. He is completely insane, and an insane person with that much power is not someone to be trifled with. You said yourself, he’s already uniting other vampire factions. I don’t know what else has happened in the time we were gone, but I know this: the longer we wait, the more his forces grow. By finding the bow like we originally planned, we can put an end to the growing threat he poses. But only if we work together.”

A thought occurs, and he verbalises it. “Remember that larger picture I once told you about?”

Isran nods after a moment to remember that particular conversation. “I remember.”

“Well…this is it.”

A pressing silence descends as Maxwell stays quiet to let Isran ponder his proposal. Sorine and the others soon turn to the Redguard, who is very much deep in thought as he fastidiously maintains his intense gaze on Maxwell.

After a tense minute, Isran states in a softer tone. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, Maxwell.”

He shrugs with a slight upwards curl of one corner of his mouth. “I have, Isran. Not my first time saving the world, you know.”

Isran grumbles. “Gah…I’m still not happy with only you two going, though.”

Maxwell shakes his head. “Too many of us on the road will arouse suspicion, it hurts Serana to Recall with so many people or to cast and maintain those protective spells I mentioned, and we now have time against us. We need to find the bow, and find it quickly.”

Isran crosses his arms, before asking “Two final questions: Where is this Glade and how long will it take you to get there?”

Maxwell shrugs, remembering Dexion’s request not to reveal the exact location. “I can’t tell you exactly, but it’s on the other side of the Riften Hold. I estimate it’ll take us about 8 or 9 days to get there depending on travel conditions. We will need a horse and provisions. Oh, and that reminds me, I also need to sort out potions as well.”

After a moment, Maxwell says the penultimate question; voice heavy with seriousness. “So…is the Dawnguard with me on this…or not?”

Everyone looks expectantly to Isran, who is now stroking his beard, mulling over everything Maxwell has proposed and explained. The silence is incredibly deafening.

He eventually responds in a neutral tone. “…Okay Dragonborn…we’ll follow your lead. You leave tomorrow morning. I’ll arrange to have a horse ready for first light, and we will have the Scrolls ready for your initial return. You’re free to use whatever resources you need to prepare. If anyone gives you any issue, send them my way. You have my word…if that still means anything to you.”

Maxwell visibly relaxes, and sincerely states. “It does, and thank you Isran.”

The Redguard strides around the table, interweaving between Sorine, Gunmar, Agmaer and the injured Durak, and stopping a short distance before the hunter. After a moment, Isran offers a seasoned hand that’s seen many battles. Maxwell takes it immediately.

The Redguard comments as he firmly shakes to affirm the agreement. “I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing.”

“That makes two of us, Isran.”

Isran scoffs slightly but with a very faint hint of a smirk. Turning to his left, Isran commands. “Burn that please, will you Sorine? We no longer need it.”

She nods and grabs the sheaves of papers, throwing them into the nearby fire.

Turning back to Maxwell as the sound of papers burning fills the room, Isran says. “You’d better prepare Maxwell, you have a lot to do and not much time.”

“Duly noted, Isran. I’ll see you at first light.”

Coming out of the room and firmly closing the door to, Maxwell exhales the tension out. Straightening up, he looks to Serana who smiles in affirmation and gladness. As he approaches with a tired smile, he gestures down the corridor.

 

After putting some distance between them and the war room, Maxwell says. “We’d better go tell Dexion that Isran has agreed, and give back the Scrolls. Then I’ll need your help with crafting those potions, and prepare for our little adventure to the Glade.”

She happily smiles at that. “Of course, Maxwell. Lead the way.”

The smile drops as she realises the deadline. “Wait! tomorrow morning is too soon! You clearly still need to rest.”

“We don’t have time Serana. You heard what Isran said. I’ll have to rest up on the road, although to be honest I feel pretty much myself again now.” She goes to argue her points but he quickly says. “Hey, please don’t slap me! I don’t think I can take another one.”

“Okay Maxwell, I’ll let you off…this once.” She playfully states.

“My cheek thanks you.”

She laughs before gesturing before them to him to lead the way back to Dexion’s room.

Once the Scrolls are left with the relieved Dexion, they then go to the stores and alchemy area. Despite being observed by various members with a curious look, the duo pays little heed as they focus on the tasks at hand.

The adept way Serana is proficiently using the apparatus and equipment clearly demonstrates the high level of skill she has, and Maxwell smiles as he offers his apology when she proudly shows off a batch of high strength Stamina potions, faster than he could have done them.

“Ok Serana, I humbly acknowledge that I was in the wrong. I stand in awe of your amazing skill of alchemy.”

“What’s next?” She smirks, accepting the compliment.

“Health potions, please.” He replies, stowing the finished potions into his pack.

 

Soon, Maxwell leaves Serana at the alchemy station to finish up some Cure Disease potions whilst he goes to the kitchen to restock on food. He snags four bottles of something alcoholic, for the inevitable conversation they’re going to be having during their trip. A conversation like this is going to need alcohol…

When alone in her room, Maxwell also fills a small number of blood vials for Serana; despite her insistence not to. When his back is turned, she has an unusual expression which she quickly washes away.

 

---

 

Less than a day later on the 5^th of Rain’s Hands, as the morning spring sun rises and bathes the Dayspring Canyon in a weak warmth, a fully restocked Maxwell and a hooded Serana ride out at speed. As soon as they leave the main gate, Serana casts her protective spells to mask their presence; the potency of Maxwell’s blood now meaning she can extend them to the horse with ease.

The silence hanging over the two is unlike any previous silence; this one now marred by the heavy and uncomfortable weight of fate that is draped over them, along with the certainty that the talk is going to happen before too long.

Notes:

I had fun writing this chapter; it was nice to give Dexion a moment to shine through for the duo.

Next chapter may be a little while, as it's quite emotionally heavy. I have some of it written, but admittedly it needs some work.

Chapter 22: Talk

Summary:

The duo talk about a few things as they journey to the Ancestor Glade.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, reference to trauma and death.

Barely a word is said between them, other than an affirmative word here or there as Maxwell navigates their way. Sticking to the road initially before giving a wide berth to the caravans or groups of travellers they encounter along the road. The Muffle, Invisibility and other components not yielding anything of their presence.

As the spring sun approaches the tip of the western mountains on the first day – the 5^th of Rain’s Hands - the inevitable happens. Riding along at a canter, Serana taps Maxwell thrice on the shoulder. He slows their horse to a walk, and looks over, almost expectantly.

“Hey, what’s up Serana? You okay?”

“Please can we have that talk now, Maxwell.”

After a moment of looking he agrees, nodding in acceptance. “Sure Serana…I thought to wait for you to be ready. Let’s, uh, find a place off the road.”

He guides the horse off the road with little resistance, and pushing through some sparse foliage they eventually come across a wide clearing with a large but flat lone boulder with a nearby birch tree a small distance away.

 

After securing the reins to the nearby tree, and the horse begins chewing on the long grass, Maxwell gestures for Serana to sit beside him on the boulder. As she does so, he rummages through his pack and pulls out the four unmarked bottles.

Noticing her looking with a slightly raised eyebrow and curious expression, Maxwell shrugs as he puts two on the boulder between them and then saying as he offers the third which he opens.

“Serana, there’s no way we’re having this conversation without alcohol.”

She smirks, before taking the bottle then immediately downing some; the nerves clearly evident.

Maxwell looks at her with a slightly amused look. “…I can tell you’re clearly looking forward to this talk.”

“Says the person who brought four bottles of alcohol.” She retorts, before changing the topic. “Nord Mead. Good choice.”

Sitting next to her on the boulder and opening the last bottle, he admits with a humorous tone. “…would it surprise you to know I didn’t exactly know that’s what they were, Serana?”

She snorts before covering her mouth, remembering the last time after Braidwood Inn.

 

The air becomes quiet, beyond the general ambience around them, as neither wants to be the one to start.

 

Thumbing his own bottle, Maxwell soon nudges Serana with his shoulder. “A conversation usually has more talking, you know.”

She lightly chuckles, giving a small smile in response.

Sensing the ice is broken, he begins. “I guess I’ll start then. How are you doing with…well, with everything, Serana? That trip to see your mother was…something.”

She takes a moment before responding, her tone dancing between serious and sincere. “That’s one word for it, Maxwell. It’s…I can’t explain. I’m in a…very weird place right now.”

Knowing in some ways how she must be feeling, Maxwell offers with sincerity. “Serana, you’re involved in a prophecy…in a big way. It’s going to mess with you. Believe me, that I do know.”

Serana gives him a thoughtful look before replying. “You’re quite possibly the only person alive who can even come close to understanding what I’m going through, Maxwell.”

She undoes her cloak, and holds the family emblem in her cool porcelain-like hands, turning it over. The red of her fingernails and paleness of her skin, standing out against the conundrum colour. “Please don’t misunderstand me, I know Father needs to be stopped. He’s destroyed so much, killed so many. Not just mortals, but vampires as well. You really don’t know just how many. He isn’t going to stop until we stop him, seeing as Mother isn’t going to join us. But…he’s still my Father. To see him like this, even after all this time…it hurts.”

She has more of the drink before continuing. “I feel like I’m losing myself to everything that’s going on. So much has changed and happened since I awoke, and finding out that this stupid prophecy requires my blood and my death…I don’t know what to think. Since…that day…I’ve been caught in this stupid feud between my parents…I guess what I’m trying to say is whilst I don’t know if I will ever forgive Mother for what she did, at least now I know why she did what she did that day. As for my Father…I’ll never forgive him for what he has done.”

She offers an extremely wan smile as she looks over to Maxwell who has remained deathly silent this entire time. “Either way, I think we can wholeheartedly agree that we’re never travelling to another realm of existence again.”

A stiff laugh from him isn’t surprising. “You’ll get no argument from me on that one, Serana.”

She instantly grabs his forearm and squeezes tightly, making him almost drop his drink in mild surprise.

“I can’t thank you enough, Maxwell. Not only in coming with me, but…for everything else. I know it was difficult for you.”

Maxwell simply shrugs, but his expression betrays the mix of emotions within.

Letting go of his forearm and picking up her bottle which she drinks from before bracing herself and explaining with a heavy heart. “I know you’re curious why we became pureblood vampires, Maxwell. In short, Father was dying of a disease, and sought a way to cheat death. He spent a lot of time and money in this pursuit, and it really divided us. He eventually heard a rumour. When it turned out to be true, he immediately instructed that we had to devote ourselves to…Him. I was 20 years of age at the time of the Summoning Day.”

He cautiously asks after a moment. “So why did you agree to go through with it?”

The half empty bottle suddenly shatters as Serana’s grip instantly tightens, making Maxwell jump. As the pieces fall out and onto the ground with soft thuds, and the leftover mead flows out, she stands and strides away. Her hand, thankfully, uninjured.

“You don’t have to answer that one, Serana.” He quickly states, standing up.

She loudly exclaims, emotion bleeding through. “They both promised me this would reunite us as a family, Maxwell! That’s the only reason why I agreed! I really wanted us to be a family again. Only, that’s not what happened is it? Rather, the complete opposite happened. He became absolutely drunk on power, and she got so wrapped up in her hatred of him, I got left behind!!”

She hugs herself whilst looking into the distance. He averts his gaze as the action accentuates her form, especially now that her black cape is on the boulder. He did want to ask how she was feeling about this ending in his death, but how she emotively answered his last question gives him serious pause.

As he has a swig, Serana asks. “Does our association bother you, in any way?”

Maxwell chokes on his drink, and for a few moments sputters. Once he's collected himself, he stares over at her with an incredulous look and says in a matching tone. “What in Oblivion do you mean by that?!”

She sighs. “I…don’t know. Doesn’t it seem odd that a mortal hunter and an immortal pureblood vampire are friends?”

He stares at her incredulously, before how she’s phrased it makes him remember what Valerica said to him. In a gentler tone, he queries. “I don’t mean to pry Serana, does this relate to what your Mother said to you that made you run off at the end?”

Her breath catches in her throat, as her mother’s words and lies come rushing back. Slightly flustered, she turns and immediately clarifies. “Not that, but before that...how did you know?”

Maxwell shrugs, but his expression momentarily shows his slight disdain of Valerica. “When you left, she said something similar to me. I won’t repeat it.”

She has a slightly knowing look, and makes a guess. “Something like ‘A mortal and a pureblood do not belong together, and our association is against the natural order’ ?”

His eyebrows fly up. “Huh, I guess she did say that to you too.”

She wryly laughs into the air. “Among other things, yes.”

Thumbing his bottle once again, he sits up straight and levels with her. “Serana, despite my hesitation in going into the Soul Cairn, given my…previous experience…what happened in the Soul Cairn hasn’t changed anything. You’re still my friend.”

Serana looks at him with an unreadable mix of emotion before outright stating with complete honesty. “Thank you, Maxwell. That…that really means a lot to me. I really value our friendship as it is.”

Maxwell nods in acceptance with a genuine smile, for more than one reason. He soon flips the question. “Does our association bother you, Serana?”

She’s extremely quick to respond, taking a step closer. “No, Gods no!” After a few moments, she exhales and admits. “I guess my Mother’s words got to me more than I thought…”

Closing her eyes and sighing extremely heavily, Serana soon quietly states with heavy emotion. “Maxwell, I don’t want to talk about it. The ritual, I mean. Ever. I…can’t.”

“I completely understand, Serana. I won’t ever bring it up. I promise.”

After a minute of quiet contemplation, Serana turns and looks directly at him, arms still crossed but her gaze now piercing. “Maxwell, I want to know something. And please be honest, and don’t avoid the question…if you could, would you get rid of your power?”

Wistfully glancing over with a weak half smile, Maxwell lightly chuckles. “That is a question and a half, Serana.”

She has a wisp of a smile at the phrase, but her gaze is resolute as though demanding an answer.

“Why do you ask?”

“Call it curiosity. Well, would you?” She tersely responds.

Sitting back on the rock and downing more mead, Maxwell ponders it for a while before answering. “At times, I thought I did. I thought ‘Why me?’ I’m just that: me. I’m no one special. When the dragon died, outside Whiterun, and I discovered I had this…power…and then finding out about this almost forgotten prophecy about the Last Dragonborn fighting the World Eater…I was scared, Serana. I…wanted to leave, or give this power to someone else to deal with. Even moreso when I thought this could be the reason why the house fire happened that killed my parents…”

He scoffs, reminiscing the moment his life changed forever, on that fateful evening when the pair stood looking out from Dragonsreach balcony after hearing the Greybeard’s summoning and chat with Jarl Balgruuf.

“But then…Lydia…made me realise that I and I alone had been given this power for a reason…anyway, in answer to your question? I’ve long since accepted that it’s simply a part of who I am.”

Serana maintains her gaze on him as he talks, but her features soften quite a lot. When he finishes, she seemingly nods and looks aside to process his words.

As the quietness between them grows, Maxwell decides to answer one of her longstanding questions in return. He breathes out heavily and says. “She was my House-Carl, Serana.”

She turns in surprise. Maxwell looks over, locking eyes with her before repeating. “Lydia. She was my House-Carl, when Jarl Balgruuf made me a Thane. That’s…how we met.”

She gives an extremely gentle smile and head nod. “…thank you. For answering both of my questions.”

He only wistfully nods his head, drinking more of his drink and finishing it off.

 

A melancholic silence hangs in the air.

 

Remembering one question she wanted to ask which makes her swell with slight anger, Serana goes to interrogate Maxwell on why he risked his life and almost left her alone in the world, but at the last second breathes out the emotion and phrases her question better and asks with collected calm.

“Why did you take on Durnevhiir alone, Maxwell? We agreed to fight side by side, no matter what.”

He bows his head in resignation. “Serana, I’ve already said. I really didn’t want to see you hurt or…worse. And that’s the honest truth. The sights I’ve seen, people…burning…the screams…I…”

Realisation dawns, and she quietly says. "I understand, Maxwell."

Serana soon sits back on the boulder, and affixes her cape. During this she asks. “Speaking of that undead dragon, have you remembered anything about what you agreed with him yet?”

He looks momentarily in thought before responding. “No, Serana. But I think I have another vague memory. Did he bow his head and hold it in place just before we went through?”

Her eyebrows raise slightly in recollection and she pauses her action. “He did, actually. Why, is that significant?”

“Maybe. It’s a sign of submission. It’s…gods, how do I put this…um…for a dragon to do that…it’s either done out of fear or respect. Both of which are almost unthinkable for them.”

“Before that, he did roar, then shook his head like so…” she repeats it, her hair swishing with the motion “…then bowed. Is that significant?”

Maxwell’s eyes widen at the memory it provokes, as a certain red-scaled dragon did that once. “That’s not fear or respect. That’s…agreement.”

Serana tilts her head and looks at him thoughtfully.

Maxwell soon shrugs and has a swig. “Anyway, I wish I could remember what was agreed.” A look on her face makes him quickly add. “No spells please, Serana. I’m not keen on remembering how near death I was, and I suspect you don’t want to see that either.”

She weakly nods, affirming the sentiment. “Hopefully you’ll remember naturally, then. Memory can be a weird thing.”

Changing the topic, Maxwell hesitates before asking due to being slightly fearful of the answer. “What will you do once this is all over, Serana? Tolfdir did practically beg for you to join the College.”

She tilts her head in thought with a wry smile. “I can’t think that far ahead, Maxwell. Something you said once made me realise that taking this – all of this - one day at a time is a good idea. Let’s just…focus on the reading, then finding the bow, then stopping my Father. After that, we can finally relax and sort out everything else.”

The fact she said ‘we’ meant a lot. Maxwell had grown very fond of his friend and in a way didn’t want to part ways.

“What about you?” Her question brings him back to reality.

“I’m in complete agreement with what you said, Serana. And myself, apparently.” He responds with a weak smirk at the realisation.

She offers a genuine and relaxed smile, at both his agreement and his jest. Internally she’s relieved, as she didn’t want to part ways either.

Serana meditatively folds her hands, whilst staring upwards into the evening sky. The ambers and oranges of the sun reflecting on the few low hanging clouds as it begins to set.

 

Offering a freshly opened bottle, he interrupts her meditation. “About the reading, Serana.”

She looks over with momentary concern as she takes the proffered bottle.

He continues, taking and opening the final one. “Once I’ve performed it and the Ancestor Moths have left, immediately Recall us back to the Fort no matter what condition I’m in. I suspect Keeper Carcette will need to watch over me like she did Dexion, especially given what could happen.”

“Okay, Maxwell, I will do.” She pauses before leaning forward, her interest piqued. The bottle sits idle in her hands. “You’ve read one before, what happened?”

He shrugs, his expression suddenly unreadable. “Something similar to what Dexion said, but much more…unreal.”

“What do you mean? What exactly happened?” Serana tilts her head inquisitively.

“I’m not sure if you’ve realised, but I read the Scroll relating to Dragons in order to learn Dragonrend. The Shout I used, back in the Soul Cairn.”

Serana smiles at the recollection. “I wondered about that. You Shouted and Durnevhiir practically dropped out of the sky. What does it do?”

Maxwell doesn’t answer that one, and returns to the original question. “Anyway, how I learnt Dragonrend is what was unreal.”

He broodingly massages his forearm, trying to sum up the courage to explain the otherworldly experience. Last time he tried explaining this, Lydia looked at him like he had grown two heads.

“I know you’re not going to believe this Serana, but just hear me out. It allowed me to…look through time to speak with the individuals who created the Shout, during the Dragon War.”

Her fine eyebrows fly up at that, and her gaze becomes focused on him as she tries to fathom the statement. The hunter shifts uncomfortably under the intense gaze.

After a while, Serana quietly states. “Maxwell…I don’t mean to sound indelicate…are you sure it wasn’t a vision? Elder Scrolls are supposedly capable of many things, but looking through time seems…unfathomable.”

Maxwell weakly shrugs. “I guess it’s possible, but you said it yourself, the Scrolls are capable of many things. Remember what I said to Dexion?”

She affirms it with a smirk. “How could I not, Maxwell? It was the most eloquent sentence you’ve ever said.”

He chuckles, before smiling as he looks at her. “Not my words, really. Paarthunax, the dragon leader of the Greybeards, and who lived up there…” pointing with the bottle top at the peak of the Throat of the World standing tall in the distance “…said that. He tried explaining how it worked but I didn’t fully understand, only that it worked. Without Dragonrend…I wouldn’t have been able to defeat Alduin.”

As Maxwell explains, the smile evaporates and gives way to thinly veiled nervousness, prompting Serana sit closer and gently ask. “How are you doing Maxwell, with what’s about to happen?”

Wringing his hands nervously, he puts the bottle aside before standing up and pacing for a bit before admitting. “I won’t lie to you, Serana. I’m fucking terrified. Especially after what Dexion said about the other Priests dying soon after, let alone the risk of becoming blind, and let alone what happened last time I read the Dragon one…”

“One day at a time.”

He chokes on a pained laugh. “More like one thing at a time, Serana.”

She looks slightly wide-eyed, before repeating. “Hmm. One thing at a time. I like it. You have a way with words…despite your foul mouth.”

He looks at her with a befuddled look, before throwing back his head and guffawing. She soon joins with her own genuine laughter. After a while, the humour naturally subsides and the pair enjoy the quietness of their surroundings, drinking more of their second bottles.

 

After a while, Serana looks over and speaks up, interrupting his thoughts. “There is something I’ve wanted to ask for a while, Maxwell. And I hope you don’t mind.”

“What is it, Serana?” Maxwell looks over, slightly expectantly. Her question is just about the worst thing she could have asked.

With genuine interest, she politely asks. “You were in Sovngarde…what was it like? And why did…”

Maxwell’s expression suddenly becomes extremely pained and sorrowful, and his countenance drops completely, as the question evokes the most painful memory once more. Before she can interject, he quickly turns away and slumps his shoulders. “I don’t…want to talk about that, Serana. It’s…too painful.”

“I won’t mention it again, Maxwell. I promise.”

He turns back and gives an extremely faint appreciative smile before returning to the boulder and picking up his bottle again.

 

They finish their drinks in silence, watching the sun set behind the western mountains. When the twin moons and stars come out and the few clouds disperse, they lean back on the rock and stare up at the vibrant night sky; Serana taking down her hood and shaking out her hair before doing so. Their horse, now laid down and asleep in the grass.

Continuing to look up at the sky as the stars become brighter, she soon quietly comments. “I love watching the stars on a clear night, especially from my bedroom window on the north side on the Castle. And even moreso when the auroras are out, strewn across the sky like a tapestry. So peaceful and mysterious.”

Maxwell glances over, garnering her attention. “Me too, Serana. It’s even better when there’s not a cloud in the sky like now, and the moons aren’t around so more stars appear. That’s really something. Serene, in a way. I’ve spent many a night over the years just enjoying the sight.”

 

After a short period of quiet contemplativeness, a cold chill rolls over them. Maxwell breaks the moment as he sits up to stretch before looking over.

“Well, I think we had better set off, Serana. We’ll push on for another hour or so before stopping for the night.”

With a slightly humoured tone, she points out the obvious, literally and figuratively as she gestures to the horse. “We’re already here, Maxwell, and our horse is now asleep. We may as well stop for the night.”

He looks over, not realising the beast was asleep. “Ah…um, in that case I’ll get settled.”

Once his bedroll is laid out on a flat piece of grass, Maxwell glances over and says. “Goodnight Serana. Please wake me at first light.”

“Goodnight Maxwell, and I will.” She replies with a small smile as she pulls out a book from her pack and a blood vial. Pausing momentarily to add. “And…thank you. For our chat. And the alcohol. And...everything else.”

He nods a few times, before laying down.

Settling down on his side and facing away, he struggles to fall asleep as the topics of their chat weigh heavily on his mind, particularly her last question. He tosses and turns for some time, before sighing and shifting to lay on his back and stare up at the night sky.

He’s suddenly surprised when Serana moves to lay down alongside, laying down her unadorned cape beforehand.

Looking over in mild surprise, Maxwell queries with a hint of confusion. “What are you doing, Serana?”

She looks back with a straight face. “I’m just looking up at the stars, next to my friend. What’s wrong with that, Maxwell?”

“…nothing. Nothing at all…” he responds, looking back up at the stars.

 

After about 10 minutes of quietness, she looks over at the now sleeping hunter; his demeanour completely relaxed.

 

---

 

On the 6^th through to the 8^th of Rain’s Hand, despite the heaviness of their talk they settle into a familiar camaraderie, although it had evolved. It felt as though something had been lifted. She seems more comfortable, and he is more relaxed. They chat about quite a few things, with one particular conversation on the 7^th proving to be enlightening to both of them.

As they settle to give their horse a short rest and he’s just refilled another vial for her, she politely asks. “I’m curious Maxwell, when’s your day of birth?”

“17^th of Sun’s Dawn.” Maxwell replies, healing the wound once more.

She gasps. “So, when we were in the Soul Cairn…?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, although I don’t really celebrate it.”

As Serana stows the blood vial, she has an idea. “That’s it, we’re stopping in Ivarstead.”

He gawks before responding. “Serana, we really don’t have time. It’ll add at least a day and a half!”

“I know it’s a detour Maxwell, but I sincerely doubt there will be another chance to at least try to relax any time soon. By the blood, we really need to relax.” She laughs at the last part, before shoulder nudging. “Not to mention, I can buy you a drink. Call it a late birthday gift.”

Her statements make sense, especially after what happened in the Soul Cairn. An evening to at least try and relax sounds sorely tempting. Not to mention to distract himself from the apprehension of reading the scrolls.

Admitting defeat, he smirks. “Okay Serana, we’ll stop in at Ivarstead for a bit, assuming it’s clear. Anyway, what about you, when’s your day of birth?”

“10^th of this month. Quite apt, if you think about it. The month of the Mage.”

“That’s…3 days from now!”

She nods.

After a moment to process that factoid, Maxwell cheerfully states. “Well, I guess that settles it. We’re going to Ivarstead, and we’re buying each other a drink as a birthday gift. What's your poison....I mean, what drink do you have in mind?"

Serana adopts a genuine smile and she appears deep in thought, before responding. "I can already guess what drink you'll be happy with: Honningbrew Mead. For me though...there's a particular brandy from High Rock - if you remember, that bottle I mentioned I finished off - that I quite like, but I doubt they would have that. I don't know, I'll have to wait and see what is available. Maybe you can surprise me."

He laughs at the last part. "I look forward to it." 

 

Later, as they pass by a thicket, Maxwell politely asks. “Other than what we already discussed Serana, do you have any other hobbies or interests?”

She ponders the question before answering. “Writing.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Any particular topic? Poetry?”

“Poetry sometimes, short prose…but it’s more the sensation for me. The feel and sound are…soothing.”

“Huh.”

She flips the question. “What about yourself, Maxwell? Any secret hobbies you’re hiding in that bag of yours?”

He grins as he replies. “Not much during the last few years Serana, although I will admit to having developed a partial liking for fishing, except for slaughterfish. I hate them because they’re horrible to try and catch, and scare off the other fish! They’re very aggressive.”

Serana smirks. “I remember your note about them, with that one particular trap.”

Maxwell looks fleetingly surprised that she would remember such a minor detail, but chuckles and continues. “Yeah, that particular trap never works despite what the author put. I snagged my glove once, because of it.”

“What about…before?”

Momentarily pausing to consider her question, Maxwell responds honestly. “Going for walks, exploring. And reading – not even close to your level – but over a meal. Especially about the Dwemer. I find the Dwemer fascinating, so I was always reading up on them. That theory, I forget who wrote it, about that long-lost forge, is…interesting, if a bit wild. I once thought it was just an outlandish theory, but after finding Blackreach…well, maybe there is something to it.”

Serana accepts his words, before sighing melancholy. “I would really like to explore one of their ruins at some point, Maxwell.”

“When this is all over Serana, I’ll take you to one.”

She instantly lights up, her amber eyes widening in surprise mixed with elation. “You will??”

“Yes…although there is one thing you must promise to do. Consider it a down-payment for my services.”

“…and what would that be, Maxwell?” Raising an eyebrow, her cadence slightly suspicious.

Slowing their horse, Maxwell glances back with a cheerful grin. “Please, PLEASE, put a Mark at the entrance. I don’t want to get trapped underground again!”

He starts laughing and she soon joins. As the mirth naturally dies down, he thinks before responding again. “Anyway, what else? Oh, naturally…archery, especially trying out new bows. Let’s just say I made a few merchants happy with the amount of money I spent on them.”

“Please could you show me? I’ve never used a bow but I’m curious, especially after watching you in action with them.”

Maxwell instantly looks over his shoulder with a curious gaze. There’s clearly something else behind her request, but a chance to show off one of the skills he excels at is an opportunity that doesn’t come by often, and he’s not letting this one go.

Bringing their horse to a complete stop, he replies with sincerity. “Okay, Serana, let’s stop here for a bit and I’ll show you the basics.”

Serana smiles and nods in agreement, and has a look of eagerness.

After securing their horse and putting aside their respective gear, Maxwell hands over the ornate bow with a single ebony arrow, and talks through how to position her feet and body, and how to grip the bow and string. He then summons the bound bow and draws it back, and Serana tries to emulate his own posture and grip. A few times, he lessens the string tension and points at her or on himself whilst explaining various facets or giving advice. The way he talks about it, the passion and skill are clearly evident. He’s patient, understanding and informative.

Serana soon fires the bow a few times at a nearby tree he points to, before the ebony arrow is permanently destroyed when she misaims and it hits a nearby rock dead on, snapping the shaft in half. She goes to apologise but Maxwell holds up a hand.

“Don’t worry Serana, I have plenty.” He pulls another one out of the nearby quiver.

Once she feels more confident, she hands the bow and arrow back. As he takes it, Maxwell politely asks. “Please could you teach me how to cast Magelights, Serana? I think it would be useful.”

Remembering their conversation on the way to the Castle, she instantly lights up. “I’d like that, Maxwell. We’ll do it when the sun sets so I can watch your progress.”

As the sun descends, Serana sits in front of Maxwell and teaches him to cast Magelight via putting more Magicka into the Candlelight, figuring it’s easier to work from that rather than from the beginning. She’s persevering and helpful, talking about how to focus on the centre of the light source and putting more Magicka into that. She also teaches him about how to tag it to others. He tries several times, furrowing his brow in slight frustration with the repeated castings. Soon, his Candlelight does indeed seem slightly brighter, although not even as close to or lasting as long as hers.

“Gods, you make it look so easy.” He tiredly comments, as he helps her up.

“Well, I am extraordinary." She replies with a knowing glint in her amber eyes. "Anyway, you just need to keep practicing Maxwell, you’ll soon get the hang of it.”

“Hopefully not as long it took me to learn the bound bow, Serana.” He chuckles.

She arches an eyebrow, before remembering and smirking, as they retrieve their gear and settle down for the night.

 

---

 

Mid-afternoon of the 9^th of Rains Hand, something from Maxwell's past comes to haunt him, in a massive way.

 

Cresting a hill as Serana says Dexion’s instructions once more, they see a moderately sized group of armoured individuals in the far distance, camped by the side of the road. Wearing light green armour, with pointed helmets.

As Maxwell slows down their horse and looks with growing concern, Serana stops speaking before saying in a confused tone. “Why is a Thalmor patrol…”

Maxwell’s heartrate suddenly spikes at the confirmation at the individuals ahead being Thalmor, and he instantly turns the horse into the dense foliage on their left, giving themselves a massive detour from the road.

Serana immediately asks with severe concern. “What’s wrong, Maxwell??”

Maxwell mumbles, seemingly to himself. “Shit! Of course they would fucking appear on top of everything else...”

“What?!”

Realising he’s been heard, Maxwell quickly but neutrally states. “Uh, sorry Serana.”

She maintains her gaze, and he slumps his shoulders and brings the horse to a stop. Once done, he loudly exhales before explaining. “Serana…the Thalmor despise my existence. They tried to hunt me down after I established the peace treaty, and then again when I returned to Skyrim and…ended the civil war. But they especially hate me for who I am, the power I have. They…sent assassins. That’s one of the reasons why I got on the boat, to get away. The whole thing was meant to be secret, but even there they found me. The boat was actually destroyed by them, during the storm. I tried to save some of the crew, but they were relentless. I really don’t know how I survived them and the storm, but I did.”

His pained words completely appal her, and the familiar guilt swells to its greatest intensity.

Serana miserably exclaims. “Maxwell…why didn’t you say anything before?!”

Maxwell simply shrugs nonchalantly, although a momentary flash of miserableness appears on him which she notices. Serana suddenly jumps off, prompting him to glance in surprise before doing the same, beckoning the horse to follow.

She stops a short distance away, hugging herself. As he cautiously approaches, she repeats sullenly over her shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I didn’t think to.”

After a few moments of tense silence, Maxwell offers. “Serana, you really shouldn’t blame yourself. I don’t, and I haven’t done for a while.”

She spins on the spot, her amber irises flaring in surprise. “But…why?! If I hadn’t sought you out Maxwell, they wouldn’t be after you again!”

He shrugs non-committedly. “Serana…look, you have a point there, but it could very well have been something else. I always had a feeling they would discover I survived. And besides, if you hadn’t sought me out, who knows what would have happened. Thalmor hunting me down is nothing compared to the sun being forever darkened.” Smiling slightly at this part. “And, like everything else, we’ll deal with them together.”

She seemingly goes through a myriad of emotion as his words, trying but failing to comprehend his depth of understanding before visibly deflating.

The rest of the day is extremely subdued.

 

---

 

On the 10^th of Rain’s Hand, at first light, as soon as he’s alert and as she’s recasting the spell to suppress his scent, Maxwell proudly wishes her ‘Happy Birthday’.

She momentarily freezes but immediately thanks him with a very warm and sincere smile, and throughout the day seems elated as there’s a modicum of something in what she says and does, but it’s clear that she’s still a bit despondent from the Thalmor incident.

He has an idea for when they eventually get to Ivarstead that might cheer her up. I really hope she likes what I have in mind.

Notes:

I had originally intended this to be one chapter, but as the word count increased it felt too constrictive. Next chapter will be up shortly because of this.

Chapter 23: Ivarstead

Summary:

The pair reach Ivarstead for the evening.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, non-consensual kissing*, reference to violence and injury.

 

*(not between Maxwell and Serana; only on Maxwell.)

As the sun is partway through its descent on the afternoon of 12^th of Rains Hand, they arrive on the outskirts of Ivarstead. After a quick pass through and not seeing anything untoward, he turns their horse around and she dismisses the various spells other than the one that supresses their presence, and adopts the spell to colour her eyes once more. They re-enter the town.

Leaving their horse at the stables where the young shaggy-haired stableboy looks at Serana in awe, which prompts a polite smile from her, Serana begins crossing the road to the tavern. Maxwell stops her and gestures to the store instead.

“Not yet, Serana. We’re heading there first.”

“What? Why?” She queries, concern evident in her tone.

“I need a few things first." Maxwell nonchalantly says, but he has a meaningful look. As he turns and walks to the entrance, Serana becomes perplexed but quietly follows.

Entering the store, the lady seated by the counter looks up from her book.

“Good day to you, ma’am.” Maxwell jovially calls out, shaking off the dirt from his boots.

“And to you, traveller.” The lady replies with an extremely warm smile, standing up and moving to behind the counter, dropping the book on the counter. “What are you after? Anything specific?”

He lists off a couple of things he is running low of, and the lady gathers it all on the counter. "Is there anything else you require?" She politely asks, thankful for his custom yet evidently hoping for more. 

Feeling Serana's eyes on him, he says with a genuine smile. "Yes please. Some writing equipment and a blank book, with high quality paper if possible, thank you.”

Serana’s spell-covered eyes widen at the last item, and she stares at the back of Maxwell’s head in genuine shock.

The lady soon brings a quill and inkwell, and a leather-bound book with good quality pages which he flicks through and feels, before affirming he’s happy with it. After handing over payment and stowing everything but the book and writing stuff, Maxwell leads a still-stunned Serana out of the store.

Upon exiting, he turns and presents the bundle to her, saying with an honest smile. “I thought this might cheer you up, Serana, following what happened with the Thalmor. And...as a belated birthday gift."

Her spell-covered eyes immediately glisten, and her expression softens massively. Serana carefully takes the book and writing equipment, leafing through a few pages in thought. After stowing the present, she pulls him into a tight hug.

Into his chest, she quietly says with genuine happiness. “You didn’t have to Maxwell, but…thank you.”

Maxwell responds, returning the hug. “I wanted to Serana. Just remember me when you become a famous author.”

She laughs, tightening the embrace slightly.

Upon release, their respective expression is candidly sincere. 

 

Once the moment passes, he leads them to the Four Shields wearing a smile. Pushing open the door and striding in, Maxwell freezes in horror and forgets all about the tender moment mere seconds ago, the smile dropping completely.

The place is quite full, much more than he thought it would be.

Serana almost runs into his back, stopping just in time.

Those nearest turn to look, and audibly react. This draws the attention of others who do the same. After a stunned moment, someone nearby hoarsely calls out in complete surprise. “BY TALOS!! IT’S HIM, THE DRAGONBORN!!”

Braidwood Inn immediately flashes up, and Maxwell turns to leave. Serana notices and spins on the spot, her hair whipping up and almost hitting him in the chest.

Ingrid – somewhere nearby as she is serving a table - finally finds her voice and shouts. “Haldrin…Maxwell, WAIT!!”

He pauses at the door, hand on the handle. Serana stops mid-stride and turns back, noticing Maxwell’s expression is unreadable.

The innkeeper steps past several people who move out of the way. Once closer, she stops just shy of the door. Maxwell turns and looks at the innkeeper with a raised eyebrow as though to invite explanation.

Ingrid’s own expression and tone are completely sincere. “We’ve all heard the rumours that you’re back, Maxwell. Please know you’re always welcome here. After what you did with the World Eater, and with Ulfric, and the werewolf…you will always have a place here.” Looking to Serana over his shoulder. “You as well, Hanna. Not only as his companion but for assisting with the werewolf.”

Standing there, Maxwell becomes completely stupefied and flummoxed, not expecting such a warm welcome.

“This is a cause for celebration!” The Dunmer behind the innkeeper shouts, which practically ignites the atmosphere as everyone loudly cheers and whoops, with drinking vessels clacking against each other and alcohol getting spilt. A few tankards smash.

Maxwell opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, unable to form a sentence.

Ingrid and a few people nearby laugh loudly and heartily.

“Well don’t just stand there, join us!!” Someone else shouts out.

Turning to look at the now approaching Serana, Maxwell says in a bemused tone. “Well, I guess we’re staying for the night, Hanna.”

“That sounds good to me.” She flashes her disarming smile when walking past.

 

After the initial welcomes, Ingrid hands over a key - free of charge for the living legend - and says its theirs for the night. Maxwell is internally confused by the curious expression she had when giving the key and saying a few things like there's fresh water available for washing and which room the key is for.

He instantly notices the reason why when the door opens to reveal the spacious and well furnished room: it’s got only one double bed.

Feeling a slight reddening, as this would be the first time sharing a bed with anyone since his previous life, he clears his throat and turns to Serana who is looking at the room and evidently ignoring the rising blush.

“Uh…it’s only got the one bed, Serana. I’ll, er, go back and sort out another room for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Say again?” His eyebrows fly up.

Serana turns to look at him, not paying attention to the reddening at his neckline. She gives her disarming smile with a light chuckle as she replies. “Remember Maxwell, I don’t need sleep. I’ll sit and read or write in the chair. And besides, I’ve watched over you sleeping before, so this is no different. Although saying that, I suppose this time you’ll actually be able to sleep in a proper bed rather than on a rock.”

Slightly stunned, he mumbles an agreement. “…okay, Serana. If you’re happy to. And yeah…a bed does sound much more inviting than a rock.”

After checking out the rest of the room, Maxwell indicates he’s going to wash and change in the washroom as Ingrid said fresh water was available. After washing the muck and grime from their travels and taking some time to shave, Maxwell steps out of the washroom in simpler clothing he carries, a loose fitting basic white tunic shirt and dark trousers, with the ebony dagger hidden in his boot.

Turning towards the bedroom, he halts mid-stride as his jaw hits the floor, along with the backpack he’s carrying in his hands.

Serana is standing regally in front of their bedroom door, wearing a comely sky blue and earth green embroidered Nordic dress from…wherever she got it from. It fits her lithe form perfectly. Her posture ensures that she is projecting herself with an air of confidence and assuredness. Her hair has a different braid, one that is much more majestic. Under it, her spell-covered eyes are fixed on him as she laughs at his reaction.

Finally finding his voice, Maxwell exclaims. “WOW!! Serana, you look…”

“Extraordinary?” She quips with an arched eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.” He chuckles, slightly flabbergasted as he picks up the fallen pack. Walking closer, he asks. “Where on Nirn did you get that?”

“Now that would be telling, Maxwell.” Serana retorts, with a smirk. As he closes the distance and she opens the door for him, she admits with a straight face. “I’ve always had it, but we’ve never had the chance for me to wear it."

She arches an eyebrow again. “You honestly didn’t think I left the Castle with just my armour, did you Maxwell?”

Maxwell dumbly shakes his head, as he places his pack in the room. After locking then placing a second ward on the door to alert her in case someone tries to gain access – the first being on the window - Serana turns on the spot and politely clears her throat, prompting a confused look from him.

He looks at her with a confused frown. “Uh…am I missing something here, Serana?”

“Aren’t you going to offer to walk me down, Maxwell? As my Courtier, it is expected of you to escort me around at such an event.”

He stares at her incredulously. Oh, she’s loving this!

Deciding to play into his newfound role, Maxwell bows somewhat regally with a flamboyant hand motion; the attempt crude at best. “I humbly request your forgiveness for any lack of decorum on my part, Lady Serana. I am not accustomed to such practices, as I am but a lowly resident of this realm.”

She gracefully crosses her arms and studies him thoughtfully, a forefinger on her chin, before addressing in a regal tone. “Hmm, I find your apology somewhat lacking, but I’m sure I can find it within me to forgive any such transgressions for the duration of this evening’s festivities.”

After a moment of holding the look, she breaks out into laughter and he does too. He then offers an arm and she takes it, wrapping her cool hands around the proffered limb.

"You clean up well." She says, looking at his face.

"Thanks." He replies with a warm smile.

Descending down the stairs and pushing through the door, there are audible gasps and whoops from the crowd as they enter.

“I think we’ve made an impression.” He gives a shoulder nudge. 

“I think so, too.” She gives a small pat on his arm before letting go.

Two tankards of ale are handed to them, and they toast each other before downing it, both laughing as the taste hits differently. The worries and nerves of what they’re undertaking, for the moment at least, are forgotten as the duo embrace the festivities.

 

The atmosphere is loud, joyful and the alcohol is flowing like it’s going out of fashion. Classic Nordic celebration.

Following through on their earlier agreement, after Serana chats with Ingrid what is available, he purchases her a tankard of Velvet Le Chance, and she gets him a Honningbrew Mead. The pair toast to everything before enjoying their respective beverage with a joyful look and smile.

 

During the festivities, Serana rarely leaves Maxwell’s side for a few reasons, namely the suppressive spell she’s maintaining for them. Nevertheless, she always has a genuine and relaxed demeanour, as she observes the celebration. Especially when the denizens toast to him several times for what he did – past and present – as well as his apparent survival.

Maxwell certainly seems like he’s finding all of the attention slightly embarrassing, but compared to Solitude when she discovered he was the Last Dragonborn, this is a comfortable uncomfortableness.

Soon, someone finds some instruments, and the sounds of music start playing up which add to the energetic ambience. The Dragonborn Comes is naturally the first song and is sung with extreme gusto, with much of the crowd joining in and looking in his direction.

“Oh, here we go. Gods…it’s going to get worse the more they drink.” Maxwell buries his face in his hands, recollecting a few occasions from before.

Serana laughs along with those around who notice his reaction.

She comments with a shoulder nudge. “Talsgar the Wandering Bard certainly did a good rendition back in Rorikstead. You should have heard him.”

He groans at the memory of the bard. “Oh, why did you have to remind me of him, S…Hanna? I had quite nicely forgotten about him.” After a moment, he quips. “I wonder where he’s wandering about?”

 

As the celebrations progress, Serana wouldn’t mind getting up to dance, but she’s more than content just sitting back and relaxing, especially after the days of riding.

Soon, Maxwell is at the bar for another Honningbrew Mead, as the barmaids going around the room don’t have it in hand. As he waits to be served, he’s chatting with the Imperial alchemist Nora who was waiting nearby. Their posture and proximity not suggesting anything beyond two acquaintances having a polite conversation.

Despite the cacophony of discussions and other bodily sounds, focusing on their conversation she can hear the topic they’re discussing is alchemy. Of course, Serana smirks as she pays attention to what they're saying.

One of the barmaids soon approaches with a half full jug, distracting her. “Can I refill that for you, Hanna?”

“Please.” Offering her near empty tankard of Nord Mead. Once filled, Serana smiles and says. “Thank you.”

“How is it, travelling with the Dragonborn?” Looking over to Maxwell at the bar.

Serana politely responds. “It’s…been something of an adventure.” A complete understatement.

The barmaid gives an inquisitive look, and politely asks. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, Hanna. I know he used to be married. Are you two…?”

“We’re just friends.” She replies, before drinking from the filled tankard.

The barmaid suddenly looks uncomfortable, which Serana internally chuckles at. She soon says. “Ah…uh, well I just thought given how you two…well, anyway. That’s a shame, though. I think you two make a lovely couple.”

Serana almost spits her drink out, and her spell covered eyes widen in mild alarm. What?!

“Just think about it, before it’s too late.” The barmaid briefly smiles before disappearing into the throngs of the boisterous crowd.

…what is that supposed to mean?

As though acting as a trigger, it becomes apparent of the other interested parties in Maxwell. She had passively noticed, but wasn’t paying any active attention to them given the amount of ambience and noise, and how caught up in everything she was.

 

Now she is.

Looking around, the various individuals stand out among the throngs of the crowd.

The voluptuous brown-haired lady in the corner, cleavage on display in a tight dress and twizzling an amulet of Mara whilst ogling Maxwell with a pointed look; he remains oblivious to it.

The two women several tables away, talking about how well he looks and their disdain of Nora and of her.

The group of three Nord men on the far side, talking about how Maxwell seems to be engaging with the alchemist; apparently one of them had tried courting her recently.

 

Focusing back to her friend, now that drink is in hand Maxwell is saying to Nora. “I’ll certainly let you have any Canis Root if I have some and we’re in the area, Nora. Anyway, I should be getting back to my friend. Thanks for the…”

Nora suddenly grabs his nearest arm that’s resting on the bar. “Wait, Maxwell…are you and Hanna not together?”

Maxwell looks down in surprise at her hands, before his breathing shallows and heartrate quickens as he picks up on the inference.

The woman with the amulet strides over intently upon seeing this, making her way somewhat forcefully through the crowd around the bar with a singular purpose. A few people turn their heads in surprise. Serana, upon reflex for some reason, immediately stands up as well. This prompts those nearby to look at her in confusion at the sudden action.

As he’s withdrawing the limb and uttering “Er…..oh gods…Nora, um, I’m sor…”, the second woman grabs him by the shoulder and forcefully kisses him. Maxwell’s breathing and heartrate flatline. After a split second he quickly and forcefully pushes the second lady away, looking absolutely mortified.

Nora suddenly stands and yells, re-grabbing his nearest arm. “What are you doing, Brynn?! I was speaking with M…”

“Don’t waste your time with her, she’s barren. Marry me, Dragonborn.”

“Why, you bitch!! I should…”

“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!!”

The building shakes ever so slightly from the accidental release of his Thu’um, which instantly kills the mood. As a deathly silence and a light amount of dust descends from the rafters, Maxwell is now angrily glaring at both women who are staring in shock.

In a loud voice, he sternly shouts. “I’m not interested in either of you!”

The atmosphere becomes tense and subdued as people look to each other in a mix of confusion and shock at what just transpired. After a few stressful seconds, Maxwell storms off to the door leading upstairs. Brynn takes a step but he scowls back. She backtracks. He then disappears, pulling the door open which thuds into the wall before audibly thumping up the staircase.

Serana immediately pushes past everyone, sensing him starting to slip from the suppressive spell, although the accidental Thu’um he used will make it useless if any interested party is nearby. As she approaches the swinging lower door – ignoring the gawps of the two women - the ward goes off in her head as the bedroom door is almost ripped off its hinges and then slammed shut.

 

After slamming the door, Maxwell collapses onto the bed and exhales, trying to get rid of the swirling emotions of what just happened, including the absolute horror at the random marriage proposal from Brynn. Wiping his mouth in disgust to get rid of the scented lip balm that Brynn had left, before rubbing it on the bed. He then puts his head in his hands to try and clear his mind.

He jumps when there’s a small knock at the door, but the familiar voice abates the surprise and replaces it with dread.

“It’s only me.”

Sighing in resignation, he monotonously replies. “Come in, Serana.”

Serana steps in then closes and locks the door and stays in the corner with hands folded in front of her. Her expression is…confusing. Seemingly a mix of concern and something else. Nevertheless, Maxwell focuses on what just transpired.

Leaning flat on the bed which creaks, rubbing his face, he says in exasperation. “Gods, Serana…just for once, I wanted to forget everything that’s going on and relax.”

She half-heartedly laughs, giving him a soft look. “Me too, Maxwell.”

He suddenly looks up. “I’m sorry Serana, but please can we leave. I really don’t want to stay here tonight.”

She nods after a moment, momentarily looking unhappy at the sad change of circumstance. “That’s fine with me, Maxwell. Let’s get changed then we can go. It’s probably a good idea, given you used your Thu’um.”

Maxwell grimaces at that, forgetting that Muffle wasn’t active. “Fuck…um, sorry.”

She simply shrugs, before motioning for her pack. Her expression becomes confusing once more.

He steps into the side room to change, and she remains in the bedroom. The effort is perfunctory and subdued. Soon, they’re back in their respective armour.

As Serana is putting her folded dress back into her pack and he is re-entering whilst donning an arm greave, she suddenly turns to look at the door.

She then moves quickly moves to it before stating loudly. “Who goes there??”

A pause, before a feminine voice calls out. “It’s Ingrid, Hanna. Please can I come in?”

Serana glances to Maxwell who nods. She unlocks and opens the door to reveal the innkeeper who has a concerned look.

“What’s the matter, Ingrid?” Maxwell politely asks, as he stands up and tightens his greave.

Ingrid looks to him and states. “Maxwell, I’ve kicked both of them out. What Brynn did was rude, and…”

“Thank you, Ingrid, but we’re not staying.”

Ingrid looks horrified. “Wait, please…”

Maxwell holds up a gloved hand to silence her, and says. “Maybe in the future we’ll come back, but right now there’s somewhere we really need to be. Besides, we had only intended to stay for an hour or so.”

Pulling out some coins, he moves to then drops them into Ingrid’s hands and states with sincerity. “Thank you for your hospitality Ingrid, I – we - appreciate it.”

Ingrid nods and pockets the change with a slightly forlorn look, looking between the two as she apologises. “For what it’s worth – Maxwell, Hanna - I’m sorry your evening has been ruined.”

Maxwell looks at her before his expression softens and he says. “…thank you, Ingrid, and me too. I’m sorry for shouting and, uh, shaking the building. We’ll be down shortly. I’ll give you the key then.”

“I’ll take it now so that you can just leave.” Ingrid puts out a hand for it with a wan smile.

He considers the offer for a moment before extracting then passing the key. “Thank you.”

Pocketing the key which jingles when hitting the coins, Ingrid looks between the two with a wistful look and says. “Take care of yourselves, wherever you’re going.”

She soon leaves and shuts the door.

After a couple more minutes of muted silence to finish checking everything over, he looks over to Serana who is placing her sheathed ebony dagger onto her belt, and asks. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

As they silently leave the room and descend with Maxwell leading the way, the atmosphere downstairs is strained. Most people look in their direction when they hear him walking down the stairs. There are a few minor vocalisations, but a shoulder nudge or hushed whisper shut them up.

 

Walking through the front door, the cool evening air washes over them, and Maxwell audibly breathes a sigh of relief once the door closes behind with a soft thud. The sun is on the verge of setting, although there is quite a bit of cloud cover.

When they approach the stable, Serana suddenly whispers. “I think Nora is waiting just around the corner.”

“Oh for…” Maxwell rubs his gloved hands over his face in frustration. Serana motions to move ahead, but he quickly states. “No, don’t. I’ll deal with her.”

As they give the corner a wide berth, Nora - who is leaning against the wall where the horses, including theirs, are stabled – notices them and stands straight up. She has a reddening cheek that is distinctly hand-shaped and her clothing is slightly dirtied; evidently Brynn and she had exchanged words and blows after being kicked out.

The stable owner, who is brushing one of the far stalls, looks over but keeps sweeping.

Nora looks apologetic as she says. “Maxwell! I hoped you might come by. I wanted to apologise for what happened.”

Stopping a respectable distance away, Maxwell sighs and replies. “Nora…I appreciate it, thank you. I’m sorry if I gave you any hint of interest. After what happened with…well, I hope you can understand I’m not interested in being with anyone.”

She gives an odd look, before glancing to then gesturing to Serana who is looking to him with a weird expression. “What about her?”

“She’s my friend.”

“But you just said…”

Maxwell’s tone becomes one of extreme annoyance. “Nora, you’ve apologised, I’ve accepted. Please, just leave before either of us says something we will regret.”

She goes to argue but his sudden stern stare keeps her momentarily silent. Throwing caution to the wind, Nora loudly exclaims. “You are with Hanna, aren’t you?! You lying bastard!”

The stable owner has stopped sweeping and is gawking at the commotion.

Maxwell gapes at the accusation and emits a nonsensical sound, before stating in a commanding and angry voice and a scowl. “Nora, go home. NOW!”

Nora huffs once - visibly displeasured at how this conversation has turned out - before giving Serana a nasty look before stomping off.

As soon as she’s gone, Maxwell instantly looks over to the stable owner whilst maintaining the scowl and sternly says. “Please leave us.”

The stable owner, having already taken payment from him earlier, quickly nods before practically running into the nearby house; the door closing shut seconds later.

Once alone, Maxwell leans against the low wooden stable wall and groans. After a minute, he chances a look to his friend, who is stroking the maw of their ride in silence, not looking in his direction.

After checking the riding gear over in silence, and tightening a couple of straps which their horse whinnies at, he alights then offers a hand which she takes and mounts behind him. At his request, she renews the various spells, and they ride off silently and invisibly into the evening.

 

As Ivarstead rapidly disappears behind them, a sudden tap on his shoulder startles him. Maxwell slows down the horse who whinnies at the action, and looks over in mild surprise.

“Please can I ask something, Maxwell?” Serana quietly asks, her expression neutral.

“What is it, Serana?”

“What Nora said…does it bother you?”

He brings their horse to a dead stop. Exhaling in silent resignation as he bows his head. The silence is extremely painful.

He eventually responds in a neutral tone as he looks over his shoulder to meet her expectant deep amber eyes. “Look, Serana…I understand where Nora was coming from. For her, over two months have passed and we’re still travelling together. For me…I value our friendship as it is. We’ve gone through a lot together. But there’s still more to go. Let’s just...take things one day at a time.”

Her response comes a few seconds later. “Thank you, Maxwell. And I value it as it is too.”

“And despite what’s happened, I had fun. I hope you did too.” He offers a very weak smile.

“I did. it was nice to forget about everything for a while.” She replies, returning it with a wider smile.

“Wholeheartedly agreed, Serana. Anyway, we’ll ride for a bit then settle down for the night.” He concludes, before setting off once more seeing when there is nothing more forthcoming from her.

 

As they ride off into the evening, Maxwell tries to keep a neutral expression.

In reality, that’s not exactly what he wanted to say to Serana. What Nora had said had hit a nerve.

He had remembered more from the Soul Cairn since their first chat, including her declaration of not leaving him behind. Since then, something had started gnawing within. He soon realised what it was, when he was teaching her archery and she was teaching him Magelight.

 

Longing.

 

He wanted more, but it felt wrong and he hated himself for feeling like this. She had been through so much in her life, not to mention what’s happening right now and also not to mention knowing precisely what she has suffered at the hands of her parents. He daren’t muddy the waters or make things more complicated, so opted to bury this notion with the souls he carries.

How she had seemed more open and relaxed - especially her demeanour at the Four Shields - it could be interpreted as wanting more herself, but it could also be interpreted that she was simply trying to distract herself from what’s happening, which was the whole point of going to Ivarstead.

He mentally recoils when remembering how she had reacted when he had motioned to touch her slightly injured cheek and she had grabbed his wrist and given him that extremely odd look. That reaction had clearly said enough, even though no words were spoken.

Then she had said during their chat that she valued their friendship as it is, and that sealed the deal. Friendship was appropriate; nothing more. Hence why he answered that way.

 

For Serana, staring at his back unfocused, the same seventeen words are continuously repeated in her mind.

After what happened with…well, I hope you can understand I’m not interested in being with anyone.

She had worded her probing question very carefully, and the moment he said “friendship as it is”, that shattered the notion she had fallen under recently, since that day when he had shown her archery and she had shown him how to cast Magelight.

 

---

 

Whilst Ivarstead had served as a distraction, the draped weight of fate compresses their third companion – the silence – to its limit. The following days on their approach to the Ancestor Glade are in almost complete silence, with only mediocre conversation about stopping to rest or some other menial task.

Serana has kept her distance and is rather quiet. She does write in the book when they stop for a break or a long rest, and looks to enjoy it. Maxwell internally smiles. A good idea indeed.

On the evening of the 15^th when they are purportedly within reach of the Glade, Maxwell asks before bedding down for the night. “Hey Serana, are you alright? You’ve been…rather quiet, since Ivarstead.”

“I’m okay Maxwell, thanks for checking. I’m just thinking about things, mostly the reading.” Serana curtly replies with a smile before returning to her book.

Maxwell nods and leaves her alone, recognising she clearly has a lot on her mind.

He also had the reading on his mind; the apprehension has been building slowly but surely the closer they got to the Ancestor Glade.

Laying on the bedroll for the last time and looking up at the twinkling stars, Maxwell – for the first time in a very long time – says a prayer.

 

Talos, Akatosh, Mara, Kynareth…whichever Divine is up there listening right now...please let this work without consequence. I can’t bear to have my life messed up again because of them.

 

Silence is the only response.

Notes:

Next chapter likely won't be up for a while, as work is picking up again and it's a big one, storywise. I have most of it written out, but there's some parts I want to rewrite.

As ever, thank you for all of the kudos, comments and everything in between :)

Chapter 24: Recall

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana finally locate the Ancestor Glade, where one mistake unravels everything between them.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, violence, serious injuries (various types including implied), death, implied death, reference to trauma, reference to death ideation, induced hallucination, non-consensual kissing.

Basically, this is one explosive chapter.

On the 16^th of Rain’s Hand, as the warm sun just passes its zenith behind the wisps of thin cloud, Maxwell guides their horse as high up as possible, following the mark made on his map. It takes some time, but eventually the hooded Serana spots the familiarly shaped natural stone structure - as described by Dexion - that indicates the hidden entrance.

Leaving their horse in a safe and hidden location and after getting the all clear from her, Maxwell leads the way through the narrow entrance.

Upon pushing through the cobweb and dust filled entrance, Maxwell uses the Canticle Blade handles as the key to unlock the ancient stone door, turning it as described by Dexion. Once this opens, they take a few moments to cut back the overgrown flora that is partially blocking the path, then proceed further down the tunnel. The short tunnel soon opens up into a moderately sized naturally lit cavern which takes their breath away, making them forget about everything.

“What the…this is gorgeous…” Maxwell exhales, brushing some of the detritus off his armour.

“No wonder the Moth Priests keep this place a secret.” Serana exclaims, standing alongside and pulling back her hood.

Finally brushing away the dust and cobwebs, Maxwell takes his helmet off and stows it on his sword, before really basking in the natural wonder of this place.

A few beams of sunlight coming from a large gap in the cavern roof, bathing the entire cave in a soft warm light. Several Canticle trees grow around, their reflective leaves wafting in the slow breeze. Scattered vegetation is situated around the cavern floor, with slender blades of green grass where the trees or rocks are not. In the centre, a stone platform sits in the middle of a wide pool of flowing water, with the light from above shining at the end. A few small streams come from the cavern edges which feed into the pool of water.

Groups of brown and green coloured moths flutter about gently near the trees, chirruping ever so slightly. Serana can feel a slight hazy magical aura, evidently what Dexion had alluded to: the collective energy of the moths.

Some time passes before Serana nudges Maxwell and quietly utters. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Maxwell.”

He suddenly raises his left arm over her head to pull into a half hug, which after a momentary look of surprise she ducks beneath before placing her right hand on his waist; his arm hanging from her left shoulder.

Breathlessly stating as he looks from her to the sight before them, Maxwell’s expression is one of awe. “Likewise, Serana. We’ve seen some sights together. This is the best so far.”

A few Ancestor Moths soon flap towards the pair, and one lands on Maxwell’s head which she giggles at as she stands back to observe, thereby breaking the embrace. A second passes before he gently shakes his head with a small grin and chuckle, and it flaps away.

It truly is picturesque.

In a voice full of amazement, she asks. “Please can we sit and just enjoy the peace and quiet, Maxwell?”

“Oh definitely. Let’s have a seat here.” Gesturing to a small patch of grass right next to them.

Once seated, Serana is leaning back on her hands, head lolling to one side looking at one of the swarms. Maxwell is leaning forward with arms on his bent knees, looking at the opening in the ceiling.

After a few minutes, she inches closer, and loops her hands around his right arm, before leaning her head on his shoulder. He soon leans his head as well, and they just enjoy the sereneness of the moment.

Eventually, Serana quietly comments. “Wow, I just can’t believe such a place like this exists in Tamriel.”

Matching her tone, Maxwell replies. “You’ll get no argument from me, Serana. This is just…indescribable.” He adds. “I’ve never seen any place like this in any of my travels.”

“What about Sovngarde?”

The words slip out, and she instantaneously realises her mistake.

Immediately looking to him, the intense look of horror mixed with disappointment makes her feel all sorts of emotions.

“Maxwell, I…” Serana fervently begins to apologise, amber eyes widening in dismay.

“Serana, don’t.” His expression completely dropping to one of sorrow, as he pulls then looks away from her.

“But…” She reaches out.

“DON’T!!” He aggrievedly spits out, the air shuddering ever so slightly.

The loudness of that one word combined with his earlier look depresses her even more, and evokes certain memories; Maxwell hadn’t reacted like this since shortly after they met. Nevertheless, Serana quietly shuffles back to where she had previously sat and looks in the opposite direction.

They sit in subdued silence once the echoes wear off. She mentally berates herself for ruining the moment, and he struggles with her words and the memory it provokes. She can hear him tense up a few times, trying to breathe out the emotion.

After a minute, Maxwell bows his head and heavily sighs before saying in a flat voice. “Well, we’re here for a reason. We should return to the Fort. Please let me do the talking with Isran, especially if he asks about the delay.”

“Okay.” She sullenly responds.

Getting up in muted silence – only broken by the natural ambience- they make their way back to the entrance.

Before they exit, she stops and monotonously states. “This is the last Mark I can place, Maxwell. Four is my limit. After that, I will need to dismiss one of the others to place another.”

“Duly noted, Serana.” Maxwell responds unenthusiastically, before pushing his way through the exit without looking back.

She places the final free Mark within the Glade, then follows suit behind his disappearing form through the narrow stone entrance.

 

Getting back to their ride, they hide their churning emotions under their respective façade. Serana quietly casts Recall to go back to the Fort.

Appearing at her Mark in the Dayspring Canyon, the familiar surroundings are marred by the growing sense of foreboding at their reason for returning. In muted silence, they leave and make their way up the grassy slope side by side.

Serana can clearly hear Maxwell’s current emotional state even though he is facing away. His breathing is uneven yet he is clearly forcing himself to be calm.

 

Upon being recognised by those on patrol as Maxwell raises a hand and hails their return, Isran is summoned. As they wait patiently by the main gate, under the watchful gaze of those on the barricade wall, Serana suddenly feels the wash of the Detect Life spell again that’s just been cast on the other side, but doesn’t say or physically react.

The gate is soon opened to reveal Isran, with an assortment of members behind and to his left which include the Priest of Arkay, Sorine, Agmaer, Durak (who gives him a massive stinkeye despite having a neutral look), and others. The three Elder Scrolls on a cart that is to his right. Allan is on the other side of the cart, resting a hand on the top one as though it was precious cargo. Dexion is mysteriously not present.

Maxwell approaches Isran, absentmindedly handing the reins of the horse to the nearest Dawnguard member who looks confused. Serana follows silently, warily watching everyone.

“Run into any trouble on the road, Maxwell? You’re several days overdue.” Isran queries, his gruff voice laden with concern. 

“Sorry we’re late, Isran. I did say 8 or 9 days assuming good travel conditions, which turned out not to be the case. There was more traffic on the road pass Riften and by the large lake, so we had to go wide. We got there safely though, and it’s undisturbed. No sign of it being under watch. Have you had any trouble here?”

He searches Maxwell’s face before nodding in acceptance and taking a step back to permit access to the Scrolls. “No, we’ve not had any trouble, although we have started preparations to move out for when you have completed the reading and know the Bow’s location.”

“Duly noted, Isran.”

With internal resignation, Maxwell then motions to the cart as Allan steps aside with a respectful salute, and starts stowing the three Scrolls, each one weighing heavier than they actually are. Well, no turning back now. I really hope this is worth it.

“Where’s Dexion?” Maxwell asks as he picks up the last one, looking to Allan who stands to attention.

Allan politely responds. “Resting, but he sends his regards. Do you require his presence?”

“No, I was just curious. Thank you.”

They mutually nod out of respect once the last one is stowed, before Maxwell turns to Isran and continues. “Speaking of which, Isran…I’m not sure exactly how long the reading will take, but please have Keeper Carcette ready for our imminent return.”

Isran raises an eyebrow, but gives a nod of understanding. “Agreed, Maxwell. I’ll let her know. Good luck and may the Divines bless you.”

Maxwell curtly nods at that, before looking to Serana. They step back, and after everyone has given them some distance Serana quickly casts the requisite motions of the Recall spell, which prompt a few cries of amazement as the warping happens around the duo.

Returning to the Glade interior, the natural beauty hits them once more and they breathe a collective sigh of relief. For Maxwell though, the sight before him is now blemished by those earlier words. Damn it, Serana.

Serana chances a look to her friend, who now has a naked expression of nervous apprehension.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Maxwell utters under his breath.

“Another phrase from this era?”

Her words make him glance over. Weakly shrugging, he flatly replies. “Yeah, it means…well, this, Serana. Attempting this.”

That doesn’t quite make sense to Serana, but his look gives her extreme pause and she doesn’t press.

After stowing his gear - helmet, sword, dagger, bow and arrows - into his pack for safe keeping, Maxwell stretches and looks to the platform with renewed apprehension. Exhaling, he picks up the pack and starts to descend to the stone platform, before Serana suddenly grabs his nearest arm.

Maxwell looks back with mild confusion and surprise. “What?”

Serana quickly drops her hands, not realising she’d grabbed him. She looks dejected as she apologises. “Sorry…I just, uh, wanted to say I’m sorry, Maxwell. For…earlier.”

Maxwell studies her for a moment, his brown eyes flitting between hers. He then resignedly sighs. “It’s fine, Serana…let’s just get this over with.”

As he turns, her expression devolves further.

 

A few minutes later, the three Scrolls are near where the reading is to be performed and his pack is on the stairs. Maxwell is gently using the draw knife on one of the scattered trees to shave the canticle bark. Once done, he carries the shavings to the stone platform – dropping the draw knife on the pack when passing - and putting them in a pile by the scrolls, before burning them with his flame spell.

The smell hits both of them almost at the same time. It’s extremely aromatic; sweet, like honey.

Maxwell then lays the scrolls out one at a time in the orientation Dexion described – Blood then Dragon then Sun – in front, angled at 30-degree angles in front before seating himself in the centre with the smouldering canticle bark on the other side of the middle scroll.

Taking an extremely deep breath, he glances over to Serana with a completely neutral expression, who has one of her own.

The conversation is silent, influenced by everything they’ve gone through up to this point. No words are said. She nods and takes vigil nearby on a point by the waterfront, just in front of where they sat. He nods back before looking at the nearest swarm…and waits.

Sitting there, it’s not long until the Ancestor Moths start to flutter towards the central area, attracted by the aroma from the burning canticle bark. They swarm around above his head. A few moths land on him; mostly on his body and arms. The chirruping volume increases as the numbers increase.

After a minute, Serana’s voice – full of awe - breaks above the fluttering and chirruping. “Maxwell…you’re starting to glow.”

He responds, almost hesitantly as he looks up at the growing swarm. “I feel weird, Serana. It’s like a prickling sensation but…comfortable.”

“That’s their collective energy building as they swarm. Dexion did mention you would feel that. We have to wait for more to swarm.”

 

Soon, more arrive, and later even more. As more moths gather and the ambient sounds increase, the glow increases exponentially, bathing Maxwell and the stone in a soft luminous glow that’s brighter than the natural sunlight.

Serana winces ever so slightly, but puts her discomfort aside for the sight before her. She can’t help but silently stare at how her friend looks symbolic. No matter what happens, I’m committing this moment to memory. Thank you, Maxwell. In more ways than one.

Before long, as though prompted by something, Maxwell visibly braces himself and inhales and opens the three scrolls in order. The moths on his seated form flutter slightly at the agitation but stay in place.

Shifting gaze between, as though reading three open books, he frowns slightly, whenhis eyes suddenly glaze over the Dragon one. His back then straightens up completely and his expression becomes flat. His heartrate plummets to a low but steady rhythm, and his pallor fades slightly.

Serana goes to call out and approach out of concern, but remembers Dexion’s warning. Biting her tongue, she steadies her resolve.

 

To Serana, his unfocused eyes remain steadfastly affixed to the central scroll. His face contorts slightly now and then, as though he was having a frustrating conversation with someone.

 

To Maxwell, it was nothing like that. At all.

Finding himself as an ethereal formless entity in an eternal monotone grey void. Time becomes immaterial. Symbols, both shapeless and shaped that meant nothing and everything, float by out of and into the grey void. In the background, there are whispers. Ethereal, subtle, yet ever-present. Muttering sweet nothings, caressing his being. Some whisper non-sensical things, a few murmur voices from his past, and others whisper about another weapon. A sword with a glowing orb from Merid-Nunda to fight undead.

Like everything else not related to the bow, he does his best to ignore them. Focusing on Auriel’s Bow, the wraithlike image of a map – full of weird symbols that make no sense yet he seems to have full understanding of – starts to form, showing him exactly what he is seeking.

The whispers speak up once more, slightly more forcefully as though wanting to be heard; one is extremely distracting because of Serana’s words.

 

“Haldrin. She will die. You will not.”

 

As he instinctively starts to pay attention to it, the map instantly begins to fade and risks falling back into nothingness. He redoubles his focus on it with renewed concentration. Thankfully it sharpens again before finally becoming solidified. The map, supported by the symbols, point out the route they must take: a Cave of Protective Darkness, leading to a forgotten Vale, where a snow elf Temple of Au-Riel sits on a ledge, and a Chantry that the Bow resides within.

When the map details and symbol meanings are burned into memory, the voice that almost distracted Maxwell speaks again, louder this time; insisting – no, demanding – to be heard.

 

“She will die. You will live. Just like before.”

 

As soon as the map and the void evaporate into nothingness, his attention is drawn more forcefully to the ethereal voice, and is led unwillingly into that memory.

 

--

 

Serana doesn’t move whilst maintaining her vigil over the following minutes, watching curiously as the Ancestor Moths continuously fly around. The ones on Maxwell flutter now and then. The soft halo glow around him remains ever the same. After the initial concern had passed at how low his heartrate dropped, she renews her concentration.

The Scrolls themselves have a mirror, sheen-like quality to them, and even though she knows that raw power is written on them, it’s so far beyond she can’t sense anything. Saying that, a strong impulse behind her eyes painfully forces her to look elsewhere whenever she briefly glances at them, as though they are rejecting her vision.

Whilst maintaining the vigil, Serana mentally recoils at the ruined moment. By the blood, I’m an idiot.

She reflects back on what’s happened since they returned to Nirn.

Ever since Maxwell awoke after their sojourn to the Soul Cairn, and reinforced during their journey here, an odd yet pleasant feeling started creeping up. Whenever he looked over and spoke, or smiled, the feeling flowed. When he was silent or looking away, it ebbed but remained present. Watching him talk passionately about his interest of archery, and she taught him Magelight, it swelled. When he presented the book in Ivarstead – not to mention what happened at the Four Shields - it ballooned. Then what he said to Nora and to her – it was almost obliterated.

They had grown closer, but it was hard to get a read on how he was thinking, until that moment.

Then they walked into this place and he pulled her into the half-hug. It came back together…then she said those three words and he looked like the first day they met.

Feeling unsettled, Serana realises what she is doing and wistfully smiles. Pensively brooding, he calls it. He really does…

A couple of Ancestor Moths fly in her general vicinity, interrupting her thought. She tentatively holds out a hand and one of them eventually lands on her fingers, the touch of its legs tickling. Serana studies the winged creature which chirrups and flutters its wings as it seemingly studies her in return.

Suddenly, a faint scratching sound appears. Looking behind the moth, she gasps.

The Elder Scrolls have retracted into themselves.

As all three click at the same time, the latches magically affix themselves to the closed and locked position. A tense moment passes, before the moths begin slowly launching away and dispersing from and above his seated form; the one on her hand joining them. She waits with baited breath for the inevitable moment

When the last one leaves his body, Maxwell’s eyes close and he slumps limply backwards. Serana is beside in an instant, cradling head and shoulder before they hit the stone.

“Maxwell?” she quietly asks, deeply concerned.

After a small while, his heartrate and complexion return to normal. Maxwell soon starts limply moving, and Serana breathes a sigh of unmeasured relief.

Her friend’s eyelids slowly open. Once fully open, his brown eyes dart about unfocused before becoming insanely focused on her; his expression devolves into confusion mixed with horror.

“Maxwell? What’s wrong??” Serana quizzes with uncertainty.

The hunter abruptly stands up, grabbing her firmly by the upper arms and pulling her up too. She tenses up massively and freezes, breath hitched in her throat at both the memories it evokes from the trauma of that ritual and his expression at her. In a pained yet confused voice, Maxwell utters.

“…Wha…what are you doing here??”

He continues, tone becoming panic-stricken.

“Nonono…you can’t be here! How can you be here?!”

He lets go of her, taking several steps back whilst frantically shaking his head. Her mind is overwhelmed with emotion, and she watches Maxwell with an unrecognisable expression.

He steps off the stone and into the pooled water which splashes. Turning to look at somewhere on the other side of the stonework, Maxwell exclaims in a panicked tone.

“Tsun, what is the meaning of this??”

Serana freezes completely, her own emotional turmoil paused as she instantly recognises the name. Tsun. The ancient Nordic God of Trials Against Adversity who guards the way into Sovngarde.

His head snaps back to her, pupils narrowed. After a moment, his expression contorts in abject confusion.

“Wha…what are you saying Lydia…wait…what do you mean, Ulfric attacked?!”

 

Serana’s reaction is one of utter shock and horror, and she becomes too stunned to speak; her own emotional turmoil now subverted due to this revelation.

He saw her there, in Sovngarde.

Everything then falls into place. Her dead heart almost breaks into pieces at this truth laid out before her, for more than one reason.

His reaction to the portal to the Soul Cairn. When Talsgar had said about being beside with grief after returning. Why he had hunted down Ulfric upon returning to Nirn. Why he didn’t want to speak about Sovngarde. Why he had spent years alone in self-exile.

 

And why he didn’t want anything beyond friendship.

 

Maxwell’s next words bring her back to stunned reality, and she watches in deathly silence as he continues acting out the memory.

“But…I don’t understand…I only left a day ago…”

A tense moment passes, before his gaze becomes affixed on Serana once more. A few seconds progress, then his gaze wonders and his tone becomes panicked.

“How long?! 2 MONTHS?! But I…I don’t…that doesn’t make sense. No, it can’t be…how…”

Another anxious moment passes before he exclaims.

“Wait…”

Maxwell glances around, evidently looking for someone else.

“Where are the others? If…”

He then turns to look past the raised stone again, as though his name was called.

“Tsun? What is it?”

A few seconds pass, and his brow furrows.

“A parting…gift? What do you mean a parting gift?”

After a tense 10 seconds, as though listening to the response of Tsun, Maxwell’s expression evolves to complete panic and he shouts loudly, shattering the quietness.

“NO!!! YOU CAN’T MEAN THAT!! I won’t go back to Nirn without my wife, Tsun!!”

A pause.

“Then I demand to stay.”

His face drops, and his voice booms around the cavern as he madly gestures, tears forming.

“What do you mean, I can’t stay?!! I risk my life to save Nirn from the World-Eater, and I find out my wife died because of that bastard! How is that fair, Tsun? HOW IS THAT FAIR?!! I DEMAND TO STAY!! HAVEN’T I EARNT THE RIGHT!?!”

Staring with deadly focus at where Tsun is supposedly standing, Maxwell exclaims as his voice breaks from emotion.

“Then fight me again Tsun! If she’s dead…there’s nothing left for me to return to!! I beg of you, please…fight me again…so that I can die with honour and stay!! I can’t live without her…I…can’t…”

Staring at where Tsun is supposedly standing, his features contort into extreme sadness, and his shoulders and head soon slump before dejectedly nodding as though accepting a hard truth. When he looks up, tears are streaming from his haggard and woeful brown eyes. Snapping back to Serana, his gaze extremely mournful as tears continue to fall. She feels something indescribable.

Maxwell then strides up, water splashing once more, right up to her. Serana’s eyes fly wide open in massive surprise and she begins moving back.

He gently yet purposely places his warm, roughened hands on her soft, smooth cheeks, and pulls her head softly closer. Their lips clash in a passionate embrace, and she tastes the salt of his tears and feels the heat of his lips. She completely freaks out internally, becoming stunned once more into non-action.

The kiss only lasts for seconds before Maxwell breaks contact and pulls her speechless form into a tight embrace. His tears falling onto her shoulder as he whispers into her hair with so much emotion, including sorrow and regret.

“I…I’m so sorry Lydia…I…I shouldn’t have left you. Please forgive me…I’m sorry...gods, I love you so much, my House-Carl…”

Maxwell suddenly looks towards the raised stone once more. His voice becomes panicked again as he lets go of Serana who stumbles from the loss of physical support, not to mention the emotional turmoil. Holding his hands up and waving them in a frantic gesture as he desperately steps away from where Tsun is standing.

“No! Tsun, I’m not ready! I’m…I…I’m not re...read…y…don…wan…go…Lydi…urgh…”

Maxwell’s speech slurs and his face contorts, as though trying to stay in the moment. He shudders, before falling to his knees then keeling over. The water splashes as he finally comes to a rest at the water’s edge, and silence descends on the cavern.

 

She stands there, totally and entirely shell-shocked.

 

--

 

After gently lifting the unconscious Maxwell from the pooled water and placing him on the nearby soft patch of grass, a muted yet distraught Serana briefly checks him over; his heartbeat and breathing are steady, and he is asleep.

Taking a moment to wipe his tears away - along with her own - Serana then slowly retrieves the Scrolls, the draw knife and his pack as her mind races at phenomenal speed, struggling to process what happened.

The sheer emotional intensity of what was said and acted out was shocking. It was clearly obvious Maxwell was in an induced hallucination of a memory. It soon became clear what memory it was.

Dexion did warn them that something like this could happen. And Maxwell had lived a life filled with so much more than any normal person could imagine, let alone experience. Something like this was very likely to occur.

After placing everything into his enchanted pack including her own, with only the sounds of water movement and gentle humming and fluttering of the Ancestor Moths breaking the silence, Serana wears it and gingerly carries Maxwell out of the Glade in a bridal carry, carefully navigating her way through the narrow entrance.

 

--

 

About 10 minutes later, the sleeping hunter is nestled and drying out on a patch of soft grass under a tree. His pack, alongside.

Sitting a small distance away, trying to reconcile how she is feeling about everything – including him - the plan of returning to the Fort has long since been forgotten, and her concentration on their protective spells were obliterated the moment they kissed.

 

Suddenly, the sense of something dangerous yet familiar approaching breaks Serana’s thoughts.

She immediately turns on reflex, raising the largest and strongest defensive ward she can summon. This is just in time to deflect the lightning spell that’s been cast at Maxwell; the electricity cracking into the tree alongside which cracks and falls down, thankfully away from his form.

A familiar individual soon appears from where the spell came from.

Sensing what the Altmer has become, Serana cries out in horror. “Vingalmo?! You’re a Vampire Lord?!”

Vingalmo, looking slightly different from when she last saw him, smirks malevolently. “That’s right, you traitorous bitch. Duke Harkon has given me his blood gift. He trusts me to finish you both off. But with your Dragonborn lover fast asleep, this will be laughably too easy. A shame, really. How is he? Have you two had a nice fuck yet?”

He studies her for a moment with disgust, before scoffing.

“I always had a thing for you, you know? I can’t believe how stupid I was to think I could be so enamoured with someone who turned out to be a traitor to her own kind. Like mother, like daughter. Did you know your father once promised me your hand in marriage if I proved my worth?”

The thought both completely disgusts and horrifies Serana. That explains so much over the centuries. Those looks, the unwanted advances, the incessant need to always be around her.

She sneers. “Like I would ever want to be with a cretin like you!”

Vingalmo scoffs again. “Enough talk. It’s time for you both to die.”

Vingalmo charges at her, transforming into the Vampire Lord form. Despite her severe apprehension and rush of memories of that ritual, which is why she has never adopted the form, Serana changes as well (needing the extra power the form provides).

There is only one reason why she does this.

 

The fight is short but difficult.

Vingalmo seemingly keeps trying to go for Maxwell, and Serana keeps him at bay.

The silence is completely broken by the intermixed sounds of combat that include snarls, taunts, flapping and spells. They trade blows and injuries, with both incurring slashes and cuts.

Being a Daughter of Coldharbour, she does not hold back, and is able to outpace Vingalmo, although it seems that he has been schooled on how to fight a Vampire Lord.

After a sideways feint which she begins to fall for before realising her mistake, Vingalmo grabs her wings, and forcefully throw her into a nearby tree before instantly following up with a charged bloodbolt. Landing hard against the tree as the blood bolt hits her right arm, Serana loudly cries out in pain as she falls to the ground with a thud.

Gasping through the pain, Serana motions to stand up despite the various injuries, including the pain radiating from her wings and right arm. Vingalmo is about to throw a lightning spell…when a familiar booming voice Shouts.

“TIID” Followed by. “LIZ WAHL”

A stalagmite of ice builds up between them, which absorbs the spell.

When Serana tilts her head to look behind, her dead heart beats.

Maxwell is standing stoically and menacingly by the fallen tree, those brown eyes transfixed and acutely focused on Vingalmo. He’s wearing his pack. The words he utters physically shake the air as each word is imbued with Thu’um.

“She is under my protection.”

Vingalmo sneers. “Fuck you, Dragonborn.”

He throws an overcharged blood bolt before bursting into batform and flying at Maxwell.

“FEIM”

The spell passes right through his ghostly form with no hint of pain or damage, and it slams into a tree behind, destroying it completely. The loudness of his Shout makes Serana cover her ears.

As the tree collapses, the Shout cuts off much faster than expected, and Maxwell Shouts again at the approaching bat swarm.

“FUS. RO. DAH!!!”

The wave of massively focused energy exponentially builds as it pushes forward, tearing up the ground and disintegrating the flora and ice stalagmite that are in the way. It hits the batswarm, and Vingalmo reverts to Vampire Lord form before getting sent tumbling in the energy wave. He crashes haphazardly against a rock. From the force of the Shout, and the debris, one of his wings is snapped and torn off whilst the other is hanging by a thread of sinew. His torso is slashed heavily from the debris, and his left arm is also bent backwards.

It misses Serana completely.

As the Shout echoes diminish, Vingalmo slumps off the rock and staggers. Maxwell immediately throws out his left hand towards the vampire before Shouting and clenching it shut.

“LIZ. SLEN. NUS!!!”

The water in the air freezes, forming a solid amorphic block of densely packed ice around Vingalmo.  Maxwell intently stares at the frozen Altmer, and as the ice begins cracking – presumably from the Altmer attempting to break free - he holds the same hand upwards towards the sky and Shouts once more.

“QO!!!”

The air loudly ripples with a huge amount of electric energy before gathering into a singular point. Serana’s hair stands on end, and she braces. Maxwell slams down his fist, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

One colossal lightning bolt strikes the almost free Vingalmo, who is obliterated in a fascinating display of shattered ice, crackling lightning and pieces of scorched flesh flying everywhere.

As the deafening thunder wears off and the debris settles, Maxwell collapses to the ground, gasping for air and grasping his chest, hoarsely coughing madly.

 

Serana drops beside him in an instant, back in human form now that the threat is eliminated. She is extremely dishevelled and tired, and can feel the myriad of cuts on her body with some blood seeping out and staining her armour.

“Maxwell! It’s over, he’s dead! Please look at me!” She passionately pleads, throwing aside everything to focus on him.

Maxwell doesn’t hear her, apparently lost in whatever is going on in his mind. As he continues coughing madly, and she reaches for his pack, a fluttering appears on the edge of her hearing and approaches rapidly, causing her to freeze her ministration and eyes widen in dread. No…it can’t be…

Materialising some distance away, the Patriach of the Volkihar Family appears.

 

Harkon sneers as he slowly approaches. “Hello, Serana.”

 

“…Fa...Father?! You left the Castle!?” Serana loudly exclaims as she stands, summoning the strongest ward she can before moving in front of the pained Maxwell, despite her injuries.

Coming to a stop, Harkon replies. “I have. I was watching from afar, enjoying the fight. I had hoped Vingalmo would fulfill the task I assigned to him, but I must admit I wholly underestimated your pet.”

His eyes narrow to slits, and launches into a tirade.

“My treasonous and pathetic excuse of a vampire whom I am loathe to call my Daughter…I was so proud when you took His power for your own when you underwent the ritual. I had hoped you would join me in claiming this world for all of vampire kind, as a family. But I now see the truth. Your wretched Mother has forever twisted your mind and poisoned your tongue against not just me, your own beloved Father, but against your own kin. And your mortal pet has forever twisted your heart away from your own family.”

Turning to Maxwell’s slumped form, who has now seemingly passed out again, visible hatred and derision bleeds into Harkon’s cadence.

“Look at your pet, a pathetically weak mortal. Such power, wasted. And to think he was the one to kill the World Eater!! What you see in him, I will never fathom. Then again, you always did play with your food much to my annoyance.”

Turning his attention back to Serana, seeing as Maxwell is no longer a threat. “As for you…I thank you.”

Serana’s brow furrows, not expecting this compliment. Seeing her reaction, he flashes his fangs in an evil sneer.

“Not only have you gathered all three Elder Scrolls, which I will pry from your lifeless corpses…you also found your traitorous mother.”

Her countenance completely drops. Harkon immediately continues.

“You didn’t think I knew you would eventually return to the Castle to search for her? Were you not surprised at how easily your entry was? That’s because I let you!”

He pauses for dramatic effect before continuing.

“I knew she had something in the courtyard. Why else would she spend so much time in that pathetic garden, or spend so much on that ugly metal…thing? But because of that spell, I could not penetrate it. However, I knew you would eventually return and bypass it, which is why I left it alone. And thanks to you for clearing the path and completing the portal to the Soul Cairn, I found your mother. Once I have Auriel’s Bow, I will sacrifice her to end the tyranny of the sun!!”

Despite the climbing horror and fear, Serana tauntingly throws out. “I don’t believe you, Father. You've always been one to lie.”

Harkon derisively laughs. “Oh, that is quaint. You don’t believe me? I believe this will change your mind.”

He pulls out something from behind and tosses it closer. As it arcs in the air, the sight and smell register. It’s their family emblem, covered in dried dark blood. Valerica’s.

As it thuds gently into the grass, Serana stares daggers at Harkon and viscerally screams at the top of her voice. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MOTHER!!!?!”

A wicked smirk appears once more at her reaction, as Harkon starts levitating. “Now that I have her, I no longer have need of you. It’s time for you to die. G...”

Maxwell’s head shoots up and his Thu’um imbued voice instantly blasts out across the area, deafening everyone.

   

“DUR NEV HIIR!!!”

 

A piercing cracking sound immediately emanates from above as a large swirling purple portal appears out of thin air. A second later, the undead dragon flies through, releasing an unearthly roar that echoes across the area.

Harkon’s countenance drops like a stone, and he also drops to the ground as he locks onto the undead dragon with horrified primal fear.

Durnvehiir instantly Shouts.

 

“DIIL QOTH ZAAMME”

 

Familiar undead immediately start spawning, including a few massive Wrathmen that are larger than they fought in the Soul Cairn. Their weapons, huge. They spawn mostly between the duo and Harkon, forming a defensive blockade. A number spawn around Harkon.

Every single undead then goes straight for him.

 

Harkon’s eyes grow wide in perplexed terror. When he starts frantically blasting at the undead with spells, blood bolts and waves of blood energy, Durnevhiir roars again before banking in the distance for another pass.

As Serana looks at Maxwell who is now alert but bent over even further, head almost touching the ground, she grimaces and prepares a blood bolt. As it forms, his right hand shoots out and grasps her left leg. She looks back again in shock and they lock their gaze on each other for the first time since he awoke. The look in his pained and unfocused brown eyes is confusing, but she puts it together.

 

This was what was agreed to in the Soul Cairn.

 

Maxwell croaks out something. With her ears still ringing, she reads his lips. “Re…call.”

Knowing he has his pack on that contains the Elder Scrolls, Serana starts to quickly cast Recall to return to the Fort. He lets go and moves to a slouched position, groaning heavily in pain but maintaining his gaze on her.

Harkon somehow sees or senses this, and over the sound of the approaching horde of undead viscerally screams.

“nooOOOOOOO!!!”

He cuts down the nearest undead with another wave of blood energy before unleashing a massively overcharged bolt at Serana, sacrificing defence for this offensive action.

The bolt cuts a swathe through the dense group of undead in between which considerably weakens it, and with both of them distracted – Maxwell looking at Serana and Serana focusing on the spell – they don’t see it until it’s too late.

When it slams into her right side, Serana releases a piercing and bone-chilling scream which breaks above the sound of ongoing combat. As the Recall spell fizzles out, she collapses to the floor beside Maxwell - almost hitting him - in agony and tears begin streaming down her alabaster cheeks.

Maxwell’s now focused eyes are wide in alarm, seeing the blackened scorch mark on her torso – her armour hopelessly shredded and burnt beyond recognition. Her bloodied hands are shaking madly, trying to stem the flow of the black viscous blood that begins seeping out.

Glancing to her face, it’s completely unreadable, but her eyes reveal everything as they briefly flit to meet his.

That nudges him to look to Harkon.

 

Through the narrow gap in between the advancing undead, a damaged Harkon Volkihar – with an extremely large Wrathman from behind that’s raising its greataxe, and the familiar vile acid arcing from above as Durnevhiir passes over - is starting to Recall away with one hand and is launching another massively overcharged bolt with his other hand. This one, intending to kill his own daughter.

That last Shout took just about every ounce of energy Maxwell had left. But seeing Serana hurt prompts that something from the very depths within - like in the Soul Cairn and when he awoke at her outcry - which connects with the memory of what the Elder Scrolls said.

Despite how exhausted and faint he’s feeling from the successive actions (the reading, the Vingalmo fight, the Shouting, summoning Durnevhiir)…with what remnants of energy he has left, Maxwell Shouts one last time for those few precious seconds.

 

“TIID”

 

The world slows to a stop.

 

Harkon, with arm outstretched and deadly malice on his face as the bloodbolt is launched and the warping forms.

Durnevhiir, flying overhead as the acid spray hits Harkon in the shoulder and outstretched arm.

The Wrathman, bringing its greataxe to bear.

The other undead, moving to fill the gap left by the first bolt.

Serana, crying in pain as she lays bleeding and wounded on the ground before him.

Maxwell resolutely stands up, despite the immense pain, and moves into position before bracing.

 

Lydia died to a prophecy and a tyrant because I wasn’t there to save her.

Never again.

 

The Shout wears off, and the world starts again.

The bolt, after carving its way through the undead like the earlier one, hits squarely in his stomach. A searing and blinding pain, unlike anything experienced in a long time, radiates throughout every fibre of his being as the bolt shreds through the enchanted Glass armour.

From the overwhelming pain and absolute lack of energy from the consecutive events, Maxwell slips into the darkness beyond, before his head even hits the ground.

 

Notes:

WHEW! What a hell of a chapter. I have been looking forward to posting this one for ages, especially because of the Durnevhiir scene. It feels SOOO good to finally put it out there. I hope you enjoy it!

As a small aside, I know I said this one would take a while before posting, but I managed to find more time today to work on it, which enabled me to post it now.

And I did throw in a nice little reference about a particular weapon for undead. Did you spot it? :D

Chapter 25: Feelings (Part 1)

Summary:

Serana's perspective as Maxwell recovers.

Notes:

TW: Reference to injuries (including graphic detail and dismemberment).

Just over three and a half days later, as midnight steadily approaches, Serana – wearing simple silken clothing - sits in silence by the wooden table beside a low fire in a large double bedroom. She’s writing in her journal, as she maintains her vigil over the resting form of the still sleeping Maxwell in the double bed nearby.

Closing her eyes once more to try and clear her mind of the burning question she so desires to ask of him, the memories of the last few days fill the blackness, in place of the usual nightmares.

 

---

 

Looking to him through the tears, his complicated expression was unreadable before he turned to look at Harkon. Hearing him Shout one more time, then moving extremely fast to stand in front of her as she sensed the incoming attack, realisation dawns.

As the bloodbolt hits and Maxwell collapses at her feet with barely a sound, she viscerally screams through the tears and pain. “MAXWELL!!!”

At the same time, Harkon disappears under his own Recall spell. The second their target disappears, the undead stand idle.

When Durnevhiir banks and roars the command, they collapse and dissipate into nothingness. During his next approach, Durnevhiir roars once more then shouts “Zin Qanhaarin, Zu'u Kogaan” before disappearing back through a new portal that appears right in front; the summoning now having run its course.

As silence descends, broken only by the sounds coming from her, momentary despair flairs within as Serana fears the absolute worst; the memory of the Soul Cairn flaring again. Through the pain and swirling emotions, she can sense a weak, threaded pulse and very shallow breathing. She manages to drag herself, whimpering and tears falling from the pain, fear and reality of her own father trying to kill them.

A smell hits her heightened sense of smell as she manages to move to a crouched position: burning flesh. Moving to the prone Maxwell, she briefly notices the source. Where Harkon stood, his severed arm now lies on the ground, flesh melting from bone.

 

Pulling limply on his shoulder to reveal the injury, she cries for yet another reason. Looking like herself; bloodied and bruised. His familiar enchanted Glass armour, synonymous with his presence, is completely burned away and the edges blackened. Red blood is seeping out of the wound.

Serana frantically decides which of her other three Marks to Recall to for help that they desperately need.

The Fort? Not in her condition, and it was too far away.

Winterhold? Even further away.

That left only one option.

With what strength she has left, Serana adopts the spell to alter her eye colour and Recalls both of them to the Blue Palace in the hopes that, like last time, someone is there. An overwhelming throbbing headache appears as the spell effect occurs.

The surroundings suddenly shift, and as the warping disappears to reveal the familiar shaded veranda, her spirit plummets.

 

It’s completely empty.

 

Under the combined weight of pain, exhaustion and blood loss, Serana whimpers to no one as her tired eyelids droop shut. “Help…please…”

She soon slips into the darkness too; her head collapsing against his shoulder. I’m sorry, Maxwell…

 

---

 

Serana’s eyes fly open.

Feeling a large bandage tightly wrapped around her midriff among other bandages around some of the more serious cuts, a lot of her wounds feel healed already, although there is a tautness where the bloodbolt hit.

The feeling of silken clothing against her skin is the next thing to register, then the mountain of furs over her.

Glancing around, she takes quick stock of the simple decorated room, spotting Sybille - unhooded with her dark brown hair flowing out over her standard purple garb - sitting quietly in a chair next to the bed whilst watching her with a soft expression through her light amber eyes. As Serana tries to sit up, the vampiric councillor stands up and lays a hand to try and keep her in place.

In a gentle tone, she solemnly says. “Easy, Serana. You’ve been unconscious for less than an hour. You’re safe now.”

“Maxwell, is he…?!” She cries out, fearing the worst and not daring to say the word. Please no, don’t let him be…!

“He’s alive. You got him here in time. Thank the Divines we were nearby when I sensed you Recall in. My best healer is tending to him now, and…”

Taking a moment to process the reality that he is still alive – and attempting to keep tears of relief from flowing - Serana listens as Sybille continues. “…must say, your injuries have healed faster than expected. I presume that is because of your consumption of Maxwell’s blood. He’s willingly been giving his own blood for you, hasn’t he?”

Serana nods.

Sybille suddenly smiles warmly. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Serana closes her eyes momentarily and quietly mutters. “Thank you, Sybille.”

With concern and resignation, Serana opens her eyes and quietly asks the obvious. “You said ‘we’. Who knows about me?”

Sybille immediately interprets her question, and regretfully says. “The Queen, Falk and one of her Legionnaires, unfortunately. They were the first ones to reach you along with myself. But please rest assured Serana, they have all agreed to keep your secret. I’ve treated your injuries myself. No one else knows.”

Sybille then asks. “What happened, Serana?”

Taking a moment to compose herself, now that her worst fear has been allayed, Serana looks to her and regales what happened since they last spoke, minus the memory Maxwell played out post-reading and a few personal things they talked about.

Once she finishes, Sybille immediately lays a reassuring hand on Serana’s nearest hand and softly says with a matching expression. “You have my deepest sympathies, Serana. I know Harkon is insane, but to torture his own wife and attempt to kill his only daughter, that’s just...I simply cannot fathom that. I understand he’s your father, but…”

“He’s no longer my father, Sybille. I strip him of that title.” She adamantly exclaims.

Sybille bows slightly, before offering a gentle smile. “Understood…and quite right, too.”

Serana suddenly demands, shooting a stern look to Sybille. “I want to see Maxwell.”

Sybille quickly states as her demeanour becomes concerned. “Serana, I don’t think that is a good idea. He...”

“Sybille. I’m not asking again.”

Sybille stares curiously, her own amber eyes searching before nodding slightly and removing her hand. “I...understand. Just…prepare yourself, Serana. His injury was worse than yours.”

Serana heavily grimaces, and does her best to not let a tear form.

After getting ready, which includes adopting the illusion to alter their eye colour and consumption of some blood vials the councillor had prepared nearby, Sybille gently guides Serana down the painfully long hallways, stopping now and then when the pain becomes too much.

Turning a corner, a familiar thrumming heartbeat – thankfully stronger this time - appears. Serana exhales loudly in relief and leans her head against the wall. Sybille watches her inquisitively before gently guiding her once more to their destination.

Realising his scent is not yet appearing, Serana pauses and glances over. “You’ve suppressed his scent?”

The vampiric councillor replies. “Correct, Serana. I surmised that is what you have been doing, and have renewed the spell.”

Serana weakly nods in acceptance, before they continue. Eventually reaching and then entering a similarly basic furnished room, except this has an open fire which is in use and a double bed, Serana gasps loudly as soon as the scale of Maxwell’s injury is revealed. His exposed scarred torso is now profoundly bruised and discoloured with various shades of red, purple and black, and his midriff area where the bloodbolt hit is under a fresh bandage. Two acolytes are putting the slightly bloodied bandage into a container, and a purple-garbed Breton healer is washing her hands in a nearby bowl. All eyes turn to the appearance of their Mistress and the individual alongside.

“How is he, Lira?” Sybille queries, looking to the healer who turns and puts her now dried hands together.

She responds with a slight bow. “By Mara’s Grace, he is recovering quickly, Mistress. We just washed him and changed the dressing.”

“Will he have a scar?” Serana quietly asks.

Lira looks momentarily surprised but replies with a slight head tilt. “It is possible, Milady.”

Serana grimaces, slamming her tired eyes shut in dismay. Not again…

Seeing this, Sybille instantly commands. “Thank you everyone, please give us the room. I will let you know when you can return.”

The healer bows before gesturing for the acolytes to follow. Once they have the room, Serana moves immediately to the side of the bed before gingerly sitting on the edge. Resisting the urge to slap the Oblivion out of Maxwell for risking his life yet again, she instead gently rests her left hand on the exposed shoulder and adopts a very soft look. Oh, you idiot.

From behind, Sybille’s words aren’t wholly surprising. “You care for him, don’t you?”

Without turning, Serana replies. “As a friend.”

Sybille considers her next words carefully. “But you wish for more?”

As reality freezes at those words, she lightly scoffs. “I can’t, Sybille. I just…can’t.”

“Why not, Serana? From what you said happened, in addition to providing you with his own blood, Maxwell has risked his own life to save you from certain death. I can only think of one reason he would…”

Serana interrupts her, and speaks candidly about happened in Ivarstead, as well as what her Mother said in the Soul Cairn about their association. She doesn’t mention what happened at the Glade, out of respect. He would never forgive me.

Once Serana finishes, she chances a look back to Sybille who is looking at her with a slight head tilt and a curious look. After a minute, she takes a step closer and quietly finishes her sentence. “Putting all of that to one side Serana, there is only one reason I can deduce that explains why he stepped in the way.”

“But…”

“Think about it, Serana. And when he awakens…ask.”

Serana nervously inhales at that prospect. I can’t think about that right now.

 

---

 

She relocates into his room, and Sybille provides some clothing and supplies – including blood vials - as well as retrieving their packs, weapons and recoverable armour; their chest armour is not present for good reason. Upon seeing the family emblem on her dirtied cloak, a sense of disgust appears and without hesitation Serana rips it off before holding it out behind her without looking.

“Please take this and see that it’s destroyed, Sybille.”

Sybille takes it and pockets it. “Of course, Serana. I will bring one of mine as a replacement for it.”

Serana turns and gratefully nods.

 

Lira and her two acolytes appear again during the early afternoon on the first day to continue their healing and ministrations, with her Restoration spells removing most of the bruising and welting. This includes shaving and cutting his brown hair, at Serana’s request. I’m sure he won’t mind.

Upon removal of the bandage, there is indeed a moderate amount of scarring. Serana becomes slightly tearful again when they leave.

Deciding to maintain the spell covering her eyes for the time being and to distract herself, Serana sorts out their gear. The 3 Elder Scrolls are still there in his pack, which she considers with detached apathy, given what happened and their involvement in the prophecy. No wonder he hates them…yet another thing we have in common.

Upon pulling out her blood vial pouch, she thumbs one of the two vials left and wipes away a threatening tear again. I still can’t get over that you do this for me willingly, Maxwell. You never cease to surprise me.

 

When the sun sets, Sybille visits once more, leaving some more vials of blood and food in case Maxwell awakens.

“I should mention Serana, Queen Elisif is going to come by with myself at first light tomorrow to discuss with you what has happened since you were last here.”

“Thank you for letting me know, Sybille.”

Sybille turns to leave, before adding with a gentle tone. “If you require anything at all, even if just to talk, please know that I am available for you.”

“I appreciate that Sybille. I really do, but not right now. I…need to be alone.”

Sybille bows. “I understand. Goodnight, Serana.”

“Goodnight to you, Sybille. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Serana looks back with a wan smile.

After a while, she moves to the other side of the bed. Gingerly lying on her left side alongside him and resting her head on her arm, Serana once more observes the myriad of visible scars that tell the story of Maxwell’s life. Her gaze falls on the stab wound on his shoulder from Sindra, as the scarring on his midriff is under the furs.

 

Serana goes through a whole range of emotions from what transpired since Ivarstead.

She was beyond enraged at her father – no, Harkon – for his actions.

She was elated they had survived.

She was mortified for clearing the way for Harkon to find her mother.

She was fearful for her mother, despite her misgivings from both her previous actions and their conversation in the Soul Cairn.

She was angry that Maxwell risked his own life again, once more endangering her being alone in this unfamiliar time.

She was then confused about him in general.

 

Serana then replays various moments from their journey. The fight with Sindra and her forces, the events on the way to the College, their visit to her home and the Soul Cairn, then their heart to heart conversation after leaving the Fort and everything afterwards.

She smiles at the high points and saddens at the low points.

Reflecting on something he once said outside of Riften, she realises that she had started making friends with others, Sybille for example. Maxwell was right, not everyone you meet on the road is bad. Of course, at the time he meant the literal road, but the logic applies to the road of existence.

 

During the talk with her Mother, she reflects again on what she was told. Saying that mortals cannot be trusted, that a vampire must live in the shadows to survive, that a mortal could not possibly comprehend how infinitesimal their existence is compared to a pureblood, that caring about a mortal is weakness that is beneath her; one that Harkon will not hesitate to exploit.

The very last thing she said as she handed the Scroll over, about Maxwell betraying her once they located the Bow, was completely unfathomable.

His declaration of caring for her wellbeing stunned her immensely. A mortal caring about a vampire? That just seemed otherworldly, until she realised mid-emotional tirade to her Mother that she cared about him the same way, if not more.

After the Soul Cairn, where her darkest nightmare was unwittingly revealed, she thought he would act differently or distance himself. Rather, the complete opposite. She still couldn’t fathom the depth of kindness and concern he showed. Without judgement or malice or ulterior motive, only genuine care, understanding and friendship. The offer to deal with Harkon alone with the Dawnguard so she could disappear was shocking.

Hard to believe that the individual laying alongside and who had found her after more than a thousand years of slumber – this dirtied, sweaty mortal with a strange smell and staring at her weirdly whilst holding a silvered sword and had admitted he was a hunter of predators - would become her dearest friend.

Not to mention, he had been a focal point of a different prophecy, so understood a lot what she is going through with this one.

It almost seemed like they were destined to meet.

 

Her thoughts then turn to their adversary, him. The individual responsible for so much pain in her life, his desires and will taking over or destroying everything they touched. Her own father, wishing death upon his own daughter and torturing his own wife. She felt vindicated; he was no longer her father, just the person they have to stop - together. She begins forming a plan, and mentally logs it to bring up with Elisif tomorrow.

 

Her thoughts then turn to how she felt for Maxwell.

That notion she had fallen under soon after leaving the Fort had created an odd but pleasant feeling within, one that she’s never had before. It both scared her and made her feel…whole? As though it was filling a void that she had carried for so long it had simply become a numb part of her.

She had really enjoyed Ivarstead – prior to that moment – for a number of reasons, but especially the present he gave her and when observing his reaction to her standing outside their bedroom in her dress.

It’s at this point she realises what the feeling is, and her pupils widen at the implication. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Reflecting on that moment in the wake of her realisation, what Maxwell had said about only wanting friendship hurts even more.

Yet finding out first-hand that his wife died whilst in another plane of existence, risking his life and everything he is to save her and the rest of this world from Alduin...she honestly could not fault him for not wanting to be with anyone else.

Then he risked his life for her. Sybille had a point…could he?

Either way, finding out about his darkest nightmare, she decides not to reveal that to him if he doesn’t remember. He has enough to worry about as it is. She also tried very hard not to think about what happened during his acting out of the memory, especially one particular moment.

 

Without noticing whilst maintaining her vigil laying alongside, Serana falls asleep. Like always, it is plagued with nightmares of that Summoning Day, but also of the low points of their journey including the memories of him being heavily wounded: being stabbed by Sindra, the fight with Modhna, almost dying in the Soul Cairn and then in the snow drift, and finally when he lay bleeding in front of her.

She suddenly awakens at the memory of the last one, before realising she was nestled against him after having subconsciously moved closer in the night.

By the blood Serana, control yourself!

Moving delicately back, she decides right then to stay awake until he awakens. Then to immediately ask him the question, although she wasn’t sure what to do if the answer was no.

 

---

 

At first light of the second day, a polite knock at the door brings Serana back to reality as she continues her meditative look over Maxwell’s sleeping form, his breathing even. Upon opening the door, she automatically bows regally, falling to her court decorum training. High Queen Elisif and Sybille are at the door.

In a gentle tone, Elisif politely asks. “Good morning Lady Serana, my sincerest apologies to disturb you at such an early hour. How are you fairing, and how is he doing? I also wanted to ask you what has transpired since we last met.”

Inviting them in, Serana glances back to Maxwell as she responds. “I am well thank you, and there’s been no change. Thank you for everything you’ve done, High Queen Elisif.”

Taking a moment to consider the gravity of her pending request, Serana continues when the door closes. “Before I describe what has happened…I must unfortunately ask for more from you.”

The High Queen looks momentarily surprised and glances back to Sybille who has a similar look, before turning back and stating. “Of course, Lady Serana. What else can I do for you?”

“To begin with, please could you accompany me to speak with Isran, the leader of the Dawnguard?”

Elisif is shocked, before finding her voice. “And why is that, may I enquire?”

Serana motions for them both to sit down, before explaining the reason behind her request. She then summarises what transpired since their last meeting (leaving out certain details for obvious reasons).

At the mention of the Thalmor, Elisif’s reaction is…surprising. She explains to Serana that their representative had approached her when they were in the Soul Cairn and purposely asked her about a rumour coming out of the Riften Hold about the Last Dragonborn’s supposed survival, and that she denied all knowledge. They mutually agree that this is another reason for him to remain in this room, under several forms of protection. Serana will stay with him at all times unless needed elsewhere. Only Sybille and her healer Lira will be the ones permitted to visit them or sit in when she is absent, bringing anything they need or any messages to pass along. Anyone with knowledge of them (Lira’s healers, the Legionnaire who was among the first to reach them, her personal Legionnaires) have all been sworn to absolute secrecy.

At the mention of the undead dragon, Elisif’s reaction is not surprising. She needs several minutes to process this information, and stares intently at the sleeping Dragonborn with an expression of mixed emotion.

Serana then goes in detail her plan. At the end, she concludes. “Queen Elisif, Maxwell fought for this world alone in Sovngarde, and despite defeating the World Eater to save us all…he lost something of himself. I won’t let that happen again. In fact, I go further and say that we can’t let that happen again.”

Elisif carefully considers the proposal, giving Serana a curious yet soft look, with a small glint of recognition. Why is she looking like that?

The High Queen eventually asks. “How many individuals can you Recall with, Lady Serana?”

“Four at most, although I would prefer not to.”

“Then Falk and I will join you to see this Isran. I believe I have met with him before. Is that right, Sybille?”

She politely responds, though there is a very slight hint of disdain. “That is correct, my Queen. His official title is Grand Master.”

Elisif nods in acceptance before looking back to Serana. Serana looks relieved and bows. “Thank you, Queen Elisif.”

They all stand, and the queen continues. “I will speak with Falk momentarily and then we will return within the hour once we have changed to something more suitable for travelling and prepared for our departure accordingly. How far is Dawnguard fortification from where we will Recall to?”

“A short walk, a few minutes at most.”

Elisif nods before looking back to Sybille. “Sybille, we’ll return in a few hours. Please could you see that two quarters are readied accordingly as discussed.”

“Understood, my Queen.” She bows.

Serana asks before Sybille stands up straight. “Sybille, once you’ve finished please could you be in the room in case he wakes up? I have nothing against Lira, but with the Scrolls still here I trust no one else to watch over them until I can leave them with the individual I mentioned.”

“Of course, Serana. I will return as soon as I can.” Sybille replies with a warm smile as she straightens.

 

The Queen and Falk return about 40 minutes later with Sybille, wearing suitable travelling attire. She is wearing her crown and Falk is wearing enchanted gear including a shield that bears the motif of Solitude. Serana has also changed to more suitable clothing.

“Are you ready? It will be momentarily disconcerting.” Serana politely asks, looking to Falk and Elisif. They affirm, and brace. She nods to Sybille who bows and takes a seat alongside Maxwell.

Going through the motions, she Recall to her Mark outside the Fort. As the warping progresses the two mortals stumble for a moment from the change in terrain - going from solid stone to soft grass - but once steady they release a gasp at the sudden change in their surroundings as the warping ceases.

High Queen Elisif looks in wonder at Serana. “Lady Serana, Maxwell was right. You are adept in the arcane.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “I’ll lead the way.”

“Please.”

Serana moves in front, then Falk and Elisif behind him for defensive purposes.

Approaching the Dawnguard fort, Serana stops and whispers. “There are people hiding in ambush ahead.”

She loudly hails their approach. “I, Serana, have returned. I know you are there in hiding. Please show yourselves and lower your weapons, as I have brought High Queen Elisif and Falk Fire-Beard with me from Solitude.”

“She speaks the truth. I am High Queen Elisif. Please reveal yourselves, I command it.” Elisif authoritatively calls out, putting emphasis on every word.

A few people appear from the rocks, including Agmaer. He instantly recognises the voice and look of the High Queen, having accompanied Isran several times.

He is the first to loudly exclaim, his blue eyes almost popping out of his head. “High Queen Elisif?!”

Elisif doesn’t react and simply responds. “That is correct. Please could you escort me to your leader, Grand Master Isran. Lady Serana has brought me here so that I can discuss with him about Maxwell and the prophecy to darken the sun.”

Completely baffled, Agmaer nods. He shouts out. “Stand down and hold position, everyone!”

He then leaves his post to escort them to see Isran.

Several minutes later, after been guided through the fortification by a tense Agmaer, they approach the wing where Isran is sorting something out with Sorine and Gunmar. His back is turned to the group and he is talking animatedly. Isran immediately notices both Sorine and Gunmar become non-plussed. When turning to investigate, he locks eyes with Elisif. His entire face contorts in a mix of emotion – confusion mostly - as he too instantly recognises both Falk and Elisif from the times they spoke in person.

Momentarily losing the ability to speak, Isran quietly clears his throat and says. “Um, High Queen Elisif. Councillor Falk. A pleasure to see you both here. How, ahem, do you find yourself with it…I mean, with Serana?”

Elisif doesn’t bat an eye, and politely explains. “A pleasure to see you as well, Grand Master Isran. Lady Serana has brought me here to speak with you, in order to make arrangements in relation to supporting Maxwell and herself in stopping her father from darkening the sun.”

He balks at her words, and stammers for a few moments, before neutrally asking. “And where is Maxwell?”

“Maxwell was severely injured following the reading when they were attacked. However, he is alive and recovering thanks to my healers.”

Serana internally winces, but remains externally neutral. Isran and the surrounding members audibly react but Elisif holds up a hand for silence.

Once she has it, the High Queen solemnly states. “All will be discussed in due course. Please, may we go somewhere private?”

Isran stiffly nods, completely bewildered at this sudden turn of events. He quickly converses with Sorine and Gunmar to deal with the other matters he was going to see to.

 

Not long later, over the best food and alcohol that can be served, the lengthy discussions between the four of them proceed smoothly. Serana provides details including what happened after the reading as well as intimate knowledge of the Castle, and how much the Dawnguard share of the material wealth will be if he agrees to this plan. Isran is completely stupefied when he hears the amount.

When Serana said that Maxwell had summoned the undead dragon to cover their escape, Isran quietly exhales after slumping into his chair, his expression showing naked shock. “By the NINE!! He really does have a goddamned flair for the dramatic.”

Elisif politely agrees. “I believe I said something similar at one time, Grand Master.”

Isran does query Serana on her motivations. Elisif looks momentarily annoyed, but Serana interjects, having had enough of his obstinance. She levels with Isran in a completely neutral tone.

“Isran, I'm going to be candid with you. Among the many reasons Maxwell explained to you before we left…Harkon tried to kill me. His only daughter. Vampire or not, that is no way to treat your child. Hence, I no longer recognise him as my father, nor the Castle as my home. I have no allegiance to him, the Castle or any of his cretins. My only concerns are stopping him from completing this insane prophecy that risks the end of everything we know, and the safety of Maxwell. Both of which require the resources and skills of the Dawnguard under your leadership.”

Isran carefully considers her words, before outright stating with a smirk. “I had to ask the question, Serana. Know that I agree to the plan, and that the Dawnguard are with you.”

Serana looks to Elisif before looking back and politely nodding. “Thank you, Isran.”

After further discussions, the Redguard leader agrees to be brought back to the Palace once he has readied, for further discussions in preparation for when Maxwell awakens. As Falk and Elisif wait for Isran to return, Serana takes momentary leave from them to speak privately with Dexion.

The Moth Priest, after hearing the news, immediately gestures for her hands which Serana offers. Dexion quietly states with sincerity. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear what has happened Serana. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you alright?”

Serana takes a moment before responding candidly. “I will be Dexion, once he awakens.”

“Please remember to take it easy. And as promised, I will remain here for however long you both need of me.”

Serana says with sincerity and hint of humour. “Thank you Dexion. You are a good mortal.”

Dexion shyly smiles in response, tapping his hand on hers a few times in appreciation.

 

Once Isran has prepared for his absence, Serana recalls all four back to her Mark at the Palace - on the veranda - where a sudden headache appears, although she doesn’t visibly react. Once alone, Serana pulls out a vial of blood she had picked up to abate the headache, remembering once again it was significantly less potent than what she had been consuming.

 

---

 

Just under an hour passes before Arch-Mage Tolfdir and Faralda are brought by a spell-covered Serana. The three Elder Scrolls have been left with Urag for safe keeping as a precaution, with Tolfdir’s approval. At least we won’t have to be in the same room as them anymore.

Joining Elisif in one of her many reception areas, she stands and cordially welcomes them. “Arch-Mage Tolfdir, Mage Faralda, it is a pleasure to meet with you both. Has Lady Serana explained what has happened and why she has brought you here?”

Tolfdir bows reverently. “She has, your Majesty, in great detail. Whilst we are saddened to hear what happened following the reading, the College ardently agrees to their role within the plan. Faralda, as we have just discussed please return and call an assembly, and then Recall back to advise me who has volunteered.”

She nods, and after placing a Mark casts Recall back to Winterhold.

Once the Altmer mage disappears, Tolfdir says with sincerity to Serana. “I still can’t get over the fact that we have regained the knowledge of the Recall spell. It truly is a wondrous thing. Thank you once again for that, Serana.”

Serana politely smiles.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, how are you doing?”

Noting the High Queen is looking at her, Serana keeps her tone neutral. “I am doing well, thank you Arch-Mage Tolfdir. My focus is on our planning in readiness for Maxwell’s awakening, where we will find out if the reading worked and if he knows the location of the Bow.”

“Please don’t overdo it, Lady Serana.” Elisif interjects, giving her that soft look once more.

Before Serana can respond, a frantic knocking at the door breaks the silence, and Elisif calls out expectantly. “You may enter!”

The door opens and an aide of Falk stands in the doorway with a look of eagerness. Elisif nods and beckons him in. “You may approach. Has Falk found something of use from my requested search through the inventory?”

The aide approaches, glancing over the other two figures seated in front of the High Queen, and hands a note. The High Queen quickly scans it, and her eyes bulge out. Serana and Tolfdir share a confused glance.

Looking to the aide with extreme surprise, the High Queen utters quietly. “How much was there?”

The aide looks back and politely responds. “He believes there is enough of the material for two full sets of armour, my Queen.”

Elisif gasps loudly, but quickly regains her composure. “Thank you, please have Falk bring them to the Palace, and please ask him to send for the master blacksmith. We need to act quickly.”

The aide nods and quickly departs, leaving the note.

Once the door is closed, Elisif turns to Serana and Tolfdir, and states with incredulous awe. “Well, it appears that Maxwell did leave something of significant value in Proudspire Manor all those years ago that we can use.”

Serana and Tolfdir share another look, before she asks. “What did he leave?”

The High Queen passes the note over, and Serana reads it with Tolfdir looking over, who loudly exclaims. “By the Divines! He never said he had these?!”

Elisif shakes her head. “No. I suspect he has forgotten about them. I can’t think of any other reason.”

Serana is baffled, as she hands the note back. Why would he have left them there?!

After discussions with Tolfdir are concluded, she returns to Maxwell’s side extremely quickly. He is still asleep.

 

After negotiation on payment and measurements have been taken, the Palace’s master blacksmith – an expert of his trade given his station – drops everything and starts the rush order placed by the High Queen of two armour sets with the rare material found, including one minor adjustment on one that is requested by Elisif with Serana’s immediate approval.

 

---

 

During the various and extensive discussions and activities of their allies throughout the second and third day, Serana notices from time to time that Elisif is giving her that certain look, almost as if she knows something that she doesn’t.

The armour is completed in record time, and Serana is shocked at how it looks, and still can’t believe Maxwell had not already had the material made into armour. Nevertheless, she Recalls to the College and works with a dazed Sergius on enchanting the pieces of armour with a myriad of defensive enchantments.

Sergius says with incredulous awe as the final pieces are enchanted. “I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life, Serana. I have never worked with such a material before. And it shouldn’t surprise me Maxwell is the source of it.”

“I am sure Maxwell will be pleased with your handiwork, Sergius. He has said several times how impressed he has been with the Glass armour.”

Sergius laughs at that.

Once the armour is completed, Serana brings it back and gives it to a smiling Elisif who has a special plan to reveal it once Maxwell awakens. She is the one paying for it, I don't mind acquiescing. Hopefully he will like what she has requested.

 

---

 

Lira visits once more as the sun is setting on the third day, bringing a plate of fresh food and leaving it on the side. After studiously checking Maxwell over, the healer pulls out then hands a bright red healing potion to Serana.

“He’s looking significantly better, Milady. I believe he should awaken very soon. When he does, please use that if there is any complaint of pain or discomfort.”

“Thank you, Lira. That will be all for now. Goodnight.” Serana sincerely says with a smile. She puts it on the side table.

Lira bows before bidding goodnight and departing, closing the door. After a few moments, Serana waves a hand and locks the door with a spell, before dismissing the spell on her eyes given what she said.

Looking to the still sleeping Maxwell, she wistfully smiles. Now would be a really good time for you to wake up, Maxwell.

 

---

 

Back to now, as midnight comes and goes, Serana opens her eyes once more and observes the undulation of his chest again before returning to writing in her journal.

Flipping to the next page after the ink has dried, she wonders how much longer he is going to remain asleep. As if perfectly timed, the movement and low groan answers that question. With sudden realisation, she closes her book and leaps out the chair; inadvertently leaving in her seat the question.

Notes:

Zin Qanhaarin, Zu'u Kogaan = Honorable Vanquisher, I am thankful.

Originally intended as a one parter, but I felt it too constrictive so I've split it into two, next one will be up shortly. Some minor edits may happen, but it will be mostly grammatical.

Chapter 26: Feelings (Part 2)

Summary:

Maxwell's perspective when he awakens.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, reference to injury.

A soft feeling permeates his body as Maxwell slowly wakes from a dreamless unconsciousness. Wrapped up in furs that hug his half-naked body and a comfortable heat coming from a nearby fire. Attempting to move, Maxwell audibly groans at the mild ache from his injury as well as the dryness in his throat.

The sound of a book closing registers on his hearing, before an extremely light pressure appears on his shoulder as a hand is gingerly placed and a blurry feminine form appears in his hazy vision.

Maxwell absentmindedly lifts his left hand and grasps the upper arm belonging to the hand. The feminine form tenses up.

When his sight comes into focus, Serana is leaning over him with her left hand on his shoulder. She’s wearing simpler clothing. Her hair is unbraided, cascading over her shoulders. Her amber eyes, like pools of warm liquid sunlight, have a subtle quality to them.

Dropping his hand, Maxwell goes to say something but his voice comes out as raspy which intensifies the pain.

Serana softly but immediately says. “Don’t, Maxwell. Don’t speak.”

He weakly nods and stays silent.

She tentatively asks, for some reason. “Do you remember who you are, and who I am?”

After a moment, Maxwell weakly nods again. Serana visibly relaxes, before continuing her ministrations. Her eyes scan, and her touch is extremely light and soft and careful, stopping as Maxwell winces now and then.

“Are you in pain?”

He nods again.

She turns and grabs something – a potion - from the bedside table and brings it to his lips whilst lifting his head, gently saying. “Please drink, this will help.”

Drinking the potion, the warmth of the healing energy spreads throughout, replacing the dull aches and pains as well as the parched throat.

Afterwards, Maxwell rests his head on the pillow as her cool hand pulls away and sighs heavily in relief. He takes a deep breath and manages to find his voice, which comes out slightly hoarse. “How…ugh, how long have I been out, Serana?”

“Almost four days.” She gently responds, putting the empty vial back on the side table then sitting on the side of the bed and looking at him. “What do you remember, Maxwell?”

As vague images and memories crop up – the map, his hand outstretched towards a block of ice, an army of black and grey creatures, a demon-like figure with wings laying by a tree, the sound of thunder or roaring – Maxwell becomes confused. “Up to the reading, then…not much after. I have…images…did I fight someone?”

The crackling fire punctuates the silence before she explains with the gentlest look.

“I’ll start from the beginning, Maxwell. After you finished the reading, you…fell asleep. As you were recovering, we were attacked by Vingalmo who had been turned into a Vampire Lord by Harkon. We fought and I was hurt, but you awoke and killed him. Harkon then appeared. You summoned Durnevhiir from the Soul Cairn and he Shouted his army of undead into existence to protect us. When I cast Recall, Harkon hit me with an overcharged blood bolt. As he threw another one, you…you stepped in the way.”

As she pauses to centre herself, he leans back into the pillow with a mix of dismay and shock as he processes her words. Harkon turned up and I summoned Durnevhiir? Fuck…

It’s immediately evident that she is leaving some very obvious things out, judging by expressions and tone used. It’s also evident of the use of Harkon rather than Father.

Deciding to try and lighten the mood, Maxwell briefly arches an eyebrow and says. “I guess that answers the question of what I agreed to with Durnevhiir.”

Serana weakly laughs, before deeply inhaling.

The aroma of food tickles his sense of smell, and Maxwell instantly locks onto it. Serana brings the plate over and after sitting up he immediately digs in, tearing into the food as though everything depended on it. She observes with something of a gentle smile.

Maxwell realises and slows down. “…sorry.” In between slower mouthfuls, he politely asks. “What else happened, Serana?”

“Harkon was heavily injured but managed to Recall away. Durnevhiir then disappeared back to the Soul Cairn, and I Recalled us to the Palace. Sybille’s healers managed to stabilise you in time.”

“Sybille?” his face contorting in confusion as he stops eating. Swallowing the mouthful, he drops a hand and looks around intently, finally realising the brickwork isn’t the familiar white stone.

“We’re in the Blue Palace in Solitude, Maxwell.”

His brow furrows as he looks to her. This wasn’t the plan, at all!

As he goes to ask why, Maxwell finally realises her eyes are their deep amber.

Seeing him looking, she quickly adds. “The Queen and Falk know about me.”

She’s partially misinterpreted his look, as staring into her eyes brings back the memory of right before he took the bloodbolt – when they locked eyes – which has prompted the words from the Elder Scrolls to come back with a vengeance. She will die. You will not. Just like before.

His face drops completely.

“What’s wrong, Maxwell?” Serana immediately asks, leaning slightly closer with a look of concern.

“Sorry…Serana. It’s, just, well…it’s a lot to process.” Maxwell hesitantly replies, absentmindedly laying a hand on top of the furs where the scar is. He can feel the tautness.

Serana inadvertently whimpers once before clearing her throat in an attempt to drown out the sound before adopting a neutral look.

That prompts Maxwell to realise he hasn’t asked a rather pertinent question. Putting aside the half empty plate, he sincerely asks. “How are you doing, Serana?”

Despite her best efforts, her lips suddenly tremble and break the neutral look. She grabs his nearby left hand with her own and tightly grasps it, before replying. “That’s a question and a half, Maxwell. I’m just…relieved to see you finally awake.”

A tense pause hangs over the pair, only broken by the sounds the fire and their breathing. Serana momentarily looks as though she wants to ask something, but decides at the last second not to.

She quietly states instead. “I can’t believe you did that, you idiot.”

Maxwell weakly shrugs, not wanting to reveal the real reason. “Eh…you’ve saved me plenty of times, Serana. I figured it was my turn.” Suddenly remembering what happened the last time she called him that, he quickly adds with widening pupils. “Please don’t slap me.”

She coughs out a heartfelt laugh, before looking away.

After a few moments, Maxwell begins to ask. “What di…”

Serana briskly interrupts, still looking away. Her voice, extremely tight. “Did the reading work, Maxwell? Do you know where Auriel’s Bow is?”

Clearing his throat, he answers honestly – for the most part. “Yes Serana, it did. The Bow is in an ancient Snow Elf temple dedicated to Auriel, in a valley within the Druadach mountains, pass the Reach. I know the exact path. We first need to go through a ‘Cave of Protective Darkness’…whatever that means.”

Serana mutely nods; clearly something else on her mind.

Tenderly pressing, Maxwell asks. “Serana, there’s something bothering you, what is it?”

She instantly looks over, raw and naked emotion appearing. Her words spew out in a rush. “Harkon, he has her. Mother. He used the portal I opened to the Soul Cairn, and…he’s…torturing her…I…I…”

Oh…shit…

As his countenance falters, her lips tremble again as the emotions threaten to burst out, and she covers her mouth with her right hand and closes her eyes. Her shoulders begin shaking and she stands up…only for her left arm to not follow. She looks back as her amber eyes bulge slightly in confusion, the emotional turmoil temporarily halted.

Maxwell uneasily stands up whilst holding onto her left hand. Serana starts to protest but he moves his left hand to place a finger gently on her chilled lips. Her irises flare in surprise, and she flits between his own eyes for meaning. After standing and being sure of not falling over, Maxwell pulls Serana into a tight embrace, and she instantly returns it with her arms finding their way around his back.

They stand there, silently.

Barely 3 seconds later, the emotion spills out and she breaks down, the tears running down his chest as she nestles into the crook of his neck; the sobs muffled slightly. He gently rubs his hands in a soothing motion on her back, and rests his head against her forehead. 

After a while, the tears stop, and the moment becomes infinite as they stand there in the embrace; the heat of the fire warming them. Their breathing, almost in tune.

The infinite moment then becomes finite as a rapid knock at the door drags them back to reality. Maxwell mentally groans. Who in Oblivion could that be?!

With a resounding sigh, Maxwell motions to step back but Serana keeps him in place, surprising him. She then retracts her hands and places them on his bare chest, splayed above his beating heart which increases slightly. Levelling her head with closed eyes and inhaling then exhaling, she opens them to reveal those deep amber eyes full of sincerity and something else. The two words, full of so much emotion it’s palpable.

“Thank you.”

Maxwell tenderly replies with a small smile and a head tilt. “You looked like you needed one, Serana.”

Serana simpers, before stepping away and leaving a void that hurts more than his physical injury. After she wipes away the dried tears, she silently passes Maxwell a shirt, and waits for him to wear it before she approaches then unlocks and opens the door.

High Queen Elisif is standing there with hands clasped, wearing nightwear under a flowing dressing gown. Sybille and Falk behind, on either side, also in their own nightwear and dressing gowns.

Glancing between Maxwell who gapes in surprise and Serana who is straightening her hair with a neutral expression, she is quick to state. “Maxwell, Lady Serana…my sincerest apologies for disturbing you both.”

“Elisif!! I mean, your Majesty.” Maxwell exclaims, before correcting himself and bowing his head.

Elisif quickly but wistfully smiles at the extremely rare use of her title by the living legend, but adopts her regal composure just as fast.

“May we enter?”

“Of course, Queen Elisif. Please come in.” Serana answers before Maxwell can, moving to stand alongside him once more, keeping a modicum of distance.

The trio enter, and Falk closes the door.

Elisif looks at Maxwell with sincerity. “Sybille sensed you awaken, and alerted Falk and myself. I’m extremely relieved to see you up and about at last, Maxwell. This is undoubtedly quite the situation you’ve gotten mixed up in.”

“That’s one way to put it, Elisif.” Maxwell offers with a wan smile.

“Indeed!” She politely comments with a surprising chuckle.

As a quiet pause hangs over the room, only broken by the rhythmic breathing of everyone and the crackling of the fire, Elisif is the one to break it with a suddenly deeply serious expression. “Maxwell, I would like to get this out of the way first and foremost: summoning an undead dragon is quite an egregious and flagrant action I would not have expected from you.”

Maxwell immediately adopts an apologetic look, and quickly replies. “Yeah…I apologise for that, Elisif. I promise I wouldn’t have done it if there wasn’t any other alternative.”

Elisif consider him before losing the serious expression and offering a small smile. “I trust you on that Maxwell, I just wanted to air my concern.”

“As you should, being High Queen and all.” He nonchalantly comments, before realising what he said.

Elisif simply raises an eyebrow as though to threaten him to continue with that sentiment. Maxwell notices Sybille and Falk share a passing glance and a small smirk behind her.

Before he can offer another apology, Serana interjects. “The reading worked, Queen Elisif. Maxwell knows where the Bow is.”

His eyebrows fly up. Wait…what?

As Maxwell utters a nonsensical sound, Elisif ignores it when she turns to Falk. “Falk.”

“Yes, my Queen?” he responds, standing to attention.

“Please could you ensure the meeting room is ready, and please advise Grand Master Isran and Arch Mage Tolfdir at first light that I would like to meet with them at…” She looks briefly to Serana with a very peculiar look as Maxwell becomes non-plussed, before glancing back “…midday.”

WAIT, WHAT?!

Falk nods before bowing to Elisif, then again to the mute Maxwell and Serana with a smile, and then departs the room to attend to his assigned instruction.

As soon as the door closes, Maxwell forces out in a tight voice. “Okay, let me get this straight. You know about the reading, and Isran and Tolfdir are here??”

“Yes, to both. Lady Serana has explained what has transpired, and she brought them both to Solitude at my request whilst you were recovering, in order to work together to stop this terrible prophecy from coming to pass.”

His countenance completely evaporates as reality comes to a crashing halt once again, like a flying dragon smashing into the ground from Dragonrend. What in the actual fuck did I wake up to?!?

In a perplexed tone, he mutters. “Ok, I’ve got to be dreaming. Someone please tell me that I’m dreaming.”

“You are most certainly awake, Maxwell.” Sybille counters.

“…I was afraid that was going to be the answer. I need a moment…please…“

Sitting on the bed which creaks with his sudden weight, Maxwell looks completely bewildered at the reality he has found himself in. Serana drops down in front and lays a reassuring hand on his forearm.

Unsure of how to feel about these earth-shattering revelations, he glances to her and quietly says. “You’ve, uh, kept yourself busy, Serana.”

She only gives her classic disarming smile in response, although there is a hint of something behind it. Maxwell tilts his head questioningly. What’s with all these unusual looks?

The High Queen politely coughs once, getting his attention. When Maxwell looks back, Elisif inhales deeply before starting with sincerity.

“Years ago, Maxwell, I didn’t listen to you and The Wolf Queen nearly returned from the dead, if it hadn’t been for the intervention of Lydia and yourself. This time, I am not making the same mistake. Because of that, and everything else you have done for the sake of not just the people of this province but for all of Nirn, I have undertaken these actions. Now that you are awake, what do you need of me?”

Without thinking about the myriad of issues in undertaking such an endeavour, he immediately requests. “Horses, the fastest you have. And supplies. We leave tomorrow for the Bow.”

“Maxwell, you just woke up! You need…” Serana starts to say, retracting her hand in surprise.

Maxwell shakes his head fervently before interjecting with a knowing look. “We need to find the Bow as soon as possible, Serana. We’ve already lost enough time.”

Sybille comments with a hint of amusement, drawing his attention. “Maxwell, you may be the legendary Last Dragonborn, but you almost died. You need a few more days of rest. Not to mention, both of your armours were irreparably damaged.”

Elisif adds. “I wholeheartedly agree. Please don’t overexert yourself, Maxwell.” She offers a very small smirk. “I command it.”

Seeing the overwhelming opposition, he relents with a surrender gesture and a shake of his head. I hope Valerica is still alive then…and Sergius forgives me about the armour.

Putting a hand on his shoulder to massage the muscle, and ignoring the growing hunger pangs, Maxwell says. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about armour, then. That Glass armour was the second best set I owned from…before, and it had some powerful enchantments, as did Serana’s.”

Elisif quizzes him. “You don’t remember?”

He gives an odd look before shaking his head. “Remember…what?”

“When we first spoke, I said I had taken possession of what you had left in Proudspire Manor following your ‘death’.”

Maxwell furrows his brow and drops his hand, wondering where this is going. He replies. “I vaguely remember that, Elisif, but I don’t remember anything of value being left. Maybe some loose weaponry and basic household stuff, but nothing worthwhile.”

Her stare intensifies, making a small sense of dread appear within. “Apparently you did leave something notable, Maxwell. And of significant value, actually.”

His jaw hits the floor. There was really nothing left, just basic housewares, a few weapons...

“Uh…what? What…was there?”

“There was a quantity of dragon scales. It has been crafted into armour to fit you both.”

His jaw drops again and eyes widen in disbelief, before exclaiming. “WHAT?!”

Maxwell’s posture slumps as he tries to process this factoid, as three sets of eyes observe him. Looking at Serana who has a quizzical look.

He eventually mutters, mostly to himself. “I…thought we sold those.”

Serana briefly glances to Elisif and Sybille, and all three immediately know what Maxwell means by ‘we’. Nevertheless, they stay silent.

Maxwell realises something – or rather three somethings – are missing. Glancing around furtively, he asks. “Wait, where are the Scrolls?”

Serana answers that one. “They’re at the College, Maxwell. With Urag, for safekeeping until this is over.”

Maxwell looks at her, before resignedly sighing at this obscure reality he just woke up to. After rubbing his hands over his face - silently noticing he has been shaven - Maxwell says in an attempt to lighten the serious mood. “Well, it seems everything has been taken care of. I guess I’ll just go back to sleep until the next world-ending prophecy comes about.”

It lands well, as his words prompt polite chuckles and wide smiles from the one mortal and two vampires.

“It is good to see you back to yourself, Maxwell.” High Queen Elisif politely comments.

Maxwell bows his head once more, more sincerely this time, before levelling and looking at each individual as he speaks. “Thank you…my Queen. For everything. And thank you as well, Sybille. It’s good to be awake…and alive.” To Serana, he gives her a completely sincere look tempered by emotion. " 'Thanks' just doesn't feel like enough, Serana, but...thank you."

Sybille has a genuine smile and bows, whilst Elisif has a wisp of a smirk at the use of her official title once more and Serana simply gives her disarming smile as well.

Elisif politely asks as she turns to Serana. “Lady Serana, a few moments of your time please.”

Maxwell looks at his friend, who simply shrugs in response before heading over to the Queen who turns and leads the way out the room. Sybille closely follows, giving him a soft smile again before closing the door.

 

As the door shuts with a finality, blocking out the sound from the hallway, Maxwell collapses further onto the bed and runs his hands through his hair to try and process what in Oblivion just happened. He then realises his hair has also been cut short. This is...unreal. 

Feeling the hunger pangs again, he delves into the remaining food once more. The thoughts run amok as he chews meditatively on the carrot.

In less than 15 minutes, his entire world has flipped upside down, and then several more times. From the revelation of dragon scales left, to them being in the capital, to Isran and Tolfdir being here as well, to what Serana had said had happened, to Elisif’s comments, to all the odd looks.

The news of Valerica being tortured is also deeply unsettling. Gods, what Serana must be feeling.

Knowing the reading worked and there were no unintended consequences massively reassures him, and seeing Serana alive – with his own two eyes - gave him a huge sense of unrestrained relief. Yet there was clearly something she hadn’t revealed, for some reason. She had definitely been busy, but it was evident that she had done so to distract herself from what had happened, and without allowing any time to process everything.

At the thought of the tender moment, the longing once more swells, but Maxwell fervently stomps it down. Now is not the time. Maybe, never.

He also finally looks at the wound. It’s moderately scarred. Well…another one for the collection.

 

As he finishes and puts the plate on the side table and tidies up, the door suddenly opens to reveal Serana’s return. Seemingly deep in thought, she notices him looking and offers a genuine but tempered smile, and he returns with one of his own.

Clearing his throat, Maxwell politely asks as she steps in. “What did Elisif want to speak with you about, Serana? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Serana responds, as she turns to close then lock the door. “She just wanted to say a few things about the meeting tomorrow.”

“Anything you’d be willing to share?”

She momentarily freezes with her hand on the door, before saying. “I’ll…um, not right now, Maxwell.”

He lightly huffs. “Probably for the best, Serana. I don’t think I can take any more surprises.”

Turning around, Serana laughs a wholly sincere laugh with that soft look again, before hints of tiredness creep into her posture. When she begins teetering, sudden instinct makes Maxwell quickly alight from the bed and walk over.

“Woah, Serana! You look exhausted.”

She shakes her head, before assuming a more serious composure and stating in a serious tone. “I’ll be okay.” Switching the tone to a humorous one. “And thank you Maxwell, that makes me feel nice…”

Deciding to match her tone, he opts to use her title playfully again. “Lady Serana, you know what I mean. You may be an immortal royal pure-blooded vampiress, but you clearly need sleep. It sounds like you’ve done all of this and barely given yourself a chance to process what’s happened. Please, rest.”

They stand there, looking at each other, neither wanting to be the first one to move or say anything. His earth brown eyes against her deep amber eyes. They then speak at the same time.

“How are you for blood?” “There’s something I have to know.”

His stomach drops, as if knowing what she’s going to ask. Her expression fades, registering his words.

As a very awkward silence descends, Maxwell is the first to speak in a low voice, repeating his question. “How are you doing for blood, Serana?”

Serana quietly responds, her deep amber eyes flitting between his own. “Sybille has kindly sourced me some.” She then repeats her statement. “Maxwell, there’s something I have to know.”

A small feeling of knowing mixed with dread appears, and he tries to stall. “Can it wait until tomorrow, Serana?”

“It can’t.” Serana quickly replies in an almost pleading tone, taking a step forward.

Maxwell goes to argue, but the desperate look she has makes it clear that this is something that really can’t wait. Taking a couple of steps back to prepare himself, he exhales slowly in acceptance and asks. “Ok…what did you want to know, Serana?”

“Why did you do it, Maxwell?”

“Do…what?” He furrows his brow, feigning confusion.

Her deep amber eyes dangerously narrow, seeing right through his attempt to stall. Nevertheless, she clarifies. “Take Harkon’s second bloodbolt for me. Why did you do it?”

His expression dives, having been made. Oh gods no. Not this, not now.

“Serana, I-I…”

She takes a step closer, her gaze becomes intense as though demanding an answer. He backs up a step, heart suddenly beating faster.

“I, um…”

“Why, Maxwell? Why did you risk your life for me?”

Serana takes another step closer. Maxwell backs up again, jumping slightly as he hits the wall behind.

“I…don’t want to say, Serana. Please don’t make me.”

“Why? I have to know, Maxwell. I need to know.” Another step, now very close. Her voice, lower but more insistent. Her presence, suddenly dominating.

Maxwell frantically shakes his head, remaining tight-lipped.

Serana steps closer once more, right up to him – their faces merely inches apart - and places her hands on his chest as she stares into his very being, those amber irises burning themselves onto his retinas. As his breath catches in his tightened throat, she repeats it one last time.

“Why?”

The sensation of the actions coupled with her dominating presence and proximity completely obliterates the remainder of his defences, and Maxwell blurts out half of the truth.

“The Scrolls said you will die, Serana!”

Her amber irises flare and pupils widen massively, and she staggers back towards the centre of the room, almost hitting the corner of the bed. Apparently, that wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

Looking deeply into his eyes as though trying to divine meaning, she breathlessly murmurs. “…what did you say?”

With heavy resignation, Maxwell closes his eyes and languidly droops his head. As reality comes crashing down with the truth – half of it at least - he quietly states. “May the Gods forgive me…the Scrolls told me you will die, Serana.”

Sighing heavily, he continues with a heavy tone. “I never wanted to reveal that, because you’re going through so much. I know how confusing and distressing everything is for you, and even moreso with what you said about your mother being tortured and what happened with Harkon. And with…uhh…”

Maxwell’s words taper off as he opens his eyes, before the guilt swells.

Serana is now standing in the far corner, looking away and tightly hugging herself, looking extremely vulnerable with trembling shoulders. Feeling appalled for making her feel even worse, he leans against the wall and puts his head into his hands.

A pregnant silence descends, broken only by the crackling of the low fire.

Serana, with her back remaining turned to him, soon speaks in a subdued voice. “Maxwell, I wasn’t going to reveal this either…but you need to know. I left something out when recounting what happened after the reading. Before you fell asleep…” she inhales “…you acted out the memory of seeing Lydia in Sovngarde after you killed Alduin.”

Everything – his breathing, heartrate, countenance, innards, spirit, emotions – plummets through the stone floor.

_Oh.

 

---

 

Shortly after the swirling vortex of mystical energies of the World-Eater’s soul have flown up into the ethereal and gorgeous sky, Haldrin grasps the proffered hand of Felldir to help him up from the soft and loamy long grass after being knocked down by the energy blast of the foul beast’s death.

Felldir looks grateful as he speaks. “Our ancient debt is now repaid – the long night has ended. To see the end of that vile beast is no small achievement. Our eternal gratitude, Dragonborn.”

“Indeed, that was a hard-fought battle, one I could not have won alone. Thank you, all of you.” Haldrin sincerely states, looking at the three heroes of old as he shakes himself down and sheathes his ebony sword. His thoughts, oddly calm given what just happened.

Looking up, he freezes. They all suddenly seem to have a strange expression, even though they just won the hardest battle and saved Nirn.

As he looks to Hakon with confusion and concern, the sight over Gormlaith’s shoulder as his gaze passes over makes his heart stop, drop and roll out onto the grass.

Standing not far away, with hands clasped in front and wearing her standard yet familiar figure-hugging armour, with weaponry on her back and side, the look on her face being one that will forever be burned into his memory and his nightmares. Her deep Nordic Blue eyes staring intently yet mournfully at him.

His wife, Lydia, standing there in all her radiant beauty. She looks similar to that of the three heroes he just fought alongside; a slight glow surrounding her form like a hallowed aura.

Under the stoic gaze of the towering Tsun who approaches from behind, he motions past Felldir and Gormlaith as they silently move aside, seemingly knowing something he doesn’t. A myriad of emotion boils over as he approaches her, including the memory of their last conversation.

“My Thane, if you don’t come back, I’m going to find a way to you and drag you back to the realm of the living. That’s a promise.”

“On that, my love, I have no doubt.”

“…Wha…what are you doing here??” Haldrin utters, in a pained yet confused voice as he grabs her by the upper arms.

 

---

 

Instantly feeling a myriad of emotions, Maxwell turns and lays a hand on the stone wall and leans into the supporting forearm, trying to breathe his way through the panic whilst looking into the low fire. Those FUCKING things!!

His most haunting memory, played out in vivid detail. The secret that’s he has carried all of these years, and what led to the way his life turned out. Maxwell wishes he could be away from everything, just like his time in self-exile.

 

After however many minutes have passed and the panic has mostly subsided, Serana’s quiet voice from behind makes Maxwell jump, as there was not a single sound indicating her approach. “Please turn around, Maxwell.”

He scoffs, bowing his head in resignation and barely able to mask the emotions. He sarcastically retorts. “Why, Serana? So you can slap me because I’m an idiot for risking my life again?”

“No.”

Instantly perplexed, Maxwell straightens up and turns around, before her cool fingers are firmly placed over them in a shushing motion to keep him quiet. His eyes almost blow out of his head from her action and both his breathing and heart freeze. He instinctively moves back against the stone wall, but she moves at the same time whilst maintaining her posture and presence.

Serana stands so close again, taking up most of his vision. Under the loose strands of her fringe, her expression is woeful mixed with something else, and her deep amber irises are piercing but soft.

“Please don’t speak. I need to tell you something else.”

Maxwell suddenly fears for the end of everything they have…or of his life.

A silence descends as Serana motions to say the words but doesn’t, seemingly struggling with what she wants to say. Eventually, after inhaling to focus, she looks directly into his brown eyes and solemnly states.

 

“Maxwell…I’m in love with you.”

 

As he starts to visibly react, Serana presses her fingers harder against his lips and continues, her voice wavering.

“I vividly remember what you said in Ivarstead. You’re not interested in being with anyone and you only want friendship. Despite how that makes me feel, I can’t blame you for that after finding out what happened in Sovngarde…and…and…”

The emotion becomes too much and Serana ceases speaking, before she wipes threatening tears from her eyes with the back of her other hand and then looking away.

In a very subdued voice with trembling lips, she concludes. “I’m sorry, I just…I needed to tell you, before it was too late. I’ll…I’ll stay with Sybille.”

Serana retracts her hand from his mouth and quickly gathers her things in muted silence, as Maxwell stands there non-plussed. The longing swells to its greatest intensity, and with it the realisation of what it actually is.

As she starts to exit the bedroom, Maxwell throws caution to the wall and declares the other half of the truth.

 

“Serana, I love you.”

 

Serana freezes mid-stride and becomes deathly silent.

Maxwell steps away from the wall, heart thudding loudly as he explains. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth, Serana. Yes, the Scrolls told me you will die. But I will not let that happen. I risked my life taking the second bloodbolt because I will not lose someone else that I love to prophecy.”

She remains as still as a statue, staring into the dark corridor. The silence becomes absolutely deafening, but he carries on almost imploringly.

“Forget what I said in Ivarstead, Serana. I’ve spent all these years alone because, among other reasons, I never thought I could feel like this again after what happened with Lydia…and then I met you. Beautiful, amazing, extraordinary you. But with everything going on, I didn’t want to confuse or complicate things. And knowing what you went through, I felt awful for feeling like this as I thought you only wanted friendship as well. I…I…gods…”

He stammers, and resignedly shuts his eyes whilst exhaling and turning around.

A few seconds later, the sound of the door closing is expected. The sound of things being thrown onto the bed is not.

Maxwell opens his eyes in alarm and spins back, just in time for Serana to throw her arms around his neck and clumsily yet desperately crashes her cool, delicate red lips against his fiery, dry ones. As she pulls herself into his lean yet toned frame, time slows to a stop like a familiar Shout and the world falls away.

When the shock wears off, he immediately reciprocates with his right hand running around her upper back and his left hand around the small of her back, pulling her even closer. She emits a small moan of need and want, which resonates in him and grows in intensity. He probes her supple lips and they tentatively part. Tongues begin a careful negotiation before giving way to insatiable abandon.

As the passionate embrace increases in intensity, Maxwell reluctantly breaks the kiss due to an increasingly dizzy head and a growing need to breathe. Extremely flushed, panting heavily and heart pounding, he pulls back and slowly opens his brown eyes to gaze adoringly at the beautiful vampiress doing the same. Serana, flushed slightly herself, is breathing deeply with a giddy smile of unbridled happiness. Her deep amber irises – peeking out through the wisps of her fringe – are flashing like the surface of the sun and looking more attractive and alluring than ever.

Maxwell could fall into those forever and drown, and he’d die happy.

Gently putting their foreheads together – his hot clashing with her cold - she tenderly says.

“By the blood…Maxwell, I never thought I would meet someone like you. You are kind, generous of spirit, understanding, and more. You willingly give me your blood, just because of who you are. You’ve been with me every step of the way, and I am so grateful for that. Yes, things are confusing and there is so much going on, but this? Gods…I want this…I want you. I’ve never been more certain of anything before.”

Serana sighs. “I know how it looks, and that we’ve only known each other for a short period of time – hilariously so for me – but I don’t care about that.” She then despondently looks to the side. “This won’t be easy. I’ve never had this, and I have issues, and with everything going on…”

He tenderly brings his right hand to cup her cheek, and she leans into it as he speaks in a caring tone, wiping her cheek with his thumb. “Serana, I know it’s going to be difficult, for both of us. We each have issues, and we are up against a lot. But I want you too. If you need space, please just tell me.” With a small smile, he concludes. “As I believe someone once said…we’ll take this one day at a time.”

She smiles lovingly and firmly hugs him once more, nuzzling into his neck as he burrows into hers. Inhaling in tandem each other’s aroma, enjoying the tranquillity of the embrace. His heart beats loudly again; she smiles even wider.

“Tomorrow we’ll talk Serana, but tonight…please stay with me.”

“There is nowhere else I would rather be, Maxwell.”

Gathering her discarded items and placing them aside, they soon get under the furs. Maxwell goes to lie on his side to face her as she does the same, but she subtly shakes her head. Slightly confused, he lets her lead. She gently pushes on his left shoulder so he ends up on his back.

“Uhh…wha…” Maxwell begins.

“Just sleep, that’s all.” Serana softly interrupts.

He nods with a slightly embarrassed look and laugh.

She settles into the nook of his shoulder, then lays her head– her hair falling all over his shoulder - and he tilts slightly to rest his head on hers. Her right hand rests on his midriff, with his left hand on top, fingers entwined. His right hand hovers slightly over her upper left arm, as he was about to put it there but remembers Braidwood Inn.

“My waist.” She quietly says with a small smirk, seemingly interpreting his hesitation. He returns it and gently lays it there. She melts into the embrace at this point as she completely relaxes.

After a minute of staring at the ceiling and just enjoying the moment he dared not to find himself in, Maxwell quietly utters. “Goodnight, Serana.”

There’s no response.

He glances down and she’s already fast asleep, breathing slowly but with a faint hint of a genuine smile. Sleep soon comes to him as well, and both have a restful night, with no nightmares or horrific memories appearing for either of them.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this two parter. As ever, thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks and everything in between. I hope you all have an awesome day!

Regarding the next chapter, this could be delayed due to work. There is a massive deadline coming up in a few weeks and we're short on staff.
As a small aside, like the previous one this chapter may undergo slight edits (believe me, I have done so many already), but these will mostly be grammatical or formatting based.

Chapter 27: Discussions

Summary:

After various discussions, Maxwell and Serana prepare then set off for the Bow.

Notes:

TW: Some swearing, reference to death, reference to past abuse.

Author's note: this one is a bit of a long one I'm afraid, as it didn't feel right to cut it in half.

In the early hours of the following morning, Maxwell slowly awakens from sleep with a light moan, feeling utterly relaxed. He feels a slight pressure on his shoulder and torso. Waking up and clearing his eyes of sleep with his left hand, he glances down to the source of the pressure.

Serana is quietly observing him, sleepily looking through her fringe. Her composure is also relaxed; evidence of a restful sleep.

“Good morning.” She drowsily states, the words marred with sleep.

Using his left hand, he tenderly moves some of her hair out the way before replying. “Good morning to you too. Did you sleep okay? Have you been awake long?”

Clearing her throat, she speaks in a very gentle tone. “Not long, and I haven’t slept that well before Maxwell. And that includes a certain thousand-year slumber…”

He jokes. “You’re welcome, Serana.”

She laughs, the sound permeating the silence of the room, before simultaneously leaning up and pulling him down for a kiss. As it grows and they both release moans of need and want once more, his left hand soon absentmindedly lands and grazes her upper arm. She tenses up involuntarily and he immediately stops, lets go and breaks the kiss. Their faces remain an inch apart, breaths intermingled as they open their eyes to look at each other.

Swallowing the sudden tinge of guilt, Maxwell utters. “Sorry….”

Serana quickly but softly replies. “It’s okay…”

After a minute of looking at each other and having a silent conversation, Serana once again spoils the moment as she says. “Please can we have that talk now, Maxwell.”

Maxwell gawks, before leaning his head back and half-heartedly huffing before saying. “Gods, talk about ruining the mood Serana!”

Her expression devolves to one of dismay, forcing him to quickly follow up. “Don’t worry, I know we need to talk. Let’s, uh, wake up a bit more first and have some sort of breakfast, then we will.”

She silently nods, and they reluctantly separate.

 

20 minutes later after their respective actions – washing, sating their hunger, renewing the spell to suppress his scent and getting the fire going again - they’re sat on the side of the bed looking at each other. Maxwell with one leg hanging off, Serana crosslegged.

Maxwell gestures to her. “Let’s, uh, take it in turns, Serana. You first.”

“Thank you. To start with, stopping Harkon is what needs to matter now, Maxwell. We can’t let this confuse that.”

“I know Serana, and I completely agree. Let’s keep this to within this room. I also think we shouldn’t let anyone else know, especially the Dawnguard. They might have a few things to say about it.”

She suddenly laughs, prompting an immediate look of concern from him. “I agree Maxwell, but High Queen Elisif and Sybille already know. They guessed how we felt about each other before you awoke. That was one of the things the Queen spoke to me about last night, to tell you how I felt before it was too late.”

A bizarre feeling crops up within as Maxwell stares into the distance and mutters. “…huh.”

The High Queen of Skyrim, who knows the Last Dragonborn and a royal vampiress are in love with each other and is supportive of it. That’s weird. It struck him as odd that she would also urge Serana to confess her feelings. By all accounts, given her station – let alone being a fellow mortal - Elisif should be actively against it.

 

Shaking that disparaging thought out of his head, Maxwell gestures nonsensically around him and asks. “My turn. Why…all of this? Why ask Elisif to get involved? Why bring Isran and Tolfdir?”

Serana gently grasps his nearby forearm and looks directly into his souls-laden soul. Choosing her words carefully, she explains. “Because I adamantly refuse to let you fight for this world alone despite your offer, Maxwell. We’re in this together, like Lydia and you were for Alduin.”

A swell of love surges, before being replaced by horrifying realisation. With a very concerned tone, Maxwell deathly whispers. “Please tell me you didn’t tell them about…”

Knowing exactly what he’s referring to, Serana intently and reassuringly states whilst she tightens her grip. “I didn’t reveal that, Maxwell. I promise I will never reveal that. I only said that you had fought alone for all of Nirn in Sovngarde, and that I would not allow it again.”

Maxwell runs through a myriad of emotion before his heart explodes with emotion, and he immediately stands up to pull her in for a hug which she instantly reciprocates; her cold hands running around his neck and his around the small of her back.

After a while, Maxwell says in a quiet voice. “Thank you, Serana. You have no idea how much that means…gods, have I told you I love you yet?”

She simpers against him. “You have now.”

He laughs and they just stand there, enjoying the moment.

 

In the embrace, Serana asks as she leans back. “My turn. Your scar, does it hurt?”

“Not so much now, although it feels slightly tight. It’ll take a bit to get used to.”

Noticing her expression fall slightly, he continues. “Serana, I don’t regret what I did at all. You’re alive. That to me makes it worth it. What about yours, has it healed completely?”

Serana shakes her head, and after separating she pulls up the hem of her silken shirt to expose the scar. It’s similar to his but slightly smaller and fainter. Trying but failing to ignore her perfect hourglass figure and also how flawless her alabaster skin is, Maxwell swallows the ball of nerves and forces out as he slowly raises a hand.

“May I…?”

Serana nods, and he tenderly touches it. She instinctively shivers and he retracts his hand with a look of concern, but she grabs and places it back on her with a weak smile.

Feeling the slight roughness again, Maxwell quietly utters. “Gods, how did we survive?”

“I thought about that, and it was a combination of things that weakened them from lethality. Our respective armour to some degree, how many undead the blood bolts passed through, the amulets with the protective enchantment, but most of all…it was your blood.”

He looks to her in slight confusion whilst dropping his hand, and she clarifies whilst dropping the shirt. “Your blood is extremely potent and resilient, and it also possesses significant regenerative properties.”

Going back to the scars, Maxwell asks as he glances to her cheek. “Is it permanent? It hasn’t disappeared as fast as the one you got from Durnevhiir’s acid.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. It was more damaging, but given how much it has reduced already it might go away completely with sufficient time.”

“If it doesn’t, consider it the start of your collection.” He smirks, which disappears as he continues. “I really hope the dragon scales will stand up to it.”

“It does. I tried it on a piece, it didn’t penetrate it at all. Even without enchantments. It’s a fascinating material! Speaking of which, I hope you don’t mind my asking…why did you never turn them into armour?”

After a few moments to centre himself, Maxwell briefly explains. “We had acquired some after slaying a couple of dragons, but I really thought we sold them all, Serana. I guess Lydia kept some back with that intention...but she never told me.”

He then registers something she said, and queries. “Wait, you’ve enchanted them?”

She nods with a broad smile, her hair shaking with the action. “Yes, with Sergius’ help. I can see why he is the Master Enchanter.” She chuckles before adding. “In his own words, he said ‘I’m going to remember working on this material for the rest of my life, and that it doesn’t surprise me Maxwell is the source of it.’ “

Maxwell chuckles. “Yep, that sounds like Sergius.”

 

As the humour dies down, and based on what happened when he felt her scar, Serana changes her next question.

“My turn. Please can we take this slow? Especially the physical contact. Hugs are okay. Because of how I feel for you, the smell of your blood is…well…potent, and how I feel means I need to be careful not to hurt you. Not to mention…the other thing.”

He chuckles with a small smirk. “Really?”

She disapprovingly eye-rolls, but Maxwell has a thought and he quickly asks with a straight face. “Wait…will you be okay with me still providing blood?”

Serana instantly quips with a smirk of her own. “After what happened Maxwell, I’m never having anyone else’s!”

He laughs loudly.

As his laughter diminishes, he soon has a meaningful look before asking. “Speaking of physical contact, you said hugs are okay. What about kissing?”

“Kissing is also fine.” Serana smiles in response, knowing exactly where this is going.

“Good.” He briefly grins before pulling her in for a brief one, running his hand through her wine red-auburn hair that he adores. She melts into it, releasing a sound of approval.

 

Afterwards, they sit back down.

Maxwell reflects on a niggling thought, and decides now is the time to ask. "My turn. You told that he and Vingalmo attacked during daylight, but how is that possible? I thought only you could manage the sunlight, to some degree. Although how did you manage that?"

She demurely laughs. "Rather late in asking that question, you know. But I have been thinking about that, and I honestly don't know. I spent many decades alone, in the abandoned dock, developing a tolerance. No one knew. And recently, because of your blood, it doesn't hurt as much."

A facet about what her words makes that niggling feeling intensify. A problem for another time, perhaps.

 

"My turn, and I hope this is okay to ask. When you acted out the memory, you called Lydia 'my House-Carl'. How you said it..."

He huffs, causing her to fall silent. Simultaneously rolling his shoulder and massaging his left forearm, he slowly replies. "Yes. That...was her title, but it soon became something...more. It..."

She treats him to a soft graceful touch on his hand, saying no more needed to be said.

 

Swiftly changing topics, Maxwell asks. “My turn. About your mother, Serana…how are you doing with that? Will…will he keep her alive until we confront him?”

Her expression falters, and she takes a while to respond. “I…don’t know how to answer that first question. But to your second question…he despises her, especially because of what she did the day we fled the Castle with the Elder Scrolls. Something…something makes me think he will.”

Several moments pass before she adds. “Please could you not reveal this to the others? Only Sybille knows.”

Maxwell nods in understanding. “I understand Serana, and I promise.”

 

Serana queries with a deadly serious expression. “My turn. When we confront him Maxwell, after what happened at the Glade he is not going to hold back. He’s going to stay within the Castle as protection. Do you know of anything else that can help? I know a few spells, but that is nothing in comparison to summoning an undead dragon.”

She flashes a genuine smile but quickly adopts the serious expression again.

Maxwell stares to the side, considering the litany of Shouts he knows. There’s a couple of options, but only one that could work if she is right and they fight within the Castle.

One that he swore never to use, no matter how tempted he was.

He stands up and strides away, concerning Serana. After a few moments pass, Maxwell says monotonously over his shoulder in an attempt to keep the swirling emotions out.

"I know he won’t hold back, Serana. There's...another Shout I have knowledge of that could give us an advantage. I’ve never used it…for fear of what may happen if I do.”

He starts visibly reacting to his last sentence, his shoulders and head drooping languidly. Serana instantly stands up and approaches, gently laying a hand on his shoulder to turn him around.

“What is it?” She softly asks, her amber eyes searching him with an extremely gentle expression.

Steadying himself, Maxwell explains in a subdued tone, rambling slightly to delay admitting the truth. “After…after I was sent back…I realised I had knowledge of this Shout. I don’t know why, but I guess for defeating Alduin. I don’t even know if it will work.” He closes his eyes and says in a lower tone, his cadence now betraying his fear. “Anyway, if it works Serana…it will summon someone to fight for me. Someone from…Sovngarde.”

Her jaw drops in shock at such a powerful effect, but realisation hits just as fast. “You fear using it, because if you do…”

He solemnly nods which confirms her guess, and his breathing becomes uneven. She instantly pulls him into a tight reassuring hug.

After a while, once his breathing and demeanour are much calmer, Serana leans back and says in a serious tone. "I understand, Maxwell. In a way…I know how you feel."

Maxwell becomes confused. Seeing his reaction, she clarifies. "As a Vampire Lord, I can transform into a different form that grants more power. I have never desired to use it until that cretin Vingalmo turned up. There are other reasons, but the main reason is that it reminds me too much of…the ritual.”

“Ah.” After a moment, Maxwell furrows his brow and adds. “So why did you, Serana?”

Without hesitation, she replies whilst placing a hand on his cheek. “I did it to protect you Maxwell, because you are worth it. And I would not hesitate to do it again.”

They tighten their embrace once more, and he has an idea.

Into her hair, Maxwell proposes. “Going back to your mother, Serana. If Harkon is keeping her alive and she is there when we confront him…if I can create a distraction, maybe with the Shout I just mentioned, you need to get her out of there. Recall her to the Glade, that would be the safest.”

Serana immediately pulls back and looks like she’s going to argue, but Maxwell explains. “Serana, please don’t argue with me on this. If there’s any chance we can save Valerica, we have to take it. I remember what you said, but you deserve to have a relationship with her. Not to mention, if the Dawnguard come across her before we do…”

Serana passes through a whole myriad of emotion, her expression changing with each one, before quietly stating. “Thank you, Maxwell. That…I can’t begin to describe what that means to me. If the Shout works, or we can distract him another way, then I will try. I’ll return to you the instant she’s safe.”

 

As she stares adoringly at him, Maxwell feels a pang of guilt for ruining the moment but he feels compelled to ask. “My turn, and please forgive me for asking this Serana. Are you okay with this ending in his death? I also noticed you don’t call him fath…”

Her expression immediately darkens, and Maxwell shuts up. The dark expression passes quickly and a somewhat despondent one appears and she shuts her eyes.

“Sorry, Ser…” before being cut off as her hand finds his lips. Breathing her way through the emotion, Serana emotively explains.

“I’ve been trying to make my peace with it, Maxwell. When you found me, I had a hope that he would see reason, even after all this time. A very faint and naive hope, but hope nonetheless. But then he tried to kill me. His only daughter. He has completely lost himself to this fucking prophecy!! I thought by saying that I no longer recognise him as my father would help with detaching my feelings, but that doesn’t change the fact that we are related and he had a hand in raising me. I know how this needs to end, Maxwell…but that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling with it.”

He lifts his hand up and gingerly moves hers off his mouth whilst maintaining a hold of it. As she opens them to look at him, he softly says. “Serana…I can only imagine how difficult this is for you. If you need space please tell me. But know this…we do this together.”

She nods with a thoughtful smile. “I know, and thank you.”

 

After a few moments, she concludes with a weak chuckle. “Maxwell, I’ve had enough seriousness for now. Please can we talk about light-hearted things?”

“I’d like that as well, Serana.”

Serana gives a genuine smile, then a look of remembrance flashes before she suddenly turns on the spot, her hair whipping a momentarily stunned Maxwell across the chest and chin.

“That reminds me, I wanted to show you something.”

She retrieves her leather-bound book and brings it over, gesturing for him to sit down on the bed. Glancing to him as she goes through to find the specific entry, Serana shoulder nudges with a smile.

“I love writing in this book, thank you for it.”

He smiles back, looking at her then the book as she eventually finds the page and passes it to him. It’s a journal of sorts, writing about things they’ve gone through or highlights from their chats. Her handwriting is exquisite. Perfectly aligned, italicised slightly, the curves and flourishes are flawless.

The particular entry in question is about how he looked just before starting the reading. His heart flutters as he reads it, as Serana watches his expression intently.

‘On this day, he took me to the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. An Ancestor Glade. By the blood of my ancestors, I never thought such a place existed anywhere on Nirn…until today.

As I stood there, watching the Ancestors Moths swarm on and over him with their collective energy bathing him in a soft luminous glow, words cannot sufficiently express how gorgeous and symbolic he looked. Despite what has happened, I will always treasure this experience for the rest of my life. If we are successful in stopping this prophecy from happening, I want to return here and just relax. Hopefully…he will agree to join me.’

Staring at her affectionately as he returns the journal, Maxwell emotively says. “Wholeheartedly agreed, Serana! When this is all over, we are definitely going back there. And looking up at them, it was…an experience. Thank you for showing me. Also, your handwriting is amazing! Mine doesn't even come close.”

As she closes the journal and puts it on the table, Serana retorts. “There are other reasons why I love you Maxwell, beyond your penmanship.”

“What, like my foul mouth?” He quips.

She snorts, before covering her mouth on reflex. “Maybe not that one.”

They get back under the furs, laying face to face. For the next couple of hours, the two talk.

Just talk.

About anything and everything that isn’t related to prophecies, nightmares or the imminent confrontation.

They ask each other a number of personal questions, including some they’ve had for a while.

He finds out the sweet thing of her aroma is essence of Nightshade, and she finds out – much to her amusement and his feigned chagrin – that he took the name ‘Maxwell’ from a children’s book he remembers from his adoptive father. He finds out her favourite flower is Blue Mountain Flower. She finds out more about his time with the Khajiit caravans and other places he has been.

Now that they have affirmed their feelings for each other, they are much more comfortable and relaxed, though it’s clear that the pending confrontation is weighing heavily.

There is also one thing that Serana feels the weight of, which was alluded to during their serious chat on the way to the Glade…but that’s for later as it’s way too serious for their current conversation. For now, she is enjoying the newfound reality of being face to face with her dearest friend that she loves and who loves her back.

 

Sybille knocks on the door an hour before midday with sustenance for them. As Maxwell takes it from her, she glances between the two as though trying to discern something. Serana interprets it and looks to Maxwell who also notices.

He sighs in happy resignation before stating. “You may as well tell her, Serana. You did say she guessed.”

She looks to the patiently awaiting Sybille with a knowing smirk. “Sybille, all I’m going to say is that you were right.”

Sybille suddenly adopts a massive genuine and sincere smile, and exclaims. “I am thrilled for the both of you!”

After putting the food to one side, Maxwell holds out a hand to the vampiric councillor which she gladly takes. “Thank you for everything, Sybille.”

He pauses as though contemplating something, before querying. “I wanted to ask; how did you know how we felt?”

Sybille tilts her head in consideration, before answering as she lets go of his hand. “It was a number of factors Maxwell, but I initially suspected something on the night you Recalled to Solitude to track down Serana’s mother.”

They furrow their brows and share a look of confusion.

Seeing this, she clarifies. “Do you remember our conversation after you Recalled onto the Queen’s veranda, and I asked you why you risked coming to Solitude the day I sensed you?”

After a few moments to recollect the memory, Maxwell nods.

“It was how you looked at each other as you answered that made me suspect there was something beyond mutual acquaintances working towards a common goal.”

“…huh…” Maxwell utters, glancing to Serana who has a similar expression.

 

After Sybille departs and the two talk about what she said, Maxwell has a thought.

Well, that’s one question answered. Now for the other: Why did Elisif advise her to confess how she felt?

 

---

 

As midday approaches and they have readied up, Serana leads the way to the meeting room which is a short distance away on a lower floor, but as its locked they wait outside. They are the first ones there, and despite stealing glances of affection they are ensuring they are standing on opposite sides of the corridor with respectable expressions when Falk leads Isran and Tolfdir.

Upon seeing him, both of them are extremely surprised and stop in the corridor with jaws agape.

Maxwell jovially comments with a wide grin. “I heard you were having a meeting without me, so I thought I’d join the party. Hope you don’t mind.”

Both the leaders laugh and warmly shakes his hand one after the other as Falk and Serana stand quietly by with a cheerful demeanour.

“It’s good to finally see you up on your feet, Maxwell.” Tolfdir comments.

“By the Nine, you had us going there for a moment.” Isran states.

Once the initial welcomes are over, Falk unlocks and opens up the room.

It’s rather compact as it’s somewhat narrow but long, with no windows and only the heavy iron door for access. The rectangular table has assorted parchment on it, including a rough layout of the Castle and a map of the province with all major and minor settlements noted. It looks like there is space for chairs but they are absent.

Falk soon leaves to bring Elisif to the meeting, giving them a chance to catch up.

After locking the door and placing a deafening ward, they move to opposite ends of the room. Isran converses quietly with Maxwell as Tolfdir speaks with Serana.

“Well, I have a lot to say but I’ll stick with this for now, Maxwell. I was right, that day you revealed yourself to us. You’ve got a fucking goddamned flair for the dramatic!”

“What…do you mean?”

“Serana mentioned how you summoned the undead dragon to cover your escape. That’s like nothing I’ve ever thought possible!!”

His eyebrows fly up for several reasons, including at the use of her name and not ‘It’. “Uh…she told you what happened?”

“Yes, she explained what happened, with Harkon and Vingalmo turning up and with the dragon. She has also given us detailed tactical information on the Castle, its layout, weak points, and Harkon’s surviving court members. By the sounds of it, this Vingalmo was his right hand and he himself was severely injured.” He smirks heavily, his eyes glistening with respect. “Nice work.”

Maxwell shrugs, unsure of how to process how this conversation has played out. “No problem, Isran. I, err, have my moments.”

They talk a bit longer, before he asks. “How is the Dawnguard going to get from the Fort to here, Isran? Surely we don’t have…”

“By Recall, Maxwell.” Tolfdir interjects, bringing himself and Serana into the two’s conversation.

“You’ve mastered the spell already??” Maxwell says as the duo step closer to Isran and himself.

“We’re mages, Maxwell. Spells are something of a speciality for us.” Tolfdir laughs as he replies, before winking with a cheeky grin; the action making him look several years younger.

Serana has a cheeky smile which is quickly hidden. Maxwell gives her a small look of feigned disapproval before returning to look at Tolfdir as he continues speaking.

“We’ve already started making preparations to transport members of the Dawnguard here, and to join in this endeavour, although for the sake of security we haven’t started the transport yet.”

Maxwell feels slightly sheepish for his innocuous comment, before he registers a particular segment. “Other members of the College are joining the Dawnguard and ourselves?!”

“Only those that are willing, Maxwell.”

Maxwell adopts a look of massive concern, before stating. “Tolfdir, no offense but I can’t ask…I mean we can’t ask that of you or your students. This is going to get messy. The Dawnguard are trained for this, but…”

Tolfdir interjects. “Maxwell, after what happened at Saarthal, we are indebted to you. Several of our students and staff owe you their lives. That is among the reasons why we are assisting in this endeavour. But to assure you, those that have agreed to participate do so of their own free will and are aware of the risks. And to reassure you further, most will only be involved in the transport of the Dawnguard, nothing more. Only a few will be joining you, although they will be within a support capacity. Healing, for example.”

Maxwell nods in understanding, before adding. “Out of curiosity Tolfdir, were Brelyna and Peryn…?”

Tolfdir completes his sentence with a glint in his eyes and a modicum of esteem in his students. “Among the first to volunteer.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Tolfdir laughs again.

Falk then calls out. Serana un-wards and unlocks it then opens it to reveal Falk and Elisif. They enter, and the door is closed, locked and re-warded.

Elisif, absent her crown and wearing a simple Nordic blue dress, warmly welcomes everyone and starts the meeting before handing over to Falk.

After covering a few operational topics, namely to bring Maxwell up to speed, Falk says. “In addition to increasing the patrols within Solitude, I’ve moved some troops to Dragonsreach and other nearby settlements in case of reprisal.”

“What about the other places? Surely we don’t have enough time to mobilise troops in every settlement.” Maxwell queries.

“Unfortunately, Maxwell, you are correct. Whilst you were recovering, Winterhold and Riften have been warned in person by the College and Dawnguard respectively, and messenger birds have been sent to the other major settlements as couriers will not reach them in time. Details are purposely limited, but do make reference to increase patrols and keep vigilance for anyone acting suspiciously or any odd disappearances. Of course, your involvement – and survival – have not been included.”

Falk goes to mention more but Maxwell interrupts. Speaking with a hint of disdain, he points out. “What about the Thalmor? Surely they’ll notice something is up?”

“Leave them to me, Maxwell.” Elisif pointedly says, although she has a reassuring smile.

She continues. “In addition to transportation to the Castle, I have requested Falk to assign the best soldiers, archers and mages from the 2^nd Legion. They will ensure safe passage and support during the landing. The Dawnguard - supported by those of the College who have agreed to join - will lead the charge into the Castle alongside Lady Serana and Maxwell who will have Auriel’s Bow.”

He looks to Elisif with a raised eyebrow. Seemingly interpreting his look, she responds. “We are all ardently in agreement that you must be the one to wield the Bow, Maxwell. Furthermore, we all know of your particular affinity for that type of weapon.”

This prompts a polite chuckle from everyone else, before affirming the sentiment.

Maxwell looks between everyone before ending with Elisif and bowing. “Understood, your Majesty.”

Changing the topic, Serana speaks up. “Thanks to what Maxwell did by summoning the dragon, Harkon took significant damage and is severely injured. He will need time to recover, which…”

“My apologies for interrupting, Serana. How badly was he injured?” Tolfdir asks, not having heard this detail. Maxwell also looks with vested interest. Her answer floors him, and makes him thankful for reaching the agreement with Durnevhiir.

“Very. To be honest I am surprised he is still alive. He lost his left arm and was severely burned by the dragon’s acid breath. I know from…personal experience…how much it hurts.”

Ignoring Tolfdir’s look of amazement and Isran’s one of respect, Maxwell’s eyes fall to her right cheek. Serana notices and turns away to look at Elisif despite the strong urge to look back.

“What about the factions aligning themselves with Harkon, such as the Mountain Fist clan? What impact will that have on them?” Isran queries, stroking his beard.

Serana turns to look at him before answering. “I don’t know for certain Isran, but how badly he lost to Maxwell will likely hurt his standing with them. My educated guess is that they will see him as weak and therefore abandon him for the sake of their own survival. They could also rally, out of fear of him.” She shrugs before concluding. “It’s difficult to be certain without going down there.”

“That will happen soon enough.” Isran says with a sly grin.

Serana continues, deliberately trying not to react. “The point is…whilst Harkon managed to escape, he will need time to recover. This provides us with an opportunity to retrieve Auriel’s Bow. Without it, he is still formidable…even for me.”

Elisif turns to look at Maxwell, and all eyes follow. The penultimate question of this whole adventure is asked, with intense seriousness.

“Where is Auriel’s Bow located, Maxwell?”

Pulling out the large map of the province from underneath the papers obfuscating it, and orienting it to face him, the map from the reading flashes in his mind – overlaying itself with the parchment - alongside a set of symbols which he has understanding of. Three in particular flare the brightest which washes away the others.

Cave. Darkness. Protection.

Swiftly moving on by clearing his throat, Maxwell states. “It’s hidden within an ancient Snow Elf building in a secluded valley in the Druadach mountains which we have to get to through a cave…that is located here.” Maxwell points to the location. “The Scrolls called it a ‘Cave of Protective Darkness’. Much of the cave is covered by a magical darkness.”

The three leaders and Falk look to each other in various levels of puzzlement or amazement. Serana is looking at him with a neutral look, having momentarily observed him weirdly when she noticed the subtle inflections on his face.

Tolfdir then adopts a look of pensive thought, before looking to Serana. “A magical darkness? I believe I have vaguely heard of this effect before, from our very oldest texts. Serana, please correct me if I’m wrong…light sources are extinguished within the darkness, are they not?”

Momentarily continuing to stare at Maxwell, she soon shifts her gaze to Tolfdir and answers.

“That is correct, although it is all sources of light. Physical sources such as torches and spells such as Magelight are extinguished. It is very old magic, which matches what you said about Snow Elves, Maxwell. Some scholars from my time theorised that it could be considered an extreme form of protection, given how it deprives one of sight.”

She seemingly considers something, her fine brows furrowing, before stating to the group. “I’ll go there first then Recall back for you, Maxwell.”

He gawks at her before starting to say. “Serana, you…”

She shakes her head before looking to match his stare. “This is the fastest way. It will take too long on horseback to get there, time that we don’t have given what happened at the Ancestor Glade. We need to press our advantage, and for that we need Auriel’s Bow.”

She looks to Isran. “I know you are not going to like this, Isran. I can only assure you that I have absolutely no intention of wielding the Bow. I only suggest this course of action due to time constraints.”

Maxwell interjects. “Isran, I haven’t told her exactly where in this Snow Elf building the Bow is, and it is protected by something only I can remove, thanks to the reading.”

A look of naked shock appears on her face as she steadfastly turns back to him in the revelation of this new information. Glancing to the Redguard, she quietly utters. “Er…I can affirm that is the truth, Isran.” Turning back to him. “You never said that, Maxwell.”

He shrugs, and the atmosphere becomes tense.

Elisif, deciding to cut through the tension, concurs. “I agree with Lady Serana, and trust her intentions. Time is of the essence. Any objections?”

Tolfdir agrees after a moment of consideration. Isran looks between Serana and Maxwell, before nodding.

Satisfied with the outcome, Elisif turns to Serana and asks. “How long will it take you to get there and return, Lady Serana?”

“Approximately 3 days.”

A matching look of amazement on their faces – aside from Maxwell - says it all. She simply shrugs.

 

The talks continue, although Maxwell notices Serana giving him a concerned look a couple of times.

 

Maxwell is then brought up to speed on the attack plan, which consists of taking a ship from Solitude port to the Castle, and landing on the southern shore to launch a frontal assault across the bridge which is the only option. Maxwell and Serana will be under disguise as two Dawnguard members via illusion spell from her to protect their identities, until they’re within the Castle.

He has some reservations about the boat which he doesn’t voice as the memory of what happened with the Thalmor creeps into his mind, but verbally agrees that it’s the only reasonable method of transportation.

As though the thought just occurred to her, Elisif suddenly stares intently at him and commands. “Maxwell. No summoning the undead dragon, please.”

He laughs, before affirming the sentiment. “I have no intention of repeating that, your Majesty. Aside from the obvious implications, it takes a lot of energy.”

Serana notices a subtle inflection in his features which indicates there’s more to it, but she doesn’t press.

She warns that Harkon will likely use every available defence, which includes a number of animated statues both outside and within. She explains how to fight them, but ultimately it may be better for the mages or Maxwell and herself to deal with them. She also warns that there will be traps everywhere, both magical and non-magical; yet another paranoia of Harkon.

After another 10 minutes, Elisif turns to Maxwell – briefly resting her gaze on Serana – stating authoritatively. “Maxwell, Lady Serana. I have arranged for the completed dragon scale armour to be placed in a nearby room for you to try on. Falk, please could you escort them there and then bring them back for final discussions.”

As Falk begins to walk to the door, Elisif states with a smile to Maxwell. “Maxwell, I requested a minor alteration to yours. I am certain you will approve.”

He looks at her oddly, as she turns to look at Isran. What could she mean by that?!

After being led out of the room which is locked again, and led to the nearby door, he asks. “Do you know what that was about, Serana?”

“I do…but you will have to wait and see, Maxwell.” She smirks before turning to follow Falk.

He stands there, momentarily bemused, before following.

 

Entering the room, there are two doors on the opposite wall. Falk steps aside and gestures to each one as he informs the duo. “Maxwell, your armour is in the room on the left. Lady Serana, yours is in the right.”

Maxwell nods and strides over, before realising he’s the only one moving. Glancing back, they’re patiently waiting with a shared look of vested interest in his reaction. He raises an eyebrow. Serana silently gestures for him to carry on.

He hesitantly opening the door. The moment his eyes fall onto the armour, Maxwell’s breath catches in his throat and he croaks a non-sensical noise.

Well…this is not what I was expecting at all!

The dragon scale armour is on an armour stand facing the door. Sleek and form fitting, the plates are various shades of brown and fit seamlessly together. The plates look coarse yet somehow shine in the torchlight. Where the plates don’t fit, there’s a dark brown skin-like material underneath that’s visible.

He glances back to Falk and Serana with a stupefied look. They share a look between them before she motions to the other room to don her own armour.

Shutting their respective door, they start putting on the pieces.

 

For Serana, even though she had seen it and handled it, this time feels different. Looking at the wall separating them and hearing his movements through it, she thinks to herself. Thank you, Lydia. I wish I could have met you.

She then tries out a few manoeuvres to distract herself, to adjust to the feel of the armour which is bulkier than her previous armour. I wonder what he’s thinking about that adjustment the Queen requested.

 

For Maxwell, feeling the coarseness of the scale segments under his roughened hands, a swirl of emotion swells. Lydia…gods, I miss you…but thank you.

Glancing to the shared wall with a wistful smile. I’m sure you would have liked each other…once you got used to a few things.

Looking over the chest piece, Maxwell sighs when he sees the alteration. A well-designed set of clasps to securely stow a bow and quiver on. Nice one, Elisif.

He then realises the souls within are oddly quiet. He’s not sure how to feel about that.

After donning it, he finds that it fits comfortably yet securely. It is slightly heavier than his Glass armour, but there is more freedom of movement. He summons the bow and tries out a few manoeuvres, to adjust to the sensation.

 

Inhaling to remove the nerves that somehow appeared out of nowhere, Maxwell steels his gaze and puts the helmet under his arm before opening the door. Falk stands to attention as he strides out with, and a look of deep respect appears.

Serana is still in her room, although sounds of movement can be heard coming through the wooden door.

With awe, Falk states. “This is certainly a sight to behold! May I say Maxwell, it suits you.”

“Thanks…I think.” Maxwell retorts, with a small grin and chuckle. “Out of curiosity, how much was left?”

“I believe there is enough for a shield. Why?”

A shield. Of course.

“I was only curious. Thank you, Falk. Oh, and please could you let the blacksmith know that I’m impressed with his work, and that he can keep the remainder of the material to do with it what he wants. Call it a token of appreciation. Of course, a lie to explain how he got it would be wise.”

Falk bows in acknowledgement before replying. “He will certainly appreciate the gesture and comments. I will endeavour to come up with something appropriate.”

The door on the right opens, and Serana says as she walks in. “Why am I not surprised, Maxwell? Your generosity of spirit continues to impress me.”

Turning to look at her with a joke on his lips, it falls to the ground as he takes in the detail. Hers is similar but thinner given her slimmer physique. The bodice section fits her hourglass figure perfectly. As he looks her over, Serana politely clears her throat to return him to reality. A momentary look of realisation hits and he adopts a neutral look.

She pointedly asks. “How are you finding it, Maxwell?”

“It’s…” He begins before stopping as no words come forth.

Falk laughs, before leading them back to the war room. They keep their helmets off.

A few minutes later, they arrive and he knocks on the iron door whilst calling out. “We have returned, your Majesty.”

Elisif’s muffled voice responds, before the door is unlocked. When the door opens and Falk stands aside to allow the duo to enter, the three leaders emit various sounds of incredulity. Looking the pair over, Isran is the first to speak with a cadence of respect and awe.

“By the Nine! This is certainly a sight to behold! Dragonborn…in dragon scales…”

Tolfdir adds. “Wholeheartedly agreed, Grand Master Isran. By the Divines, these are certainly unique times.”

Maxwell arches an eyebrow. “Thank you…I think.”

Looking to Elisif, he suddenly grins. “I approve of the alteration, your Majesty.”

She has a deeply appreciative smile as she replies. “I thought you might.”

After the reactions pass, further discussions include security arrangements for Maxwell in Serana’s absence. Tolfdir and Isran will return to the College and the Fort respectively for the next few days to gear up and prepare respectively, then return in three days to await Serana’s return and initial report.

Elisif concludes the meeting.

After saying their respective goodbyes, Tolfdir and Isran disappear back to their rooms before the Arch Mage Recalls the Dawnguard Leader back to the Fort.

As they head back to their room, Maxwell remembers something he wanted to ask after donning the armour. “Serana, I meant to ask. What enchantments did Sergius and yourself put on them?”

She runs through the various enchantments on their respective armour, and adds. “Oh, and I was certain to put Fortify Stamina on your boots. I thought it would be prudent.”

He nods, with a thankful look. “Thank you, and that’s good. We have quite a bit of walking to do.”

 

Not much later, as the sun is halfway through the descent in the afternoon, they’re making final preparations before Serana leaves. This includes filling some vials for her. Her in the dragon scale armour, he in simple clothing. From their previous armour, they retrieve the amulets, his brooch and her cape.

Maxwell notices her family emblem has been replaced with a simple pin, but doesn’t draw attention to it. As he’s putting his armour to one side, Serana’s sudden grasp of his arm instantly breaks his thoughts.

She tensely asks. “You reacted to something when you pulled out the map, Maxwell. What was it?”

Opting to tell the truth, he explains what happened. “Symbols, from the reading. They appeared in my mind when I saw the map of Skyrim, and I knew what they meant.”

She balks. “That…isn’t good! What were the symbols and what did they mean??”

“‘Cave, Darkness, Protection’. And it meant that there was a magical darkness within the cave.”

She tilts her head in thought. “…that’s it?”

“Yeah…well, the map also appeared. That’s all, I swear. It must be a side effect of reading the three Elder Scrolls. Maybe more will appear? I mean, remember what we discussed about them?” He arches an eyebrow to reinforce his point.

She stares intently at him before letting go. “Okay…but please tell me the moment you get anymore, Maxwell.”

“I will, Serana.”

"I also wanted to ask what you meant by 'there's something only you can remove' ?"

"Ah, I thought you might ask. The Bow is hidden within a section of wall within the Chantry, and I know how to open the door."

She carefully studies him. When the silence becomes strained, he asks. “I wanted to ask earlier Serana, are you alright with wearing this armour?

“Of course! Why?” She says with a slight head tilt.

He weakly shrugs, before responding. “I…just remembered how you felt about wearing her amulet. And seeing she was the one to put these aside, I…”

Serana cuts him off, stepping closer as she reassures him. “That was different Maxwell, and it hasn’t bothered me since the College. How are you doing?”

Maxwell sighs heavily, before responding. “Do you have time, Serana? It could take a while.”

Seeing an opportunity to cheer him up, she quips. “Maxwell…I’m an immortal vampire. What do you think?”

He chuckles and bows his head in realisation of his moment of stupidity. “I’m doing okay, thank you. It’s all just a lot, you know?”

“I know. I really do.”

She ponders the idea of following up with asking him about Lydia, but opts to leave that for later. They have enough to worry about, and how he’s looking somewhat reflective and melancholic says it might not be a good idea.

They finish the preparations in relative silence.

 

10 minutes later, as the mood has improved slightly, Serana places a fresh Mark within their bedroom. Maxwell can’t help but watch the fluidity of her movements once more, this time with naked adoration.

“Gods, if you don’t get going right now Serana, I’m going to have to kiss you and then you’ll never leave.”

She laughs, her deep amber eyes shimmering with emotion.

He adds. “Saying that, please be careful.”

“I’ll be extremely careful. I’ll check the entrance of the cave before returning, to see if I can discern any additional protections. Try not to miss me too much, Maxwell.”

“That, Lady Serana, is going to be impossible.”

She returns with a potently dazzling smile, before striding forward and pulling him down into a deep kiss. The embrace grows before Maxwell begins laughing and ends up breaking contact.

“Serana, will you go already!”

She responds in kind, before grabbing her remaining gear and exiting the room. She pauses momentarily at the door to give him a soft parting look, with a tinge of evident concern at what they discussed.

“Wait, Serana. One last thing.”

She arches an eyebrow.

“I love you.”

She instantly responds with an expression to match her words. “I love you too.”

After a moment of sharing a mutual look of affection, she offers another potently disarming smile before departing. The door closes with a finality.

Maxwell soon collapses onto the bed, and starts trying to adjust to her painful absence by counting down the minutes until her return.

 

---

 

As agreed with Elisif, in addition to the enhanced security measures within and around the Blue Palace that are already in place since their arrival, Maxwell is to remain in the room and keep it securely locked until Serana’s return; he opts to block it with a piece of furniture as well. Anything he needs, Sybille will see to on agreed upon timed visits with assistance from Lira, and she has a keyword to state that they agree each visit for the next one. She will also remain very close by at all times, staying in a room just down the hall within range of her senses.

After sorting out his gear, an idea occurs on how to pass the time. Maxwell starts practising casting Magelight, eventually getting stronger and stronger light orbs. They still aren’t as bright or last as long, but they are improving.

Sybille turns up at the agreed times, and among the activities – bringing sustenance and reading material, recasting the suppressive spell on his scent and a ward on the door (as point of entry; fireplace is too narrow for anyone to get through and there are no windows) - they idly chat about various topics whilst playing card games.

On her second visit on the first day, Maxwell has a sneaking suspicion which he voices when he plays his hand. “This isn’t Elisif’s idea is it? Serana is the one who actually asked for you to keep an eye on me. Am I correct?”

“I have no idea what you’re on about Maxwell. I’m only following Queen Elisif’s instructions.” Sybille retorts.

She maintains her usual serious expression whilst fastidiously looking at her cards. The subtle hint of a smirk that soon forms in the corner of her pursed lips affirms his suspicion. Maxwell chuckles and shakes his head, before they continue playing.

Seeing him about to win the current round, Sybille not-so-accidentally reveals something to distract him. Maxwell drops his hand in extreme surprise, thereby revealing his cards. He gawks at her as she casually looks at the fallen cards. After the surprise abates and humorously telling her off for the underhanded tactic, he politely asks her to speak with Elisif and see if she can visit.

A knock at the door an hour later along with the keyword affirms her return, and opening the door confirms Elisif has accompanied her.

As they enter the room, Elisif politely states. “A pleasure to see you again, Maxwell. Sybille passed along your request. I have some time before my next engagement. What would you like to discuss with myself?”

“Likewise, Elisif. Thank you for agreeing to see me. I know you have a lot on so I’ll keep this brief.” Levelling to look at the High Queen after briefly glancing to Sybille, he states with a hint of a smile. “I’ve heard you’re planning something for Serana and myself.”

Elisif’s countenance weakens, before shaking her head in feign disapproval and smiling broadly whilst looking to her councillor in mild indignation. “Sybille shouldn’t have said anything, as I had intended it as a surprise for the two of you once this business is concluded. Now that you know, I presume you are going to request that I no longer proceed with it?”

“Not quite.”

Her eyebrows almost fly off her face, not expecting that response.

Maxwell asks. “Before I get to that though Elisif, I wanted to ask why.”

Elisif’s gaze becomes one of confusion. “Why…am I doing this? I would have thought that was clearly obvious, Maxwell.”

He shakes his head and clarifies. “It is, but that’s not what I meant. Why did you mention to Serana to confess her feelings for me last night?”

Her gaze evolves to understanding. Elisif takes a moment to collect her thoughts.

She turns to Sybille and asks. “Sybille, please could you give us the floor. I would like to speak with Maxwell in complete privacy.”

“Of course, my Queen. I will await you on the floor below.” Sybille bows, before leaving.

Elisif waits a full minute for Sybille to clear the floor, before she takes a step forward and motions for Maxwell’s hands. He offers them with slight confusion on his face. She clasps them firmly before responding with a very soft tone in her cadence.

“Maxwell. Putting aside the obvious reasons for not wanting the sun to be forever darkened and who you are and what you have done for this world in your former life…I feel compelled on a personal level to assist you in this endeavour, as someone who has gone through the same situation thanks to the monster whose name I will not mention. As I’m sure you know, on that fateful day when he killed my beloved Torygg, right in front of me…I lost myself for a long time. That is something we share in common.”

Realising the inference, Maxwell visibly flinches and croaks out. “You know?! Oh GODS!!! I…”

Elisif instantly holds up a hand which silences him. Dropping it back on their clasped hands, she explains candidly and with sincerity. “I deduced, when Lady Serana explained her reasoning for asking for my assistance. She did not reveal it, so please don’t be angry at her. To anyone else, they would not have realised. It was simply how she worded her reasoning that I had the realisation.”

Her expression softens. “Whilst I can understand you may have some reservations given my station; I believe I am uniquely positioned as I have Sybille as a councillor who I have relied upon all of these years, and my Torygg relied on her before that. I also remember what you said to her in that you will never reveal her existence, which I deeply appreciate. These are among the reasons why I suggested to Lady Serana to tell you how she felt.”

She pauses before adding with a genuine smile. “I am joyful that you have found someone to love and who clearly loves you back, although I know she – Lydia - will always have a special place within, like Torygg for me.”

She concludes. “Please rest assured that I will never discuss any of this with anyone.”

Not knowing how to feel, now that someone else – the one and only High Queen of Skyrim – knows what happened in Sovngarde, Maxwell opens and closes his mouth like an idiot. Clearing his throat and stowing the emotions on the Deal With Later pile, Maxwell quietly says.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Elisif.”

With a hint of a small smile, Elisif lets go of his hands and not so subtly changes the topic. “I do. What in particular about my plan did you want to discuss?”

He flashes a brief grin before they discuss her plan.

Elisif ponders Maxwell curiously, but eventually agrees. “Of course, this may take some time, Maxwell. Potentially longer than this business might take to conclude. Nevertheless, I will endeavour to do what I can. I will need to speak with Falk and see if there is one that has what you have requested.”

“Thank you, Elisif. I can’t thank you enough, even if you do manage to meet all of them. But it’s the last one that is the most important.”

“I will take that under consideration. Now if you will excuse me, I have a province to run.” She offers a genuine smile, and he bows.

“Thank you again, your Majesty.” Maxwell replies with absolute sincerity, upon straightening up.

Taking a step back, Elisif suddenly bows which immensely surprises the Oblivion out of him. “I never got the opportunity to say this before, so I will say it now. Thank you.”

Maxwell is bewildered. A whole multitude of reasons rush by in his mind, in an attempt to divine explanation for her gratitude. Stopping Potema? Ending the war? Saving the world? Saving the world…again?

Stumped, he asks. “For…what?”

Standing up, Elisif replies with genuine appreciation. “For avenging my Torygg.”

When she departs, he sits on the bed and reflects on what just happened. He really hopes she can come through on her revised plan, and that Serana enjoys his requested amendments. And out of every possible answer he ran through to try and guess why she was thanking him…this was the answer he was not expecting.

 

Sybille returns at the next agreed time that evening, and casually asks once she’s settled. “I gather the conversation with the Queen was productive, Maxwell?”

“Sybille, if she comes through for me…I will owe you.”

“Rest assured, I will be certain to collect on that.”

As she deals out the cards, they begin playing. When it seems like she’s about to win the hand, he suddenly says with a humorous but sincere smile as the opportunity for revenge presents itself.

“Sybille, please tell me about Torygg.”

She instantly stops, although her hand remains upright, and looks at him with an extremely odd expression, before recognising why he’s done it. Her gaze softens and she politely giggles with a smile, before starting to describe Torygg’s early life.

 

---

 

In the small hours of the third day, Maxwell abruptly awakens to a very loud banging on the blocked door.

Groggily getting to his feet, he registers the words that the familiar feminine voice states with extreme seriousness. "Maxwell, it's Sybille. Ebony."

Sleep somewhat disappears as he picks up on her tone. He stands up on reflex, but given the late hour decides to ask a probing question. Maxwell calls out as a challenge. "Tell me only something she would know."

The voice immediately replies. "You asked me about Torygg as we played a card game."

Maxwell then unblocks, unlocks and opens the door. Sybille is in her usual clothing with spell-covered eyes, looking extremely concerned.

"Sybille, what’s going on??" Maxwell queries, trying to get rid of the sleep in his voice as he invites her in.

Quickly closing then locking the door, she explains. "Lira just warned me. Someone has been murdered not far from the Palace, and the culprit is still at large. Please stay silent and don't use your Shouts. I will also renew the spell to suppress your scent."

Maxwell nods to both, but motions to his armour. Sybille nods in kind. After recasting the spell, warding the door then blocking it, she quickly helps him armour up. He hands his dagger to her just in case which she stows on her belt. Once ready, she motions for him to stand in the doorway to the washroom and she’ll stand by a cabinet for cover in the other corner.

Taking their positions, they wait.

 

A tense 15 minutes pass. He glances over to the councillor now and then, who is fastidiously staring at the door with every sense on alert. She glances back and shakes her head.

 

Suddenly, she straightens up and readies ice spells. His breath catches in his throat and he summons the bow.

 

As he levels it at the door, she tilts her head.

 

A feminine voice loudly calls out from down the corridor, muffled slightly by the closed door. "Mistress, it is Lira again. Councillor Falk has asked me to pass along the following message: the murderer has been found and has confessed. It was a disagreement that got violent."

She visibly relaxes as her shoulders drop, and responds loudly. “Thank you, Lira.”

Looking to Maxwell who is bemused. "Rest assured it is her, Maxwell."

Dismissing the bow, he breathes out a huge sigh of relief and utters. "Well, that was one hell of a way to wake up. Thank you, Sybille."

Handing his dagger back with a grateful look, she enquires. “Do you require assistance removing your armour?”

“I’ll be okay, thank you. Oh, and the word for your next visit is ‘Candlelight’.”

Sybille bows, and she soon leaves the room after removing the defensive ward and bidding goodnight.

 

---

 

Late afternoon of the third day after having a lie in from the late-night incident, Maxwell is lying in bed reading some sort of adventure book with a rather predictable plot, when a familiar warping starts to appear at the corner of the bed. Tossing the literature aside and standing, a wine-red auburn haired vampiress materialises as the bubble disappears. The vampiress turns, lunges and throws her arms around him.

“By the blood, have I missed you!” The vampiress sighs out, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

He laughs, putting his arms around her back and tightening the embrace. “I can tell, Serana!”

After enjoying the moment, Maxwell enquires as they separate. “Did you run into any trouble?”

“No. I got there safely. What about here?” Serana enquires back.

“There was an incident last night, Serana.” As her expression drops, he quickly clarifies. “Don’t worry, it was a disagreement that got violent and the murderer was found. Other than that, it’s been quiet.”

He then asks. “I gather you found it then?”

“Yes, exactly where you said it was, Maxwell. I also discovered an additional protection that is in place.”

“Are you…” he begins but Serana puts a hand up.

“Sybille.” She whispers.

“Probably sensed you Recalling in.”

After a few seconds, the familiar voice calls out after knocking. “Maxwell, it’s Sybille. Dragonsbridge.”

He moves the blocking furniture then unlocks and opens the door, gesturing for the vampiric councillor to enter.

“My apologies for intruding.” Sybille politely bows before straightening with a smile. “You are correct, I did sense Serana Recalling back.”

“See? I told you.” He grins, and Serana shakes her head with a chuckle. Turning back to Sybille, he continues. “And no worries, Sybille. Serana was about to tell me what she’s found.”

“Then I will leave so I can alert the Queen and...”

“Wait, Sybille. As a fellow mage you will find this of particular interest.” Serana mentions.

Sybille looks momentarily surprised but acquiesces, standing to attention alongside Maxwell after closing the door.

Looking between them, Serana says. “The cave is magically darkened as you said, Maxwell. The other protection I discerned is absolutely fascinating. I’ve heard rumours of it, but never thought I would actually see it for myself. Anyway, the protection is this…spells and enchantments are suppressed within the magical darkness.”

Maxwell gapes in astonishment at her last sentence, and he looks to Sybille who is also wide eyed in disbelief.

“What did you just say, Serana?”

“Spells and enchantments are suppressed when you are within the darkness, and return when you are no longer within it. It somehow suppresses an individual’s Magicka pool.”

Maxwell’s eyebrows dance as he tries to process that. “I…I’ve never even thought such a thing was possible!! I’ve not encountered anything like that before!”

“I share that sentiment, Maxwell.” Sybille quietly comments, her light amber eyes unfocused as she too tries to process it.

After a minute or two, Maxwell is the first to break the awe-inspired silence. “Serana, what about your other abilities?”

“They’re unaffected. Which I believe should be the same for you, Maxwell. I have to say…I’m extremely glad you know the Shout that allows you to see in the dark.”

“Me too...” Maxwell quietly replies as he continues trying to process the fact that such a magical effect exists.

“What about potions?” Sybille asks.

Serana considers it. “I…don’t know, Sybille. I didn’t test it.”

Maxwell thinks out loud. “We’d better take some basic dressings then, just in case…and now I think of it, a shield might be a good idea. Wait, our enchanted packs. Shit. Um, we’ll need to get some non-enchanted ones.”

Turning to look at Sybille, he politely asks. “Sybille, please could you gather the gear for us?”

“It would be my pleasure, Maxwell. I will alert Falk to summon the others, and then leave your requested items in my room. Would you like a heavy or light shield?”

“Thank you. And a light shield please.”

As she nods in affirmation and departs, Maxwell beckons Serana to stay put a moment. “Seeing as spells won’t work, what will you do?”

“Rely on my vampiric powers.”

“What about weapons?”

“What do you mean?”

“You only have a dagger.”

“And?” She queries, wondering where he’s going with this.

He grabs his sheathed sword and holds it out.

“What about you?” Serana says in surprise as she hesitantly takes it.

“I’ll use the bow and Shout, assuming I can see.”

“And if you can’t see or use your Shouts?”

“Then you’ll have to protect me.” He grins, which grows wider as he recalls something. He starts laughing hysterically.

Serana takes a stand back and arches an eyebrow. “Why are you laughing, Maxwell?”

Through the mirth, he explains. “Remember what you said to me on the way to the Castle, Serana? ‘Oh, it would be useful to know a wide range of spells’.”

Serana observes Maxwell continuing to laugh, before having an idea how to put him in his place. She suddenly strides forwards whilst tossing his sword onto the bed, and pulls him into a kiss that breaks both the humour and the moment. After a few seconds of surprise, he immediately embraces it with a moan of approval.

“I knew that would shut you up.” She lightly teases upon breaking the embrace as he emits a groan of dissatisfaction.

“No fair, Serana.”

“What did I tell you on the way to Winterhold, Maxwell? ‘Vampires don’t play fair’.”

He laughs again and goes to say something else along that theme before she shakes her head. “Before we lose more of the day to this petty argument of ours, let’s go tell the others.”

Before they leave the room, Serana tries out his sword and whilst she uses it with some ease, she argues that it is better suited for him. Maxwell loans his ebony dagger instead, which she agrees to.

 

---

 

Once the others are convened in the meeting room, Serana repeats her findings. Their reaction is understandable, jaws to the floor and eyebrows to the ceiling. Tolfdir is the most emotive, his pupils dilated and his wizened face one of abject surprise mixed with intrigue.

“That is most fascinating!! Once this is over, we have to examine this!”

“We’ll certainly report back anything else we find.” Serana comments.

After some further discussion including how long it should take for them to retrieve the Bow, Elisif concludes the short meeting. “With the grace and blessings of the Divines, we hope you are able to find the bow and return safely. If it takes longer than a day Lady Serana, please can you Recall back and advise us.”

Turning to the two other leaders and Falk. “Please remain, as we now need to enact the transport of the Dawnguard troops and those from the College, and finalise preparations.”

Tolfdir, Isran and Falk agree, before stating their own comments of good luck to the duo.

 

Once they have sorted out their gear - including potions and the non-magical items which comprises of an Imperial Light Shield, basic adventuring packs, and an assortment of non-magical medical supplies - Maxwell stands beside Serana.

“Are you ready, Maxwell? Do we have everything we need?”

“Yes Serana, I can’t think of anything else we require.”

Serana momentarily studies him. “There’s one thing left to do before we go.”

He turns in surprise, and his response is forming before it falls apart as Serana pulls him in for a short kiss and hug.

“Okay, now I’m ready.” She says with a coy smile upon release.

Maxwell guffaws as Serana continues smiling whilst she casts the requisite actions to Recall them to the Mark she placed outside the hidden cave entrance.

 

As the bubble forms, Serana tries to downplay the nerves that had been building since she found the cave. She had been playful since her return to try and distract both of them as there’s no going back now. Once they find the Bow, there’s nothing left to do other than confront their adversary...and survive.

Notes:

I managed to get this one completed over the weekend, I hope you enjoy!

I had the idea for the 'Cave of Protective Darkness' when I came up with the Nightvision Shout, and thought it made absolute sense to build on it. It's nice to finally publish it.

Next one won't be out until October, at least. Work continues to worsen, and the next chapter requires quite a bit of writing before I edit it. Thankfully, I have a day off tomorrow from the bank holiday due to Queen Elizabeth's funeral, so that will grant me a head start on it.

Stay safe out there, and I hope you have a lovely day!

Chapter 28: Darkness

Summary:

The duo enter the Cave of Protective Darkness and then the Vale.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, violence, death, more violence, more death, even more violence, even more death.

Like the title, this is something of a dark chapter due to all the death.

Also, minor grammatical edits may happen.

When the warping completes, the change from the stone-based room to snow-covered grass and wooded surroundings is both surprising and a relief for Maxwell. He takes stock of their surroundings as Serana adjusts her armour.

Somewhat high up a slope in the shadow of the Druadach mountains. A moderately thick layer of snow lies on the ground and the temperature change on his exposed skin is biting. Before him, the snow-covered canopy of a wooded area visible with numerous large rock extrusions dotted around. Classic geography of the Reach. Behind him, a very high and almost vertical rock face.

His gaze is drawn to where the hidden entrance lies.

As she leads the approach to the cave, it appears like any other that is located between two rock strata. The difference here is that the darkness appears to have corporeality. The abyssal- like darkness appears like a shadowy veil draped over the entranceway. It almost makes you want to turn away, out of concern of what lies within.

The instant that Maxwell sees the magical darkness, several symbols flash in his mind with instant meaning, and he winces slightly from the onslaught of information.

Snow Elves. Temple. Darkness. Protection. Defence. Cave. Maze. Direction.

Noticing his reaction, Serana instantly steps closer and queries. “What’s wrong, Maxwell? Did you see more symbols?”

Maxwell exhales slowly and looks to her with a soft yet humoured expression. Taking a moment to compose himself, he responds. “Sorry, Serana, that was…very odd. There’s a lot so please bear with me. Yes, I saw more symbols. A lot of them. I think seeing it for myself has prompted them to appear, like when I looked at the map and the first ones appeared.”

“I think I know why this cave has these protections. The darkness and suppressive effects were put in place by the Snow Elves, as they serve as a combined means of secrecy and defence from their enemies as well as to protect the Vale, because the Temple was one of their most sacred sites. Also, the cave itself is twisted with overlapping tunnels and caves containing various physical protections like ledges and pits, which serve as a physical protection to confuse those that enter. However, I know the correct path thanks to the Scrolls.”

She stares in complete puzzlement at this deluge of information, mixed with the heavy concern of yet more symbols appearing.

“How would the Snow Elves get through the cave?”

“I don’t know, Serana. The symbols didn’t explain. I guess they had some method of seeing through the magical darkness?”

“What about your night vision?”

“Oh, right. Let me try.”

He closes his eyes, quietly Shouts “Aak Miin Vulom” and opens them to reveal the jet-black eyes. He looks to the darkness, and sighs in relief before dismissing the effect.

“I can see in the darkness which means my Shouts will work.”

She sighs in equal relief.

Opting to distract them from what just happened, Serana quietly says. “Watch this.”

She moves closer to the threshold and throws up a Magelight, before sending it towards the entrance. It floats quietly, before vanishing out of existence at the threshold. She then summons lightning, and sticks her hand into the darkness. Her hand disappears and the crackling sound immediately stops.

Completely bewildered at the seeing the effect for himself, he utters. “Wow! That’s incredible! I want to try it.”

He undoes his glove as he approaches the threshold, and on the exposed hand summons fire which wreathes his hand with flames. Sticking it in, the moment his hand touches and disappears into the darkness, the fire stops as the channelled Magicka is cut off.

“I can’t believe…gods, this is insane.” Maxwell states with incredulity and wide eyes to Serana.

Equipping her dagger and letting her other hand hang loose, Serana turns to him with an authoritative demeanour. “Please remain behind me Maxwell, but please tell me which way to go and if you get any more symbols.”

He tilts his head in mild confusion and she clarifies whilst gesturing to her nose and ears with a small smirk. “Superior senses.”

“Sure, Serana. I’ll indicate as we go.”

He quietly Shouts “Aak Miin Vulom” again and readies himself, including his sword and shield. He considers keeping the bow equipped, but settles on the former as it’s more likely that close quarters combat will happen.

With one final shared expression of apprehension, the duo enter the darkness. From the outside, their forms disappeared through a solid veil. For them, with their respective ability, they entered a normal cave.

They follow the cold and twisting passageway, the entrance soon disappearing behind them. Now that he is completely immersed in the suppressive darkness, out of curiosity Maxwell focuses on his Magicka pool. Nothing. It feels like a hollow void where it should be, almost like a phantom limb.

He quietly exclaims. “By the gods, the sensation with the suppressed Magicka is weird.”

“How do you think I feel, Maxwell?” She quips, briefly looking over her shoulder.

He chuckles, and goes to mention more when two symbols flash in his mind. He instantly comes to a stop and frowns deeply in concern mixed with dread.

Snow Elves. Betrayed.

“Another symbol?”

“Two. ‘Snow Elves. Betrayed’.”

“But you already had that symbol…wait, betrayed?”

The shared look of recognition evidences they had the same thought. Falmer.

Their respective features contort slightly as they silently curse and regret the earlier loudness. Serana’s demeanour makes it abundantly clear that she is really missing her Magicka so that she can put them under her protective spells.

Maxwell speaks in a very hushed whisper. “We need to be quiet and only speak if we must.”

Serana nods in agreement and whispers back. “Agreed. Tap my shoulder to direct me.”

They move forward, slower and more cautiously. When they come to an intersection, Serana stops expectantly and Maxwell taps her on the right shoulder. She goes down that tunnel.

This repeats a few times, and she comes to a stop before motioning for him to stay put and be silent. She bursts into batform around the corner. The sound of brief but muffled combat – including bones breaking – appear then silence falls. She comes back with a flat expression whilst beckoning him on. Glancing down the tunnel as they pass, Maxwell silently huffs at the eviscerated Falmer bodies including two with their heads facing the wrong way.

He continues navigating her through the twisting tunnels.

At one point, he shakes her shoulder rather than taps, and offers gestures which she can’t interpret.

They have a silent conversation, with head tilts, hand gestures and dancing eyebrows, before she sighs and speaks quietly with a hint of frustration. “What are you trying to say?”

“It’s that way, then we enter a room and need to keep left as there is a steep ledge within and the path is narrow.”

Sure enough, they enter the room and it is as described. After safely passing through into the next tunnel, she chances to whisper. “You really do know the way, don’t you?”

“It’s like a sense of where to go, Serana. Like I’ve been here before.”

 

Soon, they come across several connected rooms that contain a nest of spiders, which they deal with silently at range with bloodbolts and arrows. Motioning to the next room after killing the last of the spiders, a sneeze builds up in Maxwell. He throws up a hand to try and stifle it. It’s a fraction of a second too late, and the loud sound echoes around them.

When silence finally descends, they hold their breath as they stare wide-eyed at each other. Several seconds pass tensely by, before a loud, shrill yammering appears from far beyond, shattering the fallen silence and seemingly filling its absence as it builds.

“Shit!!” Maxwell curses loudly.

They toss their packs into one corner to lessen their encumbrance, and ready up. She stows her dagger and readies bloodbolts. Sheathing his sword, dropping the shield and drawing his bow, a thought occurs to Maxwell.

“Stay behind me, Serana. I’ll Shout dragonfire down the corridor.”

She exclaims above the yammering. “Don’t, Maxwell! It’s too loud! It will attract more when it echoes!!”

He huffs at that realisation and nods, before nocking an ebony arrow and levelling the bow.

When the preceding armoured Falmer approach to investigate the sneeze, the flurry of bloodbolts take out those at the front, which drop dead and cause those behind to stumble over them. Maxwell’s well-placed shots take down a number, including a few at the rear armed with bows.

More Falmer pour in after them.

With a brief look, Serana nods and she throws out a massive blood wave, thereby giving Maxwell an opportunity to toss the bow aside and equip his sword and shield. She unsheathes his dagger, and equips both.

When the Falmer enter, the duo face down the remaining horde in close quarter combat.

Serana moves with a purpose, slashing and stabbing with finesse. Moving unnaturally fast, she is clearly taking out more of the Falmer than he is.

Maxwell dances around with efficiency, relying on the training lessons he took from Lydia all those years ago. Her words resonating within. When facing multiple enemies, it’s all about the footwork and balance. If you fall, you might not get back up!

The shield was definitely a good idea, as it is taking most of the hits. Nevertheless, he does take some hits on his torso. Serana glances over in concern a few times, thankfully seeing that the dragonscale armour is deflecting every single weapon strike with minimal scarring where they land.

Killing the final Falmer which thuds to the ground, a sweated Maxwell exhales out the tiredness. Observing their surroundings, the ground is littered with weapons, bodies, dismembered limbs and blood.

Suddenly, a new yattering sound is heard. It is even louder than the first. For Serana, she also hears rapid clicking.

“More are coming, with Chaurus!!” She exclaims.

The bedraggled Maxwell grimaces. The spit from those foul creatures is not something he wishes to go through again.

He replies with seriousness. “Serana, there’s no choice. I have to Shout.”

She acquiesces and moves behind as he takes position in the corridor before readying into a braced stance. When the armoured Falmer approach with the familiar black-coloured Chaurus crawling at their feet, he Shouts with as much energy as he can.

“YOL. TOOR. SHUL!!”

The fire breath somehow overrides the magical darkness and illuminates the tunnel, momentarily dazzling the duo. Nevertheless, the fire incinerates the massive horde of Falmer and Chaurus as it pushes far down the tunnel. As Serana winces and takes several steps further back when the heat rolls behind him, it expires into nothingness. The acrid smell of burning bodies soon prompts several memories to flare up for Maxwell who fervently shoves them aside and covers his nose.

With bated breath, they wait. There’s no further sound. For now.

Having some water and catching his breath and ignoring the burnt corpses, Maxwell stoops to pick up his bow before he realises his error. Most of his spent ebony arrows have just been incinerated due to his dragonfire Shout.

“By the gods, I'm an idiot.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Guess what I just incinerated.”

She tilts her head and opens her mouth to query, then closes it as she also realises. “Try and recover what you can, I’ll keep watch.”

With no further sign of combat, she maintains a vigil whilst Maxwell recovers what ebony arrows he can from the closer bodies that weren’t incinerated, although it is a mere fraction. There’s not much else of use, other than a few of their weapons. He checks a couple of the archers to see if he could salvage some of their arrows. Unlike those he encountered in Dwemer ruins in his former life, these have made their own arrows. They are shoddy and poorly crafted. One that he tests snaps in half, and he discards it with a slight huff.

They push on.

 

---

 

Following the directions from Maxwell, they pass through more tunnels and rooms.

They encounter more Falmer, although nothing close to the initial fight.

They do come across a few rooms with cave flora, huts and a breeding area for Chaurus; evidently where some of the Falmer had resided. Checking it through quickly, there’s the Falmer equivalent of a blacksmith station with chitin on it.

Two rooms in particular have large holes in that descend into absolute darkness, clearly designed to be pitfalls. They cautiously navigate their way to the other side.

 

---

 

Serana surmises it has been close to an hour since they entered this place. Saying this to Maxwell, two symbols appear and he huffs in annoyance. Waterfall. Protection.

 “What’s wrong?”

“Another symbol. ‘Waterfall’.”

She turns and asks in a confused tone. “Waterfall?”

“It’s another physical protection. The Vale is on the other side.”

“Why the huffing? Is there no way to navigate it?”

“There’s no bridge, if that’s what you mean.”

Going further down the tunnel, a noise on the edge of her hearing makes Serana break the silence. “I hear it, Maxwell.”

Eventually they come to it. It’s a moderately sized waterfall, cascading over a ledge, bottoming out about 30 feet down before carrying on to their left. There’s no way of navigating the waterfall, short of jumping in.

Serana hovers over and down. She shortly reappears and pulls Maxwell back so they can talk over the sound of the rushing water.

“It flows out for some distance.”

“Gods, I think the only option we have is to jump in. I don’t think either of us can freeze that much water.”

They ponder the problem. Serana suddenly has a flash of inspiration from something she did at the Glade.

Turning to look at him with a very telling smirk, she confidently stares and states. “I have an idea, Maxwell.”

“What is it?” He looks to her as he speaks, becoming startled slightly by her expression.

She starts hovering again without saying a word whilst maintaining her demeanour. He frowns, wondering why she is a foot off the ground.

“I don’t get it, Serana.”

She arches an eyebrow knowingly, and patiently waits. Staring in bemusement, Maxwell mutters. “I still don’t…oh.” His countenance falters at the inference.

“Unless you would prefer to go swimming?” Serana gestures to the tunnel behind her to emphasis her point.

Maxwell opens his mouth to counter, but the words fail to coalesce.

With resigned acceptance, he alters his profile accordingly but finds he really misses having an enchanted pack. He tosses the damaged shield aside in awareness that something has to be left behind. With him holding his sword, bow and quiver, Serana bridal carries Maxwell down and over the water. Above the sound of the flowing water once the waterfall disappears behind, he calls out.

“Serana, if you tell anyone about this, I will…”

“You will what, Maxwell?” She interjects tauntingly, daring him to complete that sentence.

“I don’t know right now, but I’ll tell you once I think of something.”

She deadpans and stops moving forward. Staring intensely, her pupils narrow ever so slightly and she flatly states. “Keep quiet or you really will go swimming.”

He remains tight-lipped and his breathing involuntarily shallows. Maintaining her intense gaze for several seconds longer, she breaks out into sincere laughter and starts motioning forward again. He soon joins in the mirth.

 

---

 

The tunnel eventually opens up into a wide and slightly sloped area on both sides. One side has an entrance. A bridge over the river remains, and it has a metallic grate that the water flows through.

Depositing Maxwell safely on the side with the entrance, they sort themselves out and re-arm. Taking a step forward, he goes to point the way forward with his free hand before his countenance falls to the depths of Blackreach as more symbols appears; the last one sending a shiver down his spine.

Vale. Snow Elves. Betrayed. Vampires.

Serana immediately turns and starts to ask, but Maxwell fervently shakes his head and puts gloved finger to his lips to indicate silence.

He mouths ‘Journal please’.

As he pulls out his map to retrieve the pencil, she extracts her journal. She passes it over, and watches him as he goes to a blank page at the back and quickly writes his message. Her countenance follows his to Blackreach as the words appear.

‘Symbols said ‘Vale. Snow Elves, Betrayed, Vampires.” Vampiric Falmer throughout the Vale. Tell me if you sense anything!’

The last word is underlined thrice. She looks to him wide-eyed, and the deadly serious expression he has is enough to enforce the message. After stowing their respective item, Maxwell readies his bow and Serana hangs her arms loosely before slowly preceding forward.

Cautiously moving through the tunnel, the sound of running water thankfully muffling some of the sounds of their movement, she glances back every so often and shakes her head to affirm she can’t sense, hear or smell anything. Maxwell gestures silently which tunnels to take.

The passageway they follow soon opens up into another small cavern, and they find one of the reasons the Scrolls gave him the symbols.

There are desiccated bodies everywhere. It looks as though they violently killed each other. Some have ornately designed armour, most do not. Serana lurches forward to one of the nearby bodies and points. Some of the remains have fangs, bony protrusions on their backs, and elongated fingers. They look at each other and share the same thought.

This wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre.

Making their way further down, Maxwell taps her on the shoulder once more and whispers. “End of magical darkness pass this bend.”

Her expression becomes one of massive relief. Finding the bend, the suppressed sensation ends.

Maxwell starts saying. “Serana, please can…”

“I had that thought already.” Serana cuts him off, as she begins the requisite motions.

She puts them under her protection spells. Once the tingling sensation washes over him, he loudly breathes a sigh of relief. Now that they can talk, they use the opportunity to stop and let him momentarily rest.

“Gods, that massacre was horrible! What a way to go…”

“Do you know what happened here, Maxwell? Did the symbols tell you?”

His face contorts as he thinks over the information. “Not directly, Serana. From what I can infer, I think a strain of vampirism infected the Falmer that are in the Vale and it spread everywhere. Although who those armoured individuals were, I don’t know. I guess they were Snow Elves, but then that means they survived the betrayal by the Dwemer, which I can’t believe.”

He pauses before voicing a concern and a relief. “I’m also finding it odd we haven’t run into any Falmer since the waterfall, of either kind. Well, thank the Divines it’s contained to the Vale. Imagine if this got out into the rest of Skyrim.”

She nods in acknowledgement.

When Maxwell bows his head reverently in silent contemplation, Serana decides to try and distract them. “Speaking of the Vale, I assume the end of the magical darkness means we’re close?”

Maxwell replies as he stands up and straightens out his armour. “It’s not far now, although we have a bit of a climb.”

 

--

 

Entering one small room, there are remnants of what looks like a very old camp, although it has long since fallen into disrepair. As they approach, Serana’s head suddenly tilts to the side and she stares at the corner. She motions towards it whilst Maxwell investigates the camp. Finding nothing of note, he moves over to Serana who has found an ornate smooth white stone chest in a well-hidden corner. She casts Muffle on the chest as a precaution before pulling it out and opening it.

Inside, there’s a veritable assortment of items.

The first object she pulls out is a smooth cloth pouch containing a weirdly shaped object that is slightly bigger than her hand. Undoing the strings and opening it up, they collectively gasp. A strange ruby-coloured ovoid shaped gem. It’s oddly decorated, with a ridged band around the centre and half diamond formations at quarter intervals.

Maxwell stares incredulously at it. As he takes it from Serana who reaches back into the chest, he realises something from the feel of it.

“Wait, is this an actual ruby?”

She nods.

He emits a nonsensical sound, before uttering incredulously. “By the Gods, this is the biggest one I’ve ever seen!!”

Looking over the pattern, he can’t discern anything of note. He goes to ask but she gasps again. Instantly shifting his gaze, she’s holding another ovoid object, this one looking like an amethyst instead.

“Don’t tell me, that’s…”

“Yes.”

“Why are they here? Are you sensing anything from them?”

“I’m detecting a faint spell emanating from their cores, Maxwell. It’s not exactly the same, but it feels like an Unlock spell. I think they’re meant to be a key.”

He balks and croaks out. “A key!? I can’t believe these are keys, Serana. They look more like eggs!”

After several moments of stupefied contemplation, he mutters whilst turning the ruby one over. “Whatever they are, they’re gorgeous.”

She pulls out the next item of note, and looks completely entranced with it. It’s a sheathed opulently decorated dagger. Upon pulling out the blade from the sheathe, she breathes out her sentiment.

“By the blood of my ancestors, a Snow Elf dagger! I never thought I’d see one for myself. I’ve seen drawings of them.”

She hands it to Maxwell who casts his appraising eye over it, commenting in a matching tone. “It’s extremely well balanced, and look at the detail on the hilt.”

Seeing an opportunity to compliment her, he adds as he returns it. “Like everything else in this chest, it’s beautiful…just like the person who found them.”

After a brief second of surprise, she rewards him with a genuine yet slightly embarrassed smile before lightly chastising him. “I thought we agreed to keep that sort of thing in our room.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

Picking up one of the books amidst this thought, she manages to translate part of it. Reading it, her features scrunch up in deep thought.

“What is it, Serana?”

In response, she recites the first few translated passages from the book – a journal belonging to an individual called Knight-Paladin Gelebor of the First Dawn – that describes how survivors fell back here during their losing war with the Atmorans. Confirmation that some Snow Elves survived that war is completely mind-blowing to Maxwell who against the wall in silent shock at this revelation.

Looking at one of the other entries, she translates and recites it. It details the massacre of a group of survivors and a horde of vampiric Falmer; these being the remains that they passed by. Maxwell asks her to stop as he tries not to throw up. At this point, she stows the journal, opting to read it later.

She scans through the other literature and describes them, including a tome of some kind which she can’t make sense of.

“If you have no objection Maxwell, let’s take it all.”

“Fine with me, Serana.”

 

Navigating through the tunnel, it opens up into another small cavern. Upon seeing what lays within, especially at the centre and next to it, Maxwell loudly exclaims which makes Serana visibly recoil.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Noticing she is giving him a stern disapproving look for making her jump, he mumbles a sincere apology and keeps quiet.

The cavern, like the one after they left the water, is a massacre. Only this one seems like a last stand.

Multiple skeletons around, most of them clearly vampiric. One stands out, wearing aged ornately decorated armour. Its skull is caved in. At the rear, what appears to be a shrine but it is in complete disarray. Various items including ceramic vessels lie smashed on the ground.

In the centre, above all of this carnage, sits a sunken structure of some sort which is adorned with a conundrum coloured 7-pointed symbol. The brickwork is a pale white smooth brick. Next to the sunken building, a ghostly apparition stands guard. The figure is someone of tall stature, with at least a head’s height on Maxwell and with extremely white hair and skin that’s whiter than snow. Wearing a ghostly version of ornate armour that lies at their feet and that they passed. It covers his entire torso with a flaired guard around his neck, and exposed arms that lead down to shaped gauntlets.

As they cautiously approach, the apparition speaks in an unusual language whilst staring at Maxwell despite being invisible and under spells. Serana, despite the minor concern the apparition is seeing through her spells, casts Tongues on both of them. The words become understandable.

“…Paladin Gelebor of the First Dawn, and I stand sentinel over the Wayshrine of Integrity. Initiate, are you prepared to honour the mantras of Auri-El and fill your vessel with his enlightenment?”

The two look at each other, perplexed expressions mixed with surprise and shock.

‘Gelebor?’ He mouths to her.

She looks at the patiently awaiting spectral individual and turns back. ‘Symbols?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, oddly.’

Knowing that this apparition is seeing right through their protection, Maxwell states. “Gelebor, we found your chest.” He pulls out one of the ovoid objects. “What is this for?”

No response to any of his words.

“Do you understand me?”

The ghost doesn’t respond, watching him expectantly. Maxwell turns to Serana who expresses her own confusion.

“What do you mean by ‘vessel’?” She asks, looking to the apparition.

The ghost continues staring at the hunter, seemingly awaiting a particular response to his posed question.

Unsure of how else to respond and somewhat fearing what may happen if he says ‘yes’, Maxwell states with a voice laced with confusion. “No?”

The apparition reverently leans forward in a simple bow before straightening and replying. “Then you must turn back and reflect on your answer. You may return on the morrow.”

The apparition dismisses them with a respectable hand wave, then returns to his original spot. Further attempts at conversation doesn’t provoke any further reaction. A furtive search of the cavern also doesn’t evidence anything further, beyond the sunken building being hexagonal.

Moving away down the next tunnel, Maxwell is bemused at the interaction.

“Well, that was weird. What in Oblivion was he talking about, with ‘Mantras of Auri-El’? And ‘Vessel’? What do you make of that? Also, ‘on the morrow’ is something I’ve never heard before. Does that mean tomorrow?”

“One question at a time, Maxwell!” She smirks, before answering the easiest one. “’On the morrow’ does mean ‘tomorrow’. That’s a phrase even from my time.”

Serana pauses to ponder his other questions before answering.

“‘Mantras of Auri-El’ relates to the tenets of belief of Auriel. An example is enlightening yourself with the understanding of how your life and actions can impact those around you. I didn’t understand ‘vessel’ though. As for the apparition itself…I think it is his soul, or…a version, or a copy of it. It’s strange, but what’s stranger is that it is somehow tied to the building. I could faintly detect the link, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever sensed.”

“His soul?!” Maxwell balks. Struggling to process the thought, he soon queries. “Going back to the ‘vessel’ part, could it mean in the literal sense, like some sort of container? Or a spiritual sense like the soul, given what you just said?”

Serana is deep in thought at that one, her fine eyebrows darting slightly as she processes her thoughts. She once more shrugs before replying. “To be completely honest Maxwell, I’m not sure about that one. There could be some information in his journal.”

She goes to pull it out, only to be stopped by Maxwell shaking his head. “Possibly, but we don’t have time Serana. The sun will be setting soon. Let’s push on to the Vale.”

“Agreed.”

 

---

 

Only minutes later, two more symbols appears. Maxwell audibly groans at the information it provides.

Vale. Ascend.

“More symbols?”

“‘Vale, Ascend.’ We have a large staircase ahead, Serana.“

They come to it not long later. A spiralling artificial stone staircase made of the whitest stone; even moreso than that of Fort Dawnguard. It has survived all this time.

“Why in Oblivion are there so many stairs?!”

She goes to offer carrying him up the central gap, and he exclaims. “No, not again. I’d rather take the stairs!”

Maxwell has to stop a few times to catch his breath, with Serana nonchalantly observing him with a smirk. He returns with a flat expression, although the corner of his lips curl slightly now and then.

The air soon feels colder.

When they eventually reach the top and exit the cave, the view makes them stop and exhale in awe, despite Maxwell’s earlier warning about it being overrun with vampiric Falmer. Thankfully with the sun still out, there’s no sign of the creatures.

The trees appear synonymous with birch trees but the leaves are silvery. There are birds chirping and flying about, including a few variants that he has never seen before. There is snow on the ground, but grass has pushed through it. The tall grass is wafting in the slow breeze. The silvery tree leaves also shift slightly as they reflect the sunlight. A few ruins are visible, mostly small – like pillars or archways - that have fallen into disrepair over the eons. The purpose of them, lost to the ages.

“By the GODS! This journey has been insane with some of sights we’ve seen, Serana. I thought the Ancestor Glade was something, but this place is…just…”

“Despite everything that’s happened, the thing that I’m extremely grateful for is seeing for myself just how beautiful Tamriel is. Thank you for that, Maxwell.”

He warmly smiles, and they stare adoringly at each other. When he starts to put an arm around her, they respectively remembering their earlier agreement and adopt neutral expressions. Opting to distract himself from the tender moment, Maxwell steps back and scans the horizon. As soon as he locks onto the very narrow gap in the distance between two large rock buttes, he points in that bearing with his free hand.

“That is where we need to go, Serana. Through there leads to the rest of the Vale, and at the far end is the temple.”

Looking at the position of the sun in relation to the western mountains which are just visible from their current vantage point, he frowns. “Damn, we’re running out of daylight. I estimate we have about an hour of light left. We could explore for a bit then come back here if we don’t find anywhere safe. I’d rather not risk trying to find another cave only to find it full of Falmer – vampiric or normal - or something else that lives here.”

“Good idea. You lead the way this time.”

When they descend into the soft grass that reaches their knees, Maxwell realises something else. Even though the air is extremely cold as it stings his face, the rest of him isn’t.

“Serana, please remind me. Did you put an enchantment on the armour to retain heat?”

“No, we didn’t. Why do you ask?”

“Really? I’m barely feeling the cold other than on my face.”

“I guess the dragon scales are naturally retaining the heat?”

“Well, that’s new. And useful!”

 

Stopping at a nearby stream that’s frozen over, he melts some of the ice and they use it to wash the dirt and grime from the cave system off of them, and for him to refill his waterskin. They eventually make their way through the short yet narrow pass.

The sight of the valley before them once again takes their breath away. Many more ruins dot the valley, including a couple of sizeable ones that appear as though they could have been watchtowers.

 

---

 

After descending to the bottom of the valley and making their way around the area with about 30 minutes of light left, Serana exclaims when they pass an archway.

“Maxwell!”

He turns and sees what has caught her attention.

Another ghostly apparition standing beside a familiar sunken building adorned with a conundrum coloured 7-pointed symbol, further up the slope and partially hidden by a rocky extrusion. With Tongues still active, she leads their approach. The ghost visage speaks, looking to Serana this time.

“Welcome, Initiate. I am Prelate Athring of the Second Dawn, and I stand sentinel over the Wayshrine of Sight. Are you prepared to honour the mantras of Auri-El and fill your vessel with his enlightenment?”

“Yes.” Serana confidently states, much to Maxwell’s surprise. Before he can interject, the apparition bows, straightens then speaks.

“Then behold Auri-El’s gift, Initiate. May it speed your journey to the temple, and may Auri-El’s eternal light guide you in your darkest hours.”

He turns and raises a hand which glows golden. The symbol atop the structure glows a similar colour, before the building suddenly rises up from the ground with a surprisingly quiet grating sound. Once the building completes its ascending motion, the ghost turns and gestures towards the entrance.

Cautiously moving around, an open archway reveals the interior. In the middle is a standing bowl full of clear water. The five internal arched walls are of the same material, a light grey stone which stands in contrast to the paler stonework that constitutes the rest of the building.

Peering into the standing bowl, Serana says over her shoulder.

“That answers your earlier question, Maxwell. It seems that it is a physical container that the initiates must have had on their person, although I guess they were expected to carry it all of the way from one wayshrine to the next. That part doesn’t make sense to me.”

“The sun is about to set, Serana. Let’s find somewhere to stay for the night and we can talk about it then.”

“We could stay here.” She gestures to the building.

“With the soul of a Snow Elf standing outside?” He retorts with a weak chuckle, evidently using it to thinly mask his uneasiness. She acquiesces and leads them away.

 

---

 

When the sun is capping one of the western mountains and threatens to plunge the rest of the Vale into darkness, they quickly converse. Given the danger he mentioned, Serana mentions she can Recall them back to the Palace and return in the morning, but Maxwell disagrees as he’s been cooped up for days and desires fresh air. They decide to stop at a nearby tall ruin in sight and Serana will maintain the spells and keep watch, Recalling back if it gets too dangerous.

It looks to have been a few storeys tall, but due to the passage of time only two storeys remain. A stable part of the uppermost level remains. The stairs have fallen away, although there is enough remaining for Maxwell to use to climb up. Serana simply floats up, much to his amusement.

After clearing the floor of detritus as the sun disappears, they put their gear, weapons and helmets within easy reach before settling for a long rest. They sit quietly for a while, side by side with backs against the wall. There’s not much of a roof left, so the view of the sky is mostly unobscured beyond the wall behind and to the side of them.

The stars eventually come out in all their brilliance. The aurora, draped across the night sky like great weaving tapestries, seems extremely bright here. With the twin moons and stars out and very little cloud cover, the now darkened valley is bathed in dim light.

“This place really is something.”

“I am in complete agreement, Maxwell.”

Noticing how she’s looking slightly doleful, he promptly queries. “You’re thinking about what the Scrolls told me, aren’t you?”

“It’s hard not to. I’ve thought about it ever since you told me.”

Turning to look at her directly, he reassuringly states. “Serana, you know I will never let that happen. Please believe that.”

He goes to say more, but her fingers land on his mouth. Her deep amber eyes, fiercely resolute. “It’s a lovely night, Maxwell. Let’s sit here and enjoy it, please.”

He maintains his stare with a furrowing brow. Her gaze softens, and she compromises. “I promise we will talk, soon.”

We really should talk, but she’s right. It’s a lovely night.

He slowly nods in acceptance, and she removes her right hand. As they sit back in their respective place, she motions for his own right hand with her left. He presents it after taking off his glove. She offers a soft and affectionate expression as a reward, wrapping her cool fingers through his warm ones and grasping it. His heartrate quickens and she smiles wider, prompting him to embarrassingly chuckle.

She silently leans her head on his shoulder, and he leans his head on hers.

They quietly observe the shifting aurora and twinkling starlight.

Serana contentedly sighs a couple of times. Shortly after the last one, Maxwell feels her motioning to lift her head up.

Lifting his and turning to look at her expectantly, his breath hitches the second their eyes connect. Her deep amber eyes are once again like two pools of soft liquid sunlight.

“Serana.” His voice, low and heavy.

“Maxwell.” Her voice, sultry and quiet.

He goes to verbalise his thought about their earlier agreement, but the thought melts away. He starts to lean in. Her breathing shallows. As they get closer, the moment stretches to infinity once more. Only an inch away, her delicate eyelids droop almost closed in anticipation and her red lips part. His eyelids start to close too.

At the point of tantalising contact, she freezes.

Her eyes and pupils widen, before turning her head away to stare intently to their north east, thereby tearing herself from the embrace. Her hair whips his face which, combined with the sudden void, brings Maxwell abruptly crashing back to reality.

As he inhales, leans back and attempts to begin mentally recovering, she turns back to him with all former temperament gone. “I hear Falmer in the distance.”

She refocuses on the spells, and the auras are re-strengthened after weakening momentarily from being slightly distracted. Maintaining her vigil, she soon affirms it’s clear.

Maxwell tries to scrape together the remnants of the ruined moment and leans in once more. Serana appears to have the same thought, but she subtly shakes her head and clearly reluctantly lets go of his hand as though to reinforce it has passed.

“Try to get some sleep, Maxwell. I’ll keep watch and wake you at first light or if there’s trouble.”

He pulls out his bedroll and flattens it out before glancing over. Noticing this, she offers with a slight head tilt. “I’ll be alright. I’ll read through Gelebor’s books and see if I can learn anything useful.”

Getting settled as she pulls out the literature, Maxwell tosses and turns for a short while before sighing in slight frustration. She puts the book aside and moves next to him.

“It’s okay Serana, it’s just the stone and the armour. I’m somewhat uncomfortable.”

Serana ponders offering on casting Sleep, but knowing his aversion to messing with his mind, she opts for a simpler gesture. She takes off and bundles up her cloak before offering it.

“This might help with supporting your head.”

“Thanks.” He offers a sincere smile whilst taking it.

Using the bundled cape as an additional pillow on top of his own, in combination with the scales retaining his own heat, Maxwell soon falls asleep. His breathing regular and arms crossed on his torso.

 

She starts reading the literature, beginning with the tome. After deciphering it, the tome describes the base forms of a weapon enchantment called ‘Flashing Blindness’, something she’s never heard of. Fascinating.

Reading through the other literature, there’s nothing of pertinence. I suspect Urag and the Arch Mage might find these interesting.

His journal, however, is intriguing. In fact, she learns quite a bit.

A number of survivors fell back here to flee the war with the Atmorans, and built a colony of sorts. Whilst they weren’t exactly thriving, they had survived.

After several centuries of no contact from the outside world thanks to the mountains combined with the protective darkness and physical protections, the Falmer – or ‘The Betrayed’ – started to appear from the waterfall. They managed to initially hold them off as the numbers were small. Over the years, the numbers getting through increased and grew beyond their control. Around the same time, the Betrayed were infected by a strain of vampirism which ran rampant.

The survivors fell all the way back to the Temple, where it was soon attacked by the vampiric Betrayed. Many were gruesomely killed, and the last he saw of his brother – an Arch Curate Vyrthur – he was holding off the horde alone to give him a chance to get others to safety. With a small group of survivors and surviving Paladins, he escorted them to the river past the Wayshrine of Integrity. He stayed behind to kill the following vampiric Betrayed; only to find that he had inadvertently sent them to their deaths as there was an even bigger horde within the cave, which overwhelmed the Paladins.

He decided to remain at the Wayshrine of Integrity in prayer for forgiveness and as penance, feeling that he would be disgracing the Temple by returning burdened with guilt. He spends quite a few pages reflecting on his actions.

His very last entry - on the inside of the book - immensely piques her interest.

A final message, seemingly to whomever finds his journal should he perish, makes reference to Auriel’s Bow and (surprisingly) Auriel’s Quiver; something Maxwell hasn’t said as of yet. The last he knew is that they were locked away in a secure vault the Chantry when the Betrayed overran the Temple. To get to it, he makes reference to a ‘Ritual of Enlightenment’ which details visiting the six wayshrines scattered throughout the Vale with an Initiate’s Ewer. There's no mention of the dagger or 'eggs', oddly.

She puts the journal aside, and after consuming some blood she looks up meditatively at the starry night.

 

At times, Serana quietly observes Maxwell. Taking in the details of his composed features and the way his armoured chest steadily rises and falls, with his familiar steady thrumming heartbeat filling the rest of the silence. His scent is fully suppressed.

Those dreaded words again appear in her mind, and the fear returns. ‘The Scrolls told me you will die, Serana.’

Knowing where her soul will end up upon her death joins with that sentence and increases the fear, which she quickly seeks to let go of. His earlier words, including his compliment, and the almost-kiss appear and replaces the fear with the warm feeling. This one she holds onto with everything she can.

As there are more unearthly sounds from the same direction as earlier, she reflects on their current circumstances, and where this entire journey is leading to. She dreads to think what’s happening with her mother, and what surprises their adversary is likely to have in store for when they eventually confront him. A few she knows and has already revealed; it’s the ones she doesn’t that are concerning.

I really hope we survive this.

When night gives way to dusk, she looks over to the east and the increasing sunlight. With a heavy sigh, she prays for the first time in a long time.

Auriel, Akatosh, whatever name you go by. I know you’re watching us. I really hope your bow is here like Gelebor said and the reading mentioned. Please keep us safe. Momentarily looking to him, she adds. Please help me keep him safe.

 

---

 

A nudge from Serana shortly after that action prompts Maxwell to slowly wake up. Groggily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he clears his throat and murmurs whilst staring up at her.

“Good morning to you.” He quietly says with a small smile.

She softly smiles in return. “Good morning. Dawn is about to happen, Maxwell. I thought to wake you so we could set off soon. I’d also like my cape back.” She adds the last part with a smirk.

Passing it back, he asks whilst sitting up and stretching. “Did anything else happen overnight, Serana?”

“There were a few more sounds but nothing close, Maxwell.”

After readying, which includes some sort of breakfast, they leave the ruin. Melting some snow to wash and freshen up, Maxwell asks. “How are you doing, with everything? Oh, did you learn anything of note?”

She simpers, before reassuring him once more that she’s fine, and then explaining to him what she learnt of the tome, journal and the other literature. His demeanour becomes one of increasingly perplexed interest the more she tells him.

He’s puzzled about the ‘Ritual of Enlightenment’. “Huh, that’s odd. The reading didn’t say anything about the wayshrines, and I’ve not had any symbols so far about them. We also didn’t find this ‘Ewer’ he mentioned. The reading is taking us to the main entrance of the Temple, but maybe there’s another way in? They – the symbols - haven’t led us astray so far. I vote for pushing on and see what happens.”

Serana considers it before agreeing, although she’s internally concerned about how often said symbols have appeared.

 

---

 

Walking by the river towards their destination, one broken archway captures Serana’s attention when a ray of sunlight reflects off of a metal pedestal on the right-hand side. Approaching it, she senses a faint magical aura coming from the stonework.

“Maxwell, see that inset? Doesn’t that look like those eggs we found in Gelebor’s chest?”

He laughs at the use of ‘eggs’ whilst moving to see what she is pointing at. It’s a metal pedestal with an angled top part, with an empty inset. It does indeed look like half of an ovoid object, with grooves indicating the correct alignment. Maxwell pulls out the two ovoid objects, and trying to decide which one to use first he has an idea.

Holding both out proudly, one in each hand, Maxwell asks. “Which one do you want to try first, Serana?”

She points to the ruby. “I like this one more.”

“Because of it being red, like blood?”

She shakes her head and clarifies. “Rubies are my favourite gem. What about you?”

“I…huh, I’ve never actually thought about that. No one has ever asked me that before.”

Mentally logging that factoid about her, he thinks on his answer whilst stowing the amethyst ovoid and slotting the ruby one into the inset. “I’d have to say emeralds. For the green.”

It clicks into place, and a slight buzzing noise appears as a shimmering portal forms in the archway, even though the arch itself is broken. The image presented before them looks like some sort of internal room with arrays of shelves, although the details are heavily distorted from the wafting of the portal energy.

“Wait here, I’ll go first.” She walks through, her form matching the shimmering image. The second she does, a tingling sensation passes over him. She immediately returns.

“I felt it too. The spells got interrupted because of the portal. I’ll recast them if anything turns up. It looks like an armoury of some sort.”

Turning to look at the shimmering portal as he enters, Serana quietly mutters to herself. “Snow elf magic. Incredible.”

Stepping through, the sensation akin to lurching forward then backward occurs as the energy transports him to wherever this room is. Maxwell hopes to the Divines that the portal doesn’t fail, trapping them in here.

Much of the room is covered in dust and ice, indicative of the eons that have passed since the last person entered. The room is lit by bright decorated sconces, although some are buried in ice so the luminosity is dimmed. It is very cold here, which hits on his exposed skin. Several chests – made of the same material as the walls but more ornately designed, and similar to the one they found in the earlier cave – sit on shelves. A few of them are broken and the chests have fallen and become damaged. There are also multiple empty weapon racks.

“Are we in the temple, Maxwell? This seems like an intact structure and it feels like we’re higher up.”

“I don’t think so, no symbols have appeared. And no windows. Nevertheless, that would explain why it feels colder.”

Spending some time look through the chests, every single one is empty.

Maxwell is completely flummoxed. “There must be some reason why Gelebor had this particular egg, given what you recited from his journal.”

Only receiving silence to his postulation, Maxwell turns and notices Serana standing by the rear wall and scanning the brickwork.

“Serana?” he asks, moving to stand beside. She turns to look at him in mild surprise.

“Sorry, Maxwell. There’s something generating several faint but interesting magical auras behind this wall. I say interesting as I don’t recognise any of them. I’m also not sensing or seeing a way to activate the door.”

They jointly look over the brickwork on the back wall, pressing a few here and there as they try to somehow activate the mechanism.

“Huh, it wouldn’t surprise me tha…” Maxwell begins saying when he leans against the side wall to think – coincidentally against the brick that is the activation stone – which depresses and causes the physical mechanism to activate. Something in the rear wall clicks then moves with a loud grating sound.

Looking baffled, he twists and exclaims. “Okay, I swear I don’t mean to do that on purpose, Serana!”

She shakes her head in disbelief and pushes against part of the wall where the sound came from. At one point, the door swings slowly open. She gasps as soon as she sees what is within, and Maxwell instantly goes to stand by her side before loudly inhaling himself.

The room is lit by three sconces that light up once the door opens, one on each wall. They illuminate the object - an ornate heater-style shield that sits on a simple stone holder, on top of a central pedestal. The metallic shield has smooth ridged contours that flare the outer edges, like wings. There is a central transparent crystal in the middle, possibly a diamond. The metal looks like conundrum mixed with a brighter metal. Surprisingly, it has seen some usage as there are a few deep scratches near the centre.

“What is that doing here?” He quietly exclaims.

“That looks to be a shield, Maxwell.” She quips, turning to look at him.

He gives a deadpan look to her humoured expression, before clarifying. “I can see it’s a shield, Serana. But what is this shield doing here? Wait, is this what you were sensing?”

“It is, although as I said I can’t discern what the enchantments are.”

After checking for obvious traps, including the affirmation from Serana that there’s no magical trap, Maxwell goes to pick it up with her approval. His left hand makes contact with the shield first, where it promptly vanishes into thin air.

“Er…that…um, what?!?”

Maxwell becomes flummoxed and staggers back in confusion. He notices Serana, who is wide-eyed, staring intently at his left forearm.

She states before he can query. “The auras. They’re now on your left forearm.”

He looks at the limb, which only has the dragon scale armgreave on it. Suddenly, he’s aware of a new sensation in the back of his mind. Extremely faint, which is why he initially missed it. Focusing on it, he instinctively forms a fist.

The shield reappears, equipped and strapped flush yet securely to his forearm. It feels extremely lightweight. They both gasp before speaking at the same time.

“By the Divines, a summonable shield?!” “That is absolutely fascinating!!”

Maxwell unclenches, and it disappears. He resummons it again. Looking it over, he notices that there is a different coloured metal on the reverse, behind where the embedded crystal is.

“What’s this?”

“One of the auras is coming from that. I guess, aim it towards a corner and touch it.”

They exit the secret room and turn back. She stands behind him as he aims the shield away from them and into the room.

Glancing over his shoulder, he asks. “Ready?”

She readies to summon a blood ward just in case, and nods. He braces before tentatively touching it with his free hand.

It’s a good thing he aimed it away with Serana behind him, as the diamond emits a bright burst of white hued light, which is reflected by the white stones back at them. Like walking from a very darkened cave into sunlight.

“What the fuck?!” Maxwell yells as he pulls his hand back, ducks his head behind the shield and slamming his eyelids shut. Serana instantly turns away and covers her eyes. The diamond quickly returns to its previous unlit condition.

Seeing her blinking and rubbing her eyes through his own ministrations, he moves closer. “Are you alright, Serana?”

“It’ll pass, but that hurt. Please don’t do it again, Maxwell.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. That was insanely bright. I guess that’s one way to fight your enemies, blinding them. Oh, that enchantment you found. This must be it!”

“Indeed.”

As his vision returns slightly faster than hers, Maxwell opts to retry another fascinating feature of this shield whilst she leans against the wall to recover. He repeats the process of summoning and de-summoning it.

Soon, a polite cough grabs his attention. Serana, with her vision now restored, is staring with a half smirk. “Are you done? We came here for a bow, not a shield.”

“Oh, come on, Serana! This is quite possibly the best gear I’ve ever found! A lightweight shield that can be summoned at will and blinds enemies?”

“Woah, explain yourself Maxwell! What do you mean, you found??” She states in a sceptical tone, placing a hand on a jutted out hip and arched brow with her deep amber eyes narrowing slightly.

He shrugs before cheekily grinning. “You helped.”

Despite wanting to maintain her scepticism, his grin breaks her resolve and Serana’s genuine laughter fills the room. He joins in as he dismissed the shield.

As they depart the secret room and head to the portal, Maxwell comments. “This is an incredible shield. I’ve never seen one like it before, and it would have come in handy so many times!”

“Do you think Lydia would have liked it?”

He pauses as the words register. Fearing the worst, she instantly backtracks. “I’m so sorry Maxwell. I didn’t mean to bring her up!”

To her surprise, Maxwell wistfully smiles as a fragment of a memory from his former life appears. Before she can interject, he shares it. “It’s…you just reminded me of something, Serana. She, Lydia, was always complaining about how heavy the best shields were. She preferred using an iron shield as it was what she trained with. So yes, she would have liked this shield very much. Even though I didn't use a shield as much as she did, we probably would have fought over who would use it.”

Changing the topic with an assertive tone, he continues. “Anyway, let’s head back. We have one more ‘egg’ to try. I wonder what lies on the other side.”

Serana mentally recoils at her mistake and follows him.

 

Exiting the portal, Maxwell – who remains quiet - takes the ruby ovoid out and the shimmering portal disappears into nothingness. He then stows it and replaces it with the amethyst one in, and a new portal forms in the archway. This time, the shimmering image is of a thicket of some kind, with snow covered trees coming almost right up to the portal. Serana once again goes through first, disappearing behind the treeline before returning.

Stepping back through briefly, she neutrally says. “It seems safe.”

They enter, and slowly make their way through the trees, not seeing anything of note.

The duo soon come across a rock face that sits several meters away from the treeline. A cave entrance is almost directly in front of them. Serana sniffs once before stiffening and grasping Maxwell’s forearm tightly as though to fix him in place. He looks to her with growing dread, as she maintains her gaze to the gaping maw of the cave entrance.

“Vampiric Falmer.”

Almost as if she was heard, a sudden shriek from within appears, which is intensified a hundred-fold. Within seconds, a horde of vampiric Falmer appear in a contorting mass of shifting bodies and limbs as they clamber over each other in an attempt to seek out the source of fresh blood they smell.

As fear claws its way through him, Maxwell loudly shouts. “Seal it with ice!”

She lets go of his arm and throws up a massive ice wall. As it rapidly builds up, five manage to get out in time, with those directly behind becoming crushed between the ice wall and ceiling.

If they are having a reaction to the bright sunlight, it’s not showing. Their skin is severely blackened already, white eyes are insanely focused and there are protrusions on their back. The snarling and screeching sounds they are making are horrifying, and they are moving very fast.

He summons the bound bow and manages to fire off two arrows which down the first one, and Serana throws out ice shards taking down two more. The last two leap at him, soaring through the air with fangs extending.

Dropping the bound bow, he summons the newfound shield and both thud into the shield, snarling and attemping to bite at him. An ice shard kills the fourth one, and he pushes back and then cleaves the last one in half with an upward swing of his sword, unsheathing in the process.

As the remains thud into the snow, more shrieks sound from their left from another cave entrance not visible to them. They glance at each other, eyes wide in dread. Serana tersely states one word.

“Run.”

Maxwell Shouts “WULD”. His form dashes across the snow-covered ground as he follows their earlier footprints to the treeline. The amalgamated sound is rapidly approaching but he doesn’t chance to look back.

Serana closely follows him whilst throwing out multiple spells including ice walls and waves of blood energy to massacre the encroaching horde. She even resorts to turning the floor to ice to slow them down.

They make it back to the portal in record time. Maxwell skids to a stop as Serana yanks out the amethyst ovoid. The portal thankfully winks out of existence in time. She is the only one to see the vampiric Falmer rapidly approaching the threshold.

“Are you alright, Maxwell?” She kneels down beside him, hesitantly hovering a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m good, Serana. Thank you for covering me.” Maxwell mutters through the inhalations to draw in the crisp air, heart pounding loudly.

After recuperating, he comments further. “Gods, that was terrifying with how they came out of the cave like that!! And those sounds!”

“I can say that we’re never using this egg again.”

His choked laugh affirms his approval with that sentiment.

Passing the amethyst ovoid back, she queries. “Two suggests to me there are more. I wonder where they are and what they lead to.”

“Maybe we’ll find them, Serana, but we’ve wasted enough time.”

She puts them under her protective spells once more, and when he’s ready they set off towards their destination in relative silence. Serana contemplating what else they are going to run into in this place and why she had to ruin the moment by bringing her up, with Maxwell contemplating the shield and how – for the first time in a long time – talking or thinking about her didn’t hurt as much as it used to.

Notes:

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, work has really been stressful.
Do you know how intense it is to review, analyse and import almost 400,000 lines of Excel data within two and a half weeks? I do now.

I admit I took quite a bit of creative liberty with this chapter, ranging from Gelebor to the Vale being overrun with vampiric Falmer to changes of Darkfall Cave to Auriel’s Shield.
Please do let me know what you think. Oh, and I beg your forgiveness for doing Gelebor dirty like this.

Anyway, next chapter will likely be out at the end of October, if not earlier. Thank you for following and liking my work, and I wish you all a lovely day!

Chapter 29: Dragons

Summary:

The duo encounter dragons.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, panic attack, reference to death and violence.

As ever, minor grammatical edits may happen.

Moving further through the valley, they follow the meandering frozen river in relative silence. The snow crunching under their footfall is the only sound breaking the tense silence.

Serana goes to apologise again for bringing her up, but pauses when Maxwell sighs in slight irritation. “It’s okay, but please could we move past it Serana. Let's focus on the bow.”

She meekly nods.

Shifting focus to the sight before them as they crest the hill they are on, a huge frozen lake sitting underneath a steep rockface - and desperate to change topic - Maxwell gestures to it. He opens his mouth to verbalise his amazement, only for it to die in his throat as not only another symbol appears, but the souls within become animated.

“Maxwell, what’s wro…”

Her expression devolves at a relative speed to his, as he develops a deathlike pallor. Just like in the Soul Cairn. By the blood, not again!

Two consecutive thunderous cracks sound and obliterate the fallen silence when two dragons fly out of the ice-covered lake. They are mirror images of each other, scale pattern-wise. Orange coloured scales with blue dorsal markings and oddly beaked maws. The two beasts hover before landing at the edge and focus their bulging eyes straight into Maxwell’s soul-laden soul, despite the protective spells.

The dreadful and horrifying sight of two more of these ancient beasts – and the memories of similar fights - causes his panic to worsen. Maxwell emits a guttural sound of fear before turning and Shouting “WULD”. His form, dashing back across the snow. Serana promptly turns and catches up with him with relative ease.

Surprisingly, the two dragons don’t approach.

He collapses against a nearby tree, rapidly shallow breathing as his heartrate spikes and hyperventilation sets in. She kneels alongside, urgently calling his name to no effect. Despite her misgiving, the looming threat overrides her hesitancy. Moving to be in front of him, Serana quickly pulls off and drops the brooch and his helmet to the side. He offers no resistance as she casts the Calming spell. When the blue energy reaches to his temples, Maxwell’s breathing and heartrate plummet to normal.

As Serana lowers her hands, Maxwell abruptly yells loudly. “FUCK!”

Seeing her wincing reaction, he feels like an idiot and contritely says. “Gods, I’m really sorry Serana. I know I swear a lot which you must hate. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting two fuc…two dragons.”

She deflates before admitting a truth she’s kept hidden for some time.

”To be honest Maxwell, the amount you swear is annoying at times. There’s a term for someone like that, from my time. A blaggard which means ‘someone who uses profanity in front of a lady of high standing’.”

She offers a coy smile before continuing, to try and lighten the mood. “Seeing as you are my courtier, I should reprimand you. But I forgive you this time as it is justified.”

It partially works as Maxwell weakly smirks, although it rapidly evaporates in remembrance of the cause of his panic. As he furtively glances to the hill top, she stoops and picks up his brooch and helmet.

When she passes them back, Serana quietly utters whilst looking aside. “I’m sorry I affected your mind again without permission. I only thought to…”

He cuts her off by stepping into her vision and dipping his head with a half smile. “It’s okay this time, Serana. You did the right thing, especially if they come for us. Thank you, and I’m sorry again for swearing.”

 

---

 

Moving further back, there has been no sound of approach from the frozen lake. Sitting side by side on a log, Serana tries to distract the rather withdrawn Maxwell with humour; to little effect. She eventually keeps quiet, and starts worrying about the situation at hand. One undead dragon with acid breath was bad. Two aquatic dragons that live in a frozen lake could be equally bad.

She also finds it odd that they haven’t approached.

When she goes to ask Maxwell why that could be, he abruptly motions for his discarded pack and pulls out his map. His deeply apprehensive expression is not doing much to improve the overall mood. Unfurling it, he studies it intently. He then rubs his hands over his face in thought.

Seeing a new opportunity, she quips. “You’re pensively brooding and it’s unsettling me, Maxwell. What’s on your mind?”

To her immense relief, the apprehensive expression disappears and he quietly chuckles at his own words being thrown back at him.

“I have an idea, Serana. I don’t know whether it’ll work, but it’s the only one I can think of that doesn’t involve attacking them. We have to go pass that lake to get to the temple.”

Seemingly coming to a decision, he stows his map and drops the pack to his feet. Closing his eyes and breathing intently for a long minute, he opens them and turns to face her. His earth brown eyes are suddenly penetrating to her surprise. His words, even more surprising.

“Do you trust me, Serana?”

Confounded, she instantly furrows her brow and quickly answers. “Completely. You know that, Maxwell. Why?”

“I know, and thank you. I asked because if what I'm about to do doesn't work, we will be fighting them. Please could you dismiss the protective spells, then tightly cover your ears. I’m going a distance away so I don’t deafen you.”

With curiosity, she follows his instruction. Once the spells are cleared, he confidently strides away leaving his gear and weaponry. As his form disappears behind a ruined pillar, Serana covers her ears and ponders on the possibilities. I wonder what Shout he is going to…_oh…

When she has the realisation, her demeanour collapses and her eyes bulge out.

His Shout then reverberates the air around her; the power behind it almost palpable on her skin.

 

“OD AH VIING!!”

 

Several anxious seconds pass as she wonders what the purpose of this Shout is for, seeing as he hasn’t summoned Durvevhiir as she anticipated. Her composed demeanour rebuilds itself, only to collapse again when a blue-hued swirling portal opens overhead and a large dragon – its scales coloured red like a low fire rather than sickly green - flies through it, igniting the air with a deafening roar. Slightly larger than Durnevhiir and comparable in size to the skeletal remains she examined.

Serana instantly bolts from her seated position while transitioning through shock, panic, fear and a dozen adjacent emotions.

The moment she sees him, Serana loudly exclaims. "Maxwell, what have you done?!?”

He comes to a stop and quickly explains. “It’s okay Serana, he’s friendly. Odahviing was the one who I trapped in Whiterun and then agreed to fly me to the portal to Sovngarde in exchange for his freedom. After I defeated Alduin, he offered aid if I ever needed it.”

Her jaw drops and pupils widen at this shocking revelation, coupled with the fact that he can summon another dragon. She then adopts an insanely penetrating look and verbalises her next thought.

“Won’t the Shout be heard in Skyrim and High Rock?!”

“I think the valley should keep it from echoing. And besides, I’ve already summoned one dragon. What’s one more?"

She opens and closes her mouth like a Slaughterfish out of water, words failing her. Looking up at the summoned dragon which is now circling downwards towards them, Serana exasperatedly huffs and exhales whilst closing her eyes.

When she speaks, her cadence is dripping with vexation. “Maxwell, I can’t decide if you’re an idiot or not so I’m going to ask this instead. Just how many dragons can you summon?”

“I’ll explain later."

Looking back up at the rapidly approaching dragon, with what she knows about them – both first-hand experience and from what she’s read – trepidation overrides all other thoughts and emotions.

When the winged creature lands nearby, the ground thuds heavily from its huge mass and the gust of wind rolls over them. Its large dark eyes lock onto Maxwell and he speaks in Dovahzul. Maxwell motions for Serana to stay. Approaching, he responds with a bow before speaking in Dovahzul. They talk for several agonising minutes.

She is stupefied into silence, as she observes this incomprehensible situation before her.

From her perspective, she can’t see his expression, but Odahviing at one point clearly looks Maxwell up and down and says something, to which Maxwell shrugs and responds curtly. He then mentions her by name. The dragon turns and focuses on her with a curious gaze; its dark and foreboding eyes staring into her very being.

For what she is – a powerful and immortal Daughter of Coldharbour - Serana is suddenly feeling very small.

Odahviing turns back before speaking in Dovahzul again, and Maxwell responds in kind. They both look over at her.

“It’s okay Serana, you can approach now.”

Serana steadies herself and apprehensively moves closer.

The scaled beast speaks in comprehensible words. “A venerable pleasure to speak with you, Nightwalker. I am Odahviing. Dovahkiin has told you of me?”

“He has.” She politely but quickly replies with a modicum of awe mixed with growing nervousness.

The ancient beast studies her curiously once more, which makes her feel extremely small. He then sniffs once, as if sizing her up for the kill. This makes her feel all sorts of things. Apparently sensing her unease, Odahviing speaks.

“Krosis, Nightwalker. I am merely curious. Forgive me, does the sunlight not burn you? Nightwalkers prefer darkness, do they not? That is my understanding.”

Forcing the growing nervousness down, she glances to Maxwell before returning to Odahviing. She tries to adopt a serious tone as she responds.

“I, I…um, yes. It is uncomfortable but I’m…I’m different. A pure-blood, also known as a, a Daughter of Coldharbour…and please call me Serana…”

It’s hard to say from her perspective if he understands the inferred difference, as Odahviing continues to study her further. She shifts uncomfortably under the continued observation.

“That’s enough, Odahviing.” A concerned Maxwell states, much to her immense relief.

Turning his scaled head around, Odahviing speaks in common. “Krosis, Dovahkiin. Your friend is a curiosity to me.” Looking to Serana at this part before adding. “No disrespect is meant, Serana.”

She only manages to slowly nod her head and breathes out a slow tensed exhale, casting her gaze over the details of the ancient beast before her. She still can’t believe she is speaking face to face with a dragon.

“That’s one unique way to describe her.” Maxwell cheerfully replies to try and break the tension, before mischievously grinning at her.

Her stupefied awe is subverted by overwhelming incredulity. He summons a damn dragon and he’s making jokes?!

Serana frowns slightly and goes to sarcastically rebuke him, but Maxwell promptly starts speaking again in Dovahzul, clearly attempting to deny her the opportunity.

The two speak some more, before Odahviing roars, shakes his head and bows. Maxwell has an expression of equanimity as he bows back.

She realises the meaning of the action. An agreement. But for what?

“Thank you, Odahviing.” He says normally, before approaching her.

Moving back, Serana braces against Maxwell as the dragon takes off and flies towards the ice lake, leaving confusion in its place. She shifts her gaze to Maxwell.

Knowing what she is about to ask, he explains. “I’ve asked him to speak with the two dragons, and convince them we don’t have to fight. Hopefully they’ll agree to leave to find Paarthunax.”

She intensely stares at him, her gaze drilling into the core of his very being as she patiently awaits a more detailed answer.

He sighs, before explaining with candid honesty.

“I may have alluded to this Serana, but other than Lydia and Balgruuf I’ve never told anyone: After meeting Paarthunax and discovering he had overcome his own evil nature through great effort, I realised then that there are those that we deem evil or as monsters, but are actually different to their own nature, for some reason. Be it circumstance or they've overcome their own nature through great effort. I never said this to anyone else because no one would believe a dragon is anything beyond being a murderous beast.”

Quickly changing topic, he continues. “Anyway, about why I asked him to speak with those two. After defeating Alduin and being sent back, there was a…” he exhales melancholically at the memory “…a meeting, of sorts. All agreed to disappear and follow Paarthunax in the Way of the Voice, and I would be left alone. Other than Odahviing, until now I don’t know of any other dragons that remain in Skyrim.”

She struggles to process the multitude of information he’s dumped on her, in addition to what just happened. She stumbles back and collapses onto a nearby piece of rubble.

“Doing okay there, Serana?” Maxwell asks, slight concern in his cadence as he sits next to her.

She quietly murmurs. “I have so many questions Maxwell, I don’t know where to start.”

He chokes out a wry laugh. “I expected you might. I’ll start with your earlier question. I can attempt to summon a dragon if I know their name and Shout like that. The process is...huh, how do I put this…oh I know. The best way to describe it is that it’s like a knock at the door. If they choose to answer, either out of seeing it as a challenge or out of willingness, then the portal opens and they fly through. So, to be exact I can summon three dragons.”

“Then why not summon Durnevhiir again, or Paarthunax?”

“I highly doubt Paarthunax will willingly leave wherever he is, but Odahviing told me he would always be willing. As for Durnevhiir, he is willing as well but I think he can’t remain too long out of the Soul Cairn. He did explain but I don’t really remember because of being…unwell.”

The memory of how quickly the undead dragon returned to the Soul Cairn floats up, and she nods before pressing on with her questions and dismissing the painful memory.

“Why don’t you speak with the two dragons? Saying that, how can you speak in Dragonspeak?”

“It’s an innate ability, something I began training on at High Hrothgar with the Greybeards. And there’s several reasons to your other question. The most pertinent is that it would be better for them to speak with another dragon rather than myself.”

Her brow furrows. “Even after defeating…”

His quick head shake shuts that line of questioning down. “What’s your next question?”

“Did he ask why we are wearing dragon scales? I imagine he would be curious, to put it politely, as I saw him look you over.”

An awkward laugh is his first response and affirms her suspicion. Clearing his throat, Maxwell clarifies. “All I’m going to say is that was a difficult one to answer, but he understands why. Put it this way, how would you feel if someone you knew turned up wearing the skin of your brethren?”

Briefly arching a brow to indicate her acknowledgement of that sentiment, she decides on her next question. A worrying thought occurs and she queries with trepidation. “You sent him alone against two dragons?”

Maxwell has a very odd look, but it washes away and replaced with his humorous temperament. “Gods Serana, these are certainly some difficult questions! Let’s just say he has a reputation among the dovah. As my, I mean our, representative, his words will carry a lot of weight.”

They continue conversing, and a memory of what he said once and alluded to another time prompt her to grasp his arm to his immense surprise.

In a quiet voice tinged by something, she queries. “What you said about Paarthunax, about him being different to his own nature. Is that the real reason why you didn’t kill me when you found me? Or since then?”

He lightly but nonchalantly huffs, before nodding. “Partly, Serana. I was telling you the truth at the College. I saw how you reacted when you woke up. If you were truly evil, you would have killed me right there…but you didn’t. I might not have known it at that time, but at some level I knew you were different. Yes, what you did at Helgen didn’t help…but I realise why you did it.”

The conversation tapers off there as she attempts to process the myriad of feelings from their discussion, and Maxwell stares in the direction of the hill with a furtive expression.

“I really hope this works.” He mutters under his breath.

“Me too.” She whispers with a shoulder nudge, temporarily pausing her mental thought process.

He glances back with a weak half smile.

 

---

 

Sometime later, Maxwell is growing more concerned as he continues carving a wider path in the snow with his pacing. “It shouldn’t be taking this long, Serana. I’m almost cert...”

Two unfamiliar roars interrupt him, and they both tense up. Almost choking on the ball of nervous tension that had been hanging at the back of his throat, Maxwell summons the bound bow as Serana stands beside and readies spells.

The twin dragons ascend rapidly before flying off in a southerly direction, heading away from the Vale.

Maxwell shakily sighs out his held breath. The bow falls loosely from his hand and thuds into the snow before winking out of existence. He slumps against the rubble and languidly drops his head.

Crouching down besides, Serana says reassuringly. “Looks like he came through for us, Maxwell.”

“I really thought we were going to fight them when they roared like that, Serana.”

After recovering from the fortunate change in circumstance, they start making their way back to the ice lake. However, they slowdown in confusion.

Odahviing is unexpectedly flying right towards them.

Coming to a complete stop, Serana looks to Maxwell who is bewildered. He stares wildly at the approaching dragon before turning to look at her.

“I didn’t ask him to come back, Serana. I don’t know why he’s returning.”

As soon as Odahviing lands with yet another deafening thud and the billowing wind washes over them, he stares intently at Maxwell.

“Please wait here. I’ll find out why he’s come back.”

He approaches, but this time she doesn’t heed his instruction and follows. He casts a quick frown of dissatisfaction but turns back to Odahviing. They come to a stop a few meters from the dragon and Maxwell speaks in Dovahzul. Odavhviing speaks briefly then pauses, clearly awaiting a response. Serana looks to Maxwell. He’s frowning for some reason, his earth brown eyes acutely focused on the dragon. He slowly answers. Odahviing then says something else in Dovahzul and pauses once more. Maxwell’s expression devolves and he looks to the side muttering.

“Oh…that’s not good.”

Odahviing then animatedly speaks again in Dovahzul. Maxwell’s head snaps back and he balks. His brown eyes widen and bulge at the beast, his jaw hanging loosely.

“You would do that for us!?” He croaks out.

Odahviing roars, shakes his scaled head then bows, before motioning to turn around to face them sideways.

Serana tilts her head. Another agreement? And why is he turning?

She turns to query him about it, reacting in slight surprise at his demeanour. Maxwell has the cheekiest grin plastered on his face. Almost like a kid with a sweet roll that they can’t wait to share.

“Hey, Serana.” He states teasingly.

“Yes, Maxwell?” She responds, her voice dripping heavily with suspicion.

“Odahviing has offered to help us again.”

“What do you mean?”

Maxwell turns without responding and approaches the dragon, who lowers his head. He lays a gloved hand on a pointed scale, then a foot on a lower one.

As the inference becomes crystal clear, Serana freaks out. Her pupils expand to the size of plates and she hesitantly staggers back, shaking her head at the impossible sight before her and what is about to happen; almost stumbling over a hidden log buried in the snow.

Maxwell, who is now sitting atop of Odahviing’s neck, guffaws loudly at her reaction. One that comes from deep within that reverberates around. As he does, Odahviing speaks with what could be construed as his own smirk.

“Serana, prepare yourself to see Taazokaan the way a dovah does. Nothing will compare!”

After putting the backpack on his front, Maxwell stretches out his left hand and patiently awaits.

A non-plussed Serana cautiously approaches and grasps his proffered hand. He deftly pulls her up. Once seated behind, she registers that the temperature from Odahviing’s scaled body beneath fills every part of her with a strange warmth that weirdly isn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. She mutely wraps her arms around Maxwell’s midriff and holds on for dear life.

This prompts him to groan slightly in pain and utter. “Urgh! Serana, that hurts!”

“Sorry…” she murmurs into his back as she lessens her grip.

“Are you okay?” He glances over his shoulder, voice tinged with concern.

“I…can’t answer that right now.”

He reassuringly smiles. “Trust me, this will be worth it. Oh, you might want to tuck your cape behind your pack, so it doesn’t fly off.”

“Okay.” Serana timidly responds, the high level of trepidation mixed with evident uncertain excitement as she follows the instruction.

When she’s done, Maxwell nods before turning back. He says ‘Alok’ before huddling closer to Odahviing. Serana does the same, closing her eyes and tightening her grip which elicits another groan of pain from him. Odahviing momentarily crouches, then launches himself upwards whilst flapping his great wings furiously to rapidly ascend.

When he eventually levels out, Maxwell reassuringly pats her arms. Serana lessens her grip again and chances to open her eyes. The view she opens them to absolutely exhilarates her. She’s seen some gorgeous and picturesque scenes along this journey – Riverwood, the Ancestor Glade, the Vale when they entered, and even Dayspring Canyon – is left in the trailing wind.

She can scarcely take in all of the detail.

The tall snow-capped mountains that border the valley, with Skyrim just beyond to their rear. In the distance ahead of them, the High Rock province. Leaning over ever so slightly, she sees the huge ice lake below them, with the two cracked holes from where the two other dragons had appeared from. The hood is long gone, flapping uselessly behind her along with her hair. The bright sun is glaring down rather uncomfortably, but she intentionally disregards every ounce of discomfort in favour of the outstanding view.

She sees what must be their destination, which is quickly affirmed by Maxwell patting her arms again and then pointing towards it. Just below and beside them, built into the side of one of the taller mountains at the other end of the valley, a large white structure. Huge, ancient and somewhat damaged. Yet the overall condition of the main construction appears in fairly good condition even after the long passage of the eons. A figure of some sort lies on its side outside the structure in a walled courtyard, with a bridge spanning a gorge that leads to a narrow canyon filled with buildings that look similar to it but on a smaller scale.

 

The forsaken and abandoned Temple of Auriel, standing above everything.

 

Almost all too soon, Odahviing’s altitude lowers. He eventually lands near the large structure, atop one of the high rocky ledges.

Once the pair have carefully dismounted, with Serana laying a hand on a neck scale before sorting out her hair and hood, Odahviing says. “Safe journey to you both, Dovahkiin and Serana. Much lies ahead of you, but together I have no doubt you will succeed. Call for me again if you require further aid, Dovahkiin. I remain willing.”

Maxwell bows his head gracefully. “Thank you for everything, Odahviing. Look after yourself out there.”

Serana bows her head too. “Thank you, Odahviing.”

Odahviing lowers his head in acceptance of their gratitude. He then moves to the edge, and launches. His altitude drops slightly, but spreading his great wings means he quickly regains the lost altitude.

As the red dragon flies off, Maxwell sighs off the excitement and adrenaline. Despite what happened the last time after riding Odahviing, not to mention how he felt when that contributed to the reason he was separated from Lydia, this time feels much different.

When the dragon becomes nothing more than a small dot in the distance, his thoughts turn to his companion. I wonder what…

Hearing several faint thuds beside him, Maxwell instantly turns in concern. His heart double beats at her expression.

Serana, having just discarded her pack and gloves, has an unusual mien. Her amber eyes now blaze like dragonfire as she intently and meticulously observes him, as though sizing him up for something.

She then steps forward and removes his helmet, dropping it to the side.

“Serana, wha…mmph!”

The words are stifled when she coquettishly runs her hands around his neck and plants a firm kiss on his confused lips. Time freezes as the kiss quickly evolves into an extremely passionate and sensuous one, full of hunger and intent.

Confusion gives way to surprise and then desire, and after awkwardly dropping his pack to the side he wraps his arms around her. This elicits a heavy hum of satisfaction from her as she breathily sighs and deepens the kiss. He tries to keep up but she clearly has him outpaced and outmatched. In fact, Serana dominates every aspect of the emotion-laden embrace. Even when he utters a low moan of approval and desire from deep within, it is drowned out by hers.

The embrace is all too short for his liking, as she soon pulls back but keeps her chilled lips teasingly close against his own.

Gulping down the ball of emotion and desperately needed air, Maxwell slowly draws his eyes open. Serana is staring at him once more, her deep amber irises sparkling. The flecks and spots, peaks and valleys, all burn into his vision and memory.

She soon speaks in a sultrily low voice. “That was incredible, Maxwell. Odahviing was right, nothing does compare.”

He arches an eyebrow musingly. “Mmm…I should have summoned Odahviing earlier if I’d known this was going to be your reaction, Serana.”

She laughs lovingly before hugging him as he rests his head on her forehead and holds her tightly, and they look out into the valley. Their breathing, so in tune it is as though they fit perfectly together.

 

---

 

After a minute, she leans back and asks. “I want to know, why did Odahviing do that for us?”

Maxwell shrugs. “I don’t know for certain Serana, but I felt there was more to it. Possibly because of what happened with Lydia. Anyway, all he said was that the caves that come out there,” pointing to the gorge filled with buildings, “are filled with vampiric Falmer. A lot of them. The dragons gave him the warning to pass along, in gratitude of us not killing them.”

That prompts them to remember why they are here. They sort themselves out whilst looking at each other with naked adoration. Their prior agreement, wantonly abandoned and thrown into the valley below.

As they motion closer, Maxwell comments in awe. “I’m surprised the bridge has held up after all of this time.”

The buildings on the other side are of the same material as the temple, although they are more intact due to being shielded from the environment.

“What do you think to those, Maxwell?”

He simply shakes his head. “I'm not sure. I guess they serve some purpose for the temple. Housing, maybe.”

Cautiously peering over the edge of the rock face and into the sealed courtyard, they realise the next obstacle. Even though their destination is a Septim throw away, there isn’t a safe way down for him.

Noticing Serana has the same expression she had just before the waterfall, Maxwell quickly states with a feigned stern expression. “Oh, don’t you dare say it! Not after riding on Odahviing!!”

Despite trying to argue his point, a deadpan Maxwell is bridal carried down by a smug Serana to the ground.

“This part doesn’t go into your journal.” He sullenly states.

“It will.” She teases.

He frowns, although it quickly evaporates and is replaced with his usual grin, prompting her to laugh.

Once on the ground, they check the area. Approaching the fallen conundrum-like metal statue, they realise something. It’s not fallen over; it has been sheared in half. Serana recognises it as a statue of Auriel himself, although his hands - which appear to indicate he was holding something - are bent backwards and the item itself missing.

Explaining this to Maxwell, he shrugs. “I mean, look at this place. It’s been here for thousands of years. Gods knows what the condition of the inside is like, let alone the dangers because of it. Collapsed roof is one I’m thinking.”

Distracting himself from the memories of collapsed roofs, Maxwell gazes at the courtyard wall and doors, then through the sealed arched doors to the gorge-spanning bridge. “Incredible stonework. They sure knew how to build, these Snow Elves. Just like the Dwemer.”

Ascending the stairwell, the locked double door and a standing bowl with channels in the floor come into view. When a symbol appears, Maxwell audibly groans in clear annoyance.

"Oh, you have to be joking!"

“Symbol?”

“Guess which one.” He huffs out whilst gesturing to the bowl.

She too audibly groans in exasperation. “We only found two of them, and we don’t have this ewer that Gelebor referenced.”

Judging the depth of the standing bowl with a gloved finger, another realisation hits. “I don’t have enough water in my waterskin either.”

His idea prompts Serana to have one of her own. “Maxwell, if I create ice within the basin, please could you melt it with your flames spell. That might do it.”

“That’s…actually a genius idea, Serana!”

“You helped.” She quips, throwing back his earlier words.

Maxwell smirks as he summons the fire spell, and directs it to the filled bowl as soon as she finishes condensing the water in the air into it. Once enough ice is melted, the water flows out the bottom of the column and along the grooves in the floor into the doorway.

Maxwell pulls out a Magicka potion, given how long he had to melt the ice for, only to drop it out of surprise when a green beam of light shines down from the tall ceiling above and instantly lights up the filling pool.

As it smashes on the ground, the magic activates and the central 7-pointed icon spins. Creaking with an agonizing pitch, the lock soon splits in half and the doors open up to reveal a matching conundrum-coloured set of inner doors which undergoes the same process.

With heavy anticipation, Maxwell quickly has another potion before they ready their weapons. They begin to enter when the inner doors slowly open, only to freeze in place as the sight before them obliterates any sense of dread and replaces it with a worse emotion.

There are a huge number of frozen individuals scattered around and embedded in ice formations. A lot of them. The walls are also covered in ice, although there is a gap where a door lies broken off at the rear of the room. The inside is even colder than the outside, making Maxwell’s breath become condensed fog every time he exhales.

She instantly puts them under her protective spells. “Please stay behind me Maxwell, and don’t touch anything.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, Serana. I’ll direct you as we go and if I get any more symbols.”

Entering the large entrance room and cautiously making their way through and around the frozen individuals, they come to the same conclusion. From their physical stature, they’re vampiric Falmer that have been frozen solid, and have remained this way ever since. They also see more detail of the room; one in particular gives them both grave pause.

In the centre, what appears to be a shrine, although it too is sheared in half, only this time a large icicle remains. The place where the sigil would sit is visibly damaged, and the 7-pointed sigil itself is missing.

“What do you make of that?” Maxwell queries whilst pointing at it, his cadence clearly betraying the trepidation.

She observes it, studiously looking at the ice formation. She soon speaks with a modicum of concern. “The way the ice has built up, it looks as though…someone summoned it that way…”

They look at each other in heightened unease.

Once more, that primal fear claws its way through him like an enraged dragon. Stomping it down, Maxwell nervously looks around.

“Are you sure you haven’t had anything from the reading about this, Maxwell?”

“No Serana, I haven’t. Besides, I really doubt anyone could have survived all this time. This place is thousands of years old. Remember, we saw no wildlife other than birds. The vampiric Falmer have killed everything in the Vale.” He huffs. “Well, other than those two dragons.”

“Very good points.” She acquiesces, despite the concern remaining.

In literal and figurative muted silence, they push further into the bowels of this seemingly abandoned place as the doors close behind them.

Notes:

I hope you enjoy this smaller chapter. Yes, it kind of breaks lore in a big way with dragons but I thought it adequate, given how you summon Durnevhiir.

Also, I didn't want to split this from the next one, but I'm kind of struggling with it. By splitting, it eases the word count slightly and also allows me to flesh out a couple of things.

As a small aside, I REALLY wanted to call this chapter "Fight or Flight", but thought it was too on the nose.

As ever, thanks for all of the kudos, comments and everything else, and I hope you have a lovely day! Next chapter might not be up for a bit (see above).

Chapter 30: Prophecy

Summary:

The duo find Auriel's Bow and Quiver. They discover more than expected.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, violence (various degrees), injury (various), mind control, torture, death. Oh, and a very strong reference to a particular trauma for Serana (yes, that trauma.).

Edits might happen, but story-wise nothing will change. I'm tempted to rewrite the fight scene; see the end note for more info.

Penetrating further into this ancient and decrepit structure, there are several visible and clearly defined entryways into deeper parts. Some are sealed over with ice walls that are extremely thick, preventing ingress. Others have collapsed entirely, most likely due to the passage of time. Like in the protective darkness, Maxwell cautiously directs her through the interwoven connecting rooms and corridors as if he has been here before and is retracing his steps. Although to Serana, the thought occurs that if it were not for him, it appears that they are being corralled somewhere.

She notices another concerning pattern emerging. Every window, statue, shrine or wall that had the 7-pointed symbol – which she recognises is an older sigil of Auriel - has been damaged, destroyed, removed or is buried in ice.

The shared pit of apprehension deepens as they find more frozen vampiric Falmer. A lot more. His brow deepens the further in they go. In yet another room full of bodies embedded in ice formations, she gently grabs his arm which makes Maxwell physically react.

“I’m convinced that someone did this. Yet I can’t believe you haven’t had a symbol.”

Recovering from the shock, he replies. “I can only think that there is no one else here but us and these frozen Falmer,” gesturing to the nearest remains.

The silence is as frozen as the air around them as they stare observantly at each other, pondering the reality at hand. His gloves creak under the strain of his tightening grip on his nocked bow, evidencing his unease. Prompted by his words, Maxwell then adopts a slightly cryptic look and shifts his gaze around again, evidently looking for something that isn’t there.

“What?”

“Remember what Gelebor said? Many Snow Elves died here.” Waving a hand in a vague wave motion around him. “Where are their remains?”

The proverbial pit widens.

 

---

 

Cautiously ascending an iced over staircase and turning a corner, Maxwell becomes rigid and stuck in place like an icicle, his blood running cold from the symbols that just flashed. Hearing his breathing stop, Serana steps up to and gently tugs on his elbow. Going to question, she regrets turning him around as his intense expression of pure horror causes her to have her own.

His cadence clearly betraying his extreme concern, Maxwell visibly swallows and croaks out in a very tight voice. “’Snow Elf. Vampire.’” He turns to look at her. “There’s a fucking vampiric Snow Elf here, Serana.”

She gawks, the slight annoyance of his swearing overridden by the damning realisation, before being replaced by a troubling thought. Maxwell notices Serana’s countenance break apart, and she whispers in response. “Odahviing, when you summoned him.”

He slams his eyes shut and breathes out exasperatedly. Great, I gave away our approach.

Taking several tense seconds to cautiously sweep his gaze around, as though the mysterious resident of this place is within their visible vicinity or could spring out from the very walls, Serana’s question isn’t wholly surprising.

“What do we do, Maxwell?”

Maxwell leans against the cold brick wall for moral and physical support, rubbing one gloved hand over his worried features. His facial expressions showcasing the passage of his convoluted thought process.

Vampiric Snow Elf, thousands of years old, who likely did all of this carnage and knows we are here. Talk about being stuck between rock and a hard place. Well, Snow Elf and Harkon to be more accurate.

Mulling over their frankly limited options, Maxwell comes to a decision. He stands up straight and squares his shoulders, mustering an authoritative tone. “Gods, I hate to say this but we have no choice, Serana. We need Auriel’s Bow as we can’t face your fa…Harkon without it.” He mentally kicks himself at the slight error. Adopting a slightly apologetic expression, he concludes. “If this vampire shows up, we see what happens.”

She studies him intently, albeit there’s no visible reaction to his minor slipup. “Agreed. I’ll cast Ebonyflesh and any other defensive spells I know. I’ll lead.”

“No, I have the shield. Please cast Tongues as well, and let me know if you sense anything.”

“Maxwell, I’ll lead. End of discussion.”

They have a silent standoff, and he eventually relents. Despite her confidence, Serana has visible unease as she casts the various spells then has a vial of blood to regenerate the spent Magicka and max out her reserve. Maxwell nods. She then leads the duo, focusing harder on the protective spells.

Both stowing away their own apprehension and other feelings. Every step, calculated. Every breath, tense. Their mien, observant. Like hunters stalking its prey, except their prey likely knows they are here.

---

 

Navigating through a corridor that becomes covered in ice, there’s a short drop before them. Hearing him take a slow unsteady inhale, Serana recognises why before he even turns around. The snow elf vampire is nearby.

Gesturing to the side, they motion to prepare. As he opens his mouth to say something, a booming voice shatters the frozen silence.

“I know you are there. Present yourselves.”

Without hesitation, Maxwell quickly approaches then drops down to the lower ledge. Serana follows close behind. As they turn the corner with weapon and spells readied, they pause as they see something that renders such attacks futile; a transparent ice barrier sealing off the back quarter of the Chantry. Behind it, sitting on a throne covered and surrounded with ice in numerous formations, is an individual. Hair and skin as pale as the ice around him. The individual, a real-life version of the apparitions they encountered, is in form-fitting stencilled yet regal light-coloured armour, and wearing an ornately decorated helmet with an embedded glowing gem. The room itself is slightly colder than the rest of the temple and valley, and there are massive amorphic formations of ice on both sides; the left larger than the right.

As if seeing through their protective spells, the male Snow Elf speaks. “I know you are in the archway, the two of you. A sensible yet useless action. When you stepped through the welcoming light, you were imbued with a mark.”

Glancing to Serana, Maxwell whispers. “Is he telling the truth?”

She doesn’t break eye contact with the Snow Elf. “Maybe. I’m not sensing anything.”

“In that case, drop them and be ready.”

She stares at him but acquiesces. As soon as they become visible, a tense stare-off between host and visitor occurs. Observing fastidiously on Serana then Maxwell with a clearly appraising gaze, the orange-yellow eyes darting over them, the Snow Elf speaks again; his tone odd. “How curious, an Atmoran survived the cave protections and the dangers of the Vale. I should not be surprised, if it was you that Shouted ‘Odahviing’ the dragon?”

Suspicion confirmed, Maxwell nods as he queries, his grip on the bound bow tightening slightly. “Who are you?”

“I am Arch Curate Vyrthur of the First Dawn. What are your names?”

The two of them are momentarily astounded, the words of his question lost in their surprise. They briefly flit their gaze to each other, the shared thought apparent. Vyrthur. From Gelebor’s journal. He’s still alive?!

Maxwell croaks out. “You’re Gelebor’s brother?”

Vyrthur instantly stands to attention, his gaze becoming penetrating and demeanour as if ready to pounce. “How do you know that name? SPEAK!!”

Caught off guard, Maxwell reveals the truth. “We, er, found his ghost.”

Vyrthur’s features contort, and shifts his gaze to the side whilst running through a number of different emotions; his whitened brows apparently dancing as he processes this news. The pit within the duo grows even more.

A sound behind grabs their attention, as the archway behind them suddenly becomes blocked with very thick ice. During this, Vyrthur shifts his gaze to Serana, this time with naked gleeful recognition. The small wicked smile he has makes Maxwell’s skin crawl like it was infested with Chaurus.

Under his gaze, Serana moves closer to Maxwell and starts preparing Recall. Apparently sensing or recognising the effect as the warping begins forming, Vyrthur quickly chants something unrecognisable and then sends out a pulse of green-hued energy. As it washes over the both of them, several effects happen. In the wake of the energy wave, the bound bow disapparates. Worse, the bubble evaporates into nothingness. Even worse, a familiar tingling sensation indicates the defensive spells on them have just been washed away. Even worse still, when Maxwell tries to summon the bow again, his Magicka is interrupted somehow. It’s still there but it feels different. Frozen, perhaps. A brief glance to Serana’s face affirms his fear; she’s suffering the same effect.

“What is the meaning of this??” Serana shouts, preparing blood bolts as Maxwell pulls his ornate bow out, the clasps easily snapping loose.

His prey now trapped, Vyrthur drops his façade. Looking at Serana, his tone becomes awed. “I have waited a very long time for you. You are a beautiful creature. I refer not to your grotesque shell, but the beauty within you. Flowing through your veins…Daughter of Coldharbour.”

Her eyes widen and she visibly stiffens, the bloodbolts disappearing from her hands. Her thoughts as frozen as the ice around them. …what?

He then gazes upwards and exclaims, his hatred-soaked words naked in their challenge of the higher power. “Auri-El, this Atmoran is your champion?” Lowers his head to Maxwell before derisively sneering. “How disappointing.”

Maxwell tilts his head in growing confusion. Champion?

Seeing this, Vyrthur continues his tirade. “You do not know the truth, do you? You believe you are here for Auri-El’s weaponry as there is little else of consequence to draw you here. Yet there is another reason. I can sense Auri-El has touched your mind and sent you to stop me. How else could you have made it this far, even with your companion of unfathomable beauty.” His head inches forward, and tone becomes dangerous. “You will fail.”

“Stop you from…what?”

Vyrthur scoffs and icily continues. “I wish for you to know that you have earned my unyielding gratitude for bringing her to me. However, your usefulness is at an end. I will savour depriving Auri-El of his champion.”

“You’ll have to come down from behind your wall and kill me yourself!” Maxwell roars, gripping his weapon tighter.

He contemptuously laughs. “I ponder what manner of death is most befitting for you. How does at the hand of your companion appeal? I wish to see her power for myself.”

He raises a hand that become shrouded in intense blue and red hued energy. At the mention of ‘see’, that reminds Maxwell of something on his forearm.

“Serana, eyes! I’ll blind!” Maxwell shouts as he moves closer before summoning the shield. Serana instantly protects her eyes, hiding behind a blood ward. Vyrthur audibly cries out; the spell fading from his hand. Slamming his eyes shut behind the raised shield, he touches the metal part. The room is bathed in bright white light.

As the diamond dims and the light diminishes, the two are recovering when Vyrthur yells from behind a diminishing opaque ice wall. Maxwell becomes distracted by a strange sensation passing over him; a slight buzzing akin to a swarm of bees flying around his head. He physically shivers as the magic attempts but fails to take a hold. Underneath his armour, the brooch glows brighter as the enchantment activates. Sensing the Illusion spell, Serana freaks out until she senses the enchantment, and is silently thankful for her gift to him.

The Snow Elf loudly snarls in disgust as his spell fails to take a hold. “I am impressed, you came prepared.” He scoffs. He raising both hands towards the ice walls as they glow white, and calls out a command. “Anya.”

The two buried ancient hulking faceless ice monstrosities, thrice as tall, activate and violently break out of their places in the amorphic ice columns.

Serana’s jaw practically slams into the floor as she rapidly takes in the detail of each one. Ice constructs? How did I not sense them?!

Hardened and packed ice covering every inch like armour. Slow moving with lumbering movement, their presence is dominating. The floor shakes with every step. As the debris falls from their emergence, and they start to shimmer on their exterior, Maxwell Shouts. This breaks Serana out of her momentary stupor and she recoils back rapidly as the extremely uncomfortable heat passes over her.

“YOL. TOOR. SHUL!!!”

The tremendously intense dragonfire licks around the first construct. Melting the ice that it burst out from, a cascade of water falls to the floor exposing the wall behind. Ignoring the symbol flashing in his mind on the activation brick, Maxwell turns his head as the Shout nears completion to focus on the second construct; it passes over the protective barrier.

His eyes widen in incredulous horror. The first construct is still standing despite its ‘armour’ being melted. Both constructs increase their shimmering. Serana recognises the effect as she begins throwing blood bolts from range at the first construct.

“They’ve got Frost Cloak. Stay away!”

Maxwell pulls back. Doing so, he notices Vyrthur’s stupefied stare. The gem in his helmet is glowing even brighter, and the wall repairs itself. Serana strafes to the right, throwing blood bolt after blood bolt at the first creation, targeting specific locations on the so-called torso based on her studies on construct creation. Chipping away at its exterior, she manages to kill it.

As the inanimate corpse thuds to the ground, the second construct continues to move towards the hunter. Maxwell goes to Shout again as Vyrthur finishes raising his left hand, the fingertips glowing insanely white. The gem shimmers to open a hole in the barrier. In his other hand, a sharp ice spear forms.

“YOL. TOOrrr…”

The Shout dies in his throat as Maxwell feels his strength begin to drain. Everything starts to feel heavier and his actions become sluggish. Vyrthur readies the ice spear.

Seeing all of this unfold in front of her – and the enchantment to protect from strength drain failing that she had specifically put on the chest armour for that very reason - Serana screams as she prepares an overcharged bloodbolt and blood ward she can whilst moving into position in to block the shot. At the same time, as her scream conversely sounds closer yet further away, the memory of the last drain prompt him to Shout “FEIM”.

The Snow Elf is stupefied at the non-corporeal visage of the hunter and his drain being cut off, pausing his action of throwing the spear. This proves to be his undoing. Serana throws the overcharged bloodbolt through the gap in the barrier. Vyrthur attempts to close it; a fraction of a second too late. It hits square in his shoulder which sends the Snow Elf barrelling into then haphazardly over the throne, the ice spear with him.

Having focused more on the bloodbolt than the ward, when the second construct swipes at her the force behind the motion is much more than anticipated. She gets knocked away and sent barrelling over Maxwell into the wall behind. Landing with a thud and a pained cry, she falls to the ground and lies silent.

“SERANA!!” Maxwell hoarsely calls out as he watches her fly over, his voice echoing just before returning to corporeality. The stomping sound grows closer. With a throaty yell, he turns back and throws out a hand before squeezing tightly, the glove creaking heavily almost to the point of splitting.

“LIZ. SLEN. NUS!!”

Ice builds up on its legs, immobilising the construct. He goes to Shout again, but the dizziness from the combined draining and Shout makes him stagger and lose focus.

The sound of cracking reaches him. Through the dizziness, he inhales in shock. It has used the ice to not only fully repair itself, but thicken the exterior even more. Evidently a form of protection by using an enemy’s ice-based spells against themselves.

As it closes the distance again, it lifts a limb and projectiles start forming on the end. He re-summons and holds up the shield just in time to deflect the dense but constant flurry of sharp missiles that it fires at him. The projectiles ding off it and his armour, scoring slightly. Although the cold damage is negated by necklace enchantment, his arm starts shivering as the shield also starts trembling more violently. The pressure in his mind builds.

Above all of this, a piercing shriek appears out of nowhere, which quickly evolves into a more guttural form mixed with another, almost like flesh tearing apart.

The construct closes the distance and swings its other arm at Maxwell. He braces behind the shield with all of the strength he can muster. At the point of contact, the pressure unleashes with a cacophonic burst and the limb explodes, showering him and the area in shattered debris. The force also sends him backwards, onto then across the ground, as a wave of pain flares up his arm.

The pack digs into his back, sending a further surge of pain throughout his torso, with the ebony arrows falling out of the quiver and sliding across the floor.

Attempting to get his bearings, the construct – minus most of a forearm – approaches his prone form. Maxwell dismisses the shield and tries to roll out the way, pain radiating from his back and arm. The construct gets even closer. Suddenly, a force grips Maxwell then pulls him away. Like an invisible hand, gently but firmly rendering him immobile. His perspective shifts from horizontal to vertical when he stops in front of her as they are hovering backwards.

Terrifying demon-like wings that are extended, her skin light grey toned. Deformed skull with a slender skeletal form and musculature. Massive bruising on her side from where she hit the wall, and a distorted mark beside her navel. Around her neck, an amulet with an insignia. A downward horned head with wavy tongue, imprinted black on grey. Some sort of two-piece cloth-like attire covers her chest and waist. Claw-like hands, one of which is held out in between them, red energy coiling around the digits.

Serana, in Vampire Lord form. Her eyes, however, enrapture him once again.

 

Maxwell has stared into the hateful eyes of dragons, into the soulless sunken eyes of various undead, and into the sorrowful eyes of his deceased wife. The faint red bloodshot eyes that he is staring into should terrify him. There is a small degree, but it is drowned out by the blinding realisation.

 

She really is willing to transform and put herself through her trauma to protect him.

 

Delicately lowering him to the ground, Serana releases Maxwell and then focuses on the approaching construct with overwhelming vengeance. She starts throwing bolts at its shoulder with the good arm. It attempts to do the same flurry attack on her, but she holds up a large blood ward; the projectiles melting as they hit the barrier. Strafing away from her friend whilst hovering off the ground, it tracks her. Getting close enough, she simultaneously drops the ward and bursts into a swirling mass of bats to avoid the swing of its one good arm. Returning to corporeality on its shoulder, she punches her closed fist into the ‘armour’; her hand becoming bloodied. She then digs her hands into the cracks and pull, shearing the limb clean off with a visceral yell; her jaw almost distended and her sharp teeth pronounced.

Now armless, she hovers higher and focuses more bloodbolts in the same location until it dies like its counterpart. It collapses to the ground with a resounding heavy thud. Once dealt with, she hovers towards Maxwell. He involuntarily takes a step back. Stopping her approach, she monotonously asks as her lips move, although her voice sounds like it is projected from all around.

“Are you alright?”

Maxwell weakly nods, staring directly at her. He checks his pack and exhales when he feels the wetness. Most of his potions have smashed bar a Stamina and a Health potion. Thankfully they’re the high strength ones she made.

He has both, the revitalising energy flowing throughout, when suddenly Serana spins around and summons another blood ward. He braces alongside, seeing what she heard.

Grasping to the side of the damaged throne, a bloodied Vyrthur leans against it whilst grasping his shoulder; the wound has darkened ice over it. The gem is wavering in luminosity. Seeing his once-believed immutable creations destroyed and Serana in her current form, he proudly exclaims.

“Truly beautiful.”

Serana raises a claw. Her aura becomes prominent and dominating. He sneers as the gem shimmers again, and as the walls on either side fall away Vyrthur releases a pained animalistic call before collapsing into the throne. Revealing a gap on either side, with tunnels going further into the surrounding mountain. The wall in front of him is fully repaired, becoming even thicker.

On the edge of her senses, the horde approaches. Snarling and clambering over each other in response to their master’s beckoning. The emanating sounds are eerily similar to something they faced through the amethyst ovoid-summoned portal.

She warns Maxwell. “Vampiric Falmer. Cover your ears and stay by my side.”

When the vampiric Falmer enter, she screams a unique sound, one she’s never released. The air practically ignites and he feels the power behind it. The unholy power; a dominating power. Maxwell doesn’t see it, but Serana's eyes glow extremely bright red. Fueled by emotion and his potent blood, she imposes her will onto the primal minds of the many Falmer.

The vampiric Falmer stop their approach, stand idle, then retreat back down the tunnels almost as quickly as they arrived.

Vyrthur is gaping in disbelief as Serana is staring back and lowering herself to the ground. In the most venomous and dangerous tone she’s ever had, she lifts a claw again. “Behold the true power of a Daughter of Coldharbour, Vyrthur. I have dominated your horde, and they now belong to me. Let’s see if your blood has any power in it.”

She starts blasting blood bolts where he is standing, the ice barrier begins cracking. Grunting with each throw, the barrier becoming more and more damaged as she tries to blast her way through it.

Clearly pained by not only the wound but the near depletion of his own Magicka and the instant loss of his horde, Vyrthur chants several unfamiliar words. Raising his arms, a massive green-hued ball of energy forms in front of him. Icicles of varying dimension and thickness are pulled into it.

With the ice barrier still intact, Serana stops throwing bolts and falls back to Maxwell. Summoning a blood ward large enough to defend them both, opting on defence rather than offence.

Vyrthur shouts nonsensically as he lets go of the energy. The sound is overwhelming, the energy wave even more so. The wave sends them both flying backwards, the projectiles flying out at incredible speed and shattering through the ice barrier.

Instantly fearing for Serana, Maxwell motions to sit up, only for horror - coupled with pain - to work its way through him. The cacophony of cracking and fracturing sounds above growing louder as the ceiling begins crumbling apart.

“Oh, come on!” He audibly curses, attempting to dodge out of the path of the falling debris. Luck seems to be on his side once again as all of the debris misses him, although some come close.  

When silence finally descends as the afternoon sun shines down brightly on the now-exposed Chantry interior, Maxwell coughs heavily through the disorientation and dust. Kneeling up and trying to get his bearings, Serana approaches from the side. Back in human form but unhooded, her hair completely dishevelled. Clearly visibly pained, she nonetheless quickly checks him over. When her hand lands on his cheek, his lands on hers to hold it in place.

“Thank you.” Maxwell mouths with a weak upwards curl of his lip corner.

She has the briefest small smile which quickly disappears, replaced by something Maxwell has never seen on anyone, and never wants to see again. Pure, naked fury.

Making their way to the rear over the debris, they spot him. On a small balcony overlooking a different valley, a bloodied Vyrthur throws a dagger. He summons the shield and it dings off; the action prompting yet another surge of pain from the broken bones. He groans, startling slightly when Serana states.

“Stay here. Do not intervene.”

She then motions closer, putting herself in between them. Her deep amber eyes, dangerously narrowed. Acutely focused with a singular intent. A predator closing in for the kill.

He unsheathes and throws his second dagger, but she simply summons a ward and it bounces off of it. As it falls, she dismisses then closes the distance instantaneously. She snaps his hand, causing Vyrthur to howl loudly in pain. He goes to punch her injured side with his free hand. She grabs it mid-swing and crushes his hand, eliciting another cry of agony. Bending the limb backwards, Vyrthur falls to his knees in submission, the knee guards scratching loudly on the stonework as he writhes in pain. With her other hand, she discards the gem-embedded helmet to the side.

“ENOUGH!! You’ve lost, Vyrthur! Now explain yourself or I will dominate you too.”

Vyrthur scoffs, earning a tighter squeeze from Serana. He nods enthusiastically, and she lessens her grip. He breathes through the pain and answers. “I gather you have witnessed the devastation?”

“Yes.”

“He has forsaken us, after all we had done and suffered in his name. From war against his kind,” flitting to Maxwell, “to when the foul Betrayed attacked us, invading this sanctuary.”

She furrows her brow. ”Auriel should have protected you.”

He nods in scowled agreement. “So did I, until my naivete was broken that day he abandoned us, letting us fade away from this world like thawing spring snow. Despite my efforts, I could not save my kin that day…my own brother. I swore I would have revenge for them, no matter the cost. He may no longer be on this world, yet his influence remains. All I lacked to bring the eternal night was one final component.”

Time crawls to a stop for her. Serana stares at him, reacting in absolute disbelief as she makes the connection.

“His influence…eternal night…that was you? YOU created that prophecy about darkening the sun?!” Something breaks within, and she loses it. Borderline screaming the words. “MY FAMILY TORE ITSELF APART BECAUSE OF YOUR PROPHECY!!!”

Vyrthur mumbles. “No matter the cost.”

That cuts her, deeply. Her rage becomes blinding as she lets go of his hand, grabs him tightly by the edges of his chest armour. It crunches and cracks under her inhuman strength. She snarls as she pulls him up and closer to her face. Her tone drips in dangerous fury, which grows as it boils over within.

“You are not just insane for wanting revenge on a god, you are obsessed. I did not get violated beyond death by the Prince of Domination, only to become fuel for someone’s obsession. My blood is my own, and…”

As Maxwell barely starts to process those words, several things happen.

Vyrthur headbutts her, hard. Smashing her nose with his forehead, it loudly cracks. As she recoils back and lets him go, his hanging arm starts becoming encased in ice. He also starts chanting something and glances to the nearest dagger then to Maxwell. The discarded dagger flings off the ground towards him. He easily dodges it and Shouts.

“TIID”

Everything comes to a complete stop.

Maxwell stares at the scene before him, frozen in time like a painting. One section of it has his full attention.

Vyrthur’s expression. Almost synonymous with that of Ulfric all those years ago. Filled with malice, hate, but most of all…defiance. The realisation, as blinding as the enchantment on the shield.

Another tyrant, another obsession.

His own rage becomes unbridled, the souls within igniting and roaring into life. Demanding that he dominate, just like with Ulfric. As the Slow Time Shout effect begins wearing off, Maxwell Shouts again.

“TIID”

Time remains frozen. A headache from successive slow time Shouts grows; it is fervently ignored.

His fingers curl around the handle of his ebony sword, and grip tightly. Under his gloves, the knuckles whiten. With singular purpose, he moves into position.

At the point the second Shout expires, he sword silently cuts through the air. One thud follows another when the severed head of the Arch Curate falls to the ground. The dagger flies past where he was, before skittering to the ground.

Maxwell desperately ignores the painful headache and turbulent emotions as he drops the sword. The lifeless body follows closely behind, thudding to the ground a second after the ebony sword clatters; both sounding a finality to the situation.

He can’t tear his gaze away from the bleeding head and body. The lifeless yet persistent stare in those fading orange eyes. Serana is instantly in front of him, blocking his view. Maxwell shifts his gaze and closes his eyes, fervently pushing out the painful memory and stomping down on the vengeful dragon souls, denied their prey.

“Look at me.”

He tensely exhales but refuses her request. A hand is delicately placed on his turned cheek, lightly pressuring for him to turn. “Please, Maxwell. Look at me.”

Her soft yet pleading cadence - a far cry from the tone used with Vyrthur – and made slightly nasally, cut a swathe through the diminishing fury. Despite not wanting to, he does so.

Those narrowed deep amber eyes are astutely focused on him, and they widen to normal as the tense seconds pass. Both stand there, the third companion on their journey now so tense the knife would again break when coming into contact with it. Even though no words are said, her eyes shows her silent gratitude.

Having to breathe through her mouth, pain radiating from her injuries, Serana moves her hand and touches her glove to her nose, pulling back to see her own black blood droplets. Intently staring at it.

“Serana…”

She cuts him off without shifting her gaze, dully stating. “Please sort out Vyrthur. I don’t want to see or smell him. And don’t worry, the vampiric Falmer won’t be returning any time soon.”

He only nods in affirmation at her unspoken meaning. She pulls the hood over her as she walks away. After stripping the remains of everything valuable, taking his time thanks to the pain in his arm and overall tiredness, Maxwell soon Shouts “YOL TOOR SHUL” to incinerate the remains and blood. Satisfied that nothing is left, he slowly carries the loot to meet up with her in a shaded part.

Sat mutely against the wall, her knees under her turned chin; their packs, his fallen arrows and Vyrthur’s daggers beside her. She doesn't watch him approach, but she has hand-swept the area next to her for him to sit down. He collapses into the cleared seat with a loud sigh after depositing the loot beside. He quietly offers a hand, despite the physical pain, but a shake of her head makes him retract it.

 

Time slips by unnoticed, with both wearing a neutral mask to hide their internal maelstrom of pain and emotion.

 

---

 

Knowing what she is likely struggling with, given he went through it himself at Sky Haven Temple with that damned mural, Maxwell chances it. Opening his mouth, Serana gives him an intensely fierce expression that clearly implies not to say a single godsdamned word. Her nose is no longer bleeding, thankfully. He quickly closes his mouth. Her neutral look returns and she looks away. He gazes around at the surrounding carnage instead.

She eventually closes her eyes and exhales before neutrally stating. “Please take us to Auriel’s Bow, I want to get out of this damned place.”

He nods, and they sort out their respective gear and the loot from Vyrthur, putting everything into a pile ready to retrieve once they are ready to depart. Maxwell then leads the way with Serana follows quietly, her footfall barely betraying the immense weight of the emotions she feels within.

He moves to the now exposed wall where one of the constructs burst out from and ice further melted from his dragonfire Shout. As he is about to reach out with his good hand, a wave of energy flows through as their Magicka pools are restored. They both breathe a sigh of relief. Serana immediately summons ice within the passageways to re-seal them, and Maxwell holds a glowing hand to heal his forearm injury.

Sighing in relief, he quietly says. “Please could you place a Mark, Serana. I think returning the bow...”

“Not only do I want to get out of here Maxwell, I never want to come back to this place.”

Too tired to argue, he weakly shrugs. “Uh…sure.”

His other hand rubs along the wall until he finds the activation stone and presses hard. As it depresses inward, the section of wall moves in then upwards with a sharp grating sound, revealing a hidden vault with only two things of value.

In this vault, a unique bow hangs on the wall in all its glory and what everything has led to. With supple contours and a flared grip. The wood, a polished light brown of some kind, glistens in the magical light. Hanging alongside, a decorative quiver which looks like ivory embossed with decorative gold markings, and a similarly ivory coloured strap that is attached at the top and bottom of it.

 

Auriel’s Bow, in every iota of its splendour, with Auriel’s Quiver hanging alongside.

 

Approaching the legendary artefacts with caution, Serana notices Maxwell is oddly hesitant.

“What’s bothering you?” She tersely asks.

He fidgets, his hands clasping in apparent nervousness. Sighing, Maxwell bows his head. “I’m…afraid I’m going to break the damn thing.”

She gently grasps the corner of his nearest arm and pulls him to a stop before turning him around. Searching his face, her frown deepens as she attempts to divine meaning.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Remember what I told you on the way to the castle?”

The deadly serious mien gives way to a blank one when she remembers his earlier comment. The seconds tick by, as she bounces between his eyes.

In a low tone, Serana soon utters. “That’s not meant to cheer me up is it? You’re…serious about that?”

Maxwell recoils slightly in surprise, as he wasn’t expecting her to say that. Supposition confirmed, her pristine eyebrows dance and red lips start trembling again as her eyes become unfocused, before her demeanour breaks down completely at the absurdity of his concern. She snorts then raucously laughs, which loudly echoes around and obliterates the tense silence.

As soon as Serana calms down slightly, she loudly exclaims. “Maxwell, I can’t believe you sometimes. This bow is rumoured to belong to an AEDRA! I think it will survive you!!”

He hums in slight dissatisfaction, although he has a weak grin as she breaks down again with further laughter. His stomach twists, but in an unusual way that hasn’t happened in a long time. Something about how her laughter is truly unrestrained. A complete opposite to when she unleashed her true potential. He commits the gorgeous sound and sight to memory.

Eventually regaining her composure, she breathes deeply to try and restore order within. “I really needed to laugh, thank you.” Grasps his arm gently and treats him to a sincerely genuine heartfelt smile. In a complete reversal of her earlier demeanour, her irises reflecting genuine sincerity and humour.

Letting go, she motions to the bow.

He inhales in readiness and approaches. After flexing his fingers a few times, he tentatively grabs it, slipping his fingers around the central grove. Grasping it tightly, his expression becomes confusing to interpret. He gingerly lifts the bow and holds it in front, inspecting it closely. Now her expression becomes confusing to interpret.

“Huh. I was expecting something to happen.” Maxwell comments, pausing in contemplation. “Are you sensing anything from it?”

Realising the absence of auras due to her being distracted by what he said, Serana’s pupils widen. “I…I’m not!”

They stare at each other in heightened confusion. His earth brown against her deep amber, attempting to discern what this newfound realisation could mean.

“Could it be a fake?” She deathly whispers, slightly fearful all of this was for naught. She could have resurrected Vyrthur to find out, if he hadn’t been bisected then incinerated.

“No, the Elder Scrolls said it’s here. Gelebor said it’s here. Vyrthur put that ice thing in front of the door. This is it, I’m certain.”

Maxwell gingerly takes the quiver off of the wall, and peeks inside. “Er, the quiver is empty.”

“It is?”

He shows it to her. It is very empty, as devoid of arrows as the Vale is of life. He tips it upside down, trying to encourage something, anything, to come out. Nothing.

In growing confusion, she queries. “You honestly didn’t know about the quiver from the reading? Did you get any more symbols?”

Frantically shaking his head. “No and no. The last symbols were about Vyrthur and the activation mechanism. I swear.”

She studies him, before humming herself and stepping back. Maxwell appears deep in thought whilst studying the confounding object in his hand. “I’m taking it. Both Vyrthur and Gelebor called it Auriel’s Quiver. It must be linked somehow.”

He hangs the quiver loosely over his shoulder and they begin walking back to the main room. He strokes his roughened hand over the contours of the bow and comments with a modicum of awe. “If it is a fake Serana, it’s a very good one. It’s extremely lightweight, and the wood feels amaz...”

The split-second that sunlight touches the bow, something unexpected happens.

For Serana, she watches Maxwell recoil. To anyone else, they might have missed it, but for her she sees that his eyes briefly flash orange. From his recoiling action, he accidentally throws the bow upwards. Arcing then falling to the ground, the embossed pattern in the wood glows brightly like a weaved string through it. The myriad of magical auras is now in full effect; one being similar to the shield on his arm. As she automatically reaches to catch it…it disappears into thin air.

For Maxwell, his entire being becomes energised as a pulse of vigour washes over him. A symbol, not from the reading, appears in his mind. An autonomous reflex kicks mere seconds after letting go of the bow and seeing Serana reach to catch it. He simultaneously flicks his left hand and closes his fingers. The weapon instantly vanishes and appears in his hand as his fingers close shut around the grip. The bow returns to its former condition as quickly as it lit up.

Serana glances back in extreme surprise, her deep amber eyes flaring in concern. She instantly closes the distance. “What just happened??”

”I’m…I think the bow has just…bound itself to me.”

Instantly concerned and mystified, never hearing of such a thing, her eyes almost blow out of her head. “WHAT?!”

Maxwell shrugs in response, before he pauses mid-action. He then deadpans, and - prompted by another new sensation in his mind – takes off the quiver. Putting the bow against the wall, he reaches his free hand into the quiver. His eyes widen in apparent surprise as he pulls out an arrow.

Their shared reaction of shock is understandable, as what he holds is undeniable proof. The fletching is of a very light material, like feathers but solid. The rigid shaft is a shiny moonstone colour, extremely smooth. The diamond shaped arrow head is delicately carved and looks like a shard of moonstone. He passes it to the stunned Serana so he can check the quiver, stopping when it shimmers out of existence in her hands.

“Ooookay…”

Nothing comes from Serana as she stands there flummoxed, her mind tripping over itself in trying to fashion some sort of logic from what just transpired.

Maxwell looks into the quiver, which is still empty. He reaches in, and pulls out an identical arrow from the void.

Eventually finding her voice. “Did you see any symbols when it bound itself?”

“Just one.” He says, before realising what her reaction is likely to be if divulged.

“What was it?”

“I’ll, um, explain later. I’m still a little...weirded out from the sensation.” Maxwell deflects, putting the arrow back; it disappears when he lets go.

Settling to resolve it later, she dazedly shakes her head. “What, um, what should we tell the others?”

Rearranging his accoutrements with his free hand as he shoulders the quiver again and grabs the bow, he ponders it before tiredly shrugging. “Let’s keep the details vague, although we’ll leave out Vyrthur and the prophecy.” His face drops at the memory and he quietly adds. “And the part where I summoned another dragon to talk to other dragons.”

Serana laughs humourlessly at the last part, and after they retrieve their packs and what loot Maxwell can hold, she begins the requisite motions of the Recall spell. As the warping forms around them and Maxwell looks up to the sun, she surreptitiously casts one more indecipherable glance at Auriel’s Bow and then at him.

The Temple of Auriel becomes abandoned again when the duo disappears; no longer haunted by the vestige of an insane vampiric Snow Elf.

Notes:

I really struggled with this one, for a myriad of reasons. I’ve written, re-written, and re-re-written the fight with Vyrthur too many times to count. I paradoxically like this current iteration yet dislike how short it is. I've posted it now as I'm mentally reasoning that even though Vyrthur is spending most of his energy on maintaining the ice barriers thanks to Maxwell summoning a dragon, he still underestimated the duo. (Maxwell because he has so many bound dragon souls, and Serana because she is feeding on his potent blood).

Lore-wise, the sunhallowed arrows are still a thing in this fiction, the quiver just allowed me to add a bit of flavour and try something fun. I haven’t seen anyone else use it in any story before. I do admit I took some creative liberty with both the bow and quiver, but it is for a reason. Also, the lore page for the quiver is 5 sentences long. 5!

'Anya' – 'Alive' (Aldmeris). Intended as a command for the constructs.

In other news, I can't say when the next chapter will be out; not only for the reasons previously mentioned, it is also where everything comes to a head (mostly for Serana) and it's going to get emotional.

As ever, thanks for reading and I hope you have a great day!

Chapter 31: Actuality

Summary:

Prompted by events in the Vale, fears and prospects are actualised.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, violence and injury, panic attacks, references to past trauma.

As ever, minor edits might happen with this one. But please see the end notes as I have news!

Upon completion of the warping, the duo heavily exhale out similar sighs of stressed relief at being away from the vale of death. Unfortunately, the invoked memories travelled with them.

Maxwell promptly tosses everything onto the bed and sits with head in hands, fervently attempting to push out the symbol and what it represented. His fear, now realised.

Serana follows suit, albeit more delicately thanks to her sustained injuries. Putting on a neutral face to hide the strife within and desperately push aside the horrible revelations she had learnt.

As she starts organising the loot, he retrieves a fresh shirt from his enchanted pack. Out of the corner of his view, he notices Serana sideways peaking at the intended object of their trip to the Vale. Without a word, he covers them with a fur. Under her piercing gaze, Maxwell strides into the washroom to freshen up. He stops when Serana turns to the door. Guessing who it could be, he awaits as she moves to open it before their guest arrives. Always on hand. No wonder Elisif relies heavily on her.

Sybille reflexively releases a small gasp at the bedraggled duo, focusing especially on Serana’s nose and visible bruising. “What in Oblivion happened? Are you in any pain?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Serana defensively retorts, stopping only at the triggered reaction. Slowly sighing out the frustration, she politely says as she looks back to her companion. “Apologies, it’s been a…a very rough day.”

Mentally admonishing herself for her curt bluntness, Serana opens the door wider and gestures to the acquisition-laden bed. The vampiric councillor stops beside and stares incredulously at the myriad of items, focusing intently on the bow when Serana pulls back the cover.

Spotting her quirked brows at his forelimb, he clenches his fist. Sybille takes a step back aghast when the shield comes into being.

“Divines!!” She loudly exclaims, light amber eyes on the verge of popping out of their sockets.

A slight involuntary shiver runs through Maxwell’s entire body. He purposely tugs at his collar to negate the sensation, earning a furtive side-eye from Serana. Turning mid-action, he sees a very distain briefly flash across the councillor’s features.

Wafting the same hand to the washroom, he comments. “I know, I know. Smelly mortal. I was about to go wash. Please tell the others we’ll be along shortly.”

To his unsurprise, Serana interjects. “Actually, I need to rest. Maxwell will meet them when he’s not quite so odorous.”

“Odorous?” He sarcastically queries, adopting a feign pained expression.

“Oh, believe me. I’m being polite.” She quips, supplying a hint of a smirk with it.

In an attempt to lighten the mood further, Maxwell jests. “Please don’t say anything of what we found, Sybille. I want to see their reactions.”

She respectably bows then departs, closing the door behind. Maxwell promptly retreats to the washroom and Serana to her pack. They carry out their respective ministrations in silence, although their respective thoughts are deafening.

She consistently glances between the bow and the washroom threshold, listening to his actions with pursed lips. There’s something he isn’t telling me.

After making himself somewhat presentable, he strides to the door, pausing only when Serana stands by the door with crossed arms and a pensive expression.

“Remember what we agreed.” She advises.

“Of course. Once I’m back, we’ll get some proper rest.” He tiredly grins.

“That sounds good to me.” She warmly smiles back, moving aside and opening the door for him.

Watching him vacate the room and disappear down the corridor, her smile disappears. Closing it and heading into the washroom, her thoughts run abound. We are going to talk beforehand. I need to know what he saw.

 

---

 

Finding the iron door locked, Maxwell leans against the wall. Idly fiddling with the legendary artefact, he focuses on what the symbol meant. It granted him full control over the bow and its powers, but what it symbolised affirmed something that he didn’t want to believe was true. He tries to think of another symbol, although the approaching footfall breaks his self-induced analysis. Standing quickly to attention and gripping the bow, concern flares by many degrees when only Falk and an armoured Isran turn the corner.

“By Stendarr, you found it. You actually fucking found Auriel’s Bow.” Isran exclaims with massive astonishment, his eyes acutely affixed on the weapon. He then furrows his brow and accusatorily demands. “Where’s Serana?”

“She’s, er, resting after being injured. Saying that, where are the others?” Maxwell replies, gesturing to enunciate his question.

“Queen Elisif is caught up in sudden court business and the Arch Mage returned to Winterhold to speak with his Master Enchanter, a Sergius if I am correct?” Falk replies as Isran grumbles, silently gesturing to the locked door behind the confused Maxwell.

Once within the war room, Maxwell puts Auriel’s weaponry on top of the parchments. They confer for a short while, with Isran’s and Falk’s eyes magnetically drawn to the contoured bow sat between them. The formidable weapon of an Aedra, and the power contained within, providing a means of ending the threat they are united against. Falk mentions that the boat won’t be ready until midnight due to a logistical delay, yet Maxwell’s mind is wandering as another wave of tiredness washes through him, leaving a calling for sleep in its wake. A polite cough from Falk garners his attention.

“Sorry Falk, it’s been a very tiring day.” He apologetically states.

“We will conclude the conversation here. I will send someone to advise you when the boat is ready.” Falk says, gathering the distributed sheaf of papers.

Maxwell is about to breathe a silent exhalation of weariness when Isran suddenly says. ”There is one piece of unfinished business we need to discuss, Maxwell.”

Falk silently bows out, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

Using the momentary reprieve to push down his growing annoyance, Maxwell shuts his eyes. “Isran, I’m exhausted. Can’t it wait?”

Waiting for a response, none is forthcoming. He glances up, stepping back with alarm at just how close Redguard is standing.

Dropping any pretence of politeness, Isran irately states. “She’s going to betray us, isn’t she?”

Maxwell’s entire body becomes rigid, the words slowly registering in his addled mind. He soon fixes his confused gaze, huffing several times and anger growing with each one.

“Are you…for real? After everything that has happened?! Everything that she’s done?!?”

Launching into his tirade, Isran’s voice grows louder. “I’m not done, not by a giant’s swing. You still have a lot to explain, such as where you went for the second Elder Scroll. On top of that, something worse than a skeever’s arse stinks about you two. Something I don’t like. I might be old but I still have my wits.” His seasoned features contort, and he yells in horrified disgust. “Are you fucking it?”

Throwing his hands up, Maxwell blurts out. “No, we’re just friends!”

Isran staggers back, his eyes widening in apparent horror and visibly recoiling as though he’s just been sucker-punched.

“You’re friends with that thing?!”

“I don’t have to explain myself.” Maxwell sternly retorts, turning to the table to grab the bow and make a quick exit. I’m so done with his hatred of…

One second, a disgusted Isran is standing perturbed. The following second, Maxwell is uttering a strangled noise when Isran’s gloved hands find their way around his neck to prevent him from Shouting. Slamming him into the wall with a hefty thud, Isran angrily roars. Maxwell lands a number of blows, attempting to break free from the vice-like grip; the armour easily deflecting each strike. Apparently Isran had prepared for this eventuality.

With white dots appearing in his vision, he regrettably summons fire and sets Isran’s lengthy beard alight. As the Dawnguard leader lets go with an extremely loud shout of pain and starts frantically trying to put out his burning beard, Maxwell drops to the ground. Despite the discomfort and smell of burnt hair filling the room, he resists the urge to Shout to avoid alerting the entirety of Solitude.

Fire extinguished, Isran bellows and charges, bringing his fist back to deliver a right hook. It promptly connects with the summoned shield, and is rewarded with a blinding light.

The blinded and pained Dawnguard leader quickly finds himself on his back, with Maxwell kneeling on one arm and holding tightly onto the other.

“Isran, ENOUGH!!!” Maxwell shouts, struggling to keep a hold on his own emotions.

“Grrrraaahhhh!! Why are you of all people defending that thing?!” Isran bellowed, writhing underneath.

"Because Harkon is obsessed with sacrificing her to darken the sun!!” He yells in frustration, accidentally revealing the truth.

To his surprise, Isran stops resisting. Breathing heavily, the Redguard cocks his head indicating further clarification is needed.

“This isn’t some power struggle or some devious plot. She is going to suffer and die to satisfy Harkon’s obsession. Just like when she became a pureblooded vampire.”

Seeing the bewildered reaction, Maxwell realises what he has just admitted. Oh, fuck me to Oblivion…

Aching more and not desiring to do any further damage, he moves off the prone Isran, grabs the weaponry and promptly exits the room. Slamming the door loudly to emphasise his dramatic exit, the action sends a deafening clang echoing down the corridors.

Pushing down the weariness and frustration, Maxwell leans against the wall and shuts his eyes. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but being exhausted in conjunction with what transpired on their recent endeavour had violently ripped open one of his most painful wounds, and Isran’s irritating hatred had painfully poked at it in earnest. Feeling appalled for betraying Serana’s confidence, he decides to come clean as soon as possible rather than finding out later down the line.

Opening his eyes, that eventuality is actualised as none other than a murderous-looking Serana is standing meters away. Having heard the commotion, she had dashed her way here, only stopping when Maxwell had admitted the first truth. Her red lips, pulled taut into a very thin line and eyes dangerously narrowed. Her demeanour clearly demonstrating the intense rage, yet her eyes evidence the immense betrayal and hurt coursing within.

“Serana, I…”

“Don’t say a damn word. Bedroom, now.” She vehemently hisses, promptly turning and striding away before giving into the temptation to slap so hard he’d see stars.

Blowing through his pursed lips, Maxwell resignedly exhales and becomes subdued. Heart aching for causing undue stress, especially after the events of the day, he quietly follows down the passageways; quite possibly to the end of everything.

 

Not long later, tension builds with every heartbeat and breath when she finishes blocking and warding the door, sealing them within this room. The pressure between them at the point of bursting, he opens his mouth to verbalise the apology and attempt to deflate the situation.

Glaring at him, Serana speaks first. “Keep quiet unless I permit you to speak. Do not think of lying or avoid answering my questions. Nod if you understand.”

Feeling even more abysmal, Maxwell bows his head and silently nods in acceptance of the conditions.

Struggling to keep a lid on her anger, Serana tersely demands. “How could you reveal that to Isran of all people? YOU PROMISED!”

Slumping his shoulders as well, he loudly exhales through his nose in resignation. Looking up, Maxwell quietly mutters. “I can’t begin to say how sorry I am, Serana.”

Her narrowing eyes remind him not to stray from her specific instructions. Wringing his hands on the table, Maxwell bows his head again and quietly answers. “I really didn’t mean to. I only meant to reveal the truth about your connection in the prophecy to try and make him understand that this isn’t…”

Like water off a duck’s back, his answer does little to placate. She derisively scoffs. “That’s ironic, you mentioning the truth. Because my next question is this, and don’t even think of lying: what symbol did you see?”

He subtly stiffens, focusing intently on his hands.

Noticing this, she repeats louder. “Maxwell. What. Symbol.”

Gulping, in dread of what is going to happen, he opens his mouth, yet only silence comes out. Hoping against hope that the ground would split underneath and swallow him whole, he tries to force out the word to no avail. She takes a step closer, her dreadful aura suddenly appearing. The room figuratively turns ice cold, the heat sucked out.

Maxwell quickly spits out the truth, revealing yet another shocking revelation.

 

“’Chosen.’“

 

The air follows the heat as the atmosphere in the room becomes borderline-choking. He almost suffers whiplash from how quickly her features change. Serana covers her mouth with both hands and staggers back into the door; exactly the reaction he feared. Yet he underestimated how much his gut would fold into itself.

Anger now subverted, the revelation removes the lid on a long-time concern, drowned in the aftermath that he indeed loves her. Murmuring through her fingers a hairs breadth above a whisper.

“By the blood of my ancestors, that insane Mer was right…and I was right…the gods really did mean for us to meet.”

Maxwell stays dead silent, unable to coalesce thoughts or words into anything of substance. He knew that she was already struggling with the revelations from Vyrthur, and finding out the real reason for their meeting the same day of discovering the prophecy origin would likely prove too much.

Her question drags his wandering mind back to reality.

“Tell me, has it occurred to you too?” She tersely repeated, standing closer.

Maxwell closes his tired eyes and utters a long sigh, the weight of reality pressing down. She gasps again.

“When??”

“The night you sought me out, and a couple of times since. Then when the symbol happened…I knew.”

Pacing back and forth, Serana rapidly devolves into hysteria. Emotively breaking down, her words a frenetic deluge.

“Fuck! It all makes sense now. You had the final Elder Scroll. You went through your own prophecy. The only individual who could carry out the ritual when Dexion was struck blind. You were having symbols, not only guiding us but warning you of the dangers. I prayed for a way to protect you and we found the shield. What you said about Paarthunax being different. Your Shout, to see through the darkness. The Shout to summon a hero from Sovngarde.”

Maxwell opens his mouth, and again silence falls from his lips. That had been a long-buried concern of his own, that the Shout had a deeper meaning behind it. He’d defeated the World Eater, so why would he need such a gift?

Running a hand through his brown hair and attempting to focus on an alternative, he says. “Serana, the gods might have meant our paths to cross, but that doesn’t change anything about how we feel.”

 

The tension reaches breaking point.

 

Visibly reacting like she’d just been slapped, Serana screams. “How can you…it changes EVERYTHING!” Her face drops. “Mother was right too.”

He drops his hand, the disparaging thought with it. “What?”

She remains mute.

“Serana, tell me what you mean.”

She madly shakes her head, sending her unbraided hair wafting wildly.

“Serana, please!!”

His pleading breaks through her resolve, and she throws her hands up; revealing a truth buried under layers of self-denial that she had alluded to earlier.

“I can’t be mortal again!”

They stare at each other, the enormity and severity of her statement adding yet another stressor to the situation.

He confoundedly contorts his features, trying to fathom meaning.

Deflating to a shell of her usual self, Serana depressively hugs herself tightly. “Maxwell, I can’t…I can’t become mortal again. The ritual…it, it gave me immortality and power, but it’s permanent.” In a much quieter tone, a hair’s breadth above a whisper. “They didn’t reveal that to me until afterwards.”

He recollects a part of their heart to heart talk after leaving Dayspring Canyon. If you could get rid of your power, would you?

Kicking himself for not noticing this earlier, Maxwell wearily collapses back onto the chair as Serana slumps onto the bed, staring to the side.

Tense minutes slip by, before she speaks again. “This isn’t some disease that you can get and cure, Maxwell. This came directly from a Daedra. Similar to your power, it can’t be taken away by any known means. My soul is forever bound to Coldharbour.” Adding in a much quieter tone. “You will die and your bones will turn to dust, and I’ll remain like this. A moment frozen in time, alone in this world.”

That provides more evidence about why she didn’t want to talk about her vampirism. However, being fatigued from all that has happened in the last two days means his mental faculties are non-existent, and his mental filter doesn’t catch the verbalised thought in time.

“What if…there was another way that we could be together?” Maxwell indifferently queries.

 

The tension snaps.

 

Like a slow-moving animated statue, Serana unhurriedly turns to him, her expression becoming utterly incomprehensible. She then starts rapidly hyperventilating, her chest heaving. Maxwell instinctively stands up but she quickly stands too and stumbles back, becoming more animated in the hysteria. Barely able to process his sentence, she clutches her chest.

“How, how can…you…say that?! I…you…I…I can’t…I can’t…breathe!!”

Lost in the hysteria as she paces back, her foot collides with the bedframe and Serana stumbles backward. Maxwell instantly closes the distance, catching her. Only in the process, doing the second-worst thing in as many minutes: firmly grabbing her upper arms.

 

The snapped tension shatters into microscopic pieces.

 

His innards quiver at her rapid expression of shock mixed with distress. With an alarmingly bone-chilling scream, Serana instantly tears herself arms away. Due to her inhuman strength behind the effort, Maxwell gets sent flying onto the edge of the table then to the floor. Landing awkwardly with his arm twisted behind his back, a snapping sound and shot of pain evidence something has broken.

Realising what she’s done, a distraught Serana tries to choke out an apology but it comes out as sob. As the situation becomes untenable and she creeps over the verge of tears, she abruptly casts Recall to escape.

Leaving behind all of her gear and a dazed but devastated mortal.

 

---

 

Righting himself with a groan, Maxwell mutely lays a glowing hand on his elbow and exhales through the pain and horrible sound of the bones reconnecting. Struggling to keep the lid on his own tears forming, he disbelievingly stares up at the stone ceiling. That anguishing image of her imprinted on his mind; utterly distressed beyond comparison.

What have I done? Gods, this day really is going from bad to worse.

Staying in the seated position with his troublesome thoughts, a subsequent fear starts to form. A polite tapping and the voice that follows bring it to reality.

“Who is it?” He challenges despite being fairly certain who it is.

“Sybille.”

“Tell me something only she would know.”

“I can sense Serana is no longer here.” Her voice sounding very concerned.

Running his hands over the fatigued features, Maxwell stands. Taking a second to wipe away the tears, he opens the door.

“We…she’s gone.”

Sybille develops an extremely concerned look. Frantically shaking his head in refutation, he quickly reassures. “Gods no, not back to the castle!”

“What happened?”

He gulps nervously. Hoping to not find out what Isran is going to say when he finds out about this latest debacle, following their prior strained conversation.

“Let’s just say I’ve pushed her too far. She’s made her choice, and I’ve made mine. I’m seeing this through to the end, alone.” Maxwell admits.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sybille queries, her demeanour becoming softer.

Wanting to be left alone, he motions to say no, stopping when an idea forms.

“Actually, please could you me some Honningbrew Mead along with pen, parchment and an envelope?”

“Getting drunk is not the answer.” She carefully cautions.

Not wanting to be mothered as if he was a disobedient child, he languidly groans in exasperation. “Sybille, I’m about to confront one of the most powerful enemies I’ve ever fucking faced. Alcohol will take the edge of.”

They briefly argue, and she agrees to one bottle, much to his displeasure.

Sorting out Serana’s discarded gear and the loot into separate bags, he hands them over upon her return and instructs what is to go where. After the exchange, Maxwell immediately places a hand on the bottle to take out the cork, pausing only when he sees Sybille not moving.

“What?” He flatly queries, really wanting to be left alone now.

“Did she leave due to her fear that you two met because it was the will of the Divines?”

A massive look of surprise confirms her suspicion.

“I know you’re good, but how in Divines did you know??” He bemusedly queries.

She motions to the chairs. Once sat down, she explains.

“That night, when you awoke, the queen asked Serana outright if she had feelings for you. She admitted it, then told us her concern. How it seemed more than coincidence that the one person to find her was the only person to come close to understanding what she is facing. This is what we told her. ‘Akatosh might have joined your paths together to stop this prophecy, but Mara has given you both a chance at a new life. If he indeed loves you as you love him, then surely that is all that matters once this prophecy is put to rest?’”

Maxwell leans back, the chair creaking with the uneven weight. Considering this unique individual in a new light.

“You…really told her that?”

“Every word.”

Jutting his jaw out in thought, Maxwell oddly chuckles. Flashes of memory from his former life, including what he had heard of Jarl Elisif’s rather surly councillor, now proven as nothing more than fallacy.

“You know what?” Maxwell says, adopting a warm smile. “I always believed you were a dour individual, Sybille. I remember our previous interactions, especially what happened with Potema. For what it’s worth…I’m glad to have gotten to know you. The real you.”

She smiles back whilst leaning back herself, adopting a more casual and relaxed position.

“I presume Serana has undoubtedly advised you that vampires, especially in my position, have to hide in the shadows or maintain quite the façade. But I return the sentiment. The power that you wield and knowing what you are – a hunter turned Dragonborn, seeking out the death of dragons and other predators - it honestly scares me. But seeing you willingly work with Serana, and knowing that you provide your own blood to feed her hunger…”

The unsaid words conveying her newfound understanding.

She curiously tilts her head. “If I had revealed my existence in your previous life, what would you have done?”

Maxwell ponders it, looking over her shoulder to the wall behind in thought. Huh, that really is a question and a half. Never in two lifetimes would I have thought I’d be friends with a vampire and in love with another.

 “I guess we’ll never know Sybille, but for now… how does ‘friend’ sound?”

“Friend. I like that.” Sybille amusedly responds, holding out a hand.

 

---

 

Now alone, Maxwell tends to the literal exhaustive list of items to organise, starting with the most difficult communication he’s ever written.

Every so often, he absentmindedly drinks from the bottle and glances to the Mark, half-expecting a warping sound to appear out of nowhere. Sighing and staring forlornly at the empty physical room, rather than the empty emotional one within, he finds no solace in the action. Returning to the task at literal hand, he writes out the many thoughts, including a number of topics they should have talked about days ago.

However, despite attempting to keep the letter concise, there are simply too many things to say to the ancient vampiress from a bygone era who has saved your life several times over, and gone to Oblivion and back for.

His limb getting tired from so much writing, Maxwell uses the last piece of parchment and takes the best sections from previous attempts. Upon finishing the letter and mead at the same time, and feeling extremely cathartic, he writes the name of the recipient.

Coming to her surname, he realises he never asked how it is spelt. Hoping she might fight it humorous, he thumbs the name contemplatively once the ink is dry. Evoking a memory of doing the same to the only piece of handwriting left of Lydia, on the bespoke map she had surprised him with after being revealed as Dragonborn.

Maxwell soon succumbs to the calling of their bed, throwing the failed attempts marred with mistakes into the fire. Watching the parchment burn away, the words blowing up the chimney, he tries not to focus on the internal maelstrom.

The effort is in vain.

Contemplating how he overwhelmed her rather than backing off, coupled with the bulging guilt at betraying her utmost confidence. The first individual she trusted, and he revealed her deepest secret without permission. What made the knife of betrayal hurt even more was remembering how she had repeatedly said that she trusted him completely.

Tiredness and guilt war within, and the former eventually wins out. Eventually giving in to the exhaustion of the day’s activities, Maxwell falls asleep.

For weeks and months after returning from Sovngarde, fitful nights of sleep were common. He had gotten better over the years, although the ever-so-familiar nightmare of seeing Lydia’s mournful expression still haunted the realm of unconsciousness from time to time.

Slipping into sleep’s embrace tonight however...a different nightmare awaited his arrival.

 

---

 

Abruptly awakening to a colder room and ears slightly ringing, a panic-stricken Maxwell flies to a seated position. Sweat dripping to his brow and soaking his clothes, the visible blue hue of energy dissipating into nothingness and the very small amount of dust falling from the ceiling registers. Gulping in air desperately to try and alleviate the panic, he notices the souls within are oddly animated. Blue energy…souls acting as if I Shouted…_oh...

The sound of someone bashing against the door then registers. Reacting on instinct, he jumps to his feet and summons the bound bow whilst stumbling to the washroom threshold for protection. The lock snaps, and the door flies open, thudding into the nearby furniture. Tensing the bowstring, he stops when the intruder exclaims.

“Hold fire!”

“Sybille?!” He incredulously questions, dismissing the bow.

Seeing no threat, she relaxes by a small amount and quickly states. “Maxwell, you just Shouted extremely loudly and shook the entire palace. What happened?”

Going to answer, rapid yet heavy footsteps approach. Sybille instantly moves into the hallway to intercept the approaching armed guards. Amidst her issuing instructions, Maxwell bonelessly falling to the floor whilst trying to get his ragged breathing back to normal.

Fear now actualised, a dreadful sense of foreboding builds. Even if he survives this endeavour, the Thalmor will once again be seeking his death. A number of memories of fighting off assassins sent by them flare unwantedly.

When they are out of earshot, Sybille returns and drops the façade, becoming worried.

“I just had a, uh, a nightmare.” Fearing what was revealed, he quietly adds. “What did I shout?”

Her response is precisely what was dreamt.

“’You killed my future, so I’m going to kill yours. Sun-Hal-Vick.’ Whatever that means.”

If he could facepalm any harder, he would collapse his face. Bowing his head and exhaling loudly, Maxwell mentally curses the latest development in this catastrophic day. Knowing further explanation is warranted, his one-word answer conveys what many words could.

“Ulfric.” He flatly says.

Sybille hums in thought and understanding. “I see. Unfortunately, it now means the populace, the Thalmor…Divines, the entirety of Solitude now knows you are not only alive but here.”

He audibly groans with dismay. “If your intent is to make me feel worse Sybille, you’re not going to succeed.”

Wracking his brain to process this unwanted development to an already horrendous day, Sybille instantly stands to attention. Before he can query, she shoots him a knowing look. As the footfall approaches, Maxwell stands up as a dressing gowned High Queen Elisif, slightly bedraggled and hair in a mess, enters. Surveying the scene, she locks eyes with Maxwell.  Her demeanour is confusing to interpret. Concern, dismay, sadness certainly.

Anticipating the imminent question, Sybille politely answers. “Nightmare about Ulfric, my queen.”

Wide-eyed, Elisif gasps. “A small mercy you didn’t destroy the palace!”

“If I hadn’t had woken up, I likely would have. That was the next Shout I used after the Disarming Shout. Fus-Ro-Dah, or Unrelenting Force.” Maxwell says, looking directly at Elisif.

He could swear that a ghost of a smirk graced her lips, although it is quickly washed away.

“Indubitably. Nevertheless, ever since your arrival, this has been my fear. The Thalmor were already suspicious due to the implemented changes of security, however I convinced them that it was simply due to an imminent threat for myself.”

Realising even more just how much Elisif is willing to risking her crown and life to help them, Maxwell feels even worse. Straightening himself, he says the obvious. “I think it’s time I got out of Solitude. Is the boat ready?”

“I will send a messenger to check with Falk. Sybille, please remain here, then escort Maxwell to the usual meeting room.” Elisif replies, promptly disappearing from the room, pausing briefly at the threshold to cast a wan smile back to Maxwell.

 

---

 

In a guarded room, Sybille and Falk quietly observe the tense conversation between the haggard Maxwell and the concerned Elisif. Despite the strong authoritative confidence in her cadence, the underlying emotion bleeds through.

“From the bottom of my heart, and on behalf of all of Nirn, I thank you for attempting to save this world. We again owe you an incalculable debt. With the grace and blessings of the Divines, I pray for your success and safe return.”
Maxwell reverently bows, the dragonscale armour sans helmet creaking with the effort.

“Thank you, my queen. For everything you’ve done for us…for me. Especially with the Thalmor. I hope what happened or will happen…”

Elisif raises a hand. “Let me worry about them. On a final note, I can’t begin to fathom how hard this is for you. Are you certain Lady Serana won’t return?”

“I doubt she will. I hurt her too much, and all of this has become overwhelming. I know, because I went through it myself with Alduin.”

Under her softening gaze, Maxwell clears his throat. “I have one final request. Well, two, really.”

Elisif’s brow arches in anticipation. He pulls out the envelope from his pack, holding it out.

“Firstly, please could you see that Serana gets this, but only if I don’t make it. And secondly, I’ve mentioned about your plan. Please gift it to her only, but let her have the choice of accepting or declining.”

“About that, I found a house within Solitude that matched your criteria. I am in the process of writing up the relevant paperwork.” Falk interjects when Elisif accepts the letter. “If Lady Serana ever returns, we will be sure to act as instructed.”

Maxwell briefly smiles and nods in gratitude. The one piece of good news to come from this day of misery. I hope you do accept it.

With more to say despite the moment of finality now here, the trio offer their final parting wishes and depart, leaving Maxwell alone with nothing to do but wait.

Grasping Auriel’s bow from the table behind, he’s surprised when the bow unexpectedly lights up. Prompted by the dire circumstances, he mutters a prayer.

Auriel…Akatosh…whatever name you respond to. You chose me to stop this prophecy from happening with the deaths of Vyrthur and Harkon. Now history repeats itself, quite literally. You want me to go through this again? Fine. Though when this is over, he stares upwards to the ceiling, gripping the bow tighter. I am done.

Awaiting a response that is unlikely to come, he nonetheless patiently awaits. Receiving nothing, he glances downwards. The bow, unsurprisingly, has returned to its unlit condition as if no longer interested in listening to what he has to say.

Scoffing, Maxwell leans against the desk. Huh, thanks for nothing.

 

---

 

Merely 15 tedious minutes later, he finds himself escorted by several shield-bearing Legionnaires who are either sideways glancing or outright staring at the living legend in their midst. Brought to another meeting room off-centre, he’s grateful to see another familiar face.

A patiently awaiting Faralda standing in the room, ready to transport him to the boat. Adorned in Dawnguard armour and armed with a staff, wearing a troubled expression.

“It’s anarchy out there, Maxwell. The consensus is that either you or Ulfric are back from the dead.” Faralda comments when the guards vacate the room.

Unsmilingly huffs at that fact, he retorts. “Not far from the truth, Faralda. Where is Tolfdir? I expected to see him before leaving.”

“Back at the College I’m afraid. With so many members absent, his presence is required back there. However, he personally asked me to give these for you.” She replies, handing over the gifts.

Maxwell looks over them with interest. A number of scrolls, a ring and a piece of parchment indicating it is enchanted with Fortify Health; one of the strongest enchantments that Sergius knows. Thanks, yet more evidence that Sergius really know his enchanting. I wonder what this would have cost if I didn’t get the ‘saving the world again’ discount.

Passing the staff for him to hold once he finishes stowing Tolfdir’s gifts, Maxwell observes the Altmer carrying out the requisite motions. Whilst her actions are comparable, he can’t help but note just how fluid Serana’s actions were, a true master of the arcane. The smoothness of her sweeping hands, how they flexed to twist the mystical energy together.

As soon as the Recall completes, those memories disappear at the same rate that memories from the fateful day when his old life ended appear. Gripping the nearby bed post and steeling his fraying nerves, his heart beats harder; the thuds acting as a painful reminder that yet another fight for this world is what awaits at the end of this journey.

Only this time, no dragon breathes heavily behind or familiar friends stand around. Most of all, no loving partner.

Just a stoic Redguard, less his signature bushy beard.

”What’s bothering you?” Isran spits out, making his annoyance known.

“Oh, I’m remembering what happened the last time I got on a fucking boat.” Maxwell monotonously replies, giving a secondary truth to mask the primary truth. “I’m fairly certain we don’t want a repeat of that.”

Isran only offers a grunt of acknowledgement at the sentiment.

“If it helps, the weather is predicted to be clear for the voyage.” Faralda respectfully offers with a wan smile.

Through the waves of nausea, Maxwell offers a weak groan and eyeroll. Swiftly changing topic, Isran follows up with instructions to remain in the cabin at all times and various protections will be put in place. Too fatigued to put up even a sliver of resistance, Maxwell simply agrees as he takes stock of the temporary residence. Bare, except for the single bed, assorted light fixtures, a chest and a chair with table. Nothing grandiose or ostentatious.

Dropping his gear on the single bed as the mage and leader depart, he’s surprised at seeing Isran pause on the threshold.

“Maxwell, about Serana...”

He instantly summons the shield and braces behind it.

The leader quickly offers a surrendering gesture. “Easy! I’m not going to fight this time. I already paid the price.” Gesturing to his beard. A flicker of anger flashes in those beady eyes, but the emotion remains unspoken.

Maxwell warily lowers the shield, showing his acceptance for conversation.

“All I want to say is that if she returns, I will offer her a position within our ranks. She is an ally, and the Dawnguard don’t hurt allies.” He cryptically says.

“Huh. So what does that make me?” Maxwell sarcastically asks, visibly rubbing his neck to evidence the previous fight.

“Our best and final hope.” Isran pointedly retorts.

That earns the Redguard a flat, deadpanned expression. Not much of an apology, but Maxwell doesn't care enough to push back.

 

Soon left to his own devices, he’s almost knocked off his feet when the boat lurches forward, indicating that they are now underway.

Morosely laying on the bed with little else to do other than fester in his own emotional stew, Maxwell summons a Magelight and bounces it off the nearest wall. It then evolves to summoning more and throwing them in all directions, watching them float silently and bounce off each other. Deciding on something else when that becomes boring and to distract from the ebbing and flowing nausea, he exits the cabin. Auriel’s weaponry, safely stowed in his enchanted pack.

A short while and an argument later, a tired Maxwell stares up at the twinkling stars and veils of aurora, strewn and dancing across the night sky. Casually ignoring the various Dawnguard members standing guard, he silently wonders if she is doing the same at the Ancestor Glade; a province he is once again risking life and limb to save, standing in between.

No going back now, this is really it. Hopefully I’ll see you again, but if not…take care of yourself, Serana.

Notes:

Apologies for the delay with this one. December has been rough for several reasons. However, I remain committed to finishing my fanfiction.

On that, I have some news:
1) I have commissioned artwork for the intrepid duo. I will post it as soon as I receive it, although I can't advise specifically when this will occur. Maybe by the time the next chapter is ready.
2) I've been debating the merits of either doing a full-scale rewrite or a new longfic using this one as inspiration, as I really like what I've written yet there are evident mistakes (grammatical, pacing, chapter length and language used). For example, in the first chapter alone I used the word "as" way too many times as a crutch for the action sequence. I will advise on this by the next chapter posting.

As ever, thanks for all the comments, kudos, subs and everything in between. Please do feel free to comment!

Chapter 32: Fear

Summary:

Serana confronts her own fears.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, some minor violence.

As ever, minor edits might happen.

The normally serene and calm cavern, filled only with the usual ambience of trickling water and chittering moths, is obliterated when a distraught Serana materialises. Openly weeping from the devastating stress, Serana formlessly collapses into the soft grass; the tears flowing freely down her trembling cheeks and dripping onto her shirt. With her undead heart aching heavily, she tightly tucks her knees under her chin and tries to squeeze out the feelings as fast as they appear.

It was more than simple luck that the singular individual, out of everyone dead or alive, had found her. The gods really did intend for them to meet.

It had been a lingering thought she dismissed as of late, even after finding the shield soon after her prayer. It was only when Maxwell uttered the singular word – affirming what was the twisted logic of an insane mer – did the thought and fear return with a vengeance.

Remembering those words when Elisif point-blank guessed her feelings, her heart aches even more and she whimpers. Did her choice even matter? Was what they felt for each other merely a product of circumstance, or orchestrated at an Aedric level to serve a greater purpose? 

 

Time becomes immaterial when the emotional turmoil evolves to greater elevations at the now-bared truth.

 

Moths soon begin flying into her general vicinity, fluttering madly. A number attempt to land on her curled form, seemingly demanding her attention. Serana fervently shakes them off.

In a fleeting moment of mental clarity produced by the distraction, she threw up both hands by her own temples and summoned the spell. The energy flew directly inward, and instantly removed the worst of the emotional tempest by taking the sharp prongs off the pain.

She hadn’t done this since Valerica affirmed what Harkon had revealed about the granted power during an argument shortly after the ritual. Yet another devastating truth that they kept from her, only revealed to inflict pain.

Steadying her breathing and wiping the tears away, Serana remembers a sentence that was strongly encouraged during her alchemy education.

My dearest, always break down the reagents into their base, simplest components. That way, the solution should present itself more clearly.

 

Using that logic, she ruminates on every significant event that has transpired since waking.

Finding herself in an unknown time. Allying with a mortal to be escorted home.

The guilt of altering his memory because she was selfish and didn’t want to be alone.

Being treated like an individual. Joking, talking, expressing an interest in herself.

Her own father seeking her death, again.

Confronting Valerica for her selfish actions.

The first time a meaningful choice was presented and she had freedom to choose.

Falling in love, and being loved in return.

The Elder Scrolls, prophesizing her death.

Another individual after her for what she is and desiring to use her as fuel for yet another obsession; in addition to what was revealed, both about the origin of the prophecy.

Her transformations to protect him.

Maxwell betraying her confidence to said vampire extermination guild.

What he said about being willing to become a Vampire Lord to be with her, out of love and not power or obsession with surviving beyond death.

 

On that last part, she struggles the most to reconcile. Logically, it made sense. If she couldn’t become mortal, then he could become like her. The prospect of being with him in that way made her stomach flutter and heart ache even more. A long-abandoned part that she never thought would be realized. To be with someone who sees her for who - not what - she is.

That night they declared their feelings, it had been like a flower blossoming. The vibrant colourful petals making her feel more alive than she ever thought possible.

Now it was at risk of being strangled by the shadow of her fears.

 

A worrying thought then occurred.

Whilst it would be a distant point in the future, it was lurking there. Nords, across the ages, had a particular notion and practice about marriage. Yet that prospect - let alone that it had to be in a temple - was stomach churning. She had been unnerved upon finding out the history of the amulet, even after being assuaged by their talk at the college.

Especially after seeing the disastrous one her parents’ own marriage had been. Her parent’s courtship had been brief; one for strategic purposes rather than purely out of love and devotion. Unifying two houses and solidifying Harkon’s reign. It was unspoken at the time, but the same expectation had hung over her. Not that any houses or families matched Harkon’s lofty and grand expectations.  Then he got closer to death’s embrace, and it became redundant in his obsessive quest for surviving beyond death.

 

But for an immortal vampire and a mortal Dragonborn who love each other?

 

The moths soon hover over her again, interrupting that thought. Marginally distracting herself, Serana holds out a hand instead of shaking them away. One eventually lands, although whether it’s the same one that landed whilst Maxwell performed the reading it’s hard to say.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what I should do, would you?” She flatly queries, humourlessly huffing at similar memories of speaking with rats, skeletons and spiders in lieu of the sycophants of her father's court.

It flutters and chirrups animatedly in response, then launches itself away. She tracks it as it heads to the diminishing column of light from the setting sun above the central platform.

The memory of Maxwell gazing up in wonder at the encircling swarm surges within, and she slowly curls her lips upwards into a genuine smile, which then halts at the dawning realization.

Maxwell faced his fear then, despite the inherent risk. Confronting the horrors of his past. Like he had been doing this entire journey. When they fought the werewolf. When he entered the Soul Cairn. When he fought a dragon.

Her eyes widened at the deeper realization.

Just like…she had been doing. Facing her parents for what they had done. Using the Vampire Lord form (which she had never done) to protect him. Coming to acceptance with being stuck in a time period outside of what she knew. Making friends to no longer be alone with nothing and no one but herself and her thoughts.

Lost in this new thought process, the moths’ collective energy subtly becomes more relaxing. The pleasantness induces a growing drowsiness. Coupled with the growing exhaustion from the days events, Serana didn’t stand a chance to resist it.

Curled up with her wine-red auburn hair flowing over her arm and onto the soft grass, her breathing became low and slow.

She was asleep; oblivious to the confusing world around her and the fears that went with it.

 

---

 

The sound of cascading water and smell of sodden earth fill Serana’s senses to the point of waking her up.

Feeling refreshed, Serana slowly stretches out. Each joint cracking in sequence, sending a growing wave of relief throughout. Observing the surroundings again, she sat up. The cavern had now succumbed to the elements of night. Moonlight shining through the ceiling void, bathing the chilled cavern dimly. The falling waterfall of rain from the cavern hole splashes into the pooled water beneath, adding to the ambience.

Peaceful.

Standing up, Serana quietly strides to sit by the cave entrance to watch the rainfall. One of her favourite things to do back on the island, beaten only by writing. She sometimes did both, taking her current project to the window and writing on the ledge. The memories of doing it over the years surge within. It’s hard to say why she found it so relaxing. The sound of raindrops pattering onto the stone, or the earthy smell, or how it washed clean everything it touched.

Soon remembering what lies out of visual sight, Serana waits for a lull. When it happens, she instantly hovers out over the wet grass to avoid getting muddied. Within seconds of reaching the site and telekinetically summoning the metal object to her hand, she promptly returns to the cave entrance and settles back in place.

Turning her mother’s pin over, washed clean by the elements, she reflects on what it represented. The insignia, another relic from a long-forgotten era. An eight-sided arrow design, with the four cardinal arrows bigger than the four diagonals.

Meant to represent the expansion of grand power and influence.

But for her, a symbol of family.

Ironically, reminiscent of tearing itself apart.

 

She sits there for a while, until the growing light being reflected off the low-hanging clouds as night gives way to the coming dawn make her look up.

If he can, so can you. Face your fears head-on.

Tossing the pin aside where it belonged, Serana stands. Mentalling preparing herself, she started the motions.

 

---

 

Upon returning to the room as the warping dissipates, she releases an involuntary loud cry of anguish at the dreadful sight. Echoing out the room and down the corridor, Serana observes the cold room with abject horror; her breathing shallowing up immensely as a gaping forms within.

The cold, dark room, the disheveled bed, the battered door, the smashed lock and an absent partner. All indications that something horrible happened in her absence.

With reckless abandon sustained by growing dismay, Serana dashes into the hallway. Reaching a long corridor, the sounds of approaching clanging of armour forces her to stop.

Three Legionnaires ascend the stairs rapidly, with shields raised and weapons drawn. Seeing the glowing eyed intruder, the leading two momentarily hesitate, shock registering on their helmed heads. The rear one, wearing a different helmet, has recognition.

“VAMPIRE!” The nearest one exclaims, raising the shield fully and charging ahead of his comrade who follows.

Cursing under her breath, Serana dodges the sword swing with ease and kneels to the floor. Throwing her hand to the floor, the surface becomes rapidly covered with slippery ice, and the front two stumble like new-born babes trying to walk. They fall to the floor, clanging loudly. Despite the urge to modify their memory to forget her, she chose the quicker option and raised her other hand.

Except the last one, who hadn’t charged and only drops his sword, hangs onto the nearest curtain for support.

“Lady Serena, stop!!” the captain commanded whilst holding out a hand, still grasping the pillar with the other.

She pauses, the purple energy of the sleep spell swirling around her poised hand. How does he know my name, despite being one letter off?

“It’s Serana. And you know of me?”

“What are you talking about, Aletus? It’s a damn vampire!” One guard says, slipping and falling back to the floor with a clanging thud.

“And she is under the queen’s protection, you fucking moron! Remain here and keep your damn mouths shut or Akatosh take you!!” Captain Aletus states admonishingly, staring his subordinates into submission.

“Yessir.” Both replied in curt unison, flitting between their captain and her.

Turning back to Serana. “I was with the queen and her advisors when we found Haldrin and yourself, bloodied and unconscious. Please come with me, I’ll escort you to her.”

Confused at this sudden abrupt turn of events, Serana lowers her hand and dismisses the spell. Sybille mentioned a guard had seen her true nature. Fate or another coincidence that he is here?

Dismissing that thought along with the ice, the subsequent water stains the carpet and sloshes down the hallway. She politely offers a hand to help up the nearest guard, although the panicked look quickly makes her retract it.

Tentatively resting his hand on his sword handle, Captain Aletus stands to attention on stable ground.

Cautiously passing the now-ascending guards until she is alongside, he leads the way. With a silent agreement to walk side by side, they make their way through the corridors; her quiet footfall outlandishly deafened by his heavy clanging steps. 

“Where is Maxwell?” Serna respectfully queries, using the opportunity changing her eye colour. It’s not lost that his resting hand never leaves the hilt.

“Away from," Aletus started saying, pausing as he noticed the implemented change. Taking a moment to note it, he continued. "Away from Solitude. The queen will answer any questions you have.”

He then signals down the hall, indicating they need to keep moving. She quietly follows alongside again, becoming fraught with worry. What on Nirn could have happened to warrant such action? Her heart double beats, and dread rapidly builds. Did the Thalmor try to get to him?

She curses her impulse to flee Solitude. But she needed to get away from it all. The room, and what had been said and done within it, had become suffocating.

Passing by several more guards who stand to attention as the duo pass, she prepares for a difficult conversation. They must have assumed she had betrayed them, even if Maxwell had tried to convince them otherwise.

Approaching the throne room, Elisif’s commanding voice is heard as a familiar sense kicks off in her mind.

“…no longer present within Solitude.” She states, the tiredness palpable.

“Why was he here? Wait, have the dragons returned?!” A Breton loudly demands, the staccato tone cleanly punctuating above the surrounding conversations.

A silence suddenly envelops the room, then the hubbub increases tenfold as speculation spread like fire.

The captain motions her to stay put, and departs through the door. With curiosity kicking in, Serana catches the door and peeks through the gap like a kid sneaking a look into the kitchen at the forthcoming meal.

The door comes out on the side of the throne room, behind a defensive line of Legionnaires separating the queen and her advisors from the assembled crowd of dignitaries and court members in various states of clothing, from dressing gowns to full dresses. Those at the back attempting to get a good vantage point on seats or planters. Apparently there had been a high court function going on when whatever transpired had occurred.

As a hulking iron armoured Nord moves to intercept the approaching captain, his great waraxe standing in his left hand, Serana silently inhales at the difference in the high queen.

Absent her thorned crown and with dark bags under her tired eyes, betraying the evidence of an eventful night, Elisif was rubbing her nose bridge in frustration. Her wrinkles, much more visible. Yet her attention is drawn to the friend standing next to the queen. Sybille is frantically whispering to Elisif, and both glance over, surprise etching on their faces. This draws the attention of everyone else. She passively glances over the crowd with a neutral expression, noting the colourfully garbed Altmer female staring intently, then pointing and whispering ‘doesn’t she look familiar?’ to her neighbour who stares just as intently.

She turns back to the queen, who is now making a quick exit to the protestations of the crowd. Serana holds the door open, enabling the queen to come to a stop in the doorway.

“Welcome back, Lady Serana. You had us worried,” Elisif quietly says with visible relief. “Please, follow me to a more private location."

Turning to look behind, she adds. "Sybille, please retrieve her gear and you know what. Bolgeir, please go with her.”

Sybille politely bows and with the strapping Nord, who gives Serana a flat stare, disappears down an adjoining corridor. Elisif gestures to a nearby door in the corridor they are in, and then leads the way. Serana obediently follows, the dread again growing with each step.

The Legionnaires trail behind, footfall in tandem with each other. A minute later, said Legionnaires are stationed throughout the corridor and two on either side of the open door and the duo are in the meeting room. The moment the door closes, Serana instantly questions.

“What’s happened? Where’s Maxwell?? Why…”

The High Queen diligently holds up a hand.

“Patience, Lady Serana. I will explain shortly. It has been a very long night. To begin with, please put a deafening ward on the door so that we can talk in private.”

She does so as the queen takes a seat by the table. The instant it’s in place, Elisif launches into her questioning with an authoritative tone and a slightly stern expression. 

“I must ask this of you, Lady Serana: where did you Recall to? Did you return home?”

“No, the Ancestor Glade. I needed space after we had…a disagreement. Please tell me what’s happened.” She half-answers, half-pleads.

Elisif appears somewhat relieved and relaxes, but retains the slightly stern expression. Clearly meaning one thing: further explanation is warranted before further answers are forthcoming.

Taking a mental step back, Serana quickly debates on how much to reveal. What did Maxwell tell her of their argument? Chewing on that thought, she remembered their earlier agreement of keeping it simple.

Serana partially elucidates. “Queen Elisif, the trip to retrieve the bow was exhausting for a myriad of reasons, but suffice to say everything came to a head. Because of them, Maxwell and I had an argument. After it got…too much, I Recalled to the Glade because it helped me calm down, and because of fatigue I fell asleep until recently.”

Clearly wanting to press, Elisif accepts the revealed truth as it is and loudly sighs.

“Thank you, I understand. Maxwell did allude to an argument but didn't share what. To answer your question and to shorten an extremely long sequence of events...Maxwell inadvertently Shouted when he was resting, thereby alerting Solitude. Due to the Thalmor’s presence and growing crowds, he was Recalled to the ship and it launched soon after. That was...however many hours ago.”

“What did he Shout?” She asks, fearing she knew the answer.

Elisif clasps her hands together, massaging her thumbs in apparent thought.

"Please, I need to know."

“‘You killed my future. I’m going to kill yours. Sun-Hal-Vick.’ He explained it related to his confrontation with Ulfric. I suspect whatever was the cause of both that memory and your argument was due to whatever you both faced when retrieving the bow?” Elisif solemnly replies.

She couldn’t help but huff and nod. That was putting it mildly.

The way he harrowingly stared at the remains with the subsiding fury following his action, she had been right. He was remembering Ulfric. Yet another happenstance. The familiar guilt swelled, but she pushed it aside with fervour.

One thing at a time, Serana. First, get to the boat. Second, speak with Maxwell. Third, stop Harkon together. Fourth, relax. Fifth, sort out the rest.

Yet it was the second point that she was most apprehensive about.

The two continue to talk until a polite knocking interrupts and Sybille enters with a familiar enchanted pack. Accepting it with a gratuitous smile, Serana quickly examines its contents. Everything she had expected was there, and more. Her dragonscale armour, weaponry, bound journal, and most of what they found aside from the shield and bow. The surge of revulsion at seeing Vyrthur’s crowned helm is quickly suppressed. Shifting focus, she goes to don her pack until approaching footfall makes her stop. 

Both vampiresses turn to the door, hearing the guards reacting.

“Halt! The queen is attending to private business.”

“I demand to speak with the High Queen about Haldrin and that individual she is with!!" A feminine voice yells. Sounds of struggling immediately follow. "Let me pass, I order you as a representative of the Thalmor!!”

Serana’s temperament quickly evolved to one of anger, and her moue became pointedly sharp.

Elisif quickly passes the vampiresses and opens the door to the scene unfolding on the other side.

The female Altmer from earlier, attempting to shrug off the blockading arms of the guards restraining her. Seeing Serana, the agitated Altmer halts her efforts and points accusatorily with her gloved hand.

“You’re the one Haldrin has been travelling with. I would have words with you about your activity with him.”

“Second Emissary Farwen, what is the meaning of this?” Elisif curtly demands.

“May I, Queen Elisif?” Serana politely queries.

Elisif nods, taking a small stride back.

Turning to the Altmer, Serana steps closer and narrows her eyes. She was going to enjoy this moment on behalf of Maxwell.

Adopting a facade of fake politeness, she ascerbically says. “Second Emissary, let us indeed have words. In fact, let’s discuss why a battalion of Thalmor soldiers were waiting for us in the Rift. Or should we perhaps talk about how the Thalmor sent assassins after Maxwell when he ended the civil war, even onto the ship when he tried to leave?”

Serana derisively scoffs, and continues. “He saved the world from the World-Eater and ended the civil war, and that is how you repay him? You and the rest of the damn Thalmor should be ashamed.”

Farwen derisively sneers, gesticulating wildly.

“Did Haldrin tell you this? All slanderous lies. The Thalmor has no interest in him, and everyone knows the Torvuld’s Hammer went down due to inclement weather.”

"Then why are you asking about him?" Serana quipped, catching the slipup.

Farwen freezes for a moment, then exclaims. “Elisif, by the authority granted in me by the Thalmor, I seek this individual’s immediate arrest for...”

The Queen motions past Serana, standing at her full height and adopting a stern and authoritative glower.

“Second Emissary Farwen, you forget yourself. You are being egregiously disrespectful to my guest. And need I remind you, yet again, that you will address me asHigh Queen Elisif of Skyrim when we are not socialising!” Elisif warns, a veiled undertone of wrath.

The Altmer, not knowing when to shut up, continues. “By order of the Thal…”

Having had enough, Elisif waves a hand and yells a nonverbal sound, cutting her off.

“Second Emissary, for conduct unbecoming I hereby permanently revoke both your ambassadorial status and your residency. Captain Aletus, please drag her onto the first ship back to Valenwood. If she resists at any point,” burning a hole in the back of the Altmer’s head with a penetrating stare, “throw her in the dungeons. A week with nothing but rats for company should improve her attitude.”

That silences the Altmer, shock registering on her features. Aletus barks out a command, and the guards unceremoniously drag the mute councillor away as he follows to ensure her departure.

Elisif blows out a heaved sigh, massaging her brow. She dismissively turns and re-enters the meeting room, gesturing for the vampiresses to follow.

The moment the door closes and the ward kicks back in, Serana instantly apologises. “I am sorry for the trouble our presence has caused, Queen Elisif. You have taken a lot of risk to help us.”

To her surprise, Elisif loses the serious expression and respectfully chuckles. “Mara preserve me, Maxwell shared that sentiment! You are both attempting to save the world, it would be negligent of me not to support the endeavour in whatever form that may take.” Looking to the door then back. “The Thalmor Embassy will undoubtedly lodge complaints, however I have more than enough to silence them ever since you told me about their actions in the Riften Hold.”

Adopting an authoritative posture, she continues. “Lady Serana, on behalf of Nirn, I thank you. With the grace and blessings of the Divines, I pray for your success. And finally,” she then bows and concludes, “you have my personal gratitude.”

Dumbfounded at the High Queen’s bowing and uncertain how to process it, Serana cordially curtsies in response. That sentiment generates a weird feeling within. She never thought herself a hero, merely attempting to stop her father’s obsession from consuming everything in its path and leaving death and destruction in its wake.

The two vampiresses look at each other, almost akin to their first meeting all those nights ago. Serana offers a hand, which is gladly taken.

“Thank you again for what you have done, Sybille, especially in healing his injuries. It’s nice to know that not every vampire is like Harkon.”

“Some of us simply wish to live. This prophecy threatens us all, mortals and vampires alike.”

Serana huffs for a second time. That’s the most concise summary someone could have come up with about this whole debacle.

They conclude the talk, with Elisif saying Sybille will wait in the room for their return once Harkon is dealt with. The other outcome isn’t verbalised, as it would be painfully evident.

Clasping Serana’s hand for the final time. Serana motions to let go, however Elisif doesn’t. Her demeanour offering nothing of substance.

“Sybille, did you bring Maxwell’s letter?” She cryptically states.

Serana’s fine brows quiver in confounding surprise. Letter?

“I did, but he said…” The vampiric councillor falters.

“I think she should read it.”

“My queen, that wasn’t his intention.”

Elisif turns to fastidiously look at her stunned councillor. “I understand that Sybille, however I think she should read it before she sees him.”

“Of course...although what about the house?”

Now her fine eyebrows rocket upwards. What?!

“That’s partly why I want her to read it.” Shifting back to Serana with a soft smile. Serana simply stares back, completely lost for words. Did he…ask her to give me a house? Just like she did him all those years ago?

Seeing reason, Sybille extracts the sealed envelope from a hidden pocket.

Hesitantly taking the proffered item, a dumbfounded Serana flips it over only to sharply inhale when the words register. Her free hand flies up and she chokes out a whimper, missing the tiny smudge of her name.

 

‘For Lady Serana Volkeeharr, only if my blood isn’t resilient enough. (sorry if your surname is wrong. You never told me how it’s spelt!)’

 

Just as she is about to query, Elisif says. “Speak with Maxwell when this is over, Lady Serana, and then let me know your answer.”

She silently nodded, attempting to process this startling development.

 

---

 

A short walk later with the letter burning a hole in her pocket and mind, a hooded Serana enters the empty veranda and breathes in the cool crisp air. The morning sun, struggling to punch through the dense clouds. A momentary reprieve.

“I could say many words, but I will simply leave you with this: good luck Serana, and I hope to see you both afterwards.”

Sybille then departs, leaving Serana all alone.  

Without hesitation, she tore open the envelope and started frenetically reading the rough, uneven handwriting that belonged to only one individual. Her hand flies up to suppress an outpouring of the whole pantheon of feelings she runs through.

From coughing out a laugh to a damp wetness forming in the corner of her eyes, the reactions occur one by one. Finishing the letter in record time, she collapses onto a seat and tries to get her ragged breathing back under control.

How it was written, she doesn’t care. What was written is another matter entirely.

========================================

Serana,

If you are reading this, it means I’m not around to be having this conversation with you. Gods, I wish I was.

To start with, words cannot describe how sorry I am for my actions. I never intended to hurt you or reveal your secret, and yet I did. Everything has happened for you faster than when I went through my own prophecy. Much faster, and much more personally.

Sybille told me what they said to you the night I awoke. I agree for the most part. Akatosh might have meant for us to meet, but it’s now apparent that he meant for me and me alone to stop this prophecy. You have done your part. It’s time for me to do mine.

Just to be clear, this isn’t why I made the offer. I did it because you’ve suffered too much due to your parents’ whims and desires, only being used as a pawn, a means to an end, fuel for an obsession. And that no child should have to kill their own parent, even if it’s just to survive.

On a separate note, I know you saw how I looked after beheading Vyrthur. I was reminded of what happened with Ulfric and that back then I was no better than Vyrthur or your parents with my obsession of revenge. When Ulfric attacked Whiterun and killed thousands, I died when she died. What returned to Nirn was a shell, a broken man, and what little remained was consumed with hatred.

Because of that, I didn’t just behead Ulfric. I tortured him. I crossed a line with the power I have, a line that Lydia, Paarthunax and the Greybeards warned me about. By crossing that line, I became the very beasts I carry the souls of. But it was only after what happened with the Thalmor and the shipwreck which caused me to lose what little I had left, even my name, I realised that penance was exacted for my action.

The years that followed were dark and lonely by choice.

Then I found you.

It’s ironic, really. You, an undead individual of the night, brought light and life back into my darkened existence. For the first time in years, I don’t feel alone.

I mean it when I say I love you. I love you for who you are. Kind, amazing, gorgeous you, just…everything. You cared for me for who I am. You protected me, even at risk to yourself. Because of you, we did the impossible. I’m now friends with not one but two vampires. We went to and survived a realm of Oblivion. We saw places of beauty that I never knew existed. We rode on a dragon together. We found Auriel’s Bow. What’s to say what else could happen?

But I see now that perhaps you are right. No matter what we feel, one fundamental difference is too great. I never asked about your vampirism after the college because I know it is a sensitive topic. Saying that I could become like you, when you were already feeling overwhelmed…I really chose the worst possible moment…

I hope you enjoy Elisif’s gift of the house if you have accepted. Please plant some blue mountain flowers in the garden. Maybe write stories of our adventuring in the library, and experiment in the alchemy study.

I know you will, but please don’t blame yourself for anything, such as what happened with Rocky.

About Lydia…I am sorry if wearing her amulet ever made you uncomfortable. It was not my intention. I know you have always been curious about her, so here goes.

Lydia Snow-Born was headstrong, passionate, strong-willed. She spent her youth training to be a warrior to Balgruuf’s household, only to be assigned to me as House-Carl when I saved his children from those cultists I told you about. We butted heads so many times, I got a headache. It took me two months to convince her to call me Haldrin. After being revealed as Dragonborn, she stuck by my side and we grew close. She understood the weight of responsibility I had, and always said she would help carry my burdens. When she died and after what happened with the Thalmor, I stayed in Skyrim because despite what happened with Whiterun, it is still my home and it allowed me to feel close to her.

(That, and I know these lands like the back of my hand, so it was easy to disappear.)

If it isn’t obvious, she was the reason why I fought Alduin. Because she, and what we had, was worth risking my life.

Just like now.

And for the record, I never saw you as a replacement. Words cannot describe what you mean to me.

I go to face Harkon in the knowledge that if we can’t have a future, then maybe I can give you one that is free of him. I will try my best to save your mother. If I am successful, maybe a new relationship can grow between you, in the absence of his shadow.

I hope you find your peace. Remember: one day at a time, and you are extraordinary.

Your idiot,

Maxwell

========================================

 

With only one goal in mind and despite the harshness of the rays of the morning sun that now manage to pierce the clouds, Serana readies herself. Casting Invisibility as the final action, she leaps over the wall and slowly descends to the ground, landing with the softest thud.

 

Many arduous hours of travel later, Serana stands patiently in wait, recuperating her waning strength. The waves lapping close by and the salt air briskly washing over her still form. Looking out towards the vast Sea of Ghosts, her resoluteness temporarily wavers when her floating destination finally appears in the distance.

A broad yet simple galley ship, breaking decisively through the waves. On it, the various light sources illuminating the mortals moving to and fro.

Her gut almost craters in consternation at what she is about to do. 

Serana, this really could be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Approaching an armed ship, full of fighters and vampire hunters.

With energetic fervour she enacts her plan, in spite of every brain cell telling her not to attempt this. Minutes later, with tiredness cresting as much as the waves pass by underneath, Serana finally intercepts the boat. Suppressing the aura of the invisibility to avoid detection by any mage, she sees the name of the ship emblazoned on the plague at the nose.

Serana realises it was never mentioned when Maxwell was brought up to speed.

I can see his reaction first hand, assuming no one else has told him. That’ll be a good icebreaker. Better than 'Did you miss me?'

Refocusing on the main objective, she instantly hovers over the edge and dashes for a small alcove underneath a solid staircase leading to the upper deck. Hiding fully in the shadow cast by the overhang, she breathes a heavy sigh of relief and patiently waits.

Faralda steps aside to let a Legionnaire pass. Sensing a spell dismissed, she turns to investigate the source. Her staff is ripped away then tossed back. Surprised at the sudden action, the Altmer just manages to reflexively catch it in time. Surprise turns to shock when the iridescent eyes register.

“Hello, Faralda. Please could you get Isran.” Serana says to the stunned Altmer whose jaw is about to slam through the deck.

A Dawnguard member bumps into the stilled Faralda. Going to question, he notices the glowing eyed individual hidden in the alcove who stares back. Gawking for approximately three seconds, he quickly finds his voice.

“VAMPIRE!!!” he loudly shouts, hand flying to grab the crossbow slung across his back.

Uh oh.

All Oblivion breaks loose. A flurry of activity as those nearest drew their weapons.

Serana, despite the tiredness, defensively seals the alcove with ice on reflex as planned.

“It's Serana! Don't shoot! DON'T SHOOT!” Faralda loudly proclaims, quickly turning to face the approaching warriors and stepping in front of the ice barrier.

The tense standoff doesn't last long, as one rather potent smelling Redguard quickly appears. Coming to a stop alongside Faralda with the warhammer drawn, his eyebrows furrow at the odd sight within the alcove. She creates a small hole to look through, ready to reseal it should anything other than words be shot through it.

“Talk about…”

“A flair for the dramatic. I guess I get it from Maxwell.” Serana disarmingly jests. “We need to talk, alone.”

Stumped that his words were taken out of his mouth, Isran returns to the original thought. “Forget any chance of that. Lower the ice and step out.”

“Considering you are all armed, you’ll have to forgive my hesitancy.” She defensively retorts.

He grumbles, muttering under his breath. Within seconds, he waves a hand and dismisses everyone who slowly mingle away, leaving only him. Faralda and Durak standing nearby. Satisfied for the most part, Serana lowers the barrier; the water splashing onto the wood and flowing across the deck.

Cautiously stepping out, she launches into her explanation.

“Isran, before you ask, allow me to answer your most likely questions: I went to the Ancestor Glade, not the castle. I left because everything was overwhelming and I needed space. Maxwell forewarned me once that being the centre of a prophecy will do that. Yes, the queen knows of my return. Also, I understand if you hate or distrust me because of this, or because of what I am. If it helps, see me as a tool, an asset, someone to be used. Regardless, I will play my part in the upcoming fight. When Harkon is dead, we can worry about what to do with each other.”

“And the nature of your association with Maxwell?” Isran growls.

The question she had feared and hoped wouldn’t come up, but nonetheless had prepared for.

Serana braces.

“We are friends, nothing more. He knows what I am going through and has helped me navigate it. I stand by my earlier words. I care only about stopping my father and protecting Maxwell. The latter is due to our friendship.”

Severely wanting not to reveal to the other two her next thought, she chooses her words extremely carefully. Despite her confidence, an undertone of nervousness appears.

“With regard to what he revealed after our return, I would politely request that you do not ask nor speak…”

Isran holds up two fingers. A tense silence envelops. Her stomach flipped in consternation. Would more people have to find out?

“Durak, go tell Carcette she’s returned. Faralda, give us some space.”

Durak disappears, although the Altmer mage hesitates. Serana offers affirmation, and Faralda backs off but readily keeps in sight.

The movement of the ship and flapping of sails are the only noteworthy sounds filling the gap in between.

Eventually stowing the warhammer on his back, Isran crosses his arms deep in thought. 

“I have many choice words for you, but I will stick to these,” he speaks in a low tone. “You don’t know my story and I don’t know yours. But know this. The Dawnguard will honour our agreement so long as you uphold your end of it.” Opens his mouth, closes it then adds. “And what Maxwell advised will go no further.”

Releasing out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, Serana visibly relaxes.

Wanting this sordid conversation to be over, Isran awkwardly adjusts his chest armour.

“Now, if we are done here, you’re on protection duty like you were supposed to be.” He chides.

“Duly noted.” She states, throwing back Maxwell’s words.

He does a simple double take then departs to make himself scarce. Watching the Redguard disappear around a corner, she silently mouths a thank-you to Faralda.

Point one, completed. Now for point two.

The point she was dreading the most.

Making her way through the nearby door and down the central stairway into the bowels of the creaking ship, Serana quietly passes by various soldiers and Dawnguard members who speak in hushed tones. Coming to the corridor where their cabins are located, a paled Keeper Carcette stops alongside Durak.

Searching the approaching vampiress up and down, she breathes out. “It’s true. You’re back!”

“I am. In the undead flesh,” She sarcastically quips. “I assume my cabin is on the right?” She gestures down the corridor.

Despite the mix of smells of sweat, treated wood, fish, salt seawater and other associated aromas, one smell she gets almost breaks her resolve.

“Uh, yeah. The wards…”

“Are no longer required.” She neutrally replies, refocusing on the conversation at hand. To prove that point, she casually wafts a hand, curled with white energy. The faint hissing indicating the dismissal of the multiple wards.

Satisfied that no more words are needed for this conversation, Serana confidently departs the duo. Each step, somehow louder despite the creaking of the ship. Feeling the Dawnguard’s gaze consistent from behind, Serana opens the door on the right and steps within. Silently closing it, she breathes out a sigh of tepid relief. She quickly changes to simpler clothing, waiting for the opportune moment to arrive. The second it does and the corridor is clear, her door flies open and she starts casting another spell. Nervous apprehension reaches a crescendo as the final lock opens.

Maxwell, having tried again to read the donated book, groans. Whoever had gone into Serana’s room again after the muffled voices stopped talking had been moderately distracting, but he desired nothing other than to be left alone, so he stayed locked in his room combating unwanted thoughts.

Hearing the other door open, he sighs and flips to the next page. The multiple locks loudly click to the open position, and his door swings inward. Freezing and looking up in concern, Maxwell leaps off the bed. Readying to throw the book as a makeshift weapon, he lines up the shot and opens his mouth to shout at the intruder, only to freeze in place. His brain disconnects from mouth when Serana steps in and quickly closes then locks the door.

Noticing the book raised in the gormless pose, she quirks a brow whilst quickly trying to keep her feigned confidence.

“You know, I read once that knowledge can be a powerful weapon. I didn’t realise…”

The rest of the sentence is obfuscated by his overpowering presence when Maxwell drops the book, instantly rushes over and wraps his arms tightly around her. Forming a tight protective hug, fearing she might be an apparition on the verge of disappearing again.

Serana coughs out a choked laugh at the suddenness and irony. This was extremely heartwarming compared to the cold, flat receptions to her respective arrival.

Her father: I trust you have my elder scroll?

Maxwell (the first time): Serana, what the fuck are you doing here?

Her mother: Are you working with Harkon?

Now though, there was nowhere else she would rather be. She begins to return the embrace, although the moment is cut short when Maxwell backs off, mistaking her laugh for a cry of pain. Not wanting to lose it or to talk, Serana steps back into his personal space and wraps her arms back around in response. Settling against his chest, she closes her eyes and hums contentedly.

“I…”

“Don’t speak.”

“But...” He tries again with more urgency.

“Shhh.” She hushes, pulling closer to impress the notion that talking isn’t what she is after.

“I really need…”

She instantly leans back.

“Maxwell, be quiet or I’ll slap you.” She warns, tone dancing between serious and semi-serious.

Finally getting the message due to the threat of bodily harm, he keeps silent. As she settles back in place, he reforms the protective hug. One hand on her lower back, the other running through her hair. Slowly motioning side to side like a branch in a slow breeze, the motion soothing. Her breathing becomes shallow but steady, and they both physically ease into each other. Listening to his thrumming heartbeat settle into its normal rhythm to drown out her thoughts, a serene calming warmth passes through her usually cold form. Something she had sorely missed.

An eternity later, they pull back. Staring, lost in the depth of each other’s eyes. Breathing in tune, neither wanting to break the moment.

Deciding it couldn’t wait any longer, Maxwell opens his mouth; only for him to be immediately silenced by her cold hand. Serana goes to speak, only for him to put a warm finger on her chilled lips and removing her hand with his free one. Remembering a conversation method Maxwell used less than a week ago, she employs it.

“My turn, okay? I need to speak first.” She comments, leaning back from his hand as her serious deep ambers pit themselves against his nervous earth browns.

He fearfully nods and takes a polite step back to separate. To his surprise, she closes the distance again, this time putting both hands over his thudding heart. Beginning to tentatively massage his chest with the white tunic in between her fingers.

“I know you are sorry,” Serana says, weakly smiling with her iridescent eyes suddenly shimmering with a small wetness, “and I know your intention was not malicious. It will take me time to forgive, but know that I really want to, as you forgave me for what I did to you. On that, I sincerely promise I will never again affect your mind. That was a stupid, selfish impulse. Finally, I went to the Glade and thought about everything including what we have. I…”

Serana struggles to get the rest of her explanation out, the carefully chosen words almost choking her. This was proving to be one of the most difficult conversations ever.

She closes her eyes and looks away to allow the words to re-coalesce. Continuing to distractingly massage his tunic, she feels his heartrate skyrocket.

Maxwell' heart jumps to his ears, beating incessantly and drowning out all other sound. Her pause had allowed the overwhelming apprehension to obliterate into smithereens.

This is it. It’s all over. He's royally screwed up everything.

Seeing his fearful expression, she quickly offers reassurance. Tenderly running both hands from chest up to his nape, she gently pulls him closer. Joining foreheads together. Thumbs slowly massaging his warm jawline, he shivers slightly and takes a shaky inhale.

“Maxwell, I love you and I still want to be with you. Never doubt that, but please let me explain.”

He bows his head and involuntarily lets out a shuddering, strangled sigh. They couldn’t have been closer to the target of what he wanted to hear but dreaded would never be the case.

Waiting for his anxiousness to be fully assuaged, she cups his cheek and tilts his head to meet her gaze again.

“I…wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, but most of all for your offer to deal with Harkon alone. That meant so much to me. It’s…it’s the first time a choice was presented that I had freedom to choose. Because of that and everything else you’ve done for me, including showing me the beauty that Tamriel has to offer, I have never felt so respected and loved, and it’s confusing and overwhelming…but I don’t want to lose you or what we have to my own fear. Harkon’s obsession and Mother’s hatred have ripped my family apart. I refuse to let the same happen with us. The gods did mean for us to meet, yes I accept that now, but I freely choose this, us, rather than fear.”

Only the creaking of the boat around them and their breathing mar the befallen silence.

“Your turn.”

In a stark reversal of his earlier attempts, Maxwell remains hesitantly quiet and subdued.

“Please say something.” Serana quietly whispers.

Maxwell briefly tenses up, leaning heavier onto her. He sighs heavily, letting his arms fall lax much to her concern.

“Thank you Serana, although I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You trusted me with your deepest secret and I broke that, regardless of my intention. And I hurt you with what I said and did. I...” he chews his lip and continues, “I hate to ask this Serana but I need to know. What about the scrolls told me, and my…our earlier conversation?”

He nearly said “my other offer to become like you”. He didn’t want a revisit of that argument.

She merely shrugs. “Maxwell, we will deal with future issues once the present issues are resolved. As for the Elder Scrolls….well, they can tell you many things, including what may or may not come to pass. But I’m no longer afraid. And besides, we survived the Vale because we were together. We will survive Harkon for the same reason.”

Maxwell lifts his shoulders, the dense weight of saving the world alone alleviated. Serana stood straighter, shouldering the shifted weight

“I can’t tell you how good it feels to see you.”

She knowingly laughs. “Then show me again.”

Happy to prove the point with action rather than words, and his heart now inconsistently fuller yet lighter, Maxwell quietly and slowly lifts his hands, tucking her fringe behind her ears then places a lingering kiss on her chilled forehead. Serana closes her eyes and loses herself into the vortex of feeling from the simple action, something that hadn't been done to her ever. A warmth spread throughout again, prompting the release of a continuous hum of contentment from deep within. 

Nestling into his neck, feeling the steady beating of his heart, pumping the feeling that all is right with the world into her; at least for now.

“Tomorrow, we’ll have the long overdue conversation of how we are finally putting this prophecy to rest. Speaking of which, I really need some.”

They separate, this time for good. As she slowly makes for the door, Maxwell’s words make her stop.

“Oh, I meant to ask. Did you see Elisif?” he tentatively queries.

Stopping briefly at the door, her hand gripping the handle for support, Serana contemplates her response. Her mind flits back to the folded letter, replaying the written words. Not now. She wanly smiled and turned around.

“I did Maxwell, but that’s a future issue.”

Not what she wanted to say, but rather what she needed to say.

Seeing the opportunity to alleviate the tension, she remembered a question she wanted to ask.

Maxwell nods, expecting her to leave. To his surprise, Serana turns back, letting go of the handle. Crossing her arms, she maintained the smile. Rather, it grew slightly. 

“I wanted to ask, what did you think of the name? Of the ship, I mean.”

His brow furrowed. I…what?

Seeing his confusion and interpreting it correctly, Serana uncrosses her arms with a sparkling glint appears in her iridescent eyes, like a cat that caught its prey.

“The Breaking of Dawn.”

Expecting it to be a joke, Maxwell holds his questioning stare. Realising he isn’t being had, it develops into a gawking stare. 

“You’re not kidding me, are you Serana?” He murmured.

She shakes her head, her smile widening. “It was the queen’s idea. Isran supported it.”

He audibly groans, crossing his arms and massages the corner of his eyes. Of course Elisif had to come up with a name like that. Talk about a quirky sense of humour.

Risking a humoured jest, he relaxes further. “I suppose it’s better than ‘the Voyage of the Damned’.”

She politely chuckles in response, tilting her head slightly. Appearing a lot more comfortable, like her usual self. "Agreed, Maxwell."

Maxwell commits that sight to memory, right alongside the earlier one of her unrestrained laughter.

I’m going to fight like hell to survive this. She’s my future.

Unknown to him, Serana is having the same thought as she looks back, her heart fluttering at his humoured expression.

I’m going to do whatever I can to keep his spirits up and defend him. He’s my peace.

 

Notes:

I do apologise for the delay with this, so I ardently thank you for being patient with me as I got through it. As mentioned in my recently posted work, life squirted lemon juice in my eyes rather than letting me make lemonade from them. And then March happened, which is always a horrible time with work going nuts.

Thank you for taking the time to read, comment, bookmark and subscribe. I am glad you enjoy my work despite certain writing issues! The next chapter will most certainly not take as long to post.

Regarding the fanart I mentioned, here is the link (https://imgur.com/a/h30Ojxd). Done by the fantastic Kleber Oliviera (https://k0mart.artstation.com). Let me know what you think.

Chapter 33: Reckoning (Part 1)

Summary:

Maxwell and Serana face their respective reckoning.

Notes:

TW: Swearing, violence, death, dismemberment, reference to torture.

A quite bloody chapter.

Over the remnants of a meagre breakfast consisting of buttered bread and seasoned fish the following morning, the duo sit in thoughtful contemplativeness after Serana brings in the chair from her room. Despite that, Maxwell keeps sneaking glances at Serana. As if trying to convince himself that this was really happening.

Although the joyous reunion was far forgotten, the combined stiff movement of pushing around the remains of her meal and reserved demeanour conveys enough, so he leaves her alone to the myriad of thoughts pressing heavily. I can’t begin to envision what feelings must be running rampant.

Noticing him observing her for the umpteenth time – creating a warm fluttering in her chest despite the mud-like thinking in her brain - Serana pauses pushing around the remaining victuals left on the plate.

“As you can likely see, I have a lot pressing on my mind.” She forlornly states. “I do wish to clear the air about something.” Looking directly at him. “I’m sorry.”

He pauses his own actions.

“For making you think I wasn’t returning, leaving you alone to face Harkon. For hurting you. For pushing you away, in two senses of the word.”

Maxwell instantly shakes his head. “Serana, you don’t have to explain a single thing. Say as much or as little as you want.” He softy states. “And you don’t have to apologise for any of that.”

She returns with an equally tender upward lip curl and soft eye squint. The depths of understanding and forgiveness that this man – her friend, her partner – possessed, even after all he had endured, she could barely fathom it. Refocusing on the now, now that conversation had been started, Serana pushes the plate and thoughts away, clasping both hands on the table meditatively.

“Now is as good a time as any. We need discuss battle tactics.”

“By all means.” Maxwell says gesturing for her to take the lead. About time, to be honest.

“As you know, fighting a vampire lord is vastly different from fighting a dragon, undead or otherwise, or a Snow Elf. I was awake last night, because I noticed several parallels with Vyrthur…” Serana starts describing her thoughts, talking about how Vyrthur had been put on the defensive. She eventually transitions to providing details of the powers that Vampire Lord grants, in almost anatomical detail. The logical intelligence that she possesses - yet another reason why he fell for her – is evident in her words and answers, although through it all though it wasn’t lost on him that Serana was mildly struggling to keep it unemotional.

Then shifting focus, Serana spends time coaching Maxwell on what magical spells Harkon has, how previous threats were dealt with, his way of thinking in fights; not that the latter point needed clarifying when it came to a tyrannical mad tyrant hellbent on carrying out his desires. She freely admits (with what could be construed as a hint of solemnity) that Harkon hasn’t faced such a threat to his very existence for such a long time, so what happened at the Glade has put him on the defensive. Hinting at a strong likelihood of some tailor-made surprises awaiting their arrival.

“A prey backed into a corner is going to lash out with everything they have. Make that a predator…” He trails off. She agrees wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Yet another pearl of wisdom from him.

“Another question: what about the domination?” Maxwell queries. “You said you might not be able to protect my mind.”

“I know. We won’t give him a chance.” She adamantly says. “No matter what he does or where he is or what form he is in, any chance to shoot him with the bow,” she glances to the legendary weapon they had endured so much to acquire, resting in the corner with the quiver alongside, “you take it. The shorter the fight is, the better.”

“I’m glad you agree, as that is what I was thinking.” Maxwell quickly concludes, his mind flitting back to seeing Serana in action. That certainly was reason to give pause on thinking about the eventual fight. “But…”

“Maxwell, let me worry about mother, should she be there.” She leans forward, a serious expression adorned. “With the crown empowering my ice spells, I believe I can make an ice wall strong enough to protect her and myself, long enough to enable me to Recall us away. I promise you, the instant she is safe I will return. Mere seconds.”

He gratefully bows his head.

“Final question for now: I gather we won’t be meeting him at the front door.”

“Anywhere, to be honest. The main hall would be logical, or his study.” She mull over those potential locations, then huffs. “The amount of time he spends in there, staring into nothingness or poring over the tomes relating to Elder Scrolls, or watching them like they would whisper the answer to him, puts me and the time I spent losing myself in my own books to shame. The likeliest place, in my practical opinion, is none of these. Rather, the...” Serana gulps nervously. She had thought of this prospect in the discussions but didn’t verbalise it. It was the only feasible place he was going to be. Not only defensible, but to put her off-balance whilst empowering himself.

“The chapel.” She concludes.

“The chapel? Why??”

“Former chapel, I should clarify. It is sacrosanct to him. It contains a shrine to…” adding in a much quieter voice. “…him.”

Picking up on the cadence. Maxwell cautiously leans forward ever so slightly. “Is that where the ritual happened?”

Exhaling through her nose, Serana deflates and answers with a single small, meek up and down.

He can’t help but close his eyes in mild consternation, remembering the bespoke lesson. Talk about playing unfair. This wasn’t just unfair though, it was cruel, calculated.

Without hesitation, Maxwell silently offers his hand in the space between them, which is gladly taken in a heartbeat. Her slender fingers wrapping tightly around his warm digits, almost to the point of pain. She relinquishes slightly upon realising. Nevertheless, he slowly rubs his fingers over her hand reassuringly. He soon shuffles his chair closer, pulling her into a half hug, his other hand resting on her hip. She leans into his shoulder, nestling slightly for comfort.

The rather sombre conversation stops there, although he didn’t want it to. One question Maxwell held off asking is if she’s braced for the prospect of Valerica already being dead, or worse killed in their presence. He hesitates, in the knowledge that losing one parent is bad enough. Almost beyond comprehension how vile that action is, by any definition of the word.

Mustering the courage, she reaches up to his cheek, gently applying pressure to turn his head. Maxwell freezes, not expecting this action.

“I need to get this off my chest, Maxwell. It’s not going to be easy to hear, but I need you to listen.”

Satisfied his full attention was on her every word, she continued. “When we face him, he is going to taunt and provoke, to try to manipulate us. He will mention Lydia.” She says, slowly saying each word to impress their importance. “You can’t repeat what you did with Vyrthur, rushing in like that. It’s exactly what he wants to happen.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Don’t do anything foolish, even if he goes for me. I implore you.”

“I know that, Serana.” Maxwell counters. “I won’t.”

Going to add even more, Serana closes her mouth and stares at the door, hearing and smelling the approaching individual.

“Food?” Maxwell guesses, realising how long they have been talking. Hours, by this point. When it came to her though, it was time well spent.

“I think it’s midday meal.” She affirms.

Maxwell reluctantly separates. Distractedly gathering the plates, reflecting on the conversation. He unlocks the door after the individual politely knocks the set sequence of knocks to confirm they’re the Dawnguard, and Serana affirms they’re most certainly not vampiric. A prudent precaution on both counts; all of them Serana’s idea during the allied discussions.

Opening the door, he withholds the urge to groan at yet another fish on the plate in Agmaer’s hand, and a glass vial with red liquid in the other. Handing the empty plates over, Maxwell keeps a steeled straight face. Holding out a hand for the blood vial, Agmaer grows confused.

“Ah, she’s in here with me.” Maxwell explains, hand remaining outstretched.

“Why??” He sternly challenges.

“Plotting the demise of a certain Vampire Lord.” Serana interjects, not desiring further conversation.

The stern frown does little to assuage his flat stare, but nevertheless hands over the vial as well. Uttering a quick thank you, Maxwell shuts the door a touch too forcefully.

Observing the sad-appearing meal in peace, Maxwell groans.

“Fish and bread roll. AGAIN. Gods, I’d give both my arms for a proper horker ham, cured, and seasoned beyond measure.” He utters to himself, handing the blood potion to Serana and dropping the plate on the table, rattling the cutlery. Contemplating the idea of throwing it overboard back to where it belongs, he huffs.

Serana curiously watches his actions.

“What? After years of hunting my own food, I’ve acquired a taste for finer food thanks to Elisif and Sybille. They saw me well-fed.”

“Why…would you cut off your limbs?” She slowly asks.

Ah, another turn of phrase. Maxwell inadvertently fails to suppress his cheerful grin.

“Wait…is this another one of those sayings from this era?” Serana says, before rolling her eyes at his reaction. “Remember I am over a thousand years old. And I’ll take the fish again. ‘Waste not, want not.’ That’s a saying that my mother used to tell me.”

“Huh.” Maxwell surrenders the fish again without complaint, taking the breadroll. Sitting back down, he begins picking at it. I keep forgetting that fact.

“And likewise.” She innocently comments, referring to his earlier comment.

He forces out a singular humoured laugh.

Biting into the fish, Serana is gratified that her undead palate was insipid. Eating the near tasteless fish moreso to focus on it rather than picking at her sleeve. Chewing it over, her thoughts are interrupted by Maxwell dropping the bread roll onto the table and sighing.

“What is it?” She queries, pausing on taking another biting. Noting how pensively brooding he suddenly appears; a small pit of concern opens within. Not just pensive, suspect.

Expecting her reaction to be negative, Maxwell hesitates in verbalising the idea he had since acquiring the bow. This could earn me a slap.

“What is it, Maxwell?” She repeats, lowering her fork.

“How likely is it that Harkon will not attack us when we see him?”

She stares intently, curiosity piqued at this odd question.

“Why do you ask?”

“Please, answer it.” He presses, massaging his forearm in nervous apprehension.

Serna frowns. There is something acutely suspect with whatever he’s plotting on saying. Nevertheless, she plays along.

“Um, I mean…he likes the sound of his own voice. He always ensured he had the last word in everything. But with what happened at the glade it’s hard to say. He’s as likely to gut us where we stand. What makes you ask?”

“I’ve…had an idea, but I need to run it by you.”

She drops her fork, clattering on the plate, and crosses her arms under her chest. She patiently awaits the pending elucidation.

“If…” Maxwell eventually mentions.

“Yes?”

“If…if he doesn’t outright attack us….and demands the bow…”

“…go on…” Serana quietly adds, the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention in growing concern.

Maxwell gulps nervously. Now or never.

“…we should give it to him.”

He might as well have pulled out the ship floorboards from underneath and sent them both plummeting into the freezing water, which would have been a better idea.

Frozen inanimate, her breathing stops.

Serana instinctively flies into a standing pose, hands slamming down on the table. The chair topples over, clattering at the same time the plate rattles from her dropped fork. Her face contorts in abject horror. Drilling into him, her pupils constrict almost to pinpricks.

“Are you COMPLETELY INSANE, Maxwell?!!” She shrieks at the top of her voice. “Shor’s bones!! That is the stupidest, most foolish…are you that desperate to be slapped so hard you see reason?!”

She lifts a hand to reinforce the point.

Warily moving out of reach, he explains. “I can hurt him when he touches the bow.”

She glares at him for a tense minute, before intimidatingly putting the raised hand on her hip.

“And how would you manage this, exactly?” She demands, eyes narrowing. “Show me.”

He grabs the nearby bow and puts it into position onto the bed. Doffing the shield, he puts it alongside.

“You can take off the shield?” Serana queries, incredulous.

He shrugs dismissively. “Yeah, it isn’t bound. Anyway, simply do what I did. Touch it with the arm you want it on. You’ll need it, believe me.”

Glancing briefly to her partner, Serana hesitantly touches it. Feeling the small, weak sensation appear in the back of her mind, she clenches her fist.

Despite the dire circumstances, her learned mind still plays a part. As soon as this was all over, she was going to spend days poring over it to discern the wondrous enchantments. The phasing in and out was an enchantment she didn’t believe possible until she saw it with her very eyes.

Noticing Maxwell holding up a fur, she forms a pointed moue. Whatever he is about to do, it was becoming concerning. Then again, it was a weapon of an Aedra possessing untold powers, capable of affecting the power of the sun.

“Ready? This might hurt.”

Holding up the shield in response, she peers over the top, curious to see what is going to happen. Any other time, this would be comical. Returning to the demonstration, Maxwell focuses on the bow.

“Anar.” He boldly states, his voice reverberating off the walls. Almost like a Shout, but much less vigorous. Feeling the energy source, like a wellspring, responding to his word, he concentrates on siphoning the smallest amount off to activate the latent ability.

The entire bow lights up, filling the room as it begins growing in intensity.

A second later, Serana groans from the stinging both her eyes and skin. She instantly ducks behind, blinking away the lightness as the pain quickly abates. Even in her clothing, her entire skin tingles akin to an alchemical reaction.

He quickly throws the fur over it, pushing down to ensure no more light escapes. Pulling it off moments later, revealing the dulled supple contoured wood.

Serana stands at her full height, flitting between the bow and him with an inscrutable expression. She immediately doffs the shield and drops it on the bed. Moving to then righting the fallen chair. Going to sit down, she stops. Massaging the bridge of her nose in thought, Serana sighs as he re-equips the magical shield.

Despite spending spent many years alone to get use to the sun. It still hurt no matter how long, but now it was much more bearable. Akin to a slight alchemical reaction. This was borderline intolerable. It wasn’t deniable that this wasn’t the worst idea he’s ever proposed.

Maybe, given how much he desires the bow…but they would need to make it convincing, or he would suspect a ploy. But it seemed beyond ludicrous. May as well ask a horker to grow wings and learn to fly.

“Septim for your thoughts.” He gently asks.

“I know I said, ‘don’t do anything foolish,’ and this qualifies beyond all doubt.” She dryly tuts. “I presume there’s a purposeful reason for this outright crazy suggestion, other than it really hurting?” Serana says monotonously.

“Yes. To distract him, so you can get to your mother.”

She lets her hand fall lax. “I thought the summoning Shout was going to be the distraction?”

Now it’s his turn for the floorboards to be pulled out from underneath, tumbling into the water underneath. That Shout.

He sits on the bed, fiddling worryingly with the fur edge, then moving to sit back in his chair.

“The point is, I distract Harkon so that you can get Valerica out of there.”

Leaving the chair, she joins him on the bed. Her feigned playfulness appears, partially veiling a slight nervousness. “I wasn’t going to ask this, but as payback for your own crazy idea, allow me to verbalise my own.”

“Oh?” He looks over, expecting it to be on level with his suggestion.

Pouring out from the flask and filling both their cups.

“If, by the grace of Shor, mother is alive but injured,” She speaks as he begins drinking, “please can I give her your blood?”

He sputters out a choked cough of surprise, sending out a fine mist of alcohol over the table, ruining the remaining food.

“Any other time, I wouldn’t ask this of you.” She reassuringly adds. “But with its regenerative abilities, it could make the difference between life and death.”

He ponders it heavily. A weird trade. A vial of his own life force, for him killing her father.

“I can’t say I’m thrilled about the idea, but if you are happy to follow my plan, then how can I decline yours?”

“Happy? I’m extremely far from happy.” She mordantly retorts. “But seeing what you can do with it so far and it being the ire of his obsession, it might – and I stress– might work.”

They sit in contemplation, for what else could be added to a discussion of such a twin of unique suggestions.

 

---

 

The following day, including a prolonged period when the anchor was dropped to avoid landing at night, as soon as his eyes open, the anxiety begins to build further and further. Serana joins him and despite attempts to try and alleviate his, she is struggling with her own. Even being in the same room has a diminished effect.

A coded knock at their doors and message from Durak – giving the vampiress a frown for being in his room - affirmed the hourglass had reached the notched line: their destination was less than an hour away, and they should be on deck soon.

Only minutes later, Serana turns back to the door. “Someone else is approaching.”

Hearing the unfamiliar footfall. The knock on Serana’s door wasn’t the usual sequence of knocks.

“Who is it?” Serana calls out, approaching but not opening the door.

“Faralda. May I speak with you?” A feminine voice responds.

“What can I do for you?” Serana asks, opening the door.

“I have a gift for you, from Archmage Tolfdir, as you weren’t here to receive them.”

An armoured Faralda stands, a tall metal staff with an amber gem in the head in her left, and in her right hand, a slender, hollow glassy staff with a bulbous head at the top.

“A stave of Fireball and a stave of Defence?” Serana asks, recognising both instantaneously.

“Just the Defence I’m afraid.” Faralda stands it closer.

She mentally rolls her eyes. The Fireball one was so predictable, she expected many of the mages to have. Vampires made for good kindling, after all. But the Defence one, she had to respect. An exceptionally good enchantment, although her own defensive blood-based spells were far superior.

“Thank you. I appreciate the gift, I do.” She politely says, handing the staff back. “However, I would like to keep both hands free. Maybe Brelyna or Peryn can use it, especially to protect the non-magical fighters during the landing.”

“A prudent suggestion.”

Closing the door, she returns to her seat.

“A staff. You’re popular. All I got were a handful of scrolls and a ring of Fortify Health.”

“May I?” She enquires.

Maxwell passes the sheaves of parchments over from his pack. Leafing through them one by one, scholastically reading the incantations, Serana gasps.

“By the blood of my ancestors, they can do that?” She murmurs. Holding the topmost parchment and letting the others drop to the table.

“What’s wrong?”

“This scroll, the Call to Arms.” She tilts her gaze towards him. “It doesn’t work on undead. Yet this has been altered slightly, so that it will.” Looking back to it. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

Allies, freely tweaking their gifts to accommodate her nature. She would have to thank them in person, even after making them ludicrously rich with the plunder from her father’s vault.

Using the interruption as a prompt, they mutually begin armouring up.

Picking up his chest piece, his roughened hand hesitates mid-stroke. When it begins shaking on its own accord, he grabs the limb with the other hand. Get it together, you idiot.

Serana soon steps back into his room, wearing her own dragonscale and holding Vyrthur’s crowned helm under an arm.

“I don’t think Vyrthur’s helmet goes with this armour, speaking from an aesthetic point of view.” Serana comments, feeling the need to lighten the mood.

“Agreed. It seems rather uncomfortable.” He comments, putting the legendary artefacts on his back and securely clasping it up.

“It is. It certainly wasn’t made with comfort in mind.”

With not much else to do other than waiting for the final summons, the minutes passed painfully slowly. The duo checks and re-check their own gear, in a vain attempt to distract from the apprehension.

“You’re being nervous, which is making me nervous. Calm down.” Serana lightly scolds as Maxwell recounts the potion vials for the eighth time.

Seeing him wince, she changes tact, adopting a much softer cadence. “Maxwell, we have the power of the highest Divine on our side.”

“And he has the power of the Daedra on his.” Maxwell sullenly says.

Realising what he said, he takes a mental step back. Running his free hand over his face, Maxwell turns to face her.

“Uh, sorry.” He contritely apologises.

“No, you’re right. However, you also have that, the might of the Dawnguard and the best warriors from the High Queen. Not to mention a powerful, intelligent mage by your side. What more could you possibly ask for?” Serana states.

“Odahviing wouldn’t go amiss.” He chips in, wanly.

She laughs. “Point well made.”

A natural lull presents itself. Thinking of a way to try and assuage the nerves further, Serana turns her shoulder to him.

“Please could you check my shoulder piece. I think it’s slightly loose.” She lies, giving him a task to focus on.

Seeing right through it, given how she had already checked it thrice, Maxwell gratefully accepts it for what it is. Stepping over and pulling on it, ensuring the pauldron is secured, Serana tilts her head.

“I hope you recall your promise, Maxwell. The Dwemer ruin, I mean.”

“How could I forget, Serana.” He speaks. “I’ve given it plenty of thought, and I think I know which one I’m taking you to.”

“Where?” She queries, with noticeable excitement. “Blackreach?”

“No, too far underground. I won’t tell you just yet. It’s a surprise.” Finishing the check, he adds. “I also hope you remember yours, for us to return to the Glade when this is all over.”

Serana starts to appreciatively smile, then suddenly stares above with a shocked expression, managing to hear the shouted order.

“What’s wrong? Are we there yet?” He queries.

“Quickly, brace!” She shouts, motioning to push him onto the bed behind. The boat suddenly lurches forward and creaks violently, sending everything in the room towards the wall with various degrees of severity. Thudding weightily into the wall, the wind is knocked out of him. Banging his head on the curve of Auriel’s Bow, white flashes in his vision and spots appear. Serana stumbles onto the bed, landing haphazardly over their packs on his bed.

Shaking his head to shake the dizziness, Maxwell almost trips over his own feet, reaching out to grab the head of the bed.

Serana rushes to stand.

“I’m okay.” He quickly reassures.

Pulling off a glove, he summons the healing and puts it to his temple. With the disorientation quickly abating and the room no longer spinning, he refocuses on her.

“We can’t have arrived that quickly, have we?”

“Shhh.” She raises a finger, looking upwards again as she straightens her greaves, listening intently to the growing number of conversations happening up top.

“Something’s wrong. The fog is different. They’re saying it’s unnaturally dark and dense. Almost like…” She states, trailing off at Maxwell begins stammering nonsensically. Leaving his sword and pack behind, he stiffly stumbles for the door. Pulling it open forcefully, almost off the hinges, the apprehension biting down on his fraying, searing them in dread.

“Maxwell?!” Serana calls out in concern, securely tucking the Call to Arms scroll into her waistband for the penultimate moment. Quickly shouldering their packs, sheathing her dagger, and clutching his sword in the offhand, she locks both doors with a wave of her free hand.

Quickly making way to the deck level, Maxwell pushes through with little care the throngs of gathered troops focused on what lies ahead, prompting several to loudly curse at the action until they recognise who is behind it. Ignoring the hushed whispering, Maxwell makes his way to the ship’s railing.

Resisting the urge to cover her exposed skin, Serana ignores the stinging pain of the sun overhead. The troops giving a wider berth isn’t a surprise either. Nor are the suspicious looks.

Coming to a stop on the side and grabbing a hold on the barrier, the instant Maxwell sees it a vomitous feeling grows and his stomach almost flops out of his mouth, over the side and almost audibly plops into the ocean. The memories flood his panicked brain, forcing him to become rooted in place from impotent dread flooding his entire body. His gaze is transfixed on their destination in the distance. Grasping the ship’s edge, his knuckles whiten under the creaking dragonscale armour. Heartrate beating faster than a rat running along the ground, a cold clamour beyond the chilly seabreeze sets in.

Nonono!! How could he possibly know??

The dense, unnaturally dark fog – almost akin to heavy smoke - surrounds the lower half of the castle like a protective barrier, shrouding the beach and rocks in obscurity. The eddies pulse and flow from the light breeze passing over it. The various parapets stand above.

Yet that wasn’t what he was seeing. He was seeing a valley with another unnatural fog and a different immortal, world-ending monstrosity that lay within.

Pushing her way through the gap into the vacated area around him, every mortal set of eyes watching their move, Serana stands beside him.

“Maxwell?” she repeats his name with more gusto, finally getting his attention.

“It’s…its…Alduin all over again! How in the ever-loving FUCK did Harkon know about the fog?!” Maxwell half-yells, gesticulating wildly.

Serana stares, addlepated. Unable to respond, mostly because she didn’t know what to respond with, let alone how to.

Maxwell bows his head dejectedly. This couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t. One similarity after another. Damn it all to Oblivion. This really was the icing on the mammoth pile of excrement.

Serana, despite the having taken a step closer to get into his personal space, stands mere inches away. Despite the surrounding crowd and her own unease at finally seeing her former home, she partially abandons caution. Leaning his sword against the edge and dropping both packs, she grabs his forearm lightly with both hands.

“It’s okay, Maxwell. I’m here with you.” Serana softly utters when Maxwell lifts his head; the softest mention of his name to ever grace his ears.

The panic becomes subverted by a calmness, salving the frying nerves as he focuses on nothing else but her. The peaks and troughs in her irises, her perfect pale complexion, her sharp Nordic features, her parted ruby red lips. All of which are directed at him.

Desiring to give him a reassuring hug – for semi-selfish reasons – she holds off due to the observant crowd. Laying her hand on his shoulder, Serana squeezes just as hard, grounding him in the shared moment of comfort.

“What’s going on here??” Isran gruffly demands, stepping in front of an archer who shifts aside.

“Please give us a minute Isran.” Serana flatly replies, not letting go or breaking eye contact.

Stowing the apprehension onto the almost overwhelming Deal With Later mountain, now at risk of collapsing under its own weight, Maxwell regains his composure and turns around fully, lowering his hands away from the barrier and Serana’s grasp. Throwing a quick nod to say a non-verbal thank you, he points towards the fog. There really is no turning back now.

“That,” he pauses, “reminded me of Sovngarde, Isran. Alduin laid down fog to consume any soul that travelled in it, after we initially fought at the Throat of the World.”

The Redguard stammers at this revelation, as do those who overhear his words.

“Mara preserve us…” “Stendarr’s mercy…” “Akatosh guide us…” several soldiers utter, performing small hand movements over their hearts to encapsulate their sudden need for a surge of faith or in regard to those that likely were condemned forever from eternal rest.

Isran glances towards their enshrouded destination. “I assume you can clear that fog away. You did it at the fort.”

“We need to be closer.” Maxwell states, fastening his sword to his belt.

“Let’s put our packs back. We need to be mobile.” He says when Isran turns to Durak, speaking about final landing instructions.

Seeing the hidden meaning in his words, Serana silently agrees as she picks up her own. Less than a minute later, the instant the door is closed, she instantly pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Serana. I’d ask how you’re doing, but that tells me enough.”

“Any time, Maxwell. Believe me, I needed this too.” She simpers. Tightens it for the briefest of moments, as it is likely to be the very last time she could do it. Separating, she tilts her head back to the entranceway. “We should return to the deck before we are missed.”

Locking the packs in the chest in Maxwell’s room, then locking the cabin doors, the walk back is slow. Returning to the stairs, Isran waits at the top.

“Would you care to give a speech, Maxwell? Words from a living legend will do wonders for morale.” He asks, as Maxwell ascends the stairs.

His heart jumps to his throat. Public speaking was not a strong point, and he was far removed from the mindset to give inspiring words.

“Surely you can come up with something?” Serana gently prods.

Looking across the sea of expectant faces in the crowd, none of them provide any inspiration. Several painful seconds pass.

“Isran, you can have the honour.” Serana comments, deciding no words are forthcoming from her mute friend.

Isran curtly nods. Turning around and bellowing out for all to hear about fighting for the dawn alongside the legendary hero. With rousing speech over, Isran immediately calls out for the captain to raise anchor then barks orders for troops to take their station. A flurry of activity as in organised fashion, everyone takes their place. Archers at the front, mages and warriors interspersed. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the mortal kind forces inhale and brace.

The ship lurches, as the billowing sails again pushing them forward.

As Maxwell decisively makes his way to the ship’s bow, the fighters move aside or watch him pass. Although whether it’s out of respect or out of concern for him and his company, it’s hard to discern. Serana trails behind, keeping a hand on her dagger. Warily watching everyone, for more than one reason. A sneaking suspicion that she hopes won’t materialise, given how they’ve made it this far without it happening.

Maxwell takes his place atop a crate, grasping one of the guide ropes. Standing a half body taller than everyone, he faces the fog. Resolutely staring forward, readying to act.

Isran loudly commands. "Everyone, cover your ears!"

Several confused looks in the sea of faces, but they dutifully follow the command.

Serana does as well, pressing the sides of the helmet tighter against her cheeks even tighter. She wouldn’t admit it, but it was not exactly made with comfort in mind. Snow elves clearly have a high tolerance for prolonged pain. Focusing on her wary observing of the crowd,

Maxwell watches the fog grow. He closes his eyes. This was going to alert every vampire around to their arrival if they weren’t already aware somehow.

“LOK. VAH…KOOR!!”

The souls within ignite when he Shouts. The power behind it, reverberating the very air in the surrounding vicinity. It carves the surface water it passes through in the direction of the target, almost like it was creating a path for the ship to follow.

The heavy curtains of fog rapidly disperse and fade away when the Shout overrides the likely magic holding it in place. With the fog washed away, nothing remains to obscure the beach or the details of the foreboding ancient structure. All eyes and telescopic spyglasses focus ahead.

The beach, bridge and external of the structure are barren of life, beyond the statues that stand guard on it.

Settling into position, Maxwell notices Serana giving him a unique gaze.

“Don’t say it.”

“I haven’t said a word.” Serana playfully states with a carefully reposed demeanour as she casts Ebonyflesh over them, although her twinkling eyes convey the implied thought.

Maxwell manages a weak grin as the shimmer passes over him. Simultaneously flicking his hand, Auriel’s Bow appears off his back. The grin slowly disappears when he looks back to the castle.

Serana also loses her playfulness to the ship’s wake as she stares at it. Her former home, the place that she had known all her life. It was an indescribable feeling. One of many other indescribable emotions from the last few days. She jolts from her melancholy when a warm finger works its way into hers. She gently gives a grateful grip to. A risky action, slightly more personal than an arm or shoulder squeeze, but with all eyes trained elsewhere Maxwell knew he could risk it.

“Stendarr’s mercy…Serana, are those what I think they are?” Isran murmurs, lowering the eye glass.

Serana quickly lets go of the warm finger, taking the proffered spyglass. She quickly peers through it, letting her eye adjust to the target.

Keeping a keen watch on the castle and the bridge, there’s no signs of movement.

She curses under her breath. “That is indeed what you think they are. But they’ve increased the number of constructs on the bridge. Other than that, the area appears clear. I still suspect they are in tower, ready to ambush us.”

Satisfied with that answer, Isran turns to Maxwell.

“Maxwell, remember. Don’t Shout again unless you absolutely must. Conserve your strength and stay back. Let my Dawnguard deal with the rest.” Isran says with his usual stern stridency, re-iterating what was agreed in the planning.

He simply nods. It all makes sense of course, but the need to stay back…that’s the part he’s struggling to reconcile.

There is nothing else to do but wait.

The wind blowing over them, the ship creaking underneath, tilting up and down slowly as it crests each wave.

Every mortal and one vampire, waiting for the moment to strike.

Then, a half mile out, Maxwell pulls out a moonstone arrow.

“What are you doing?!” She loudly exclaims, prompting others to turn.

“Shooting an arrow through a window.” He responds, adopting the firing stance and drawing the fine bowstring back. This was going to be interesting.

“I know you are adroit with a bow, but even you can’t make that shot!”

Levelling the bow, he steadies his breathing. Focus. Aim.

Focusing on the bow’s energy, the command word springs to mind.

“Laure”

The intricate design and bowstring light up; the magic channelling into the arrow which begins to glow. Those nearest take a quick step back, afraid at either the action or the Elven word. Serana glances away, the bright light stinging her eyes more than the sun.

He then lets loose.

With barely a sound from either the string or the arrow, the radiant projectile sails straight and true. Like a bolt of pure light, it streaks across the open water.

Right through the window.

Almost like a lighthouse on a shoreline, a burst of light appears then fades.

A momentary lull as those around observes in incredulous shock the feat that has just occurred before their very eyes.

Amidst this, Maxwell slightly inhales when he holds up the bow. Feeling the energy recharge from the sun which crests from behind a cloud, Maxwell maintains a stoic face. That took a lot more energy than anticipated. Best use that ability sparingly.

“Focus up!” Isran bellows.

With all eyes returning to the approaching landing site, Serana leans over.

“What happened? Wait, is using the bow draining you?” Serana pointedly asks.

“Only the bow’s energy.” He answers. Seeing her disbelieving frown, he adds. “I promise. It’s an odd sensation, that’s all.”

“You know I spent years observing Harkon’s sycophants.” She warningly states. Inching closer, she adds, a breadth above a whisper only he could hear. “Please don’t lie. We can’t. Not now.”

“I know, Serana. It didn’t drain me. Honest to Akatosh. It just felt very strange.” He replies, a flash of guilt passing through him, remembering how much she had been lied to in her life. Changing the topic, he asks. “What does that mean? Adroit?”

“Ah. A word from my time. It means ‘skillful,’ ‘masterful’.”

“Huh. Then you are adroit with magic.” He jests.

She manages an eyeroll, before focusing on their destination whilst keeping her senses alert on the immediate surroundings.

The minutes painfully pass by.

“Shields up!” A Legate loudly commands. The ambience changes as shields are raised to shoulder level, followed by chanting from several mages. Summoning defensive white wards in between the gaps in the various physical shields. Serana joins with her own bloodward, pulsating, and opaque above her, Maxwell, and others nearby.

Another minute slips by until the ship finally lands, crunching heavily onto the stony southern beach. The instant it does, soldiers and mages alike quickly disembark. Dropping to the ground, they fan out and secure the immediate area.

Then, as expected, an intense flurry of crossbow bolts, arrows, and projectiles – both hot and cold – rapidly appear from the windows and roof as individuals become visible. Dinging off the magical and non-magical shields like rain on a roof, the archers begin returning fire, followed closely by elemental projectiles from the mages not concentrating on the magical barrier. Several fall to arrows that slip through; those that are injured are quickly seen to by those in reserve.

Out of the tower doorway, armed thralls appear, followed by a handful of heavily hooded figures. Serana notices they are variously degrees of scorched.

A detachment of Dawnguard and soldiers break away to engage the approaching foes.

“Dawnguard, kill them all!” Isran, surrounded by a shining aura, tauntingly bellows as he raises his enchanted warhammer – also glowing brightly - above his head to the cheers of his fellow compatriots. Serana internally winces at the uttered words.

Cold steel and pointed bolt meet sharp tooth and clawed hand as the mortal forces of the day clash with the scions of the night.

Throwing out a lightning bolt – connecting with a thrall archer and sending it writhing - she can’t help the thought that the Dawnguard are more than relishing this endeavour. They are almost giddy. Making short work of the thralls and death hounds like kids at a sweet roll store.

As Serana begins throwing out ice projectiles with her usual ease, Maxwell takes shot after shot, hitting the mark every time. Pulling out another arrow, he realises there is no energy drain when firing mundanely. An infinitely spawning arrow quiver? Where were you years ago!

Up above in the tower, the shower of bolts and arrows shift from those on the beach to the ship.

“Form up! Protect the dragonborn!” Durak commands. “Archers, tower!”

He passes Auriel’s bow to his off hand. Summoning the shield and holding it up, the nearest mages and soldiers tighten up, forming an impenetrable magical and solid barrier. Serana refocuses extends her blood ward, the energy drain intensifying. Several archers focus fire on the tower, their bows twanging inharmoniously.

Maxwell mentally curses. The dragonscale armour. The perfect way to identify them. May as well put a huge target on their backs saying, ‘We’re the ones you want to be aiming at.’

Resisting the urge to deafen everyone and Shout the tower down, he grits his teeth as the projectiles all bounce off harmlessly, each one an attempt to end his life

Above the commotion, Serana hears a weapon unsheathe from behind.

Her hackles instantly stand to attention.

Spinning instinctively on her heel, with her free hand she uses Telekinesis to effortlessly push the luging soldier backward, the dagger narrow missing Maxwell’s back by a hand width. Breaking the formation apart, the soldier stumbles off balance into the Dawnguard warrior behind, then onto his back. Arrows begin making it through it through the gap, thudding into the deck. One lands in the soldier’s abdomen.

“DEATH TO THE DRAGONBORN!” The aggravated soldier throatily yells. Despite the injury, the enthralled soldier tries to get to his feet, only to be kicked away by Serana.

“He’s enthralled! Don’t kill him!” She exclaims, pushing the stupefied Maxwell back and standing in front. “Maxwell, focus! Keep that shield up!” Serana commands, trying to give him something else to focus on.

Prompted by the instruction, the formation reforms. Under protection again, two of the nearest archers grab the soldier, restraining him. Pulled back, the soldier thrashes and writhes wildly in their clutches. The weapon, in the scuffle, falls by Serana’s feet.

“LET ME GO! HALDRIN NEEDS TO DIE!!” The soldier angrily yells, the visceral hatred extremely defined.

“Take him below!” Durak commands. The soldier continues screaming and shouting as the two, joined by a third to restrain his legs, drag him off.

Picking the discarded weapon up, Serana recognises the aroma coming off the bladed edge.

Liquidised Canis Root. Meant to paralyse. This had Orthjolf’s signature all over it. Creative, really. Wait until the point of landing, then in the chaos have the thrall activated.

Even from afar, he never stopped trying to mess with her. Still, at least he’s soon to be no more.

Tossing the dagger over the edge, Maxwell’s eyes are glazed over. Almost elsewhere.

“Maxwell, focus!!” She grabs his chin, wrenching him away from the memory.

“Agreed. There’s nothing else to do but not think and push on.” Maxwell slowly replies.

With the arrows lessening, now that the Dawnguard had entered and began thinning the crowd within, the formation breaks apart.

“Disembark and reinforce! You two, with me.” Durak instructs.

Following the Orsimer, Serana hovers down to land gracefully. Maxwell, on the other hand, lands less gracefully, almost stumbling.

Standing straight, he keeps his thoughts to the straight and narrow path. One foot in front of another. Towards his destiny, yet again.

Beside him, Serana sticks to his side like two glued together pages. This was already the agreement, but there’s a more noticeable edge. Every step he makes, she follows almost in tandem.

Leaving the watchtower to the soldiers, along with the more heavily wounded, the Dawnguard and mages – along with a phalanx of soldiers - begin heading towards the bridge. Archers and mages fan out, keeping weapons levelled towards the inanimate statues.

Awful crunching and cracking noises suddenly sound. Every single statue activates at the same time. Each one then charges forward, their sharpened limbs swaying back and forth threateningly.

“Mages, target the neck and hip!” Faralda loudly yells.

Thanks for telling me about their weakpoints, mother. Serana silently comments to herself.

Maxwell fires an uncharged arrow. The arrow flies true, albeit far slower than the light version. Hitting the target in the neck, to Maxwell’s surprise it shatters into pieces, which disappear as they fly in all directions.

He harshly hums in dissatisfaction. A charged shot might certainly destroy them in one hit, but the sensation was proving very distracting. May as well use the tried and tested method to take these bastards down.

Stowing the Aedric weapon on the clasps, Maxwell summons the bound bow. Recommencing firing, the ethereal arrows now deal damage.

Shifting focus to the right flank, the line collapses. Two constructs break through, stabbing and slashing as they go, felling a handful of warriors.

Maxwell stops firing. A wellspring of dismay burgeons in his chest. Not on my watch.

Stepping forward, an iron-clad grip on his arm halts his movement.

“You can’t risk yourself.” Serana warns.

“Fuck that, Serana! I’m not going to let more people die when I am standing right here!” Maxwell loudly swears, trying to wrench his arm free. This was a mountain that wasn’t going to be moved by any known means. He’d failed with Whiterun. He was not going to repeat that mistake again.

Despite the risk and deciding to use this prove that not all vampires find mortals disposable, Serana seizes the opportunity.

Giving Maxwell a look that held a singular promise, she lets go and gestures forward. Without hesitation, he breaks out into a run. Circling behind the main body of fighting, taking a few shots to cover their allies. Serana follows suit, throwing out ice shards and bloodbolts.

Approaching the construct, it knocks the shield out of the way of the warrior’s arm, stabbing it in the leg with its other appendage. The warrior bloodily screams in pain. Serana speeds up her approach, breaking from Maxwell’s side.

Sensing her, it extricates its blood-covered limb in a sweeping arc. Ducking underneath with ease, Serana pushes the limb with all her strength, forcing the construct off-balance. With the other limb, it slams into the closed helmet, knocking the warrior back. Slamming into the wall, they fall limply to the ground, both weapon and shield sliding out of their grip.

Hovering to reach its height, Serana puts a hand on either side of the head. Ice builds up quickly from her fingertips, freezing the construct’s head.

“Now!” She loudly calls out, letting go then dropping to the ground.

Up close and personal, Maxwell fires. An ethereal arrow shoots upwards, blowing the iced over head to pieces. Rendering it inert, the construct falls to the ground. Threat destroyed; they turn their attention to the fallen soldiers. Sensing the heartbeat coming from only one, she dashes over. Sliding onto her knees, she fastidiously ignores the tantalising aroma of the pooling blood.

As Maxwell drops alongside, pulling off his gloves, Serana carefully removes the helmet off the unconscious Dawnguard to check the head injury. His black hair matted in blood and sweat, slowly dripping into the armour and onto the floor.

Maxwell instantly recognises the individual. It’s the Nord man that confronted him on the rooftop.

Several Dawnguard move to intercept, weapons drawn.

“Wait!” Maxwell commands, holding out a hand whilst retrieving a health potion from his waist pouch.

The Nord slowly opens his eyes.

“Wha…!” He croaks out, trying to get away. Looking to comrades in concern, before groaning heavily from his injuries.

“Easy. Let us help you.” She gently states, gesturing an open hand for the extricated healing potion. Maxwell hands the vial over. Summoning the healing spell, he quickly puts both glowing golden palms on the thigh wound. Feeling the wound knit back together, he redoubles the concentration as Serana gingerly supports the Nord’s head to pour the potion, stopping when the Nord groans or coughs from their ministrations.

“What’s your name?” She kindly asks, brushing aside the mottled fringe.

“Jor…Jorgul.”

“Thank you, Jorgul. Rest easy, you’re in good hands now.” Serana says with a soft smile. Sensing his unease grow even further, she adds. “I promise you are not going to die this day. Furthermore, I am sorry for the loss of your family by my kin.”

His eyes widen in apparent shock, which she maintains the soft smile.

Maxwell grunts, lifting his hand away to inspect the wound, now healed leaving fresh scar in its place. The blood, mostly reabsorbed.

Satisfied her mortal ally was no longer in peril, Serana puts the partially drunk vial in Jorgul’s nearest hand.

Whilst this went on, the last constructs fall.

A whooping cheer sounds, filling everyone with hope at this first win. Serana and Maxwell share a mutual look. These were just the foot soldiers, the bark. The foes with the bite had yet to reveal themselves. And then the master of them, with the worst bite.

Using water that had pooled in a fallen nearby section of the wall, she washes her hands. Once complete, both navigate their way through the crowd, Serana warily observing the assembled warriors as she walks through them, in case any opportunistic member is hoping to get a big notch on their axe handle by killing a Vampire Lord (even after what has been done).

Despite some bristling and noticeable discomfort – even with saving one of their own - it seems Isran has convinced the Dawnguard to keep true to their word. Isran himself, standing at the forefront, appears to be having difficulty resolving fact with hatred. Nevertheless, the glint of something in his eye and lessening of his frown alluded to respect.

“Shall we?” She gestures to the portcullis.

With watchtower and bridge secure, the allied vanguard cautiously advance. Surveying the visible windows and roof areas, there’s no movement or further ambush. Coming to a stop, the duo watch the Dawnguard place the containers containing corrosive acid on the weakpoints, everyone waits with bated breath.

Serana silently views the decrepit entrance with its closed iron portcullis as the lit fuses burn down. Over the threshold. The end of the road, the end of her past. Hopefully not at the cost of her, their, future. Mother included.

Thud-clang. Only the two iron-wrought bounded wooden doors and all that lay within stood in the way of the immense reckoning.

Adjusting the crowned helm again, Serana sees a Dunmer mage shift into position with her staff of Fireball. An idea forms.

“Lights up!” Someone yells, triggering the next stage of the plan.

The mages start tagging Magelights to the non-casters who also begin lighting torches. Instead of assisting, Serana pulls Isran, Faralda and the Dunmer mage into a huddle, laying out her improvised plan.

Feeling the opportunity in her absence (and guessing what she was proposing), Maxwell summons a luminescent orb and tags it to a waiting Dawnguard member.

Turning around once agreement is reached, Serana notices the hovering glowing orb.

Approaching, as he tags another soldier, she comes to a stop with an incredulous expression.

“You’ve been practising!!” She cheerily commented. “And how bright they are!”

“I had a good teacher.” Maxwell retorts with a cheeky grin, ignoring the weird facial expression of the soldier.

She couldn’t suppress the wide smile that appears, as well as the fluttering warmth in her chest. Taking the opportunity, she has a blood vial. Feeling the fresh infusion, she steadies her resolve.

Second phase complete, Isran issues a verbal command to hold fast much to everyone’s surprise.

Setting her feet in place, Serana throws up both hands, the embedded gem glowing intensely. Summoning two curved ice walls, forming a perfect 180-degree semi-circle of protection, with a small dip where she stands for the next action.

With affirmations, she throws lightning onto the door then ducks. The crackling bolt strikes the wood, blowing it apart. As the doors burst to smithereens, unleashing a volley of deadly shrapnel; of which it all thuds into the ice barriers. The second it is clear, she drops the ice, the water pooling over everyone’s shoes.

Inside, darkness. Pure darkness. The ideal environ for an ambush by creatures of the night. Just a shame there is one of their own kind, ready to spring the trap.

As soon as the ice walls drop, Brelyna and the Dunmer mage fire overcharged fireballs. Behind them, for good measure, Maxwell chants “Laure” again.

Whumph! Whumph!

The fireballs sequentially explode, incinerating the waiting ambush, prompting shrill shrieking, and screaming. The arrow goes over the threshold.

KA-FUMPF!

A blinding light, forcing everyone to break eye contact with the entrance, obliterates the shrieks and shrills into total silence. Only the lapping of the waves fills the absence.

Looking to the sun, Maxwell holds up the legendary weapon. Feeling the fresh infusion, he tries to send the thought into the lit bow.

Remember what I said. When this is over, my life is no longer your plaything.

The Dawnguard - emboldened by the attack - raise their own weapons and begin collectively yelling ‘FOR THE DAWN!’ “DRAGONBORN! DRAGONBORN!’ although a small minority yell ‘HALDRIN’ but are quickly silenced. They part as he quickly lowers the weapon, clearing the way for him to take charge.

Thrust into this position, contravening Isran’s directive to stay back, Maxwell renews his wavering determination. Motioning forward, the acrid foul smell of burnt remains and scorched wood hangs heavy in the air. Voluntarily abandoning Isran’s directive as well, Serana steps in front and commands all to stop.

She then sends out a vast wave of blood red energy, sailing through the air in a curved wave. Triggering a cacophony of detonating spells. When it reaches the doors at the other end, they slam open and are almost wrought off their hinges.

As the wave continues penetrating into the main hall, blowing through the barricade at the top of the stairs, mortal kind advance. The light sources illuminate the darkened room charge. Various tables overturned to provide protection; new barricades built. Behind them, along the sides, stand numerous vampires. Significantly less than expected.

“Kill them all!!” Several shout in near perfect unison. They start flinging small ceramic pots that fit in the hand. Several are managed to be shot by the Dawnguard. Smashing apart, they spill their contents.

Black, putrid smoke, shifting as though it had a mind of its own.

She and Isran share a look through the chaos of battle. A weapon that she had warned about. Not been seen since she was a child, let alone prior to her slumber. Death-Smoke. Harkon’s own foul creation. Designed to constrict the airways and blind, subduing enemies without risk to themselves.

“FUS!” Bellows out from behind.

The Shout pushes the vast majority upwards into the rafters, with some returning to sender. Moments later, the smoke now chokes the vampires.

“Take them!” Someone bellows, prompting a united battle cry from those not affected by the smoke that got through.

When the Death Smoke descends to the floor, the Dawnguard advance. As cold axe and blade fall, sweep and uppercut, vampires start losing limbs and heads. Both take to the frontline, leading the charge. Covering her mortal partner with superior magical prowess and reflexes as he makes full use of the Aedric weaponry, taking shot after shot and deflecting projectiles with the shield.

Throwing out another ice shard, Serana side-eyes her companion, letting go of another arrow as he slides to a knee to duck under a bolt. Seeing him in action with both the personal training as well during combat proved he was good. But this felt different, as every arrow hit their target with uncanny precision, even if it was likely an otherwise bad shot. At one point, it appears as though the arrow curves ever so slightly to hit the running target.

Reaching the back, the double doors open. Waiting within, a dozen vampires with twice as many leashed canines of the deathly variety, clearly awaiting an opportunity to charge into the fray. Every undead begins moving forward.

His arms muscles screaming in agony from the constant shooting, Maxwell holds up the shield. Mentally unleashes the pent-up energy, the shockwave pushes through, sending all eight undead flying. The sounds of bones cracking when they hit the back wall at full force.

Seeing his fatigue, and despite her own building up, Serana sternly commands. “Fall back Maxwell, I’ll deal with these.”

Taking several moments to take a breather and down a high-strength potion of Stamina, the barking of hounds from the side corridor make him spin around. From further down come two more snarling beasts. Just behind, their master unbuckling a clay sphere from his belt as he lets go of the leads.

Quickly downing it, he discards the vial and readies an arrow. A fireball flies from the side. The vampire somehow manages to send it further down, causing it to explode far behind. The sole vampire throws the clay pot. Maxwell instead fire upwards. The arrow shatters the clay pot before it gets closer. Both hounds make it under, as the smoke blocks vision of the corridor behind them. They leap through the air, snarling. Intent on mauling a limb each.

“FEIM!”

Each one passes through his ghostly visage. Spinning on a heel, unsheathing the sword in an upwards swing, he dismisses the effect. Slicing straight through the neck and leg of the first dog, the second lands. The mage swings the staff, hitting it on the head. Dazed, it stumbles into his sword thrust.

Looking up, Brelyna stands triumphant with a weak smile, straightening her armour. Maxwell flashes a grateful grin.

Suddenly, from within the adjacent room a bloodcurdling cry rises above the other sounds of combat.

“PERYN!!” the Altmer viscerally screams at the top of her voice, remembering who had gone to flank.

Extracting his sword from the now-dead hound, he follows her around the corner. Several meters within the side room, the opportunistic hound master – having slunk through when the Death-Smoke obscured vision - tosses aside the now silent Peryn to the ground as if he was now trash. A pool of blood forming around, soaking stone and fabric.

“HEALER!! MAGE DOWN!!” Maxwell yells.

With the blood dripping from the mouth, staining the armour, the vampire throws out overcharged lightning. Brelyna holds up a ward as the crackling bolt slams into it. From behind Maxwell looses an arrow. The vampire twists its upper body unnaturally, yet the projectile punches right through the chest with ease.

Its attack weakens until it falls dead on top of the prone mage.

The Altmer tosses her staff to the side, blindly rushing forward. Pushing aside the healer who rushes in alongside, the distraught mage cradles her friend’s head in her lap. Stroking the sweated hair away, she panickily holds him as the healer tries quickly to deal with the chest wound. Pulling out one of his remaining two Health potions, he hands it to Brelyna.

Peryn slowly reaches out, grasping at the faint thread of her fallen fringe.

“Save him!”

“I…I can’t! The wound…too deep!” The healer exclaims, holding the spell as the blood covers their splayed hands.

Seconds later, the limb falls slack, as does his head.

The sobs pause.

Maxwell immediately drags himself away, quickly moving away as the sobbing wails follow in stride, quaking his resolve.

Leaning against a wall nearer to the entrance, he can’t shut out the sounds no matter how hard he tries.

He knew the inevitable cost of action would be high this day, and that the cost of inaction or failing would be incalculable beyond compare. Yet he had allowed the College to join. Self-doubt creeps in. Maybe if he pushed harder, refused their help entirely. They would still be alive, enjoying whatever their association was. At the time of Saarthal, they had been students. And now…whatever it was they were, it was no more. All because they came to his aid.

Shaking his head, Maxwell stomps it all down with great difficulty. Focus. Don’t lose your nerve now, or all of Nirn follows Peryn. Don’t let his death be for nothing. Let it mean something.

In the midst of this transpiring, the main room falls silent as healers begin to tend to the injured and the warriors the slain. A triumphant cheer drowns out, tinged by the ongoing wails.

Almost bumping into an unkempt Serana who had rapidly approached to investigate. No words are needed to advise whose life had ceased. Her hand lands on his shoulder, and he clasps it hard with a free hand, ever so briefly lifting up the forlornness to show his gratitude. She merely squeezes, knowing the simple action plus her presence offers a modicum of comfort. The surviving fighters curiously observe the interaction. Yet once again she completely ignores them.

She observes the destruction with conflicting feelings. Indifference to the loss of her kin, dismay at the loss of her mortal allies. Today was going to be a bloody day, and they were not done yet. That, and this is a microcosm of what would happen if they should fail here today. She also couldn’t quite place it, but there was a niggling concern biting at the periphery of her thoughts. These had all been vampires. Not any thralls.

Just as Serana begins to think on it, a blood covered Isran quickly approaches with troops in tow, holding the glowing warhammer non-threateningly. She quicky adopts a neutral façade, dropping her hand.

“He’s not here!!” He glowers.

“I did warn you he would throw everyone and everything in the castle, Isran! That’s the mark of a tyrant who is scared. As he isn’t here, he will be in the chapel." She answers, not meeting Maxwell’s side eye. “Where he will be the strongest.”

The location he hoped wasn’t the case, but knew it was naïve to think that.

A warrior lifts up a full of plucked signet rings. “He has retained allegiances of the Mountain Fists,” holding up the one bearing the familiar clenched fists, “and the Night Brood,” holding up another with a crescent moon with three inset stars. “The others, I am not sure of. Do you recognise them, Serana?”

She goes to reach out, but Isran picks up the engraved jade ring. His scowl intensifies to the point his eyes almost disappear under his bushy brows. His breathing becomes forced but unmeasured.

“Which body did this come from?” He tersely queries. The warrior silently points to a body three metres away.

“This fucker is from Undying clan. Near Hammerfell. I’ve seen their handiwork first hand.” He growls vocally, closing on the face down body.

With a mighty roar, the Redguard grabs his warhammer. Swinging it overhead as the enchantment began glowing, he smashes the skull into smithereens. Blood and bone go flying in all directions, landing on the legs of everyone nearby. He repeats it, over and over, ensuring beyond all reasonable doubt the vampire couldn’t return from the dead.

“Control yourself, Isran!” Maxwell yells, going to reach out. Serana stands in front, subtly shaking her head. He gives her a quizzical stare.

What are you up to?

Contorting her body to momentarily block view, she motions to Isran then clenches the same hand which briefly ices over. She then flits her gaze up to the ceiling. Following it, he sees the gem glow brightly then fade.

He gets the idea.

“Let’s push on.” She neutrally says, turning towards the western hallway.

A chorus of emphatic cheers follow.

With the Redguard leader and a dozen armoured warriors, Serana leads the way. Maxwell hot on her heels, trying to keep pace. Following closely, the thought reoccurs. Now that they had breached, they were truly in the viper’s nest now. And the predators were lying in wait, letting the prey come willingly to them. A dangerous combination. With them likely waiting in smaller rooms as she had predicted, combined with the numerous traps, this served the perfect way to whittle down their numbers by attrition.

Serana, though, was having a different thought. Walking through these corridors, the shadows of her former home burgeoning in her mind like swells of the ocean outside. Every nook holding a painful memory, every room playing out a scene. Now, all steeped in the poison of her father’s obsession.

Navigating through the maze of corridors, traps are easily identified and dealt with. In one instance she picks up a nearby ornament, then tosses it onto a non-descript stone brick. The corresponding bolts that shoot down from behind an archway thud into the opposite stone wall.

With her heightened senses allowing her to indicate where and how many, they begin the next phase. Making use of the summonable shield’s flashing enchantment, rooms are cleared with ease.

In a corridor away from the main hall, Serana instructs. “On the left, three. Isran, come with me. We’ll deal with four in that room on the left.”

Meeting his gaze, the gem starts to glow brightly. He gives a singular up-down, gripping the shield tighter. It was time.

“Enter after I blind.” Maxwell repeats to those behind. They take position on either side of the door, crossbows ready. He kicks open the plain-looking door. Within, another darkened room and three sets of glowing irises staring back, all now illuminated. Crouched behind an improvised barricade, they start firing. Crouching down, the bolts bounce harmlessly off the shield. Maxwell touches the back of the shield in readiness, like the times before.

Nothing happens.

He tries it again.

Nothing.

Uh oh.

As more crossbow bolts thud into the shield, he opts for the other feature now that it was sufficiently charged. Planting his feet in a defensive stance, Maxwell unleashes the pent-up energy. The wave pushes outward, sending the room into a descent of chaotic madness. The furniture making up the improvised barricade smashes apart, covering the ground and vampires fall to the ground in a shower of splinters. Standing back to allow the trio to enter, he waits. The resulting twanging and thudding evidencing the deaths of their foe.

On the right, as soon as the undead are slain, Serana falls back to the threshold.

“Isran, forgive me. I do this to save you from yourself.” She quickly states, touching a hand encased in ice to the doorframe as the embedded gem glows.

Isran’s bellow becomes muffled when the ice builds up covering the entire door, becoming several inches thick. The illuminated shadows of the warriors move on the other side, followed by non-rhythmic thudding.

Seeing this, Maxwell reaches for the ringed handle.

One of the warriors glances up. Shock registering on his face.

“What are you doing, Dragonborn?!” He stands to attention, as do the others.

“Saving you too. I’m sorry.” He quickly states, closing the door.

Serana, now closer, quickly puts her hand to the frame, sealing this side entirely in ice as the handle begins jiggling.

“Isran is going to murder you for this.” He wistfully remarks.

“A risk I’m willing to take, especially if it means saving my mother from a crossbow bolt to the heart. Besides, you saw how he was losing emotional control.”

He merely hums in agreement. She had a valid point, and one he could eagerly get behind. They needed no further unstable elements.

Satisfied he got the secondary meaning to her latter sentence, Serana stares down the corridor.

“Care to cast Magelight again?” She smirks, a small warmth fluttering across her heart.

He does, renewing their luminescent orbs as the old ones phase out of existence.

“Here goes nothing.” She slowly says.

“Hey! That’s my line!” Maxwell turns his head with an arched brow.

She gives her disarming smile, coupled with a soft squint of her eyes. “Not anymore.”

“First my blood, then my heart, and now my lines. You know no bounds.”

She heartily laughs, resisting the urge to pull him into a tight hug. Settling rather on a shoulder nudge. Wanting to keep this distraction going, she almost falters on not revealing the letter.

“Nor do you, with…” She pauses.

“With my, as you call it, generosity of spirit?” He weakly grins, misinterpreting the intended words.

“Yes, precisely.” She half-feigns a smile back.

Passing by more rooms, Serana simply opts to seal the doorways with graceful ease, rather than deal with those within. On the seventh room, he remembers to bring up a point.

“Remind me, how many charges did that flashing blindness have?”

“Twelve, then it needs to recharge for a day.”

He pauses when she freezes the next room over.

Shit.

“That’s bad. Um, I used the last one on that room.”

“Maxwell!” She admonishes. “We needed that!”

“I know, but it’s hard to keep track when you’re beset by vampires intent on your death.”

She sighs heavily, before shrugging dismissively. “At least the other effects are still useful.”

 

----

 

Several corridors later, a recognisable odour makes her wince. Musky parchment and sweet Breton gin.

Serana puts an arm across, blocking Maxwell from moving pass the archway. Pulling him back, holding up three fingers then to the left then to her head. Understanding the plan, he nocks an arrow. Closing her eyes, she reaches out towards the unnatural sense. The instant she finds the sources, her hands becomes coated in purple veils of energy.

Twang-twang, thud-thud.

The two bolts lodge themselves in the opposite stonework.

With lightning crackling in one hand, ice forming in the other. Both turn the corner and come face to face with the vampires at the far end holding the now empty cross bows. Without hesitation, they fire off their attacks. The lightning shocks the vampires into inaction, and each respective projectile finds its mark, with both vampires dropping dead; an arrow perfectly centred in an eye and an ice shard to the heart.

“Where is…” He goes to say, moving forward. Serana again puts her arm in front.

“Hello Orthjolf.” She calls out. “It takes more than darkness to conceal your decaying foulness from my senses.”

The door on the right creaks open. A male vampire, with pronounced Nordic features ranging from the blonde hair to towering stature, stepped out into their shared light. Wearing similar regal armour, enters their shared light. Hands folded behind his back, and a potent scowl to match Serana’s own.

Maxwell starts to lift the bow up, but Serana lays a hand on his forearm. The inference is clear: let her manage this one.

“Hello, Lady Serana. I see your paramour is still alive. How pleasant.” The elder vampire sneers.

“Maxwell, please meet my father’s persistent shadow. And the one who tried have you killed on the boat.” Standing in front, she stood at her full height. “A chance he won’t get again.”

“Is today the day you claim your father’s throne?”

“No. This is the day his madness ends, for good.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“Says the one who blindly follows. You had such promise, until you fell for his lies.”

“And you will fall today. Harkon is more powerful than you can imagine. I merely wished to see you one last time, to remember your face. The face of a traitor’s daughter.” A ghost of a smirk graces his lip corner.

She lightly scoffs, letting the pointed barb bounce off the emotional shield.

“Save your crass comments Orthjolf, because as much as I would like to indulge in your penchant for conversation, we have somewhere to be. Be a good thrall and run along. My Dawnguard friends would like to meet you.”

Orthjolf sardonically replies. “Your so-called ‘friends’ will be dealt with in time, including the High Queen and her bitch. As for your traitorous mother, it has been a privilege to witness her deserved punishment.” Failing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips again. “Now for yours.”

He begins to raise both hands, lightning crackling around both. A titanic bolt of lightning blows through his left arm, leaving nothing but a charred stump. The force of the impact sends him flying into the wall then the floor. His spell goes wide, destroying part of the wall.

Serana lowers her hand, the overcharged crackling ceasing. Striding nearer, amidst the cries of shock, she sullenly speaks. “I should kill you and be done with it, but you have information I require. That is the only reason you are alive.”

“I would not like to ruin his surprise for the both of you.” The vampire angrily rasps out between coughs.

Anger flooded Serana’s veins, burning like fire. Waving a hand over Orthjolf, the ice crystals forming on her fingertips. The summoned ice builds up over the limbs except the head and upper chest, the rest of the elder vampire is encased in ice, rendering him completely immobile. The vampire snarled belligerently, straining against the restraints. A comical sight, but Serana wasn’t laughing. She would never dare do this, but all bets were off on today of all days.

“Protect me.” Serana commands without turning, kneeling, and pulling both gloves off, dropping them by her foot. Putting both hands up on either temple. Orthjolf thrashes fervently. Closing her eyes, Serana initiates the mind read. Under her hands, the vampire continues to squirm but much less significantly.

Despite his extremely focused psyche resisting the intrusion, she intently peels away the layers of focused determination one at a time. Forcefully, if she had to.

Hunting. Seeking answers.

Images begin flooding her brain with each layer, both recent and historic. Hushed conversations, speaking with thralls, putting together proposals, marching the cattle and captured sailors to the now restored garden walkway for some unknown purpose.

One memory makes a shuddersome feeling overwhelms her, severing the connection as she loses focus entirely.

“MOTHER!!” Serana screams at the top of her voice, causing Maxwell to jump out of his skin. Recovering his senses, he drops to a knee and violently shakes her shoulder.

“Serana?! What’s wrong? Are we too late??”

She struggles to mention through the prickling tears, threatening to burst through the cracks in her emotional control. In between shuddering coughs and breaths, with shaking hands she casts Calm on herself. Maxwell remains mute, allowing her to process whatever devastating information she’s picked up. Half observing the corridor they came from, the unconscious vampire and behind them, he maintains the awkward crouch.

With a measure of control now established, Serana gathers her thoughts.

“She’s…alive. But Harkon, he…he’s found…the Bloodstone Chalice. It’s…an incredibly ancient artefact.”

That name means nothing to Maxwell. Yet it sounded ominous, and the irony quickly hit harder than a giant’s club. Of course, he found a damn relic.

She continues. “I don’t know if it came from…Molag…but it is rumoured to empower a vampire to their utmost potential…by using the blood of another. That is how they faced us at the Glade during daylight, because he’s using…”

“Your mother’s blood, to enhance their own.” Maxwell sullenly concludes the sentence.

Collapsing against the wall under the pressure of this revelation, he bows his head in dismay with a hand on his knee. Hard to say which was more horrifyingly macabre. Sacrifice his only daughter to darken the sun or use his wife to empower himself and his right-hand minion. One thing was clear, his obsessive madness knew no bounds, and yet another reason on the ever-so-long list of reasons for him to be ended this day.

Furthermore, after seeing firsthand the power of Serana in Vampire Lord form and the bespoke education on the boat, a dismal thought occurs.

This was Alduin all over again. From fleeing from the first fight to grow stronger, to hiding in the mist. Right down to the Shout, the solitary advantage that gave him the needed edge to win. And even then, it took the Voices of four to bring the World-Eater down.

Panics threatens to creep in.

Keep it together. Focus. Retain control.

The slumbering elder vampire begins to murmur incoherently, making them stand to attention.

Orthjolf’s eyes soon open once sufficiently awaken.

“You are your father’s daughter indeed.”

His words become a suckerpunch to her gut, making Serana almost bend over from the impact. In her vengeful anger, she had gone against her own word and done something that her father would do: using force to get the desired information.

Done with this entire debacle, Maxwell nocks another arrow. Serana puts her hand on his front hand and pushes down hard. The projectile hits the ground beside the prone vampire, shattering into pieces which disappear.

 “Serana?!” Maxwell, glancing in abject confusion.

“Let him leave.”

He gawks.

“…what?”

“I said: let him leave. He has another purpose he can serve.” She loudly commands.

Maxwell, unsure of this change, acquiesces. He wasn’t going to argue with the instruction. Standing with back to the nearby wall, he slowly lays a hand on the sword hilt just in case the vampire chanced an attack of retribution. Waving a hand, the restraining ice softens. She then hovers several feet off the ground, the dreadful aura enshrouding her lithe form like a wispy coat.

“Orthjolf, let my mercy be both a blessing and a warning. Tell every vampire you cross that they will join my father in death, should they ever cross our paths.”

The now standing Orthjolf stands bemused at this sudden turn of events, having expected his own life forfeit.

“GO!” She yells, shifting threateningly closer. Like a rat, he rapidly scurries down the hallway.

Once out of earshot, Maxwell asks. “Where to?”

“The chapel is not far now. Let’s ready up.” She neutrally replies.

Spending precious pain-staking minutes to reapply the defensive spells, she humorously watches her friend muddle through reading the modified scroll. Fumbling the complex incantation. Serana eventually takes it from him. Completing the incantation with a clear voice, the enchantment kicks in. A sensation of invigoration incorporates with the myriad of other effects in place.

“I’m ready to finish this, Serana. And…I will Shout you-know-what as soon as we enter."

She hesitantly steps back, the aura beginning to cocoon her lithe form.

“Wait!”

To her shock, he puts Auriel’s Bow on his back, then takes off the shield. Putting it against the wall, he gestures to it. “Take the shield.”

“What? Why?”

“Take it, please.” He pleads. “Don’t argue with me on this.”

“Too bad Maxwell, because I’m going to.” She says, her voice raising by an octave. “You need it more than I do.”

“The bow will protect me.”

She wants to believe that, and seeing what he can do with it, she does believe it. But she presses on.  

“If I take it, I can’t transform. We need all that we have!”

As his impassioned plea falls on deaf ears – ironic given her heightened hearing - he goes to grab her upper arms. Remembering at the very last second her aversion to being handled like that, Maxwell clutches his fingers together instead, then lowers them to his side. Serana steps forward, putting her ungloved hand to his cheek. He turns a small degree but stops. Feeling the coarse facial hair and very warm skin underneath, she takes her time to verbalise the thought.

“Maxwell, forget what the Scrolls told you and listen to my voice: we will survive this.”

“Serana, please!!” He implores more forcefully.

Despite the multiple levels of reservations, Serana eventually relents. Reaching out with the same raised hand, she touches the shield without further resistance. He visibly relaxes as it dissipates from existence.

With nothing left on the to do list, Serana silently leads the way.

 

Eventually, the moment she had been dreading arrives. Reaching the penultimate corner, Serana slows to a crawl then a stop. Her body is willing itself to push forward, but her brain was not cooperating. For she didn’t need to see what was around the corner to see it.

The arched black metal door, bearing the face of her Prince. The one part of the castle she never desired to return to, under any circumstance. All former emotion is displaced, leaving only one. A swelling chasm of despair. She stands on the precipice, about to fall in.

Like that day.

 

==========================

 

Walking ceremoniously slowly to the entranceway, Serana stares blankly at the approaching door. Adorned in a figure-hugging colourful flowing silk dress that accentuated her features, with an amulet bearing His symbol hung around her neck. Her similarly dressed mother keeps pace alongside. Her father - looking worse for wear from the disease - slowly follows, watching them astutely.

In the throne room on the far side of their residence, his most loyal court members awaiting the outcome of this auspicious day; ready to prove their undying loyalty.

Under Harkon’s gaze, Serana leans closer when they stop in front of the door.

“Mother, I feel anxious.” She says in a hairs’ breadth above a whisper. “What if it doesn’t work? What if…”

“My dearest daughter.” Valerica softly interjects, her cadence extremely soft, which doesn’t quite match her facial expression. “You are overthinking it. Immerse yourself in our Master’s presence. Pray that he finds you worthy.” Briefly directing a neutral stare to her husband, Valerica turns back and gives a small smile. “You must do this for you have been chosen. Remember what was promised.” Her gaze turns to the door.

The words provide little comfort, but Serana gladly took whatever comfort she could. She takes a deep breath, reaching out to grab Valerica’s nearest hand to cross the threshold together. Mother and daughter, united in cause.

But it isn’t there. It is on the door handle, hesitantly opening it up to their new Daedric Prince within.

 

==========================

 

Serana is wrought out of the painful memory when a warm hand slowly works its way into her cold hand, clutching tightly. Grounding her in the moment.

“Hey.” Maxwell slowly speaks, garnering her full attention. His cadence, easy and inviting despite a keen sense of nervousness.

“What?” Serana slowly asks, searching his face for meaning.

“I know you have my letter, but I thought you might need reminding...”

She lets go of a shuddering exhale as Maxwell pulls her clasped hand over his heart. Even under the thick dragonscale armour, the rhythmic pulse could still be felt.

“…you are my future. And you are in here now and forever…my Lady Serana.” Maxwell emotively declares, stepping closer slightly, adding her title at the last second. Once meant as a playful jest, now encapsulating more.

Her dead heart swells with life and love, and she breathes deeply, drawing from his presence. Becoming visibly calmer, the chasm of despair closing with every breath and heartbeat. Her learned brain knew that Lydia would have a permanent place in his heart, despite what had transpired. But the words - now and before - let her own heart become unfettered.

Mentally, she repeats the unspoken solemn promise, one that been present in her mind – in some form or other - ever since they rescued Dexion all that time ago. A promise of keeping him safe.

This room claimed her life that day. It will not claim it again nor his today.

“I will never tire of hearing that, my Courtier.”

“Nor will I of saying it, my Lady.”

Separating despite the lingering urge to keep holding hands, they make their way around the corner.

Serana summoning the shield with her left hand and preparing a bloodbolt in her right – the crimson red energy swirling around her fingers – and Maxwell nocking an arrow, ready to utter the three words despite what could happen.

Side by side.

Daughter of Coldharbour and Champion of Akatosh.

Mage and warrior.

Royalty and low-born.

Vampire and mortal.

 

CRACK.

 

The last archway which they just walked through explodes in half, and the hidden solid iron barrier within slams down into the ground with a deafening finality, cutting off their retreat.

Standing bewildered, the ominous creaking of the black door opening on its own volition garners their attention. Turning around, the known and unknown horrors within are now visible; all of which makes their respective features contort in complete horror. Serana fills the corridor with a distressing scream, her hands shooting up but failing to suppress it.

 

History is once again repeating itself, although the scene before them was a far cry from the throne-sitting pale skinned snow elf behind a transparent ice barrier.

 

Illuminated by what appeared to be windows, the large pulsating crimson-red wall of blood energy and the parted army of familiar undead standing sentinel does little to obscure what is behind. Hovering atop a large circular font before a monstrous shrine whose demon-like face resembles that of the individual hovering just in front. A bony crown filled with thorned prongs adorning his sloped grey forehead. In his regrown right hand, a curved sword - black as a starless night - held to the exposed neck of a kneeling, chained half-naked auburn-haired individual. Her dried murky blood heavily staining the alabaster skin and the tattered remnants of her armour. A shadow of a shadow of her former formidable self.

Duke Harkon opens his maw, exposing larger than normal incisors and jagged teeth marred by black blood. Speaking without moving his mouth, every word soaked in sinister malevolence to choke the moment.

“The family reunion is now complete. Come. We have much to discuss.”

 

Notes:

Translation:
Laure - Aldmeri for 'Sunlight'
Anar - Aldmeri for 'Light'
-----

My sincerest apologies for the delay in getting this out. Because it is the culmination of a lot of facets, it took time to put together. This is quite possibly the largest chapter I've written. I've also had a strong touch of writer’s fatigue and a game I have spent too many hours in already and completed twice. *Slides Baldurs Gate 3 out of sight.*

I wanted to get this out as I've rewritten several parts of this, so by putting this out I can solidify my liquified brain and actually focus on the last two chapters. As for the rewrite...well, it continues. On that, it will be a separate piece of work once it is finished. (No chapters here will be updated beyond edits, but saying that I did update a small part of chapter 27 “Discussions” to include an additional question from Maxwell to Serana and vice versa, in order to accommodate a couple of parts in this chapter.)

As ever, thanks for all of your kudos, comments, subscriptions and bookmarks. Let me know what you think!