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Chapter Text

Torina looked down at her hands. They were shaking from exertion, small bruises and cuts covering what parts of them weren’t protected by her armor. She ignored the idea she may have relied too heavily on stamina and health potions the last day to keep going, to keep up with her vampiric companion, but she considered it worth it.

Vyrthur was dead.

Her crossbow, gently propped up against the wall of the balcony so it wouldn’t release it’s deadly bolt at the wrong time, shone in the sun. Light that reflected off the dwarven metal hit the body of one of the last two snow elves in Skyrim. Torina couldn’t help but feel guilty no matter how hard it was to stop his dreams of tyranny. No matter how much destruction Vyrthur wanted to cause in the name of spitting in the face of the god Akatosh.

The shaking in her hands held her attention. The light ashen color of her skin in the sunlight caught the dark color of blood, both hers and Vyrthur’s, dried into the creases and under her naise. It gave her pause.

Serana stood next to where Torina crouched, her hands gripping the edge of the balcony as she stared down at the lake hundreds of feet below them. Great chasms in the ice were very visible up here, a reminder of their battle with two ancient dragons. The vampire’s breath came in shallow bursts.

“Do you need me to-”

“No. You’ve done enough.” Serana takes a deep breath.”I’ll be fine. It’s just the sun...makes it hard to recover. And you? What do you need?”

Torina shook her head and put it back in between her legs to help her breathe. “The same. I think my blood remembers my time as a vampire in the Soul Cairn more than I’d like to admit.”

Serana started to say something in response but was interrupted. The ground beneath their feet rumbled as the last wayshrine started to emerge from the lower section of the balcony. Both of them expected this move, the top of the wayshrine obvious to the two of them by now after crossing through the valley to open the others.

Knight-Paladin Gelebor strode from the entrance of the wayshrine like a man seeing the sun for the first time. Torina supposed he hadn’t been on the surface in many centuries by this point. The dragonborn remembered the first moments leaving Dimhollow Crypt with Serana at her side. She could clearly recall the way the vampire looked in wonder at the world around her. She could see a similar expression on the snow elf’s face as he turned to the two of them and walked up to their level. What had this valley looked like before he sequestered himself deep underground out of apparent necessity?

“Gelebor,” Serana said in greeting.

The snow elf nodded to her before kneeling in front of Torina, offering his hand. Grateful, Torina wiped the blood from battle onto the heavy cloth of her armored pants. She didn’t want to see it smeared on the pristinely clean armor the Knight-Paladin wore.

Worse for wear, she knew she’d have to spend hours cleaning her armor anyway. The heavy ebony armor she’d smithed with the help of Gunther had saved her on more than one occasion but required diligent attention. Her armor’s dark metal contrasted significantly against the moonstone-based armor Gelebor wore, and her mouth twisted in a private joke: their armor matched the different skin beneath, almost as different as two Mer could be.

“So,” Gelebor said, his eyes focused on his brother’s corpse, “the deed is done. The restoration of this wayshrine means that Vyrthur must be dead and the Betrayed no longer have control over him.”

“The Betrayed weren’t to blame,” Torina said.

Gelebor, his hand still resting on the dark elf’s arm, turned to look at her instead. “What? What are you talking about?”

“He was a vampire...he controlled them. ”

Serana’s hands gripped the stone railing a little harder. Torina could see the faint dust of stone chipping away under her fingertips. After traveling and fighting alongside her the last month, Torina could easily pick up on the agitation broadcasting from Serana in waves. They’d never gone into much conversation regarding Serana’s true feelings on her vampirism - the subject felt too personal to breach.

Gelebor’s voice was measured, precise. “A vampire? I see. That would explain so much. Deep inside, it brings me joy that the Betrayed weren’t to blame for what happened here.”

Monitoring Serana’s negative response to their conversation, Torina pressed further. “Why?”

“Because that means there’s still hope that they might one day shed their hatred and learn to believe in Auri-El once again. It’s been a long time since I felt that way and it’s been long overdue. My thanks, to both of you.”

Gelebor directed his last comment to Serana directly. He wasn’t oblivious to her plight after all, which Torina feared.

As he was within distance to reach out towards her, he did so and offered her his free hand. With his palm up, he gave a show of comraderie older than even the dragons Torina and Serana slayed on the surface of the frozen lake. She glanced at his arm, up to his face, and back down again in the space of a second before reaching over to grasp his forearm.

“You’re welcome,” she said, letting go of his arm after a short time.

“You have risked so much - everything - to get Auri-El’s Bow, and in turn you’ve restored the Chantry. I can’t think of a more deserving champion to carry it than you.”

Torina, leaning into Gelebor for support at this point, looked up at him and gave him a lopsided smile. “I’d almost forgotten about the bow, but thank you….I….stars, I think I need…”

Supported fully by Gelebor, Torina’s body finally relented to her exhaustion.

“Torina?” Serana said, rushing over to lightly tap her face and brushing away the sweat-matted hair on her forehead. “Gelebor, is there somewhere safe she can rest? She refused rest even when I insisted. I haven’t seen her sleep or eat properly in days now.”

“Then it’s a miracle the two of you survived this long,” Gelebor said with a heavy tone. He adjusted her body so it was tucked into his arms fully instead of crushed into his side. “Come. Let’s find a place untouched by the Betrayed or not completely sullied by my brother’s dark influence.”

Chapter Text

Soft sounds of dripping water in the distance were the first sounds Torina heard as she started to come to again.

Her ebony armor had been removed, likely by Serana, since she laid under some furs wearing naught but her underthings and a very light shift she kept in her knapsack. Keeping a set of plain clothes on her had saved her more than once when performing stealthier missions for the Dawnguard since joining a year ago.

Keeping her eyes shut against the pounding headache throbbing across her skull, she took the moment to reflect back on the day she first found this set of clothes.

One of several children in a refugee caravan, Torina had wound up where hundreds of her kind did: Windhelm. The Honorhall Orphanage wanted nothing to do with children who weren’t of Nordic descent. Once she learned more about the treatment of those children under the watchful eye of Grelod the Kind, she thanked Azura and her ancestors for sparing her that fate. Her belly stayed full and her needs were met as she worked in the Grey Quarter, living in one of the basement rooms of Sadri’s general goods store.

The elf hadn’t been pleased to see one of his extended family’s whelps on his doorstep - she’d been too old to be cared for by one of the widowed matrons taking the task of raising young Dunmer children - but not old enough to be left alone. Truthfully, she didn’t know her age. It wasn’t something that felt important to keep track of, and the almost everlasting winter in Eastmarch made it more difficult to track.

But, working for Sadri to earn her keep did give her a chance to look back at the ledgers and determine she’d been on the mainland of Skyrim for nearly five years before she was taken. The time before that was almost lost in her memory, filled with nothing but carriages over ashland, a long boat ride to Skyrim, and more carriages through snowy fields.

It wasn’t uncommon for young Dunmer girls to be snatched in Windhelm. Sadri had warned her constantly of the way she indulged in her curiosity, wandering the streets at night after her work was done at the store for the day. Too many Nords riled up with the promise of war against the Empire to defend the worship of Talos, fermented with the long nights and harsh climate of the hold, and tempered by the sweeping poverty of the Grey Quarter all coalesced into a steaming pile of dragon dung of a life for the Dunmer. An orphan girl was both easily missed and another name quietly muttered in remembrance when prayers were said to the trinity.

By Azura’s grace Torina was able to escape her captors mostly unharmed. She never knew what the gang’s intentions for her were, but she could guess based on horror stories she heard from her brethren that she was one of the lucky ones. Never had she been forced to fight for her life like she did when running from the gang taking her south through Eastmarch, but she had, and she’d won her freedom.

She didn’t dare go back to Windhelm for fear of retribution and recapture. Besides, she’d never been away from the city since she’d  entered it’s high stone walls as a refugee years before. She followed signs towards a town’s name she recognized, taking shelter beneath the porch of an inn in Kynesgrove for the night.

A man named Roggi found her the next morning, smelling of mead and sweat. Torina had nearly lashed out against him since the sheer smell of him reminded her too much of the gang of bandits she had been a captive to just hours before. He’d managed to collect one of the innkeepers who allowed her to work for her bread alongside the man for the day so she could get her bearings. That was where she’d gotten the set of clothes she wore now, though they were a bit finer when she first received them, a replacement for the near-ruined garments she had.

Torina hadn’t understood why the small village of mostly Nords so quietly accepted her for the day until she met another of her same skin. Dravynea the Stoneweaver.

Her lips pinched at the memory of the Mer’s face and she brushed it away like a frostbite spider’s web. With effort, she tried to open her eyes to collect her bearings, the dull shine of walls made of ice confusing her for a moment.

“How are you feeling?”

Serana’s voice echoed off the walls even though she whispered. Turning her head on the pillow made of rolled up garments, Torina met her companion’s eyes and took a deep breath.

“Much better, though my head pounds as if Alduin himself were knocking around inside.”

“If you are able to sit up I can help you drink some water. You’ve been asleep for several hours now.”

Torina set her elbows against the firm mattress beneath her and rolled to her side, her head protesting the entire time. But she’d lived through worse pains than this. She knew she just needed another healing potion and she’d be right as rain.

Holding a wooden cup with ice-cold water up to her lips, Serana helped Torina drink slowly, her hand resting against her chin. The gentle touch of the vampire’s fingers against her skin soothed her mind and helped her continue to push unpleasant memories of her past away. Of all the companions she’d had working with the Dawnguard or the years spent vagrantly wandering before, Serana was the only one to truly earn her trust.

“Thank you,” Torina said with a slight gasp as she finished the last of the water.

“Gelebor is cooking something in one of the kitchens mostly unharmed by the Falmer.”

Torina looked at Serana with concern as she started to sit up, bringing the furs with her to keep herself warm. The room was near solid ice, after all. Serana read her concern easily.

“I’ve enough blood potions to last me, thanks to my mother,” she explained, laying a hand on the small satchel she kept tied to her waist. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I trust you do,” Torina said. “But...I worry because of our next steps. Are you ready for what Isran will ask of us?”

Serana sighed, sitting back on the bed that sat opposite to Torina’s. Her legs folded under her, she looked down at her hands as they played with her rings, one enchanted by Torina specifically for her and the other a heavy gold ring she’d never spoken of. But the blood-red ruby set in the metal had an image etched onto its surface that Torina remembered seeing on the banners in Castle Volkihar in her brief stint in the keep. She’d assumed it was a family heirloom without feeling the need to ask and risk making Serana uncomfortable.

“There’s only one clear path forward. My father...I don’t even see him as that anymore. He’s done so much against us as a family, our kind. His lust for power, well, it’s just that. He’s not working in our kind’s best interests anymore.”

Torina let her speak, listening intently. As she watched her, Serana slowly worked the heavy gold ring off her middle finger and set it down lightly on the table between them. The metal seemed almost dull compared to the clear and glittering ice all around them.

“Once you’re ready to travel, we should take the bow back to Isran, show him what we have.” Serana stood slowly from the bed and rested a hand on Torina’s shoulder for a moment. “There is still so much to do.”

Chapter Text

The mortar and pestle in Torina’s hands took several minutes to warm up to her body temperature. Everything in the Inner Sanctum still showed the results of decades, centuries, of Vyrthur’s dark magical influence. Though beautiful, the ice around them felt ominous and threatening. It’s cold soaked through everything. Torina had to keep sparking the fire in the alembic to keep the potion brewing temperature steady.

All that was left was to wait as the ingredients boiled down into a useable concoction. Her stores were near depleted after the fight with the former Arch-Curate.

“If you require more ingredients, I can assist with their collection.”

Gelebor’s clothes were soft and white, decorated as intricately as his armor, and much quieter. It explained how he could easily sneak up on the mer as she worked at the alembic. She thought the change in clothes suited him quite well, accenting the strength and agility the full set of ancient armor hid most of the time.

“Good afternoon, Gelebor,” she said, using a small bit of her magicka to reheat the potion again. “Though I appreciate it,  I still have an overfull satchel that I should use before collecting more and plenty to use for what I need. How are you feeling now that you’re above ground?”

Taking the other wooden chair in the small alcove room, Gelebor relaxed into it, crossing his legs. He watched Torina work with an openly curious gaze and the friendly scrutiny made the skin on her sharp cheekbones warm slightly. She was being so careful not to let him see the way his unwavering gaze affected her that she almost didn’t hear the answer to her question.

“It’s strange to be back above the surface. I missed the passing of time very easily where I couldn’t see the sun.”

“Makes sense,” Torina said. “And the sunrises and sets here in the Vale are among the most beautiful I’ve seen in all of Skyrim. I’m sorry you missed so many of them.”

Gelebor hummed in agreement and approval. “Yes. Though the valley has changed dramatically since I last was here, it’s beauty is only changed, not diminished.”

A companionable silence fell between the mer. Gelebor offered to assist Torina as she kept working on potions for healing, stamina, and a few poisons when she’d run dry of beneficial concoction combinations. She openly, and gladly, watched the way his hands worked as he moved around her to replenish most of her healing potions in sturdy glass vials.

Neither made mention of the elephant in the room, that Torina and Serana would be leaving soon towards a fight to the death. Not only that, but there was a strong likelihood that if they could not use the chantry to return to Darkfall Cave that more Falmer blood would be spilled. Killing never pleased them, but the Falmer would leave them with almost no choice. The idea of slaying more of the changed snow elves made her sick to her stomach.

“Is something troubling you, Dragonborn?” Gelebor’s voice echoed slightly on the icy walls around them. “You were so focused when you first entered my sanctuary those days ago, and now a shadow fills your brow.”

“Dragonborn? What are you on about, Paladin?” Torina kept her eyes on her work as she replied, feigning ignorance.

“I am much older, and far more observant, than you think. I know the tales of Dragonborns are more than legends, and this age was due for another champion to walk the land of Skyrim.”

“I still don’t know how you assume such-”

“The dragon skeletons on the lake’s surface below,” Gelebor said, interrupting Torina’s soft protest. “Those would not stay dormant for any average man or mer. I have seen the way a dragon can recall itself to the plane of Mundus. To call the soul of the dragons into your own body, to devour them, and survive requires much more.”

Torina pushed back some of her hair behind her ear, the braids falling out with minds of their own. She’d long stopped caring what people thought of her status as Dragonborn, so the churning in her gut was a surprise. Receiving any amount of scrutiny from this snow elf, likely the last of his kind, felt different.

Few she met could claim to live as long as Gelebor had, and even fewer of those weren’t hostile towards Torina. Harkon would likely know of previous Dragonborns, of course, but she’d rather not try to keep him alive long enough to share a pleasant chat on the history of her soul.

“Did you know any before me?” she asked quietly.

Gelebor shook his head. His hands gently placed the perfectly shredded frost mirriam in front of her so she could continue.

“I have never known one like you, man or mer,” he said. His voice was quiet enough that it did not reverberate off the walls. The tone made Torina’s breath hitch in her throat and made it hard to swallow.

Gelebor seemed to realize how close he stood to Torina. Taking a step back, he continued to explain. “No. Before my time, the title of Dragonborn - of Dovakhiin - was scorned and feared. Too many claimed to be what they were not in an age where a Dragonborn could have made all the difference to Tamriel. To my people. Though the gods and daedric princes work in their own time.”

“The destruction and betrayal of your people was a waste,” Torina spat, crushing a bit of mushroom too hard, forcing her to start over with another piece of the fungus. “To believe in the eradication or subjugation of an entire race is barbaric.”

Gelebor stepped back a bit from the alchemy table to take in the way Torina’s hands shook and her neck colored with her anger. “Given your Dunmer lineage, I did not expect such from you.”

Her face whipped towards him so fast that the braids in her hair fanned out away from her head. After fighting the odd feelings Gelebor was making her feel - something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in more than a decade - her emotional state was more fragile than she would admit. She reacted strongly and poorly to his comment. The tiny piercings in her ears shone in the half light through the ice but her bared teeth shone brighter as she bared them in a snarl at the snow elf.

“You assume too much,” she said with a hiss through her teeth. “As you are not the sum of what your people have become, I am not an example of what mistakes my race has made in the past. You may have lived much longer than I could ever hope to achieve, Gelebor, but that does not make you automatically wiser for your years. You have spent too long secluded from the rest of the world in your own fear.”

Toina forced herself to catch her breath after her unplanned outburst. Without apology she finished the last of her potion making and started to clean and pack her supplies, brightly colored liquids cooling in their little bottles in a row on the alchemy table.

“I...Torina, I spoke out of turn...”

“It would be best if you did not speak to me again this evening,” she bit back without waiting for what else he had to say. “I am still not myself. Thank you for your help with the potions. I will see you at sunrise.”

And without looking behind her, Torina fled from the alcove with a satchel full of potions and a well of patience suddenly run dry.

Serana was meditating when Torina returned to their shared room. Depositing her work as gently as she could in her agitated state, both to not waste her ingredients and time or to disturb her companion, she turned and left the room within moments of arriving.

The accessible areas of the Inner Sanctum were sparse, so she was not sure which direction she should go in order to safely hide away from Gelebor until she felt she should return to her room. Torina settled on picking up the ewer she’d carried through the entire valley and going to a closed off room off the entry chamber. She didn’t remember until the door started to slide open that she had had to kill the frost giant within. The frigid temperature kept the body from starting decomposition, unlike some of the carcasses she’d come across in the hot springs of the Rift. Small mercies.

She grabbed the ewer from the pedestal and drew it in with her to avoid the grinding stone door from trapping her hand. So long as she held it, she was safely hidden in this room with the only key out or in. Hiding herself in a corner of the room where she would not need to look at the frost giant, she drew her clothes more tightly around herself, and wept.

Chapter Text

Foolish. It was foolish to hide away for so long.

Torina tried to rub feeling back into her fingers as she reached for the ewer. She could barely grasp the handle but managed to do so, set it on the pedestal just long enough to open the door, and nab it again to close the space.

Night had fully fallen as she indulged in her emotions. The breakdown felt cathartic, in a way, after so much tension building in the last several weeks. For the relative quiet and purpose she’d enjoyed with the Dawnguard those first few seasons, this reminded her too much of her time spent on Solstheim fighting an ancient horror.

Hadn’t she tried to hide herself away with the vampire hunters to avoid such burdens? In a space where everyone was equal and judged by their mettle and willingness to serve each other she’d found what felt like the start of a home. But trouble found her, as it always did.

She wouldn’t give up her friendship with Serana for all the hardship she’d gone through, though. That was a joy she’d never had in life and she would selfishly guard it as long as Serana allowed.

Torina couldn’t think of another time in her life where she had someone that meant so much to her. Though their lives were vastly different, the similar struggles of family and creed that Serana experienced now were things Torina could relate to. Empathize with. Sticking with it to the end was the least she could do to honor her friend. Even when Torina could no longer avoid the dark call from the island of Solstheim, Serana followed. She followed her the ash, the snowy peaks, and as far as she could until Herma Mora blocked her entrance to Apocrypha. But she was there to help heal Torina the moment she was freed - and Miraak was dead.

Entering the small room she shared with Serana in this icy citadel, Torina could see the pricks of orange light coming from her irises the moment she walked into the room. Serana could not sleep properly without a coffin, the complete block of ambient light, but she was currently making do with layers of cloth near her face. Just enough of her face showed, however, to watch Torina carefully as she walked into the room.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“I had to breathe,” Torina said. “I found the alchemy lab more stifling than I’d thought.”

“Hmm. Gelebor was by earlier to check on your progress.”

Torina narrowed her eyes, looking over her shoulder and pausing her efforts to remove the outermost layer of clothes she wore. “I’m progressing.”

A soft chuckle floated from the wrappings around Serana’s head. She turned on her other side to face the wall instead of Torina so she could change in relative privacy.

“I’ll change the dressings on your chest wounds tomorrow morning,” Serana said. “Unless you need me to change them now?”

The swift changes in conversation topics couldn’t fool Torina. She talked to fill the silence and to keep Serana from asking what happened with Gelebor, if the snow elf didn’t already divulge that. “Tomorrow will be fine. The fountain in the front room is starting to melt, too, so I’ll test that to see if it’s connected to a safe spring. We’ll need water for the journey back.”

“I want to stop in Morthal on the way back,” Serana said.

Since she was still facing the wall, the vampire did not see Torina’s reaction. She’d almost completely redressed herself in night clothes and she yanked her head through the top of her tunic so fast she almost tore out some of her earrings. Torina was careful to choose her words without scaring her friend off the topic. Her comment was said so flippantly that Torina wasn’t sure what her true motives were for revisiting the hold capital of Hjaalmarch, but she could guess.

“We can make the time,” she said to Serana’s back.

As Torina settled into the fur-covered bed to sleep, she could hear Serana mutter a thank you.

~*~

Torina’s ass still throbbed from the pain of sitting in that cold room by the time she awoke the following sunrise. Full rest eluded her the entire night. After so many straight days forcing herself to stay awake and alert in the valley full of things that only wanted to kill her she found it hard to wind back down.

Besides, there was still so much left to do.

Tying another loop of rope around her pack, Torina stood and spoke to fill the silence. “The closest hold capital once we leave Darkfall Cave is Markarth, but I’d rather try our luck at Mor Khazgur for supplies.”

“The orcish stronghold?” Serana asked.

Torina worked to pack up the few items she’d collected wandering the Vale and the rest of Skyrim. Neither woman placed much worth on material things that could not help save their lives, so the packs had plenty of room to spare for more valuables on their trek back to Ford Dawnstar.

Torina nodded and answered Serana’s questioning gaze. “Before joining the Dawnguard I gained their favor. Well, I gained the favor of the orcs in Narzulbur first, the stronghold in Eastmarch.”

“What drove you, a dunmer, to the orsimer?”

“Desperation,” Torina said. She stared down at the options she had to wear while traveling through the valley. “I don’t know what was going on here in Skyrim before you were locked away in Dimhollow Crypt in regards to the mer, but living in the land of the Nords has forced other races to find ways to get past some old prejudices. As much as we can, anyway.”

“Our quarrels were with everyone,” Serana said, her smile wide enough to show her teeth. “We didn’t discriminate based on race much in Volkihar. We only preferred clean cattle.”

Torina rolled her eyes at the theatrics. “You’re incorrigible.”

Bright white teeth still in a flashy smile, Serana chuckled and stood to leave the room without another word. Torina finally decided on the lighter set of armor she had with her. Carrying the ebony equipment would be cumbersome, and she wouldn’t have as much physical protection without it. But the leather and cloth of her lighter set had enough enchantments laced into it to keep her safe. The set was the one favored by half the Dawnguard, the fighters that favored longer ranged attacks where bodily injury was less imminent. Fighting the Falmer on the way into the Inner Sanctum called for close-quarters combat and Torina hoped to avoid that completely by using the chantry on the balcony.

Thinking of how many Falmer had fallen to her blade made the worry lines deepen in Torina’s brow. So many mer lost through simple misunderstandings. The notion of the unfairness of it kept picking at her, like a spur in her boot.

More than anything the fact that another race’s plight bothered her so much was why she was fixated on it. Life in Tamriel, especially in Skyrim, was short and tough, and that was if you were a Nord. Any other race faced their own sorts of challenges on top of that. She knew that better than most.

So why did she feel so much for a race that she owed nothing?

Chapter Text

The prize Torina and Serana had come to the Forgotten Vale for in the first place sat in Gelebor’s outstretched hand.

“Auriel’s bow.”

Torina looked away from the weapon to her companion, a smirk twitching on her lips. “You don’t sound that impressed, Serana.”

“I thought it would be shinier is all,” she replied with a shrug.

Gelebor watched the exchange without much emotion. Since their spat in the alchemy alcove he and Torina had walked on eggshells around each other.

Making the first move, Torina reached out to grab the bow and felt the thrill of holding the artifact. Lately she’d favored her crossbow with deadly modified bolts from Sorine. Returning to such a bow would take practice but she relished the idea of returning to the roots of her archery skill. The muscles in her arms already started adjusting to the lighter weight.

“Do you have any elven arrows with you?” Gelebor asked.

“I’ve several, why?” Torina paused her inspection of the weapon long enough to meet Gelebor’s gaze briefly. His white hair shone brilliantly in the morning sun.

“There is a special property that can be added to them,” Gelebor said. “It’s best done on elven arrows since they’re forged of the same material as the bow.”

Torina listened intently to the mer’s explanation. His words belied some deeper meaning she couldn’t catch yet. Serana fidgeted nervously next to her and piped up.

“Does this have something to do with the prophecy my father’s been living and killing for?”

Gelebor nodded curtly. “Yes, I fear that it does. Auriel’s bow carries a special enchantment I understand is unique to the weapon.. It will work the same as any other bow, the mechanics are the same, but there is a power within it tied directly to the sun. Using blessed arrows from the bow towards the sun will have a devastating effect, especially on the undead.”

At his prompting, Torina withdrew twenty of her elven arrows and laid them in his hands. Gold light of a restoration spell encased the arrows as Gelebor whispered words towards the sky. He looked slightly drained after the effort. Returning the arrows to Torina, she placed them in her quiver carefully, leaving one out to inspect it.

Since the battle fought on this balcony the body of Vyrthur was moved. Torina didn’t know the customs of snow elves for their dead compared to the rest of Skyrim, but she was not surprised to see that Gelebor had removed him from the citadel’s overlook.

Torina looked up, a hand over her eyes, towards the sun to see where it set in the sky. The sunhallowed arrow notched in the bow felt warm under her calloused fingertip. Gelebor understood what she wanted to try and started walking down to the lower section of the balcony.

“Serana, please join me in the cover of the chantry.”

The vampire obeyed as Torina raised the bow towards her target. The sun, the tear that connected Mundus to Aetherius, felt impossibly far away for what she intended though she was too curious to wait to test what the bow could do.

Beneath her hands the bow hummed in a high frequency that increased the closer she got to the sun. As if the bow were guiding her where the correct mark would be, once the vibrations moved so fast they started to numb her fingers, she released a breath and loosed one of the blessed arrows. She squinted at the sun as her shot flew away and had to throw her hand up to shield her eyes a moment later.

Large bursts of sunfire fell on the landscape around her, a short and powerful shower of magic that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Immediately she attached the bow to her back and lifted her hands to dual-cast stoneflesh around herself when one of the bursts landed too closely to her. Torina recognized the color and feel of the magic as from the restoration school - deadly for vampires - but still dangerous to mortals in its potent state. Good thing Gelebor called Serana inside of the chantry. Torina would be sure to warn her companion somehow before using any of these special arrows in combat in a way that the enemy would not benefit from the same warning..

As soon as she started to think of the ways she could help the Dawnguard with this bow, her mind fell to the idea of why Harkon would want it so badly.

“It’s magnificent,” Torina said, walking towards Gelebor and Serana. “But why would Harkon want a weapon in his possession except to keep vampire hunters from using its power against him?”

Gelebor sighed and crossed his arms. He’d donned his full armor set that day so his movements were slightly restricted. “My brother’s ‘prophecy’ likely holds true to how the bow’s power can be corrupted. I fear if this were to get into the hands of such an ancient and powerful creature that his aspirations would become reality.”

Serana’s face was like stone. “So you’re saying that with my blood, the bow would be cursed?”

“Tampering with an aedric or daedric artifact is nearly impossible,” Gelebor said. Torina tried not to look guilty as the weight of the Black Star filled her pocket. “It’s more likely that using your blood on an elven arrow would have the opposite effect as using one of the sunhallowed arrows.”

“I’d rather not test that,” Torina said frankly.

“Neither would I,” Serana said. A small shudder went through her body at the idea.

Gelebor looked between the two women with an openly relieved expression. “I’m pleased to hear that. Now, my ladies, we should start our journey to get you both out of this valley and on your way back to your comrades. The chantry should let us return to my former respite in Darkfall and from there I can assist you in leaving the cave safely.”

Chapter Text

Torina was worried that the chantries would somehow become useless or corrupted after the death of the Arch Curate. Rather, they withstood it and seemed to flourish in his absence. Instead of a slightly uncomfortable and unsettling trip through them the trip from the citadel down into Gelebor’s former hiding place was peaceful. She was very relieved they could avoid running into more of the falmer.

“What will you do now, Gelebor?” Serana asked as they walked through the cave.

The sole uncorrupted snow elf didn’t answer right away. He motioned for them to pause, pointing up ahead where a single troll lumbered around. Torina already had her crossbow out and a bolt readied.

“Is there no way around the beast?” Serana asked.

“Nay, not in this part of the cave network,” Gelebor whispered back. His discomfit about taking the troll’s life was apparent, but the action was necessary.

Torina nodded once and let the first bolt fly, notching another and releasing that too before the beast had even taken notice of them. Two bolts felled the beast easily. She walked forward silently with a small, sharp knife she used for collecting alchemical ingredients. The other two waited as she made quick work of the troll’s lower back where a majority of the useful fat was stored. Torina could hear Gelebor whisper a thanks to Auri-El and a plea that the troll’s soul not be wasted.

The three traveled swiftly through the cave network towards the crack Torina knew led back out into the lands of the Reach and Haafingar. Instead of wasting the few torches they had, they each took their time casting controlled magelight and candlelight spells where needed. Though it was easily past the noon hour by the time they neared the end of the route the cave remained gloomy. It certainly earned the moniker “Darkfall Cave”.

“Will you be joining us past this point, Gelebor?” Torina asked as they saw strips of sunlight brighter than any other they’d encountered.

As the first words the dunmer spoke directly to the other mer since leaving the Vale, he regarded her slowly and with consideration.

“I should not, my friends. My intentions were to join you to the mouth of this passage and ensure your safe return to the rest of Skyrim. It would be...imprudent of me to return to that land now.”

Serana’s voice pricked with a deep sadness and empathy for the snow elf. “You’re afraid the Nords will try to hunt you down like the rest of your kind.”

Gelebor nodded. “My memory of that time is still remarkably vivid and I have no reason to believe they will not resume their bloody purge. I know their only interactions with my kind the last few centuries have been far from hospitable. If there are Falmer surviving in the other Dwemer cities around the rest of the province then they are no doubt as twisted as the Betrayed in the Vale.”

Sharing a loaded glance towards Serana, Torina decided to tell Gelebor the truth. “You’re right. Serana and I have seen a few of the old cities as well as Blackreach beneath the Pale and Whiterun holds.”

“Fal Zhardum Din,” Gelebor said darkly. “I am not surprised. But that only reinforces my desire to stay behind and try to heal the wounds my brother and the Betrayed left behind in the Vale.”

Though she was still stung by Gelebor’s comment the night before Torina couldn’t let herself hold a grudge against the paladin forever. She was still hurt but that didn’t mean her feelings about the Betrayed weren’t stronger.

“I wish you all the luck in Nirn for that task, Gelebor,” Torina said. “What happened to your people was wrong. Call on me if I can aid you in any way.”

“I would appreciate that. You are welcome to return here at any time, you know, Torina,” Gelebor replied.

Torina nodded sharply in acknowledgement, adjusting the crossbow in her arms to lay across her back instead. Serana watched the way her companion spoke with deep earnest and wondered what the dunmer Dragonborn had planned.

“Safe travels back to the citadel,” the vampire said. She reached out to clasp the mer’s arm again in a show of camaraderie, the same way they had after Vyrthur’s defeat.

Gelebor accepted the grip and rested his other hand on Serana’s shoulder. “Blessings of Auri-El be with you, Serana. You are welcome back to the Vale, as well.”

“Thank you.” Serana turned away when he let go and crouched to sneak her way towards the mouth of the cave, intentionally leaving the two mer alone.

Gelebor waited until the vampire was almost out of sight before speaking to Torina quietly. “I am pleased that you would still consider returning after my egregious assumption.”

Standing and fidgeting slightly, wishing to avoid this conversation entirely, Torina busied her hands with checking the straps and buckles of her clothes. The enchantments imbued into the cloth itched at her skin when not in use so she was literally itching to get moving towards the orc stronghold.

“You spoke from ignorance,” she said, more sharply than she intended. With a wince she forcibly softened her tone and continued. “Though I also spoke out of turn. Can we call the apologies even, then?”

“I would like that.”

Torina looked up then at the sound of Gelebor’s soft, happy tone. Her throat dried at the way he smiled at her. It was a smile of hope with a touch of something she didn’t want to recognize. As soon as she tried to swallow against the dryness of her throat Gelebor seemed to catch himself. He cleared his throat, took a step back, and his tone returned to something more formal.

“Torina, before you go, allow me to enchant more of your elven arrows.”

Moment broken, Torina removed twenty more of the moonstone tipped arrows for Gelebor to bless, staying silent. Until she took the arrows from him and held out her arm in goodbye, she didn’t speak.

“Nine divines be with you,” she said.

Gelebor took her arm more gently than he had Serana’s. “And blessings of Auri-El with you, Torina. I look forward to your return.”

Though she did not acknowledge it out loud, Torina found herself hoping she would be able to return as well. Mor Khazgur, then Fort Dawnguard awaited her. Stepping up towards the mouth of the cave where Serana waited with a knowing expression she shielded her eyes from the midday sun.

“Did he apologize?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Torina said.

Serana snorted in laughter, standing to take the first steps out of the cave. “Let’s get going before you decide to turn around apologize some more.”

Torina spluttered at Serana’s suggestion and jogged after her out of the cave and into Haafingar, denying her accusations the entire way.

Chapter Text

“It has been a long time since you have visited our stronghold, blood-kin.”

Torina accepted the greeting from the chieftain of the stronghold Mor Khazgur with a wicked smirk. “Don’t tell me you’ve missed me, Chief Larak.”

The chief laughed deep in his belly and slapped his knee. “I would never say that, little dark elf. Begone with you.”

With a hand as large as Torina’s head he waved the two guests towards one of the homes in the stronghold. The smirk didn’t leave Torina’s face as she stepped forward to, as strongly as she dared, butt heads with the chieftain before walking away.

“I haven’t ever been in an orc stronghold,” Serana mused as she followed Torina up the hill to the forge. “How did you become blood-kin, again?”

“Durak,” Torina said simply. “He and I met at the Eastmarch stronghold a long time ago, way before I joined the Dawnguard. He’s the orc in Fort Dawnguard you may have met?”

Serana confirmed she had with a nod.

“He was the one who convinced me to join in the first place, actually. Kept running into him and a few more of the Dawnguard around Skyrim before I followed him back to the fort,” Torina explained.

“And just like that, you’re blood-kin?”

Torina smiled over her shoulder to Serana as they reached the forge. “Eh, something like that.”

“I don’t believe it,” Serana said with a bite of mischief. When Torina obviously wasn’t going to expand further, she sighed and said, “You’re full of surprises, my friend. One day when this is finally over you’ll need to tell me about more of your adventures.”

Regarding her companion fondly, Serana watched as Torina’s face pinched a bit at the idea, but she didn’t refuse. Serana counted that as a victory in and of itself. The temperature of the air rose significantly as they reached the forge near the mine within the stronghold. Serana wished she could remove her hood to relieve some of the heat without risking the sun weakening her further.

An orsimer woman worked the forge diligently until spotting the two of them approaching. She set down her tongs and opened her arms in greeting, her tusks pinching her lips as she gave them a wide smile.

“Good to see you, blood-kin,” the forge-wife said.

Like she had with the chief, Torina greeted the orsimer with her forehead. Serana declined to follow, which didn’t insult the mer as she was not blood-kin, and the entire clan all were open in their uneasiness of seeing a nordic vampire in their stronghold. It showed the depth of their trust for the dunmer that they would allow her inside at all.

“Same to you, Shuftharz. I’m looking to trade, and possibly purchase horses if you have a place to recommend them.”

“Horses? We do not have any here in the stronghold. I would recommend heading towards the Markarth stables if you need them.”

Torina wrinkled her nose at the idea of seeing Banning. The stable hand made her skin crawl. “I’d rather avoid any hold capitals if I can help it.”

Shuftharz’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Up to no good, blood-kin?”

“I would rather not be held up for any reason,” Torina said, not rising to the orc’s teasing. “My companion and I have to get to the far end of the Rift as soon as we can and the fewer towns we pass through, the safer it is for her.”

Understanding completely, the forge-wife nodded and returned to working at her forge as she talked, most of the teasing gone from her voice. “Mor Khazgur will always welcome blood-kin and any companion they bring with them, but the orcs of Skyrim know how deeply hatred runs in the veins of the nords that live here. You’ll do better setting off on foot as far as you can, friend.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Torina said. “Can we still trade?”

“Of course. What strange things have you brought me on your travels this time, Dragonborn?”

---

The two travelers said their goodbyes after the sun fell behind the mountain range. In this part of Haafingar the darkness of night fell much faster because of the elevation and shape of the land. The orsimer clansmen tried to insist that Torina and Serana stay until dawn but they declined as politely as possible.

“Next time you’re here you owe me a fistfight, little dunmer,” Chief Larak said as they started to walk away.

“Looking to even the score?” Torina teased.

Another of the chief’s belly laughs followed them out as the gates shut behind them. A path stretched before them heading in the direction of Dragon’s Bridge and an option that went further towards the Reach than where they stood.

“Do you have a preference?” Torina asked.

Serana shook her head. “No. I’ll follow your lead.”

Once they were far enough away from the stronghold for her spell not to be noticed, Torina called upon one of the conjurations she learned in the Soul Cairn. Arvak burst forth at her call with a whinny of delight.

“He can carry both of us for a stretch,” Torina said as she patted his snout.

Serana regarded the skeletal beast with fondness. “Honestly I’d rather you ride and I’ll follow alongside. Being back out here in the fresh air of Skyrim under the moons is more than enough for me.”

“But-”

“No. You need to rest sometime, Torina. You need far more sleep than I do. I’ll guide Arvak while you sleep in the saddle and wake you if you need to summon him again or we encounter any trouble.”

Torina ground her teeth, staring down her friend with a fierce gaze, but unable to argue. Since fainting after the fight with Vyrthur she hadn’t gotten a true night’s sleep. There were several days of walking and riding ahead of them, and likely several more after that before she would see a bed again.

Giving in to Serana’s logic, Torina settled herself on Arvak’s surprisingly comfortable spine and set off, her companion walking alongside as they marched towards Fort Dawnguard.

Chapter Text

Isran acted as predictably as they assumed when he saw Torina holding Auriel’s Bow. With barely a moment to breathe the entire company was called away to load carriages and start a campaign that would end right at Harkon’s doorstep. A skeleton crew would be staying behind at the Fort with a mixture of faces that Torina had grown accustomed to over the last year or longer.

For years Torina acted on the fringes of this organization, helping Durak and acting as an informant and scout since she traveled extensively across the province. Now she had spent the better part of the last year or so with the company in the thick of it. The story she told Serana about Durak being the one to finally convince her to go to Isran and ask to join wasn’t false, though she had omitted several other tasks she’d completed for the orsimer to earn blood-kin status. Torina didn’t like to talk about each time she’d met a daedric prince and lived.

Thinking on all she’d been through with this company made her heart swell with pride. She hadn’t belonged to something this close to a family since her time in Kynesgrove, or long before that in Morrowind when her parents were still alive.

Though, if she were being honest, the idea of calling Dravynea any sort of family made bile rise in her throat.

Serana approached her as the dunmer spoke with Florentius. He was very interested in the flora they’d collected in the Vale and was telling Torina that he and Arkay were very curious to know if she’d be willing to get more gleam blossoms, yellow mountain flowers, and poison blooms.

“I’ll bring you any extra I gather, Florentius,” Torina said.

She looked to Serana to see if she needed to speak but the vampire motioned that she could continue. Usually Serana would stick close to Torina as most of the Dawnguard still found her presence unsettling. She had overheard on more than one occasion that Serana’s nickname was ‘Torina’s shadow’.  Torina learned the dovahzul word for ‘shadow’ to amuse Serana and give the nickname power instead of acting as a passive way to ridicule her.

Once when a newer member caused a fuss at Serana’s presence, Torina had had enough. She stood and used her Thuum to mutter vokun , causing the lot of them to be cast in shadowy darkness for a handful of seconds. Isran had rolled his eyes when the recruit tried to complain about the incident and reminded him it’s only a stupid man who goes to a dragon’s lair and insults it in it’s home.

After Torina realized Serana did not need to bring news, she continued speaking to Florentius. “Are you staying behind or joining us at Castle Volkihar?”

“I’ve been tasked to stay behind and help defend the fort in case anything happens. Arkay won’t tell me anything about the outcome of this but I have full confidence in you and the rest,” the priest said. “Isran is smart to keep some of us back. I’d hate to see this fort ruined if we left it without protection.”

“Agreed,” Torina said. “Serana and I are joining the advance guard, so we’ll be leaving soon. Thank you for your help.”

“The pleasure was always mine, Torina,” Florentius said. The odd priest wished safe travels and Arkay’s protection to both of them before wandering off to his enchanting table.

“Who is in the advanced guard with us?” Torina asked Serana. As she’d been relaying information to the moth priest Dexion Evicus about what happened with the Elder Scroll, Serana had been listening to Isran issue orders to the group.

“Sorine, Durak, and Ingjard.”

Torina considered the group. “All good choices. Level headed, even Durak.”

“Isran and I thought the same,” Serana said. “They’ll be waiting at the front door whenever you’re ready to go, Torina.”

“Thank you,” Torina said. “I’ll just be a moment but you’re welcome to join me.”

A sense of dread had grown in the pit of Torina’s stomach from the moment they left Darkfall Cave. She had done and seen so much in her time on Nirn, more than what should be possible by mortal standards, and for the first time had started to worry when her luck might run dry.

Serana followed her through the main hall where the sound of voices echoed off the high walls until individual voices could not be heard. Most of the advanced guard already stood in the foyer of the fort waiting for them. As they walked by Serana could see Sorine off to the side with Dexion speaking softly to each other. The sight made a lump form in her throat and the dread get stronger.

Torina took a deep breath when they made it to the top of one of the towers leading to the top of the fort. The grey light of dawn teased the horizon. When she and Serana had first set off to the Vale in search of the bow the first signs summer was ending were in the air. Now, in the cool morning light, autumn’s grip was unmistakable. Frost Fall had turned to Sun’s Dusk without her noticing.

“Serana,” Torina said as she looked out over the valley. “Do you believe in fate?”

Her companion didn’t respond immediately, taking the question seriously. “Do you, Torina?”

Torina’s lips lifted in a small smile. “I asked you first.”

“I know I used to,” Serana answered. “Especially when I was locked in that crypt with an Elder Scroll tethered to my back for hundreds of seasons. My father’s life revolved around a prophecy that at the time was barely a whisper on the wind, just a hint of something, but he called it destiny. He believed our kind was fated to win over mortals in the end.”

In a pause in Serana’s answer, Torina asked, “And now? What do you believe?”

Serana waited even longer to speak this time. The two of them watched as the first rays of sun crept over the mountains like they’d done dozens of times together. Torina watched as the symbol of Akatosh, of Auriel, made its appearance over Skyrim with a deliberate and predictable path. The idea of changing the path of the sun felt as impossible to her as the idea that she still had enough luck to make it out of another adventure. There would undoubtedly be casualties in this campaign.

What she was afraid of more than anything, though, was the idea of being the only one remaining alive at the end. Again.

“I believe we make our own fate,” Serana said softly.

Her voice called Torina back to reality and she lifted a hand to wipe away a stray tear that had snuck away from her. Serana gave her a moment to collect herself before grasping her hand and pulling her away from the wall. She let go once the dunmer’s feet were steady on the stones and nodded her head towards the door.

“Let’s go make our own fates again.”

Chapter Text

Fog rolled across the bay in heavy waves. Torina, sitting in the center of a rowboat as Durak and Sorine manned the oars on either side, held her knees to her chest to keep from getting seasick. No matter how many times she’d ridden on the water, the only way she didn’t immediately get ill was on larger vessels. Floating across to the island Castle Volkihar rested on made her feel like losing her meager meal of bread and cheese over the side.

The group had made this trip across twice now to scout around the island during the daylight hours when it was less likely to be spotted by any vampiric watchmen. Harkon undoubtedly knew with his daughter out of his sights that he could not keep the same guard schedule as when she was there, but they didn’t run into any trouble. They were able to follow what Serana knew of the castle’s habits like a bard playing Ragnar the Red for the thousandth time. Flawlessly.

“Arrogance,” she’d called it back at their camp. “My father either doesn’t think we’ll come to his doorstep or he’s arrogant enough to believe that when we do that his victory is indisputable.”

From the little interaction Torina remembered with him, she agreed.

“If I’ve learned anything about men with large egos it’s that they can rarely follow through,” Ingjard said.

The nord woman wiggled her eyebrows for emphasis at the crude joke to break the tension. It only half worked. Sorine and Durak huffed a bit with quiet laughter, Sorine rolling her eyes as well at the implication. Durak appeared as though he wanted to say something crude as well but held his tongue. His eyes sparkled with mischief across the campfire from the dunmer.

Torina and Serana tried not to make light of the fact that Harkon’s ego wasn’t exactly misguided. The vampire was powerful. Even with the bow safely tucked in between protective skins, Torina found herself muttering prayers before laying down on her bedroll each night. She’d never been religious since her extrication from Windhelm years ago. A bitter taste coated her tongue whenever she thought of bending her head to any aedra or daedra. Though, recently, she’d found herself on better terms mentally with Talos and Auriel. The godking was a Dragonborn like herself, and Auriel - Akatosh - was the reason for the state of her soul to begin with. Coming to terms with that was hard won. Being Dragonborn had brought her nothing but suffering until recently. She couldn’t begin to understand the decisions of a god but she was trying to see how her status could be used in her favor instead of a way to influence her.

And, she would admit privately to herself, thinking on Auriel kept the Vale at the forefront of her mind. There was a missing piece she couldn’t see yet between herself, the god of time, and the falmer wronged by fate, but she could feel it.

Now, sitting in the middle of the boat that was barely more than a raft, she tried to clear her mind of all those musings to focus on what had to be done. The rest of the Dawnguard had arrived that evening. Their entire company rode in similarly rickety boats across the bay with oars padded for silent rowing, the shadow of the castle rising from the fog, backlit by a slowly rising sun.

Out of the pack she kept at her side constantly, Torina plucked a small set of vials. Three total, each one held a different hue to indicate a boost of regeneration for health, magicka, and stamina. She knew after her fight with Vyrthur that she would need the best to aid her now. All around she could see her comrades moving slowly to poison crossbow bolts. Even if Florentius wasn’t here in person, he was here in spirit through the concoctions developed to be especially deadly to vampires.

Torina made a mental note to keep an eye on Serana’s back during this fight. She trusted her Dawnguard compatriots to not hurt her on purpose now, the Dragonborn’s vokun , but that didn’t mean accidents wouldn’t happen.

As the bottoms of the boats scraped against the smooth pebbles on the shore of the island, Torina felt her stomach lurch with both relief and anxiety. The relief at standing on land again evaporated as quickly as it appeared.

Isran issued orders across the line of Dawnguard. The number was impressive, to be sure, dozens of man and mer alike standing awaiting the signal to surge forward. Sparks of restoration spells lit up a few warrior’s hands like tiny fireworks. The flashes of gold and white lit up faces locked into sneers or schooled into a calm mask of readiness. Torina was glad these people were on her side of this battle.

But she still didn’t know if they’d be enough. With one last silent prayer to Talos to guide her hand, and an afterthought of a request thrown towards Auriel, Torina unwrapped the bow from behind her back.

The entire movement was for show. She had orchestrated this with Isran before leaving the fort with the advanced guard. Bolstering their troops with a dramatic reaffirmation that they were the ones with the bow would go far in boosting morale in their ranks.

With purpose, she withdrew one of the precious arrows Gelebor enchanted for her, allowing it to catch the light of the sun rising over the water. By now the grey was erased from the sky and some of the fog burned away, though the light never seemed to fully reach the shores of Castle Volkihar, some trickery by Molag Bal no doubt to protect his vampiric followers. Her arm shook with the force that she held that arrow notched and ready to fly.

At the moment she stepped close enough on the bridge to trigger the castle’s alarms, she stopped moving and held steady. The doors to the keep burst forth with more vampires than she’d encountered before rushing towards her.

Still she held onto the arrow.

Behind her the low thrum of a war chant rose to a cry. The bridge beneath her feet shook with the power of their thundering steps running towards her and the vampires headed her way.

Still, she held the arrow.

A moment longer…

At the last moment she loosed the arrow up into the sun, calling forth the rain of sunfire. The vampires screamed in agony, allowing her and the half-hidden Serana to run forward through them into the keep. Their comrades would hold the masses.

They had a far larger target in mind.

Chapter Text

Serana stood so still in the chapel that Torina started to fear her companion was turning into stone.

The doors to the chapel behind them opened with great protest, hinges creaking and wood groaning as they swung inward. Isran stepped forward slowly, glancing towards Serana as he passed her, before speaking to Torina.

“It is done?” he asked.

Not looking at the pile of ash that used to be Lord Harkon, Torina nodded.

Isran looked towards Serana again then shared a meaningful glance with Torina. She waved him on to the next room where the cautious sounds of celebration were starting. She didn’t fault the Dawnguard their joy but she wouldn’t join in while her closest friend needed her. Understanding this, Isran left again, pulling the doors shut behind him to afford the two as much privacy as he could.

Serana was crouched down by the ashes when Torina turned around. Her hand hovered above the messy pile of clothes, jewelry, and other odds and ends coated in the remains of her father.

“He was still my father,” she said, her whisper sounding loud in the empty chapel room.

Torina wasn’t sure what to say but decided to crouch next to her and simply listen. Part of her knew the deep cuts a betrayal by a parent could create. But, she didn’t even begin to assume what Serana was feeling was the same. Her grip on the handle of Auriel’s bow shook slightly and she tried to swallow away the sick feeling in her stomach, being patient and understanding for her friend before her own needs.

“Would you like a moment alone here?” Torina asked.

“No. I’d rather leave,” Serana answered. The implication that she didn’t want to be alone at all was obvious.

Outside the chapel, the celebrations of the Dawnguard were generally reserved but the activity was still too much for Torina to handle. The group was tired, to be sure, though ready to start celebrating at any moment. She did not take pleasure in killing some of the oldest creatures in Skyrim, no matter how far gone they were in their bloodlust. The longer she spent taking lives the sicker she felt. And, since it went against much of her dragon soul’s nature, the dichotomy within her worsened each day she fought against it.

She followed Serana out the front doors of the castle. Torina noted that Serana did not look at any of the ash piles filling the grand hall or foyer as they left but did pause once they were outside to look up. The dense fog remained around the island. It protected Torina’s vampiric companion somewhat but the fact it was near midday was obvious in the way the temperature rose outside.

In the quiet and solitude, what they’d done seemed to hit Serana full force. She stumbled towards one of the stationary gargoyle statues remaining on the bridge and sunk to her knees near it, face in her hands. Torina followed her and rested a hand on her shoulder. The vampire’s shoulders did not shake. She sat silent and as unmoving as the stone she leaned on. Settling herself down next to her friend, Torina called restoration magic to her hands, the kind that would not hurt but would soothe Serana. As she drifted her hands around her, Serana didn’t react, her body absorbing the healing magic easily.

“Thank you,” Serana said hoarsely as Torina worked.

Torina stopped so she could hear Serana clearly, the chiming of the spell almost louder than her voice. “You’re welcome.”

Slowly, Serana lifted her head, face dry but orange-irised eyes red rimmed. Torina wondered if someone who’d lived solely on a diet of blood for centuries could cry like a mortal could anyway. It seemed she could not. Looking into her face closely an idea came to Torina.

“Your mother,” the mer said. “She’s still in the Soul Cairn. Could she possibly return now that Harkon is gone? If any uncorrupted vampires remain in Tamriel, they will need a strong beacon to turn to.”

“Uncorrupted? Torina, you speak blasphemy as a vampire hunter,” Serana said. As dark as her words were, her voice was full of hope. She looked around them to see if anyone was around and listening in. “To return to the Soul Cairn you would need me to soul trap you or turn you back into a vampire. I cannot do that.”

“Why not?” Torina asked with a short laugh. “You’ve done it once before, so-”

“You’ve still maintained traits of a vampire since you performed that ritual with Falion,” Serana interrupted bluntly. She took both of Torina’s hands between her own, the skin cold to the touch. “And your dependency on health and stamina potions worries me. You require more and stronger concoctions the longer you push yourself on these quests and missions. And there’s the fact your soul isn’t quite the same as another mortal’s. Can a dragon’s soul truly be fully captured in any soul gem? Altering your soul further than it already has could prove disastrous to your mortal body.

“I appreciate you wishing to join me, my friend. And for reminding me, giving me hope, as you always do.” Serana squeezed Torina’s hands affectionately. “I’m going to head up to the balcony now to travel to the Soul Cairn. I don’t want to waste any more time. Please don’t try to follow me.”

Torina already felt a pit of loss opening up inside of her. While only traveling together for a few months, Serana had become her closest friend she’d ever had. She’d told the vampire more personal things about herself than she’d told anyone before. Losing her would make it hard for her to find the strength to open up again.

“You promise you’ll return, with or without your mother? If she refuses?”

“I promise,” Serana said solemnly.

“Then if you don’t return in a fortnight, I will find a way to get to you. I’ll risk remaining a vampire the rest of my days to free you.” Torina stopped herself from showing her emotions too openly on her face. “I can still call Durnehviir. I will call him as often as I can to check in on your status.”

Serana nodded, committing the plan to memory. She stood and brought Torina up with her. “I need to take this chance while the Dawnguard is distracted. I think I can scale the walls from inside of the garden.”

“Have you been keeping that a secret from me this whole time, when we could have used that in so many nordic ruins?” Torina teased.

Pulling a face, Serana said, “I have to use my Vampire Lord abilities and I hate becoming a cloud of bats for any length of time.”

The friends paused their conversation as a handful of Dawnguard left the keep and started walking towards the boats. Durak and Sorine were among them.

“Go, celebrate with them,” Serana said. “Tell them whatever they need to hear for why I’m gone.”

“Done. And if you return before two week’s time, send a courier to Winterhold.”

The vampire stopped walking away to turn back and give Torina a questioning gaze. “Why are you going there?”

Torina waved her on, ready to jog to catch up with her compatriots. “I need to see an elf about a soul gem.”

Chapter Text

To say Nelacar was displeased to see Torina was an understatement.

“I’m in the middle of delicate research,” the altmer complained. “What is it that you want?”

“I have a puzzle for you, Nelacar,” Torina said, pulling a chair up to sit at his little table.

“Puzzles are more your speed, as I recall.”

“Oh, stop whining,” Torina said. “I’m seeking information, not action. I have a question on souls and daedra, and you were the first to come to mind.”

Nelacar’s already frowning lips deepened and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, praise the divines, that you thought of me.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not at least a little interested,” Torina said.

She withdrew one of the books she found in the Forgotten Vale she intended on bringing to Urag at the college. Even though her past with the mages at the College of Winterhold were mixed at best, she’d always gotten along with Urag in the Arcanaeum. Being blood-kin before entering his sanctum certainly had helped her there. Nelacar’s eyes widened considerably when he saw the first few pages.

“I haven’t ever seen this language before,” he whispered.

When he held out a hand to grab it from her, Torina pulled it back. She wagged a finger on her other hand. “I’ll keep hold of this, thank you. It belongs at the college where it will be taken care of properly.”

Nelacar’s thin lips pinched at that subtle slight against him. Torina knew he was unwelcome at the college for his prior misdeeds, but he recognized she was giving him the chance now to see them before they’d be blocked from him for another age, at least. Her eyes wandered slightly as the altmer greedily flipped through page by page in the book.

The room in the Frozen Hearth was just as neatly kept as she remembered. It seemed the years between her visits here had not changed much about Nelecar’s life. That forced her to realize how much she had changed since working with him to retrieve and corrupt Azura’s star.

Freshly escaped from her former mistress, and the Helgen disaster, and hoping to join the college - hopes dashed not long after - she was desperate for anything that might give her a bit more power over those who might try to capture her. Most of her life before that moment was spent at the feet of one jailor or another. Being Dragonborn hadn’t meant freedom for her in the slightest. Azura’s star seemed like an easy opportunity and a chance to get back at a daedra she felt like had abandoned her many times before.

Though she wasn’t proud of that now, she wouldn’t change her choice. A refilling soul gem was priceless when it kept her weapons charged and made her enchantments stronger. She’d deal with Azura’s ire when the time came.

Before leaving the island of Castle Volkihar, she’d changed into her ebony armor for the trek from Hjaalmarch all the way to Winterhold, using Arvak as often as she dared to cross the northernmost path along the Sea of Ghosts. Her helmet rested on the table next to her. She knew she stuck out like a sore thumb in her armor here, a veritable fortune’s worth of equipment in a town that could barely be called a hold capital, rife with poverty and strife apart from the college. But, her reputation preceded her and she passed without comment through the streets. Word of what happened at Volkihar hadn’t reached this far yet, which she was grateful for. The last thing she would need were chatty guards wanting to ask what happened in great detail.

On her trek the half-trapped dragon Durnehviir proved very useful in any extra protection she needed as well as providing word of the vampire’s in his home realm. Though he provided little detail in the moments he could stand in Mundus, he did keep her hopes up of their eventual return. He seemed more than slightly jealous which likely fueled the minimal information he provided. Torina couldn’t fault him for it.

Nelacar flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning quickly. The gold in his irises was full of wonder and steely determination when he looked up at her. “Where did you get this?”

“Deep in some Dwarven ruins near Markarth,” she lied easily.

“It’s astounding. Why would you bring it to me?” he asked Torina, shrewdness in his gaze. He leaned back away from her and the book reluctantly as she tucked it back into her knapsack.

“I told you, I need information on souls and daedra,” she replied. Pushing her hair out of her face, she tied a leather strip into it to hold it out of her face. “I wanted to show you somehow that it’s not a fool’s errand and that you’ll be compensated for your assistance in some way. Gold. Information.”

“If you’ve come to me instead of speaking to the Conjuration Master at the college then this must be illicit.”

Torina’s mouth soured into a toothy snarl. “Urag is the only mer or man worth the dirt on my shoes in that place. The college mages can lick a skeever’s arse end for all I care.”

That surprised a bark of laughter out of Nelacar. “Noted. You know they would accept you with open arms now after all you’ve done. Word travels fast, even to places as far north as Winterhold.”

“Tch. I repeat, those uptight mages can-”

“I heard you the first time,” Nelacar said with another chuckle. “Fine. What are your questions? I can’t promise you I will have the answers but I will do my best to help you.”

“That’s all I ask of you,” Torina said. She pushed away her annoyance at the college and pressed forward. “Is your experience with the daedra limited strictly to Azura?”

“Thankfully my personal experience is only with her, yes.”

“Hmm. Count yourself lucky.”

Nelacar stared at Torina over his mug with narrowed eyes. He didn’t comment on that half-cryptic message, however, and for that Torina mentally thanked him.

“My concerns lie with the dwemer, actually,” she said after a time.

“They didn’t have anything to do with the daedra,” Nelacar interrupted.

Leaning forward on the table, Torina pointed a finger towards him and smirked. “But that’s where you’re wrong. They acknowledged their existence but mocked or ignored them. That’s far from nothing.”

Nelacar pinched his lips and folded his hands in his lap, crossing his legs at the ankles below the table. His feet went underneath her chair where she’d lifted her legs to sit with her legs crossed over one another.

“I’ll concede that you have a point. Does this have anything to do with the book you’ve brought me? Did you find something else in that dwarven ruin?”

Torina wondered how best to breach the subject she really wanted to discuss. She checked to make sure the door was shut tightly to the room before casting a modified muffle spell, layering the wall and door with the magic instead of herself. Nelecar raised an eyebrow at that but simply waited to hear what she had to say. She definitely had his attention, exactly what she wanted.

“This book was written by snow elves, Nelacar. The falmer.”

Chapter Text

Nelacar couldn’t join Torina on her short trek up to the college. She truly wished she wouldn’t have to go here at all, herself, but she needed to make sure the books she’d found were safely stored with Urag until she may need them again. Leaving them in Fort Dawnguard where a curious comrade might pick it up or a superstitious Nord could interpret it as dark magic was out of the question.

The orsimer was lukewarm about seeing her. Lukewarm for Urag was enthusiastic by most standards. He was shocked almost to silence when she showed him the four books she’d located across the Forgotten Vale.

“I’d like to ask you a tremendous favor, Urag,” Torina said as the mer looked over the spoils. “I need to make sure these are protected and appropriately restored. I found them buried in snow and have no idea how long they were there.”

Urag nearly choked when she told him the state they were in when she picked them up. He didn’t ask for payment which surprised her.

“I won’t know how much to charge until my work is complete,” the mer said to explain.

Torina fought a grin. She could see the excitement Urag was attempting to hide. She’d brought him a prize and she knew it. It was the least she could do after his help locating the Elder Scroll that ultimately unlocked the possibility of defeating Harkon, and revealed to her the exact plight of the snow elves. There was a lot she could thank him for, and this seemed to be a good way to start.

“Of course. Thank you, Urag. I’ll return as soon as I’m able, but send a courier to Fort Dawnguard if you require me.”

“Still in with those vampire hunters, huh? I thought you might have outgrown them by now. Joined the college, made a decent citizen of yourself,” the mer barbed.

He knew his comment would fall on deaf ears but couldn’t help but say it anyway. Torina rolled her eyes and bid the mer farewell.

The walk into the college and to the Arcanaeum was blessedly uneventful, and she hoped for the same on the way out. Her ebony armor waited for her back at the Frozen Hearth. Rarely did she wear only a set of mage robes but today it felt appropriate to blend into her surroundings. Few college mages wore more practical armor even on their feet or arms.

A dunmer at the college was as common a sight as blue mountain flowers in the plains especially since she first entered the halls years ago. Several students walked near her as she left proving her point, their mixed mer backgrounds hiding her relatively easily. Business here fell out of her realm of worry more often than not so she had no clue who was who and doing what. The student population looked larger than what she remembered from several years ago. She did notice there was still a Thalmor agent wandering the Hall of the Elements but she left out the front doors to the courtyard before she caught his eye. The last thing she needed was a nosy altmer in her way. The doors opened easily when she pushed to walk out-

And ran directly into Savos Aren.

“Good morning, traveler,” the Arch Mage said, his smooth accent sliding over her arms like snakeskin. She fought the urge to run. “Welcome to the College of Winterhold. Have we met?”

Torina braced herself. Focused on her breathing. Reminded herself that she did not look the same as she had when she first met this mer. Now she was a bit taller and with considerably more scars, courtesy of draugers and dragons.

His face forced memories to the surface of her mind swift enough to make her heart rate increase and get lightheaded.

“No, I don’t think we have.” Her voice spoke without her command, the words hollow and unfeeling.

“Well, enjoy your time here. If you’re looking to become a student please see Mirabelle Ervine to see if we have places available in your discipline.”

The small speech was so rehearsed that she could remember the first time she’d heard those exact words leave his lips. Though it was years in the past the memory still stung.

Torina kept her composure, nodded to him, and started marching away towards Winterhold. All of her focus kept her alive as she crossed the narrow, broken bridge but she couldn’t stop the memories from hitting her. She knew she had run the risk of this happening by visiting this place but she had no other options to keep those books safe.

Savos Aren had done nothing to her all those years ago, and that was the problem.

Torina made it to the Frozen Hearth to retrieve her belongings from Nelacar’s room before she started to break down. As much as she’d suspected this could happen, the resulting deterioration at the reminder of what happened to her was overwhelming.

In a last minute decision she slapped a handful of septims, enough for a couple nights, down on the counter for the innkeeper and took an open room. Her original plan didn’t include doing her studies here in Winterhold. The library at Castle Volkihar was impressive to say the least and would be better suited to what she needed, no doubt. But, right now, she needed time to recover. There was also a chance Nelacar could prove useful. He had told her he didn’t have answers now and would need time to study, himself.

Now, though, she had to make the time to stay. There was no way in Nirn she would be fit to travel alone like this and hope to protect herself. Ever since her time spent around Elder Scrolls, these sorts of dreams and visions hit her harder than an angry mammoth charging across the plains. There was no stopping it once it started.

Shutting the door and bolting it, she buried herself into the cot provided and worked to control her breathing. This was overdue. This was necessary.

This would be painful.

Chapter Text

Dravynea the Stoneweaver lived for decades in Kynesgrove before Torina stumbled up the hill to hide under the front porch of the inn. Those years were long and cold and almost forced her back to try her luck in Morrowind. Her patience was acknowledged, and she thanked Mephala for rewarding her so well.

The state of the girl’s hair and skin almost disguised her Dunmer heritage, so dirty and abused was she. But she was Dunmer.

She was perfect.

On sight Dravynea could guess the young woman had emigrated from Morrowind. Decades had passed since she lived within the walls of Windhelm but the look on her face and the way she carried herself spoke volumes.

“What is your name, child?” she had asked, schooling her voice to something much kinder than what she used to address the guards and other townsfolk in Kynesgrove.

Voice small but steady, the girl replied, “Torina.”

The bandits that lifted the girl, Torina, from whoever was watching over her in the city had beaten her. Badly. No life threatening wounds were visible and the spark of residual restoration spells told her why. Torina knew enough magic to heal herself, then. The blood that Dravynea helped to clean out from under Torina’s nails proved she fought against her attackers. Good. The girl had spirit and that was what Dravynea needed. What she’d prayed for.

“No parents or surname? What house do you hail from?” She tried as gently as possible to prod for information.

The hands she held stiffened in her grip like Torina wanted to pull away from her. With a stern glare from Dravynea not to interrupt the delicate healing of her finger bones, she stopped her fidgeting. A few moments passed before she answered. Dravynea was patient. She could wait for the girl to find her tongue again. She’d waited years for Mephala to answer her prayers and she’d done so beyond her imagining.

“I don’t have any close family left, and my house was erased from the records when I was placed in the Gray Quarter.”

“Bastard Nords,” Dravynea whispered. She scrubbed a bit too hard on Torina’s forearm and made the girl flinch. A restoration spell healed the redness away immediately. “A mer needs a place to call home no matter where they wander.”

The softness, the slow care, the patience. Dravynea had waited so long for a little mer like Torina to appear in Kynesgrove that she had plenty to spare for her new project. A vision was all she’d lived on for decades now, the hint of a promise in this hellishly cold landscape. Torina had fallen for the platitudes easily. Bright red eyes watched her every movement carefully, and soon it was with reverence and utmost trust.

If Dravynea were not so focused on her ultimate task then she may have had pity for the girl.

Even as the young mer softened towards her new protector, Dravynea worked to temper Torina into the sharpest blade. Torina arrived with limited knowledge on the princes and customs if worship of her homeland but Dravynea made sure she knew her place at Mephala’s mercy. After learning of the Nord’s worship of Talos and how judiciously it was guarded across the province, especially in Windhelm, the girl Torina knew the value of not speaking of her faith out of turn. That instinct kept the Dunmer out of the concern of the suspicious smattering of fellow townsfolk.

Living in Kynesgrove limited Dravynea’s access to thoroughly train Torina. But there was a stir in the air that thickened the taste of magicka at the back of Dravynea’s tongue when she slept, and made her blood rush through her veins whenever she focused on the hill outside the town. Though she didn’t understand the true meaning behind these changes she knew they had to do with Torina. The Nords around her especially made her suspicious of that mound’s significance. As each year passed she wondered if their claims of a dragon burial mound were accurate, and started to believe them a little more.

Years passed and the girl grew to be an adept mage in the study of alteration. Before escaping the bandit horde that captured her, Torina admitted she’d never used magic much past a healing spell for minor cuts or flame spells to light the hearth. Dravynea changed that swiftly. She would need to be adept in many fields to work in the way that her master required. Following alteration were other schools of magic, though the way she moved always spoke of more power locked inside of her. This power was all the more obvious when they trained on that hill. A low thrum of power moved through them like a tattoo of a drum.

The first time she was handed a true bow and arrow, not just a simple hunting bow and quiver full of iron arrows, Torina’s prowess started to sing forth. She could rival the natural talent of a Bosmer with a bow.

Dravynea could not leave Kynesgrove under the guise of the mine requiring her full attention at all times. But, when she took the girl up to the strange hillock no one would truly acknowledge in the town below, and created several marksmanship courses, Torina impressed her beyond what she expected.

“I have a task for you, Torina,” Dravynea said one night after such a demonstration.

“Yes, mistress?” the girl replied automatically.

Such a small act of submission, but the phrase and compliance built fire in Dravynea’s soul. The older Dunmer asked,  “You recall my asking you to collect frost salts for me before, correct? And this task took you-”

“-to Whiterun,” Torina interrupted.

Dravynea’s hand lashed in a slap across the girl’s face before she could react, a fine line of blood blooming slowly to the surface across her cheek below her eye. Though she lifted a hand automatically to heal herself, Dravynea grabbed that as well. As much spirit as the girl had and for how well she submitted to Dravynea’s authority, Torina still had a fire within her that was difficult to quell. It would be necessary to snuff that out at the exact most opportune moment.

“Do not speak out of turn with me,” the older Dunmer said calmly.

Torina’s eyes burned as red as the blood on her cheek shining in the light from the moons. But she held her tongue. She obeyed.

“I need you to return to Whiterun, my pet,” Dravynea purred, smoothing her hand over the cut cheek with a wash of healing. “There is something in the plains nearby that I desire very much.”

“Will I be traveling alone?” Torina asked after a sufficient amount of time passed where she would not be speaking over her mistress.

“For part of the way, pet. Delvin Mallory advised he would be sending someone to meet you at the Drunken Huntsman in ten day’s time.”

“What shall I be collecting for my mistress?”

“A blade. A very important blade, pet.”

Teeth bright against her dark skin, Dravynea allowed herself a grin. The ache of triumph for Dravynea was so close that even the heavy magicka in the air around this strange burial mound couldn’t outdo it.

Chapter Text

“You’re the whelp she sent?”

Torina scowled at the man through the opening of her hood. In order to make it past the guards at the gate she had used red mud packed by her mistress to mask her Dunmer skin to something more similar to a redguard woman’s complexion. The actual redguard who worked the forge at the entrance to the city had looked at her strangely, the red eyes giving Torina away, but she hadn’t raised the alarm. She would need to address that with her mistress for any future missions. Not that dark elves like her were never in the hold capital; she'd garnered a reputation for thieving and questionable magic she needed to avoid for this task.

The man before her had taken ver few precautions hiding himself, though. Torina could see the curious looks his complicated leather clothing was attracting. No simple farmer or traveler was he. Most of the other patrons boasted dust on their heels and the plainest of jewelry on their necks.

Settling her loose robes around her, Torina sat heavily down into the seat across from him. The bulky Nord woman at the able across from them glanced between them, narrowed her eyes, but returned to her mead and bread without comment. Torina wasn’t concerned with what the woman thought of her, meeting a much older man late at night in a tavern, and pushed the woman’s face from her mind.

“And you’re the man from Mallory,” Torina said. “I imagined you to be...less conspicuous.”

A bark of laughter left the man’s lips. It washed the smell of dark ale over Torina, passing through the thin cloth around her head easily. She found it unpleasant but the man had nicer teeth and fresher breath beneath that cloud of alcohol than many of the men she’d met in cities far poorer than this one. Like a fine horse, it showed how well he was taken care of. Torina’s stomach rumbled at the thought.

“Can’t have that,” the man said, tearing part of his bread off for her. She carefully passed pieces below her hood after passing a hand over the food, checking for poison. That action made him raise a brow. “Smart whelp, then. You can call me Killjoy.”

“Your mother was not a kind woman,” Torina quipped.

Killjoy barked a softer laugh. “You’re lucky I’m not fond of my mother, girl. Another Nord would brawl you for less. And your name?”

Torina finished her mouthful of bread before answering. As the first fresh food she’d eaten that day she wished she could savor it. “Biter.”

“I’ll not ask how you earned that one.”

The man could tell easily that she was using a false name, same as he, and the nickname made him smile wide enough to show most of his teeth. Torina found herself very curious of this tall and broad Nord with rosy cheeks, dark hair, and a far more relaxed temperament than any other of the thieves she’d worked with. He was so charismatic. That was a trait she envied, something she never learned how to mimic. Her aptitudes lay closer to quiet snark, sneaking about, and lashing comebacks. The few orcs that passed through Kynesgrove on the way to the stronghold nearby had always found her company amusing but she’d not won over anyone else in her current home.

“I’ve a plan on collecting this artifact your mistress is so keen on getting,” Killjoy said later on that evening when they’d moved up to a rented room.

“I’m sure it’s inspired,” Torina said drily.

No one seemed to notice when she’d left the barroom before midnight and when the Nord followed over an hour later. Torina spent the time between cleaning her face of the heavy disguise for something far less flowy. Sneaking through catacombs or caves to nab an artifact would be far easier if she weren’t getting a sleeve caught on something every few feet. Snapping the last belt around her midsection she put her hands on her hips and tried to stand taller. She was short, especially for her age which she guessed at close to twenty five years, but this Nord’s height would dwarf most anyone. Torina was very curious to see how a man of his bulk could move carefully enough to steal anything.

Killjoy rolled his eyes at her tone, settling himself into the single chair in the room. “There’s a meadery south of town that connects to catacombs underneath. Took me weeks and a satchel of septims to see where those skeevers were going. Another member of the Guild should be there tomorrow to meet with the owner’s man to arrange a, shall we say, extermination deal.”

“What does this have to do with the blade my mistress is searching for?”

“I’m getting to that, whelp,” Killjoy said. “It will be a distraction for the hold’s guards while we nab what will be stored there tonight. There’s a few Vigilants of Stendarr carrying exactly what you need supposed to pass by around the same time.”

“Vigilants?” Torina said. “What do they have to do with this? Why do they have the blade?”

Killjoy’s eyebrows flew up into his messy hairline. “Do you really know what it is we’re doing here-”

“Of course I do,” Torina snapped back.

He noted how Torina flinched slightly when he leaned forward as she snapped at him, which made him scowl. Striking her was out of the question but her impudence made him react threateningly automatically. Brynjolf and Mercer warned him the girl was mouthy based on their prior experiences hiring Dravynea’s girl-child. That movement was something he’d seen on many of the children living in Honorhall above the Guild. But, it was none of his business what went on between this girl and her mistress.

Chapter Text

Shaking hands, dried blood caked beneath her fingernails, Torina held her stomach to keep from bleeding out. She tried to make sense of how she got to this point.

The errand Dravynea sent her on had ended exactly as her mistress had desired. Killjoy had assisted in collecting the strange ebony blade from the Vigilants, all somehow without killing them and remaining undetected, and returned to his Guild with heavy pockets. Torina left the scene to head back home to Kynesgrove, the blade in tow.

Whispers plagued her the whole way. She had tried to listen, suspecting they were Dravynea’s chosen daedric prince. Mephala, The Whispering Lady, had never spoken to Torina directly before. But no matter how much she tried to meditate and listen while traveling back to Kynesgrove, it was fruitless. The whispers remained at the back of her mind. They only taunted her by remaining too out of reach to hear or understand.

Night had fallen by the time she returned to her mistress’s small one room home. A lantern was the only light. Before Torina could find a candle or cast a magelight spell, the blade on her back was unbuckled and in Dravynea’s hands.

“Mistress,” Torina said, mouth wide in a wicked smile of triumph. “I’ve brought the blade you requested, and I have wonderful news!”

Dravynea’s eyes stayed locked on the blade in her hands. She gripped the pommel covetously as she whispered, “What is it, my child?”

Torina’s heart soared at the way her mistress addressed her. Not pet. Not girl. My child . “Our lady Mephala has been attempting to speak to me since I collected this. I had hoped-”

“Then it’s time to follow me. If our lady has indeed spoken to you then you must come. Immediately.”

Mouth clicking shut as soon as Dravynea started to speak, Torina felt a bubble of anxiety and excitement burst within her. Without further explanation to where or why they were leaving in the middle of the night. Torina followed. She’d never known Dravynea to leave Kynesgrove. Ever. The sight was enough to shut her up for most of the trip.

By the light of the stars and moons, Torina saw the city of Windhelm far beneath them as they trekked up the side of a mountain. A few lights in the streets, visible even at this distance because of the early hour and darkness, started to snuff out as the city truly fell still and quiet. She forgot how much she loved those moments in Windhelm. It wasn’t smart to leave the safety of the locked shop but she used to enjoy the lack of taunts from Nords or the chance to observe the strangest citizens the city had to offer.

“Where are we going, mistress?” Torina asked Dravynea the further they walked up.

“No questions, child,” Dravynea replied. A manic glee colored her voice. “You will spoil the surprise.”

Though she was likely far too old to be excited for surprises, a childish anticipation crept along inside of Torina, adding a spring to her step. She’d never seen Dravynea so happy and proud of her. She would not waste this moment by angering her with interrupting.

At the top waited an enormous shrine of a daedra that Torina did not recognize. Several worshippers ignored them and continued to spar with deadly force at the base of the impressive statue. Torina figured by now the first hints of dawn should have started to show, especially this high up in the mountains, but the darkness stayed the same around them. A chill of ancient magic ghosted over her skin.

Dravynea led her up the stairs to the statue and Torina’s eyes locked on the bloodied skulls and poisonous ingredients that littered the ground around them on the way.

“Dravynea-” she started to ask.

Her mistress spun to grasp her face by the chin, pinching her fingers into the soft flesh of Torina’s cheeks. Dravynea’s breath was hot and reeked of rotten meat as she leaned in far too close for Torina’s liking.

“Silence, lamb. The surprise is coming soon.”

Almost every fibre in Torina’s body revolted against the feeling, the absolute wrongness she felt at those words. But her mind tricked her. Dravynea had saved her, raised her, trained her how to be a great mage and fighter. She would not hurt her.

Torina was wrong.

She could not fight the spell Dravynea placed on her at the top of the altar. She did not get a chance to raise her arms to defend herself. The ebony blade of Mephala slipped between her ribs easily.

The blade kept her blood from spilling as fast as it wanted to. Torina had reached out to grab the blade with her bare hands in a desperate attempt to stop Dravynea from twisting it, or removing it to stab her again. The edges cut into her palms down to the bone. Every restoration spell she knew fled her mind in that moment, the pain overwhelming, even as her body screamed at her to use her magicka.

“Why?” she managed to croak out, staring up at her mistress as she bled on her knees.

Dravynea giggled manically, her eyes wide and lips cracked and dry, sending shadows of red blood over her white teeth. She did not answer Torina.

The blade started to act of its own accord, drawing lifeforce from Torina greedily. The betrayal she felt mixed with the acute agony was ichor to it and to the altar below. Working in tandem the blade of Mephala and the altar of Boethiah moved her closer and closer to death.

But, in a flash of anger, of self-preservation she felt down to the depths of her soul, Torina refused to die.

A rise of power she didn’t recognize blossomed inside of her, a bubbling vent about to burst into a geyser of emotion and pain. She was powerless to stop it but felt no need to. Even through the pain she recognized this power as salvation and embraced it fully.

Her hands fell to the ground on either side of her. In her stance, on all fours, the blade inside of her was lodged firmly and Dravynea crowed in victory. Torina used the position to catch her breath as best she could, her eyes rolling back into her head, before springing to her feet and opening her mouth to scream the word itching at the back of her mind since she first grasped the blade.

“ Qahnaar !”

Dravynea was blasted from her place on the altar to the stone wall of the mountain behind her. Clutching at her throat and eyes, the Dunmer wailed in pain. Torina ripped the blade from her gut in as smooth a motion as she could, and raised her hands to herself and poured all of the magicka she could command into a spell to heal herself. In a last minute decision, she grabbed the blade covered in her blood, and fled.

She ran all the way back to Kynesgrove, chest heaving, and gathered what little she owned. Eyes stared at her as she sprinted away from the village back to where she’d found the blade at first. Her clothes were still soaked in too much blood. They thought she was a murderer, for who could survive with that much blood on them and it be their own? The blade was returned to the Vigilants in Whiterun hold and she did not care to know where it was placed afterwards.

Torina knew Dravynea returned after that to Kynesgrove without a single memory of what she’d done. The one time she’d run into the Dunmer since that night she’d shown no ounce of recollection of ever knowing the younger Dunmer. Her memory loss didn’t stop the hold from placing a bounty onTorina’s head for attempted murder.

Going to the college was her first mistake. Unkind whispers followed her wherever she went. Torina blamed Mephala. It made life unbearable in the college and the mages only shunned her the worse the symptoms became. It didn’t help she’d corrupted Azura’s star while there, and missed weeks of study because of it.

Her wrongly accused crimes led to her capture at the border of Skyrim and Cyrodiil during an attempt to flee. And, what followed was a promise of a beheading in Helgen.

Torina didn’t understand until she’d seen the black dragon Alduin that day that the whispers she’d heard were words of the Thu’um, not from Mephala. The whispers were warning her of her mistress’s sudden, but inevitable betrayal.

Gruth . Betrayal. A betrayal she had declared and denied.

A betrayal that still haunted her to this day.

Chapter Text

“I’ll need another blasted soul gem to test this,” Nelacar whined. “At least a filled lesser soul gem.”

Torina rolled her eyes at her research companion. “I’ve another of those, Nel. The whining is unnecessary.”

Nelacar shot her an annoyed look and took the gem Torina offered. Placing it on top of the modified enchanter’s table again, the pair waited while the rune he imbued with power took effect. Next to the gem with the white lesser soul of some hapless restless draugr lay a similar soul gem marked by a fine line of dried and crushed snowberries along the top. The enchanting fortification properties of the fruit was meant to help boost the tests Nelacar was performing but hadn’t produced results yet.

The gem covered in snowberries held the soul of a Falmer Torina had slain with a bound weapon in a Dwemer ruin months ago, long before traveling to the Vale. Nelacar now knew exactly what she was after with these experiments, her final goal, and was treating that gem with the utmost care. It helped that Torina watched him like a hawk each time he did anything with it.

“I think something more potent would be better,” Torina said after another failed experiment. At least this time the gem she provided wasn’t destroyed.

Nelacar looked even more frustrated at her suggestion. Though, he commonly appeared frustrated. That was Torina’s overarching impression of all Altmer.

Torina sat back in her chair in Nelacar’s room, her legs folded beneath her and her chin resting on her hands. Her body ached still from the trip through the cold mountains of the Pale and Winterhold. Even the stamina potion she drank that morning couldn’t quell the chill in her bones. With fingers stiff with cold she’d managed to coerce her hair into a bun tied with a leather strip at the crown of her head but it still threatened to fall apart. Months constantly on the road had taken a toll on her once well-cared for raven hair. A brush or comb hadn’t touched it for longer than she could recall.

With his typical slight frown, Nelacar scrutinized her. “What do you suggest? It would take at least a week for you to go to another hold to get the stronger ingredients and return here, unless you have something else in mind?”

Without context for what they were doing, she didn’t rightly know what to suggest, but had a gut feeling they were missing something. She was glad Nelacar didn’t think to suggest going up the hill to the College for help or supplies. Even thinking about that made her stomach turn.

“I don’t, not yet,” she admitted. “But this isn’t working. Each test goes nowhere. Something about the Falmer’s soul is unlike the other ones available to collect.”

“Obviously,” Nelacar said.

“Don’t be a pain, Nel. Regardless, it’s obvious that their souls have gone from being black souls to great, common, or even lesser white souls. It’s frustrating.”

“Only a daedric prince or aetherial god could possibly alter an entire species’ soul capacity,” Nelacar mused.

Torina sat straight up in her chair, gripping the edge of the table where the enchanter’s table rested to contain her frustration. “Yes, exactly as I said. Something happened with the Dwemer indirectly or with the Falmer themselves and a daedra or aedra. The problem is, what? The princes aren’t known to hide what they think are great accomplishments.”

“Unless,” Nelacar started to say, then paused. After a moment he continued. “Unless the Falmer losing their status was unintended, or a mistake. These mer were known as impressive to say the least, and also obviously had their own society and language. Those books you showed me proved that. We don’t have record of any quarrel between them and any Aedra or Daedra, not like the Dwemer. I’m not certain that any prince or god would want to admit they’d affected an entire race this way. Even one that enjoys chaos, like Sheogorath.”

“Azura saw no issue with that,” Torina added, referencing the way the daedra cursed her Chimer ancestors.

“I was getting to that,” Nelacar said, some of the bite returning to his voice. “Except for Azura I am not sure of other records of such a change, not of this magnitude.”

“I’m not keen on asking Azura any questions about this,” Torina said bitterly. “Changing her artifact did not earn either of us any favors with her.”

Nelacar nodded and his mouth dropped back into his usual frown. The Black Star was too big of an elephant in the room regarding Azura. Torina regretted the decision she made those years ago and would face whatever consequences the Daedra set for her when the time came.

“The key to understanding what happened to the Falmer to change them so drastically is hidden either with the Dwemer or with the deities,” Nelacar said. “Neither are prone to revealing their secrets.”

Torina kept quiet but she considered the chance she knew someone who knew enough about souls that they’d have an answer. Nelacar only saw this as an interesting puzzle to solve, but with no real merit or applicable results. Typical Altmer scholar, that one. Her goal was still to find a way to relieve some of whatever changed the Falmer. The rise of urgency within her was getting harder and harder to ignore every day.

Since releasing some of the memories and pain of her time with Dravynea, Torina had been exhausted and barely able to assist Nelacar. The reminder that the College turned her away, same with the Thieves Guild, before her capture and attempted beheading at Helgen was scabbed over again. She was content to let it be that way and to continue to shove those old wounds down, down, down. Surely both groups would now welcome the lauded Dragonborn with open arms but they’d scorned her at her darkest hours.

A dragon did not soon forget a slight.

But, it had been several days since that episode. To keep her promise, she would need to leave Nelacar with his studies and head back to Castle Volkihar post haste. She hadn’t received a courier yet but two weeks were almost up. And she didn’t have the space to call Durnehviir within Winterhold. He would no doubt be noticed, at the very least, and she didn’t feel like dealing with those questions.

Whatever she promised to Serana, if her friend didn’t leave the Soul Cairn with her mother soon she would go back in there to get her out of the grip of whatever held her there. Desire to keep her friend safe was most of her motivation to return, but she could admit she had another idea in mind.

Perhaps Valerica would be able to answer some of her questions.

Chapter Text

Almost all of the Dawnguard had cleared away from Castle Volkihar by the time Torina returned. The only ones that she knew well that remained were Sorine and Durak. Upon arrival she was greeted fondly by the two and a third she hadn’t expected to trek out to this remote island.

Dexion Evicus the moth priest had returned to covering his eyes with a cloth tied around his eyes. He’d removed the cloth after a vast improvement in his vision back at Fort Dawnguard. Torina was dismayed to see that he had apparently reverted back to his previously damaged state just after reading the elder scroll for her, moving her journey towards the Forgotten Vale in the first place.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ve got enough eyes for the both of us right now,” Sorine told Torina. The Breton’s face betrayed her worry.

“How did he get all the way out here?” Torina asked her friend.

Sorine gave her a half-smile. “He smuggled himself along on the last supply caravan. Apparently the whelps at the fort didn’t notice he’d left until the caravan was halfway here.”

“Stubborn one, that.”

“Like someone else I know,” Sorine said with a laugh. “That someone is me, by the way.”

Torina lifted an eyebrow and smirked at Sorine. “I gathered as much.”

The Dunmer conversed a bit more with her friends, getting treated to Sorine throwing concerned glances at her beau all the while, before heading back into the keep. Torina had almost tried to sneak around the back of the island but couldn’t help but stop and check on the status of the Dawnguard. She would risk one of them noticing her going up to the balcony if it meant she could verify the hard work of the last half year was returning dividends.

Isran had left to go back to Fort Dawnguard, leaving the island in command of Sorine and Durak, who had been named equally second in command in his absence. From how the two of them told it, he’d strong-armed them into agreeing. Torina wasn’t surprised. Neither was very fond of leading off the battlefield. Isran was required to report into all the major holds he could, however, and that was a task they both detested even more.

Torina knew she needed to officially advise Isran of her intentions for a leave from the Dawnguard. But, with him off who knew where, she didn’t know when she would get her chance. A sense of urgency pushed her forward and waiting for him was not an option. The conversation was surprisingly much easier than she expected with Durak. It felt fitting, in a way, since he was the one to convince her to sign up in the first place. Cyclical, like the rise and fall of the sun. The much older Orsimer saw the fire burning in her with another quest and did not deny her the chance to pursue it, just like she had expected.

“Dragonborn, do not worry what Isran will think. That old Redguard knows better than to cage a dragon. Besides, he can’t tell blood-kin what to do before we can.” The last bit was delivered with a toothy smile and chuckle.

Torina left the camp shortly after, exchanging promises with her closest allies that should the vampire threat rise again, they could call on her for aid. They traded guarantees of their own that should she ever need them they’d answer the call as well. That was no small comfort to the Dunmer.

Trekking back up to Valerica’s study took a much shorter time than Torina remembered it taking the first time. The distinct lack of set traps and living gargoyles certainly helped. The door to the study was barred when she reached it, however, and so she took a chance that she knew who was on the other side. Sharply knocking on the door, she called out Serana’s name and waited for a response.

Her vampiric companion opened the door not a minute later.

“Long time no see,” she said, stepping away so Torina could enter. Without hesitation she briefly embraced her, which Torina returned happily.

“Likewise,” Torina said. “It’s great to see you.”

Valerica stood at the top of the short flight of stairs in her study, leaning forward to look down at Torina and her daughter. “Well met, Dragonborn.”

“Well met, Valerica. You look radiant as always.”

“Spare me the flattery,” Valerica said with a smile. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

Torina glanced down at her clothes, forgetting she’d donned a set of clothes from Nelacar meant to help her blend in on her journey back across the northernmost reaches of Skyrim. The last time Valerica had seen her she had been wearing an entire set of custom ebony mail, the same set she’d worn to defeat Vyrthur.

“It takes some effort to blend in,” Torina explained. “While Serana went back to the Soul Cairn to advise you of Harkon’s defeat I had a task of my own to complete. In all honesty, I was hoping to ask you some questions about this as well.”

Valerica’s interest was undoubtedly peaked. Walking towards the Dunmer, Valerica took a seat at a work table and invited her daughter and guest to do the same with a sweep of her hand. There were several small vials on the table Torina hadn’t noticed when she’d walked in that were smaller versions of the blood potion Serana had carried with her across Skyrim to keep from needing to feed.

“What sort of questions do you have for me, friend?”

Mindful that it could be a touchy subject, Torina started by asking, “Your time spent in the Cairn, you were trapped in that castle for a majority of it, correct?”

Valerica tensed as she sipped some of the potion. Her voice was terse as she said, “Correct.”

“Were you able to view any of the other trapped souls on the perimeter while you were there?”

“Yes, though rarely. The souls trapped there were either listless or violent, no in between. I was privy to many skirmishes and attacks of the malignant ones attacking each other or those who would not fight back. For the most part they kept away from my prison for fear of Durnehviir.”

“Do you recall the race of any of those trapped?”

“Their race?” Valerica asked, visibly confused. “Not well, by the sight of them. Souls trapped are hard to discern at a distance by such miniscule features. Why?”

“I recall encountering several different races and types of souls in the Cairn,” Torina said. “But I do not recall meeting many that were below the level of a black soul. I need to know if you recall seeing any Falmer among those trapped.”

Valerica sat silent for several moments. She drummed her fingers slowly on the wooden tabletop and let her eyes go out of focus as she thought. “I was trapped there almost as long as my daughter was hidden in Dimhollow Crypt. I do not recall seeing a snow elf but I admit I have not encountered one even for centuries before that. Living as long as I have some memories are left to the wayside in favor of those I choose to hold onto. The Falmer were not one of them, though I could not tell you why. Only that I did not find them important enough to retain in some forgotten century.”

The answer was not one that Torina was hoping for. Rather, it was a punch to the gut of her plans and called for a new approached. She’d hoped that she’d be able to, at the worst, return to the Cairn herself and search for any black soul trapped Falmer from before their souls were twisted to a lower value. Valerica’s answer also send a chill up her spine. Though she had no plans to die anytime soon, this perspective of immortality gave her new respect for one of the detriments to becoming a vampire.

Explaining her plan to find the reason for the twisting of a race that used to be comprised of black souls, Torina revealed everything she’d learned so far to the expert necromancer. Valerica listened closely to every word, Serana hanging on just as closely.

“Your quest is an honorable one, Dragonborn,” Valerica said near the end of Torina’s explanation. “Though it seems foolish to me to shake your fist at whatever power created this change in the first place.”

“I’ve done worse to better,” Torina said.

Serana laughed loudly. “Miraak would agree! As would Azura, Alduin, Herma Mora-”

“Yes, Serana, we get the point,” Torina said sourly. Her face only made Serana laugh harder.

The vampire enjoyed poking fun at Torina’s embarrassment at her accomplishments. Certainly they came at the steep price of angering powerful daedra, but those actions also afforded her the freedom and power she had now.

She just hoped to do a bit of good with it.

Chapter Text

Spending several days with Valerica and Serana in the study made Torina start to get antsy and ready to move onto the next stage of her research into the puzzle. Whatever held a grip on the Falmer, daedric prince or otherwise, she wanted to find out and somehow correct it. She thought up and dismissed many ideas in that time, though she did hold onto the idea the Dwemer disappearance had a direct connection to this. None of it alleviated her restlessness.

The vampires read their mortal friend’s impatience easily. Both of them had far more patience bred from their extended lifespans but still remembered what it was like to feel that rush and anxiety in their veins.

“I’ll go with you to the Vale,” Serana offered one night.

The two of them stood on the partially destroyed balcony high above the slowly restored garden below. This was a part of the castle the Dawnguard hadn’t managed to reach yet so they didn’t worry about being spotted. The others likely believed Torina and Serana were far from here, and Valerica didn’t feel comfortable leaving the study yet. At least not until she reacclimated herself to Mundus more fully.

“You should be with your mother,” Torina said. “Harkon stole centuries away from you two.”

Serana scoffed. “And we will have centuries more together after this.”

Torina recalled the brief conversation they’d had weeks ago. At that time it seemed possible Serana would revoke her vampiric nature, but the way she spoke said volumes against that. Torina didn’t question her friend. Whatever she chose, Torina would be at her back.

The vampire kept speaking. “I have you to thank for that chance, so let me thank you.”

“Are you determined to be my personal shadow, then?”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Serana teased, responding to Torina’s almost petulant tone. “Or are you hoping to have time to yourself with Gelebor?”

Torina’s head whipped around so fast that her mage’s circlet threatened to slip from her head. Her voice was a hiss as she asked, “What in Nirn are you implying?”

Serana was unfazed, throwing an eyebrow up at Torina in a mimicry of one of the Dunmer’s favorite expressions. “I am many things, Torina, but stupid is not one of them. Or blind. There’s something between you and the paladin, isn’t there?”

“You must have othersight because I’m not aware of anything between us,” Torina said, just as irritable as before.

Taking a moment before speaking again, Serana shook her head and bumped gently into her friend’s shoulder. “I assure you, whatever you think could be there, you aren’t imagining it.”

Torina put her face in her hands and sighed deeply. “I know nothing about the mer, and he barely knows me. I’ve done terrible things.”

“What he does know hasn’t bothered him so far, it seems,” Serana said. “But give yourself some credit. You’ve done fantastic things, too. Tamriel, and the rest of Mundus, wouldn’t be the same without you. And, I suspect given time, you both could remedy the ‘not knowing each other’ part of that problem. Except for your little spat before we left, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

A half-hearted grunt was all the answer Torina provided her. She kept her hands over her face to hide her blush. The response made Serana laugh outright.

As good-natured as Serana’s attempts were, Torina didn’t think what she said held much ground. Not really. Between her irritation at remaining cooped up inside a tower for days without a proper meal, this conversation, and the relapse she suffered in Winterhold, she was having a difficult time controlling her emotions.

Serana didn’t know of the extent of her plight in the frozen city or just how much she had had to relive in the prison of her mind without someone to pull her out. A memory haze like that hadn’t knocked Torina down since meeting Serana, thank the nine, but the idea of depending so heavily on the vampire was starting to chip at Torina’s pride. She wanted to be able to be whole without someone else’s help. Needing someone reminded her of the time she depended completely on Dravynea and how well that ended. Logically, she knew that not everyone in her life would treat her so poorly, though logic rarely could overcome an emotional response.

Another fear was her growing admiration of Gelebor. The knight paladin had surely suffered as much or more than even she had in this life. She gathered as much from what he’d shared with them the first time they traveled through the cave towards the Vale. His very existence as the last or only of something played heavily on her heartstrings as Dragonborn. She knew what it felt like for no one else to completely understand what it meant to be her and what she had to live through. The curiosity and interest had fermented into admiration and something deeper when she wasn’t paying attention.

“I’d be happy for your company, if you plan to offer it,” Torina said after a time. She didn’t want to acknowledge anything more about Gelebor to Serana yet.

Serana, laughter forgotten, rested her hand over Torina’s on the balcony ledge, squeezing once, then letting go. The cold air from the bay had already lowered the Dunmer’s temperature and Serana’s skin would only make her colder if she lingered.

“Then you shall have it.”

---

Admittedly, part of the reason for Torina’s agitation at remaining with the vampires had been their open affection towards each other. Torina’s wound was still fresh at the memory of Dravynea attempting to take the place of her own mother and using that against her. Though she knew Valerica had done her own travesties towards her daughter their relationship was, for the most part, healed now. Jealousy burned hot within Torina.

With careful practice she pushed aside that jealousy and tried not to attach it too heavily to her respect for both Serana and Valerica, but it was a difficult thing. Dragons weren’t known for their selflessness.

Her jealousy was assuaged, however. Valerica gave Torina just as warm a departing farewell as she did her daughter.

“Take care of each other on the way to the Vale,” the elder vampire said. “I’ll watch for your return, Serana.”

Several more words of affection were shared between the women before Serana and Torina left. The two waited until the sun fully set beyond the horizon to make their move. Many of the Dawnguard had left the island but those who remained were less likely to spot them leaving at night. Before they left through the bolted door at the back of the room, Valerica stopped them with a pair of ornate bags hanging from her hand in offering.

“One for each of you. These talismans should aid you on your travels, wherever they may take you. Each holds a filled grand soul gem I saved from the Soul Cairn and alchemical ingredients whose properties are tailored to you.”

Torina took the talisman offered to her and felt the weight of it in her palm. Its leather cord was incredibly long. She started to wrap the talisman around her waist to hang at her hip, braiding the leather through the straps on her light armor set and watching as Serana did something similar with her equipment. Torina could feel enchantments on it complementing what she already wore, strengthening them, though the magic itself felt much darker than her usual variety of conjuration, restoration, and destruction spells.

A quick look through showed many items favored by necromancers like Valerica like bone dust for conjuration fortification and several that were so small she couldn’t tell what the potions were within.

“Most are poisons of my own design deadly against the living. Paralysis, suppression of magical power, the like. Amazing what you can learn when you can do nothing but study alchemical properties for hundreds of years,” Valerica explained with a tinge of humor Torina was not used to hearing in the vampire’s voice.

“Thank you,” Torina said. “And thank you for all you’ve taught me these last few days.”

“Think nothing of it. You’ve done more for me and my kind than I can repay, Torina. Mortals still fear us, as they rightly should, but the balance of the world remains without my husband’s near-sighted dreams of glory interfering.”

Final farewells shared, the Dragonborn and her vampiric companion slipped through the back door and waited to hear the bolt slide shut behind them. The Forgotten Vale was waiting.

Chapter Text

Durnehviir faded away back to the Soul Cairn as his hold on Mundus slipped again. He’d been a great distraction as a handful of Forsworn tried to stop them on the path to Darkfall Cave. There were still a couple left alive but the ethereal dragon allowed Serana and Torina to flee without being seen. Bothering with the mountain dwellers was more annoying than it was worth most days. Getting in the middle of that particular spat was low on Torina’s list.

“There’s the cave,” Torina said. An extra spring in her step, she carefully looked around before jogging out of the underbrush back to the footpath.

“You go on ahead. I’m going to finish off that briarheart.”

Torina didn’t argue. The Forsworn had attacked them unprovoked, since they were careful to stray out of their claimed lands,  and Serana needed to feed. Her morals were satisfied here.

“I’ll wait for you inside,” Torina said. “Save his heart for me if you can, please.”

Serana slipped away, becoming invisible before heading back down the path. Darkfall Cave was only a few hundred paces away so Torina took her time heading up. Sometimes Serana preferred the challenge of battling by herself which was something Torina could respect. She was always grateful for her companion’s help in battle but taking on something alone and winning thrilled her.

The sun hung low in the sky above the mountains when she walked into the cave. She sat close enough to the mouth that she could hear anyone approaching but not so close as to be seen from a distance. Setting the packs down she adjusted the ties and straps where they came loose during the journey. The amulet Valerica gave her still twisted around her waist and provided a protective weight against her.

Crickets were starting to sing within the mountain grasses when Serana returned, long shadows cast across the valley grass. She gave Torina the briarheart as requested. There wasn’t a spot of blood on Serana, but her skin did have a bit more color and her hands weren’t twitching restlessly anymore.

Together they wandered down the throat of the cave system. They'd not returned this way since the bridge collapsed beneath them almost two months ago. They nearly were lost trying to find the path they’d taken to leave until they saw a marker for the slim entrance to the alcove. On either side of the path the walls were lined with far more bioluminescent plants than when they’d left. The path they took would have been hidden otherwise. The sight of so many glowing mushrooms initially worried Torina, as they almost always grew like this around the gardens of Falmer alchemists mixing poisons, until she saw who was propagating them.

Gelebor reached up above his head along the wall while balanced on an outcropping of roots and stone. Most of his armor rested neatly on the ground so his arms were free to move around and the outcrop could support his weight. He was intently focused on his work but noticed their approach.

“Well met, Gelebor,” Torina said in greeting.

The initial surprise on his face melted to a smile in the space of a moment. Torina felt momentarily disarmed by how openly pleased he was to see them. He slipped down carefully from his perch to stand next to them. They exchanged the forearm holds in a more formal welcome.

“Well met indeed, Lady Torina. And Lady Serana. It’s wonderful to see both of you. I trust your mission was successful?”

“My father is dealt with, yes,” Serana said.

“Though I’m glad to hear he was unsuccessful in his tyranny I am sorry for your loss. It isn’t easy to lose a family member.”

Serana’s reserved mood cracked a bit from Gelebor’s genuine empathy. Of all the people in Tamriel, Torina reasoned to herself, he could understand what she was feeling. “I appreciate it.”

“You are most welcome.” Gelebor directed his attention to Torina. “Are you staying for a while?”

“Yes, if you’ll have us,” she said. Her body buzzed with anxiety and excitement to start telling him what she’d discovered so far about his people.

“There are a few rooms I’ve cleared in the citadel that are safe for you both to stay in, should you need them,” Gelebor explained. He started walking down the slope and in moments they could see the chantry. “There are quite a few artifacts I’ve found in the wreckage you’ll be interested in, including one of the missing paragons. I look forward to hearing of your adventures since leaving the Vale. Come, I’ve got some supper waiting. I don’t have much to offer you, Serana-”

“I’ll be fine for a few days,” the vampire said. “So don’t worry about me.”

Gelebor put his armor back on as they walked, keeping their voices low in the cave to avoid attracting any trolls or wandering Betrayed. The journey through the chantry was as smooth as Torina remembered.

After supper was consumed the two visitors were lead through the partially cleared citadel to a hall they didn’t have access to before. As they went along they passed a set of double gated doors that Torina remembered led out towards the front hall. Covering the gates was a shimmering barrier that switched between blue and purple hues and emitted a soft, high pitched hum.

“What’s that barrier?” she asked, pointing to the soul gems she noticed on either side of the door.

“Charus deterrent,” Gelebor explained. “They can’t stand the frequency. It’s a trick I developed a few hundred years ago to keep them away from my sanctuary below ground.”

The hall he led them to opened many stories above their heads. Some criss-crossing stone archways were still intact with some of their handrails, but most were crumbling or completely shattered. A wall of ice pressed against the ceiling and as far as Torina could tell, it had fallen in the avalanche that caused most of the rest of the citadel to be destroyed. She could see scorch marks from flame spells on some of the rocks embedded and the ice which was all the answer she needed to know Gelebor had spent hours melting the ice away from the interior.

In the center of the hall was a slightly concave pool of water with two short columns on either side that resembled another archway out in the valley. A short round platform made of the same white stone used throughout the ruins waited expectantly with a small dias nearby.

“Is this the other paragon platform?” Serana asked. She crouched down to the ground to take a closer look at the dias. “Besides the way the arch is broken, it looks just like the one out in the Vale.”

“Precisely. Do you have any of those paragons with you?” he asked.

Torina shook her head. “They’re all locked in my home near Falkreath, guarded and hidden away.”

“Understandable. However, I would like to keep them here, if you don’t mind returning again in the future. They would be useful in monitoring the valley the same way they were used when the platforms were first constructed.”

“Of course,” Torina said. Something in his face clued her into what he was on about. Lips slowly rising into a smile, she said, “Though...you have another paragon.”

Gelebor smirked, something more playful than one of the genuine smiles Torina was slowly growing accustomed to, and it made his eyes glitter with mischief. The look suited him. His smirk made hers grow further.

He reached into the satchel he brought with him to take out a paragon made from -

“A soul gem?” Torina asked. “This one is made from soul gems?”

“Not gems . One gem, mined from Fal Zhardum Din before the Dwemer controlled our race.”

The gem was enormous compared to any other Torina had encountered. When she’d been in Blackreach and needed another soul gem she’d never been able to cut one of this size from the veins. Her attempts to mine away more than she needed caused what she collected to splinter into smaller and smaller pieces. The material that made the gems was soft and pliable, and porus in order to collect the souls they were named for in the first place. She’d seen some of the smaller fragments float in saltwater. Not even Azura's Star was so brilliant a specimen. She wondered if it housed a soul or had remained empty all these thousands of years.

“Impressive,” was all she managed to say, transfixed by the paragon.

"It's made of the same material as a soul gem, but our conjurers never managed to trap a soul within it. Not even the pettiest soul."

Torina looked to Serana before saying, "Have you heard of such a thing?"

"Never. It's possible it isn't a soul gem at all."

The group regarded the item silently for another few moments, wondering at all the amazing things Mundus still held secret. 

“I’ve not attempted to use this yet,” Gelebor explained. “I thought it misguided to attempt it before you both had returned and it was not an option to go out into the valley to test from that platform.”

Serana was still transfixed to the dias in the center. “We should go down there.”

The phrase caught Torina by surprise. Over the time she’d known her, Serana had proven to have an uncanny sense of danger and knowledge for when to use caution. The overt suggestion to move ahead with a potentially dangerous trip to an unknown location was out of character. It lifted her excitement and anticipation to new heights.

“What are we waiting for then?” Torina asked.

Gelebor was eager and stepped easily over the ring of water to join Serana on the dias. He looked back at Torina and lifted up the paragon in his hands as if to beckon her closer. Transfixed on the item in his hands, she stepped forward, and held her breath as Gelebor activated the archway.

Chapter Text

A blackness greeted them that was so absolute Torina couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Controlling her breathing, she reached out to grab Serana and Gelebor’s arms. The two waited for her signal before igniting any light, magical or otherwise. Calling upon the dragon soul within her she spoke laas yah nir .

Her voice left her in a whisper, using the aura whisper to search for any lifeforms. Even in the darkness the magic of the dragon shout would allow her to see their life forces. She’d used it dozens of times before in barrows across Skyrim. Only when she had looked all around them to make sure no draugr or other creatures were waiting for them did she start to relax and let go of her companion’s arms.

In the dark every noise was louder, every scent stronger, and the hair on her arms pricked up at attention. So, the gathering of magicka at everyone’s fingertips smelled like the spark in the air before a lightning strike.

A handful of hovering magelights and candlelights illuminated the room. All three of them had used the same spell at once. The stark brilliance of the magical light made all of them blink to allow their eyes to adjust.

“Where do you think we are?” Serana asked. Her voice echoed.

Gelebor didn’t answer right away. He was the first to step off and call his candlelights with him. The two women looked at each other, still buzzing with nerves and excitement, and followed.

High walls of the white stone formed a blockade behind them, the paragon platform set in a corner of what sounded like a huge room or hall. The lazy sound of running water and steady dripping filled the silence as they walked off the platform. No one, not even Serana, could see up through the blackness to wherever the ceiling was, but the chill in the room suggested they were somewhere full of ice.

“We’re far below the citadel, deep in the mountain,” Gelebor answered. His steps were slow and measured. He cast his gaze around him and kept his voice low to avoid echoing so much. “I’ve not seen this room since I was a small child, but I could not mistake it for any other. Long ago when my race first started to inhabit this valley, this sanctuary, we still boasted numbers in the thousands. But the threat of dragons and men forced us more and more to hold our celebrations and ceremonies underground. That was safer than gathering in a large number out in the open where we would be more easily heard.”

Gelebor, lost in memory, slowed his pace at the foot of what appeared to be a great staircase that went off in either direction. The walls here were indeed frosted in most places and completely encased in ice in others. Serana and Torina followed him up the staircase, careful not to let their hands linger on the frozen railings, and paused when they reached the uppermost level.

The hovering lights cast a brilliant reflection off of a wall covered almost entirely with colored glass beneath ice. It glittered and cast the hues back onto their skin. In the center was a raised dais and thrones carved to appear as though they had grown naturally out of the floor. A white chest gilded with gold and silver markings sat proudly between the middle two.

Gelebor walked over to the chest and kneeled before it. He looked over his shoulder at the two following him, his face a mask of hidden emotion, though his voice betrayed how awestruck he truly was. “The last time I saw this dais was my cousin’s wedding and subsequent coronation. But that was the last time the room was used, sealed away not long after because of the imminent attacks from men. This chest wasn’t here.”

“Can we open it?” Torina asked. After a pause she continued, “ Should we open it?”

Gelebor nodded. “I feel as though we must. My ancestors would not go through the trouble of setting up a paragon to protect nothing.”

To everyone’s surprise, the lock was not set on the chest at all. Closer inspection showed how water made its way into small cracks and crevices in the metal and stone. Through hundreds of years freezing and melting, expanding the material, the seals were broken. The lid stuck slightly as chunks of ice fell away.

“By Auri-El,” Gelebor breathed. His arms reached deep into the chest to pull out a single object. “Is this…?”

“An elder scroll,” Torina said. “It’s an elder scroll.”

The three stared at the prize, unmoving for a solid minute of silence, before Serana reached into the chest. Hefting it up she stared at it with her orange eyes slightly glowing in the dark.

“We should bring this upstairs,” Serana said.

Torina noted her voice sounded tired, and initially it surprised her, but a look at the vampire’s face in the magical light spoke volumes. She’d spent centuries buried with one of these. It did nothing to make her life easier. The longer she thought on it the more reserved Torina felt. Her initial excitement was snuffed out more surely than a candle against a harsh wind. The sight of another Elder Scroll didn’t demystify what they were trying to accomplish, it complicated it more.

A trip through the paragon platform later, the group spoke quietly of where to put the scroll while they decided their next moves. Gelebor took the scroll away to a safe chamber where several other research items could be found.

“There is a moth priest in Skryim, yes?” Gelebor asked.

“He’s with the Dawnguard,” Torina said. She sighed and scowled at the ground while she walked next to her friends. “It’s not safe for them to know the location of this place. If there’s any chance of saving the Falmer from their cursed state, it will be far easier to free them when there’s still air in their lungs. He took my temporary transfiguration into a vampire...poorly. I nearly lost my standing with them, though I was doing what I had to in order to progress his bloody plans.”

Gelebor turned to Serana with a startled look. He hadn’t known Torina had spent any time as a vampire or that the affliction was reversible, two shocking discoveries for the snow elf.  Though his eyes asked silent questions, Serana's gave no answers, and through an unspoken agreement the elf decided to wait to learn more from the Dovahkiin herself. So focused on the suggestion and task at hand, Torina missed their exchange entirely.

“I doubt he would see my actions as little more than an extension of my friendship with Serana. Isran is a good man, but his prejudices are deep rooted. Mixing this with them is a poor choice.” Torina gripped the leather straps of the talisman around her waist and gritted her teeth before speaking again. “But I don’t know anyone else who would know how to recognize or read a new or perhaps lost Elder Scroll. We have to contact Dexion.”

“We used to utilize hawks or other birds to send messages across the province,” Gelebor offered.

“The Dawnguard would not know to look for a hawk or to trust the message.” Torina softened her scowl enough to give Gelebor a small smile to thank him for the suggestion.

“I’ve an idea,” Serana said.

Torina’s face returned to a scowl as she regarded her friend, reading the tone in the vampire's voice correctly. “Serana…”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Torina almost stomped her foot on the stone floor in frustration. She didn’t have a good answer for her friend. “But we’ve only just arrived, there’s no sense in taking the scroll away!”

“Don’t be arrogant, Torina. it’s the best plan so far. I’ll take the scroll to Dexion and get the information we need so we can have the best of both.”

She was still without a better argument to Serana going alone and that made Torina sullen and pessimistic. Torina would be needed to assist Gelebor in repairing more of the citadel and to continue studying the effects on the Falmer. Her mood fouled the longer she tried to argue, and the more stubborn Serana became. Halfway through the day she went to work on part of the citadel that needed melting, and worked with incendiary magic until she no longer felt the burn of frustration in her skin. She rejoined her friends a good deal calmer. The group bantered and worked out plans, all to Torina’s displeasure, but at the end of the day when the mortals were turning in to sleep, the plan was laid. Like she had for centuries, Serana would again be the bearer of an Elder Scroll.

Chapter Text

“I’ve done this before, you know. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not keen on you traveling alone across Skyrim,” Torina said, frowning and crossing her arms at Serana.

“What choice do we have? The Vale should remain as hidden as possible, and if Dexion comes here, so will Sorine, and soon the rest of the Dawnguard will be swarming it.”

“I know. It doesn’t mean I have to like this, though.”

Leaving the chamber deep in the mountainside, the group carefully had transported the kel, the elder scroll, back to the surface. Despite the damage to the chest holding it the scroll itself was in pristine condition. Torina’s eyes hurt just looking at it. Though her dragon soul kept her from most of the damage from reading the others she’d encountered, the last thing she needed were more vividly lucid nightmares like back in Winterhold. Dexion was their best bet.

Serana volunteered to go back to meet the Dawnguard stationed at Castle Volkihar. Her reasoning was if Dexion and Sorine were already gone then she could at least meet with her mother. Unable to truly argue with that logic, and the knowledge that Serana could indeed take care of herself, Torina had relented.

Torina had insisted that she join Serana back out to the mouth of Darkfall Cave. Not only did she want to extend her time with Serana, she wanted to ask Durnehviir if he recognized the writing on the scroll to know its name. She suspected daedric though the word evaded her. Each time she tried to copy the words down onto a roll of parchment or in her journal, her eyes would cross and a headache started. Not even sips of a health potion could alleviate it.

Perhaps the dragon could rule out the possibility of several languages after being exposed to so many in the Soul Cairn. That, and his first-hand knowledge of Dovahzul would rule that out as well. Torina did not know how to actually read the letters in that tongue.

The two friends stood at the mouth of the cave. Now that the passage was more heavily traveled, fewer wildlife ventured inside. Torina didn’t expect that would last for long, though. Winter was approaching quickly and soon even more of Skyrim would look like the mountains and lowlands of the Pale.

“ Durnehviir! ” Torina shouted once they were a good distance from the mouth of the cave.

The green scaled dragon rumbled as his form materialized on Nirn from the Soul Cairn. The vibrations made the small stones at their feet tremor and clatter against the ground. Torina and Serana were sure to stand back slightly to avoid his partially-corporeal bulk.

Since she usually called him during combat, the dragon was poised to strike from the first syllable out of Torina’s mouth. It only took him a moment to realize there were no enemies to dispatch, though there was a dangerous sweep of his tail and wings to avoid before he did.

“ Qahnaarin , why do you call me from the realm of the Ideal Masters?”

“To give you a chance to fly the skies of Tamriel,” Torina said.

Durnehviir twisted his head slightly to look at her with one eye. The corner of his maw twitched in amusement. “And?”

Torina smiled and reached over to rub the snout of the great dragon. As unsettling his appearance could be, covered in half-decayed scales and tattered wings, she had a great fondness for the dragon. A small measure of affection was welcome to both of them.

“A small favor. We’ve found another elder scroll, a kel , hidden deep beneath this mountain. The markings on the edges are in a language we don’t recognize.”

“Bring it closer to me, Qahnaarin . My eyes, my miin , do not see as well in the light from Magnus.”

Torina complied. Using a foothold on rocks nearby to lift the elder scroll closer to Durnehviir’s good eye, she held it as still as she could. Her arms trembled a bit from the cold air. That, and the health potion she sipped from that morning after breakfast made her muscles sing with the extra regenerative powers. Though they hadn’t expected trouble in Darkfall, Torina reasoned it never hurt to be prepared. She had several other potions on her just in case.

“These words do not look familiar to me. Dahmaan , I have been trapped in the Soul Cairn for many eras. Tiid . Time runs away with me.”

Even as he spoke, his body started to fade away back to his prison. Torina was disappointed but not surprised. She stepped back from the dragon so he could push away from the ground and allow his wings to stretch and soak in light from the sun for a moment or two before he faded completely.

“If Dexion and Sorine have already traveled back to the Rift,” Serana started to say once the dragon disappeared, “I promise to return here first.”

“Thank you. Dexion is likely our best resource for the scroll, and Sorine’s fascination with ancient technology could prove useful with this strange soul-gem like paragon. Not that I expect her to leave Dexion alone at any time, given his health. Give my best to your mother,” Torina said. In a moment of sentiment she grasped her friend’s unnaturally cold hand and squeezed. “I’ll continue to research with Gelebor. He might have more information on the theory regarding the Dwemer. I’d appreciate your help if it takes us back to Blackreach.”

Serana pulled a face at the mention of the underground city, but recovered swiftly. “Of course. I plan to see this through to the end, like all of our other adventures.”

“I appreciate it, my friend,” Torina said.

The vampire looked up to the sky to note the sun falling quickly. She took a breath of relief. Traveling under it would only hinder her progress. That, and several days in the Vale meant her time to feed was nearing.

With a playful smile she looked back to her friend, still standing near the mouth of the cave. “I may pay the Thalmor Embassy a visit for a drink or two.”

“You’d better not!” Torina called after her. Though she knew she was likely teasing, the cold stone of worry got a little heavier at the suggestion. “You’ll need to save some for me if you do, anyway.”

Both of them knew she would likely target Forsworn wandering in the region, or bandits, and avoid larger settlements altogether on her way back to Castle Volkihar. Torina watched her until she couldn’t make out her form in the brush any longer. Rubbing her arms to work out some of the chill still lingering there, she turned back into Darkfall Cave and made her way to the chantry.

----

Gelebor looked up from his work when Torina re-entered the citadel. She moved with her head down and arms crossed warming herself and didn’t seem to be aware of her surroundings. Watching her, he felt the desire to smooth the creases of worry on her dark brow.

“Are you comfortable, Torina?” he asked. She startled at the sound of his voice, which worried him further. The Dragonborn did not easily startle in his experience. “You appear cold. Here, I’ve a fire in the hearth but can bring it up further for you.”

At the suggestion, Torina’s hands fell away from her arms and she set her jaw. “I’ll be fine. I left my heavier cloak in the room. I’ll return once I have it.”

Without a stronger argument, he simply nodded and watched her move through the room to the next without another comment. Gelebor returned to the charts and blueprints spread out before him and tried to push his confusing feelings for the Dunmer out of his mind. He wasn’t successful.

Chapter Text

The tower Serana and Torina stayed in when arriving to the Vale was considerably colder than the hall Gelebor was working in. Built to house the priests and priestesses of Auri-El, the bedrooms appeared to once be sparse but comfortable. It suited Torina just fine. There was enough room and storage for her to settle the few items she kept with her at all times.

Magelights and candles lined the walls on her walk to grab her cloak. In the light she could see the reflection of ice frosting the walls. During the daylight hours the stone was able to warm enough for that water to start dripping but once the sun fell behind the mountains it froze again. It reminded her of the broken state of the chest far below the citadel. She hoped Gelebor’s efforts on repairing the building weren’t in vain.

Neither Secunda or Masser were risen by the time she climbed the steps to her room. She relied completely on the light from her hands as she called a flame spell to her fingertips. Holding the spell there without truly releasing it kept the feeling in her fingers. Her Dunmer blood rebelled against the cold and ice surrounding her, but she’d lived through - and in - worse, so she bit her lip before complaining again.

A soft pair of gloves, heavier robes, and an outer cloak later, she made her way back to Gelebor’s workroom.

“There is water melting and freezing along the walls between this space and the living quarters,” she said to announce her presence. “Will that harm the stone?”

Gelebor’s face pinched in thought. “Very possible, and I’d rather not risk it. Perhaps I can resolve that conundrum first thing in the morning, once the ice has melted again.”

Lifting the hood of her cloak, Torina said, “I’ll help how I can.”

“Where are you off to?” Gelebor asked.

Torina paused and turned to him on her way back out of the citadel. Her skin still crawled with anxiety and too much energy because of how many health potions she’d had that day. She needed an outlet. But she was loathe to admit that in so many words to Gelebor.

“There’s a cave nearby I’d like to search,” she said dismissively. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. “Serana and I found it on our first visit. There’s a chest I wasn’t able to open earlier in the fissure, I’d like to try again.”

“If I can’t dissuade you from leaving the safety of the citadel at night, at least allow me to join you.”

Her temper flared but she pushed it away. The last thing she wanted to do was make the coming weeks miserable for either of them with a few unkind words. Instead of biting words she used her hyped up energy to tease him.

“You’d better keep up with me, then.”

Gelebor’s light eyebrows flew up towards his hairline at her comment. Spotting her challenge and rising to it with pleasure, he grabbed the charcoal colored cloak off his chair, and a small satchel from the table.

“Lead on, Torina.”

---

Darkness in the valley brought an eerie combination of peace and tension to the air. On the one hand, pale moonlight started to rise the longer they were outside and most of the creatures in the Vale were asleep and at rest, trying to stay warm in the steadily dropping temperature. On the other, Torina and Gelebor both knew they had a disadvantage if they encountered any Betrayed. The elves knew this Vale better than them, and their blindness only enhanced their hearing and senses of smell.

The two walked to the chantry on the balcony together. Clouded images of different points in the Vale shimmered behind the magical barriers.

“Which wayshrine?” Gelebor asked.

Torina looked through the barriers and started for one without speaking. A glance above the archway showed learning etched into the rock in the ancient Falmer language.

Gelebor pinched his lips and followed. This would be the first trip he made into the Vale proper, but he wouldn’t advise Torina of that fact. He feared she would make too much ceremony out of it. His nerves at how badly damaged the rest of the Vale would be were troublesome enough. All his time since the death of his brother had been spent between his old hiding place in Darkfall and repairing the citadel.

A wash of damp cold air caressed them the moment they stepped through. The air was buffeted around by the waterfalls in this part of the Vale. With the higher walls around them, the sharp wind they felt on the balcony was mostly blocked, though the temperature still was enough to freeze the inside of their noses almost immediately.

The ghostly form of Prelate Celegriath greeted them warmly before returning to watching the path for new initiates that weren’t coming. The sight forced Gelebor to swallow thickly.

Torina noticed her companion’s discomfort no matter how he tried to hide it. She could guess the reason.

“You should have told me,” she whispered. Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but the words were sharp. An emotionally compromised Gelebor could be a liability. “Do you need to return to the citadel?”

Gelebor took his eyes from the undead form of his friend and regarded her with a steady look. “I’m with you until you return.”

Meeting his gaze, Torina stuck her fists to her hips and looked up at his face, partially covered by his cloak. Her hair fluttered into her face beneath her own hood and she brushed it away with a gloved hand. The two of them blended well into the shadowy snow and trees of this part of the Vale. Gelebor’s dark colored cloak covered his pale skin and her stormy blue one matched the color of the icy river nearby. The ghost of the Prelate glanced at them curiously as they lingered near his wayshrine, but otherwise the only movement was the hem of their cloaks in the slight wind.

“Stubborn elf,” she said under her breath.

“Likewise,” Gelebor quipped back, following her lead and moving slowly along the path from the wayshrine.

For over an hour the two traveled in silence. Not a hint of sunlight remained in the sky above, all the pinks and oranges replaced by the brilliant blanket of stars in the sky.

She paused as they neared a crack in the stone and ice that was too small to truly be called a cave. The fissure was hidden behind a copse of evergreen trees. Silently she pointed to the new direction. With a glance over her shoulder she saw Gelebor several paces behind her, and while he spent most of his time peering in wonder around him, he saw her motion and followed.

Once inside, she lowered her hood. She shook her head a little to dislodge the bits of ice forming on the ends of her hair. Gelebor was close behind but kept his hood raised. One of his hands lifted to his mouth to place a single finger over it.

Torina was instantly crouched and on alert at his signal. She wanted to ask what was going on but kept her mouth sealed.

Since they sat several steps inside of a fissure, the ambient sounds of water and wind were muffled just enough she could make out other noises. Her muscles buzzed with tension and eyes widened in surprise. Several sets of footsteps crunched in the snow outside of the fissure.

Gelebor, crouched like her, moved towards the wall and reached over to pull her with him. As close as he was, he leaned even closer to whisper in her ear.

“Betrayed. I think they tracked us from the river.”

She shivered from his warm breath on her cold ear and from what he said. Keeping his hood up was a smart move since the paleness of his skin and hair would be harder to blend into the dark of their hiding place than his cloak. He faced her instead of out.

“I’d rather not engage them,” Torina muttered, her red eyes straining to see out through the tree branches to spot even a glimpse of their pursuers. “And I doubt they tracked us - there are patrols all through this valley, we were just unlucky enough to cross their path.”

Gelebor didn’t reply right away. He kept still next to her in the cramped space and hid his face as best he could. A look crossed his face, smoothing some of the worry away, and he settled down against the icy wall as slowly and carefully as he could.

He rested his head back against the wall. “Then we shall wait until they pass.”

Using her light grip on his arm, he pulled her down closer next to him, that way his larger body could block hers. She resisted a bit and stayed up on one knee facing out. So, the pair settled in to wait until they could no longer hear the Betrayed outside, however long that may take.

Chapter Text

The shuffling and footsteps of the Betrayed were hard to hear above their breathing. There was no doubt in Torina’s mind that the group hadn’t spotted them, but would have easily snuck up and stumbled upon them if they hadn’t entered the fissure when they did. In the meantime, she tried to focus and stay warm. The latter bit was getting more difficult by the minute.

Beneficial effects of the healing potions she took earlier in the day were long gone by now. Gone were the tremors of too much energy, replaced with slight shivers from cold. Her body was not built for this all-encompassing sort of cold. The end of her nose tingled uncomfortably. She wanted so badly to sniffle or to blow her nose but the noise would no doubt attract the Betrayed outside.

After long minutes, the movements got softer and further away. She managed to tremble out the words for the aura whisper shout and confirmed their shapes were moving away, not staking an ambush. Gelebor waited patiently for her to report on what the dragon shout told her.

“They’ve left,” she said. “Not planning an ambush.”

Words were difficult. The moment she could use her limbs, tongue, and hands again, all moved stiffly. Everything protested against her as she stood. 

Gelebor moved more easily than she did. His hands reached for hers and she didn’t pull back. The fingers in her gloves were sensitive but the heat from his hands was welcome. He took note of how hard it was for her to move, especially the hands he held.

“Can you cast anything? Something to warm yourself?” he asked her. Casting a flame or heat spell on yourself was safer and easier than someone doing it for you.

“I...don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I’ll need to warm up first.”

Gelebor looked between her face and hands a few times then said, “Hold still.”

The gentle chime and gold aura of a healing spell spread from their hands and upwards along Torina’s arms. Though not technically a heating method, the healing soothed the pain from sitting still in the cold for too long. As he pulled his hands out of hers, he moved them along her arms and shoulders, up towards her head. Every so often he would rest them against her briefly to allow the magic to soak in.

“Your legs?” he asked.

Torina blinked away the stars in her eyes from the healing spell. Her lips didn’t feel so numb after his help but her mind was still playing catch up from the gentle way he healed her.

“I can do that,” she said.

Gelebor regarded her seriously before backing away. She missed the gentle sound of his healing spell as soon as it faded away. “I’ll make sure there’s no one else outside while finish healing yourself.”

“What about you?” she asked automatically.

A soft look crossed his serious expression long enough for her to catch it. “I’ll be fine. Snow elf. Remember, my fiery friend?”

Cheeks tinged slightly pink, Torina watched him take a few crouched steps out to peer through the branches. Her hands obeyed her now. The muscles in her body relaxed as she sustained a short flame cloak spell in order to warm herself. It was so cold that the walls around her melted a bit from the heat but refroze before the water droplets could hit the ground.

Before he returned she’d swallowed another health potion and was halfway through a stamina potion. His eyes locked on the glass bottle for several long moments. 

“You haven’t been-”

“It’s fine,” Torina interrupted. She sucked the last bit from the green bottle and stored the glass away for reuse. “They would freeze if I allowed them to just sit in my pack, which would be a waste. I’m ready. The chest is just a bit ahead.”

Gelebor looked prepared to argue with her about the use of potions but refrained, moving to keep up with her instead. Pieces of a puzzle were forming before his eyes and he found it harder and harder to hold his tongue on the matter. A private discussion with Serana would be his next move to confirm or dissuade his suspicions.

Small spikes on the bottoms of her boots clung to the ice and snow beneath her feet. With them, Torina kept sure footing on the icy ledge on the way up to the resting place of a half-hidden chest. It resembled the others she’d found scattered throughout the valley, possibly the remains of families attempting to hide their valuables from invading Nords or Dwemer, or perhaps pushed from destroyed homes during the avalanche that had destroyed much of the settlement. 

“This should only take a second,” she said, planting her foot into a break in the slippery wall. 

“What do you expect to find?”

Torina paused her climb to answer Gelebor. “Anything, really. Though I’m sincerely hoping in one of these caves or chests we’ll find some clues to what happened to the Falmer - the Betrayed. A journal, maps, enchanted jewelry or weapons - anything.”

Gelebor nodded and folded his arms. “I doubt it, given the conditions of most books I’ve found here since my return above ground, but there is room for hope.”

“The books I found out in the Vale were in perfect condition through some ancient magic of sorts,” Torina reasoned, referencing the books she showed to Gelebor before taking them to Urag go-Shub with the snow elf’s blessing. The guardian of the Arcaneum had far more advanced restoration techniques than he had access to.

“Of course,” Gelebor conceded. He waved his hand towards her. “Our librarians were diligent though...ah, no matter. We can discuss this when we aren’t out in the Vale. Continue, then.”

Standing below her, Gelebor watched as she pulled a lockpick from a sleeve pocket of some sort. It took her several minutes and a few tries but at last, “Ah, there. These locks have a definite trick to them, very different than the iron locks on nord chests and - oh!”

As she attempted to lift the lid to check for valuables inside, she lost her footing and fell directly onto Gelebor. The snow elf, to his credit, didn’t try to move out of the way and managed to use the tight space to their advantage. Instead of tumbling into a heap on the ground, he caught her, then they swung into the wall and stayed upright. Gelebor huffed slightly as his back hit the ice behind him.

With her back to his chest and arms in the air from attempting to get a grip on the ice above, Torina looked up. Her cheeks were even pinker than before. He looked down at her and tried not to burst out laughing.

“Are you this much trouble with Serana as well?” he asked teasingly.

Cheeks aflame with a full blush by this point, Torina’s eyes narrowed from surprise to a scowl in half a second. Though she pouted she didn’t deny his accusation. That only made it harder for him to not laugh.

The two lingered for a moment longer like that once Torina found her footing. Gelebor could feel the way her muscles still trembled from cold, or exertion, or the effects of the potions he caught her drinking. There wasn’t much space for her to move away from him as it was. She twisted in his arms to go back towards the outcropping but he stopped her.

Time slowed and the air drained from the space as the mer looked at each other.  Standing this close they were nearly chest to chest so the shorter Dunmer was forced to bend her neck slightly. Gelebor watched her with a conflicted expression. Returning his gaze, Torina watched him and waited for his next move. Tingles not associated with cold or potions fluttered up and down her arms, lifting the tiny hairs, setting her on high alert. She didn’t feel as though she was in danger but the feeling was a rush all the same. She had no clue what to expect next.

“Torina, I…” Gelebor’s voice faded.

“Yes?” she whispered.

He opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. Instead, he swallowed, and his shoulders sagged a bit. “We must hurry. We don’t know if the Betrayed’s patrol will pass by again soon.”

Torina was more disappointed than she’d care to admit. Her mouth melted to a frown and she nodded. Stiffly, she said, “There isn’t much in there, anyway. Let’s get out of here.”

She pulled away and he let her. When he offered her a steadying hand to go back up to the chest she hesitated before taking it, using his hand as a foothold instead this time, careful to set her hand where the gripping spikes on her toes and heel would not scratch him. Satchels and pockets heavy with their small number of spoils, the mer cautiously made their way from the fissure and back to the wayshrine. The prelate greeted them fondly before they stepped through the magical barrier.

Neither spoke another word until wishing each other a good night, parting ways on the balcony of the citadel. As she went inside before him, Torina almost looked behind her where the snow elf stood near the railing, but stopped herself and slipped inside. 

If she had, she would have seen him staring into the distance, his cloak hood thrown back, brilliant skin and hair almost glowing in the moonlight.

Chapter Text

Torina felt the sickness of panic building within her.

Since the...episode in the fissure, she’d been resolutely ignoring her feelings for Gelebor. The moment she realized there was even a small chance they were reciprocated, a stone formed in her stomach.

Men and mer had approached her in the past so she was far from naive to what was happening. Since Helgen she’d skyrocketed to celebrity in most of the holds of Skyrim. Not always for a good reason, but that was the nature of gossip in Tamriel, and her own brash nature. She learned quickly how far someone would go to try and acquire her power. Marriage proposals, dowries, contracts, she’d seen all manner of attempts. The first few were enticing in her youthful naivete and nearly won her over to pledge her faithfulness in the eyes of Mara. For one reason or another those fledgling attempts were broken, most of her own accord. Some weren’t clean breaks for her reputation or her heart. 

Now she was grateful for the drive to explore and adventure that kept her from staying in one place long enough to become attached.

There were others who merely sought her as a conquest. Doubly so, for her ‘exotic’ appearance. Granted, she used them for creature comforts just the same as they used her. Torina was no blushing virgin, and regardless of the opinions of some,  neither was she a two-bit trollop. She’d been discreet and selective in her choices and regretted exactly none of them. Some nights while traveling alone across the land she’d lain in her bed in an inn or along a trail and brought herself pleasure at the memories of those encounters. Those secret moments ended abruptly when she realized that her mind was frequently picking only one mer to think on. One she’d never bedded to begin with, with long fingers, entrancing pale skin, and a gaze that pinned her like a luna moth beneath glass.

Now her cheeks heated almost on cue when she entered the same room as Gelebor, or even when she thought of him. She chalked her feelings up to infatuation, admiration for his intellect and strength perhaps, and tried to lock them away within her. There was no time to pursue anything. Besides, a mer of his age and prestige shouldn’t be bothered by a mer like herself, a less than chaste reputation behind her and a mess of murky involvements with Daedra. Daedra that very likely destroyed his entire race.

What a sordid mess that could be.

The worst part, to her, was that the entire trip into the fissure was a waste. That chest held nothing of value to their research. All it did was serve to fortify her burgeoning...interest in the mer. 

“Your idea regarding the involvement of the Daedra has merit, Torina,” Gelebor said one afternoon several days after they’d almost been found by some of the Betrayed. 

He sat cross-legged on a window ledge. The room they occupied used to be one of many dining halls but the two of them were slowly turning it into a research laboratory. Outside, the winter sunlight was bright against the ice and snow, though it offered no warmth in its rays.

Torina kept her eyes on her lap where she had a book open for notes, her voice growing more agitated with each sentence. “Of course, who else would have enough power to revert or affect a sentient race like this? Aedra have been known to change races before - Azura with the Chimer for instance - but it didn’t desecrate them to their cores. All Falmer should have black souls, and yet they carry white, like animals. Even the worst men and mer I’ve faced in battle carried black souls still. Aedra aren’t without fault, but this is further than I could see any of that pantheon going - the Daedra are far more likely. It’s barbaric to consider what’s happened!”

Gelebor stayed silent a few moments after her impassioned outburst. Before he could speak again, Torina sighed and apologized, looking up at her companion. “I shouldn’t lash out at you, of all people, about this.”

“I share your frustration,” Gelebor said. His eyes were closed and he looked almost relaxed against the ornate stone windowframe. If not for the pinched expression on his face he could be asleep. “And I agree. No other entity except an Aedra or Daedra is powerful enough to do this. The history the Dwemer fostered with the deities also connects perfectly - their open mocking made my race anxious and uncomfortable at the best of times, especially with our previous closeness to Auri-El. Knowledge and the pursuit of it is a righteous endeavor, a pursuit my race and those like us shared, but not enough to replace the Ones who influence and created Nirn.”

Torina chewed on one of her fingernails but stopped before she bit it to the quick. “I wish I could connect the two events with more evidence, but from what I see all signs point to whatever forced the Dwemer to disappear.”

“I agree. The information on that phenomena is sparse. I lived in a time with the Dwemer and now without, and unfortunately resided in hiding during the event that caused their disappearance. And, I was not around my people enough to see their regression.” Gelebor kept his eyes shut but lifted his hands to rub his face. “There are many things I wish I could remember more clearly of that time.”

“How are you so sure it was an event, and not a series of exodus?” Torina asked. Her hand hovered on a note in Nelacar’s handwriting, that very question written in five different ways without a direct answer. “Nelacar, my Altmer friend in Winterhold, has theorized there was likely a great war or flight from Skyrim regarding the Aetherium Forge. It’s far more logical than an entire race vanishing into thin air overnight.”

“His theories, while sound, are incorrect. Not even the Dwemer in their folly would let that mineral eradicate them entirely. They had far too much pride but enough self-preservation to outweigh it. No. The event was swift and sudden like crushing an ant beneath your foot. I am sure of it.”

With brows furrowed in thought, Torina looked at the way her scarred hands pressed into the paper, smudges on her knuckles from ink and charcoal. The ashen grey of her skin looked darker next to the ivory paper and the light blue of her tunic sleeve. “I think I agree with you, especially if the Daedra had anything to do with this. The question is...which one? There are several I would dismiss entirely, of course, like Peryite or Meridia. Their meddling in Mundus doesn’t fit what we’re looking for.”

“What of a joint effort between several Daedra?” Gelebor suggested.

“I don’t know them to get along well enough for that. Each has their own end-goal. But...it would require so much power to erase an entire race like this, and completely change another, that I think you’re right.” Torina sat back and looked over to Gelebor. His eyes were open now and she felt the weight of them on her as surely as she could feel the circlet on her head or the rings on her fingers. “I would have a better feel for which Daedra could be at fault if there was more physical proof of their disappearance. The only things really left behind by the Dwemer seem to be their machines and tools made from their specially forged metal. Have you been inside any of the ruins since their disappearance?”

Gelebor shook his head. “No. I’ve not left the Vale or the cave system below it in many centuries.”

With a sigh, Torina sat back harder into her chair and folded her arms, attempting to hide her agitation. “I feel as though we’re running in circles. The answer feels as though it’s resting on a ledge in sight but just out of reach!” She shot up and paced in front of the fireplace a few times before marching towards the doors, leaving without comment.

Through the ornate double doors she was met with a short hallway. Several hundred square feet of the palace-like citadel had been uncovered through Gelebor’s efforts so she was able to wander for a few minutes before catching herself headed towards the upper balcony. Nights when she couldn’t sleep and the itch to drink another potion almost consumed her she would go there. The open sky sung sweet soothing music to her soul. The biting air that high in the snow-covered mountains revitalized her - that cold was more effective than any stamina or focus potion could be. Here, the air was thin and didn’t carry the taste of earth, only stone and ice and the occasional whiff of a Falmer campfire. Something about it centered her.

So, she allowed herself to venture there, a place she hadn’t gone to in the daylight very often due to the glare of the sun against the snow at almost blinding levels, to think.

Gelebor waited before following her, allowing her a head start. She sat kneeling at the topmost level of the balcony, facing the mountains and sky, breathing deeply with her eyes closed. The rush of frustration still heated her blood and she fidgeted even as she tried to meditate. Weeks had passed without any true headway. He understood her reaction, empathized, but had accumulated a high tolerance of patience those years spent underground.

Since he realized she was out of sorts, he did his best not to startle her on his walk towards her. “Your theories are more useful than any I’ve had myself, Torina. My mind was stuck puzzling over my brother and not the fate of my race, a flaw to be sure. That lasted for several eras. The headway we’ve made in the months since your arrival is staggering by comparison. I never considered the possibility that my people were changed to their souls. I’ve waited millenia for these answers. I can wait a few months or years more.”

Torina’s face pinched and she squinted up at Gelebor. The bright sunshine at this altitude and reflected on the snow and ice was painful to her eyes more suited for the dark. Another after-effect of time in the Soul Cairn as a vampire. She didn’t have an answer for him right away but was glad he’d joined her on the balcony and for his words. She hoped he understood how much that assurance meant to her. 

“You’re far more patient than I am,” she said solemnly, looking down at her hands.

Gelebor moved to kneel in front of her, a rueful smile on his lips. “Out of necessity. We will find our answers, my friend. I am sure of it.”

In this position she still was shorter than the elf, but not by much. Her hands, resting on her knees, gripped a little tighter. The sunlight here shone across his skin more beautifully than a dawn over the mountaintops. She found herself staring at his lips as he spoke again.

“Would you join me inside, Torina? I fear the air here is stronger than your robes - you’re trembling.”

Torina felt the tremors in her arms and chest, then, as Gelebor pointed them out. Her lips fell open briefly and she wondered if she dared admit exactly why she trembled. Sitting as they were, he was the closest he’d been since that moment in the cave. The urge to lift herself slightly, and lean forward just a touch, was hard to ignore. She wanted so badly to trust him. She didn’t want to fail him, either.

“Gelebor,” she started to say. She took a breath to steady herself. “I want - there are so many things I want. Do you understand?”

Pale eyes met crimson with a steadfast gaze. Gelebor rested his much warmer hands against her fingers, and both felt burned from the difference of cold against heat.

“I want to understand,” he said, unsure what else to say in answer. He wanted to get her back inside where there was a warm fire in the grate and a stew that was nearly finished cooking. “We can speak more on it when you return with me.”

“Torina?” Serana’s voice cut through the quiet moment like a blade. “Gelebor, where are you?”

Gelebor tore his eyes from Torina’s to look behind her. “We are here, Serana!” He lowered his voice again and coaxed Torina to stand before the vampire could see them.

The pair were nearly to the entrance of the balcony when Serana appeared. Her face was serious as she led her charges. Her orange eyes squinted against the bright sunlight and she opened her mouth before either mer could say another word. “I’m sorry, there was no other way to get the answers we need.”

Torina, shoulders squared and most of her previous vulnerability hidden, regarded the two newcomers with exasperated expressions.

“Dexion. Sorine. What are you doing here?”

---

Gelebor sat between Serana and Torina at the round table that evening. After the trek from Volkihar to the Vale, the two newcomers needed time to thaw and recover before recounting their reasons for coming to the hidden place. 

The snow elf had donned formal robes for the occasion. Doubly because they were lined with soft furs and the night outside was clear and cold, seeping through the bricks of the citadel, not to mention the habit of showing his best for guests. Old royal habits died hard, it seemed. 

He’d lent Torina the charcoal cloak he’d worn the night they’d traveled to the fissure. As he’d rested it on her shoulders he was reminded of that close moment and was glad she was faced away from him, as a blush lightly colored his cheeks. Undoubtedly the clothes in the citadel bedchambers they hadn’t uncovered yet would be rotted beyond saving and she still had limited options. Most of her clothing was designed for battle, not comfort. A trip to acquire more suitable clothing for his guests, especially the warm blooded Dunmer, would be in order. The others were properly dressed for the weather though they were offered similar treatment from their host.

The sight of Torina wearing his cloak was constantly distracting. However, Gelebor kept himself from ignoring the matters at hand.

All the plates were cleared before them without much conversation. The meal was heartier than what Gelebor and Torina had enjoyed in the weeks since the vampire left to contact the moth priest. On their way up to the citadel the group had collected several salmon and brought supplies from the Dawnguard. Combined with the mushrooms and wild game Torina brought in from the Vale, it left the mortals full and sated. Serana had joined them at the table but, of course, did not attempt to consume more than a mouthful or so for taste.

The moth priest cleared his throat to break the silence. All eyes were on him.

“Serana explained some of the dilemma facing you,” Dexion said. His hands folded on the table before him. “Though I’d hoped to hear and learn more directly, from the both of you.”

Torina shifted in her seat next to Gelebor, but if she were unsettled by Dexion, she was hiding it well. Her tone was flat, even though her words were accusatory. “I’d asked that you both remain with the Dawnguard. The research is important but not nearly as important as the sanctity of this place - and both of your safety considering this blasted Civil War.”

“You’re a proud fool, Torina,” Sorine said. “Avoiding us isn’t going to solve this.”

Gelebor could hear Torina grinding her teeth. The crimson of her eyes sparkled in the light from the roaring fireplace, casting her stony expression with hard lines, and throwing a rust colored shade over her ashen skin. There was a moment he could feel, even see, the way the dragon’s soul within her was shaping her on the outside. An electric buzz along his arms warned him she was holding her temper as best she could.

“I may be proud but I am no fool. How long until Durak or Isran try to come to the Vale? And if the entire company joins them, the Forsworn in the valley beyond would certainly notice an entire legion of soldiers and their families entering a tiny almost hidden cave. And to what end? Their good intentions carry a heavy price. Serana and I have taken great pains to ensure that Gelebor and the rest of this Vale has been left as untouched by the outside world as possible.” Torina paused and took a deep breath to move her tone back to something flat and unsettling rather than emotional. “Prove to me that your entry here will not disturb the Vale further.”

Sorine leaned forward on the table, and waved off Dexion when he tried to shush her. “Who are you to speak for the Vale, then, Dragonborn?”

A snarl ripped from Torina’s throat long enough to shake the ceiling above, and she stood, slamming her hands on the table to rattle the dishware. The power of her Voice silenced the table. Everyone regarded her with wide eyes. An almost empty goblet of wine toppled to the floor. Her outburst seemed out of place compared to Sorine’s question.

Standing as she was, Gelebor half expected steam to start curling from her nostrils. “You would do well not to question my methods, Sorine. Prove it to me. Prove the Dawnguard will not follow you. Until you do, the Falmer are in danger. An entire ecosystem beneath our feet could be destroyed. I will not allow these people to be destroyed because you and Dexion could not contain your incessant curiosity.” 

“Falmer? In danger?” Sorine scoffed, nearly unfazed by Torina’s posture. “The Falmer are more a danger to us than we are to them.”

Palms still flat against the table, Torina dug her fingers into the top and left black scorch marks where fire was called to her fingertips. Another soft snarl reverberated from her throughout the hall, and several icicles crashed to the floor near the windows at the far end.

That was enough to force Gelebor to speak. 

“Enough! From all of you. I trust that Sorine and Dexion have come to the Vale in the light of Auri-El, with intentions meant only to assist, not to detract from our work. There is no indication otherwise. Torina you have spoken highly of your Dawnguard companions, and I recall their names specifically. Does this not also apply to those who have joined us wishing only to assist?” Combined with the light from the fire and the pale moonlight through the windows, Torina blushed and her face reminded him of the last moments of dusk before true nightfall. Gelebor allowed the awkward silence to hang for another minute longer then turned to his newest guests. “Your journey must have proven difficult as winter falls around us. Please, let’s retire for the evening. Our eyes and tempers will be fresher in the morning sun.”

A chastised silence filled the room. Dexion looked extremely relieved that Gelebor had spoken up to halt the women’s argument. In contrast, Serana looked nothing short of entertained, though she kept out of the squabbles. The vampire followed her friend out of the room as Torina turned and stalked away without a word. Torina almost succeeded slamming the doors between the dining hall and corridor, except Serana was there to stop them. Orange eyes glowing in the night, she looked over her shoulder before leaving and nodded at Gelebor once, reaffirming to him that he had done the right thing.

Chapter Text

Torina pressed the amulet of Talos around her neck harder into her collarbone to warm the metal. In her lap the paragon made of soul gem stone rested within several layers of heavy woolen cloth to keep the precious item protected. High above her head Durnehviir scrabbled along the icy walls of the valley. She’d wandered through two wayshrines before deciding to stop in the grassier plains close to the entrance of the Vale to give herself room to think. The region was furthest from the main Falmer settlements and the ones that did live in the area didn’t wander during daylight hours; there would be minimal risk of interruption or altercation with the cursed mer.

Her temper forced her to rise earlier than anyone else in the citadel that morning. Sleep had been fitful, and fleeting. She suspected Sorine and Dexion would require at least a day to recover from their trek and she intended to spend that time far away from them convalescing in the halls of the citadel. Serana told her how they’d taken pains to avoid detection on their way and had camped in the entry hall of at least one Nordic burial ruin, and were forced to backtrack several times to avoid Thalmor Embassy entourages, but all that did was confirm to Torina what they’d done was an absurd risk. 

Knowing that this exact situation was one she and Serana had discussed and agreed on before she left made her angrier. Serana had recognized, she knew , that the Moth Priest leaving the Dawnguard for a length of time would create whispers that would need answers. She needed to ask someone’s advice. Someone who would understand her deep-seated mistrust of a group of people trying to do the right thing but going about it the wrong way.

Breathing in, Torina filled her lungs and called the dragon’s name shout again to keep him on Nirn. He reappeared on the ground again instead of in the sky, where he’d been pulled back to the Soul Cairn in her distraction.

“ Qahnaarin , what troubles you?” the ancient dragon asked, settling his wings against his back and over her as an enormous canopy.

Torina leaned back on his body as it materialized behind her. The foreleg pressing into her back was covered in hard scales and in some ways felt more familiar and comforting than the wool wrapped around her body. 

“We aren’t any closer to unraveling this mystery, fahdon ,” Torina said with a bite in her tone.

“Little one you have much to learn of patience,” Durnehviir replied. Torina turned her face away from Durnehviir, who’d turned his great skull in her direction and pushed her with his snout. “Your will is strong, Qahnaarin . Trust it fully.”

“Where do I begin to search? Do I have to return to Blackreach? I don’t understand how this paragon came to be.” Torina uncovered the paragon slightly and glared at it, as if it was the one withholding the answer to freeing the Betrayed. “Am I wrong and this has nothing to do with the Dunmer disappearance? And worse, if I’m right, can it even be corrected?”

The foreleg she leaned on adjusted abruptly. “The Deep Ones are a race I once knew well, though with time and the pull of the Ideal Masters, I no longer remember all I could about them.”

Torina pressed her fingers into the cold metal intricately decorating the paragon, relishing in the pain from the chill - it made her feel alive. “You and Gelebor are old enough to have remembered them, yet neither of you actually do.”

For several minutes, the pair were silent. Torina had to call him back twice more from the Soul Cairn before he spoke again.

“You hold dearly to that amulet, Qahnaarin . Why?”

“It’s an amulet of Talos,” she explained, “who was named Tiber Septim in life. He was a Dragonborn like I am. I feel his kinship and protection more than the other gods in the pantheon.”

“The power it holds speaks to you. There is much to be said about a Dovahkiin and their power. For mortals it is enough for them to ascend one of their own into godhood.”

Torina watched Durnehviir closely, waiting for him to make the point she knew he was leading to.

“It is enough for the bearer of power to feel a certain... heyv , a duty, to those who are not as fortunate.”

“Far more direct than most of your pearls of wisdom,” Torina said cheekily.

“A dovah ’s bones, especially his skull, can repel the most direct of blows,” Durnehviir said. Torina huffed in amusement at the direct, and accurate, analogy of her behavior. “There are shifting winds in the future, Dovahkiin . You must be able to stretch your wings to catch them, command and own them, or else they will command you instead.”

“What are you not telling me, Durnehviir ?” 

The ancient dragon shifted to a more comfortable position. When he spoke, his words rumbled against the ground beneath her, reverberating through Torina’s body. “My connection to this realm is weak and tenuous but I can feel a shifting of power older even than myself. I will meditate on my memories of the Deep Ones to aid you how I can, though I cannot promise you answers, Qahnaarin , the Ideal Masters have taken much from me. What wisdom I can pass to you now...go to Blackreach with the One Who is the Last of His Kind, where secrets are waiting to be uncovered.”

The dovah’s head rested against the ground and his eyes stayed shut, breathing growing softer and closer to sleep the longer he sat next to her. She tried to match his breathing pattern without success - his lungs had far more capacity than hers.

Anxiety swelled in her mind but the promise of answers slowly converted some of that energy towards action, ideas, plans. The inside of Torina’s cheek felt raw and abused from her worrying at it with her teeth. After several minutes of quiet, the dragon faded back to the Soul Cairn, and Torina did not call his name again, knowing he would need to sleep and meditate away from Mundus to recover strength. He’d not left her without guidance - there was plenty for her to dwell on until they met again.

If her next move was to return to Blackreach, she would no doubt need his help again soon.

Dusk colored the peaks around the Forgotten Vale earlier than it would outside of the mountains. Torina shook herself from her distraction and set off back to the citadel, carefully moving through the dry brush towards the wayshrine that would take her back without incident. 

The citadel was lit with soft tones of gold from candles along the walls and the fires within each hearth stoked to warm and inviting levels. Torina didn’t need to search long to find Dexion and Sorine huddled near the fireplace in the room where a majority of the group’s research was conducted. Languidly stretched across one of the benches pulled nearer to the heat, Dexion’s head rested in Sorine’s lap comfortably. There were wraps around his eyes again to alleviate his sensitivity to light. Sorine had one hand rested against the moth priest’s bald head in a gentle show of affection that made Torina’s gut unexpectedly lurch, her imagination placing herself in Sorine’s place and Gelebor in Dexion’s. The intrusive thought left a sour feeling in her stomach she tried to ignore as she approached the couple.

Before Torina could speak, Sorine, with a guarded look on her face, looked at her and said, “Gelebor was looking for you, said he’d be in the laboratory.”

Torina clenched her jaw once before nodding and saying thank you quietly. The spat yesterday was still fresh, so she did not linger. Avoiding further confrontation would be best for now.

Both Gelebor and Serana were present when she walked through the laboratory doors. The two of them had taken the time that afternoon to review with Sorine and Dexion the overarching parts of the research: the goal of discovering the reason for the Snow Elves’ transformation, the disappearance of the Dwemer, and how they could be connected.

“Dexion informed us that he would be prepared to read the scroll at first light,” Gelebor said as she approached. “Any new insights from our scaly friend?”

“Far more direct than the ones he usually provides,” Torina said. Serna made a noise conveying curiosity since she knew how cryptic Durnevhiir could be. “He endorses the plan that takes us into Blackreach.”

Serana folded her arms and nodded. “Given what we know, it does make sense to take up the search there.”

“Once Dexion reads the scroll and relays that to us, we can plan further.” Gelebor wiped his hands with a spare cloth to rid them of splashes of ink and charcoal. A map of the citadel and Vale, complete with notes on the known patrol routes of the Betrayed, was drying on the scroll before him. “For now we have but to wait.”

---

Dexion was nearly vibrating with excitement as their group stood near the paragon pool. “So this is where you found the lost scroll?” He didn’t wait for an answer before making his way around the dias, exploring as much as he could. 

“You’ve not discovered anything new about this paragon have you?” Serana asked Sorine.

Sorine shrugged. “Most of my interest is Dwemer, and as much as their story and history is tangled with the Falmer, I haven’t encountered anything like this before. Honestly it’s the differences that make it stand out. Falmer were far more religious than Dwemer so it’s possible their technology came from an entirely different way of thinking.”

The group quietly continued to ponder Sorine’s comments as Dexion readied himself to read the scroll. Torina held onto it as if it held the secrets they were searching for, because she didn’t know what to do next if it didn’t. She stuck close to Dexion who eventually noticed her focused and slightly morose state. When no further preparations were needed, he signaled he was ready, and Torina passed the scroll over to him.

“When I first began my apprenticeship to the Moth Priests, I never would have dreamed of the opportunities I’ve been given these last years,” Dexion said. “Whatever we find, I consider it an honor to have been involved in the discovery.”

Sorine looked focused and blank as she watched her lover speak. “Are you ready, or are there more rituals to perform?”

“I am ready,” Dexion said, giving Sorine another long gaze. The others in the group did their best to look away, knowing Dexion would likely need to wrap his eyes for many weeks after this reading. He would not be able to look upon his love for some time. With another breath, he steadied his hands, and unfurled the scroll.

Torina recalled the feeling of setting eyes on an Elder Scroll. The disorientation, even with her dragon’s soul, deeply affected her vision for some time. She understood the paling of Dexion’s face and the way his pupils dilated. His voice as he spoke was barely more than a mumble so the group leaned closer.

“This vision is murkier than any scroll I’ve read. There are shadows on the horizon of the past, but within the darkness I can see great collections of glowing rock, and I hear the sounds of pickaxes near rushing waters. A great presence oversees this moment, though it could be more than one...this vision darkens. Heavy air chokes me as I feel my body falling through darkness but I don’t land. Glyphs on parchment now, dark blue ink across paper white as snow. Several dashes mark the page as if the writer were counting a vast number...”

Torina listened intently to every piece of information Dexion provided, committing it to memory even as Gelebor wrote furiously in a notebook.

“It begins to fade from my view,” continued Dexion, his hands gripping the scroll tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, “but there is a harsh light cutting through the darkness surrounding each piece of the vision, consuming it all until there is nothing but white…”

Sorine was quick to grab the Moth Priest before he and the scroll collapsed on the dias.

Chapter Text

“Undoubtedly the man witnessed Blackreach,” Serana said bitterly, watching as Sorine all but carried Dexion to their quarters. “That much we feared would happen, that this wretched research would bring us back to that underground cavern.”

Gelebor’s brow was knit in thought, his voice contemplative. “My people were enslaved there until the fall of the Dwemer and continue to reside in those halls in vast numbers, by your accounts. Unfortunate circumstances, but this is vindication we have made the correct assumptions in our research thus far.”

“Would have been much better to learn something new rather than get validation of what we’d already guessed,” Torina muttered bitterly. She walked behind her companions with measured, heavy steps, her gaze towards their feet. “Aetherium, undoubtedly, was involved in all of this. If Dwemer were involved then that blasted substance was, too.”

“Indeed.” Gelebor’s agreement sounded weary, betraying his exhaustion.

The three entered the laboratory together, musing on what was learned when Dexion read the Elder Scroll, going over the notes that Gelebor took on a scroll during the entire process to not miss a thing. A copy of The Aetherium Wars was shuffled among the paperwork, worn and battered from its time in Torina’s knapsack as she followed the clues from it and Katria in Arkngthamz. Finding the Forge hadn’t felt urgent before though now she wondered if it would be a necessary trek out of their way.

“It’s not an adventure we shared, Serana, but there was once a ghost that requested my help in a dwarven ruin. I didn’t consider it important at the time but…I believe I may be able to find the Aetherium Forge if it is in Skyrim. Understanding that Forge could help us understand what happened to the Dwemer and therefore the Betrayed.” Torina noted a clearing not far from the ruin of Bthardamz. “I have stored most of the supplies for this back home in Falkreath, including the paragons you wanted.”

“Is that home guarded by a dragon, it sounds like a horde,” Gelebor said, tone teasing but still astounded at the casual display of accomplishments and wealth she apparently hid within the home.

“A very dedicated housecarl,” Torina answered. “And enough wards to trip a troupe of giants and their mammoths if they wandered too closely.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

A well noted map spread across an entire table in the laboratory. Serana traced a path with her finger over the mountains on the westernmost side of Haafingar. “This will be a huge undertaking. We’ll need months worth of supplies to get to Blackreach and then make camp within, and we’ll need to figure out how to get Sorine and Dexion back to the Dawnguard. Castle Volkihar is the closer option.”

“Mzinchaleft is our target,” Torina said, pointing to the spot on the map halfway between Dawnstar and Morthal. “It’s the closest Dwemer ruin that we know connects to Blackreach. Bandits like to hole up there every so often but they shouldn’t be an issue and they may have supplies we can use. The getting there part will be more treacherous.”

“Rather, we should find the Tower of Mzark,” Gelebor said solemnly. “I don’t suspect we will find as much trouble there, except the effort to unlock it. There are several towers that serve as lifts directly to the surface from Blackreach. Those were constructed long before my people were forced into servitude and I have vague unpleasant memories surrounding them, though they will serve a better purpose for us now.”

“I know that tower…something to do with Herma Mora,” Torina said, bringing out a journal she kept in her pack, an account of several adventures since escaping Dravynea. She was not proud of the notes she had regarding her actions working with that prince and the amount of blood they’d requested she collect.

There was an idea itching in the back of her mind regarding this whole messy business. With the involvement of an Elder Scroll, which seemed to be the way things went for her, she would need to do something drastic. The possibility of opening a Time Wound was not something she shared openly with the group but she started to make notes on what she would need in order to perform that - looking into the past using this scroll would provide much needed insight into their plight.

“We don’t even know what we have to do once we get down there,” Serana said testily as Torina searched her notes. The vampire gripped her folded arms tightly and frowned at the map. “It would be incredibly stupid to leave the relative safety of the Vale until we have some idea.”

“This will be a job that must be done separately.” Torina and Serana both looked to Sorine as she returned to the room. Her jaw was set and her arms at her hips. “Don’t look at me like that, you all know there’s too much to do for us all to stay together.”

Torina regarded the woman, one of the second in command of the Dawnguard, with a careful eye. “You’ve a spine of steel, Sorine, suggesting this after essentially calling the Falmer disposable.”

“Let it go, Dragonborn. I may have a spine of steel but I also can have a head made of stone, according to Dex. I don’t pretend to understand what’s happening here but you had one thing right before, we belong with the Dawnguard. And don’t worry -” the woman held up a hand to quell the argument brewing across Torina’s face, “ - I will not reveal the nature of your quest or the location of this Vale. I think it would be best if we took our leave at first light if Dex can handle the travel.”

All the fight deflated from Torina. She was ready to continue the argument a moment before but with the veiled apology she found herself ready to turn that energy towards something that was more action and less talk.

Serana held a hand to her mouth, biting slightly on one finger, a movement Torina had witnessed before when the vampire was attempting to make a decision. “And I can escort them.”

“What?!”

“Torina, please, it makes the most sense. I escort them both back to the Dawnguard, whether that is back to the Rift or to the Castle. I have absolutely no desire to return to Blackreach anytime in the rest of my life so I do not see a downside to delaying that. We can rendezvous later and I can bring reinforcements or supplies.”

“It would save on attempting to prepare for such a journey,” Gelebor said, chiming in with agreement to Serana and Sorine’s plans.

“And I was just there with them,” Serana reasoned.

Torina set her jaw and realized there was not a leg to stand on to argue against it. There was too much to accomplish by a single group of people. “Fine. You will take them back to the Dawnguard, at Volkihar, yes?”

Sorine nodded. “Durak wasn’t planning to leave the Castle unoccupied for quite some time.”

“Then I will go to Bthardamz and go to my home in Falkreath.”

“And I will join you.” Gelebor’s voice was soft but Torina heard it easily.

She turned from staring into the fire to stare at him instead. “What? Leave the Vale?”

“I thought that suggestion was obvious from the start. I would join on this next journey towards unraveling the mystery. If I were to remain here I would merely be working to repair the citadel further. It has stood, with the help of the ice, for millennia. And I…I fear if I do not leave for this purpose I will never leave this place at all.” Gelebor’s face was measured, the vulnerable emotions of his words not changing his outward expression, with his mouth set in a serious line. 

Following his admission, Torina reached out to place a hand gently on his shoulder and took a deep breath. “Then we will leave the Vale, and we will go together.”