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On the balcony of Lakeview Manor, as Masu flopped onto one of his chairs, finally allowing himself a break from the festivities; he couldn't help but think humans are weird. So insistent on holding on to their pasts. When he mentioned one drunken night that the anniversary of his hatching, or “birthday” as the humans put it, was approaching, they'd looked at him as if he’d admitted to having secretly adopted a child and insisted that they celebrate.
He wasn’t sure it was necessary, but hey, who was he to turn down an excuse to get drunk?
The Saxhleel let out a breath that was part sigh and part chuckle, shaking his head to try to alleviate some of the buzz. The sound of paws against wood and a huff next to him told him that Meeko had decided to join him. Without looking, he reached a hand over the side of his chair and gave the old fleabag a gentle pat on the head, receiving an appreciative whine in return. The lovable mutt was starting to get on in years; was probably just as tired from all the commotion as he was.
He was pretty sure his home hadn't seen this much excitement since he’d built it with his own two hands (that summoned the atronachs that did the work), though he supposed that’s what happens when one parties with (mostly) nords. If he were a betting man, he’d wager if one stood on the outskirts of Falkreath and pointed an ear to the east, they’d hear the songs and laughter of the drunken lechers he called friends.
And speaking of his friends, just about every one of them had made it to this not-so-little shindig, creating a small army of the greatest bunch of assholes he’d ever met. From his spot, he could see all sorts of revelry going on in his own front yard, from first meetings to happy reunions.
At a makeshift target range set up by the Companions; mostly made up of wood cut in squares with crudely drawn targets because hey, if it works, it works, Jenassa was showing off her skills with throwing knives to the new-bloods. It was adorable watching the normal cool and collected dunmer pretend not to preen under their praise, coldly demanding they fetch her knives for another round, yet unable to hide the small upturn of her lips.
With the pups occupied, the inner-circle were free to make their own fun. Vilkas sat at a circular table, dragged out from the saxhleel's own kitchen for the occasion. Alongside him sat Golldir, Kharjo, Inigo and Eorlund. Masu was surprised to see the old man so far from his forge, but he supposed the old blacksmith was still a Nord and thus, could not resist the call of songs, fellowship and, most importantly, drink.
In their hands were sets of Nordic playing cards, illustrated with the many gods of their pantheon that Masu had lost track of. Unfortunately, honourable warriors do not make good gamblers. The poor Nordic trio glared at their hands as if they'd declared their favour in the Thalmor, while the pair of Khajiit looked quite content with the mishmash of coins, trinkets and whatever else the humans had been willing to put on the line. The two seemed to be playing their own game, trying to see who could swindle poor sods out of the most winnings. Masu would have felt pity for them if it weren't so damn funny.
While Vilkas was losing a game of wits, Farkas wasn't fairing any better. In typical nord fashion, the man had loosened his lips with a few mugs of mead and began to boast about his strength to anyone who cared to listen. It was just his luck then that the only one who cared to listen was Borgakh.
As an orc and the daughter of a chief at that, Masu was hardly surprised that she'd demand he put his money where his mouth is, challenging him to a wrestling match then and there. Eager and honour bound to accept - because nords are weird like that - the two drew a circle on the ground to act as their makeshift 'ring' and went at each other.
Farkas put up a good fight – he'd be a pretty poor companion if he didn't – but Borgakh was an orc trained by her chief in the art of battle since she was old enough to walk, he was not beating that in a test of strength. The nord didn't seem too upset about it, though. In fact, the Saxhleel had never seen someone get their lights punched out and look so smitten afterward.
The only Companion he couldn't see was Aela. He'd seen her talking with Derkethus when the party started. She'd been particularly interested in his dragonbone crossbow and he'd been just as eager to show it off. Last the dragonborn had seen the pair they'd been heading into the forest, their weapons in hand and something competitive shining in their eyes. He should probably be more concerned about that, but hey, it was the forest's problem now
There were others around too. Frea and Uthgerd were trading cultural proverbs (mostly about violence and women), while Mjoll was drunkenly telling Erik tales of her times as an adventurer, her arm around the boy's shoulder while her other hand held a mug of mead.
Ralis and Mercurio we're off to the side talking about a potential job opportunity. Seems the dunmer got in contact with someone offering a lot of gold for some trinket or another that wasn't in some barrow, and Ralis needed some help getting to it. Though he may be done with tombs, he was far from out of the treasure retrieval business. Masu made a mental note to talk to Ralis later to get a piece of that pie.
Funnily enough, the only ones not drowning in their cups were two of his housecarls, who seemed adamant that someone be responsible and aware, and it certainly wasn't going to be him.
This made all this more amusing as Lydia and Rayya watched on with looks of exasperation as Jordis drunkenly sang the song of the dragonborn alongside Annekke (Masu made a mental note to get her a healing potion or two. The last thing he needed was an angry nord husband at his door).
Now that he thought about it, Illia and Aranea may have been sober as well, but they had gone off with Serana around the back of the manor to poke around at the stone magic circle. He knew a more sensible person would remove the damn thing and be done with it, especially considering his first encounter with it involved a hostile Altmer mage and an armed skeleton, but the Dragonborn just couldn't bring himself to do so. Not only would that be so much work , but Serana seemed to like it; gave her somewhere to experiment with her magicka, she said. Sometimes he'd even see her there in the evenings, sitting on the stone slab with a book in her hands, just staring off into the sunset. She’d even started planting some nightshades around it to make it look less depressing. She made that spot into something that was her own, and if you asked him, that made it worth the occasional accidental summoning of an otherworldly horror. Gave the housecarls something to do at least.
Masu paused, a bottle of ale inches from his lips, and let out a sigh before placing the bottle on the small wooden table to his left. By the Divines (the three or four he could remember), when did he get so soft? If his siblings could see him now, they’d tease him to Oblivion. He could picture it as clear as the lake behind his house, the amusement and mischief in his sister’s eyes as she poked at his scales, saying they had gone as soft as the skin of the human he was so fond of.
Course, if she ever learned said human is one of the most dangerous variants of vampire known to Mundus, and had more in-depth knowledge of daedric conjuration and necromancy than most high elf mages learn in a lifetime (probably because she can, and most likely had outlived them), she would be much less amused.
“That's a pretty big smile for someone who's missing their own party."
'Speak of Nocturnal, and she will listen.’ He looked over his shoulder and saw the Volkihar princess herself (she’d set him on fire if he ever called her that aloud) sauntering towards him. It was, frankly, alarming how easily she could sneak up on him like that. He grew up near the heart of fucking Black Marsh, where knowing your surroundings was hammered into you as soon as you’re old enough to know crapping your pants is no longer cute. He'd like to think that, with everying from bandits, vampires, dragons and a weirdly determined mudcrab wanting to kill him like it’s the local passtime, he’d kept those teachings to heart.
Despite this he smiled as he looked over his shoulder, “Yeah well, I like drinking as much as the next- '' She gave him a bland look. “....Okay, probably more, but if I hear someone sing the Song Of The Dragonborn off-key, I am Fus-Ro-Dah-ing someone.”
He ignored the pleasant warmth that formed in his belly at the short laugh he’d earned, taking another swig of mead while Serana pulled up a chair and a small table she’d dragged with her, placing it between them before sitting next to him. He frowned at the absence of sweet, warm, mind-numbing nectar on his tongue, before throwing the now worthless bottle over his shoulder.
“You know you’re going to have to clean that up tomorrow, right?” She gestured to the revelry going on. “Along with….all that.”
“Don’t forget the headache I’m going to have to deal with,” he scoffed. “But hey, that future Masu’s problem, the poor bastard.”
Another laugh, another burst of warmth he pointedly ignored. When he heard something being poured, like the alcoholic he was, he honed in on it, and turned to his friend and noticed the blue bottle in her hand, along with the wine-glass in the other.
Argonian-Blood Wine. It was both surprising and unsurprising how taken she had become with the drink after finally accepting his offer to live with him. Yes, he knew the joke was there, and of course, like the good friend he is, he teased her about it for two weeks, and no more.
“Ah I knew I could count on you, Serana,” he reached for the glass, only for her to move it out of his reach. The look of utter betrayal on his face must have been amusing, if the smirk on her face was anything to go by.
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think giving more alcohol to the guy who can summon a thunderstorm with a misplaced word is a bright idea,” she chuckled, not even the least bit apologetic for her betrayal.
You make a whirlwind in the chicken coop one time and no one lets you forget it.
“Now that's just rude, Serana," he said with a deadpanned sigh as he settled back into his chair. “Guess I’ll just sit here, boringly sober and talk your ear off.”
“Oh the horror,” she chuckled, downing her glass before topping it up again. She truly is a nord at heart. Why she didn’t just drink from the bottle, he had no idea, but it was charming to watch nonetheless. “So, what do you think? Not bad for your first birthday, right?”
The Dragonborn paused to contemplate. He looked upon the drunken nonsense his friends got up to. He saw Rayya dragging a passed out Jordis into the manor, Vilkas looking like he was about to jump over the table to strangle Inigo, and Uthgerd having her turn against Borgakh.
"I love it," he decalred, turning back to his friend with a shit eating grin. "I can't imagine doing this every year though. That sounds exhausting."
Serana let out a thoughtful 'hm' as she drank from her glass. "Well, maybe next year we can try something.... smaller, I guess."
Masu tilted his head, a crimson scaled eyebrow raised. "You mean like you, me and the housecarls?"
"Well, actuallt...." she paused, as if considering something, before shaking her head. "....Nevermind."
“If it was nothing you wouldn't have brought it up,” he insisted, leaning on the arm of his chair as moved closer.
"I was just thinking.... Maybe you and I could do.... something. I don't know."
Masu was better at reading human faces than most of his kin, yet he couldn't for the life of him describe what he was seeing on Serana's face. If he didn't know any better (and he usually didn't) he would say she was…. embarrassed?
That was new.
"....what kind of 'something'?" He asked slowly. Something about this conversation felt…. different. Like he was stepping into new territory.
For a moment, Serana didn't say anything. For a second, he thought perhaps he shouldn't have asked, when she spoke.
"....I heard the College of Winterhold dug up a new tomb?" It came out more like a question than it should have, yet she soldiered on. "Been a while since we've done any tomb raiding, and I know how much you love grave robbing."
"I prefer to think of it as 'recycling''," he corrected. "And I'll have you know I've gotten some of the best treasures from dead people."
"Oh have you now?" She chuckled, grateful that the awkwardness from earlier had lifted somewhat.
"That I have. See this necklace?" He fingered the gold amulet around his neck. The charm was circular with various Nordic runes carved into it. At its centre was a chunk of sapphire. If one looked closely into the stone, they might notice the almost hypnotic swirling of the magic within. "Got it at the end of a barrow."
He reached into the side of his leather boot - he'd forgone his usual dragonscale armour for the occasion - and pulled out a daedric dagger with symbols that glowed a menacing red carved into the blade. "This dagger? Got it from a draugr deathlord." He didn't bother pointing out the Aetherium Crown. That was a given, always there, sitting atop his brow. "Heck, even you were-"
His mouth shut like a steel trap, so fast you could hear the air escape between his lips. The damn thing had always been too fast for its own good, and by the time his brain finally caught up, it was already far too late.
They spent what felt like a long, awkward moment just staring at each other, neither believing he had just said that. He blinked, she blinked, then they both turned away from each other, suddenly finding the surrounding forest quite interesting.
Damn his impulse. He was happy his scales were already dark crimson, otherwise he was sure his blushing would be obvious. He runs a hand through the black hair-like feathers that run through the curved, backwards pointing horns atop his head, wondering which he should be embarrassed about; the fact that he compared her to an object or the fact that he called her his favourite treasures?
Both? Probably both.
A beat of silence passed, both of them feeling too awkward to say anything. They weren't strangers to sitting in silence; there were times where they'd spend hours in each other's presence saying nothing, simply doing their own things. This felt different; as if something needed to be said, but neither of them knew how to go about it, whatever 'it' was.
He risks a subtle side-glance at her and sees the quickly glance away again. Great, that meant they were both unsure of how to take what he'd said. That was….good? Better than her being upset, at least.
Neither of them knew what to make of this and the silence is only edging further into awkwardness so - despite it getting him into this mess in the first place - he opens his mouth to say - something. He didn't think that far ahead.
Thankfully, she beat him to it.
"So- uh….why don't Argonians do birthdays?"
Well that didn't sound forced at all . Still, it was a lifeline and he was desperate enough to take it.
"Oh, um," he flounders, trying to mentally gather himself. "Well it just…. Wouldn't work I guess?" He scratches his reptilian jawline, trying to think of an understandable explanation, probably for longer than the question should merit. "Saxhleel celebrations are more of a community thing. So really it’s less about the individual. We have something similar though.”
“Really?’ He’s not sure if genuinely interested or just trying to move the conversation further away from the awkward silence, but he appreciates it nonetheless.
“It’s called Chukka-sei. It’s pretty much a naming day, where all the younger Saxhleel gather and…. lick a tree,” he explains, and okay, when he puts it that way, he can almost understand why the other races think they’re so weird.
Serana lets out an amused snort, then her eyes widen when she realises that yes, he’s actually being serious.
“Okay, let me rephrase that,” he says before she can make a bad joke (that’s what he would have done). “We lick the sap from a Hist -tree.”
“So wait, you lick the magic sweat off a sentient tree-” He really wished she wouldn’t say it like that. “And then…. What? You just have a name? Just like that?”
"I mean, there's a bit of mystical mumbo-jumbo in there that I'm sure as Sithis not smart enough to explain." He chuckled. Masu would never admit to anyone just how cute (ugh, yep. Definitely getting soft) it is when her face scrunches a bit like a hatchling trying to decipher where eggs came from whenever she’s trying to understand something.
"But…. How does it give you the name? How does it even know what name to give you?"
"The Hist just knows , I suppose. Though there's usually a theme around naming you after your most prominent trait." Masu shrugged, honestly just as stumped on the subject as she was. "For example, my sister's name is Histhera, which in Tamrielic, literally translates to 'Bashes-With-Mace'."
"That.... sounds incredibly lazy."
Masu once again shrugged. "Well when you've been naming a race for a few centuries, you'd probably run out of ideas to-"
"Wait, hold up!" The vampire nearly spilled her wine as she straightened up in her chair, her brightly yellow eyes wide with realisation. "You have a sister?!"
He flinched back, startled by her sudden outburst. "I– uh– yeah," he stumbled. "Got a brother too."
Masu could confidently say that he was better at reading human faces than most of his kin, and he was pretty sure she just went through all of them consecutively. Her mouth made several motions, but no sound left her pale lips as she processed this new information.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” She exclaimed once her brain finally caught, her tone laced with more surprise and urgency than he felt this topic demanded.
He raised his hands in the universal ‘I surrender’ position, not really sure what to make of this impromptu interrogation. “You never asked!’
He immediately knew that was a stupid answer when she sent him the most frustrated look he’d ever received - and he’d received plenty - before releasing it all in a sigh. When she looked at him again, there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t place.
“....What are they like?” She suddenly asked
Masu blinked. “What? My siblings?” He grimaced. Right, dumb question and the deadpanned look he received was entirely deserved, but he was caught so off guard by the question that his brain turned off for a second. “Uh – well, Histhera is pretty much what it says on the bottle; she a meathead who can swing a mace hard enough to break stone and will eat your entirely pantry out if you let her.”
“She sounds.... weirdly similar to most nords,” Serana pointed out. Masu paused, because yeah, now that he thought about it, the similarities were uncanny.
“You know, as hilarious as that is, She’d probably punch you for saying that.”
“Kind of proving my point there, big guy,” she quipped, earning a hearty laugh from the Saxhleel.
“True. She’s sweet though, once she likes you. Has a weird way of showing it, though.” He thought back to his trial of maturity, where her gift to him, in celebration of his success, was the snot beaten out of all the Saxhleel that ever bullied him.
That was a good day.
"What about your brother?"
Masu smiled, finding the vampire almost adorably childlike in her curiosity. “My brother’s name is Meraka-Tumai, which roughly translates to Dances-with-Aetherius.” He noted the raised eyebrow she sent him. “I know, complicated name right?”
“So…. What does he do? To earn that name I mean,” she asked.
“Well, he’s a genius when it comes to magic,” Masu explains. “Learned most of what I know about destruction and restoration from him, but he's got a wider repertoire than I. He’d probably fit right in as a teacher atthe College of Winterhold were it not for it being colder than a frost atronach’s asshole.”
“That’s a wonderful image,” Serana said snidely, part deadpan, part amused. "What else can you tell me about him?"
"Careful, Serana, such eagerness might make one might think a crushing is forming," He quipped, earning a raspberry blower in his direction (he only recently learnt what that was and it only cemented his opinion that humans are weird).
"I think you'd like him. He's the exact opposite of Histhera. She's large and loud, while he's small and awkward as they come," he explained fondly. "Bit of a worrywart, though. Would always dote on the two of us despite being half my size and a third of Histhera's."
"That's kind of sweet," she said, smiling. "So you've got the sister who's good at fighting and the brother who's talented with magic."
"And then there's me," he finished. "I'd like to think I fit comfortably somewhere in the middle."
Serana hummed in agreement, mulling over everything he'd told her. Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait, so what does your name mean?”
‘Ah crap.’ Okay, he should have seen that coming. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the arm of his chair as he thought about how to answer. The longer he took to respond, the more she'd want to know, but did that make her less likely to believe his wamasu-shit?
"Would you believe me if I said it means Has-Hugest-Dick?” The look she sent him was drier than the deserts in Hammerfell. Well, guess that answers that question. “Eh, it was worth a shot.”
“I’m serious, you jerk,” she giggled, and by whatever Divine was watching over them, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny her when she did that.
(There was also the fact that she could simply go and ask Derkethuss, which would be far more humiliating than if she heard it from him)
“Ugh, alright,” he sighed, before sending her a half-hearted glare. “But I swear, if you laugh, I’m shooting you with Auriel’s Bow.”
Well if she wasn't curious before, she certainly was now. “I swear, vampire’s honour.”
Masu doubted the credibility of that, but he’ll take it. “It means….” he released a sigh of resignation. “.....big-mouthed-reptile.”
A moment of silence. She blinked once, twice, before suddenly letting go of her wine glass, placing it on the table he’d forgotten was there at this point, and covering her mouth to hide the flood of giggles that nearly escaped. He wasn’t sure if vampires needed to breathe, but it sure looked like she did from the way her cheeks puffed up with barely contained laughter.
He allowed her a moment's grace to at least pretend not to laugh, waiting until she was finally able to swallow her giggles down before speaking. "You done?"
She nodded, though it didn't look like she was. "So y-you're-" she paused as another bout of laughter bubbled back up like a bad cabbage stew. "You're telling me the guy who shouts is named-"
"Large-Mouthed-Reptile, yeah," he sighed.
"That's- Oh my gosh, that's actually hilarious," she giggled. "How did it know? "
"Perhaps the Hist has a sense of humour," he groused, because there really isn't a better explanation. Nothing is allowed to make sense when sentient God-trees are involved.
They took a moment to bask in the insanity of it all, and even though it was at his expense, he'll admit (quality, when no one is around) he didn't mind it so much when she was the one laughing at him.
"So where are they now?"
He paused, scratching his spiked chin as he tried to remember his siblings had been up to before he left the nest. If he was honest, he wasn't sure how to answer that. He hadn't really thought of home or his family in…. Well, since he'd left Blackmarsh.
'Has it really been that long?' A lump of guilt formed in his belly. That…. probably wasn't wasn't very brotherly of him; his brother was probably worried sick. Perhaps once this party was over and he survived the approaching hangover, he could send them a letter.
"Well, last I saw Histhera, she'd been training to join the royal guard,’ he started. “Wouldn't be surprised if she's leading the bunch by now. She was always the ambitious one."
"What about Meraka-Tuma?" She asked and honestly, he was surprised she remembered a full Saxhleel name right on the first try. That was more than he could say for most nords.
"Not really sure to be honest," he shrugged. "He never really showed interest in anything outside learning more about magic, as far as I know, so he's probably still doing that."
She hummed in a way someone might when learning a new piece of trivia and he wasn’t sure how to respond to it so he didn’t, figuring that was the end to the topic. However, the stare she was sending his way – a smile one might wear when listening to a pleasant piece of music or reading their favourite book – made him feel…. Not uneasy per say. Fidgety, maybe? It was fond and warm and dammit, he didn’t know how to respond to that! It made him want to check if there was a bug in his feathers or food stuck on one of the spikes dotted along his jaw.
Sarcasm and self-deprecation was where he thrived. This…. Fondness made him feel awkward and content at the same time and he would not stand for it!
“What’s with the grin?” He asked, smiling as if he wasn’t experiencing a mess of feelings he wasn’t sure he wanted to put names to.
She blinked in surprise, as if she hadn’t even noticed she was smiling, though she didn’t stop. "Oh– uh, It's just…." she hesitated, as if putting her thoughts back together, before speaking again. "I'm just realising how little I actually know about you. It's nice learning about how you became…. well, you."
"I think that's the first time someone's heard me talk about myself and asked for more," he chuckled.
The pair lapsed into a peaceful silence for a moment. The Dragonborn looked away from his undead companion, turning his golden reptilian eyes to the night sky. Masser and Secunda were in full view tonight, surrounded by an entourage of stars that shined like freshly polished pearls. If the Saxhleel didn’t know any better, he would think those pesky celestial bodies were intruding on their private moment.
He released an amused huff through his nose. A silly thought perhaps, but he could tell you with more certainty than anyone that stranger things have happened, especially to him.
"Do you ever think about going back? To Black Marsh, I mean," she asked, catching him so off guard that the Aetherium Crown nearly fell off his head from how fast it snapped to her. It must have shown on his face too, because she seemed to catch herself. “Sorry! Sorry, that… came out of nowhere didn’t it?”
That was certainly one way to put it. “A little yeah….”
“Right, I…. it’s just….” She stammered, doing her very best not to look at him. She took a moment to gather herself, sorting her thoughts before speaking again. “You remember how I told you my family wasn’t always so…. dysfunctional?"
There was a whole host of words he would rather use (some of them even appropriate), but he simply nodded and allowed her to continue.
"I know things are better now with my mom, but…. I can’t help but think sometimes that we could have…. I don’t know, better? That we could have been a normal, happy family if things had gone differently,” she sighed, staring into the crimson liquid as she swirled her drink. “I know I shouldn’t, but I daydream about what it would be like sometimes for longer than what’s probably healthy. Hearing how fond you are of your family…. I just can’t imagine leaving that behind. Does that make sense?”
Masu thought back to his earlier observation on Serana’s occasional habit of staring off at nothing. He sighed and ran his hand down his face because, for reasons he hated thinking about, but would probably have to, he did get it and, unfortunately, had to burst her bubble.
“Well, if it helps, my family isn’t really that great,” he stated, earning a look of surprise and intrigue from the vampire.
“Really? But they sound so nice.”
“My siblings, yeah. The rest of my family, though….” he trailed off, because honestly, the less said about his opinion of his relatives, the better.
Serana definitely picked up on his reluctance, judging by her grimace. This wasn’t the first time the Saxhleel had been hesitant to talk about his family. He vaguely remembered their time wandering the passages underneath home. She’d brought up his parents and he’d been just as reluctant back then.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I know how uncomfortable talking about family drama can be,” she said, throwing him a life line, and if he was very tempted take it and pull himself out of this conversation.
Then he thought back to their journey to stop her insane father and all the times she’d left herself vulnerable confiding in him about the turmoil her parents put her through. He remembered that, while some of their friends knew bits and pieces of her past, enough to know not to bring it up frivolously, it was him and him alone with whom she trusted the full story. She’d laid herself emotionally bare before him so many times that he was now starting to worry that he may have been taking her trust for granted. Could he truly be such a hypocrite that he’d refuse to offer her the same courtesy?
Yes, he conceded, that was definitely a possibility, were he talking to anyone else.
‘Just not her….’
“No, no, it’s alright,” he sighed, moving to sit up straight. “Besides, if anyone deserves to know, it’s you.”
She looked like she wanted to protest, but before she could say anything, he reached out and snatched her wine-glass from her. She squawked and sputtered in shock and indignation, but that did nothing to stop him from downing what was left of her drink because dammit, if he was going to have this conversation, he wasn’t doing it sober.
“....alright, so, you’re going to need a bit of context before we get into the meat of this backstory,” he sighed after finishing his (her) drink and placing it back on the table between them. “How much do you know about the Ebonheart Pact?”
“Uh– not much,” she replied.
Great, so she knew as much as he did. He could work with that. “Well there’s a lot of details that I'm not sober enough to remember, but the gist of it is that some assholes from Akavir showed up looking for…. Something. A trashcan I think. Anyway, they invaded places from Skyrim to Morrowind. Of course this didn't sit well with either natives, and the two teamed up to put a stop to it all."
"The nords and dark elves worked together? Voluntarily?" Serana asked. "Wow, I bet the nords loved that."
"I know right? I guess Nords were a tad less racist back then. No offence."
Confusion took hold of Serana expression for a moment, but it morphed into surprise and then…. Embarrassment? "Oh– uh– none taken. It's fine."
"...." Masu slowly turned to the vampire, a crimson-scaled eyebrow raised. Serana fidgeted in her seat, not looking at him. "....did… did you just forget that you're a Nord?"
The Saxhleel wasn't sure if vampire blood circulation worked the same as the living, but he could almost swear the Volkihar heir's face was a few shades less pale than normal. “I– uh– would just continue the story already?!” She squawked, sending him a glare filled with ice and embarrassment.
A shame it was undercut by absolutely how adorable she looked.
Nevertheless, he continued, making a mental note to tease her in a more appropriate situation. "Mind you, I'm sure the Dunmer weren't any better. Anyway, even with two armies combined, the Akaviri were making them work for their victory. I don't know if they had superior tactics or were just that strong, but they were holding the line pretty well," He explained. "That is, until something happened that no one was expecting; an army of Saxhleel warriors showed up out of nowhere and joined forces with the Dunmer and the Nords."
"Wait, what?" Serana exclaimed, surprised and confused. "Weren't they enslaved by the Dark elves? Why would they help their slave masters?"
"Ah, and that's where things get interesting," he said, smirking "You see, the leader of this army was named Keshu, a Saxhleel of incredibly renown. They say, during her Rite Of Maturity, she defeated Naga at once."
"Naga?" Serana asked, tilting her head in curiosity.
"Naga are pretty much the brutes of the Saxhleel," he said. "Imagine me, but taller, as buff as a Nord and with a mouth full of needle-teeth and you've got a Naga."
Serana pondered that mental image for a moment before shaking her head. "That's…. yeah, no, I think I like you better as you are. They sound like something my mom would study in her lab."
He scratched his cheek in a lame attempt to hide just how pleased he was at her compliment. "Yeah, scary stuff, and she killed three as her first kill. She even took their teeth as trophies. They’re sacred items back in Black Marsh. She also freed a lot of Saxhleel slaves from the Dunmer and….” Masu trailed off at the sound of light, barely hidden laughter.
Serana tried to hide her smile behind her hind, but it was all for naught at the sight of the dragonborns look of confusion and betrayal that had no right to look as cute to her as it did. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t laugh,” she giggled, her smile greatly undercutting the apologetic nature of that sentence. “It’s just kind of funny to see you gush over this person. For a guy who claims to be too drunk to remember historical facts, you seem to know a lot about this woman.”
Masu smirked. “It’d be weird if i didn’t; she’s my something-great grandmother.”
"Oh." The amused expression changed into one of surprise, then into curious intrigue, like a child who got to the exciting part of the story and wanted to hear what happened next. "So considering….well, you , I guess you can say your family has a history of making heroes."
The Saxhleel smirk fell into a grimace. "Oh you have no idea…."
Serana blinked, tilting her head in concern. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Quite the opposite, actually," he groaned, flopping against the back of his chair. "When Keshu returned to Black Marsh, she was given a hero's welcome and the rank of nobility and all the perks that came with it. Then she had a hatchling of her own and, as expected with a role-model like Keshu, that hatchling became great too. Not as great as their mother, but an upstanding member of the Saxhleel community nonetheless. Then they had a hatchling and so on. See where I'm going with this?"
"Not really, no," she replied, eyebrow raised in question. "This doesn't sound like a bad thing."
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He sighed, turning his gaze to the night sky. He wondered if it said something about his character that found it easier to tell this story to the moons than to the woman who was, arguably, one of his best friends. “I did too, till I started to see the signs. You see, the thing about having a famous family founder, the catch they don’t tell you about in the stories, is that it comes with a slew of social shackles that chain you down tighter than the ones your old orc lover ever put on you. At least she has the decency to oil them up before screwing you.”
Serana displayed wonderful timing by choking on the wine she’d sipped. She moved her hand to her chin to keep the alcohol from ruining her dress as she damndest to cough up the wine she’d gasped into her lungs. Good thing she didn’t need to breathe. “Ex– Excuse m- me, wha-?”
“Expectations, reputation, judgement, the sense that you’re less a person and more a piece in a collection,” he soldiered on, his body in the moment, but his mind back at home, to his days as the smallest Saxhleel his family, watching his relatives celebrate the victories of their hatchlings as if they were their own. “Hatching born of Keshu’s blood were expected to either achieve fame and fortune in some way or another, or work under the royal family and be a great asset.”
Serana wiped the last of the wine from her chin, watching her friend, unsure of what to make of the sudden shift in his tone. He was usually so quick to jest, always smirking before throwing out sarcastic quips that he always had ready, even – or perhaps especially – his life was on the line. She’d only seen him so solemn a rare handful of times – one of them being when they’d finally ended their adventure and defeated her father. This though, this almost tangible sense of vulnerability? There was something about it that set off some sort of pinch in her mind. There was something hauntingly familiar about that bitter sadness in his eyes.
(She wouldn’t realise until much later that she’d seen that look in the mirror, back when her father discovered that prophecy, and her life began to fall apart.)
“What if you did neither?” She asked softly, feeling as if she already knew the answer, but something – perhaps her damned curiosity, or a sense of solemn kinship – urged her to know.
He let out a laugh that was equal parts bitter and tired. "You don't."
"You know what the worst part was?" He continued. "When my siblings and I did meet those lofty expectations, they were never really ours . It was always 'Oh, you passed your Rite of Maturity? That's Keshu's brood for you.' or 'You killed your first wamasu? You should thank Keshu for passing down her skills,' and sometimes even 'Oh look, you cast your first ever destruction spell? We don't know if Keshu could even use magic, but I'm sure blessed you with it anyway!'.
"Histhera was fine with it, and Meraka didn't really care, but I wanted to be seen! I wanted people to witness my glory, to tell stories of my achievements!" He was getting angrier at the memories. He knew it was pointless to get upset over this, it has been so long since he thought about it that he'd almost forgotten, but he was on a roll now, words flowing passed his lips like the seasonal floods that passed through his village. "So I decided to leave. I told my parents I wanted to see the world, start my own legend, and make my own choices."
Serana grimaced at the no doubt familiar tone this was taking. "I'm guessing they didn't take it well.".
" 'Didn't take it well' is the lightest way of putting it. They said all kinds of fun things to convince me to stay, like how I'd be shaming Keshu's legacy by claiming I'm too good for it or how the Hist would surely punish me for disrespecting one of their greatest creations," he said in bitter amusement. "Nearly worked too. Was just about ready to give up when I came of age."
"But obviously you didn't. So what happened?"
Just like that, like heavy clouds parting to let sunlight break through, all the bitterness and tiredness on his face melted away. The spiteful smile he'd work through the story became one of fondness. "Histhera happened. She, like the considerate and level headed sister she is, challenged me to a fight. In public too, knowing our family would never let me soil the family name by backing out. She's clever like that."
“....okay, you lost me there,” Serana stated, her frown rife with confusion with a pinch of concern. That was fine. T’was hardly the first time he’d been on the receiving end of that look. “So did you win?”
The dragonborn let out a loud hardy laugh. “Oh Sithis, no. Crazy bitch beat me into the ground and then some. Even gave me this nifty scar to remember it,” he pointed to his left eye, where three pink, scaleless lines ran parallel from his eyebrow down to his cheek.
"....There is so much wrong with that." Masu wasn't sure if she should be the least or the most qualified to point that out. Either way, coming from her, it said a lot.
"Hey, I got a few good hits in, myself. Think I knocked one of her teeth out before she knocked out three of mine."
Serana looked like she wanted to hit him. Again, nothing new. "That is so not the point."
Masu shrugged. "To be fair, she didn't beat the Hist sap out of me purely out of anger. There was a point to it all." There was a 'probably' there that he thought was best left unsaid. The topic of family brawls seemed to make her – understandably, when he remembered who he was talking to – uncomfortable enough as it was.
"And that was…?"
"That I'm a survivor." His fond smile returned as he affectionately caressed his scar. "Every time she knocked me down, I got back up. After she was done knocking me around, she looked me in the eyes and said to me ‘Now do that with the rest of Tamriel.’ " he elaborated with what was probably a terrible impression. "Not exactly poetic I know, but she got point across.. After that I left home and never looked back."
Serana's brows furrowed as processed everything she just learned. "I can't decide if that's sweet or stupid."
"Funny, I'm pretty sure you've said the same thing about me." That got a laugh out of her. He looked back to the sky, satisfied with leaving things there, when a memory surfaced. A vampire standing amongst the bloodied tools used to interrogate her kin, surrounded by enemies, looking at him eyes filled with desperate determination.
"....that's why I trusted you, you know? When you showed up at Fort Dawnguard." He suddenly said, making her pause. He still wasn't looking at her, but he knew she had her eyes on him. "I know it's not the same thing, not even close, but after meeting your father, when I saw you there with that Elder Scroll clutched in your hands and asking me for help…." He trailed off, finally turning to look at his companion, his expression solemn, but happy at the same time. She beheld him with eyes wide, an array of emotions swirling in those large vampiric-yellow eyes. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could see tears beginning to form. "I knew, I just knew that you understood what it's like to want that kind of freedom."
"...."
Serana's lips parted slightly, clearly having something on her mind and something to say, though no sound left her lips. They spent what felt like a small eternity simply staring at each other, before Serana suddenly got up, gave him one final sincere look, and left.
'Guess story time's over.'
Masu didn't turn, even when he heard his balcony entrance open and close. He looked down at the wine-glass left on the table, along with a blue bottle, half-full of wine. He sighed and poured himself a drink. He reached over the side of his chair, scratching the top of Meeko's head, who let out a tired huff in return. At some point through the discussion, the shaggy furball had fallen asleep.
Masu was considering following the dog's lead when he heard the door open again, followed by footsteps. He looked over his shoulder, expecting one of his other companions to have finally noticed his absence from his own party. He opened his mouth, a sarcastic quip ready to distract himself from the previous awkwardness, only to pause at the sight of his vampiric friend returning, a new wine-glass in her hand.
He watched in curiosity and bewilderment as she sat and topped up her glass, before presenting it to him. It honestly took him a second to understand her intention, but once it clicked, his smile grew wide enough to earn his namesake.
Raising his glass, he smiled at her and asked "So what are toasting to?"
She pursed her lips humorously in thought, before flashing the kind of smile a child would have when telling their best friend a devious little secret. "To surviving family trauma?"
He released a loud laugh, the first genuine one of the night. "I've heard worse reasons to drink."
As their glasses clinked together and they downed their drinks, Masu felt that, somehow, someway, they came out of this awkward mess of a conversation a bit closer than before, as if there was an understanding between the two that wasn't there before.
"....say, you think you could help me write a letter to my siblings?" He asked, earning a look that was part surprised, part intrigue. "It's just that it's been a long time since I talked to them and there's a lot of catching up to cover. I….well, I'm not entirely sure where to start."
He felt embarrassed, admitting such a silly thing. Though when she simply flashed a gentle smile, he found himself thinking the payoff was worth it.
She made to say something, likely to agree to his request like the secret softy she was (no he was not a hypocrite, thank you very much. He was a battle hardened Saxhleel battle-mage, and held all the pride it was worth.) but whatever she wanted to say was put to the wayside as her jaw went slack and her eyes went wider than those of the marsh gecko's of his home. Evidently, her hand went slack as well and her glass slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a wet crash.
A beat of silence passed, the Saxhleel staring at the stain that was already beginning to soak into the balcony. He allowed himself a moment to mourn such a tragic loss, before looking back to Serana, if only to ask why she would do such an awful thing, though the Volkihar princess’ attention lay clearly elsewear, her wide eyes looking past him. Masu turned, wanting to see just what it was that would cause someone to dare waste alcohol in front of him.
Masu had been on many adventures. He hailed from Black Marsh, one of the most dangerous and mysterious lands this side of Tamriel. He’d been all over Skyrim and before that, he’d ventured a good chunk of Cyrodel in his quest to forge his own legacy. So, not to toot his own horn, but after learning he could absorb the souls of dragons and visiting two separate realms of Oblivion , he was pretty confident that there wasn't much that could surprise him anymore.
So really, it was only fitting that the world pull something that tells him to shut up and put his coin where his mouth is.
It's his own fault, really. He should have learned by now that there was always something odd and disturbing to catch him off guard and as he watched Derkethuss and Aela walk out of the forest and into the torch lights lit for the occasion, looking like they'd been mauled by an angry werebear, he found himself struggling to pinpoint where in that spectrum this fell.
Aela, who usually looked what Masu would describe in polite company as "rugged" as it was, looked more so than usual, and quite proud of it. Her signature fiery red hair, which always seemed to look good, even after chasing and tussling with dangerous wild beasts, was an absolute mess. Several locks were frazzled and out of place and some even stuck to her forehead from what Masu hoped was sweat. Her outfit was askew and wrinkled in many places, as if put on in haste. Her shoulder plate had slipped down her arm, only slightly but enough to reveal…. were those teeth marks?
And speaking of teeth, the huntress displayed hers with a proud and satisfied grin, her face paint smudge and the fire in her eyes one of triumph as she sauntered over to the poker table. Unbothered by the shocked and bewildered stares of those sober enough to notice, she displayed marks and disarray as a veteran would a gnarly battle scar: with pride.
But Derkeethus, his poor egg-brother from another egg-mother, looked like he'd been put through the wringer. While Aela had one bite mark on her shoulder, the poor (or perhaps lucky?) lukiul bore several around his neck, nape and jaw. His shirt had been cut down the centre, a long clean line down from the neck to the stomach definitely made by the blade of a dagger, and pulled apart by force revealing several scratches and more bites and the waist of his pants hung askew.
All in all, he was quite a site.
As he watched the emerald Argonian timidity shuffled around, perhaps trying to slink off somewhere private to consider his life choices, Masu looked down at the liquor in his hand thoughtfully, before slowly placing it on the table next to the bottle.
He wanted to remember this tomorrow when he teased the soul out of his friend.