Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Serana’s carefully balanced extract rattled, as a yell carried through the building. All of her glass vials rattled, actually. One even fell over, and she sighed as she got up to replace it. Even as she did so, every inch of her outfit pulled taut. Serana chewed her lip, not able to help it as the so called ‘Bitch Tamer’ reminded her of its deep and pressing existence. Bending over was another reminder, even as another scream came from down the hall and rattled her door. The sun wasn’t even high in the sky yet, and she was already regretting waking up today. 

The sun’s glare was blocked by a large reptilian head, and for a moment the glare of Magnus upon her was broken by the milky white eyes of Alduin. “Good Morning.” It had been months since the battle at Whiterun. Months after a casual swipe of his tail had shattered every bone in her body below the waist. The giant black head chuffed once, nudging the walls. It was still too early in the morning for him to speak, or else he might wake the little children. 

Alduin was surprisingly conscious of the children. He could care less about the needs or wants of scholars or priests demanding his attention, but you put one little child in front of him? The dragon wilted like a moonflower. His eyes blinked a few times, as his nose nudged the stone once more. “If you’re asking about Elayne?” She considered what the great dragon could want. What else would he be nudging the building for, anyways? “I think she’s still busy.” The walls rattled with evidence of her coupling, and two more vials hit the floor. “Very busy.” 

Alduin sighed, a breeze heavy enough to blow a few workers in the street a few steps off their gait. The great head drooped back down to his perch, in the old square of Helgen. It was the only place here that could fit his bulk. The streets were being widened enough for a dragon and a wagon to walk down it. Serana gave less of a tolerant look at the glowing orb of Magnus in the sky. “Maybe I’ll just read something.” 

Reading brought some joy. She was reading Beggar Prince today, and it was tantalizing. Her gloved hands gently moved the pages, and took a few notes about Namira in her own journals as she read. If Oblivion weren’t so hard to cross perhaps the Daedric prince might try something like this again. Chuckling, she was just getting to the end when Elayne gave out a yell louder and more powerful than her other ones. One of the stones from the ceiling fell, and landed upon her new book. Mortar, stone and dust had stained its pages. Serana glared. More of her vials had fallen from their perches, and one of her long term potions had most certainly spoiled with that amount of herbs falling into it. 

“She’s your friend.” She said, taking a deep breath. Serana hadn’t ever had friends before. “Just be patient, she will work this through her system.” The window darkened once more, as Alduin raised his head to block the light again. A broken piece of pottery from Serana’s windowsill was on one of his horns. “My Jazbay!” That was it. She couldn’t live like this, where anything she did was overshadowed by Elayne’s damned honeymoon. Which had been going on for weeks. Standing up, she kept her groaning under control as her outfit pulled taut upon her skin. Her toes had been arched for most of a year, now. These boots had done what her mother’s hired nursemaids could not. She finally had an undeniable sway to her walk. Of course, six inch heels helped. Serana didn’t mind them. If she were mortal and capable of getting sore or injured by them, it would be different. 

Her body jiggled as she stomped her way down the hall to the living room. It was a comfortable place, with a long hall to receive visitors. It was open to the world, with a folding section that could be opened to allow a Dragon to stick their head into the room. One of the large chairs had been turned over, and Elayne was on top of the table. Miraak was behind her, laughing and smiling about something. Thankfully she arrived once they were done, but it was a near thing. Miraak’s pants were barely strung back together, and Elayne’s dress was rumpled and barely pulled down over her thighs. “Oh! Serana! I didn’t think you would be awake.”

“Elayne!” She couldn’t even contain how exacerbated she was. “Everyone is awake! Everyone in Helgen can hear you both going at it like animals! I’ve lost two potions and all of my Jazbay grapes because you can’t be bothered to keep your fucking to yourselves!” Serana threw her arms out, just now realizing how much pent up anger she was feeling. “I’m trying to be understanding, I really am! But you’re making me go mad being close to you right now!”

“What happened?” Miraak was the first to ask. “Did someone threaten you?” Of course his erudite mind would assume violence. 

“Serana, is this about the arcane enchanter? Or about the potions table?” Elayne asked more carefully, elbowing Miraak. “It seemed clean when i hopped up on it. Because I swear I didn’t mean to mix-”

Serana just saw red. “You?! You’re the reason my blood potion stock was ruined?!” She had tried to understand how her most potent blood potion stock had been ruined. But clearly Elayne and her sex-addled mind had decided to procreate on top of her blood potions. “You’re impossible!” She stalked back and forth, unable to sit still. Her anger burnt, even as her heels carefully struck the floor. “I cannot even!” Finish a sentence, either. 

“Maybe you need a break from us?” Elayne offered with some worry. “Or do you want to borrow the dungeon?” 

The dungeon smelt of sex. Everything did. She needed a break from these dragonborn newlyweds. Who also, inconveniently controlled the collar around her neck. “NO!” She shouted, her voice carrying. “I need to leave. Let you have your honeymoon in peace.” Leaving was sounding better by the second. “Maybe I need to find out my own fate. You clearly found yours. I want something similar. Maybe I’ll hunt down rare alchemical ingredients. Or something.” 

Miraak gave a long look at Serana. They hadn’t really gotten along perfectly so far, but he wasn’t an awful sort. He just had issues with vampires and things connected to Molag Bal. But that was normal for anyone! Serana didn’t mind that. Elayne closed her eyes, thinking about it. “Of course you need to figure out your own life. We’ve got enough gold to help you, too. The Queensworn would be happy to help you, if you want. How long do you plan on being gone?”

“I didn’t realize I could leave.” Serana stated, still feeling adrenaline from anger. But now it was tinted with some kind of hope. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, I’ve planned nothing of this until now.” 

Elayne stepped forward, coming to hug her. “Well, I’ve bought you plenty of clothes. You can leave the Bitch Tamer with me and just go on your own.” She clenched her hands together. She had worn this so long she barely thought about it anymore. Maybe, just maybe it would do her good to leave it behind. “You deserve a story of your own, Serana. Your parents stole it from you, and maybe I’ve been cloistering you from the world too. It’s wrong to imprison someone, even if we don’t realize it.” She hugged her tighter. “Let’s help you pack! You’re going on an adventure!”

This is the story of a [young] woman going out on what might be the first time she was allowed on her own adventure. Armed with enough wits and knowledge for most tasks, she had never really put them into practice. But she was hopeful, and yearned for something more. Serana left the east gates of Helgen in the second day of First Seed. She wasn’t sure how long she would be gone, or how far she would go. But a brand new world awaited her. And she was alone with her thoughts for the first time in, well? Ever. 

=================First Seed==================

Serana’s pack felt light. Or at least light for what she was capable of carrying. Her toes were in a comfortable pair of heeled boots that weren’t stilettos. Radiant Raiment had made Serana plenty of clothing over the last year, but for some reason she had just kept wearing the Bitch Tamer. It wasn’t locked on or anything, but the threat of that was always welcome. She didn’t want to admit it, but she partially enjoyed having something between her legs at every waking hour. Elayne had taken the Bitch Tamer from her, and locked it away. Well, almost all of it. Serana’s fingers brushed against the ebonite around her throat. 

“Just a reminder.” She told herself. Elayne had said it was a reason to come back to them. It was locked around her throat and could only be taken off by a dragonborn. Or maybe a Greybeard, but those old monks didn’t exactly trust her. It’s weight was more than just the few pounds of ebonite and dragonbone. It felt heavier than it was, since it represented her connection to Elayne. “I can come back whenever I want.” The gates of Helgen were behind her, and one of the local dragons was snoozing on top of the structure. 

Her body ached, missing the tight embrace of the Bitch Tamer. It shouldn’t miss that, but Serana didn’t like to admit that it did. Her dress even showed as much cleavage as that outfit, but the soft fabrics and leather couldn’t replicate the outfit designed to restrain a vampire lord. It was a strapless dress with detached sleeves, filled with pockets for her to store alchemical items she found on her travels. The skirts split, going past her knees in front and back but leaving her legs bare from ankle to hip. The red and black ensemble concealed underwear that Serana had to admit was welcome. Not that she needed a breastband as a vampire, but keeping her body from coming out of that dress was a bonus. Five more dresses of such a variety were in her bag, along with enough alchemical supplies to keep her going for a month. There was plenty of gold in the bag as well, and with a huff she started walking. A thin shawl was pulled over her head, enchanted to keep the sun from being an issue. 

She didn’t even know how long she walked, just taking the road eastwards. She didn’t even stay on the road, being drawn towards mushrooms and flowers or perhaps just a nice view. But for two days she could barely sleep, and just walked eastwards. Mountains gave way to thick forests, with new finds for herself. Canis root and whole fields of flowers worthy of the name were before her, and her fingers were dusted with pollen from it all. Serana tried to sleep in one corner of the field, but she was disturbed. She couldn’t sleep. Not without that damned outfit. In the dead of the night she held herself by her boots and rocked back and forth, willing herself to ignore that feeling. She gave up trying to sleep when she started dreaming about the gag. “I don’t need it.” She told herself.

Thankfully she came upon a distraction. Some old dwemer ruin was just barely in sight, with a campfire. Three people sat around it, with an overturned wagon nearby. It’s contents were spilled out next to the campfire, with fruit and grain spilled thoughtlessly. “I tell you what, Farad! This beats working in Riften!” One of the men spoke loudly. 

“Beats livin’ in the ratway.” 

“Shut it.” Two nords and a redguard. The redguard seemed more dangerous. “We’re living off the land, now.” He stood up, glancing around at the forest. “Thought I heard something. You two check the road. Be careful.” 

The Nords got up, grabbing some old steel weapons. Imperial steel, it seemed. With how many people died in the civil war or fought in it, that wasn’t all that suspicious. “You have better ears, Farad.” 

“Mine haven’t been boxed in so many times they look like vegetables in the market!” Farad chuckled. “Just don’t get seen by the soldiers.” 

Serana just watched them, as the men just ambled about and poked their heads out of the thick bushes near the road. Farad simply stayed at the fire and waited. She wasn’t hurting for blood, and observing people was a ‘sport’ she enjoyed when she was alive. The men ambled about their fire, eating a few roasted vegetables before passing out. Only when their snores were stable and she was certain they were asleep did she approach. 

She wasn’t a thief by any means, but she did inspect their packs and gear. It was basic. Clothing, food and some survival gear. At least until she checked Farad’s. Inside his bag was a pair of dark red leather gloves that went to the shoulder, with buckles all along them. Hooks for locks to go over the mess were there, as well. The lock eyelets were damaged, but everything else was in pristine condition. Running her hand over it, she felt her tongue lick her lips. “Ebonite.” The clasps for the wrists were ebonite. No one should know how to make these! 

This required further exploration. Farad was awoken with a spell and a compulsion, his eyes unfocused as she led him away from his bedroll. “What is your will, Mistress?” He asked, her powers affecting his mind. Slurring his speech. 

“Tell me where you found this.” Serana held up the gloves, where he could see. 

“Took them from a merchant. He said he found them in a cave.” Farad spoke slowly, without deceit. “Boulderfall cave.”

“Do you have anything else like this?” Serana asked. 

“No. Never seen anything like it before.” 

“Go back to sleep, Farad. Forget you ever had this.” Elayne would be happy she was sparing people. She wasn’t a murderous vampire at all these days. Though she did take a drink from Farad for all of the trouble. Her thirst for blood was quenched, and he was ordered to use a cure disease potion she kept handy. No reason to create more vampires if she could avoid it. 

Boulderfall cave sounded unfamiliar. By the light of the moons she wrote that down in her journal and started making her way eastwards. Riften was still to the east, what still was standing. It had suffered greatly as a hold according what Elayne knew. She made it to the frton of a nordic ruin as the sun rose once more, and decided it would be better to sleep than it would be to keep pressing forwards. If she could sleep. Someone had tents set up outside the old ruin, but moss was growing on the fabric. Still, it was better than actually risking the ruin. 

There was a few notes inside the tent, next to a journal documenting some kind of attempt to explore the ruin. Serana ghosted over the words and dunmeri symbols in the margins until she got to something about treasure. “Hello!” Books and written words had a way of telling truths. Someone could always write a lie, but within every written page there had to be some truths. No one would waste their time writing a complete pack of lies and falsehoods. It took too long to do, and no one wanted to be remembered for lying on paper. 

Serana turned the paper over and over in her hands. “Shashev’s gear ended up in the Rift. The ebonite is true enough.” She spoke to herself, her voice filling the empty courtyard of the ruin. “Elayne would probably hunt down every person who has held this to find out where the rest of the set is.” Serana’s nose flared, thinking about the blood potions that Elayne had ruined. “Probably leaving a path of sex and debauchery all the way to the very last person.” Miraak was a gift from the gods, Serana supposed. Who else could keep Elayne busy and sated? They were almost monogamous at this point. Almost. 

“I could go after this glove’s merchant like Elayne would,” Serana mused, yawning. Even inside these tents, the sun was piercing. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m doing this my way.” If she even know what that was. Serana pondered that while she shivered. A few hours of sleep she stole under the eye of Magnus, before waking up. It wasn’t enough sleep, but it was something. She still didn’t feel like herself. Elayne wouldn’t want to go into the ruin if she could help it, trying not to disturb the dead. 

Serana grinned as she threw back the doors. She wasn’t alive to disturb the dead. Not that many still remained in their tombs. When Alduin called the interred members of the dragon cult, almost all of the draugr answered. The draugr that were buried and created after the fall of the dragon cult were still in their ruins, oddly. Or at least not so odd when you considered the methods of burial along with the bindings placed upon those ruins for those interred to become its guardians. Serana came from a long line of Nord mages with pride in how they buried their dead. Her father had buried plenty to show her. 

“I’m not going to follow all of the rules.” She told herself aloud. “It’s not like Elayne said I couldn’t go adventuring like others have.” The only thing Elayne told her was that she belonged to the Dragonborn and no one else. Oh, and that little bit about Oblivion and Daedric artifacts. But Serana wasn’t going to find anything like that here. Probably not. “I won’t turn into Shashev Helseth. It’s just a little treasure.”

Serana had never been a treasure hunter before. This felt new . She smoothed down her dress and cast a tiny bit of alteration magic to protect herself and released the breath she had been holding. She was expecting the ruin to be more dangerous, mostly. There were a few traps, and more than a few areas with rats infesting them on the upper floors. Spiders, rats and trolls she didn’t have to worry about. 

It was exciting, pulling gold from chests. It made her feel like she could afford to perhaps live on her own work rather than Elayne’s generosity. She hadn’t ever really had to worry about it before. Not when her life was controlled by other people. There were chests in different rooms! Serana even saw that most of the draugr were gone from here, and their burial urns were unguarded! She smirked as the gold and coinage tumbled from each. 

Her vision caught a gleam inside of one of the next urns. A diamond, if she wasn’t mistaken. Serana grinned, reaching into the urn. It was one of the more stable ones, barely moving as she pulled on the depths of the urn. Her good mood came to a halt as something snapped over her wrist, actually feeling heavy. Heavy and large. Large enough that she couldn’t get her arm out of the urn anymore. That was her dominant arm, too!

Her hands couldn’t make the symbols for magic like this. “Well, there aren’t any nords here to complain about this.” Her left hand hefted her sword. A nice gift from Elayne for her journey, a glass sword that could paralyze a foe. She called it a jinkblade. But the pommel was tough enough for shattering first era urns. “What in the!” Clamped over her hand was a metal piece that seemed to be more clamp than glove. Nordic steel that glowed with magic, clamped over her hand and keeping it locked into a fist. A tiny spark spell confirmed that it somehow was like attacking her own skin, and a few practice swings with her pommel did little more than scratch it. 

She couldn’t cast a spell to affect it without hitting herself too. Some kind of ancient locking system sat upon the object, but Serana never wasted her time with locks or tumblers. She swallowed once, not liking the heavy object pulling on her wrist. “Alright.” She promised herself. “Now I really have to search this place.” 

Gold, gems, scrolls and mattered less with this clamp over her hand. Now she was searching for embalming tools that were tougher than normal. All of the surrounding urns and their bone meal were collected, and the first floor of this ruin yielded nothing. An ancient axe shattered when she tried to use it to break the item on her wrist, not that she even knew what it was. Grumbling, she had to go deeper into this place. The notes called it Angarvunde. 

Whatever it’s name, Serana spent almost a day slowly navigating its ancient catacombs for anything to use. Near the main chamber, she managed to find something different. It had the handle of an embalming tool but the tip of a lockpick. Or some kind of tilted end that seemed to not match any medical reason or embalming need. Lining it up with her locked hand, she found it almost fit the locking mechanism. “Come on!” She must have spent fifteen minutes trying to open it, but the tool didn’t seem to do the job. But it was close enough that it gave her hope for more of them to be around. 

Every urn was checked, and the draugr and bodies that remained here she checked as well. But at the very bottom of the ruin, she found a treasury room. It was past a bunch of traps, unfortunately. One of them injured her, as she wasn’t prepared for the spinning blades. They cut into the side of her dress and through her skin, as she rolled past them. A large lever disabled them, but she still hissed at the damage done. “Great.” She muttered. “Maybe that’s why Elayne said something about summons.” 

She conjured an ice atronach to go ahead of her, and watched as it triggered every single trap before it. The poor thing was sent back to Oblivion by a massive trap that swung a tipped tree trunk into the offender that stepped onto a floor panel. Serana politely laughed once it had been returned to its realm, but heard something else moving in the depths. Heavy boots, the sounds of mailed armor dragging against bones. She finally ran into a draugr down here. She crouched, staying quiet as she moved towards it. Thousands had been burned after the battle with Alduin, as it was impossible to return them all to their tombs. Any identifying features had been worn off over time, and no one wanted their own ancestors forgotten. A public pyre burned for the Draugr, with a priest of Arkay declaring that their souls would prefer to go like this to Shor’s side. 

This draugr was a big one. It’s horned helmet had markings matching this place, and in its hands were two swords. One was cracked and the other wasn’t much better. She gave herself decent odds. So she threw a flame atronach at it. Her own glass weapon she lifted, after casting. Her currently useless right hand she struggled with, the heavy weight clamped over it doing nothing for her.

The draugr cut down her atronach, the flames covering its skin as the angry creature returned to oblivion. Her glass blade struck its blades, making it pause. It was resisting the paralysis! Twisting, she roared and swung hard. It screamed too, a dragon shout hitting her just as her blade cut into its neck. She was too close to brace against it, and went flying. Her skirts swirled and she fell in a pile of urns and rubbish. 

Twisting to rise back to her feet, she could see her sword a short distance from her. The draugr was swaying, its neck barely attached. The glowing eyes rolled, its head lolling with every shaky step. It was still chasing her. One of the urns next to her had fallen over, something rattling within. It looked like another one of those keys! 

She had plenty of magicka to throw still, and an ice spike was launched. The draugr swept his sword through it, blocking the spell. The ice spike was weighing down one of its swords, now. Rolling forwards, she reached for the key. Having her dominant hand free would be more helpful than just her left. Serana was feeling perfectly confident until she felt something clamp down over her left hand. Realizing mounting horror as she lifted up both hands, clamped in the same trap. The urn on her left hand was just another damned trap! 

The draugr came in swinging his one sword, and she blocked with the urn. The ceramic shattered, revealing another one of the damned steel clamps over her left hand. Screaming in rage, she brought down the steel against the draugr, getting in so close it couldn’t swing back. It’s hands tore through some of the fabric of her dress, but the corset was keeping it from coming loose. It took five strong hits for the draugr to finally die. The light in its eyes finally left, as the head rolled out of its helmet and onto the floor. “Such a fool!” She couldn’t pick up anything! She could at least slip her bag on and off, letting it hang from one arm. 

Blushing, Serana got down on her hands and knees. Some of her potions had fallen out of her sleeves, and her glass sword was still on the ground. Item by item she had to grab them with her teeth, gently setting them into her bag. She probably looked silly, crawling around the room. Worst of all, the final chest next to the draugr’s resting place was packed with coins and gems! Serana’s dress got heavily mussed as she had to crawl into the chest for each of the pieces. A glowing Elven dagger was in there, too. She felt like a dog, grabbing it all. But the keys she had found she no longer had the thumbs to manipulate! Her dress was covered in dust, and one of her breasts was almost revealed from all the cuts the draugr had given her. She couldn’t help herself from collecting some potions from the shelves. Each was gently taken in between her teeth and dropped into her bag. 

“This isn’t as fun as Elayne said it would be.” Serana mused. “But taking this all feels great.” She hadn’t had the chance to raid castle volkihar yet, but at this point it was likely picked over by crows. This was the first time she had gotten something for herself, and the long walk back to the surface was actually draining. The heavy weights on her arms were hard to run with. A normal mortal would probably limp back to the surface. But not a vampire. “But now I have a problem!” These weren’t going to break easily. “I need help.” 

Exhausted from the entire ordeal, she crawled into the old tents in front of Argarvunde and laid down. Strangely, the clamped feeling of her fists gave her a curious comfort. Her sleep was better than before, or at least far more restful. But now she needed help. That help she might only find in a major city. There was no way she was going back to Helgen after only a few days of getting free of Elayne! Not for all the gold she could want. But Riften was close. Riften it would have to be.

Chapter Text

The road to Riften was surrounded by wildflowers of all types. Serana grit her teeth about it. It was the best time to harvest spring wildflowers and her hands were clamped tight in two steel traps. She couldn’t collect any of it! Not without debasing herself and crawling around collecting flowers with her teeth! Serana had that dignity at least. Riften was at the far end of Lake Honrich from her, and in the very great distance she could see it. It looked kind of like a brown-black speck on the edge of what she could see. 

Her heeled shoes carried her along that lake edge, and she could see how much damage the dragons caused. The farms were mostly abandoned, though she could see a few valiantly trying to bounce back. Almost all of their buildings were just scorched frames. The mortar and stones for the foundations still stood in most cases, but the roofs and wooden siding were just ash. Plants were growing from the burned areas, and she could see more than one old barn frame covered in flowering plants. Yet more ingredients for potions she couldn’t harvest. 

Serana wasn’t too angry about it, more inconvenienced. She wasn’t going to miss the entire season, and she could come back and see what the old buildings had. She snoozed through one overly sunny afternoon in one of the burned out homes, the bed somehow spared. Well, one corner room somehow was spared. The walls were just scorched by smoke rather than burned to a crisp. It was enough to sleep in, at least. A touch of clumsy maneuvering and she got on her way. 

Riften was at the eastern end of Lake Honrich. There were some islands in the lake, and at one point they probably contained buildings. Now only ash and dust remained of it. Bees were swirling around in packs, giving her a wide berth as they went in search of honey or pollen. It was beautiful, and she could smell it. Better yet, clouds covered the sun in the evening and it started to rain. She couldn’t raise her veil to protect herself with her arms so restrained, so she just walked in the rain. The raindrops fell upon her bare skin without discomfort. It was hard to make a vampire uncomfortable. A Volkihar had to have a certain fondness for water. If she wanted to she could start freezing everything around her, and channel the raw power she possessed. But that wasn’t something that Serana wanted to do. She wasn’t her father. She wasn’t Elayne either, who was so soft hearted. Or rather, she didn’t like to be affected by harsh weather. 

Serana liked the rain. Growing up she always knew that the rain meant spring had arrived, and more time spent with her mother in the garden. She walked through a rainy night, the skies dark and the animals quiet in their dens. There wasn’t another human soul on the roads and she was able to think without anyone interrupting. 

Every day around Elayne it had been more about finding ways to occupy her time instead of think about what she liked. Reading was certainly something she liked, a lot. Books were delightful for her. And being buried for an entire era meant that there were thousands of books to read about what had happened in the meantime. Serana came to the conclusion that whatever life she wanted to live, it involved a library. She would need a second one for the books she didn’t like, of course. 

Sighing, she came to the conclusion that whatever life she would live, it would require a metric shitload of bookshelves. She needed a roof at least for that, and maybe a room for alchemy ingredients. While she was at it, maybe an arcane enchanter and a basement for deadra summoning. If she were into that kind of thing anymore. There was a distinct discomfort at the idea of contacting a plane of Oblivion for anything more than atronachs at this moment. Her father was in the realm of Boethiah still, and Serana was still terrified that he would return. Nightmares about that had been prevalent more than once. 

The only daedric prince she had any kind of relationship was Molag Bal. Technically she was still one of his most beloved priestesses. Thousands had died for her sake almost a millenia ago. All so she could lose her virginity to that monster. She wasn’t eager to summon his creatures. Though there was some regret in that. Many of the creatures in service of Molag Bal were strong, and she had spoken with many branches of daedra. Serana politely tabled that internal discussion for when she actually had a place to do all of this. 

Whilst musing about getting a moon garden or a greenhouse she was surprised by the walls that appeared before her. Riften! She was here! In the heavy rain she had barely noticed it. The walls loomed above her, scarred black in some places from dragonfire. It was early, with the sun only starting to rise and bring light to the landscape. Her wrists were starting to hurt, the heavy weights enough that a normal person would probably be drowning in the lake. There were a pair of guards at the gate, which looked half-built. The gate was patched with fresh wooden planks, and wasn’t painted. 

“Gods, there is someone coming!” One of the guards spoke up. “On the south road!” 

“Miss?” Serana realized that her dress was slick to her skin. Every inch of her was framed in wet silk, from her head to her toes. She hadn’t been able to cast a single spell to protect her outfit from the rain, and her hands were still locked in their clasps. This dress of hers had been worn for three days straight without a single hand to adjust it or repair it. The draugr’s fingers had torn one side, and the scraps stuck to her skin like bandages. White creamy cleavage winked at both of the guards, drawing their attention from her collar around her neck to the body on display. “Miss?” The second guard spoke up. “What brings you to Riften?”

“Oh!” Serana stopped walking, a few feet from the gate. “I need to talk to Brynjolf.” The thief would certainly be able to get her out of these clasps. Especially since she had the right keys. 

“Well, to come through this gate it’ll cost you twenty dragons.” The first guard started talking, before the second actually looked past her body. 

“What my compatriot means to ask is if you would like to donate to the Riften reconstruction project!” The second guard clarified. “Surdur you oaf, look at her neck!” He wasn’t that quiet. But vampire hearing was honestly amazing. 

“Oh shite.” Surdur muttered. “Sorry, Miss. We weren’t aware that anyone owned by the Dragonborn was coming. And certainly not by the south road. The only thing out there are orcs bandits and ruins.”

“I’ll consider the donation once I get these off.” She hefted her hands, as both guards sucked in breath. 

“Oh gods. Right, let her in!”

“We aren’t going to get enough money to rebuild the barracks much less anything else if we just let her in!” Surdur grumbled, unlatching the gates. “Not when the entire province is supporting Whiterun instead!”

Serana blinked at that. Rebuilding seemed to be happening everywhere. “I was under the impression that King Baalgruf was making sure that all of the holds were getting the help they needed.”

“Bah.” Surdur responded before the other guard could interject. “He should never have become king. He didn’t have what it took to defeat Ulfric! And now his hold sits fat and wealthy while the rest of us suffer!”

“Don’t mind him.” The second guard said carefully. “Surdur fought for Ulfric. Like a lot of us, we were far from Riften when it burned. There are a lot of us who feel strongly about the war.” He was trying to shoo Serana into the city, to let this just be ignored. But she stopped, her heels bringing her to a halt. Something within her wanted to break out. Not to be like Elayne, and say something nice. Not to compromise interests. 

Her eyes locked onto Surdur’s. “I fought Alduin and Harkon too.” Both guards considered that with interest. “The only mortal man brave enough to fight Harkon at the Dragonborn’s side was Ulfric. I was there. I watched him fall, but he did what no one has done since the Second Era.”

“You saw Ulfric die?” Surdur asked, quietly. “What really happened? Did those Forsworn witches turn on him?”

“No. They didn’t help him and he did not ask for their help. Ulfric decided he would fight a creature that few mortals can even face. Harkon had an aura about him,” Better to say that than explain the nature of being a daedric champion. “He could freeze the blood in your veins from just being near. Ulfric didn’t care. He wanted to fight where no mortal man dared. And he hurt Harkon. Burned him with a powerful blade. But the fight took too long. His heart was slowly freezing over, but he didn’t stop.” Ulfric had fought with Dawnbreaker. Serana had used it after he fell. “I could hear his heart stop beating, but even so he still charged into battle. He died bravely, for a Nord.” 

“Praise Talos.” Surdur said. “His soul must have gone on to Sovngarde.”

“You were there?” The other guard seemed more suspicious. “What was Alduin like?”

“He’s a very cranky and ancient dragon with low tolerance for idiocy.” Serana could attest to that. “But if you want to impress him, bring him a bear carcass that isn’t too old. Though he also likes salted pork and elk. Generally the best way to get to know Alduin these days is to bring him some of his favorite foods and ask him to teach you Dovahzul.”

“Dervahwhat?”

“Dovahzuul. The language he learned from Akatosh and Kyne.” The Nords brightened as they understood. “Um, where would Brynjolf be?”

“Ah! Try the ratway. Most of the city operates out of it these days. Still clearing the rubble from some areas of the old district. The prison is all that’s left of the Jarl’s house, and the priests of Arkay and Mara are in the old catacombs on the east side. You should find Thane Brynjolf in the ratway. Follow the noise, you should find half of Riften down there.”

“Thank you!” Serana would have waved, but the weights prevented it. 

“We forgot to ask her name!” Surdur muttered as she left.

“We don’t need to. That’s the Dragonborn’s pet vampire.” Serana sighed at hearing that. Better than Elayne’s reputation as a slave, but not by much. “Don’t look at her eyes.”

“She had a lot of other places I’d rather look!” Serana ignored anything more from that pair, and made her way into the city. It had once been a major city, at least. Now it was a lot of cleared land inside of old walls. Some of the old ruins the Queensworn used to live in looked a lot like this. Working teams were trying to clear what appeared to be a large manor in one of the corners of the city, the entire upper floor having collapsed on the lower. Other piles of rubble and debris filled the area, and wagons were all over filled with the stuff. 

The only standing buildings were the canals. Slim wooden bridges were on top of the gaps, and some of the stone bridges were being repaired. But everything else had been burned away. The people looked dusty and worn out, even as some wooden poles were being pounded into place around the city. New homes, hopefully. A wooden pier was being assembled as well, but it looked a bit rushed. Argonians and others were rushing along it carrying baskets. 

The rain was still hammering everyone, and her heels felt less than perfectly stable on some of the damaged stones. But into the sewer-like ratway she went. Tents and beds were all over, and a miniature blacksmith shop was working from one of the central rooms. Deeper in this ‘ratway’ she found a cistern full of people. Nicely dressed, some of them. One side of the cistern held some kind of court or something. Someone was being judged. But the other side was a beaten up old bar, with barrels of mead and ale behind it. A plethora of old chairs and tables filled the cistern, and the smell of so many people living here was oppressive. 

Her heels finally had a decent surface to walk on, as the stones here were in better condition. Brynjolf was here, sitting by the bar with three men surrounding him. He didn’t notice as she stepped next to him, and set the heavy weights onto the bar. “Sapphire, ditch the illusion magic.” Brynjolf started saying. “I thought you-” He made eye contact with another woman with dark hair much like Serana’s. “Oh shite.” Brynjolf’s eyes widened, and must have realized who she was. 

“Don’t run. We both know I’m faster.” Serana couldn’t help but scare him a little bit. “I’ve walked a long way to find you.”

“If this is about the ring I filched off of Odhaving,” Brynjolf muttered quietly. Serana couldn’t help but laugh. Every peace keeping dragon that had sworn to Elayne to not kill mortals if they could avoid it had gone on the warpath, hunting for Brynjolf wherever he tried to go. Just because the man wanted to be the first thief to steal from a dragon and get away with it. Of course, maybe he should have tried to steal something that wasn’t the wedding bands for Miraak and Elayne. Serana had accompanied the two Dragonborn on that little jaunt, and it would have been over and done within days if Elayne and Miraak hadn’t been so randy. 

“This isn’t about the ring.” Serana interrupted. “I need you to unlock these.” She let the heavy clamps roll on the old wooden paneling of the bar. 

“Those look like some old traps I’ve seen a few times before. But to get off something like that, I’d say you’d need-”

“Keys from the same ruin, the deathlord they are connected to and some bone meal? Embalming tools?” Serana started speaking, hearing enough complaints from Elayne about these kinds of things. “I have them in my bag.” 

“Well, I guess you're not ignorant.” Brynjolf muttered. “Serana, right? Elayne kidnapped you from somewhere.” Elayne never admitted to the bards where Serana was found. Only that she did kidnap her from her father. Which was to her advantage at times. “Come sit down at my table. It’s about the only place I can call my own these days.”

“The place is packed full.” 

“It’s nice to see so much life here. Even if it meant opening it up to all of Riften.” Brynjolf sat her down at the smallest table in the corner, with just two chairs. Her bound hands and their restraints took up the entire table. The nord grimaced as he took out the head of the draugr, along with the single key. “Where is the other?”

“It was in the urn that held the other trap.” 

“How rude!” Brynjolf was amused. “Alright, I have a knack for these. They are slightly magical, even if their original owner is long dead and gone. You can reset them, but I don’t do that for anyone. Mercer asked me to do it once, but I think he was joking.” Bonemeal was ground from the draugr, and rubbed along the glowing runes of the clamps. The runes stopped glowing, and the Nord started humming as he extracted first one hand and then the other. It took him all of ten minutes of careful plying of the locks and she was free. “There we go! And you brought everything you needed!” He held up the diamond that got her in trouble in the first place. 

“How much do I owe you?” Serana knew she was talking to a thief. A very experienced one. 

“Gold has a use in every day and age.” Brynjolf said with practiced humor. “And no amount of gold will help me get what I need. What I want is a favor.”

“I’d rather just pay out in gold.” 

“Listen.” Brynjolf said with a whisper. One that only a vampire would hear. “I know what you are and where you can go. Deeper than the Argonians can. This place? Riften hangs by a thread and I’m one of its Thanes. Gold can’t just make buildings, food and comforts appear from out of nowhere!”

“Who decided that you would be a good thane?” Serana folded her arms, working feeling back into her fingers. As well as surreptitiously fixing the damaged parts of her dress with a wave of magic. 

“Why, the Jarl of course. Jarl Sibbi Black-Briar.” She didn’t recognize the name. “He’s an old friend. We go way back. Before the dragons his mother was an important Thane. But most of the other Thanes left to go fight for Stormcloak, and Maven was inside of her brewery when the dragons struck. All of that mead was like tinder. Sibbi only lived because he was in prison to teach him a lesson. But the Jarl died at Whiterun and the only Thane left was Sibbi.” A winning choice, clearly. “The city needed replacements for the missing nobility. Sibbi was recommended to choose myself, Delvyn Mallory, Mercer Frey and Mjoll the Dragonslayer as Thanes. Delvyn can keep the taps rolling for now, but we are worried about the rush of people we are about to get from other holds. Riften used to produce all of the alcohol for Eastmarch, the Rift, and the Pale. Without that production there are a lot of angry Nords without mead to drink.”

“So what do you expect me to do about it? I can’t summon a brewery.”

“After seeing what happened the time I went into that book with the Dragonborn? I am not screwing around with Oblivion ever again.” The man shuddered. “Took me months to get that damned thing off.”

“You’re lucky yours comes off.” Serana knew that the collar around her throat was special. She was worried it wouldn’t ever leave her neck. She was most worried about the part of her that was perfectly fine with that. “But again, why me?”

“A boat went down in the lake during the dragon attack. No idea where and the lake is gigantic. But it was carrying thirty crates of Black Briar reserve. Along with even more barrels of regular mead. Those crates are probably waterlogged to oblivion and back, but just that alone can keep the city going for another month or two. So I’m asking if you’d rather help me by doing that and getting paid for it instead of paying me gold that won’t do me a lick of good.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“Sibbi is drunk on power and his tongue is thirsty. I would prefer to keep my head attached to my body, if you know what I mean. One of the thanes has already disappeared. Sent on some mission that is impossible. Go retrieve some ancient weapon that used to belong to riften when it was a kingdom.” He was saying these words with the barest hint of a whisper, yet Serana heard them all. “I don’t want to have the same fate. You’ll be doing Riften a favor. As well as these people.”

“Alright.” Serana mused. “You want me to scrounge the bottom of a lake like some mudcrab?”

“Exactly.” He said. “I have a wagon that is ready to follow you anywhere. You find it, and then help me get it all out. It’s not glamorous work, but it is something that needs to be done. The Argonians I tried to send started freezing. The entire lake is fed by glacier runoff, so they can only handle the surface. You, my new friend, can do so much more.”

“Fine.” Serana took a long breath. This place was hurting. She could at least do some good here. Elayne would have done this without payment, worse than any wench. “But I’ll want gold for every dive I have to make.”

“Alright.” Brynjolf offered his hand. Serana was still marveling at her own free hands as she shook his. “Now slip out of here before the Jarl sees you. Don’t get on his bad side.”

“They’ll never see me leaving.” Serana had to slip around groups of desperate people in the dark Ratway. But the surface was just more rain. Her clothes hadn’t even dried yet, as she re-emerged onto the canals. Some of the lower canals were intact, their doors newly replaced. She could smell the scent of frost salts in the air, coming from one of the doors. It looked like a fishery, where long trout were being preserved using the salts. She mused on that as she stepped beyond that, coming to a last door. It looked like a shop, and when someone stepped through the door Serana could smell alchemical fumes. Her heels moved a little faster getting there. Dress sodden, she stepped inside with glee.

“Welcome to Ingun's Elixir’s!” A woman said loudly. She had dark hair, and a noble bearing. Her clothes were decent quality, if a little scorched. “Can I help you?” She gave Serana a glance, measuring her by her outfit. The silk dress probably stood out. The vampiric eyes and ebonite collar were another thing entirely. “You’re not just anyone.” 

“I’m here to make some trades.” Serana said clearly. “Not harm anyone.”

“A vampire promising to not harm anyone.” The woman’s hair was finely braided, which reminded Serana that she needed to take care of her own. “That’s not suspicious.” 

“I’m here to trade ingredients. You have some from outside the hold, I assume?”

“Of course!” She seemed affronted. “Not an unlimited amount, but the traders always supply. We even have some painted troll fat.” Serana hadn’t heard of that before. “Or perhaps you were looking for human skulls?”

“Blood, perhaps. But only if it’s preserved correctly. Human skin if you have any. It’s something I can use to make potions that keep me from needing blood.”

“How much?” The woman didn’t even blink. “The blood I don’t have on hand, but the skin and bones we have plenty of.”

“What’s your name?” 

“Ingun Black-Briar.” Related to the current Jarl. One of the few people with a functional shop of any sort. Ignoring the blatant favoritism, she was someone very important in this city. It looked unharmed by the dragonfire that took the city. But the alchemical set was master at least in quality. “And you are the Dragonborn’s pet vampire.”

“I prefer to go by Serana when doing business.” She chuckled. Being referred as a pet rankled her sometimes. “Especially when that someone can be a friend.”

Ingun was surprised. “A friend?”

“Not many apothecaries admit to their connection to such ingredients. How is your stock of poisons?”

Ingun gave a wild grin. “What are you trying to poison?” There was no hesitation. “I’ve got plenty of options for vermin or insects.”

“How about something stronger? Perhaps a bear, or something?”

Ingun’s smile was full. “Serana? I think we are going to have a wonderful partnership.”

===============

That evening Serana’s bag was much lighter. Ingun appreciated the ingredients, and Serana had a batch of blood potions bubbling along through the night. Ingun would make sure that they would finish and she could pick them up at her leisure. Which left Serana with an almost empty bag and a job to do. With most people asleep, she slipped out of Ingun’s Elixirs and made her way to the docks. The lake was large, and she was alone on the docks. The rain had driven everyone indoors, leaving her with her thoughts. 

She didn’t trust Brynjolf. She didn’t necessarily care about the people of Riften, but knew the difference between being helpful or not. Serana Volkihar didn’t always view people as people . Mortals were food. Mortals could be helpful, but most of them wouldn’t trust a vampire. She had trust issues with mortals, clearly. But Elayne had shown her kindness, of a sort. Eola had, as well. Serana didn’t have many friends, and didn’t seem to make them easily. Even what she did with Ingun was partly acting and using her childhood. Those with power enjoyed having contact or closeness with those they believed had the same connections. Serana was a princess, after all. She knew how to schmooze. 

But it made the relationship feel less personal. Serana didn’t like that, but being a vampire made people lonely. It certainly didn’t inspire trust. It didn’t make her feel welcome, at least. She shook her head at that, heading one of the Riften guards walking along the streets. She had to go, now. With a pulse of feeling, she let her Volkihar powers come to the fore. Her heel dangled above the water, the pointed tip barely touching the water. Ice formed underneath it, and she could feel the temperature of the air around her lessen. She could kill or injure people doing this, normally. It was the same power that her father had used with such force at Whiterun. She didn’t want to kill anything, though. She just needed it to just affect the surroundings. 

The ice was enough, though. Her heels balanced on the water like it was the most stable of sources. With every step another small oval of ice formed long enough for her to take another step. In the rain the ice would disappear quickly. She didn’t care about her dress or who saw her at this moment, breaking out into a full sprint on the ice. She felt powerful, and with each bound more of the lake was overtaken. She laughed, feeling the raindrops turning into snow around her. This was how she was when she didn’t have to contain herself or hold back. The true Serana. Powerful, unrestrained and unburdened! 

For a moment, she felt like having wings. Just a tiny moment. That one moment of freedom came crashing down as the collar on her neck activated. Her feelings released her powers too far, and for that one moment all of her existence was pain. She slammed into the ice at the top of the lake, before skidding off and slipping into the depths. Nearby fish died, from the sheer shock damage. Serana screamed, the water concealing the noise as her entire existence became one rictus of pain. 

She somehow reached shore before dawn. It was one of the islands that once had buildings on them. She was shivering, blinking away spots in her vision. Her lungs coughed out lakewater, and her hair was sticking to her face. “That was,” She clutched at her neck, the collar sitting innocently there, the object of her ire. “What the fuck, Elayne!” 

The vampire slumped at the foot of a tree. Rage filled her, but also the realism of her situation. If she ever tried to use her powers, she was likely to come near to death. To be fair, this wasn’t designed by Elayne. This collar was designed by the madman Shashev Helseth. Serana had been wearing it since she awoke from her coffin, at the behest of Elayne. “She has no idea.” The realization hit her. “Elayne has no idea how this thing works!”

But that also meant that Elayne didn’t know what taking it off would mean. If it even could come off. She clutched herself, casting restoration magic to recover. The collar had drained even that, and she had to drink potions to compensate. Every object in her bag was soaked, which meant all of her nice outfits were about to wrinkle. The rain had stopped, and out came the sun. Serana moved slowly, stringing up a drying rope between two trees and hanging all of her things. By the time the sun was fully up, six outfits hung on the line and Serana was standing on the edge of the lake in just a breastband. A very nice one, but she felt more than a bit exposed. “So.” She brushed out her hair, knowing that with the sun’s rise there would be no more healing naturally until sundown. “With this collar I can’t use my full abilities. I can’t even levitate. But I can use the frost aura. Enthrall people. Turn invisible.” Everything but truly be what she used to be. 

“Am I supposed to be some immortal reconnecting with their mortal past?” It felt like part of the answer. “Or am I just some immortal pet?” It was on her mind, dressed as she was. Just a collar and a thin strand of silk about her middle. “No.” Serana shook her head. “I’m not just some pet vampire to parade around whenever there is trouble. I’m more than that!”

But what could she be? No one liked vampires. They strictly had to live away from mortals to avoid vigilants of stendarr or worse. Even though she had put her life on the line against Alduin and Harkon, she didn’t get treated the same as others. Miraak and Elayne were heroes. Eola was a hero with a dark streak. Baalgruf was accepted as king even by the Stormcloaks. His sons were being taken in by the Companions on ‘survival trainings’ to help them become as accomplished as their father. His wife Irileth was somehow being compared to Barenziah. As if. Irileth clearly didn’t have a history as a poisoner. 

She growled at all of this. “I’m not going to figure this out just by sitting here.” She gave a soft glare at the breastband she had on before hanging it up, too. The thought of someone seeing her naked would have been mortifying before she met Elayne. But after wearing the Bitch Tamer for so long? A lot of people know what her curves were like. Some had even touched to confirm it! “Better not forget.” She cast a spell binding a storm atronach to the area, and forced it to guard her things. Taking a deep breath, she tied her belt about her waist and hitched her sword to it. “It’s time to explore this lake.” And hopefully find more understanding for what she actually wanted.

Chapter Text

Brynjolf’s boat was a few hundred yards from the Riften docks, and straight to the bottom of the lake. Even the slaughterfish wouldn’t follow her down this deep. Serana could feel the current pushing at her body as she swam that deep. The boat had capsized, and was upside down. A normal mortal might need a Night Eye spell to see down here, but she was fine. It had taken hours of looking in the depths of the lake, and she was honestly smiling as she finally found it. The mast and rear of the vessel were on one side of a boulder, and the rest of the vessel was tilted around the stone. 

Crates and barrels were all over the place, and Serana grabbed one crate and two barrels before kicking off and swimming to the surface. The island where her clothes were hung was a few hundred feet away, with its old pier and burned out house was easy to reach. Dragging the crate and the barrels from the water, the algae stained wood ate in the light of day. She didn’t like how much it was affecting her, and her clothes were at least dry enough to wear once more. “Should have asked for something weather resistant instead of blood resistant.” Commissioned by Elodie of Solitude, apparently she had worked with vampires before and had developed some kind of enchantment to keep blood from staining the silk. Or much of any fluid, at least. 

Serana appreciated it, but silk was so finicky. It was better than the old treated leather and linen that she used to own, by far! If anything was better in the new era, it was clothing. Though her finger traced the collar still around her neck at the thought. Some things were better. The crate she had was filled with corked bottles, all of which had signs of being a mead. “Black Briar reserve.” Elayne had offered them a bottle of this when Eola announced some celebration. It was strong, and without the Black Briar meadery the price on these bottles must be outstanding. “Oh, Brynjolf, you think I’m going to ignore that?” 

It may be unladylike, but Serana felt quite the kick as she tore a cork off of one of the bottles. Let it be said that her fangs were more useful than just for biting people and spreading disease! Being undead didn’t mean that alcohol stopped tasting good, either. Serana particularly liked Argonian bloodwine, after all. It didn’t sate her like a blood potion could. The mead felt warm against her body, as she drank from it heavily. The sun’s bite didn’t feel so bad, as she sipped the strong liquor. 

“I wonder what Elayne is thinking about all of this.” If the woman was thinking about Serana at all, actually. Though she was a good friend. Serana closed her eyes, thinking about the Breton. “She probably misses me and wonders if I’m alright.” It would be like her, the woman that didn’t even dare to take money from a ruin. But the dead didn’t have much use to spend their money. If anything, that greed that people considered a valuable skill in life never seemed to do much more in death than to convince others to chase the same mistakes. 

Sighing, she emptied the crate and carried the entire barrel she had recovered over to a spot with lots of debris. The barrel was moved underneath the fallen building and the crate she emptied. Ten bottles were placed underneath the barrel. The remaining nine she slipped into her own bag. Insurance, for her. The Rift was not a very sunny place, these months. Some of the edges of the lake still had ice around the edges. So, Serana made a game out of the return journey. Somehow she didn’t want to have the gate guards interact with her all that much. Not that they were bad people, but the story she was getting from Brynjolf and the story she was getting from the guards were different. 

The regular people simply thought that gold alone could make the city come back. Bryjolf believed differently, yet he admittedly was a thief. Still, her movements didn’t need to be tracked. Patterns of ice moved underneath her heeled shoes as she approached the quays, with some of the late afternoon fishermen and women still trying their luck. A few of them noticed the patterns of ice, but none of them saw her thanks to a bit of illusion magic. The docks creaked as she stepped back onto them, and she ambled back to the Ragged Flagon. The market here wasn’t very much yet. It would be something once more, but right now it wasn’t anything to be proud of. Not yet. 

As she entered the cistern, she noticed that one of the stalls normally filled with craftsmen had been cleared. Some of their things were still being carried away. “Shame about Birsi.” Someone was saying. “I liked him.”

“He didn’t pay in time.” A woman with dark hair and mage robes brought up. “A shame, after all. They’ve already found a replacement for him.”

“Who? How could they have a replacement so quickly?”

“The Jarl apparently invited someone. He’ll be here within the day.”

“Seems suspicious to already have a new blacksmith lined up.”

Serana was enjoying her invisible skulking, but felt someone touching her waist. She glanced down, noticing one of the members of the thieves guild touching her. They noticed an invisible vampire! She slapped their hand away, ruining the invisibility and revealing her position. 

“Good to see you, miss.” An older Nord grinned. “Brynjolf said you’d like to see him when you got back.”

“Who are you?” Serana did a quick feel over her belts, making sure her things were still there. 

“People call me Vipir, Miss.” He winked. “But you can call me anything if you have something on the mind!” His eyes never reached her own. “The thane is at his table, ready to see you.” She resisted the temptation to send an ice spike into his leg. This thieves guild were as good as they said they were. Vipir had seen and pickpocketed her while she was invisible. A man like that gave her a sense of respect for them. Vipir wasn’t a man who stood out, even. He gave his allegiance to Brynjolf and others, which meant in her mind that they could be even better than he was. So she walked past the bar and its thirsty victims. Brynjolf was at his table, as if he had never left. One man was with him, getting up as he approached. 

“-nd that  bitch Vindicci?”

“Won’t be an issue. Now, go tell Salt-Sage we won’t be having this misunderstanding again.” Brynjolf’s voice was a bit icy. Threatening. “You short us on that shipment, and I’ll hire the Companions to come and collect it. Now get out. I’ve got others who need my skills.” Serana made eye contact with a scruffy looking Nord as he got out of the chair. Brynjolf’s composure broke some when she sat, and her cleavage bounced within the confines of her dress. Not that any of her outfits allowed otherwise. 

“We should talk.” She spoke, with care. “But I think your cup looks empty.” She switched the bottle on the table, a regular mead that looked halfway sulked through and replaced it with one of the bottles of black-briar reserve. “What do you think?”

“Where can I bring the wagon?”

“Not so fast.” Her hand clamped down on his just as he reached for the bottle. “You never mentioned it was the quality mead.”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

“Don’t try to fool a vampire.” She wasn’t a mortal. He knew that and she knew that, even if this collar kept her from fully realizing it. “I have a new deal for you. One that will benefit us both.” Now she let him have the bottle. There were eight more in her bag, anyways. 

“You found it within a day. I’ve been bribing a pair of argonians for weeks and you found it within a day.” He grunted. “What do you need?”

“I want a property.” Brynjolf blinked at that. “I’ve noticed that you’re building the new buildings in Riften with stone foundations. Or at least planning to.”

“You want a house or something?” He considered. “I mean, I’m fairly sure you’ll be able to afford it.”

“Not a house. Perhaps I’ll want one? But I want something with a basement and multiple floors. Facing the marketplace.”

“That’s a little harder to convince the jarl to part with.” Brynjolf popped the cork and took a sniff of the alcohol. His eyelids fluttered at the smell. “What exactly did you want with a city property, hmm?”

What exactly did she want? Serana wanted a new life. One that didn’t involve being hand fed by Elayne for alchemical ingredients or blood. “I’m going to be selling something, Brynjolf. I’m more than just a mage, after all.”

“The rumors never mentioned that.” He muttered. “Once we pull the goods from the lake, I’ll see about getting you a spot. Haelga’s old bunkhouse was near the market.”

“It’s not going to be a mage’s tower.” She said, calming him a bit as he refit the cork on the bottle. “If anything I would like to buy artifacts or collections.”

Brynjolf cleared his throat. “There’s a reason we don’t have high end stores here in the city. Even before the dragons leveled it, thieves considered places like that good practice. Elmir’s Elixirs; uh Ingun’s now,” He mused. “We used to send them in to grab soap or salts for the flagon and let Ingun take a bit of heat for it. But now she’s aware of it. She’s a bit more dangerous than the Jarl or his wife.”

“Still.” She insisted. “I want a property. It will be a good one, and I will pay for its construction.” She had a lot of gold to make diving to the bottom of the lake, after all. “You want more well connected merchants here in Riften, right?”

“If you want to become a merchant, you’ll have to go talk to the Jarl.” He said, eyes on the bottle. “I can’t stop you from asking. But I will tell you it’s a dangerous thing to ask right now. One of the merchants couldn’t come up with enough coin to fuel Jarl Black-briar’s needs. He was kicked out of the city this morning. I’m not the one finding the new ones to replace the missing, but I am warning you to avoid it if you can.”

Serana had grown up with parental figures that were scary or warned her off doing things. ‘Don’t summon dremora, Serana!’ or ‘No atronachs in the garden!’. Being told no was not something she was used to from a man like Brynjolf. “I found crates of this stuff, Brynjolf. I’m the only one who knows where it is, and I could sell them elsewhere.” Maybe the Khajit would agree to buy the stuff. The thought gave her a small laugh. “Give me what I want.”

“I’ll have to talk to the Jarl.” They both glanced at the man himself, who was running his court from a larger chair surrounded by cheap wooden ones. Drinks were plenty. He didn’t seem all that interested in the management of his city’s repairs. 

“Does he even know what’s happening in Riften?” She pointed out. “Just say you need a property for a business arrangement. Ill front you some gold.” 

“It will have to be more than a thousand.” He stated. “And you’ll need to submit a floorplan. Sibbi might not care very much about what people want to design, but the Nord who is in charge of the reconstruction does care. There is enough of the old parts of Riften buried underground that we have to be careful digging. Though if you want help with that, talk to Tonilia. She’s got an adept hand.” 

“But if I give you enough money for the down payment now, will you hold the property long enough for me to have those details?”

“It’s going to take some time to slip anything into the city from your diving work. Three or four days to reroute one of the wagons they are using to get quarried stone. So, where am I sending them.”

“You promise to give me that property?” 

“Only if you promise it won’t be filled with Forsworn and vampires.”

Serana chuckled. “Call them Queensworn. They’re trying to show a new side of themselves.” She placed one finger on the table, bringing Brynjolf’s attention to it. Elayne had convinced her to get some kind shaped cuts of the nail. It was helpful sometimes to make a point. “I am a vampire. So that request cannot be fulfilled.”

“Fine.” Brynjolf took a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t want my head on the block if you make a vampire den in the middle of Riften!”

“I know it looks bad.” Vampires were not well liked for a reason. “But I do promise I won’t be creating some vampire den. I’ve even developed potions designed to replace blood.”

He didn’t seem trusting of it. “I’m going to try to trust you.” He offered his hand. “What you’re going to help me do is going to start to give us more bargaining power with the other holds.”

“Just with alcohol?”

“That alcohol takes two years to age. Even if we had a new meadery constructed right now? For the next three years those bottles are going to hold artificially inflated value until replacement bottles are provided. Before the meadery was gone, those bottles could sell anywhere from Morrowind to Valenwood. A noble vintage, as the Colovians like to say. So, Riften keeps its supply long enough for the city to start again. Prove we still have it.” he glanced around, as if measuring people in the room. “We aren’t going to end up like Winterhold.”

“I’ve agreed to help you.” Serana reminded him. “Yes, I’ll want gold for it but I am doing this because I’m also a Nord. Maybe a few years older, but I don’t like my homeland damaged either.”

“You’ll get your property. Though I don’t know how the people will react, knowing there is a vampire in their midst. You might get blamed for crimes you didn’t commit.” Brynjolf held up his hands as if warding off something. “That’s not because you’d be a woman owning property, understand? But because it’s easier to blame a vampire when someone gets hurt or injured.”

“I’ll manage. A thousand gold?” She considered it. She had her bags hidden with Ingun. It would probably take most of her gems and potions to reach that amount. “I’ll come back in five days and you can have your gold. You just need a wagon on the south side of the lake. I’ll have to lead it to the closest island for where things go.”

“I’ll include a rowboat.” Brynjolf mutters. “One of my men will be with the wagon. Vipir or Vekel. Maybe Sapphire if we are lucky. If you don’t show up by midday in five days? I’ll assume you’re not allowed to do the deal by your mistress.”

Serana took his hand gently and clasped it. No sense in breaking it. “I think I saw a dwarven ruin nearby. I’ll go check it out.” Because she could. She could decide for herself. “See if I can pull a thousand gold from their old hands.”

“The ones nearby are dangerous. Fair warning.” The Nord winked. “Perhaps a woman of your standing might want to buy armor before going out adventuring.”

“I’ll think about it.” She responded, not sure if she wanted to try. Elayne might hear about it and throw a fit. But then again, perhaps she did deserve to have something. “Too bad your blacksmith is gone.” 

“Ah.” Brynjolf gave a nod. “I guess you’ll have to simper out of here and dirty that dress.” Serana flipped off the nord as she stood up, aware of the split skirts giving him a good view of her legs. But what could he do about it? She was a vampire and he was a thief. And she had five days to pay such a thief a thousand gold. 

==============

“Should have listened!” Serana cursed, stepping behind a pillar as a crossbow bolt slammed into the space her head just barely occupied. “Armor would be nice!”

She hadn’t been to a dwemer ruin before. She assumed it might have some traps and the odd bandit hiding out in it. Like the Nordic tombs, perhaps. Her parents never brought her to any of the dwemer depths. What little she knew was from books or stories. The spiders in these places liked to use shock magic, and for a magic using Nord, she was deeply annoyed. You could hear the damn things moving in the walls. 

Perhaps the most annoying was the resistance to magic and the way they shrugged off her spells and atronachs. They weren’t alive or dead, so her nose and vampiric senses weren’t helpful. Her sword wasn’t suited to dealing with automatons. There was a good sized dent in it, the glass needing a lot of help. The spiders weren’t the issue. They broke after a few good hits. No, it was the giant human sized ones. They had swords of their own, shock magic, and crossbows built into their arms! One of the bolts was sticking out of her arm, and another she had already dealt with in her shoulder. 

“Go back to Oblivion!” The rolling menace got closer, and she tore into it once it wasn’t about to shoot at her again. Its head dented and got bent, after five solid strikes. With a hiss of steam the construct fell, and Serana slumped into one of the stone chairs that populated the dwemer ruins. “If this is how you treat visitors no wonder your people died out!” 

Now her weapon really needed some repairs. Sighing, she glanced down at her dress and the damage from the crossbow bolt lodged in it. It was surprisingly undamaged, as the crossbows pierced her bare skin rather than the slim silken fabric. Grimacing, Serana had to carefully extract the bolt. Her blood splattered all over the floor, and the pangs of blood hunger began. Any time a vampire took a deep injury, their body naturally sought blood to compensate. The more hedonistic vampires would seek a fight to get themselves keyed up for a bite to eat. Those generally didn’t last as long. 

Her magic flowed, sealing the wound and making the blood disappear. Elodie did say that the silk was blood resistant . The urge to feed passed, and she frowned as she stood up to harvest these dwarven bits and bobs. If you were careful, you could drain a chamber of the automatons and get an alchemical ingredient from them. Dwarven oil, a somewhat hard to acquire item. But Serana looked a bit like a milkmaid as she fiddled with the spiders and sphere soldiers to get the oil from them. She washed her hands, and got her gloves back on to explore the rest of the ruin. But she kept running into locked doors in here.

Serana wasn’t great with a lockpick. And she only had two of the small things. “This is why alteration might be useful to learn. Because there won’t be anyone left alive with the keys to open these.” What little she could explore in the ruin before running into locked doors or locked chests. The one in this room looked a bit mangled, and with some clever use of an ice spell she cracked it open. Inside was something actually helpful! 

Serana cackled, pulling out a set of dwarven armor and boots, along with a mace. Gold was also present, but this could pay for her down payment! “Definitely sized for a man.” The armor had an armor plate that hung in front of the crotch, along with some faded purple treated leather. She was watchful for any traps or trouble in this chest, as she emptied its contents into her bags. It had the glowing colors of enchantment, at least. “That should get Brynjolf enough for the down payment.” 

No more automatons. She wasn’t going to come back into a dwemer ruin without some way of getting past locked doors, either. Some kind of mysticism magic or alteration might do the trick, but she hadn’t learned much of that. “Elayne was good at that.” But it had been only days since she had left. There was no way she was going crawling back to learn alteration magic at the foot of the horny dragonborn. “No thank you.” No, no indeed. It wasn’t a very Nordic tradition, anyways!

As she mused upon that, she could hear noises from elsewhere in the ruin. The sounds of grumbling. A piece of dwemer metal being knocked into the walls, making a symbolic ringing. Someone was here. Standing, she straightened her hair and dress out of habit. Then she hid in a corner like a proper ambush predator. But the voices didn’t grow closer. This ruin was large, after all. There were some noises growing distant, and she frowned. Who else could be in a place like this? 

Curiosity got the better of her, and she skulked forwards. As much as a vampire wearing high heels could skulk. She followed the sounds of grumbling to a group of men wearing iron and steel armor. Some scuffed marks indicated that these probably came from a fallen stormcloak or imperial soldier. But their weapons were enchanted steel hammers and maces. Tough looking, and meant to take on something that was heavily armored. There were four of them. One of them was a dunmer wearing dwarven armor, and he walked with purpose. “Just a few doors, boys. We’ve got some more lockpicks and once we run out it’s back to the road and Markarth.”

Serana found a dark corner behind a steam vent to watch them. The men didn’t act like they had a deep sense of comradery. But each of them clearly was well equipped. Potions on their waist, well maintained armor. All of the men seemed to have the dunmer kept between them. Bodyguards of some kind? In for the money, if so. But the dunmer seemed right at home in the dwemer ruin, pulling out a wooden bucket from his pack and setting it down in front of a pair of metal doors. “This place has been hit recently. The spiders aren’t as numerous.” One of the men brought up.

“Bandits most likely after their oil or parts. They aren’t our concern. Or if we do meet them, just pay them for anything of interest. Calcelmo will always pay for whatever we bring at a premium.” The dunmer said conversationally, casting a candlelight spell. “Hardly anyone explores these old places, anyways. At least in Skyrim, the only ones who do go further than the upper reaches are generally after something specific.”

“Hey Dreth?” 

The Dunmer’s name had to be Dreth. He looked up from the lock he was slowly picking. “What, Linus?” He seemed impatient. 

“How did you meet Calcelmo?” 

The Dunmer brightened. “Ah!” He grinned. It was one of those charming smiles that she used to see Vingalmo put on for her. “We met over drinks, and got into a heated debate over something he said in his books.” He regaled the men about some kind of night involve drinking and a drunken Calcelmo summoning a dwemer automaton to pay the tab when he couldn’t walk off his liquor. “Ah!” He cackled. “There it is! Brace up!” 

The door opened, and all four men stopped feeling happy. “Centurion!” Dreth bellowed. “Run! Two lefts and a right, to the exit!”

Serana had never seen what was in that room before. Heard about once or twice, but she had never seen one herself. It looked humanoid. If something fourteen feet tall could be humanoid. It had a gigantic mask, set into some of the thickest armor she had ever seen. The metal gleamed, with only a few pock marks on it. The face was stern, and honestly terrifying. It got worse when it stomped forwards, and released a wave of steam that burnt the hair off of one man, and Serana hissed from her place of cover. Vampires were sensitive to fire and sunlight, and just a glancing blast of that steam was enough for her to feel threatened. 

So she abandoned her cover as well. Right next to the men she ran, her legs pumping and body heaving as she ran with them. All four men were shocked, certainly. But that lasted until the centurion started running as well. “Not a bandit!” She yelled over the din. “Just run!” 

“Left!” Dreth wheezed, his heavier armor not letting him run as fast. But his men listened just the same. This hallway was long, with hardly any light along it. Two of the people tripped, pulling themselves back to their feet as a dwemer sphere soldier joined the fray. A crossbow bolt bounced off of Dreth’s armor, as the Dunmer cast a spell to just bring out a basic familiar. At the next turnoff, he led the way and ordered his familiar the opposite. All five of them stumbled outside into the light of day. The men heaved, one of them kissing an amulet of Julianos as though that was the reason he survived. 

Dreth pressed his head against the shut door of the ruin, and made some Alteration symbology with his fingers. The doors glowed a chill green, and the tumblers in the old door slammed back together. “A locking spell!”

Dreth nodded, wiping his forehead with the cloth part of his gauntlets. “Aye. Destruction is much more familiar. But I can at least lock up after myself. Opening it back up again is the problem!” The dunmer laughed. “Locking a door is more of an apprentice level spell, while opening it up again is more of an adept worthy one. I’ve not quite been able to get it down.” He let go of the door, as a loud bang emanated from within. “Thank the gods for conjuration. Now, were you the one in there breaking the spiders and spheres?”

“I was.” No sense in denying it. “But I found some enchanted armor, if you’re still good for your word about paying for it.”

The Dunmer’s eyes lit up. “Well, I’m certain we can come to an agreement,” He started to say, before finally looking over Serana. His eyes lingered near her cleavage, which was expected. But it also rested upon her neck, before noticing the off color of her eyes. “Show me.” 

His tone had shifted from that of someone wanting to play off their skill to something more serious. He recognized her as a vampire, at the very least. When Serana brought out the armor and the boots, he simply gave a nod. “The color of that enchantment would make the wearer resistant to frost magic. Perhaps they were fearful of the Falmer or Nords when they built this!”

“Why do you care?” Serana asked, glancing at the bodyguards. None of them had made it to her eyes. Her dress revealed one creamy thigh and a stocking clad leg. They had plenty to stare at. 

“I’m one of the foremost experts on Dwemer in the province. Taron Dreth is the name.” He said. “And I pay for good pieces to be used for study and learning.” His gaze lingered on her neck. Or more likely at the collar that rested there. “Your owner must be very well off indeed to afford to have one of those collars for you.”

“She is.” Serana admitted quickly. “A thousand gold for the armor and boots.”

“Only if you tell me where you managed to get that collar of yours.” Dreth brought up. “The material in it, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” That look in his eyes was a smooth one. A lie. He wanted her to believe that. 

“Near Solitude.” Technically true. It was actually closer to Dragon Bridge that Elayne had come by it. And the memory of her own hands putting that collar on was still something that rankled her. Especially the thought of how she really missed the rest of the set. “It’s not a kind story.”

Dreth nodded. “Oh, I am certain of that. And the maker’s mark is quite unique.” He counted out coinage, large amounts. “If you ever have need of someone professional, feel free to send a courier. I’m quite adept at handling any needs in regards to unknown metallurgy or dwemer secrets.” They both knew that Serana wanted to be gone from here. Implicitly. The moment the armor was exchanged for the bag of gold, her heels had turned to face the stairs leading down the mountains from this place. “I never caught your name.”

He had introduced himself. He probably would find it out the moment he asked around. “It’s Serana.” Her eyes made contact with his Dunmeri red ones. “If you need help, I am not the one you should be asking.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Though I pray to Azura we meet again. A fine woman such as yourself I am loathe to part with.” His men laughed at that, as Serana quickly got away from them. Her dress was feeling tight, and she felt odd. The stares of the men she could handle. The looks that Dreth gave her were more frightening. 

Inspecting the coinage, she found more than just coins in the bag. Also included was some kind of crystal, shaped like a rose petal. She had never seen anything like it before! Biting it didn’t make a dent in it. Whatever it was, it had to be valuable. But why would someone like Dreth even part with it? Serana found a mostly burned house to hide in, as she tumbled the crystal between her fingers and waited for the appointed day where she could start diving for these bottles of alcohol. All the while, she keenly felt like something was missing from her life. Waiting was difficult. Sleep was much harder to get.

Chapter Text

Brynjolf was right about the wagon. His friends stashed it in the burned out barn of the buildings on the island she had decided was closest to the wreck. For two weeks, all that Serana did was dive for alcohol. Each trip she would come back with a bag full of murky mud covered barrels and crates. A second wreck was also nearby, and this one had gravel and iron aboard. This added a week to the work, as Brynjolf stashed away needed materials for laying foundations and building the city. Right now Riften had plenty of stone for building walls. They didn’t have much in the way of mortar, lye or wood boards. There were trees that could be cut but the logging mills were damaged. Only one survived in the entire hold, and it was far downriver. Wagons were constantly headed that direction on the north side of Lake Honrich. She could see them moving from the island that they had turned into a base. 

Gravel was a premium resource, needed for the houses and damaged roads. Riften was a mudpit without a constant stream of gravel to keep the wagons from sinking in the spring mud. The barrels of it would be a saving grace. Serana watched as the city consumed resources like a vortex. Iron was being forged into nails, Corundum when they didn’t have enough iron to go around. The mines stopped making steel, and armor of all kinds from the civil war was being melted down into more nails, hinges and fasteners. Makers of lye and mortar from Silgrad Tower in Morrowind were sending wagons up the barely unfrozen mountain pass, making money from that too. With all of this material and goods being shipped into the hold, it was only natural that the people who least wanted to work found an enticing new hobby.

A hobby that she was getting paid to deal with. The guards of the hold were skilled enough to guard the roads nearest to Riften, but more than a day’s walk from the city the patrols became sparse. It was a three day journey to Helgen, four days to Silgrad Tower in the east and three going to Kynesgrove. Coming back it was most certainly four or five, with all of the uphill switchbacks. 

Three men had taken over a small cavern, or perhaps more. Brynjolf wanted Serana to deal with it because ‘She seemed to be well suited to violence’. They had disrupted a pair of important mortar shipments for Riften. If she wanted her house built faster, she needed to get these shipments back from the bandits. So the vampire approached the hillside cave with care. It was around sunset, and the burning glare of Magnus was going away. 

The cavern had a shabby wooden door, with two grunts standing guard. They couldn’t be seen through the thick woods, but from their cave entrance they could see the road below. It was a perfect vantage point of the stretch of tough uphill climb between Silgrad Tower and Riften. Even now, there was a wagon slowly pushing its way up the muddy hills and ancient stone paths towards Riften. 

Serana started towards them the moment the sun set. From what Brynjolf had told her, and what she had learned from Delvin Mallory these men had struck several caravans and caused serious injuries to a lot of the caravan members. She couldn’t say that was what drove her to be here. No, that was because of the threat from Brynjolf. She could do a couple of jobs for the city in exchange for her building being moved up in the order of construction. 

That self interest was what she whispered into her mind as she came within fifteen feet of the entrance. It wasn’t the fact that she hadn’t bitten anyone in weeks. Blood potions had kept her from the desire to bite anyone for that long. She had kept her promise to Elayne, so far. No harming people if she could avoid it. No spreading vampirism, or the curse of her family. But there was a thrill in this. She was more than just a Nord in this moment. She was a proper predator.

Her sword flashed out, cutting through the first bandit’s neck. He never even coughed. The man fell over with a wet noise, as Serana latched onto the second bandit. He was slammed into the side of the mountain, and the high slits in her dress allowed her to slam a knee into his stomach. The cheap armor he had broke from the hit, and her teeth sank into his shoulder. He coughed, weakly trying to call for help. But as he wheezed for breath his blood was drawn from him. Serana didn’t hold back at all. A bone definitely broke before the man died. 

Three more bandits were in a major chamber, and Serana was able to sneak into the place. A few bones on strings were meant to alert them, but that was child's play to slip past. Two were holding bows, and the third had a warhammer. They were surrounded by chests and containers, all open and their contents searched through like rabid animals performed the task. No piles tall enough to provide cover, of course. 

One Frenzy spell was enough to liven up the room, of course. Both bowmen were screaming as their friend with the warhammer laid into them with a mad gleam in their eye. A frost atronach added to the madness, until the room was only filled with a groaning and pitted frost atronach. The noise awoke one last bandit. This one came in, wearing full steel armor and an open faced helmet. It had a bear motif, and was a clear stormcloak helm. What concerned her most was the glowing red orcish greatsword in his hands. 

“Atronach!” He bellowed, charging. The blade crushed the frost atronach, even as Serana remained cloaked in some shadows. “I know you’re out there, mage!” 

She had plenty of magic, and the man was most likely a Nord. He couldn’t see her yet, and that weapon had a most dangerous fire enchantment. An ex-officer of the imperial legion, with an enchanted sword. Her best destruction spells were frost magic. Illusion magic didn’t suit a single foe. She had already killed his friends, and he was enraged. Another atronach would be foolish. She cast her best choice, then. A spell of armor, surrounding her skin. The sound of the clash of energy against her skin drew his attention. “Then I shall not hide.” 

“Talos take me.” He growled. “You’re one of those crazy mages.” 

Her glass blade glittered in the torchlight. One strike and he would be paralyzed. But if he got to her first, that flame enchantment would burn her. The first one to strike would most likely be the victor. Serana could feel a sense of possibility here. A thrill. She couldn’t help but smile, staring at the man. They didn’t know each other’s name, but both knew that the first strike could be their last. The mortality of it all astounded her. It was refreshing! “I guess that I am.”

“Why are you here?” The man demanded, his blade at a perfect angle for high or low attacks. “No necromancer would pick up the blade like you.” 

“I suppose that I must be honest with you.” She didn’t have to be, but the tension of the room was building as they both circled each other. “You stole the mortar that was slated for my house.” 

The Nord cackled. “You’re killing my men over your house?” He took two steps forwards, even as her heels took matching steps back. She would have to thank Elodie and Taarie for the long slits in this dress. “Didn’t you get the ransom note?”

“I think Riften has sent me as your answer.” 

“Damn.” He said softly. “This is it, huh?” She could hear his heartbeat increase. His blood was pumping. His foot scraped, the tip of his blade lunging forwards. Her own was a match, and she felt the flaming blade strike the air an inch from her ear. Her strike was true. He fell, gasping and paralyzed. She followed this up with a merciful final strike, ending his life before he could recover. He died, not at all fearful. He was excited, even as she brought the blade down. A true warrior. Serana let out a shaky breath, as she noticed some of her hair hit the ground. 

“Sovngarde will welcome you.” She released her breath. What a rush! A feeling of elation better than the consumption of blood! Well, perhaps since she had already eaten that wasn’t so keen. “Gods above and below.” That sword of his she placed in her bag, after stripping the bodies in the room of anything valuable. Unlike Elayne, she could find value in that. The stolen goods would be claimed by Riften, but she could claim anything that belonged to the bandits themselves. She wanted her house, damn it!

The final chamber of the caverns contained a single bedroom. But it was not empty. A large chest was there, but that was not what drew her attention. A pair of barely-dressed elves were chained to a large cube off to one side of the bed. Both were wearing the clothes of a wench. The bodice was low enough that areola could be teased, while their skirts barely covered their ass, and the pair could have been twins. Both were gagged with cloth, and had a glowing wooden yoke across their shoulders. Wrists were captured by heavy clasps at the ends of each yoke. Both of them looked up at her, expressions unreadable. “O-oh.” Serana was surprised. “Would you like me to help you out of there?” 

Both had the skin color of an altmer, but their faces could have been something else. One of them nodded eagerly, while the other seemed less so. Serana found what had to be their things in the chest. Serana had no idea how to pick the locks of the yoke, so she took the entire contents of the chest and slipped their bags into her own. “Hang on, I’ll just make sure to not forget your things.” 

Both elves seemed to be trying to push against the chains that bound them, squirming as Serana got closer to the block of metal the chains connected to. The orcish blade suited things perfectly. With a warcry of her own, she brought down the heavy weapon onto the chain. The cube of metal flashed with magic, and Serana screeched. Another side of the cube glowed, a chain shooting out and conjuring another yoke. Her wrists were caught, and the orcish sword clattered to the ground. Serana clenched, her wrists captured by the summoned yoke. 

“You could have warned me!” She screamed. Both of the elves gave her a roll of the eyes, as the gags still filled their mouths. Serana strained, her legs at least free. So she mule kicked the cube, the heavy stone falling from its pedestal. It jerked all of the yokes towards it, the pair of elves swaying back and forth. 

It also reacted, conjuring heavy whips behind each yoke. Serana wasn’t the only one who screamed, as the cube punished them for daring to kick it. It wasn’t smart or alive, but it must have been enchanted to try to prevent tampering. The elve’s skirts did nothing to protect them, while Serana’s longer dress at least gave her some protection. Serana was at least able to say that she had a better ass than either of them. With her vampiric strength, her legs pulled and dragged both elves and the stone along the path to the exit. “Help me, damnit!” She didn’t want to admit it, but the feeling of her wrists being contained was just as exciting as the fight she just had. Maybe she liked things like this. Just a little bit. The whipping didn’t even hurt all that much. The cube whipped them any time they fought against it, but the three of them had to press on. No one else was alive in here!

That was it! She concentrated, and picked one of the bandit bodies. Her hands might be kept to either side, but she still had enough magic to raise one of the corpses. The elves whined as the bandit’s body rose, and Serana ordered it to try to carry the cube. Which just yoked the poor zombie. It wasn’t helpful at all, and so after a minute it fell to the ground as the magic no longer bound it. The yoke remained attached, but she couldn’t free the dead. “Just,” She whined, speaking to the elves and bracing for her ass to be whipped again. “Push past it!”

It hurt. It hurt a lot. One of the elves had tears in her eyes as they all dragged that damned stone cube up the cavern to its exit. Three women dragging a heavy stone cube up and out of the cavern, their asses red from the conjured whips. Curiously, the chain that bound it to the corpse broke, after they had gotten it far enough. “We just need to get away from it!” Easier said than done. But the cave was on the side of a tough hill. “We can push it off the edge of the hill once we are at the top!”

The exit carried with it the comfort of the night sky. But the sound of whips upon flesh was getting faster. Apparently it was enchanted to punish escape. Serana was pulling more than either of the elves by the end, as both wailed through their gags. With the last of her magicka, she summoned what she could. A death hound appeared, the creature wagging its tail. “Take that stone and go far away!” She yelled at it, before grabbing the elves and bracing them against a tree. The chains tried to drag them along, but her strength kept them from leaving. “Aghh!” There was a sound like breaking glass, and the stone lost its connection to them. The yokes were unsummoned, and everyone gasped a sigh of relief. Gags were removed, and Serana rubbed her wrists. They weren’t in pain, but her body felt warm in the places it had been restrained. Her ass was another story. Alteration magic had protected her for now, but that silk might have some creases. 

“Thank you.” One of the elves spoke up. She had been quicker to remove her gag than the other. “Those fools have been holding us for weeks. I’m Galathil.” Both of their skirts were shredded at the hem from all of the whips. 

Her possible twin took longer to remove her gag, spitting and taking more time to comport herself. “I am also grateful. Those men did horrible things to both of us.” She looked like she wanted to spit more from her mouth, but all she did was dry heave. “My name is also Galathil.”

“I’m Serana. Though, I am not exactly an expert on elvish. Of any kind.” Serana said apologetically, noting where that stone had rolled to. “But Galathil doesn’t sound like a title.”

“It’s not.” The one who seemed more squeamish mentioned. “She is a walker of Oblivion.”

“Oh!” Serana brightened. “That makes more sense.” 

“It does?!” Both Galathil spoke up. Their faces even had the same slight skewing of one cheek. It really did make more sense. “How!”

“I’ve met a few.” She said cryptically. “How did you cross Oblivion?” Elayne counted as more than a few Oblivion walkers on her own. Serana had crossed over using the black book of Hermaeus Mora along with her, in Elayne’s quest to find a way to defeat Alduin. But there had been other ways to cross Oblivion. “And did you know Shashev?”

One of the women frowned, while the other kept a stony visage. But her heart was hammering quickly. Serana turned her eyes upon her, and saw lines of sweat beading upon her brow. It was not from the effort of dragging that heavy cube. “I came through the gate, but I wasn’t one of his soldiers.”

“How did you survive?” 

“I drank a potion of invisibility and ran. For days, weeks.” Galathil’s face was tight. “I got injured from a rockslide and spent months in Silgrad. But the injuries were so severe that they thought I could get some help from a flesh crafter.”

The other one nodded. “Imagine my surprise at finding my ‘sister’. We came to an agreement.” The pair gave each other a glance. “You can trust yourself, after all.”

“Well.” Serana considered. “It sounds like you’ve had a rough time after everything.” The pair didn’t have any weapons, and their bags were with Serana. “I’ll give you back your things with a share of the bandit loot. So you can get started in Riften.”

“Is it expensive there?” Serana was going to start calling the Galathil native to this place something different at this rate. She was far more open to conversation. “Silgrad was being overrun by merchants and they were upcharging prices. I couldn’t afford to stay.”

“ We couldn’t. We’re twin sisters to most.” 

“We don’t have to be!” 

“This isn’t the time nor the place!” Both elves were face to face, staring each other down. “We can resolve who gets to keep our life soon enough!”

“Why go to Riften?” Serana interrupted what had to be a common argument. She remembered when she met her other self. And the longer she went on the more she understood the crazy deviant version of herself. She needed a reason to live. Or else she might end up like her suicidal other self. 

“Because Riften has opportunities for our skills,”

“Which do not work on the undead!” 

“She’s undead?”

“That bitch is a certified vampire, and you must be blind not to notice.” The elf native to this world gave a long look at Serana’s eyes. And her teeth, of course. But they also darted over her body too. “Those bitches in Alinor lied.” The other world’s Galathil smiled darkly. “Our arts do work to a degree on the undead.” 

“But we tried in Hammerfell!”

“You remember failing, don’t you? I do not.”

Serana cleared her throat. “I am not following what you both are arguing about.”

“I,” One started saying. “We, I mean. We are flesh shapers. We can change faces. Fix your appearance. Help people find a new life, if they can afford it.”

“Most of the things we are asked to do are only fixing scars or piercings.” The other world’s elf spoke imperiously. “And our craft does work upon the dead. It just requires special materials. But access to vampiric flesh gives us more ability to change appearance, as well.” Everyone was giving the woman their full attention. “Only a powerful vampire would be able to do it, though.” Serana felt a bit of a chill. She knew. She had to know Serana from that world. 

“You owe me for saving you.” Serana mused, feigning interest. “What kind of changes?”

“Normally we can just shape the facial features. Change the structure of the body. Perhaps fix a scar or change the direction of aging. Though that is often a waste. What the flesh of a vampire can do is provide basis for changing the appearance beyond what is normally offered. With the right materials, and some tools that I know the location of I can make others appear as a race other than their birth. I can’t change the nature of souls, of course. No one can. But I can make a Nord look like an Altmer.” 

“You never told me we could do that!” The other Galathil complained. 

“Shush. I can’t do it without the help of a vampire that’s very powerful and we’re talking to one. But I would also need the tools to do it.” The elf’s lips frowned. “But I know it’s dangerous.”

Serana didn’t have much going on right now. Not at all, really. And this sounded like a branch of magic she wanted to learn about. “How about a deal, hmm? Riften is wreck right now and you’d have to fight for a bedroll, much less a place to do your business.” Both elves were paying close attention. “I wouldn’t mind taking a slightly dangerous job and considering helping you. But you’ll have to pay it back to me.”

“We don’t have much in the way of money. Bandits fleeced us.”

“I know better than to ask for money. Not that there is enough things to buy right now. Outside of alchemical agents and rat poison there is hardly any goods for sale in Riften right now.” Serana brought up, running a free hand over her ass. She might bruise, even with the blood she had earlier. Galathil in both her varieties certainly had lash marks. “I guess I need something more than what money can give.” 

Both elves frowned. “We aren’t going to enslave ourselves over this. The bandits weren’t about to kill us.” 

“Speak for yourself!” The one native muttered. “If that’s what Nords call loving I’m going for a dry spell.”

Serana gave a chuckle at that. Miraak didn’t do any favors for that image. “I propose a deal.” That had both of them attentive. “Instead of confusing your lives in Riften, why don’t the three of us make a oath to one another.” Serana was starting to see things when she slept. Or she dreamt of Elayne. Not necessarily of Elayne in a heated way, but she missed her friend. And Serana wasn’t very good at making friends. “If you want me to help you find those tools you need for your trade, you can come with me and get them.”

“We are not adventurers.” The elves agreed on that much. “We can tell you where it is, but we’ve spent our life studying arcane lore and hardly putting ourselves at risk.” 

“And how am I to be rewarded for such a risk! I,” Serana considered her words very carefully. “I don’t think it would be wise to go after something alone.”

Both elves seemed to at least consider it. “If you’re a vampire, you might appreciate a friend that doesn’t judge you for it. And we do owe you. At least to protect you when the sun is shining.”

“Maybe.” Serana admitted. Though she didn’t want to admit that she could walk around in the daylight without burning up like the unfortunate morrowind vampires. “Most of what I do is just finding alchemy ingredients and wandering, it feels like.” 

“You’re a creature that doesn’t always inspire trust. Why buy a home in Riften?”

Why, indeed? “Because I don’t want to just disappear into the countryside. I want to be someone with friends and surrounded by books!” Friends that didn’t rattle the house with their lovemaking. “I helped fight Alduin, and more than that. I saw what kind of world Shashev made, and what it turned into in the end. When the sun darkened.” Only one of the elves understood her. But that fear was real. “When everything died.” Serana most certainly didn’t mention that she was part of the reason the sun darkened in the first place. “I know how hard it is to wake up in a world that isn’t what you remembered.”

“You don’t know me.” The elf muttered. 

“I slept for eight hundred years. I know how it feels to have the rug pulled out from under you. And I could have eaten from both of you, or hurt you. But I don’t want to be like the family that made me hide for centuries. Now, I know this sounds a little crazy, because it is.” Serana tried to relax her fingers. She couldn’t look tense in asking this. “But I don’t want to travel alone. And you both are heading for a human cesspit. The entire city of riften is operating out of the sewers right now, and the smell alone is a problem. I don’t know if you’ll have enough clients to keep yourself fed. But if you travel with me, then at least I can protect you and you can protect me.” 

Both Galathil gave each other a glance. “You’ll have to excuse us. We need to talk about it.” 

“We don’t need to talk about it, she’s just trying to bring a blood bank along with her!”

The older Galathil flicked the younger. “That’s the kind of treatment she is trying to avoid. Be thankful before you become a bitch.”

Serana stepped back into the cavern, giving them some time. She wanted that orcish sword back, anyways. Plus, there were some mushrooms to collect! Humming to keep her tension down, she collected at least two dozen good samples of mushroom and found an old crate in the back. It didn’t look like one of the crates on the wagons, and it held a few scraps of rotting cloth wrapped around a book. “The Battle of Sancre Tor?” It sounded like a good title. “Never heard of it. Good for the road!” 

She gave the elves ten minutes before coming back out of the cavern. But when she got there, she found both of them giving each other a hug. “Stay safe.” One whispered. 

“I’ll try. You make a name for ourselves.” 

Serana made sure her heels made enough noise to get their attention on the stone. “Am I interrupting something?”

“We’ve decided to split up our efforts.” Both gave a nod. “I will be going to Riften.” 

The Galathil that Serana was fairly certain came from Shashev’s world stepped forward. “And I’ll go with you. You’ve earned at least a try. I’m a good cook, not that it means very much to you.”

“I’m much more appreciative of a smart companion.” Serana joked back. “I make potions instead of drinking blood, most of the time. So you don’t have to worry all that much.”

Both nodded, but were wary. “How far to Riften?” 

“We can be there by midday if we hike quickly. But I know of a nice river along the way where we can take a break.” Both elves nodded. Serana dragged out some of the alcohol the bandits had plenty of. “For the road?”

“That’s a terrible toast, Serana.” 

She laughed, loudly. “If you want a toast? Well. How about to our future! Whatever it may be!” When she finally knew what it could be. 

“Whatever it might be!” Both elves had different emotions on their faces. But they were positive. And Serana felt like she had made a new friend. Perhaps pressed her a little bit into joining her, but it was a friend nonetheless! 

As the mead clinked together, she mused that this was the first new friend she had made that wasn’t a dragon in months. It felt wonderful. This must be how Elayne feels all the time. Friends came easily to her, and everyone revolved around her presence. With the stars as her witness, she would try to make the most of this.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, you still can’t build my house?!” She glared at the two men sharing a table with her in the ragged flagon. It was after sundown, and the sounds of people settling in for the night in the frigid sewers filled the background. “Brynjolf, you promised me that the shipments I recovered would go towards it!”

The Nord looked more haggard this time around. “Well, there was some interference.” He started saying, before giving the other Nord at the table a begging glance. 

“The Jarl’s Palace is taking more importance than any single homes at this point. The seat of the hold must be constructed and finished first.” The other man at the table started saying. “I haven’t been able to meet with you up until this point, but I have to assure you that you echo the sentiments of many in this city. The needs of the jarl and the needs of the citizens are at times different.” He spoke like an imperial, this Nord. “I’m Gonnor Oath-Giver. A distant cousin of Jarl Laila Law-Giver. I was there, when you all fought Alduin.” He seemed to give Serana more respect than others. “The stuff of legends. If I could find a way, I would assist you. When Brynjolf came to me and explained who it was that was helping us, I asked to meet with you.” Gonnor’s eyes were sunken from lack of sleep and decent rest. But his heart was beating evenly. He wasn’t afraid. Unlike Brynjolf, who seemed worried and flustered at the same time. “I thought it was one of the old brutes from the guild that were helping us rebuild.”

“I never mentioned who she was, Gonnor.”

“A womanlike that you never forget, Brynjolf!” Gonnor grinned. “Especially since I saw Alduin ignite the entire sky on fire. She was right with the companions of Ysmir. And one of the last people to see King Ulfrik alive.” His face tightened. “I heard he went down fighting that vampire champion.”

“Harkon.” Who wasn’t dead. All they took of him were his legs, after all. And the ash in his boots had been enough to barely heal Elayne of some of the nasty things she had been infected with after her fight with Shashev. Losing her hand never seemed to bother her, though. The Dragonborn gave her left hand to save the world, the bards always said. What they didn’t talk about was the way every restoration mage had their lips stained blue and purple from potions trying to get enough magicka to heal her, her heart flickering in its beating through the night. Serana and Babette were the best alchemists that could be found, and they spent all night mixing poultices from vampire dust and what had to be the last juniper berries in the province to try to keep her alive. “Ulfrik died well.”

Gonnor took a deep breath. “I just learned it was you that cleared out those bandits. Should I be sending my thanks to your mistress?”

“She has let me act freely while she is on her honeymoon.” As true as could be claimed. “I decided to help out of self-interest.”

“Why Riften?” Gonnor asked. “Why not Solitude or somewhere that doesn’t have as many sunny days?” Gonnor wore a set of armor that could have come from the Imperial Legion or the stormcloaks. But the bearskin cloak told enough. “There have been rumors starting of monsters in the hills. I assume that isn’t you?”

“What kind of monster?” Serana raised an eyebrow. “The only people I’ve caused any harm to in the Rift are those that I was hired to clear out. And those people I have witnesses to back up.”

“A vampire of your skill would certainly be dangerous enough, and you might have been hiding your kills or feeding.” Gonnor points out. “We had to deal with more than one rogue vampire since the battle. And the signs point to it being one of your kind.” His eyes were hard. “I need you to go to Shor’s Stone and find out why my miners are getting harassed by creatures of the night. It might be a vampire, it might be something else. But if you want me to believe your commitment to Riften? I need you to prove it to me. A slave to the dragonborn makes me trust you quite a bit, but sometimes it’s hard for people to ignore their nature. Normally I would have to send a squad of men, but I need them for the roads. I can at least spare you a carriage heading back there for supplies.”

Serana folded her arms. “Is there pay involved? Brynjolf has been promising that.”

“Gold I am short on.” Gonnor stated. “But I can offer you some help. Brynjolf told me you don’t have a plan for your building, and I can at least give you that. Though the other citizens that Brynjolf has been recommending me haven’t been quite as directly useful. Removing those bandits will go a long way to making the roads to Vvardenfell safer. You get rid of this monster, or whatever is causing this and I’ll help make your floorplan and supervise the construction myself.”

“What construction?” Brynjolf mutters. “The Jarl won’t let a single frame be created until his palace is standing above everything else.”

“You let me worry about the Jarl. He might have a large ego, but the boy has a cunning wife. Convince her and she can get the Jarl’s ear. But she has some odd beliefs.” Gonnor rolls his eyes when Brynjolf shudders at the mention of the Jarl’s wife. “Oh just accept that she’s going to be an expensive and troubling tart for a while. Life will go on, and Riften will rise again.”

“If these people don’t have a roof over their heads we are going to have a harder winter than the last one.” Brynjolf said sourly. “Without the mead and firewood stockpiles for it.”

“What’s she like?” Serana interrupted. “The Jarl’s wife?” It paid to know about the most important woman in the hold. Especially one that Brynjolf had distaste for. 

“Svana is a conniving woman. Scary, if she gets something into her head. Before the dragons burned Riften, she was just a maid helping in one of the communal bunkhouses. The Jarl has a certain taste for women. Even before Riften fell he had multiple concubines and a fiance. Awful business, but his fiance died in the fires or worse. To calm the population he had a quick marriage to Svana and they’ve been busy.” Brynjolf started to explain. 

“Busy my arse.” Gonnor coughed. “She keeps changing her mind about the palace. They don’t want the old floorplan. They want something like Dragonsreach, so they can entertain dragons if they come to visit.” He spat at that. “Dragons! As visitors? After all that happened I still can’t trust them. Dragonborn or not.” He gave a look at Serana’s collar. “But she wants to redesign the palace to mirror Dragonsreach castle . I’m trying to convince her to focus on something more helpful. She’s excellent at managing people, I’ll give her that. But her idea of what a proper Jarl should be is downright silly. It’s as if all she cares about is Sibbi siring children from any woman he wants.”

“Sounds plenty busy to me.” Serana was starting to understand why Brynjolf didn’t want her to approach the Jarl. “I assume the Jarl doesn’t take no for an answer?”

“His new court wizard is quite talented in ways of making certain that our esteemed Jarl is never lacking in reasons for someone to say anything other than yes.”

“You’re really selling me on staying here.” She said, raising an eyebrow. But Serana had spent most of her life with snow, tundra and icy wave crests. If she was going to spend a lot of time in Skyrim, she wanted it to be in a province that didn’t have unending cold freezes. It sounded like the kind of complaint one of the Cyrodilic vampire clans would have about Skyrim. Which made her giggle at the thought that the main reason she was here was because she wanted to be able to at least fit in. As much as one of the only women in this city with a silk dress could. “I could go live in Falkreath.”

“They’ve got even less places to put people and those Forsworn everywhere.” Gonner spoke at that.

“Queensworn.” Brynjolf corrected. “They rebranded after their princess married the Jarl of Falkreath.” 

“Praise Talos, but I cannot understand them. They fought like demons at that final battle, and for that they have my respect. If the Thalmor ever tried to take on Skyrim they would have to think twice about entering the Reach.”

Serana stopped laughing in her mind at the thought of her own quest for creature comforts. “Did you want some help?” 

“You’re already going to Shor’s stone for me. What else is on your mind?” Gonnor had a sharp wit, even though he had a poor opinion of things he didn’t understand. 

“Some of the dragons speak with the Dragonborn about trying to fix some of the damage they caused. I can ask if some might want to come and help Riften.” She owed Elayne a letter anyways. 

Gonnor’s nose flared at the thought of asking a dragon for help. “Just;” He waved his hands, as if the thought alone was giving him nausea. “Just no. I’m not so desperate that I would expect it or know how to integrate a dragon into the plans for the city. Just go to Shor’s Stone and fix my monster problem. We’re short on adventurers outside of the court wizard and thane Mjoll the Lioness. Who last reported that she was having a lovely time fixing the damage to Ivarstead and its bridge.” 

Brynjolf darkened. “The Jarl shouldn’t have given her such a difficult task during the winter.”

“The Jarl will be on the right side of history. Just you watch.” Gonnor kept his focus. “Avoid Svana and you should be fine, Serana.”

“Where will the carriage be?”

“Stables north of the city. Just look for a Breton named Maudri. He likes to wear a black hood.” Breton, black hood. Maudri. Simple enough. And Serana could tell that she was being dismissed. Gonnor was an efficient one, even if this was the time of day where he took things a bit easier. He wanted trust from her? Fine. She would get it. 

Gathering her skirts, she left the table and sauntered out of the bar. She felt a hand on her shoulder before she noticed that Brynjolf was keeping pace with her. “Lass?” He spoke, making her jump. Damn these thieves! They could surprise her. “Gonnor lost his family to the dragons. He’s not likely to accept their help.” He pat her back, as if commiserate about it. “I’m at least glad he was respectful of you.” His hands drifted towards her backside, making her frown. 

“Touch my ass and you’ll lose a hand.” 

“Last year you seemed to be the type to like being greeted like that!” Brynjolf’s hand pulled back nonetheless. “You wore that crazy bondage outfit.”

Serana stopped walking, her heels coming to a halt. The Bitch Tamer. Just the thought of it made her body ache for it again. Brynjolf had to step into an alcove to avoid bumping into her. “But you bought your thief a copy of that, right?” She asked, a gleam in her eyes.

“Sapphire owned it for a while, yeah.” Brynjolf mentioned. “But she sold it over the winter to a client.”

Serana frowned. “To who?”

Brynjolf seemed to match her stare. “I don’t know.” It was the kind of statement that showed he clearly did know. He just wanted something from her. So she folded her arms. 

“Brynjolf, we are friends aren’t we?” The man frowned. It was a loaded question.

“Friends without benefits.” He hastily added. As if it were a crime. 

“If I remember correctly, you turned down the Dragonborn when she offered.” Serana started saying, before Brynjolf grabbed her arm and dragged her into the alcove. 

“-tie her down and bed her, I was telling him!” Brynjolf pulled her close, his hands wrapped tightly around her torso. More like shoved her behind him, where she couldn’t be seen. Her lips were inches from his neck, and his heart was hammering in fear. “Siddgeir needs a hand, sometimes. Or three pairs for his responsibilities.” It was a woman’s voice, and Serana barely got a glance over Brynjolf’s shoulder. She was a Nord, and she was wearing the most daring outfit that Serana had seen so far in Riften. Her entire belly was bare, from her narrow hips to the hint of her breasts. She didn’t have much to offer there, at least. A thick sealskin cloak was over her body, but the outfit left nothing to the imagination. Tight leggings showed off her legs, and seemed almost transparent in the torchlight. The fabric over her small breasts was tight, enough that Serana could tell the woman had a piercing there! 

Both of the people following her were wearing simpler outfits, with basic overcoats and leather instead of the transparent fabric. Both women had ample more to hold onto, and like her they wore their clothing with midriff bared. Brynjolf’s heart was hammering, as he kept his back to the hallway. And his eyes were right on hers, or rather on her lips. “Friends with benefits?” Serana whispered, brushing her lips over his neck. It felt thrilling to hear his heartrate rise. “Who inspires more fear than a vampire’s fangs?”

“Svana Far-shield. The Jarl’s wife.” Brynjolf whispered, separating. “And yes, with benefits!” He growled. “No one wants their dick bitten off by the Dragonborn’s vampire! You were gagged for most of the trip for a reason, I assumed.”

“It wasn’t for that reason!” Serana felt flush. She wasn’t going to bite him! Really! “But I want to know where that copy went!”

“Maybe if you were more of a woman you might get that answer.” 

“Oh yeah?” Serana glared. “Are you saying that you expect that from your female friends?”

“I refused the dragonborn because she offered me a blowjob to keep a secret.” He smirked. “I’m not a man for too many secrets kept.”

Serana could feel the blood rushing lower on him. And her dress was tempting at this distance. Her mother tried to teach her to be seductive when she was mortal. It hadn’t gone very well. Even as a vampire she was too scarred by her experience with Molag Bal to dare to think about it. The wounds had healed but the memories would last forever. They weren’t as clear, but there was something about it that still hurt to think about. “Maybe I will.” Serana mused. “But I can drain the blood out of you all the same if I think you’re forcing me.”

Brynjolf deflated in all ways at that. “You can find out yourself then. I’ve been doing plenty for you, keeping the rumors down! The least I can expect is some kind of fucking gratitude!” The Nord growled, walking out of the alcove. “Gods, being a Thane is not as rewarding as it was promised to be!!” 

Serana knew that the world she had gone to sleep in was far different from the one she awoke into. Women weren’t treated the same as men, in most cases. She was certainly a vampire before she slept, and vampire culture was harsh. But it wasn’t harsh to people based upon their gender. Just their blood status. She certainly didn’t have to give anyone sexual favors for just business! Huffing, she let Brynjolf go back towards the Ragged Flagon as she slipped through darkened halls back to the surface. The marketplace was still being rebuild, but many of the pawnbrokers did their business from their wagons, parked in the market like a stall would normally be. The wagons moved around, some days. It was overcast, and most people were staring at the clouds above as if wondering when rain would begin to fall. But for her it meant she could have her hood down and enjoy the day. 

Wandering around, she could see hawkers and gamblers in between wagons and merchants. Teams of workers were slogging through the muddy streets moving small wagons of supplies around, most notably gravel or dirt. Some of those teams were digging through the giant piles of debris in one corner of the city, finding usable stones and materials to be used elsewhere. Fishermen had at least put together a small fishery and were putting barrels of fish together, around a larger barrel of salt. It was all in the open, though an attempt at putting a tent around the fish was made. 

Then her eyes fell upon a strange sight. A bunch of Queensworn were coming through the gate, dragging a large pair of wagons behind their animals. They were full of large tents, with bones and leather in abundance. She didn’t recognize any of the ones pulling the cart, but this had to be something Eola cooked up. She was crafty. And with the amount of ex-Forsworn moving into Falkreath and Helgen, they had to have a lot of tents spare. Selling those to Riften sounded like an excellent choice. Though the daedric symbols and animals heads had been stripped from them first. Serana smiled at the thought of some Talos loving nord finding a Nymerian token amongst their temporary home. She even laughed a little bit, startling someone inside the cart next to her. 

She gave them a glance, seeing some wench laying with one of the merchants. She blinked. This was in broad daylight! And here she was having sex in the back of his wagon! Her dress was up around her waist, and the woman looked familiar. “Galathil?”

“Serana!” She shushed. “Keep watch!”

“Wait!” They weren’t looking to wait, going back into necking each other and hands began wandering. “But,” She looked around, seeing the rest of the crowded city all around them. Sighing, she stepped to one side and cast a muffle spell on the wagon. She was feeling a bit of warmth in her cheeks, her hearing working past the spell she wasn’t perfect at casting. Elayne taught her that one, but it did nothing for dragon-empowered souls screaming their joy to the world. Galathil seemed to be quite energetic, the wagon shaking back and forth a bit as the pair had their tryst. She could have left them, or at least watched from afar. But some part of her wanted to be near. It helped her feel connected to them. 

“Alright, that’ll be all that we agreed to.” Serana blinked, lost in thought as she listened around her. Galathil was stepping off of the back of the wagon, wearing something different! It was a set of armor, at least. Perhaps just a set that covered the torso. Her legs were bare, with the tattered skirts of her previous wench dress keeping her modesty. But the studded leather seemed tough, and well fitted to the lithe elven form. “Thank you for your service, lass.”

“Don’t mention it.” Galathil said smoothly, giving the merchant a long look. A pair of tough boots were in her hands as well as one of the shortswords the bandits had owned. And her bag looked far less full. “Until next time, hmm?”

The merchant smiled, one of his teeth missing and the amount of gold exchanging hands almost paltry. Perhaps a couple of dozen! Galathil jumped out of the wagon, stepping up next to Serana. “I thought I might need some armor if we were going looking for the things I know exist.”

“How did you get it so cheaply? That’s fitted, I swear!” Fitted armor always cost quite a bit, even if it was leather. 

“Well, a quickie and a tumble seemed to get it as cheaply as he afforded it himself.” The elf smirked. “Did you get paid for your work?”

“For the bandits? Yes. But the Jarl decided that no one should have a house built until his palace is complete.” 

Galathil frowned. “How are the others taking it?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have to worry about them.” Serana lied smoothly. Neighbors would be a new concept for her, and if it was anything like the way the neighbors treated Elayne it would be trouble. “We’ve got a job and a ride to get there. Are you alright with a bit of monster hunting?”

Galathil looked a bit worried. “I’ve only cast my spells against rats, Serana. I don’t know anything about monster hunting.”

“Leave it to me.” Serana tried to put some enthusiasm there. “They think it might be a vampire. If it is, I’ll be able to hunt them down without any problems.”

The elf looked concerned. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re using me as bait.” She asked quietly, as they approached the gates. “I still don’t understand your reasoning in asking me to come with you.”

“Probably the same reason you traveled with your twin.” Serana gave her a softer look, as they went under the thick gates. “I actually want a friend.”

“Friends don’t put their other friends in danger or bodily harm.” Galathil brought up, concerned. “But I understand if you feel a bit detached. The other world didn’t give many reasons to trust others. This one still feels like there are slavers around every corner.”

“When did things get worse, in the other world?” 

“It was always bad.” Galathil said, laughing hollowly. “I ran from Alinor because I wanted to avoid a collar around my neck. Changed my face a half dozen times, but it was never enough. Before the sun stopped being bright, I changed my face back to its original form. I thought the world was ending.” She was quiet as they passed the guards, the merchants clogging the sodden roads. “I wanted to die with the face the gods gave me.”

Serana gave that some thought. “I feel like I woke up, and the world had become something darker. I slept through entire dynasties while the world changed. So I can’t answer that question either.”

“We live as the Aedra seem to allow us to.” Galathil muttered. 

“How do you feel about Daedra?” Serana didn’t mean to make it seem like a loaded question, but Galathil was a good read of people. 

“I hid in a daedric cult in Cyrodil during the war between Empire and Thalmor.” Galathil admitted quietly. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Which one?” 

“Mehrunes Dagon still had a few pockets of believers, and they had plenty of gold and reasons to change their identities. The mythic dawn was never fully destroyed. Just willing to go quiet. So I stayed with them a few years. Besides the odd habits around holidays to the Aedra and the odd blood ritual they were good people. Community oriented. Everyone knew each other’s families intimately.” She flared her nose, probably not telling Serana everything. “I guess I don’t care who believes in what deity, so long as I can survive. I will survive, no matter what.” Her eyes were cold as she said that. Okay, so not as friendly as Serana would prefer. 

“I don’t think I’ll have any problem with that kind of goal.” Serana smiled. “I left the dragonborn because I think I might have gone insane if I didn’t choose something for myself.”

“But you wear a slave collar.” Galathil helpfully pointed out. “Your mistress won’t let you go unless she commanded you to, right?”

Serana refused the urge to tug at the ring of metal around her neck. “She’s not domineering, if that’s what you’re asking. She let me go off on my own, with specific orders to follow to keep in her good graces.” Like not killing indiscriminately or going into Oblivion if she could avoid it. “I think that’s our carriage.” Oh, yes! Good going, Serana! Avoid the conversation because you feel uncomfortable. She kept her groan internal, as Galathil accepted her complicated lifestyle with a nod. She would have questions, later. But right now they had a long ride to Shor’s Stone.

Chapter Text

Shor’s Stone was a quaint little town, though it looked crowded. It had maybe fifteen buildings around a well. More like over two sloping hills with a well in the middle. On one hill was a large mine, with a smelting tent just outside the mine. Their carriage stopped right there, and got ready to load up on the precious processed ore. Their ride had taken two days, with Galathil and Serana miserable and cold in the back of the wagon. Galathil more than Serana, as she barely had a cloak capable of handling the strong rain. Serana was just a vampire. Both of them crawled out of the wagon and immediately moved for the cover of a nearby building. Wet silk was annoying. 

“Ask around for Finjar. He’s the blacksmith and smelter. He will set you straight.” The wagon driver said, not at all bothered by the rain. 

The blacksmith was across the hill from them, and both women were wiping water from hair and clothing by the time they entered the hot smithy. There were four other people milling around, wearing a mixture of armor and weapons. None of them looked like guards of the hold. Galathil stood by the flames of the smithy, sighing in relief. The town was so small that there wasn’t really an inn. “Excuse me?” Serana spoke up, trying to get her dress to lay correctly before speaking. “Finjar?”

“Who’s bellyaching now?” A Nord grumbled, as he bent an iron sword back into position. “A lass?” 

“A thane of Riften sent me, said you had a monster problem.” The Nord looked less than perfectly trusting, as Serana hardly looked like an adventurer with a silk dress on. The glass blade helped. 

“Aye.” Finjar grunted. He seemed more relieved. “These folk were some of the men who lived up in the mountains raising goats.” They looked remarkably well armed for goat herdsmen. And the scars were something more decisive. Serana was suspicious of the tone in Finjar’s voice. It wasn’t one of respect. “Jurgard here is their leader.” One of the men in the smithy stepped forwards, wearing a mixture of elven and steel leather armor. Too many scars indeed for a goat herder. “I wrote to the Jarl a tenday back.”

“And we are here.” Serana insisted, a threatening tone in her voice. “What can you tell me?”

“It’s not a man eater.” Jurgard spoke up. “If it were a saber cat with a taste for human flesh we would have seen children taken before adults.” He pointed at the iron sword hot under the forge. “I lost three men to that monster in the night. It took their bodies and all I’ve ever found are tattered chunks. Experienced hunters and capable men, all. But they were taken in the night while on watch. No warning. No screaming. Just footprints that led into the hills.” Jurgard shuddered. “They were wide awake, and had steel drawn.” 

“Where do you herd your goats?” 

“A cavern nearby. It’s safe during the winters and we have fences for the animals.” Jurgard said in a practiced manner. But he turned his eyes away from hers. A tell, if there was one on this man. “One entrance, but that thing doesn’t seem to care. Even with two guards. One man goes to take a piss and the other is gone by the time they return.” Jurgard spat out a bare window into the mud. “Last night we caught sight of it.”

Finjar leaned forward. “Most we’ve ever seen of it is a shadow in the night. It tore into one of our miners tenday back. They bled out in the morning, nothing we could do.”

“Claws or teeth?” Her voice was the most stable in the room. These men were not enjoying just mentioning this thing, much less directly talking about it. It had some of the goat herders turning pale. 

“It used claws. But the wounds were poisoned. It was on him for maybe a minute before he started screaming. Ugly dark looking thing.” Finjar shuddered again. “I saw a hint of it as it ran off with most of the miner’s arm.”

Claws, pale and attacked at night. “That doesn’t sound like a vampire, at least.”

“Julianos preserve us, don’t say that where people can hear!” Finjar whispered. “Spiders in the mine and monsters prowling the hills? Don’t scare what little work ethic I have out of the miners!” He spat into the coals of the forge, sizzling. “Riften depends on our iron and gravel.”

Shor’s Stone needed Riften to survive. “I was sent to come after it. Whatever it is.”

“It’ll come in the night. When the conditions are worst.” Jurgard stated. “It would come every other night, for us. Since we came here, it’s probably going to keep coming after us. These hills are old, and maybe something the dragons woke up is coming after the living.”

“Like a dragon priest?” She asked. “They’re just abnormally powerful Draugr.”

“I’ve seen Draugr!” Finjar growled. “This didn’t move like any man alive or dead. No ancestor is killing us, I swear it by Julianos!”

“But something is out there.” Poison, claws, and nocturnal. Serana wasn’t much of a monster hunter, but she was good at predator instincts. Shor’s Stone’s houses were all built facing inwards in two circles. One around the mine entrance and the other around the well at the base of the other hill. It was defensive and would offer protection from bandits or others that might be in the hills. “What direction should I set up in?”

“The mountains.” Jurgard vaguely gestured. “Never came from the same spot each night. And when we could find what was left of our fellows they were scattered across entire hillsides.”

“Very helpful.” She acted like she meant it. “I’ll find a good spot to set up.” She had hours before sundown. “It’s never attacked during the day?”

“Not even once.”

That was probably why Gonnor thought it sounded like a vampire. “My companion and I will explore around and get a feel for the land.” Galathil whined at that, imperceptible unless you had excellent ears. The woman had just gotten warm. “Are there any beds left?”

“Not enough before Gurjard and his men got here. You ladies will have to just warm someone’s bed.” Finjar explained, not at all lying. “My bed is open.” He leered. 

“Thank you.” Galathil answered for Serana, somehow knowing that she wasn’t happy about this fact. Nodding along with her, Serana stepped back into the rain before Galathil got them to agree to any sexual favors. But the elf quickly caught up to her. “What are we doing?” She hissed. 

“It’s a monster. We are going to kill it.” Serana said, doing her best imitation of Elayne. “You are going to stand watch under a rooftop on the east end of the village. While I go hunting in the hills. Once it becomes sundown, we will find some kind of bait.” Serana could feel what little parts of her silken outfit that weren’t soaking wet get there again. It was sticking to her thighs and waist in a way that she did not appreciate. 

“What if we don’t find it?” 

“Then it’s hunting some other people out here.” 

Serana spent an hour in the rain, as the afternoon light dimmed. But she found something curious. Signs of conflict on one of the goat paths going northeast. There was a watchtower north of town, and as Serana approached she could smell death. Crouching and moving carefully, her heels barely scraped as she slipped inside the watchtower. Gore was on some of the walls, but there were no bodies to be seen. But the gore was muted. She could find armor torn to shreds, and a shattered weapon. That got her attention, and she bent over to investigate. It was a longsword, made from crude iron. It was broken near the center, with more than a few dents. It was chipped from cutting something harder than itself. “Soldiers always keep their blades sharp.” Indeed, there was a whetstone on the table near the untouched chest. Serana gave it a glance, pocketing any coin in the box before looking back at the whetstone. It had been used heavily, with grooves along one side. “Whatever did that, it was here.”

Inspecting the blade, Serana couldn’t find any kind of metal or shards broken off from any other weapons. But iron wouldn’t break something of sufficient hardness if the blades met. “So they’ve got a very hard skin or claws.” And she had no bodies to inspect. But she did have a bit of a blood trail. It led upstairs, and then out the window. “And you fly.” A flying monster or climbing monster, with claws harder than iron and enough intelligence to hide the bodies. “I won’t be able to track that in the rain, not with how long ago this happened.” It had to be more than a day old. Maybe two. The fire was long cold and the alarm horn was never blown. It hung from a postern near the door. “You were surprised enough that you couldn’t warn anyone.” 

One blade shattered and the other not even used. No arrows fired. Serana couldn’t find any claw marks on the sides of the watchtower or the doors. “Something smart.” There wasn’t much more she could find here. A cursory inspection of the surrounding hills had no scents of blood and no signs of conflict. The rain had washed it all away, not that Serana had much of a scent for things. 

She got back to Shor’s Stone before sundown, and found Galathil still at the back of the building. The woman was enjoying the small area that was dry back there. She did look bored, as she seemed to muse over a book in her hands. Serana smirked, quietly approaching her. “A Game at Dinner?”

“Gods!” The book slammed shut, as Galathil gave a shout. “Can you be a bit louder!”

“Sorry.” Serana said, meaning it. “I haven’t read that one.”

“This isn’t about the book!” The elf growled. “I am not an adventurer. You cannot assume I have the reflexes or response time.” She was scared. Honestly scared. “I don’t know if I can do this.” Galathil was biting her lip, hands clenched tight on the leather binding of her book. She never even reached for her weapon. 

Serana took a deep breath, for all that it was worth. What would Elayne say? What could anyone say? “Right now?” Right now, what could Galathil do? She wasn’t much good with a weapon, and that armor would shred under whatever those claws could do. Or whatever had the strength to shatter an iron sword. “Right now you would probably die if you went to fight this thing. So I need you to stay in the village and find a spot to stay safe. Or kill whatever spiders there are in the mine.”

“I don’t like things that crawl.” Galathil admitted. “How big are these, anyways?”

“You know what? If we run into bandits, I’ll teach you.” Galathil really didn’t need to know that the spiders in skyrim could grow larger than horses. “But right now, I’ve seen what this thing can do. It’s more than what the guards are capable of handling.”

“Guards? Jurgard and his men are clearly bandits already! And they weren’t even capable of fighting it.” 

“How did you find that out?”

“I asked around. The miners aren’t comfortable with them. They don’t raise goats. None of them knew what to do with some of the goats in town. It’s just a cover story for their real profession as bandits.” More bandit problems. Brynjolf might pay to know about it. “Jurgard is desperate and they have lost a lot more than three men. Based on the rumors I’ve collected. There used to be fifteen of them, and only six made it here.” Nine more men died to this creature. Two guards in the tower, and the arm off of one of the miners. 

“Twelve people have died to this thing and no one has seen the creature. It’s got to have some kind of power to get close to others in the darkness. And attacking every other day?” That’s too much for any appetite on a humanoid. “This is sport. It’s testing us for sport.”

“What?!” Galathil’s eyes widened. “How can you say that?”

“It’s how a vampire starts thinking, Galathil!” She answered quickly. Too quickly. “You can’t just eat normal things anymore. It’s not like everyone is an alchemist that has easy access to materials for blood potions. There isn’t an escape from the cravings the curse puts you through. After a week most vampires start going crazy. Someone stronger of will can go nearly three.” Serana went almost four before she had her first meal, after she was first turned. She didn’t know how to celebrate it. The scars took many years of undeath before they disappeared. “So they start thinking about their next meal. They hunt and change their strategy to suit their needs. This thing? It can fly or something. It doesn’t have to use doors. But it seems to prey upon people in the open. So it’s got to have some kind of aversion to being indoors or under the sun. It’s nocturnal, takes its kills elsewhere to eat them;” Galathil looked like she was going to be sick. “It’s like fighting a dragon or something.” Serana blinked. “Hang on, I think I have an idea.”

It was almost two hours later that Galathil had prepared their idea. Namely, a pig that smelled and looked like a small child. Easy prey. Then they set it up with some simple traps and chained it outside the small village. Galathil had skill in making creatures appear different to the eye or senses. It was still a pig, but heavily medicated with mead. It wasn’t going anywhere. 

The elf looked exhausted as she set up the pig. But this meant she wasn’t going to be in any kind of trouble when the fighting came. “I found a place to sleep. One of the women here has offered me her sleeping bag while she works the night shift. The mine is running at all hours while Riften needs it so desperately.” 

Serana kept her eyes on the hills around them, the rain hammering the area. “Does that mean you’re just whoring yourself out to another man for cheap favors?”

“You don’t need to eat and you hardly sleep!” She replied harshly. “I need to place value on those things. You don’t.”

“So there is a man involved.” 

“Jurgard’s right hand man.” This explained how she knew so much! “He’s loaded with coin and seems eager. He’s a Bosmer, like me.” 

“If that brings you comfort.”

“It does!” She added quickly. 

“Then enjoy your evening. I have some bait to keep an eye on.” Galathil nodded, holding her coat over her head as she made her way to one of the outlying houses. The other miners seemed to avoid their little setup, closing their doors and barricading them from within. The last person to do so was one of the miners, going into the mine and sealing the door shut. Shor’s Stone grew silent, as everyone went to bed except for her. The rain kept hammering the ground around the village, with some tracts of mud running near her feet. 

Serana waited for hours. She did a bit of alchemical organization while she waited, making sure that some of the things she had collected were still good. Nothing was as frustrating as finding mushrooms molding in a pocket of your bag and spreading spores onto all of your other plant samples. She had just finished separating a pair of mushrooms that had rubbed off on one another when she heard the snap of a chain. Looking up, she could see something in the rain hovering above the pig. It had wings, claws, and appeared dark in the night. 

Her sword was in her hands instantly. The thigh high slit in her dress felt tight as she crossed the distance, and got close to the bait. The creature looked like a giant insect, with buzzing wings and long claws. “Found you.” She grinned. The creature was trying to carry off the pig, but the chain keeping the bait in place and from running off also kept the captor from taking off with it. Her blade lashed out, the glass chopping through one of the forelegs of the creature. The pig was dropped, some bloody marks from the claws in its skin. Without the foreleg it couldn’t carry off the pig. 

It still tried, almost ignoring her presence. Serana feinted it, trying to see if it was just faking. But it showed no sign of the intelligence that the other killings had. Her second strike paralyzed it, and yet its eyes showed no signs of motion. They were milky white, almost like that of a zombie. She quickly carved into it, watching as the limbs tumbled off without any blood spraying. “You’re already dead.” It was just an animated husk. With a flourish she let the head hit the ground. “I’m dealing with some kind of necromancer.”

But what necromancer would kill so many so openly? They would want to keep a lower profile. There was something there she was missing. It was killing far too often for it to be a simple necromancer. Anyone with a brain would only need a new corpse every day or two. And most necromancers would use human corpses for their raising. Not these insects. Frustrated, Serana kicked the rotting body away from the terrified pig, even as she saw the wounds already swelling. “Poison.” That was odd. “Even dead, it was producing poison.” The fangs on its mouth looked imposing. 

She took some samples, as well as the head and forelimbs. The pig she also dragged back to the safety of town. But in coming back, she could see lights on in most houses, and armed men gathering around one without lanterns lit. “What’s going on?”

“The monster.” Jurgard was the one closest. “It burrowed into the basement and took people from their beds.”

“What? But I killed the flying one!”

Jurgard looked at the objects in her hands. “That’s a Chaurus. Adult one, the flying bastards. That ain’t no monster.” He grimaced. “Well, it is one but that ain’t what’s hunting us. And be careful. Those things will lay eggs in almost anything.”

Serana tied the pig off to the front of a house. Before the poor thing went through any more harrowing trouble. “What burrowed into the house?”

“No idea, but it got into the basement and only one person made it out of the house to warn everyone.” Serana hadn’t heard a thing, stalking the pig trap. “It took off into the hills with that girl you brought and one of the miners.” 

Serana felt her stomach clench. She had thought putting Galathil in town would keep her safe. “How long ago?”

“Couple of minutes.” Serana tore towards the eastern hills. “You think you’re going to find them in those girly boots?” Jurgard laughed at her. “Gods, you’re just going to throw your life away!”

Serana didn’t answer. She was on the move, and she could see odd prints in the mud ahead of her already. Growling, she hiked up her skirts further, moving through the mud without problems. Waterwalking worked wonders for running around with heels on. As if the Gods heard her, the rain came to a stop. It was still the middle of the night, but now Serana had the advantage. She had fresh tracks to follow, from some kind of claws tearing up the mud. Sometimes there were deeper grooves from where a body would press in. But the distance between the claws even with the body to account for had to be wider than five feet across. This must be the real monster. But she had never heard of any kind of creature learning necromancy. And the flying one most certainly had been animated. It was a corpse before she put it down permanently. 

Jurgard was wrong about this thing. It had to be some kind of intelligent creature. Necromancy wasn’t practiced by any living creature on Nirn that lacked a black soul. That was the greatest risk to necromancers, after all. You knew you played with fire when you started playing with the stuff of souls. And the Ideal Masters were never known for their patience or understanding. So the creature that she was chasing wasn’t the necromancer. It was just another minion. Maintaining two bound minions was not the act of a lesser necromancer. “Arch Necromancer.” She muttered, as the last of the rain tapered off and left the night for the waiting predators. 

She didn’t have to stop. She wasn’t going to run out of breath. And this creature wasn’t it’s flying partner that left no trail. Serana was full of magic, and had a blood potion recently. Even though the thing could go up near cliffs, Serana was upon it. It was running towards the Velothi mountains, or at least one of the valleys here. After a half hour she could hear it. Ten minutes after that, she was seeing its hindquarters almost slithering across the dark stones. It looked like a caterpillar, with claws that were completely similar to the other creature she had already fought. A Chaurus, if the other men could be believed. Four long legs covered in heavy armor chitin. 

Captured on some of that plated skin she could see two paralyzed bundles. The humanoids were bent at odd angles, and strapped to the giant creature. Any area of effect spell she cast would also hurt them. So she did her own bit of magic. A single ice spike, slamming right into the creature’s tail. It screeched, an inhuman noise that got her attention. Twisting around, the chaurus seemed to be trying to find her. It’s antennae were waving, and its beady eyes rotated. She had finally caught up to it in a gulley, with some kind of runoff feeding a creek. 

It reacted! It was not a raised corpse, then. Serana grinned. “If you want a foe, I’ll give you one.” Her sword gave off no glint in the night, but it could hear her. It twisted, rearing back to strike her. It’s claw lashed out at the same time as her sword. And she was grinning as the creature froze. Blocking with her blade still conferred the powerful enchantment, and the chaurus began falling down the hillside. “Wait, shit!” 

It fell on one of the people it was carrying! Serana caught up with it, the giant bulk almost enough that she couldn’t stop the spinning insect. But her sword plunged into its skull three times before the eyes went cold. “Galathil?” Rolling over its corpse, she saw the pair of people strapped to its side in crude bindings. One of them was her Bosmer friend, wearing only her wench dress and her arm at a broken angle. Tears ran down her face, as one of the bones in her arm was clearly broken. The other men had a rougher experience. His neck was swollen and at an odd angle. 

“Come on, I’ll get you out of there!” A dagger cut through the cords binding her friend, but the paralysis remained. Serana sheathed her sword and wrapped the elf onto her shoulders. She wasn’t that heavy. 

Serana saw before it could hit, an arrow come flying out of the night. She twisted, as it passed right where her neck would have been. A scream carried into the night, as something screeched over the hills. Serana couldn’t see it at all. Yet her eyes were the best that a mortal could have! Another arrow arched over an entire hill, and Serana could predict that this one was also aimed at her face or neck. Dodging aside, she growled. “How in the name of the gods are they seeing me?!”

There was one proven piece of cover. The chaurus. Ducking behind it, she could hear two more arrows impact nearby. They pierced the chaurus. They had to be made of something strong. “They can see us through objects.” Serana muttered. With Galathil she couldn’t go on the offensive. Not that she even know what she was up against. “Let’s see how they deal with this!” Using a conjuration spell, she brought a death hound from oblivion into play. Molag Bal’s tortured dog howled, and went racing into the night. 

All was quiet for a moment, as she gathered her wits about her. “What will you do next, monster.” If it was even a question. A spell rang out in the night, and the body she was taking cover behind groaned and stood up. “You son of a bitch!” Serana threw her own bout of necromancy, animating the man with the clearly broken neck. The other victim rose on their own too, to fight the chaurus with their bare hands. Serana broke into an all out run. Not downhill, where the arrows could rain down upon her with impunity. She ran right up the gulley, using the water walking spell she still had active to go right up the overflowing creek. Her heels pounded the surface of the water, and more than one arrow went wide as she ran. The animated chaurus tried chasing her, but was too distracted by the risen nord to deal with her. 

A small goat trail veered from the path, and she followed it. Her balance was as best as it could be in the dark night. The arrows stopped coming, but Serana didn’t stop running. She must have been going for at least a half hour, before she could start to feel Galathil loosening up on her shoulders. “I can see something around this bend. I think it’s a dwemer ruin.” She said to her passenger. “Let’s get you there, and I’ll fix you up.”

Galathil twitched, probably in pain from being carried with that broken arm. There were dwemer ruins this high in the mountains, with some patches of wet snow around. Serana’s heels left prints in the snow, as her waterwalking spell wore off. She didn’t bother replacing it. She would need that magicka later. The dwarven ruin was coated with snow, and the doors were closed with unbroken brass. By the time Serana arrived at the doors, Galathil was shivering. She could move. And Serana found the doors locked. “An immortal should know how to pick a lock!” She kicked the door, the sole of her boot rattling the snow on the detailed metal. 

Galathil squeezed her shoulder. “L-let me.” It took the woman precious minutes to open it, her hands shaking and her body freezing. Serana stood watch, the night around them silent but for a fox in the bushes. But neither of them felt comfortable. The sound of the door clicking open was met with a sigh of relief, but Serana heard something else. Deep thumping noises as if something was big and moving around. Serana could feel a spell being cast from somewhere. 

“Move!” They slammed the door just before a fireball exploded all over it. Slamming the locking mechanism home, Serana could see Galathil’s minimal cleavage heaving. Her own rose and fell, too. “Gods, that thing is a menace.”

“Menace?! It already took me once!” Galathil held her body, shivering. “I’m going to get frostbite if we don’t find a brazier for me to warm up with.”

The door behind them thundered, as something slammed against it again. “Dwemer built things to last, thankfully.” The small antechamber they were in had another set of doors leading inwards, but these weren’t locked. “Let’s hope these are the deep and complicated kind of ruins. We need to hide somewhere and get you warm.”

“You, too! That dress is frigid!” It was still hiked up around her hips, from when she went running after Galathil. Serana smoothed the skirts as much as she could. “I don’t see any oil lamps.” The second and larger chamber held large pieces of rubble, as well as a glowing pedestal. An orb was on top of it, and the warmth of it was present even in the corners of the room. The area around it was clean, but it was the only part of the chamber that could be considered clear. “Oh, that’s warm!” Galathil shed her frozen dress, blushing a bit as she got naked in front of Serana. But her shivers were better in front of the glowing orb. “Like the sun.” 

Serana avoided it, as best she could. But the room was empty or looted in ages long past. Sighing, she reached behind herself and unlaced her own dress, taking off the sodden silk. She didn’t mind showing her skin, not anymore. Running around in the Bitch Tamer cured her of that shame long ago. Plus, she still wore stockings and a silk breastband. The reason for her blush was the lack of any kind of covering below her navel. “It doesn’t hurt like the sun.” The glowing orb made her skin prickle, but that was all. 

Galathil seemed to judge her remaining clothes. The nude elf gave an especially long look at her legs. “I guess you really are a slave.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Serana grumbled, holding her dress up near the glowing orb. 

“Nothing covering your loins. I thought you were just a rogue slave, avoiding their mistress. But really you just are stingy about everything.” 

“Is this because I don’t wear a loincloth?” Galathil raised an eyebrow, as if that was obvious. “That’s not because I’m supposed to be available for my master or mistress!” She flushed at the thought of it all. But this was a friend. Maybe she could be friendly enough to share a secret or two. “For a year I wore this single outfit. It could keep my arms bound and my breasts almost exposed, and my teeth locked away. But it had,” Serana wrung her hands together, the silk dress moving as she did so. “It had some other features. Now I can’t really wear a loincloth at all, or else I get really distracted.” It was honestly a vulnerability. She owned silk panties from Endarie and Taarie’s store. But her body had been trained by a vicious tool. Anything touching her labia at all had her horny and wet. Serana had no way of dealing with that. Or rather, she didn’t feel comfortable asking for help with horniness. And there was little point in wearing panties if her body was just going to treat them like the Bitch Tamer. 

“I think your mistress just likes you better that way.” Galathil tried to joke, not able to replace her own gear since she had been taken by the bandits. “Is everything you own silk?”

“It has to be.” 

“Wait, why?” Galathil laughed openly at that. 

“Elayne made a deal with a clothier in Solitude. Now, we are her marketing pieces. Elayne can’t wear anything but silk from Radiant Raiment’s tailors. As her slave,” Serana kept the tremble out of her voice at admitting that part of things. “I have to follow the same rules. If they hear that we are wearing something else those elves get to come and spank us with a paddle.”

“Hah!” Galathil laughed harder, a pretty sound in the dark of the dwemer ruin. But it was not the only sound. There was a clang, of doors opening. 

“Oblivion take us.” Serana muttered, shoving her dress into her bag and drawing her glass blade. “I think it broke through.”

“Why won’t it give up?” Galathil stepped behind the glowing orb, her bag or armor not even here. But she must have triggered something. All around them, a cage came into being. Metal speared up from the floor, and sent both women falling to the ground. If the ground even remained. The floor dropped, and both screamed as they started to fall. The last thing that Serana saw before she fell into the dark was a creature opening the doors. A pale white humanoid with tapered ears, nose and mouth. But it had no eyes to speak of. Yet she knew in that moment that it saw her. That it made eye contact with her. And she knew that this was her necromancer. She had more than one reason to scream as they both fell.

Chapter Text

They fell for a far enough distance that Serana had enough time to rotate completely so her feet were the wrong way when they hit the water. Her neck was jerked, and her body crumpled over a submerged stone. Serana surfaced, coughing blood and in pain. A few seconds later, Galathil surfaced, retching water. “Galathil!” Serana wheezed, swimming over and pushing her towards a bank. It was completely dark in this cavern, but she could see a small craggy shoreline. 

“There’s a mammoth head down there.” She coughed, rolling onto the grimy shore and casting candlelight. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Galathil shivered. “Cold, but alright.” Serana chose not to mention her injuries. “You’re bleeding.” 

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. She needed to rest somewhere. Blood potions took away the desire for blood, but not the added regeneration that blood gave vampires. But to say otherwise would terrify Galathil more. The woman was not doing alright. Her heart was beating fast, and she was shivering from falling into glacial cold underground lakewater. “Stay out of the water. Where is your blade?”

“Dropped it.” She muttered. “I wish candlelight actually gave off warmth.”

Serana rolled her eyes and tossed her own bag onto shore. With just her breastband and stockings, she dove. Glittering in the waters was Galathil’s steel sword. But also next to it was a chest, tucked away in some old bones. Pulling on it, she pushed and fought before realizing that the damned thing was locked. Why lock a wooden chest you hide at the bottom of a frozen lake in the middle of a cavern! The nerve! Serana stomped at the bottom of the lake, enjoying for the moment her lack of living lungs. Wedging the steel blade against the lock proved that it had rusted in the time it had been dumped here. Who even puts a lock on a chest that you dump into a lake like this, anyways! 

Bubbles in the old chest exploded as she wrenched the old wood open. The inside of the chest released it’s bounty, as some things moved in the cold waters. A phial of a long-dead potion floated a bit. An elven dagger rested next to a small sack of gold and a couple ingots of ebony. Serana grinned, gathering all of them into her hands. But it disturbed another object, which popped free of the chest and started floating upwards. Her hands were full, and she could see it looked similar to a ball. A ball with dwarven metallic straps to go with it. Her mind only had a moment before it would float away, and acted on its own volition. All she had to do was catch one of those straps in her teeth, and it wouldn’t get away!

As she leaned forward, she was reminded that it kind of looked like the gag she wore with the Bitch Tamer. It would be so simple to just, snap . Her distracted mind only noticed too late when she bit into the ball instead of the straps she intended to. And then she bit down harder instead of letting go when the straps acted on their own and snapped behind her head! She sat upon the bottom of that dark lake for a moment, stunned at this. She just gagged herself. So stupid! And why did she like this so much! Shaking her head, she checked every inch of the area around the chest for anything else they could use. As she did, the ballgag now filling her mouth seemed omnipresent. It was sending a thrill up and down her body, her nearly naked form adapting to being unable to say or express things through her mouth. 

The chest was emptied of gold, dagger, and ebony. Those would sell for a very fine value. It was probably the reason someone had a chest down here. She finally surfaced next to the shore, seeing Galathil still shivering and looking around for danger. “Serana!” She said as she surfaced. “Wait, what happened down there?”

The vampire rolled her eyes and tossed Galathil’s original steel blade onto the bank, and then placed the elven dagger up there too. She hummed behind the gag, and both women reacted as the gag began to glow like a candlelight. Grumbling internally, Serana sat down on a stone near Galathil and knelt. She was dripping wet from the dive, and her hands explored the dwemer metal that now wrapped around her face. It was simplistic, at least. It only wrapped around both cheeks. The ball of the gag itself was large, and made out of some kind of material that gave only a little if she bit down into it. Her fangs didn’t even penetrate. The clasp was squarely on the back of her neck, with a keyhole. She hadn’t found any keys while she was down at that chest! 

“Oh Julianos! How did you even get that on your face!” Galathil chose then to laugh a bit at her predicament. “Thank you for the dagger.” She amended, as Serana’s head twisted around before she had finished giggling. “Any way of getting it off?” The deadpan look she got in return expressed plenty. “I saw a path we could take, along the river.” She at least changed the subject. “Maybe it can show us a way out of here.”

Serana nodded, going to her bag. One of the silk dresses within was dry, and with a bit of time she slid it over her body. She replaced every aspect of her outfit, and noticed Galathil politely staring away from her as she began the complicated effort of getting maximum cleavage out of her breasts. Her breastbands were silk, and had to be wrapped around her torso sixteen times. Eighteen if she really wanted to pop out of a dress. New stockings and shoes that weren’t waterlogged felt much better. Galathil just had her own outfit, which had dried but a little. “Over there.” 

On one side of the lake they had landed at, there was a tunnel leading somewhere. Galathil cast candlelight spells every so often, and Serana helped with that. The gag seemed to remain brightly lit for a while after she tried to make noise. The tunnel they went down had stones and a few odd mushrooms in places. But the strangest thing both women saw were some kind of organic pods attached to the walls. They were large, meant for something that could climb, clearly. Serana gave a glance into the pod, finding only smells of something old and shavings of some kind in the pod. It didn’t seem lived in at the moment. Three others along the tunnel showed up, all of which had nothing alive in them. 

Shavings of lichen and harder materials were in some of the pods, along with crude tools. Serana caught Galathil staring at the gag in her mouth more than once. She stopped, at the end of the tunnel. Her gasp made the gag light up the area. A massive cavern lay ahead, with a slim bridge of stone and dirt crossing the span. Serana could see one side of the bridge had more of the organic pods. These looked more used. Strangely, one of them looked like something had clawed its way in. Blood was on the walls, old marks. It had taken the color of blackish paint. 

Galathil said nothing, neither of them wanting to be the source of any noise. The deeper they went, the more the conflict seemed to escalate. Tunnels and dwemer architecture followed their eyes, with more of these pods concentrated around a single room. “Oh gods.” The center of the room was a mountain of bones. Chunks of gore and piles of weapons made from some kind of hard resin made struts of support for a pile of bones almost the height of Serana. “How many,” Galathil couldn’t even finish her sentence. On top of the pile were two men wearing guard uniforms. The men from the tower. Every single body was missing its head. More of those Chaurus creatures were piled in another corner of the room, carelessly. Nothing in this place was alive. It was clear that all was dead in these halls. 

Serana could see them. Thirty seven heads were lined up in a grisly fashion on one wall. Galathil was breathing fast, her heart hammering. She held up her hand, the gag keeping her from keeping Galathil calm. But she could do more than that. She took the risk, and clapped her hands. The sudden sound made her come out of her panic. Serana pointed towards the heads. Most of them were the same race as the creature that had been chasing them. Each one was pale, drained of all blood. Their necks had marks on them from teeth. Serana made a careful pointing from the marks on the heads to her own exposed fangs. She was getting entirely comfortable with the feeling of the gag in her mouth. 

“It killed its own kind. So many people died to this thing!” Galathil muttered. “It’s a vampire. Just like you!” She shuddered. “Oh gods. That means there must be a way out of here!”

Serana held up a hand. Before they left, they needed to understand this creature. She made a show of picking up arrows and keepsakes of the dead. They could never be buried. Not as mangled as they were. But anything could help the people of Shor’s Stone and other places know that their loved ones didn’t die uselessly. Stopping the wondering if they were truly gone was a peace unto itself. Serana had never had that benefit. Galathil seemed to understand that much. Another chest was buried underneath some of the corpses like a grisly trophy. Serana dragged it out, ignoring the smell of it all as she searched for anything else that could help them. Poison, potions, and gold was in the chest. Growling, the gag created just enough light for her to see something wedged into the bottom corner. With a triumphant screech, she ran over to Galathil and held up what she found. A key. A key made from dwemer metal. 

“What is that?” The elf asked, confused. And then she realized. “Oh! Oh, hang on!” Serana let her get behind her neck, feeling slightly self-conscious as she felt the blessed relief of the clasp unlocking. She actually gasped as she dragged it off of her face, part of her wishing it was still between her teeth. Another part was just glad she could speak again. 

“Thank you.” Serana cleared her throat, trying not to sound too put out that she wasn’t gagged anymore. Elayne enjoyed gagging her whenever she got mouthy, when they adventured together. Now she was starting to understand why. “We are dealing with a vampire.”

“Clearly.”

“These creatures don’t have eyes. They must use some other methods of seeing. And that one that tried to kill us had a bow.” She gave some of the bows in the pile a test pull. They were strong enough for the job. “So how did it see us so well?”

“Maybe it has some kind of ability? When it took me and Andur from the basement it came right through the wall. It tunneled into the house using those beasts. It never went through the door.”

“I don’t know what to think about that. Maybe they do see something we don’t.” Serena couldn’t animate any of these corpses, not with them so disfigured. “But this has to be its lair. By morning, it will return here.”

“How long do we have?”

“Not long enough. It’s eating too many people too quickly. It’s not even sipping blood at this point. All of the bodies are mangled, but they have no blood left in them. It’s almost feral in how aggressive it is.” A feral vampire. Now that was starting to make more sense. But something like this didn’t seem a match for the work of a feral vampire. It was peculiar. The statuary of bones was certain of that. “But I don’t think it’s feral. I think they’re very young for a vampire. But unlike one made from a normal mortal, it comes from this beast race.”

“I’m going to study some of them. Maybe their anatomy will tell me more about them.” Galathil confirmed. She wasn’t disgusted by the gore. Oddly, she seemed more disgusted by the state of the room and the skulls. Her knife flicked out, and Serana was the one to be shocked. Galathil was peeling back skin like she knew what she was doing, and the lack of blood made the entire process rather clinical. “They have sockets for eyes, but it’s underdeveloped. Or wrong. Teeth are almost the same way it would sit in a Mer mouth. But these are pointed. Ears are larger.” Galathil made some cuts along those, looking kind of shocked. “I think their hearing is probably much better than our own. And they have claws instead of fingernails.” She didn’t really check into much of the pile. Most of the sightless creatures had been dead for more than a week, and weren’t the kind of corpse that lasted well. 

Serana on the other hand could find no sign of writing or identifying marks on any of their weapons. No real organization. But they had bows, arrows, and carved blades of a sort. “They like to cut things. I don’t see any blunt weapons here.” Sharp teeth. Arrows. Blades. “I think these might be Falmer.” 

“I’ve never seen one.” Galathil murmured. “I don’t think I want to anymore.” 

“The tunnel splits ahead.” She gave the Bosmer a glance. “Did you want to get a bow and arrow?”

“Just because I’m a Bosmer doesn’t mean I am any good with them!” Galathil said with a flare of her nose. “I don’t complain about Nords and mead.”

“I was curious, not trying to poke at you.” Serana said, just as softly. They left the Falmer weapons behind, but took some of the arrows as samples along with the fallen keepsakes. Though Serana was keen to take the gold that they found. It would help. How Elayne made it through life without looting anything, she never knew. “Oh that’s pretty.” She realized she spoke, noticing the next chamber. It had two waterfalls, feeding into a river that definitely flowed out of the caverns. There was a scent of something less dank coming from it. 

But both of them could hear splashing. Something was moving out there. Galathil started pulling back into the tunnel, but they both knew it would be a dead end. The room was too large to get through without being seen, so Serana decided that it was going to be violent. Standing up, she conjured a frost atronach just as the sounds got close. 

It was the Chaurus she had killed earlier. It was missing some of its face and one of its legs wasn’t working correctly. Too late, she realized that this was meant to draw her out. An arrow struck her, right under her collarbone. Above the Chaurus and to the right, the Falmer was perched on a small ledge, its bow released. It’s quiver only had two arrows left. Her ward came up just in time, as the frost atronach and the chaurus hammered into each other. But instead of the creature’s final arrow coming for Serana, it aimed for Galathil. It took her in the left thigh, and the woman went down. 

Serana charged forwards, skirts raised as she ran. Her sword rippled, cutting into the raised Chaurus and watching as it dropped bonelessly in front of her atronach. The Falmer leapt over that melee, and crashed into her. “I know what you are!” She yelled, taking hold of its hands. “Not this time!” Serana was a daughter of Coldharbour. This was a feral vampire drunk on blood. It screamed in her face, one hand trying vainly to summon a paralysis spell.

It went wide, striking the wall behind her. They were equally matched for strength, and her heels dug into the stone. The creature had claws, and its elongated ears caught every inch of her scrabbling. It reared back, opening its jaw wide to bite her arm. Serana did the most unladylike thing she knew of and headbutted it before its elongated teeth could puncture. 

Both of them released arms, as vampires both saw stars in their vision. But the Falmer was back on its feet, grabbing the arrow that had bounced off of her ward earlier. This it wielded like a dagger, punching into Serana’s leg. Her own glass blade cut into the beast, but it resisted the enchantment. Serana rolled backwards, expecting the Falmer to follow. 

Instead it advanced on Galathil, who had just thrown a very poorly aimed basic destruction spell. This hurt Serana more than it did the Falmer, who ducked just enough to let the bolt of fire pass it. She had to fully dodge, and wasn’t able to immediately follow. The firebolt exploded right into her face, making her hiss. 

The Falmer leapt, its claws tearing into Galathil’s shoulders. Her outfit was torn and her neck left wide open, as the Falmer’s hands glowed green. It’s spell froze Galathil, paralysis taking hold. Her eyes were wide open in terror, watching helplessly as the creature started descending. Her own heart felt a shudder. Her friend was about to die in front of her. Someone she dragged into adventuring that didn’t want this. 

Serana used an ounce of her powers. Just for a moment. One second she was across the room, and the next she had leapt across the distance, reinforcing her arm with blood magic. The Falmer’s skin parted and she reached past its ribs, and she braced herself for the inevitable pain. Her collar already began shocking her, but it was too late. She screamed, clenching her hands as the collar burned her. But this made her fingers clamp down upon their target. Serana was already injured from the long fall earlier, and this was too much! The Falmer coughed once, as its heart was crushed. It began to fall apart, even as Serana writhed in agony on the floor. 

She wasn’t sure when she fell unconscious, but when she blinked awake it was to the sight of a fire. She was dry, at least. A small cookfire burned merrily, and she glanced around at what appeared to be a mostly flooded cavern. Galathil was asleep, and the hint of daylight showed that they were close to the surface. Galathil looked exhausted, but she at least knew restoration spells. She was passed out on a bedroll, wrapped up in blankets. Wherever they were, it looked like there were boxes and crates out everywhere. More curious, there had to be barrels of construction equipment in here. 

She was still injured. The arrow still pierced the skin of her upper torso, and Serana gave that piece of wood a long glare. She was starving for blood, and didn’t feel at her best at all. But the area seemed safe. “Hey!” She rasped, her throat burning. Galathil didn’t hear her. Her voice barely moved. Groaning, Serana stood up and moved over to the sleeping elf. She shook the woman’s shoulder, but wasn’t ready for what would follow. 

Galathil opened her eyes, and screamed. Her eyes shrank down to nothing, the irises small. Her skin paled, the mottled brown color becoming something more ashen. She scrambled away from Serana, the bedroll going right with her, until her back hit a stone wall. The elf was not even responding to that feeling, still pushing to get away with all of her might. “Woah! Hold on! It’s me!” Serana spoke up, but with the fire behind her the woman only saw a silhouette with teeth. Her eyes focused on those gleaming fangs in Serana’s mouth, and she just screamed harder! Clamping her lips shut, Galathil finally seemed to calm down. It took minutes, silent ones where Serana didn’t come any closer and stayed by the fire, where the elf held her knees and whimpered. “Don’t look up at me, but it’s going to be alright.” Serana tried to say. Being empathetic wasn’t exactly her best side. “Here is some water.” She tried to bring her the canteen from their bag. 

Galathil just shuddered. Serana stopped talking. It had to have been fifteen minutes of shuddering noises by the light of the fire before she came to her senses. “I’m sorry.” The elf whispered. “I was scared.” 

“What happened while I was out?” 

“The paralysis wore off, and I had to take the arrow out. You were facedown in the cave, and it was cold.” Her words were slow, and concerned. “I dragged you here, and got a fire going. But the river goes out of the mountain up ahead. The way out is waist deep.”

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Serana decided to touch the real problem. “How long was I unconscious?” 

“The sun has risen.” Galathil finally looked up, looking so small in that moment. Even though she was a Bosmer, she looked terrified still. “But it can’t change what my mind sees.”

“Did it bite you?”

“Yes.” It was a strangled sound. “I’ve been bitten. And we are days from Riften at the rate we can travel.”

“You aren’t going to be turned.” Serana said with actual comfort. “I always keep four or five cure disease potions.” For her potential victims. 

“You do?!” Galathil looked like she was ready to cry. “Oh bless Mara above Serana!”

“You’re my friend.” Serana kept her lips tight as she smiled. “Even if you’re a bit afraid of vampire teeth.” The potion she needed was found, and Galathil looked like a drunk with the way she chugged it down. “Sorry.”

“It’s not you.” Galathil didn’t look away. That was an obvious lie. 

“You looked like it was a waking nightmare.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well. Not since you asked me to come with you. You like to travel past sundown, and I’ve never had to be so physically active.”

“You slept well in the care of those bandits?”

The elf huffed. “Honestly, more than I have now. I barely sleep. When I finally get comfortable all that my mind sees are teeth. And now, that Falmer just makes everything worse.” She gave a soft cough. “Oh, that’s an aftertaste. Like Argonian dick.” She spat to one side. “You don’t pick the easy jobs, do you.”

“You feel that terror any time you see my fangs?”

She didn’t voice the words, but her eyes closed and she nodded. “You’re trying to be my friend, but I can’t separate that from you. I just can’t feel safe. Not when I don’t know what you will do.”

“Being a vampire isn’t easy when you want to just have actual relationships with mortals.” That came out wrong! She could see Galathil give her one of those looks. “Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” She rummaged in her bag, in front of the fire. The bosmer was staring, her suspicion clear. She gave a very slight gasp when Serana tossed her a small metal key. “Let’s try this. You keep that, and I will wear this.” There was a warmth pooling in her belly as she held up the system of dwarven metal straps around the ballgag she had been captured by earlier. “If my teeth are locked away, and you have the key, do you think that will let you sleep?”

Galathil didn’t look sure of anything. Then she licked her lips, her eyes staring at Serana’s mouth.  “We can try it. No one has been here in a while. And you’re still powerful, but with that on I guess you can’t bite anyone.” Her shoulders didn’t seem as tense. 

“Or drink blood potions.” Serana pointed out. “So after we rest you had better unlock it.” 

“I promise.” Galathil nodded. Though she took a longer moment to breathe, a shuddering sound. “Serana? Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

Serana let Galathil watch as she willingly placed that gag back onto her tongue. She held her hair up, letting the dwarven enchantment do its work and the metal clasp onto her head. She felt that warmth thrill her, knowing that she was willingly gagging herself. Just knowing that it was locked and that someone else had the key made her nipples perk up. Thankfully her breastband could hide that. But her elven friend gave her a smile. A real one, as she turned over to try to sleep. 

Which gave her time to reflect on what the hell she thought she was doing, taking someone like Galathil into ruins like that with so little training. She was going to die out here, and the thought alone made her try to clench her teeth. What would Elayne do? 

She snorted through her nose at that thought. Elayne would find the nearest great person and make friends with them. Or find a way to help her friends. Galathil needed someone to teach her a bit about fighting. The thieves guild wouldn’t be the best at that. Riften honestly had few skilled enough for that. Serana could feel her own eyelids droop. The feeling of something gagging her made her body remember the Bitch Tamer. The lack of pressure from ebonite and dragonbone was not here, but she felt thrilled to be restrained in some way. Almost unwillingly, she felt herself slide into sleep right next to Galathil’s bedroll. She hadn’t been sleeping well either, and her body slipped away. She could handle the rest of their problems after a few hours of sleep. All the while, her tongue played with its captor.

Chapter Text

Shor’s Stone paid handsomely for the slaying of the vampire Falmer. They had brought plenty of evidence, and the keepsakes of the fallen. The corpses were never going to come home in one piece, sadly. The obsession with the Rites of Arkay wasn’t going to take hold for these fallen men and women. Serana didn’t feel too torn up about that. But instead of heading back towards Riften, they turned to go North. Up past Kynesgrove, which had once been a town. Now there were a few building foundations left and a campsite in front of the mine. 

Galathil and Serana would camp along the road at night, and had begun a routine. Galathil slept great when Serana was gagged. Serana found that she herself slept even better when she was, too. Neither of them said a word about it. Every morning the pair would wordlessly rise and get up, Galathil unlocking the gag and Serana taking back the key until nightfall. The gag became a comfortable part of their lives on the week-long walk to Windhelm. They didn’t march fast, nor did they go looking for trouble. In fact, most of their time was spent chasing down jazbay grapes and the very popular creep clusters. A critical component for many restore magicka potions. Alchemists would pay well for each sample, and Galathil found the collection of such items comforting. Their bags were filled to bursting with flowers, creep clusters and grapes by the time they finally reached the gates of Windhelm. 

“Tonight we stay at an inn.” Galathil relished. “A warm bath sounds divine.” 

Windhelm was rainy, but its walls were covered in some spots of snow. The last of the winter’s grasp was still coming off of the city. Strangely the guards at the gate were members of the Imperial legion. Occupying forces, perhaps. The Stormcloaks had this city as their headquarters, after all. Neutral colored flags ran on the walls, without any legion standards. It seemed that the occupying forces weren’t here to harm anyone. 

“Welcome travelers!” The lead officer waved them down, as they crossed an ancient stone bridge. Serana was smiling, recognizing this city. When she was mortal, this was the capital of Skyrim. The stones were a little worn down, but the bridge was the same. The walls were the same. It was exactly what she was missing! “Miss?” The legionnaires had to physically wave to get her attention. Her eyes turned their focus to the Nord, who was giving her a calm look. “We need you to identify yourselves.”

“I’m Serana.” She started by saying.

“And your Master?”

Serana actively avoided scowling. He did not fail to notice the collar around her neck. “Elayne the Dragonborn, of Helgen.”

“I’m Gala.” Her Bosmer companion offered. “Recently of Silgrad.”

“Silgrad, eh? That place isn’t too heavily populated.” The guard made some small talk, before giving both women a smile. “Alright. We are going to peace bond your weapons until you leave the city. It’s a security precaution. Right now Windhelm is under martial law, pending investigation by the Penitus Oculatus. If you are approached by anyone wearing an eye and a dragon symbol, please listen to them. They have the power to imprison or restrict movements of citizens during this time.” He didn’t say this threateningly. But he and the other guards wrapped white linen over their weapons, before tightly binding the ends of the linen into itself, and dripping hot wax onto the ends. “If this wax is broken when you leave the city you will be fined.”

No tax on their entry, just a few soldiers making sure their weapons couldn’t be used to hurt other people. Galathil seemed leery of the legionnaires until they got inside the gates. “This city is cold.” She muttered. “Not that you even notice.” 

“Can’t complain about the perks.” Serana responded. Elayne had long given her practice about complaints of the cold. “Now, it’s still midday. Let’s find a room to lay down our things and then we can go shopping. Something tells me that finding you better gear is going to be harder than I thought.” Both wanted a real bed to sleep on. But the city seemed active! It wasn’t the same buildings she remembered. These were wooden reinforced roofs. Rain and snow made them necessary. So they weren’t the buildings she saw in a different age. But it felt familiar. “I’ve been here before.” 

“How long has it been?”

Serana didn’t want to announce that to the rooftops, so she looked around for the king’s markers. Stones that told the story of the high kings of Skyrim. She found the one of the king her father had sworn allegiance to. “He was king.” Galathil saw where she was pointing, and had to do a double take. 

“So you don’t know anybody.” Galathil looked a little crestfallen. 

“Isn’t that exciting?” Serana smiled. “I like meeting new friends.”

“You’re a weird woman.” Galathil admitted. “That looks like an inn.” There was a building with a sign just inside the gates. It was brightly lit, with a door shape that was more reminiscent of Cyrodiil than Skyrim. 

“It’s not Nordic.” Serana smiled, heels clicking as she approached the door. Her knock was simple, and there was a distinct lack of noise on the other side of the door. A warming feeling came from the door, as both women could feel the heat of the house as it opened for them. “Hello?”

An older Imperial man was within the warm building. “Hello!” He grinned warmly. “I’m Calixto, and this is my museum!”

A permanently summoned storm atronach was at attention in here, watching them. “A conjurer and a museum curator?” Galathil immediately began to be her most charming self. “Your sign almost made it look like an inn!”

“I haven’t repainted it this year.” He said, sadly. “My wife passed away during the dragon battles. She was trying to help put out the fires.” He got a far away look. “Ah!” He refocused on them. “Come in, come in! I’ve not gotten visitors in quite some time.”

“What kind of museum is this?” Serana dared to ask. The walls were covered in books, items and pottery. The pottery looked like it came from multiple cultures. 

“Artifacts! All of the best ancient capitals have a museum of artifacts! Though the one in Imperial City is mostly just for mages. Before Mournhold was destroyed there was another there! And there are some all over Alinor!” Calixto grinned. “I don’t have daedric artifacts like they dared to, but I do have some excellent ancient enchantments.” 

He gave them both a grin. “Ten gold each, and I’ll give you a tour.” Serana gave Galathil a glance, and they both nodded. It seemed fair. 

“Only if you can at least correctly name the era each piece came from.” Serana tried to joke. “Otherwise we won’t know for sure!”

Calixto laughed loudly. “I’ve got some Merethic era dwemer forks I can stab you with to prove it!” 

“Almost all of those are going to be from the first era rather than the Merethic!” Serana countered. “But please, show us what you have.”

Calixto had a wide range of collections. Pottery from every ancient elven civilization, including the Maormer. One actual daedric artifact, though no one wanted to touch it. It was called the Fork of Horripilation. Apparently anyone who used it permanently scarred their magicka reserves to nothing. It was in a sealed glass case. “That one, I bought from a tradesman in Morrowind. Said that it had cursed his family and had to leave the province. A creation of Sheogorath, apparently.”

Serana gave it a wide berth. She could feel her eyes hurt just looking at the thing. “Do you buy any collections?”

“Of course I do!” He grinned. “What, do you have something to offer my humble museum?”

Serana smiled widely. “Do you have any vampiric artifacts?” It never hurt to ask. 

Calixto gave her eyes a long look, before drifting back to her very present cleavage. “Two. Both rather inert. One is a broken Tenarr Zalvitt blood siphoning blade. They’re a Khajit vampire clan, famous for eating animals. The other is something you might be more familiar with!” He made a relishing wave of his hands as he showed the damaged old sword. But the old man twisted with surprising agility to another part of his collection to point at a set of pauldrons, made from ebony. “These were used by a Direnni vampire, apparently. The symbols upon them are from the Direnni clan, but they were most certainly made or used by something darker.” Serana stared at the markings on the pauldrons. They had the Aldmeri symbolism correct, with the gold standard clear upon the ebony. 

“That’s Direnni, alright.” Serana said. Her family fought them often when they lived. It was their main purpose in defending northern Haafingar. Oddly, once they became vampires the Direnni were even more intimidated. “I would recognize that anywhere.”

“Not many left, and they really do not appreciate anything connecting them to vampirism.” Calixto seemed to brush off some dust from the old object. “This one was owned by a powerful Direnni vampire from the second era. And on its left and right, the brass burial death masks of some Ayleids who worshipped Sanguine!” Serana’s eyes were drawn to that shelf, but her breath froze when she saw something more curious. Five glittering crystalized rose petals, arranged into some kind of design. They were an exact match for the one she had found back near Riften. Reaching into her bag, she drew out the tiny rose petal, its edges sharp and its form the same deep red crystal. 

“I found one of those!” She compared them, seeing a perfect match for color and depth. “What are they?”

Calixto gently held it in his hands, many emotions playing out on his face. “You aren’t a vampire of Sanguine, are you?”

“I’m Serana.” She offered, as the light of recognition bloomed in Calixto’s eyes. “And very curious about what seems to excite you.”

“It feels like a lifetime ago that I once held it. The divines can create without end, but the daedra can only convert or steal to create their own objects. That isn’t quite true for all of them, of course. Specifically, Sanguine. His artifact is a dark thing, allowing you to summon his servants. Or himself directly, if you are daring enough to try.” Calixto said matter of factly. Not the kind of flinching experience of a mortal actually doing such a thing. “It is said that it blooms somewhere in Oblivion after it wilts in the hands of the mortal that takes it. And said mortal must use it, or it wilts upon the vine. I thought to keep it, have it where no one could be corrupted by it.” 

“The Sanguine Rose?” Galathil was the one to say this. 

Calixto’s eyebrows went up and the old man looked genuinely pleased. “Yes.” His fists clenched. “Yes! I had it for two years! Used it once or twice, when things got rough with others. What I didn’t realize at the time was that it inspired emotions and feelings around it. Caused my wife and I to act a certain way. Created conflict between us and others without us initiating such. I locked it away. Stopped leaving it in the open. The conflict didn’t stop. It got worse. I swore I would never use it, and my wife also swore to do so. The morning after, it had wilted into these tiny crystals. We had to relocate, of course. No one believed us when we said it was gone. So we came to Windhelm, nearly twenty years back.” 

“Did you want to collect them?” 

“Not particularly.” Calixto admitted. “They are a reminder of a darker time in my life. One I would care not to repeat. I keep them to remind me to not commit the same mistakes.”

Serana’s hand closed over the crystallized rose petal. A piece of a daedric artifact, right in her hands. “I apologize for assuming.”

“You are forgiven, ladies. Curiosity is the name of our most fond hope! It’s what I call my museum. I do collect odds and ends from different walks of life. Oh! And any dwemer cutlery I will purchase for certain. I think I have enough for a full gala at this point.” He laughed, pointing at some chests in back. “But the unique and the startling, I will pay for happily. But it’s got to have a good story behind it!” 

“Perhaps the arrowhead that pierced Alduin’s eye?”

Calixto looked fascinated with the thought. “Perhaps if I talked him into giving it to me! Then the story would be more interesting!” 

The tour had rambled on for more than an hour as he described different pieces throughout the room. Each had a story, and his hands would express as much or more emotion than his face as he described them. The house was warm, and Galathil looked rather calm by the end of it. Serana had seen amber ore from parts of Oblivion, a book on the artifacts of Tamriel that looked like one she needed for her collection, as well as a grandmaster alembic that had belonged to some ancient Sload. It was a shape that didn’t suit human or elven hands. The grooves upon its surface were designed for more liquid ingredients, as well. Apparently Calixto had found it when he went to parts of Black Marsh. 

He offered Galathil a spot of lunch at the end, smiling as he drank a large mead with his own food. “I would offer you a drink, but I don’t think either of us would be friends afterwards.” He said, coughing a bit. “Haven’t talked so much in a year. My voice is going to be gone by nightfall, I fear.” He laughed at his own joke, probably not helping. “Is there anything else I can help you ladies with?””

“We came to Windhelm to find someone to train her in combat.” Serana said clearly. “But the city is under martial law.”

“Occupation, actually. Until the trials are over.” Calixto said. “Nords made up almost all Stormcloak rebels. As a result, more than a few are choosing exile from Windhelm or service in the Imperial Legion down in Cyrodil instead of losing their place here. The refugees from the smaller settlements are being housed here, since our buildings could not burn when the dragons came. It means that for the first time in history, Windhelm has less nords than other races. There are more Dunmer here than Imperials, but they are numerous enough that the tensions have been rising. When the Nords that agreed to serve in the Legion return, that will shift back to being Nordic. But at the moment the legion is watching for any signs of trouble.”

“So we need to ask the legion for any training?”

“There are some retired legion officers that are training the new hold guards. One of them likes to hang out in the inn, a Legate Persius Hrollod.” Calixto nodded. “Maybe old Brunwolf Free-Winter might help you. The man is considered the steward of the hold, even though Jorleif is still around. But Jorleif was also the treasurer of the Stormcloaks, and how that man has escaped custody or trial I cannot know.” His gaze lingered on them both, as he drank heavily from his mead. “I apologize, but I feel visited enough today.” 

“Thank you, Calixto.” Serana offered, as Galathil offered the same. 

“Come by again!” The old man mused. “I receive so few visitors these days.”

Serana’s good mood about the museum of oddities lasted at least until Candlehearth Hall. Galathil’s lasted all of the time it took for her to step out into a squalling rainstorm mixed with slush and get frozen. Both women ran across the marketplace, even the sellers taking cover from the storm in their carts and workplaces. They both shook water and slick slush from their cloaks, Galathil shuddering in the cold. But the warmth of the tavern dispelled some of the discomfort. Of course, the cute Nord behind the bar with no top on of any kind made Serana feel instantly on guard. She only wore a pair of shorts and a heavy apron, and moved around the inn as if she were perfectly comfortable showing off her entire body. 

“Gods.” Galathil whispered. “That collar.”

Serana hadn’t noticed it. But now her eyes were drawn to the absurdly large and heavy iron torc that hung on her neck. A symbol she wasn’t familiar with was attached, but a cowbell of all things rang and bounced along with every step that her breasts wobbled. “Hang on, I’ll be with you in just a minute!” She sounded peppy, or even pleased. 

They stood by the roaring fire of the door, but instead of the first woman coming back a second one did. Serana felt a spike of jealousy as she did, with breasts larger than her own. “I’m Susanna the Wicked.” She grinned. “What can I serve you this fine evening?” She also had a heavy iron torc collar, with a bell that tittered along with her steps. She was wearing just a loincloth and apron, and carried the scent of sex about her. Galathil wasn’t phased by it as much as Serana was. 

“We need a room, and could you point us to a couple of men in town? We’ve got business with them.”

Susanna’s eyes glittered as she winked at them. “Of course! I know all of the ones who can show a pampered little Bosmer like you a good time. Not sure why you need a room at all, hmm?” 

“Just get us a room.” Galathil said stiffly. 

Gold was exchanged and the Nord led them down the hall to a tiny little room with a single bed. “You’ll have to share.” She mocked. “Come on out once you’ve gotten settled and cleaned up from the road.” Serana couldn’t help but stare at the pair of breasts on display. If she didn’t know better, it looked like Susanna was leaking. “Like what you see?” She grinned at Serana. “Don’t worry, I’m on the menu too!” Her bell tittered as she shut the door, bouncing off to some other part of the tavern. 

“She wasn’t very nice.” Serana spoke up once she was far enough away. 

“It’s Skyrim. Many Nords are going to be a little unhappy about other races.” Galathil set down her bag, groaning in relief. “I think I am buying a new pair of boots. These ones have holes from all of the walking.”

“The bandit you took them from probably spent too much time on her knees, you mean.”

Galathil snorted, laughing. “Too true. I’m finding a hot bath and ditching my armor. If we are going to convince these men to help us, I don’t think it’s going to be by showing them how martial we are.” 

Serana looked down at her own dress. “I guess I’ll iron this one and get another.” Galathil smirked at that. “I’m not going topless, if that’s what you’re inferring. Not all Nords are like them!” Though she really could. The cold couldn’t affect her. But that thought made Serana shake her head, willing that idea away. But she didn’t even need a breastband anymore. Her body was permanently frozen like this. So why did she wear one? 

The idea percolated in her mind for a while. Galathil found a bath, and within two hours they were ready to go and find the men Calixto recommended. Galathil looked like a barwench. She had a dress that was nearly backless, showing off her entire back down to a shorter skirt. It draped to mid thigh. The linen dress would be warm enough for a tavern but not for anywhere else. Then again, Galathil barely had curves to speak of, so it was perhaps conservative. Serana herself chose her signature red and black silk, with slits going to the upper thigh and no shoulder straps to speak of. But she really did need a breastband to hold everything up. That’s what she was telling herself. But that breastband was wrapped more tightly than ever, giving her cleavage that screamed for attention. Both of them stepped out of their room into a much more lively tavern than before. Both of the barwenches were still topless and serving drinks to tables packed full to bursting. Serana had to squeeze by different tables full of soldiers, Nords, and others mixed in. Her interest rose for a moment when she saw a battlemage surrounded by others in robes, exchanging words on Conjuration. “-pider daedra do exist!”

“There is no way that such a thing could be manifested upon mundus, even-” Galathil dragged her away, before she could hear more. 

“I found one of them!” Serana was dragged through two conversations, the first of which both men gave her space. The second one the men gave heavy gropes to her hips and ass, before she popped out from between them like a grape. Her breasts heaved, the tight band making them barely stay within her dress. Galathil and Serana had found a Nord in the back of the tavern, tucked against a wall behind a table. “This is Brunwulf Free-Winter.” 

Brunwulf was wearing thick furs over a fashionable shirt. The corner was quite dark, and Galathil probably couldn’t see the darker skin of a Dunmer hidden underneath the table. Her face was buried in his lap, and as they approached Brunwulf moved his plate of food closer to him to hide her presence. “Lasses.” Brunwulf offered, politely. 

“We were looking for some help.” Galathil started by saying. “Someone told us that you were an old veteran and might be able to train me.”

“Aye.” He grunted, before letting his gaze rest on Serana. Or rather, where her dress ended. “I don’t think I could, sadly.”

“Why not?” Brunwulf seemed more distracted by Serana’s cleavage than listening to Galathil in the slightest. Galathil noticed and folded her arms. 

“Because he is getting his prick polished by a Dunmer.” Serana supplied helpfully as the table thumped. Brunwulf looked abashed, finally. “We need someone to teach her how to handle herself better. At least to be able to defend herself. We ran into a chaurus last week.”

Brunwulf shuddered, as the Dunmer escaped with all of the grace she could by getting out from under the table and getting lost in the crowd. She had red hair, pretty for a Dunmer. “I’ll hear you out, at least.” He muttered, adjusting his pants. 

“We’re looking to go into some Dwemer ruins. We fought some Chaurus and a Falmer already, but we need some training on how to fight those things. And my companion here needs to learn at least how to defend herself.”

Brunwulf finally dared to look at Galathil. HIs face paled some. “I’m sorry.” He waved off, turning his eyes to the table. “I fought in Valenwood during the great war. When I see your face, it only fills me with a reaction that we couldn’t work with. I fear that during training I might lapse in judgment. Even with your slave companion and her charms, I don’t think I could train you. But the legion would look upon it unfavorably, nonetheless. The ways of war are not to be found in this city, unless you are a member of the guard or have the ear of the legates. If you want her to learn anything of combat value, you’ll have to bargain with the young blood. Hrollod over there at the main table. He’ll still be in his armor, even at this hour.” Brunwulf muttered. “And now I have to chase down my errant date!” Growling, the man stood up from the table and pushed past them, going in the same direction the red haired Dunmer scampered off to. 

Galathil just shook it off. The woman was used to poor behavior at this point. “Keep the table, I’ll go convince the legate to come speak to us.” She seemed convinced of her skill, and Serana felt more than a little overwhelmed by the crowd. She took the corner table and just tried to watch the group. Nords were a loud race, but even the Dunmer and Imperials seemed to match their liveliness within the tavern. There was a parting of the crowd as Galathil returned, the hand of another Nord on her ass and her skirt raised in back. Her loincloth had clearly been lost somewhere along the way, as she led the man to the corner table. “Hrollod! This is my friend Serana.” 

The legate was wearing his armor, certainly. An officer’s helm dangled from one belt buckle and two swords hung in their scabbards. His weapons weren’t sealed in wax. But the moment he saw Serana, his eyes didn’t leave her. He looked her up and down, even as he fondled Galathil in full view of other tables. “We’ve met, in a way.” He said. “At Whiterun, last year.” None too gently, he sat down and dragged Galathil into his lap. “You’re the Dragonborn’s vampire bitch.”

“I wear her collar.” Serana didn’t like where this was going. “And she has commanded me not to hurt anyone if I can avoid it.”

Galathil gave a squeal as his fingers explored. “And you want me to train this bitch?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. Serana kept her hands on the table, but could feel a bit tense. 

“The roads are not safe, and we want her to be able to defend herself.” Serana stated, as Galathil rode out whatever he was doing with her hands. “Many men here spoke highly of you-”

“You think I’ve got the time to train someone new like her? I’ve already got the guards being trained up, and they’re a bunch of idiots either too young or too old for real line work.” He finally looked away, reaching up to cup Galathil’s breasts where the entire tavern could see. He carefully drew her dress down, until one areola could be seen peeking out. While he was distracted, Serana cast some of her vampiric magic. A tiny bit of blood magic, really. She pricked herself with a finger, flicking the tiny droplets onto Hrollod. The magic took effect immediately, as his hands relaxed some. 

“You’ve got time, don’t you? Those new guards can’t keep you busy all day.” Serana said sweetly, dragging his attention back to her. The calm spell had washed over him, and made him more pliant. Not to the point that anyone would notice, but he had certainly calmed down his assault on her friend. “You weren’t really thinking of ignoring her needs, were you?” Magic laced her words, quick and easy bits to make him talk. It would be gone in minutes.

“Of course not.” He grunted, toying still with the Bosmer in his lap. “I was going to want a midmorning snack!” Galathil’s backless dress lost the battle between his thumbs, and sank to her lap. Her entire upper body was bare. And yet Hrollod didn’t seem to care as much. His eyes rested on Serana. “But how could I forget you.”

“What do you want, in exchange for actually training her?” Serana dared to push harder with her magic, leaning forwards. “Gold? That midmorning snack you were talking about?” Galathil seemed willing to trade her body for favors already. Serana, not as much. 

The Nord stared back at her, his mind working. Her magic was making him actually consider doing it. Serana felt a pulse of power between them, as her magic finally coaxed an answer from him. “You.” He said stiffly. “Gold for the time and you .” It was the way he said it that made her heart startle. It was predatory. 

“Me?” Serana blinked, and she lost control of the spell. He was free. And he knew that she was trying something. The way his eyes turned over her body. She felt a prickle of chill on her skin, even as the corners of his lips rose. 

“Yeah. You want me to teach her? Then you’re going to be my personal toy every day I’ve gotta tolerate another ill-met idiot with a sword and the belief they can use it. Don’t bother eating anything. Your mouth is going to be the judge of things. You want my help? With that touch of magic, a lesser man would have bent over and cucked for it. But I’ve been trained to resist this kind of magic.” He was lying. Serana had been subtle. He had to have been lying. “But now that I know you’re wanting this, I’ll perform as good as you do. I want to see you both bright and early at the mustering hall. I want all of my men to see you come up and get down on your knees, so we both start our day on the right foot.” Hrollod gave a lascivious leer. “It’s going to take days to get her trained up even a little bit. But we will both consider it a challenge.” Hrollod gave Galathil a heavy squeeze, before lifting her up and dropping her into Serana’s lap. “Tomorrow, bright and early.”

He laughed, walking away as Serana finally remembered to breathe. Not that she really needed to, but the mortal habit remained. Galathil stabilized herself, sitting up and leaning on Serana’s shoulder to catch her own breath. “Good work.” She added, not bothering to cover her torso. “You got his promise!”

“But there is a major problem with that, Galathil.” Serana clenched her fists. “I’ve never done any of that before.”

“Miss vampire princess hasn’t played with her food?” Their voices were being swallowed up by the tavern noise, Galathil’s lips near Serana’s ear. “Or is it the sexual favor in front of a crowd?”

“None of it!” Serana hissed. “Never, none, I never played with my food!” 

“You never experimented?!” Galathil was feeling daring, today. Serana could smell booze on her. “Not even once?”

Serana shook her head. “And he wants to train you based off of my skill? Mine ?” 

“Fuck.” Galathil exhaled.

“Fuck.” It felt good to say. And reduced the feeling of tension she was feeling. “Mother tried to teach me once. But that was the second most awkward conversation I’ve ever had with her.” Serana had forgotten most of it by now. But when she was young she couldn’t look her parents in the eye for a week. 

“What was the first?” Serana didn’t answer that one. The words of a mother preparing their virgin sacrifice for Molag Bal were cruel enough. There was no need to discuss it. That conversation was seared into her memory. Galathil read that correctly, at least. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t think I could learn how to give a blowjob in a single night. Maybe we could leave town, get a carriage to Whiterun and ask the Companions for help.” It was a much longer shot. Those men and women didn’t take pity on the incapable. And the only other place Serana knew she could find help was Falkreath and Helgen. 

“Oh pucker up, Serana!” Galathil growled. “Don’t act like you won’t need to know how to do this someday. How would Elayne like it if she heard that her slave couldn’t give a blowjob?”

Serana felt her cheeks flush. Elayne wouldn’t forgive her. “But I don’t know how.”

There was a moment of silence as the Bosmer laughed a little. “Go back to the room. I’ll go get something and then we can see about that weak ass trust in yourself.” Galathil said, pulling her dress back over her body finally. “I’m going to help you.. And you are going to learn how to do this or find some magic method of making him believe he had a good time!” She laughed, as if this were normal. Or easy to contemplate. “Or else you might get kicked out of WIndhelm for being a frosty bitch.”

“Galathil!” She hissed, but the Bosmer was already gone, slipping into the crowd. Which suddenly felt too imposing. Too pressing. It made Serana feel queasy, or hungry. And the last thing she wanted to prove to the people of Windhelm was that she was a vampire. So back to their bedroom she went. She barely realized that she was invisible magically. It just felt comfortable to disappear into the hallways and slip away. Slip past the cow bell wearing Susanna the Wicked teasing anything that had a pulse, and past the smell of mead. Once behind the door, she just sat down on the single small bed she would have to share with Galathil. Shoes came off and stockings were hung on hangers. 

It bothered her somehow, that everyone was so openly sexual. Blatantly! Susana looked like she enjoyed being handed around to men she didn’t know, or wearing a collar around her neck! Serana felt a her teeth clench. “The world has changed.” She spoke, trying to release the tension she was feeling. “I can’t just ignore it.” Ignore the changes, sure. She was also wearing a slave collar! People viewed her differently. “But I don’t feel like I’m a part of it.” Yet. That word stirred other feelings in her. 

Which brought up thoughts of home. Whatever she called home, now. Her mind drifted to to the castle and town she grew up in. An island now lost to time, and memories. She didn’t even truly love being there. But the only life she knew was with her parents at the castle. Of course, until Elayne came along. That girl had saved the world. Seen through whatever the Deadra had been planning and somehow saved Alduin from their machinations. 

Helgen hadn’t been home either. It was loud, filled with noise and people and children. Serana wasn’t sure if she even liked them when she was alive. They were cute, but not exactly the kind of hobby for her. “I fought for these people.” Against Harkon. Against Alduin. But it wasn’t exactly thanks she was receiving. She could at least move around cities without people hurting her. She still wasn’t sure what kind of decisions she wanted to make for herself when Galathil returned, the Bosmer slipping into their shared room. She looked a bit more tired than before, and the door shut with feeling. 

“Serana!” She smirked. “I asked around, and found something that the Dunmer around here use as an aid. Cost a bit of work for the trade. Someone had a scar they needed touched up.” She noticed that Serana wasn’t responding to the stimuli at all. She was still lost in her thoughts. She could hear Galathil talking, but felt more numb to it than anything else. “Serana? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this.” 

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t just give him what he wants tomorrow!” Serana growled. “I’m better than he is! I’m not going to get on my knees in front of him because he says so!”

“Is this because you’ve never done it before or because of pride?”

“Pride!” That answer burned hotly. “I won’t bow to him. I don’t want to kneel in front of all of his soldiers just because you need to fight better!”

“So,” Galathil gave a conspiratorial grin. “You don’t have any problems giving sexual favors for it?”

“No!” Serana answered before she could think about it. Shouldn’t she say yes? “Wait!” She flushed harder at the thought. Was this feeling jealousy ? Was she jealous of Galathil? Or those topless barmaids? Of that dunmer under the table? “Gods!” Her heartbeat quickened, and she could feel a tang of regret as her nipples perked up. Due to how tight her breastband was, her dress revealed that pointedly. “Maybe?” 

“I think you’re just repressed. Most nobility are.” Galathil said, confident from strong drink. “But you’re really a bit of a slut, I think. I saw you in the other world, a few times. Begging for anyone to get you off!” Galathil cackled, the scent of alcohol stronger on her breath. But that admission Serana wasn’t going to forget any time soon. “Serana, you sleep gagged at night. You literally survive on blood. You, my friend, are just a repressed deviant.” 

“No!” Serana waved her hands in front of herself, trying to deny it. 

“You totally are!” Galathil pointed at her bosom, Serana’s nipples trying to do their best to deny nothing. “Fine, try to deny this. If you don’t want me to teach you how to give a blowjob, we can just run away in the night and leave this nice warm city and go camp out in the sleet and rain. I’ll go with you, and we can go wherever you plan on going next. But there is no way I am going to get those tools with both of us so weak.” The Bosmer reached into her bag, withdrawing something else. It wasn’t a weapon, per say. But it had a handle on it like it was. “You’re just lying to yourself, Serana. Now, either we leave here or you pucker up and blow.”

In Galathil’s hands was a phallically carved piece of elk antler, mounted into a dagger like grip. It had to be more than the length of a shortsword, slightly curving and polished to a sheen. Serana felt her throat react, making her swallow instinctively. “The Dunmer use those?!”

“The Bosmer use something similar. But if you want to learn, Serana, I will show you. But I know for a fact from the other world that vampires are scary powerful if they get good at this.” Galathil gave her a leer. It must have been the booze, letting her talk like this. “Everyone’s afraid of that biting business you’ve got going on, but I bet you could do it.”

“We could still leave…” Serana said weakly. But Elayne wouldn’t run from this. Her eyes widened. Elayne. “Wait.” The thought of Elayne seeing her doing such a thing sent her stomach for a spin. But there were sparks of anger, too. And finally , Serana got it. What she was feeling. Why she was feeling it all. She was jealous of Elayne. The woman who spoiled hundreds of gold worth of blood potions because she got cum into the mixture. And Serana had tried it afterwards! “G-give me that.” She wished that sounded more decisive. The small dagger like grip felt like a much heavier weapon in her hands. But some part of her accepted that yes, she wanted to be like them. She wanted this. There was something empowering as she brought the polished antler up to her lips, which looked so much bigger in person. “Gods.” She muttered, before taking the plunge. 

Which went all of an inch before her tongue felt like it was running out of room and she panicked. It was a deeply feminine sound of alarm, and her hand shook as the antler left her mouth. Galathil respectfully didn’t laugh. Or say anything mean about it. “When you’re underwater, do you choke?”

“No, we just don’t feel it. We don’t need to breathe.” Serana felt a bit concerned about her intentions on that comment. 

“Try to feel the same way as that. I know it’s large, but it’s probably safe to learn from.” Galathil stepped over to the bed and grabbed Serana’s leg, dragging it under the Nord. “Now, it’s easier if you are sitting correctly.” 

“You want me to kneel?” Serana said with distaste. 

“Tuck your legs and put your hands in your lap. I’ll hold the toy.” Toy. That was the word that Hrollod had used to describe how he would treat her. Her cheeks felt flush, and Serana clenched her teeth as she listened. Galathil had done this before, and she had not. It felt like a humiliation as her bare feet tucked underneath her thighs, and both hands wrung her wrists as they sat in her lap. Galathil waited patiently, before reaching out and gently nudging her chin. “Tilt your head up, just like that. Relax your jaw, and then your throat.” 

It felt powerless, to trust someone else with something so intimate. But in tilting her head, she was presented with the intimidating view of the antler, being held above her lips and face. It wasn’t hard to imagine something else in its place. Serana flinched, staring up at it. “I don’t like this.”

“Most slaves would probably find themselves on their knees at some point or another. Now, depress your tongue.” Serana made eye contact with Galathil, willing her mouth to unclench. This was just like the gag she wore at night. Just like the Bitch Tamer. Her body missed it. She pursed her lips once, before opening them for the oncoming bone. She almost expected Galathil to shove it inside. 

But the elf was more calm. Her fingers moved forward at a glacial pace, going forward a half inch before withdrawing back at least that far. It felt as large as the gag she had been using, but pushing deeper into her mouth. Galathil moved slowly, enough that Serana had plenty of time to feel like she was being used. She hated how much she liked it. “Suck on it.” Galathil said, after she had spent the previous five minutes just playing with the area around her lips. “Slowly.” 

For the first time, Serana felt slightly in control. She could move it back and forth, and she had to place her palms flat on the bed around herself for stability. Her body felt warm, heated and reactive to this. Above her, Galathil’s eyes sparkled with every pull of her cheeks. The elf was enjoying this. That made things worse! Serana accidentally made noise as the toy finally touched the back of her throat. It made her panick, and a loud mewl escaped from her. But Galathil held the toy stable, not letting Serana escape. The pressure upon her throat increased. She mewled louder, starting to raise her hands towards her own chin. 

“Suck! Hard!” Galathil barked, using one hand to reach down and surprise Serana. It wasn’t the quick attack of a veteran warrior or thief, but the Bosmer’s slim hand still found her nipple and squeezed. Serana shrieked. Or at least tried to. 

But her throat loosened. Just for a moment. And in that moment the toy pushed into her throat. It felt alien, and deep in a way she had never experienced in her life. Her nostrils flared, as Galathil kept it there. They both stared at each other, Serana’s hands inches from the Bosmer’s. Yet she had stopped herself. “A vampire with a gag reflex.” She chuckled. “Who knew?” Serana moaned, her body trembling as Galathil brought the toy back to the edge of her lips. Serana almost took a sigh of relief, before the toy began marching its way back. “Hands down. If you act like you’re panicking, they might think you’re going to bite them. You’ve already chipped the bone here.” Pockmarks covered part of the toy, but that soon disappeared back into Serana’s mouth. She didn’t have the chance to really think about it before it was pressing at her throat once more. Galathil was patient, letting her decide. “Push past that feeling, and no one will ever suspect you.” Serana groaned, the feeling different with her mouth full. “I know Elayne would have trouble doing this.”

That was enough. Serana sucked hard, wanting to show up Elayne. She was impressed with herself, as more and more of the antler began making its way down her throat. Deeper. She could feel the mortal need to breathe press upon her senses, but many long years as a vampire dulled it. Whatever gag reflex remained was screaming at her to remove this from her throat, but she sucked past it. Her lips pressed the bone, as her mouth felt ever more stuffed. Galathil’s mouth was open, surprised. 

Then both women felt the toy hit a wall. An unyielding wall of ebonite and dragonbone, wrapped squarely around Serana’s neck. That damned collar. She could get more of this in her throat! She could be better at this than Elayne! But try as she might, no amount of sucking could get past the damned collar. One of her hands trembled, reaching up to touch her throat. The skin was pressed from within, all the way from her lips down to where the collar met her throat. She was making noise, squealing as she tried. But it was no use! She couldn’t get past the collar! No! 

“Most men wouldn’t survive that.” Galathil said in awe. “Did you need the room?” Her eyes were glancing down at Serana’s waist. Serana also gave a look down, confused as to why she was staring. Without her conscious effort, Serana’s right hand was reaching in the hip-high slit in her dress and almost teasing her most intimate of places. Serana gave a screech, pulling her hand from the offending place and glaring up at Galathil. Who seemed to be ready for this. A small rope was dropped onto the dagger grip at the top of the antler. Serana groaned even louder as the elf gently tied off the toy behind Serana’s head. “There you are. I told you that you could learn it! Now you just have to practice all night before you have to decide if you’ll kneel in front of twenty or so Nords.”

Her tongue couldn’t remove the toy now. Cheeks furrowed and it wouldn’t leave the space it now occupied in her throat! Serana had to take a few minutes to calm down, as Galathil prepared to sleep. “You like sleeping with a gag on.” The Bosmer mused. “Just consider this like the gag. If you plan to go through with it, you might appreciate the extra practice.” She said with a hint of snark. “Good night, Serana.” 

It was hard to sleep that night. Her hands kept wanting to wander, and she almost untied the rope every hour. Yet there was a small part of her that kept finding comfort in her mouth being full. Like she wanted that. Her fingers inched towards her skirt hem, and it took great willpower to keep them away. Is this what Elayne felt like? Serana wasn’t sure, but she barely felt like she could contain something. Her clothes almost felt stifling, the first thought that made sense in a few minutes making her grasp the silk dress by its ties and yank it down. Her too tight breastband was next, Sparks of feeling came from just a brush against her pert nipples. It set her entire body tingling, as she twitched. She felt like she was on the edge of something more. She squeezed her thighs together, not wanting to act as depraved as Galathil claimed she was. 

But maybe she could indulge a little. The silk breastband was barely functioning after all of her twisting and turning, and the antler in her throat was making her feel timid and vulnerable. Not weak, but exposed. She clenched her throat, feeling a deep thrum echo as she groaned. She wasn’t going to finger herself with Galathil right behind her! Their backs were nearly touching. Only a thin blanket kept her actions private in any way. But the thought of her knowing made Serana twitch all the more, and her fingers had to do something . And they did find something to grab and squeeze. Serana had never been any sort of trollop. She wasn’t like Elayne, willing to get caught having sex in public. Having Galathil right behind her, inches away made her want to hide what was happening. 

She skewed her eyes shut, hardly daring to admit to herself that she was doing any of this! And yet. And yet . Her fingers felt perfect against her skin, and then they found her nipples. It felt like lightning was building in her limbs, but she wasn’t casting a spell. Serana needed this. She needed to escape this feeling! So she squeezed both at the same time, as all of that energy pulsed. Every inch of her exposed skin pulled taut as she arched her back, the antler pushing so hard that her vision darkened. She didn’t know how long it lasted, but the reververbations felt like they echoed into her very soul. 

Serana shuddered, feeling both paralyzed and light as a feather. Her head was in the clouds, while her body seemed to blissfully twitch from aftershocks of what she had done. She saw Galathil rise up, giving her a long look with those green eyes of hers. “You really are repressed. Was that so bad?” The Bosmer had been awake for the entire time! Serana quivered, even more of her body twitching even as her slim hand grasped the handle of the elk antler. Serana gave a very feminine sound as it was drawn up and out of her mouth, her tongue feeling numb and the rest of her mouth feeling very used. Yet, she didn’t feel any less for doing it. “Let’s see how you feel in the morning, friend. You’re one of us, now.” 

Serana didn’t have to wonder her meaning, but did make an annoyed noise as Galathil popped the dwemer ballgag into place in the vampire’s mouth. Then she pat her cheek and rolled over, humming happily. Serana flushed as she lay panting on her side of the bed. She couldn’t deny it now. Part of her was an absolutely shameless slut.

Chapter Text

Windhelm was quiet in the morning. Serana, long used to the schedule of the living was awake and listening to the ancient city wake up. Fires were started from coals, firewood was being chopped and the thin walls of the inn echoed with the noise of early risers. The sun wasn’t over the walls yet, but that internal feeling within her was warning her that a state of powerlessness was coming. 

Her special Dwemer ballgag sat on her tongue, still tingling from the experiences of last night. Her childhood had never included any kind of education on the arts of seduction or loving. At most, her mother showed her a few facets of how to get the attention of others after she became a vampire. Most of what she had learned since came from Elayne, and that damned Bitch Tamer. She squeezed her thighs together, missing the feeling of that upon her skin and body. Shaking her head, she made the gag rotate and move inside of her mouth as she tried to shake off those thoughts. 

“Morning.” Galathil spoke up, pleased. She was quite happy to have spent the night in a real bed instead of a bedroll along the road. Serana agreed, but the anxiety of this morning was still strong. “Is the sun even in the sky yet?” With its high walls, Windhelm made it harder to tell what time of day it was. There was enough ambient light to know that it was starting to rise but nothing more that would tell them what time of day it was. Galathil’s hands felt nice, as the elf removed the gag from Serana’s face. Normally she just handed her the key, but this felt kinder. 

“It’s getting there.” Serana could feel it pushing against her senses. Warning her that she should hide. “Listen, about last night,” 

“You’re a natural, Serana.” Galathil said with aplomb, as she dug around for her armor. “You shouldn’t be worried.” 

“That’s not it!” She felt her cheeks get warm at the thoughts of last night. Of willingly sucking on a piece of antler like it was something to enjoy. “I don’t want us to be taken advantage of. Or give away an advantage just in exchange for some joke training for you.”

“How exactly are you going to prove that?” The elf was giving her full attention to Serana now. 

“I’m going to fight them first.” Serana said, lacing up her own outfit. Which was mostly just one of her decent travel dresses. The silk was knee length, with a nice hole for her cleavage to speak through and a slit that went up to her hips. It would let her move around freely. “If they can beat me, then I know for certain they can train you.” Which was why her breastband was wrapped a few less times today. She could use that to tip the scales if needed. Giving a spin, she snapped her right heel down with a movement, watching the jiggle and nodding from the motion. 

“That’s probably a good method to prove they’re capable.” Galathil allowed, but there was something in her frown that felt like Serana had stepped on something. “I wanted to apologize for last night, too. It seems as though you are getting all of the costs of this deal.”

“People know who I am.” And the woman they all thought she belonged to. “Even if this collar came off I don’t think that would change. I’m part of the history books, now.”

“You prefer anonymity?”

They both were moving through the chill streets of Windhelm, gusts of snow whipping along. This early in the morning the snow was falling from the morning clouds, and would later become rain. “Wouldn’t any vampire?” Serana wasn’t so sure she wanted it. To be a nobody sounded boring. There was definitely a part of her that enjoyed being seen or known by others. “I think that’s just preferential treatment.”

“As your medical professional.” Galathil started saying as they ducked under a bridge like building by the barracks. “You sound conflicted.” She smirked.

“Vampires don’t need medical help!”

“That’s not what you said to that antler last night.” Galathil would have teased more, but they both came around the corner into the barracks to see eighteen men lined up in the snowfall. They were being berated and yelled at by their legate. Perseus Hrollod didn’t seem to be hung over in the slightest as he belted out some kind of marching order to the men. Most were boys, young and still more peach fuzz than full beards among them. They didn’t look happy to be there. Most glowered openly. “Oh look. He bathed.” The elf at her side whispered, as if that wasn’t going to help at all. 

“-shape up!” They could hear him now, his voice authoritative. “Anyone with aptitude for magic, you’ll go far. You’ll be tested for that, but I don’t expect much from you. This land runs in your veins and you’ll have your fighting soon enough! But you have to learn how to keep the peace before you can go off and fight for some banner or cause!” Hrollod stopped in front of one blonde haired young man, sneering at him. “Stormcloak died well, I’ll give your uncle that.” The glare he got back from the blonde haired boy was enough. “I’m going to beat that out of you all later. Start moving rubble! From those wagons over to the piles for us to break apart! The worst thing that a warrior can have happen is becoming too tired to keep swinging their weapon! We’re going to build your backs with hard labor, and then we march!” Hrollod turned his eyes to the sound of their shoes on his mustering stones. “Just in time, men! This elf wants to join us today. Get some training to be some kind of adventurer.” He laughed, as did some of the men. “Prove it.” He folded his arms. 

He wanted to see Serana get on her knees in front of him. It made her angry just to think about it. She was a daughter of Coldharbour! A vampire in the prime of power! “Face me first.” Serana said, casting an ironskin spell to protect her outfit. “Prove that you have something to teach her and you’ll take it seriously.” 

Instead of being offended, Perseus grinned. “So you aren’t some cowardly monster. Alright, then this is going to be much more fun. To first blood?” He seemed more amused saying that. “Or is that too tempting for you?”

“That’s fine.” Serana considered. “But not from spellwork.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Underneath his armor he was wearing battlemage robes. Serana had to warn him about it. He caught her being subtle with magic last night. More overt magic wouldn’t help her more. Elayne also wanted her to avoid using blood magic on other people, if she could. She hadn’t used her vampiric drain spell since that first day she met Elayne. “I don’t mind you having a bit of protection for your skin, though. That dress doesn’t look like something an adventurer would wear.”

“I’m confident enough in my skills.”

“The skills of a slave, eh?” He pulled a steel mace from his belt, glowing with an enchantment. A mage that enjoyed a blunt weapon? Curious. Serana knew they both stood about the same height, and she enjoyed the benefits of her vampiric strength. He couldn’t match her in a battle of power. “We start once the area’s clear. Recruits! Move both wagons and clear a ring!” 

Serana chose the shaded side of the wide area, as the sun’s brightness already began peeking over the rooftops around them. The legate chose the sunny side, taking a drink from his waterskin before he turned to face her. “This will be over quickly.” She promised, drawing her weapon. He had a mace and a light shield. Enough to cast magic from his left hand and attack with that mace at his right. 

“That’s the part where you show off all those skills you’re famous for.” 

Serana had heard worse baiting from better men. But he wasn’t going to charge her. He had the sun on his side, but the moment the dawn came Serana’s powers were weakened. Weakened, not crippled. She summoned a ward in her left hand, and held her sword in an akaviri style. In order to not go insane around Elayne she learned a bit of swordplay from Delphine. It was different than the swordsmanship that most people knew. She also was taught by her parents, and felt fairly confident about her chances. She charged, her skirts hiking as her feet carried her across the stones. 

She was fast, no matter what the time of day. Perseus’ eyes widened as he barely got his shield up in time to block her sword. The paralysis magic didn’t stick from her strike. No matter. She brought her weapon in again, even as he dragged his mace towards her warded side. Pushing more magic into the ward, she braced her arm and struck once more. Their weapons hit each other’s shields at the same time, hers sparkling as the paralysis magic didn’t work once more. 

His mace struck her ward, and its enchantment was noticed by everyone. The moment it struck, Serana felt one of her stockings split apart all the way to her ankle, ruining it. “Disintigration magic!” She hissed. 

“First blood felt less risky when you’re wearing a dress.” He grinned. “You can always give up, before you lose the rest of your outfit,” He laughed darkly at that. Serana shuddered. Of all the days she decided wearing panties would be distracting. Her ass was on the line now!

Dashing backwards, Serana got herself back into the shaded part of the field of battle. Perseus slowly pursued, his shield chipped by her sword. His footsteps seemed forced, though after a few moments she realized that it must be her paralysis. He was resisting the effect! It wasn’t from some enchanted item and she couldn’t count on lasting longer than the spell’s duration. Her jinkblade was working, and it was going to give her a chance. 

“Come on, slave. Show me what you’ve,” He started taunting, before she used all of the speed at her disposal. “Shit!” His mace blocked most of her attempt to cut his knee. Serana landed on one pointed shoe as she got behind him, the feeling of her other stocking unraveling around her. The garters tickled her thighs as they fluttered uselessly, but it was enough! She was behind him! Twisting, she had to throw one leg behind her for stability and put all of her weight on the left foot as she swung her sword once more. 

His leg twisted just enough to let his cuirass take the hit, and then Perseus was back in her face. The mace was coming, and she couldn’t get her foot back down to dodge backwards. Grimacing, she held up her left arm and its active ward. The ward flickered, but held. Perseus had to overextend just for that, his own footing out of alignment. But she couldn’t take advantage of it! The mace’s enchantment struck, and Serana flinched as something broke. The heel of her shoe she was putting all of her weight on bent and folded, her other foot’s heel also snapping as she tried to save herself. 

The entire audience saw her fall backwards onto her ass, heels snapped and hair akimbo. Serana rolled further backwards, the steel mace striking uselessly in his follow up. Standing, she adjusted to only having the weight of her body on her toes. It didn’t hurt, since she didn’t have a mortal body to injure. Though there was some difficulty from the laces of her heels being frayed. “Lucky lucky.” Perseus said. “You almost had me.”

She wouldn’t be able to make that kind of move with her shoes so damaged. He wasn’t likely to let her take the time to get them off, either. She had to make this count. Just touching the mace was going to cost her something. So she had to dodge it. She had to! Before her shoes had something worse happen! Moving forwards, she could see the mace coming in from the side. Time to surprise him. Serana planted both toes and leapt into the air, going over the top of the swing. She felt the air under her feet disrupted by the strike, and grinned as she brought her sword down into the gap between shield and arm. 

Perseus did the smart thing and fell back, letting go of his shield and watching the blade bite into the handguard. Serana recovered, standing on her toes and twisting back to face the Imperial. He shifted his stance, prepared to summon his own ward. He was focused enough that he didn’t quip about his loss of shield. She didn’t have much time to focus either, as one of her shoes frayed enough on the landing that she just left it behind. 

No more shield, no way he could stop her. Using her bare foot, she came in once more. Perseus changed the spell in his hand to a piece of destruction magic, the glow of fire enough to make her undead heart flutter. She had been afraid of fire for so long. It only got worse when she woke up again after thousands of years of sleep. Dragons were a big part of her newer nightmares. Mages in the new era had learned more powerful fire spells since she was an apprentice mage. So she flinched. Her left arm came up, and prepared to counter a spell. 

Perseus grinned, the mace striking her ward instead. Serana howled, her blade striking armor and making the Imperial stagger. She could already feel the tight stitching around her cleavage coming undone. Her arm burned, the muscles straining her undead form as she swung down again and again, trying to get past the defenses of Perseus. He brought up a shaky ward, but three strikes ruined it, until he had to use the mace with both hands to hold her off. 

Every time she struck that mace, more of her dress unraveled. Her breastband broke, her gloves exploded. But she had to win. Screaming, she saw Perseus falter. The mace fell, and he fell back onto his knees. Serana crowed in victory, raising her blade to bring it down once and for all. Which was exactly the moment her dress fell apart, flashing the entire courtyard. Her cheeks burned, and she yelped as something poked her. 

Perseus had pulled out a tiny dagger, and poked it into the edge of her shin. As if to mock her further, the shoe she was balancing on gave up its last ghost, and she stumbled backwards. Nose flaring, Serana used a single hand to hold the ragged remains of her dress to her torso. “You!” She felt furious. “How dare you!” 

Perseus was moving slowly. Too many strikes with the paralysis enchantment. He shuddered in breathing, but the damned legate didn’t have any cuts on his skin. “We both knew this fight was coming.” He growled. “Gods above, you hit hard.” He pulled back the armor on his wrists. “Almost broke bones. But it was worth it.” He leered. “You going to keep your word?”

Serana glared, cursing once more that she didn’t wear any kind of panties today. Her breastband was gone, ruined in the fight. “Only if you keep yours. I need someone strong at my side.” He had won. She was still livid, but Serana kept her promises. Even to scum like him. 

Whatever pride she had died a little bit as the fraying remnants of her dress tickled her bare stomach. “Follow me.” He said, pleased. “How much was that outfit, anyways?”

“Five hundred septims.” It was three hundred at least, just like anything else Elodie made them wear. Serana just left the ruined fragments of her other clothes and covered herself with her hands. She didn’t make eye contact with Galathil as she passed her, feeling utterly humbled. “That enchantment is vile.”

“Against someone like you, yeah. But it’s a crime to hide that body. Just as good as the bards claimed!” Perseus led her behind a wagon full of hay. “Too bad I can’t rail you into the floor. Vampires aren’t safe to sleep with. Learned that way back.” Serana didn’t bother to tell him that pureblooded vampires were an entirely different kind of risk that way. Or that they could avoid infecting their mates if they wanted. Perseus stopped behind the hay filled wagon, before he gasped in pain and drew his hands out, casting healing magic. But Serana must have drained it something fierce in their fight, as the spell flickered out after a few seconds. “Here’s how this is going to work, Serana.” 

He spoke her name. Somehow that made her feel even more self conscious. “Last night you said you’d train her.”

“Last night I thought that meant an easy lay! But you’re serious. You belong to the dragonborn, so why wouldn’t you be. Every girl in this city is an easy lay for me. Everyone wants preferential treatment, or gets something from me. So.” He folded his arms. “This is just business. I’ll get that elf girl a bit better with armor and swords. But if you want that, my boys gotta believe that I am the best. If you bested me in front of those city boys, I would lose respect here. And I know you could win tomorrow if we had to clash again.”

Her anger cooled a bit with that admittance. “So what, you want me to lose?”

“We fought today!” Perseus insisted. “I won! But I can’t take that kind of punishment too often. Too many long knives still in the hands of these Nords. Fuck, you’re a Nord and even if you weren’t a vampire I wouldn’t want to tangle with you. Broad daylight didn’t do a damned thing. You want to keep my head attached to my body you’re going to come back tomorrow and kneel at my feet even though we both know you don’t have to.”

Nevermind, the anger was back. She couldn’t help herself, hissing loudly about the idea. “Not for all the Aedra!”

“A hollow claim for a Daedric worshiper!” 

He wasn’t wrong. She just frowned, turning her head. She hadn’t fed on anything but blood potions for a long time. The sun was hurtful, feeling like her bare skin was stinging a lot. Vampires got desperate when they didn’t eat for so long. But Serana wasn't like most vampires. She knew her limits. She had been starved more than once, just to feel what true desperation was for her existence. After weeks or months of not getting blood a vampire started slowing down. Their limbs would freeze or get stiff because the power of life they clung to was expended, stolen from others. 

“You wanted me .” Serana said with a forced calm. “So take what you want so we both can get on with our lives.”

“Finally.” Perseus muttered. “Frigid bitch.” Serana let him start to undo his pants, but a pit yawned in her stomach as she realized what was about to happen. He was going to use her like a slave would be used. She bit her inner lip hard enough to draw blood, her fingernails tearing new holes through the ragged remains of her dress. Blood touched her tongue, giving her the glimmer of an idea. The magic in her blood was potent. He was too preoccupied thinking with his prick to notice the edges of her lips glow for a moment as her blood was used as a component in a spell. 

Perseus brought out himself from his armor, and Serana’s heart started beating faster. She was completely naked in front of him. The only thing that she had for any kind of decency was a collar. She appeared completely vulnerable. All she had to do was keep up the act. Just focus on her bluff. “What are you going to say to them?”

“Whatever I want. And you’ll back me up, or else your friend is just going to get passed around the guards. I’ll be respected and you’ll still be a vampire with a good story.” That settled it. She reached out, grabbing hold of him. He felt warm, warmer than a mortal should. “Oh, that’s the stuff!” He growled, as her fingers curled around his prick. Serana had handled plenty of bodies in her time. A little curiosity wasn’t unknown to her. Sometimes rigor mortis could make a man hard after he died. Though her mother chastised any exploration under her watchful eyes. Perseus glowed, as the illusion magic took hold. 

His jaw went slack, as the first stage of becoming a vampire’s thrall struck him. He was charmed, and Serana was thrilled. Her collar shocked her gently for the use of her vampiric powers, burning her throat and she had to stifle a scream. “Damn!” She kept hold on Perseus, even as her body trembled from the shock magic. And in that moment, she knew. Serana knew that she couldn’t be like Galathil and put her mouth on this man. She couldn’t give him what he wanted. She had to escape this. Or make him believe that she fulfilled it. 

“What, never seen something this impressive?” The man in her hands chuckled. “Have to admit, it’s enough to break you!” She rolled her eyes. He was charmed, not impotent. He was as much himself as he was before. Just more suggestible. Her second spell clouded his mind all the more. She had barely anything left to give, magic wise. 

“Just keep doing what you are doing.” She said, hypnotically. “Just keep going.” Serana wisely stepped off to the side as Perseus believed her to be giving him an emphatic blowjob. Which, when someone was alone with themselves it looked more like a man trying to hump an invisible wall. Serana’s eyes went wide as Perseus started falling over, onto her! He thought he was humping her, after all!

She caught his torso with her hands, his prick getting entirely too close for comfort. Serana was a tall woman, and turned her head to avoid the gyrating hips of an ensorcelled Imperial. “Yes! That’s what a slave is for!” She grimaced, closing her eyes. He had no idea where he was or what was happening around him. 

“Please be quick!” She muttered, holding him up. Two minutes later, Serana felt her arms burning as he was not quick. The illusion magic was holding, at the cost of the magicka potion she nicked from his belt. The empty bottle dangled between thumb and pointer finger as her elbow held up the man’s torso. Perseus was shuddering, and she sent a short thought of thanks to Mephala that no one had come behind this wagon to see her like this. “Sanguine take you, just think you’re done!”

Serana really wished that Nirn didn’t hear her in that moment. Because Perseus certainly did. She didn’t want that in her face! Squealing, she blocked what was about to happen with the only cloth she had on hand. Shuddering, she consigned the rest of her outfit to being thrown into the nearest cookfire. Perseus was still half-lidded and confused. 

“Ugh!” She got the man standing once more. “Go take care of your life.”

“Pleasure doing business.” Perseus managed to remember to get his fauld back into place at least before he went around the wagon, and Serana just glared at the situation. She had just enough powers and abilities to turn invisible and get back to the tavern. 

Grabbing her sword, the Nord vampire disappeared into thin air. “Wear some damn panties, Serana!” She muttered, not caring if anyone thought she was crazy. “I won’t be able to show my face anywhere!” Grumbling to herself, she ran back to Candlehearth hall as fast as her bare feet could take her. The thought that rumors of her nudity were probably spreading through the town right now just made her blush permanent. Clearly, this was not a good day for her.

Chapter Text

Serana sulked in their room for an entire day. She read A Game at Dinner twice, just avoiding being seen in the city. Perseus kept training Galathil and Galathil only showed back up in their room to sleep. The mer was exhausted, and her armor had suffered for her training. Knicks and breaks in the leather were expanding, but Galathil said nothing about it. After two days of Perseus still training her friend, she decided that maybe he wasn’t waiting just outside their door to demand sexual favors. In fact, the only person she saw when leaving their room was Susanna the Wicked, scrubbing some of the floors of Candlehearth. 

“Imperial Slut.” Susanna said as Serana passed her. 

“Like you have room to talk.” Was her reply. The woman was at least wearing a shirt today, her pierced nipples not on display. “Have a good day.” Serana had the last word as she exited, her politeness out of habit. The sun was less obnoxious this morning, as there were many clouds out. But the markets were restricted to just potions and common items. The spring thaw meant that few of the alchemical shops had supplies and fewer potion shops had useful potions for sale. She couldn’t buy clothes here, and armor and weapons sales were restricted. So the markets held little interest for her. 

Her heels eventually led her towards Calixto’s museum. It seemed like the only place that would be of interest at this time of day. She didn’t feel like exploring the damaged city or getting leers from its people. More importantly, she had to resist the odd feeling of wearing panties once more. Her body was thrilled, and more than once Serana had looked down expecting to see herself in the Bitch Tamer, and not the silk dress she wore. 

When she entered the museum of oddities, Serana had to blink. A woman was bent over the counter, her neck covered in a thick collar. She was wrapped and covered in warm fur robes, drawn open to her collarbone. Working on that collar was Callixto, his hands twisting the nordic runecraft gently one way and then the other. “And the bone meal isn’t doing it for this one.” He said sadly. “Looks like you’re still a slave to the Dragon cult.”

“Just my luck.” The Nord didn’t seem terribly bothered. “I saw him in the spring thaw and thought he might have just been the right draugr to unlock it.” She drew her furs back over herself, though Serana could see her wrists decorated with bracelets made from multiple nordic steel torcs. Those disappeared back into her sleeves, as she stepped back from the counter top. Some gold exchanged hands, and the Nord woman smiled. “Hello-oh!” She blinked. “That is some collar!”

She sounded like the collar was a good thing! Serana wasn’t used to that. She wasn’t sure she should be. “Yours seems to be one of the Dragon cult’s.”

“My ancestors.” She shrugged. “It’s like family is embracing me.”

“Your ancestors were in the Dragon cult? Like the attacks by Alduin?”

“Not last year!” She held up her hands. “My family is connected anciently. We have a barrow that we were supposed to maintain, and I was good at taking care of it. Until last year, when things got scary and my great aunt started turning into a draugr. The oldest tombs woke up!” She gesticulated, her hands reaching for the ceiling and flashing those bracelets she had. They looked locked on. “I ran, of course. But once the Draugr left I was able to look at all of the oldest parts of the tomb! I spent ages in there, and found this old wall covered in the language of my family!” She spun. “It was amazing! Like unlocking a part of your history. But then I ran out of food and had to steal from the old offerings to survive the war. That was when my ancestors definitely punished me. I stole from them, and when the Draugr came back to their tombs I was asleep, and in the morning I was locked in this collar, and they were back in their tombs. But the big one never came back!”

“So you’ve been looking for more of them.” Serana made the connection. “Oh gods, that’s horrible. You can’t get off that collar without your ancestor?”

“Either that or find a way to explore the deepest part of my family’s barrow and see if there’s a key back there.” She gave Callixto a look.

The old man coughed, feigning weakness. “My days of delving are long gone, my dear. But if you do find the answers, I would love to understand them better. But I don’t make a habit of going into barrows or ruins.” He seemed to look past them, seeing something else. “Not anymore.”

“Have you been back to the barrow since?” Serana asked. 

“No, I haven’t been. Windhelm doesn’t have any adventurers and I don’t have enough money to pay for the Companions. They’re so busy lately.” The Nord woman came back to a normal standing position, getting more comfortable with a sigh. “Who owns you, with a collar that nice? I don’t even recognize the material.”

“She’s lived under a rock, friend.” Callixto started by saying. “She doesn’t know you.”

Serana smirked. Finally, someone that didn’t know that she was stripped naked by the captain. Or recognized her on sight. “I’m Serana. But my collar means that I belong to the Dragonborn. She’s one of my closest friends, and we defeated Alduin together.” A very short explanation was usually enough. 

The woman seemed to puff up, before a squeal came out of her. “You’re amazing then! A real hero!” 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Serana spoke against that. “I’m not a hero, I’m a v-”

“Of course you are!” She insisted. “I need a hero, after all! I’ve got a barrow that needs your help!”

Serana’s first reaction was to say no. Nordic barrows were risky. But this woman must have known the thing in its entirety. Galathil needed experience, after all. “I’ll think about it.” Serana promised. “What’s your name, anyways?”

“Me?” She took a deep breath. “Oh! I’m sorry. I’m Hjorni Ironbind.” Serana’s eye twitched. 

“Why would your parents name you that?!” Callixto, daedra take him, was full out laughing at Serana’s reaction and words. 

“Ancestral name.” Hjorni wasn’t thrown off by it. “The gods must have known my future or something. It doesn’t bother me that much. If I had been born a man my parents would have called me Gathrik or something ghastly like that.”

“Only you Nords can get away with that.” Callixto cackled. “Serana, was there anything I could do to help you?” 

“I think I’ve found what I needed. My friend and I need some good training and this sounds like a safe adventure to risk her on. Though is it alright if we take a little bit from your ancestors barrow?”

Hjorni raised an eyebrow. “If you dare. But I need answers more than my ancestors need their coin. I don’t want to be like this forever, after all.” She extended her hand, bracelet peeking out of her sleeve. “You can raid my ancestors barrow and I get my answers.”

Serana took that hand. “Deal.”

It took two and a half days of hiking through mud to reach Ironbind Barrow. Galathil was eager to leave Windhelm, as was Serana. Hjorni lived in an old fort tower nearby, the wooden door well maintained and all of them rushed inside to avoid the heavy rainfall. Hjorni led them inside, all of them shaking their coats off. Serana’s silken cloak was sodden, and she knew some magic was going to be needed to make sure that it dried properly. Galathil had a new fur coat, the quality a bit low but it did the job. Hjorni’s coat was actually of great quality, and Serana was surprised to see her finally take her hood off. 

Hjorni had some of the whitest hair Serana had ever seen. It was such a hue of blonde that it looked like snow. It tickled the Nord’s shoulders, but Serana felt a bit of awe seeing it. “Welcome to my home.” She said warmly. “It’s not much but it’s at least warm.”

“As long as I’m not trying to sleep in the rain, I am grateful.” Galathil was quick to say, hanging up her coat. “How far is the barrow from here?”

“Another mile or so into the hills. But there is a lot of gravel and stone to walk on. We can rest here for the night and recover before we go up there.”

“Excellent!” Serana could really get a lot done with a roof over her head. “I was going to make some potions and-” The familiar feeling of the dwarven gag filled her mouth, and she had the decency to squeal about Galathil snapping the lock shut and tucking away the key into her breastband. 

“Oh!” Serana had to blink at the speed that Hjorni got close to her. “What surprise is this?”

“She’s a vampire.” Galathil explained. They hadn’t been sleeping much in the last two days. “She needs a gag if we want to sleep without worry at night. I keep the key, she keeps the gag.”

“You have an interest in this kind of thing?” Hjorni asked the mer. Galathil looked a bit worried for a moment. “It’s not bad. I’ve seen a lot of women that like it these days. Oh you poor dears, you probably have to share it!”

Galathil sputtered. The elven woman might have been blushing. “Share?! We don’t need to share it, it’s for Sera-” There was a sense of justice as Galathil’s mouth got packed by a different gag. This one looked like it was made from leather and some kind of polished red ball meant to go in the mouth. But the magic in those items had a way of locking itself onto someone’s face without much effort. And the squeals that Galathil made were delightful. 

“I’ve got plenty in my collection!” Hjorni made the key to Galathil’s gag disappear somewhere, as the Nord wandered through her home. “I’ve been collecting these items for months! Keys to them, too. If you’re worried. But now you don’t have to worry about sharing that gag. In the morning I’ll take it off, and you can have a nice sleep!” 

Serana was able to watch as Galathil tried unsuccessfully to convince the Nord to take it off. Her elven friend was forced to sleep in her bedroll with her mouth full. Not that hers was any better, but the vampire was used to it. The tower had two levels, and Serana waited until both of the other women were asleep before she got up. She had made a show of going to sleep, and went upstairs once the others were in a deep slumber. A touch of her magic was an added bonus to make certain she wouldn’t be interrupted. 

In just a nightgown Serana explored. It wasn’t something she could just wear outside, and Taarie made certain she had something worth entertaining someone at night with. It was nearly transparent, with only one ribbon holding the entire thing together between her breasts. The cold didn’t bother her at all, and sometimes late at night she enjoyed something this soft on her skin. Her bare feet made no noise as she reached the upper floor of the tower. There were a few bookshelves with journals and notes. A few older books, cared for and wrapped in linens. They looked like genealogies and records. A locked door seemed to lead into a back chamber, but the key was in the lock. 

Gently nudging the door open, Serana’s eyes went wide. The entire room was full of bondage equipment. Belts, buckles and cuffs were on every table. Some damaged, but most were intact. An entire rack was set up along one wall, with cuffs built into it. Enchanted ones were in a locked case, where Serana could see curiously shaped soul gems along one side. One single bookshelf was in back, with two books in it. They looked well worn and used. One was called The Bound Queen and the second was a threadbare looking book about The Cult of the Egg . Serana didn’t touch those, but felt more and more uncomfortable as she noticed every part of this room dedicated to devices meant to capture or bind. 

Both she and Galathil were gagged. They could leave at any time, Serana reminded herself. Hjorni either had a collection or a sex dungeon in that room. Carefully, she padded back to the door. This room had way too many things that could scare her. Some of which looked like solid nordic steel devices for places other than arms or legs. One enchanted device looked like it would replace a breastband. Serana didn’t need such a thing, being undead. Galathil didn’t have much to support. With all the stealth she could muster, she slid the door shut, leaving the key in the lock just the way she found it. Her nose flared once, as she hid her break in. Outside the tower, lightning flashed as the rain seemed to turn worse. 

For a second she thought she saw Hjorni in the room, but it was just a shadow. Shaking her head, Serana just tried to keep watch until morning. She noted a few things in her journal and categorized the flowers and ingredients they had found coming from Windhelm. A few mushrooms, but most of it were spring flowers and some snowberries. Hjorni and Galathil remained pleasantly sleeping all through the night, even as Serana kept herself busy. But someone had to keep watch, just to make sure that they didn’t see the dark side of that room upstairs. 

And yet nothing happened that night. She thought something would. So there she sat, watching and waiting as though something was going to go wrong. No draugr came out of hidden basements, and Serana drummed her fingers on her bare thighs as she waited. As tempted as she was to find out more about Hjorni, she didn’t dare. Not when the woman clearly had a problem about these kinds of objects. 

When the others awoke, Serana was dressed and had her hair perfectly combed. Her dress had a high slit in the fabric, her stocking tops revealed when she walked. Galathil handed over the key for Serana’s gag, while Hjorni handed over the other. Both appeared groggy, moving slowly as the morning dawned. 

“So what does everyone want for breakfast? I’ve got rabbit and potatoes.” 

Galathil was a bit afraid until the gag came off. “Potatoes are fine.”

“What about you, Serana?” There was a dull moment of realization after Hjorni offered. “Oh! Oh I’m so sorry!” 

“It’s alright.” Serana tried to calm the red in the face Nord. “It’s nice being treated like everyone else.”

“Speaking of that.” Galathil cleared her throat, getting used to using her mouth again. “I haven’t seen you eat anyone. Ever. Are you sure you’re a vampire?”

“I made a promise to Elayne. I won’t feed on anyone, and the collar prevents me from feeding on anyone that hasn’t threatened me or someone I am protecting. If I need blood, I make a potion that fulfills the need.” But it never took away the sting of desire. The knowledge that both of these women had what she needed to stay alive. “So you don’t have to worry about me biting you.”

“That doesn’t mean she needs a gag, then. If the Dragonborn says she’s safe.” Hjorni considered. 

“Absolutely she needs a gag at night!” Galathil interjected. “I don’t sleep very well knowing a vampire is nearby. How can you?”

“Because she promised to help me. If I can’t trust her to do that, why trust her at all?” Hjorni pointed a wooden fork at Galathil threateningly. “Friends have to offer trust in order to receive it. I’m already in a lot of trouble and she is someone who offered to help me. Howcome you have a hard time trusting her?”

Serana raised an eyebrow. Hjorni was rather forthright in her opinion. Galathil folded her arms before she replied. “Some people have memories that can’t be argued with. Your heart can’t forget what happened.” Galathil had problems with vampires. She was the one who had come from Shashev’s world, so something must have happened to her there. Or even once she crossed over. “Plus, Serana likes being gagged.”

“Hey!” It was true, and it was partially the reason she wasn’t wearing anything under her dress today. It would be distracting in the barrow! “That’s uncalled for! I don’t talk about your filthy habits!”

Galathil leaned forward, her Bosmeri freckles lining up with her ears as she smiled. “Maybe you should. Get you out of your shell.” She pushed her tongue into her cheek, holding her fingers like a dagger pointed at the other, making it look like there was something in her mouth. “Plus, it’s not filthy if it’s fun.”

Hjorni cackled, even as Serana felt flushed by the thought of fellatio. She had shied away from it in Windhelm, and Galathil was mocking her for it! “Fun for you. Vampires aren’t known for that!”

“They could be! You might not know enough about them! There are secrets we find every day!”

Serana somehow doubted that there was much more to learn about being a vampire. She was a direct source of the disease. “It’s true. Vampires are connected to the daedra. Our souls are held in some kind of a frozen state, where the Aedra no longer recognize you and you are consigned to Molag Bal after you are truly dead.”

Galathil shuddered, and Hjnori skewed her nose. “That’s rather tragic. You sound like the exact kind of person that would get into Sovngarde. You’re acting rather heroic for my sake, at least.”

“Sovngarde was never something I wanted.” Serana countered. “I was raised knowing that my soul was out of the bargain.” She didn’t care about that. Or at least she thought she didn’t. The memory of her father being dragged into Oblivion came to mind. “Afterlife isn’t what I live for.”

“Were you a Nord, or an Imperial?”

“Atmoran.” Serana joked. “Closer to that, at least. But I come from a family of daedric cultists.” Hjorni didn’t seem too bothered.

“No better than worshippers of the dragon cult.” Galathil pointed out. “You, or your family didn’t still worship them, right?”

Hjorni laughed, long and loud. And then the laugh died a little bit. “Maybe we did? But it didn’t matter very much last year. Alduin didn’t come up to my tower and ask for us by name or anything.”

“Wait, did you actually worship the dragons?”

“Alduin is still alive, no?” Hjorni pointed out. “Is it so empty to believe in him? He’s the son of Akatosh. He’s alive! Somewhere, one of the bards was saying.”

“He’s a grumpy old dragon.” Serana snickered. “He likes afternoon naps and well seared pork.”

“He likes bacon?!” Hjorni was breathing faster and faster, Serana worried that the woman was going to pass out. “The dragon god accepts bacon as an offering!”

“Who doesn’t love bacon?” Galathil laughed. 

“Alduin likes bacon and other really fatty meats. But he’s also a big sweetie. He taught me how to speak Dovahzhul. I can’t read it as well as a dragon could, but I think I could help you with your wall problem.” Hjorni looked like she was going to pass out. “Maybe if we stay friends I can introduce you to some of the dragons I know.” Apparently that was too much for the woman, who passed out.

“She might be easier than you, Serana.” Galathil chuckled. “I think I like her.”

“Just wait until you see the sex dungeon she has.” Serana responded, watching the elf look around in panic. “I honestly think it’s her collection. Not something she actually plans on using.”

Galathil just took a deeper drink from her mug of mead. “I don’t want to know. There are some things in this world that have to stay forbidden knowledge if I am going to keep respecting the people I talk to.”

“So what is the forbidden knowledge about me that you don’t want to know?”

Galathil snorted. “Anything about your parents. The bards say enough that I don’t want to know more.” 

“You haven’t mentioned yours.” Serana pointed out. “Got their own mistakes to share?”

“Actually they were mind-numbingly normal. Perfectly average, and I chafed under their guidance.” Galathil said matter of factly. “They still live in Alinor, being perfectly ordinary and bothering my brother.”

“The other Galathil’s family.” Serana realized. The question probably stung to think about. “Is she close to them?”

“They exchange letters every year to make sure that they are still alive.” She brushed off. Or at least Serana hoped she brushed it off. “I have to bury any of those feelings. More importantly, I need my own identity. Or something of a freedom to choose my own identity.”

“You need those tools to do that, right? The dwemer ones?”

She nodded. Maybe relaxed a little bit. “You promised to help us find them. I’ll keep believing in that. But first, we should probably help this crazy one.”

“Don’t call her crazy!” Serana pointed at the upstairs. “She’s got her problems and we have ours. If the solutions to them come together, then that helps both of our causes. And maybe we can learn something from her.”

“Now that is crazy talk.” Galathil stood up. “But the only place I’m going to find any kind of items of value in this hold is if I follow you into a tomb.” Carefully, she bought the mead she was drinking from over towards Hjorni. “Sorry, cutie. You need to wake up, and lead us to this barrow of yours.” 

Hjorni’s pure white hair frazzled when she was force fed the mead. Sputtering, it didn’t take much to convince her to lead the way. Only when they were close to the old barrow and its stone architecture did Serana dare to bring up the room she found. “Hjorni?” Both women gave her looks, the morning rain light and keeping their hoods up. “I was looking around your house last night and noticed that room upstairs.”

“You saw my collection!” She didn’t seem angry about it. Perhaps even more excited. “I’m trying to understand all of these new artifacts people keep finding in the barrows and old tombs! So I’ve been buying them whenever I see them. You see, my family worshiped,” 

“Totally still does.” Galathil sniped.

“Worships.” Hjorni corrected. “We worship Alduin. So that makes us the closest things to experts for these things. I’m a self-taught scholar for the dragon cult.” Hjorni puffed up with pride as she said that. “That room is where I keep all of the things I’m studying.”

“See, Serana? Not a sex dungeon.” Galathil seemed all the more comfortable as Hjorni bumbled her way through trying to explain how she was a scholar without any higher education. 

“It is a sex dungeon!” Hjorni smiled wider, making the elf give her a wider berth. “I reconstructed it based off of tombs I have been to. I needed to understand their thoughts and work of their hands. There had to be reasons for why they assembled them like they do!”

Galathil stared at both Nords. Serana shrugged, seeing her friend just get more confused. Hjorni just might be a little odd. Maybe more than a little odd. But Serana knew what crazy looked like, and this wasn’t it. This was obsessional, but not crazy. “Have you used the dungeon at all?”

“Of course!” Hjorni reported. “Had to make certain it worked, after all.” Now it was Galathil’s turn to shrug, out of view of the living Nord. 

“All of it?” 

“If I don’t try it, someone else is going to get stuck in it and I won’t know how to help them. That’s what research means. Though this collar is something I have been trying to get out of the longest.”

“I don’t care what kind of education you’ve got.” Galathil said before Serana could say anything else. “That makes you a scholar in deeds, if not in truth.” Galathil practiced her own form of taboo magic. That made all three of them taboo or broken in some way. “Show me this tomb of yours and let’s see how we can help you.”

Ironbind Barrow was small, compared to some of the ruins Serana had been around. Galathil’s boots were quiet against the stone foyer floor, and Hjorni’s leather boots were more loud. Serana’s pointed heels were loudest, but only because she didn’t care at that moment. “There are two halls to the sides and one down the middle leading deeper into the mountains.” Hjorni explained. “Spiders like to climb into the left hall, but the other halls have draugr in them.”

Serana took the time to set up a small camp in the main hall, laying out a bedroll and putting down her bag. “Galathil here is the one who needs experience in adventuring. So we can start with the spiders before we go after draugr. She’s also got armor, and we don’t.”

“You’re going to help me, right?” The elf reminded Serana. “I’ve got a few days of training, not years of soldiering.”

Serana closed her eyes. This was a new life for her, too. She wasn’t a hardened adventurer. “We’re here to help all of us. You can find something better than that shortsword here.”

Galathil nodded at that. “It’s been decades, but I learned how to use a bow.” She gave a raised eyebrow to Serana. “Don’t look at me like that! Bosmer comments aside, I at least know how to aim!” She glanced at the walls. “Things that are moving make it harder, though.”

“Some of the Nords took elven weapons from the snow elves anciently. Maybe you can find one of those weapons in here.” Serana offered as bait for her. “Gold also helps.”

Hjorni’s nose flared. “Just don’t take anything from the right hall. That’s where the modern ancestors are buried. Some draugr moved in there after last year, but my family deserve respect. They died seeking Sovngarde and honoring the old ways.”

“You said the draugr came back?” Serana asked. That wasn’t normal. Most of the draugr upended from their tombs wandered the countryside for months, requiring the legion or watchmen to put down. A few returned to their ruins and tombs. But it was the exception, not the rule. 

“Different ones. They warn me not to approach. I think?” Hjorni admitted, concerned. “The old family used to just look up and give me looks every once in a while. Help me clear the cobwebs over their cairns when I asked.”

“The draugr listened to you?” Serana blinked. “Are you sure you aren’t some necromancer?”

“I can barely make a candlelight spell.” Hjorni lit a torch, after saying that. “Come on, let’s see if the spiders tried anything.”

The pair of spiders did in fact make trouble. Galathil and Serana dealt with them without getting bitten. They had a massive egg sack spun in the middle of the room, the corpse of an Argonian and a Redguard strung up in the room. Between Galathil and Serana, flame spells were used aggressively until baby spiders stopped coming out of the cracks in the silken sack. 

“Isn’t that kind of silk valuable?” Hjorni asked, watching the blaze and enjoying the heat. But her nose wrinkled at the smell. 

“Frostbite spider silk?” Serana laughed. “Even back in the second era it was worthless.”

“Down in Cyrodil they have these little silkworms that they harvest from. Tiny little things that turn into moths and eat leaves.” Galathil made a cute motion with her hands to mimic small worms. “It’s what Serana wears all the time. Frostbite spider silk wouldn’t make anything so soft.”

Hjorni made the mistake of trying to feel what said silk would feel like and just got the dusty web all over her hands. It was a quiet laugh was had as she wiped that off on some of the rock walls. “Alright, that’s not soft.”

Removing the spiders exhausted magic for Galathil, while Serana needed less time to recover. But it did give Serana time to explore the first large chamber. A few old carvings were not lost to time, one getting Serana’s attention. Depictions of whales were on the walls, along with snakes. Nordic ruins weren’t the kind to have depictions of their worshipers or deities. The shrine in castle Volkihar was the opposite. The daedra wanted to be seen as real. Their worship needed to remind you that they existed in truth. Even if they were in another plane of the universe, they were very real. 

These people lived under the shadow of their gods. Their gods were real. “Serana?” Galathil called from the heavy gate leading into the deepest part of the barrow. “You alright?”

Her heels clicked on the stone as she went to join her friend. “Just musing on divinity.”

“I can’t go in with you.” Hjorni murmured. “You’re going to fight my ancestors. I can’t.” She shuddered. “I can’t disturb them. It’s a betrayal.”

“Your divinity can be respected from here.” Galathil snarked. “Let’s try to find out why you’re in a collar.”

Hjorni’s white hair bobbed as she nodded. “Please.”

Serana gave a polite wave, and gave her dress a look over before casting some alteration magic to protect the fabric. “Ready.” 

Galathil took a deeper breath, not as confident as she seemed. But Serana could cheat and measure people’s heartbeats. “Ready.”

“I’ll take front.” Serana promised. “Summon something to take the first hit. Stay safe.” Both women nodded, entering the barrow proper. The first chamber had cairns for four draugr, all of the lids knocked open. They were resting with their arms folded at the chests. Strangely, Serana could only see female draugr here. All of them were wearing pairs of bracelets of the same style of Hjorni’s. Serana felt more than a little chill at that comparison. 

“Look at all of them!” Galathil saw it too. But unlike Serana she wasn’t wary of disturbing them. The four draugr growled, hearing her. Serana summoned an ice atronach, and then used what magic she had to throw lightning bolts at the encroaching undead. The Draugr worked together well, one of them making the mistake of assuming that Serana was mortal and throwing ice magic her way. All that did was make the glass weapon carve through her all the better, while the ice atronach held the attention of most of the others. 

“Shit.” An arrow bounced off of the wall behind Galathil. The last of the draugr had a bow, the arrows aged but still capable of finding a target. “Shit!” Another nicked her arm. “Shit!” 

“Find some cover!” Serana tried to say, before the archer took notice of her and left an arrow in her shoulder. “Ow!” While it was hardly the first time she had been hit by an arrow, draugr were strong enough to harm her. “Go left!” Serana went right, and the archer had the well deserved misfortune of getting between them. Galathil’s steel dagger and her glass blade carved it into pieces, which let them flank the other draugr in time for the atronach to provide the finishing blow. It was cracked in many places, but not broken. 

“You alright?” Galathil asked, looking at the arrow sticking out of her shoulder.

“I’ll live.” Both grimaced when she tore it out. But being a vampire, it barely bled. It had been so long since she had fed that her blood wasn’t moving as fast. The wound knitted itself back together slowly. “Were you hurt?”

Galathil held up a bracer, the tough leather almost split open. “Blocked it. Perseus’ lessons weren’t worthless.” She sighed in relief, looking over the pair of ancient battleaxes and a single longsword that the draugr were carrying. “This steel looks like it’ll fall apart sooner rather than later.” She picked up the old bow, impressed that the string was still working. “Don’t count on my being any kind of great bow maiden.”

“Sleeping draugr aren’t in the habit of moving.” Serana winked. One of them had a coin purse still, and she felt more than a little reward in grabbing that. Two more rooms were cleared safely, only containing one or two draugr. Singled out like that, they were able to destroy her atronach but neither she or Galathil were injured. 

“More female draugr.” Galathil spoke up. “Did you think those bracelets would sell?”

“Hjorni wears some, too.” Serana considered, taking a closer look at the draugr. “Those ancient Nords didn’t like explaining their magic items to others. Just like their gods, I think they thought that the results would speak for themselves. I can’t tell which kind of enchantments these have.” But she knew just by touching them that they were magical in some way. With no atronach left, they took a small break getting a few pieces of gold from the fallen. 

“I haven’t seen any male draugr yet.” Galathil spoke up. “It’s worrying.”

“I’m noticing that, too. They all have the bracelets. And symbols of wolves are upon the things I can see.”

“What does that mean?”

“That they honored an early version of Mara. The early Nords called her a she-wolf.” Serana remembered a bit about that. “Look at this podium.” At the center of this room was a podium with wolves on it. But at the top was a glowing piece of jewelry. A necklace, glowing with shock protection magic. “That’s going to be worth any amount of weapons we lift in here.”

“Perfect!” Galathil grabbed it, and Serana was able to see the pedestal shift. 

“Move!” Galathil wasn’t going to move in time, as a rusty spear began launching from the ceiling. Serana launched herself. This was her friend. She trusted her. She didn’t think at all, employing every ounce of her strength to push her out of the way. Galathil was a thin little bosmer. She got launched over the floor and out of the room, Serana hearing something crack loudly that sounded like a bone. 

But she was the one pierced by two spears. It went right through her dress, one of them punching through her bare shoulder and neck. The other was going through her stomach, and Serana felt the room start fading from view. It had been too long since she had fed. Really fed. Her blood wasn’t pumping as fast! When the trap withdrew, she remained on the ground, unmoving. Serana blacked out, slack jawed on the floor. 

The next she knew, she could feel warm water being applied to her face. She felt weak, her body drained. Blood wasn’t moving very well, but she felt its taste on her tongue. A blood potion! Her eyes shot open, and she could see Galathil leaning over her with the potion. Hjorni was with her, and Serana was still next to the pedestal. “You alright?” The elf whispered. “We grabbed one of your potions and gave it to you.”

“Maybe.” Serana’s neck felt ravaged. “How long?” The rest of her body hurt in ways that she was not going to fully contemplate for a bit. She didn’t even have the strength to 

“Once we got past the risen dead, we got to you.”

“Risen dead?” Serana looked around, seeing four ravaged bodies of the draugr around her. They had new injuries, and appeared even more frail. “How did you do it?”

“I helped.” Hjorni said, shakily. “These aren’t my ancestors. None of them have our markings. But Ironbind Barrow lived up to its name.”

Serana rubbed her face, her hands feeling heavy. “It doesn’t matter.” They had come back for her. “I wanted to thank you.” Opening her eyes, Serana could see that her wrists had a new decoration. The same as the draugr. Those damned bracelets. “Hjorni, please tell me these come off.”

“I can try. I’ve broken so many of the old keys trying to get mine off.” The Nord shuddered. “But the draugr haven’t done this before. This isn’t like the draugr to do!”

Serana stood, feeling numb almost everywhere. “We can work through it. How much more of this barrow is there?”

“Just one more major chamber.” Hjorni whispered. “I don’t know how to open it, and the pull chain is jammed.”

Jammed for a human, maybe. But a pissed off vampire? Serana nearly tore that door out of the floor, and an old battleaxe was wedged into it to keep it open. Her arms felt heavier, the nordic steel probably enough that those draugr were feeling weak as well. The other chamber was filled with a single throne, and no other burial locations. A tent was set up here. There were food supplies. “Where is the warlord?!” Hjorni was staring at the throne. The empty throne. A few piles of bone shards were in one corner of the room, with arcane sigils set up next to a massive word wall. More glaringly, the stone was disturbed, a secret chamber opened. 

“I’m going to copy this down.” Serana whispered. Her numb body found the throne to be perfect for resting herself, taking the large wall’s words down in a journal. Then she copied it a second time onto a scroll, as Galathil raided the tent. 

“It’s an Argonian.” The elf pronounced. “I found shed scales and I know what they look like. Male, I think.” She pointed to the arcane sigil carved into the floor. “More of the scales are inside that circle.”

Serana sighed, carefully walking over. Her legs weren’t working right, somehow. “That word wall has a couple of words I recognize. Sovngarde, for one. The other word is necromancer.” The arcane mark was necromancy. Of that she was certain. But there were marks of a snake, a wolf, and a whale inside the circle. 

“There’s a secret exit!” Hjorni yelled from one side. “There are tracks in the snow!”

“I don’t think you were struck by a draugr or your ancestors, Hjorni. I think we were manipulated by some kind of necromancer. They’re using these bracelets to steal or control undead.” Serana looked at the glowing circle. “This was just a ritual to bind something’s will to the necromancer. It’s not going to hurt us. And we most likely killed the necromancer’s minions just getting here.” Serana channeled a tiny amount of magic. Just enough to shatter the circle without it exploding. She knew plenty about necromancy. Whoever cast this, it was based on some kind of older magic. Something with animal imagery. An Argonian using nordic symbolism in their necromancy? “I think they’re just stealing the magic from something that was in this tomb.”

Serana’s magic released, the arcane circle shattering with the sound of fizzing. The ground stopped glowing, and the symbols carved into the stones stopped radiating magic. But that wasn’t the only thing that happened. Serana felt something inside of her ass start moving. She had been so numb that she hadn’t felt it. It was paired with something vibrating next to her womb, two objects moving at a speed that made Serana’s eyes cross. Her hands flew between her legs, but swiftly ran into a steel barrier. This wasn’t normal! “Ah!” It was a belt, of some kind. Wrapping all the way around her hips and down between her legs. “How long was I alone with those draugr?!”

“Less than an hour.” Galathil said, from the tent. “It took a long time to recover enough to fight the risen dead.” And convince Hjorni to help, Serana assumed. The vibrations were powerful, and she clamped her fingers on her thighs in response to the unceasing feelings. Not since the Bitch Tamer had anything been inside of her, and her body loved it. It had been trained to love it. She stayed kneeling on the ground, shuddering and trying to control her breathing. The vibrations weren’t slowing! But neither were they fast enough to take care of her wants or needs! “It’s still daytime outside, Serana.”

She bit her lip, trying not to groan. Carefully, Serana raised the hem of her dress. “What in the name of the Aedra is this vile thing?!” Nordic runes covered the belt and steel plates that now prevented her from touching herself. They even glowed slightly. 

Hjorni walked over, seeing it too. “Oh!” She grinned, as if this wasn’t a monumental disaster. “I’m wearing one of those too! Part of why I really needed your help. They’re a tool meant to keep girls virginal, and are somehow-”

Serana’s scream of frustration was partly caused by these damn vibrations and mostly because she knew that meant that she had every reason to help Hjorni now. “O-once I can walk we are killing that damned Necromancer!” Galathil had the decency to not laugh. Serana had pushed her out of that trap, after all. Hjorni lacked any kind of decency about it and cackled.

Chapter Text

The path left by their argonian was marked in the snow. Serana pushed hard, but Galathil wasn’t able to keep up in the thick snow drifts. And neither could cast water walking to walk on top of the mud and snow. Serana didn’t want these damned plugs to activate again, and Galathil wasn’t skilled enough. Hjorni was too distracted by finally being able to see inside of her barrow to the fullest. They had promised to return once they knew what this necromancer did with the warlord he disturbed. 

This argonian was fast, Serana decided. A mage, for certain if he could use necromancy. His footprints didn’t delve deeply into the snow, and they lost his tracks at the river. Windhelm was in the distance, and Serana frowned. Her body was running on a high, and Serana didn’t dare sprint. Not with this belt on. Just feeling these plugs move as she walked was problem enough. “Mud isn’t disturbed.” Serana noted. “He can waterwalk.” 

“Don’t Argonians swim?” Galathil blinked. 

“Not in glacial runoff. Skyrim’s water is not for the faint of heart in spring. Which means we’re going to be hours behind him!” She would not run. She would not run! But she was locked in something like the Bitch Tamer all over again! She didn’t want to sit down at all. The Bitch Tamer never touched her ass. Now something was in there! 

It felt alien, and uncomfortable. Every time she walked, she was reminded that some asshole had touched her. Placed these things upon her, or made his draugr do it. She felt violated. Goosebumps ran up her arms, thinking about all of this. Worst of all, these damned plugs could vibrate. Serana was willing to admit to herself that she was a prude. First the antler, and then Perseus. Everyone thought she was much more experienced than they were. But no experience could prepare her for the feeling of something being inside of her at all times! 

“At least the bitch tamer made me feel nicer.” 

“What was that?” Galathil called, as Serana realized she had just spoken out loud. 

“Nothing.” She shifted, closing her eyes as the plugs swayed. “Just keep walking. Once we get to Windhelm we can find out where this bastard went! All at the speed that walking through the mud would afford them. A day of tracking through snow and mud, and by the time they got back to Windhelm, the argonian they had been chasing was long gone. He also hired a carriage. More importantly, the guards at the gate were able to tell them more about the bastard. Apparently he stopped at Callixto’s before leaving. 

Serana didn’t quite slam the door, but it was thrown open with force when she reached the museum. “Callixto!” Galathil slumped into a chair once inside, her exhaustion finally hitting her. 

“Serana?” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Those nordic torc bracelets of servitude look mighty fine on your wrists.” He laughed. “Did Hjorni get distracted again?”

“Again?!” Serana huffed. That would be another question for another time. “No, I’m here about the Argonian!”

“Hmm?” Callixto chuckled. “Only one I’ve had visit recently was Beem-Ja. He is a business connection from when I was still running around. Crazy old scale. Wanted to see if I had anything for his employer, but I didn’t have anything that could help this time around. Looking for some odd materials.”

“Like these?” She held out her hands, the steel on her wrists visible. 

“No, actually. Beem-ja was looking for some kind of material that was like ebony. Said that it was something that was treated in Oblivion. Kind of like daedric weapons and armor. But the exact knowledge isn’t something I care to know. Though Beem-Ja offered me a dozen of those bracelets in exchange for any I had.”

“He’s the rat that put them on me!” Serana nearly shrieked. “Where did he go!”

“He hired the carriage yesterday. Said he was heading south to meet with his employer.” South. Only Riften was south, since Kynesgrove and Ivarstead were basically villages. “Fair warning, though. He works for one of the more knowledgeable dwemer experts in the realm. Collects things for him. Taron Dreth.”

Serana remembered him. “We’ve met before.”

“A dangerous man. I don’t recommend going after Taron if you can avoid it. But Beem-Ja is a mage. More of a spellthief than a real one, I think.” Callixto considered his next words carefully. “I think he got in trouble back in black marsh for something he did.”

“Isn’t it wrong to tell us that kind of thing?”

Callixto winked. “It would be if Beem-Ja hadn’t stolen from my coin box before he left.”

Serana felt a bit more invigorated. “Anything else you can tell me? I think I can do us both a good deed.”

“Beem-Ja is just part of a larger group of people working for Dreth. Last year before the dragon war he was traveling with an Argonian named From-Deepest-Depths. Operating out of Riften, last I saw them. They might be worth talking to. Otherwise, the next best person is Dreth.”

Serana was almost twitching in her need to charge back out into the sunshine and arrange a carriage. But turning around, she saw Galathil completely asleep in the chair at the door. “Oh!” She steadied herself, the belt making its presence known. “Do you mind if she takes a short nap here?”

Callixto nodded. “Here, let her borrow a blanket at least. The main room is drafty.”

“She’s been working hard.” 

“Aye. If you’re going to chase Beem-Ja, she won’t be able to keep up. She’s  not suited to it.” The old man brought out a pipe to smoke. “You’re bringing someone you have to protect with you. Not a partner. Not yet, at least.”

“She’s a partner. She’s been through a lot. Even if she can’t keep up with an argonian scumbag, it wouldn’t be fair to leave her behind.”

Callixto was quiet for a few minutes, content to smoke his pipe. “Too bad. She’s almost pretty enough to eat. If only I were a few decades younger, I might try my luck.”

Serana wasn’t worried about Callixto’s jape. But she just used a bit of vampiric strength to blow out his pipe with a well timed breath. As the old man fumbled for another match, she went to get a ride for Riften. She had a lead, and she had a way to get there! Galathil could even get a bit of sleep in the carriage along the way. 

It took days of sitting in a rattling carriage to get to Riften. Days of sitting in the misty rains and on the last day an absolute downpour that made talking impossible. Reading was out of the question, and so Serana was left alone with her thoughts for the entire trip. Her silk was sticking to her skin, even as Galathil huddled in her furs. Their driver dealt with a wolf that dared to come near, but otherwise it was completely uneventful. For everyone but Serana. Because apparently the chastity belt she wore didn’t take jostling well. 

Every time they went over a bump in the road or a large cobblestone, the plugs would move. The road into Riften was uphill, and on a particularly bad section of that hill the chastity belt decided that it was being tampered with, and the plugs activated. The heavy rainstorm kept the driver from hearing her, but Galathil watched as Serana bite a leather strap between her teeth to keep from crying out as they teased her relentlessly to the stables. She couldn’t even get off of the carriage when it stopped!

Galathil noticed her distress. “I’ll buy you some time. I hope it stops.”

The vibrations came to a stop a minute after, and Serana looked over herself. Her silk clothes were painted to her skin, the belt clearly framed on her hips. Her nipples were poking through her breastbands, the wet silk hardly holding her up as much as they just created more creases in the outer fabric. Her face was all red, and even though she was dead she gasped for breath in her lungs as she dismounted the carriage. 

“Mmph!” The plugs reacted! She froze, thinking this was all going to be some nightmare when they just as suddenly stopped moving. It was sparing her the indignity. She let out a shaky sigh, realizing that this belt was perhaps worse than some aspects of the Bitch Tamer. It was inside of her ass, for one. Serana couldn’t stand it. Every day she had to endure this was another hour she would torture Beem-Ja. “Bal preserve me.” She whispered. 

Galathil showed back up, looking as bedraggled and wet as she was. The rain wasn’t letting up. Just getting from the covered stables to the gates was an effort in avoiding puddles that could be more than ankle deep. Galathil didn’t want to soak her pants worse, and Serana was just avoiding getting her heels mired in the mud. 

In the ten days they had been gone Riften hadn’t changed much. The Jarl’s building had a few more stones in its base. Gravel was being poured into the bottom of buildings all around. Tents were all over the city now, set up on any surface that could support them. It was kind of like a maze, with the foundations taking up most of the city and the tents like little villages all their own. Smoke came from most, and the smell of cooking meat was prominent.

“Warm food sounds nice.” Galathil points out. “I’m going to catch a cold like this.”

“Then we should go find Brynjolf.” Serana didn’t trust him totally. But in this city he was her friend. The lower parts of Riften were just as packed with people and partial tents. But the tunnels and older parts were full of fires and warmth. Galathil was happier, and they almost made it to the dead man’s drink when Galathil got pulled into a side hall by large hands. Serana moved after her, drawing a weapon in one hand and preparing an ice spike in her other hand. 

Brynjolf was around the corner, with one hand on his lips and the other on Galathil’s mouth. “Shh. Follow me.” Serana did, before looking down at her left hand in horror. She had almost formed a spell! She recalled the magic, and shuddered a shaky sigh of relief when the plugs didn’t move. Following the nord, she came to a small alcove with chairs and a table. “I needed some place to talk to people without everyone gawking. Word got out that I have plenty of booze, and everyone and their drunken uncle keeps coming by to ask for more. So, welcome to my office.” He flicked a large bug off of the old table, sliding into a chair. 

Serana let Galathil sit in the better chair, as she took the last. “We’ve been chasing someone for a few days. We wanted to talk to you about them.”

“Depends on who it is. I’ve got some things that need a delicate hand.” 

She gave him a flat look. “The last time you said that I was on the bottom of the lake for a few weeks.”

“Listen! It’s not that kind of problem!” Brynjolf said smoothly. Far too smoothly. “I just need someone that can speak to a dragon for me. It’s being aggressive with some farmers, and the guard won’t dare confront it. It’s by Ivarstead, and it’s made getting supplies to repair the bridge hard to come by.”

That wasn’t that unreasonable, actually. “In exchange, I need everything you know about Taron Dreth and his employees. A couple of Argonians most importantly.”

Brynjolf sighed. “Alright. I’ll dig up what I can. Once you fix the dragon problem.”

“Give me some ink and a messenger on horseback, and I’ll fix it faster than my walking there could.” She just wrote a letter to Elayne that one of the dragons she led was being mean to townsfolk near Ivarstead. In addition, she sent the scrawlings from Ironbind Barrow along with telling her about Hjorni and her problem. Serana still wanted to help the odd girl. As she wrote, they dried off a bit and Brynjolf kept them secluded from the bar. “What’s the real problem, Brynjolf?” 

“Galathil never mentioned having a twin.” Everyone looked up at that. “I can’t have your friend here go walking into the ratway. The Jarl’s wife has taken interest in what she can do, and has her under protection. You can’t go into public areas if you are going to be looking like twins.” Brynjolf was staring at her. “I confronted her about it. And she told me where you’re from.” 

“Brynjolf!”

“I haven’t told anyone! I don’t plan to!” He intoned carefully. “I still carry the mark of that place from the one time we used that book with the Dragonborn. So I know where she is from. I know what she is capable of. Get out of town, and send a letter when you come back. She can’t share the face of her ‘sister’.” 

“Give us something, Brynjolf. We’ve got our own problems.” Serana countered. “We’re chasing someone named Beem-Ja.”

“What did that rot-scale do to you?” 

“Ever try to get something like this off?” She held up her wrist, the heavy nordic bracelet visible. 

“Very recently.” He nodded. “Breaks a lot of lockpicks, though. But we’re thieves. We understand a bit about bondage. If you want to have me try, it’ll be one hundred and fifty gold.”

If he could release her wrists, maybe he could release the belt. They had a lot of gold remaining from looting the barrow. She counted out the coins, Brynjolf not even leering too much as her dress got pulled away from her body as it dried. “That’s going to afford a lot of lockpicks, Brynjolf.”

“You’re not paying for the picks, you’re paying for the skill and experience.” He pointed out. “Put your wrists on the table right next to each other. The secret of these is that you can’t unlock them unless the person wearing them holds them the right way. Make the squiggly lines match up.” True to his word, less than five minutes later a few picks were broken and her wrists were free! “Beem-Ja came upon a treasure trove of these at some point. No one would buy them, so he just kept them. But he tried to sell them to us first.”

“Well.” Serana felt a bit of heat on her cheeks. “If you can get those off so easily, what about something else?”

“I’m having a good day, lass.” He smirked. “What’s the problem? Other than that delightful collar, I know better than to try to crack something that unique.”

She didn’t want to say it, even though Galathil was the only one who could hear them. “It’s a belt. It won’t come off.” 

“Alright, then. Sit on the table and hike up your skirts.” Serana stiffened. He said the same way one would address a prostitute. “Don’t be silly, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

“It’s my ass!” She said with a bit of venom. 

“And it is a mighty fine ass, I must say. I won’t lie and tell you I haven’t considered it recently.” Brynjolf snapped his fingers. “Part of the bargain!”

“I’ll pay you gold and gold alone for getting this damned thing off of me!” Serana insisted, not getting out of her chair before she secured this. “My body is not part of the bargain.”

“This again, Serana? We’re all friends here.”

“ Without benefits.” She quoted him. 

“You’re making it hard to be your friend, Serana. People are noticing that you are coming here. And I know for a fact that you look good under that dress.” He winked. “And going by what I saw from Galathil’s ‘sister’ she is also quite a lay.”

“Do you fuck everyone you can, or is it something more driven?” Galathil interrupted casually. 

“It’s more of a taste thing? I’ve bedded every type of woman under the sun. My problem is that I’m perfectly fine with sex,” Brynjolf motioned to his hideout that he was forced into currently. “But I don’t like to be the one who is at risk.”

“What?!” Serana growled. “People know you’re one of the most willing men in Tamriel! What are you to talk about risk?”

“Hey!” He pointed at Serana’s collar. “I stole from a dragon. That is plenty of risk! Powerful women aren’t my kind of risk.”

“I’m not powerful?” Her raised eyebrow would have sent lesser men scrambling. But not Brynjolf. 

“Of course you are. But you’re also a prude. So the risk is worth it if I get to see how crazy you really are.” Brynjolf stroked his beard. “Now, is this the kind of belt that holds up a garter or is this something a bit more fun?”

“Oh, it’s the fun kind.” Galathil not so helpfully added. “But if she doesn’t want to have a rough and tumble with you, I’d like to see if I’m better than my ‘sister’.” 

“Oh, I’m just as curious.” Brynjolf chuckled. 

“Only if you succeed, of course.” 

“Of course.” The Nord slapped the table. “Alright lass. I can’t pick a lock blind. Especially something hidden under a skirt.” Serana felt more than a little on edge as she gave in and stood up. Her heels were the loudest thing in the room, as she stepped around the table to present herself before him. Ugh! He had the nerve to smile as she leaned against the edge of his old table. Her hands felt like lead weights, her skirt hem an anchor. Inch after inch of her thighs were revealed, her silk stockings bare for him to see. And then, more. Her undead heart stuttered as all of that perceived weight was taken from her when that damned chastity belt was exposed. And then her waist just felt too tired to continue in the tension. So she sat back, the table creaking as her bare cheeks settled onto it. “Gods.” Brynjolf muttered. She wasn’t sure he was talking about her or the belt. 

“This is why I am hunting Beem-Ja.” She had to say something. Anything other than address how she felt at presenting this to a man. Something she had never done before. 

“I think I would hate him too.” Brynjolf gently nudged her knees, bringing her legs farther apart. She let out a soft gasp at that. “Hang on, I’ll have this off if I can find the mechanism. Multiple locks, looks like a five tumbler,” The man focused. “Gods those thighs are divine.” 

She could slap him. But you don’t slap someone that has the potential to save you. “Thank you.” The admission was forced. “But can you please focus?”

“Normally when I am in this position I am focused.” He pointed out. “But this is a chastity belt. Nordic, and ancient. Keys for these things were often broken on purpose.” He muttered that last bit, Serana’s eyes widening. “Ah! There it is.” His lockpick brushed her skin, making her shiver. But everyone heard the metal tap from his tools moving around one of the locks. There was a long pause as he started carefully feeling the inside of the locks. She felt a bit of elation. She was going to be free of this. That Argonian was never going to control her! 

That’s when it all went wrong. Brynjolf’s tools scraped something inside the mechanism. The plugs activated with a vengeance, as Serana bit her lip hard enough to bruise them. She couldn’t control her own reaction. She flinched. Her body locked up, and then the one in her ass went crazy. It vibrated harder than either of the times it had fired off before, and her entire body was shocked by it. Her legs clamped together, with none of the restraint she normally employed on her vampiric strength. 

Those thighs clamped down on the wrist of Brynjolf with all of the force she had. Everyone heard the snap of bone. “Vaermina’s tiny tits!” He bellowed, pulling his hand back. His lockpick was snapped by the same action, even as she fell off of the table onto the dirty floor. 

“Serana!” Galathil held her head, not letting her strike the ground. Only once she wasn’t going to hurt herself on the floor did she look up at Brynjolf. “Gods, she’s okay. This damned thing does this to her from time to time.” Serana’s head was cradled even as her body spasmed around what this damned thing was doing. “How’s your arm?” She asked Brynjolf.

“Broken.” The Nord hissed in pain, but came around where Serana could see him. His skin was already discolored around his forearm. “I’ve only fiddled with something like this once before, and it was a lot simpler.”

“Thanks for trying, at least.” Serana tried to say. It more came out as a series of gasping consonants. 

Brynjolf was a little crazy. He somehow understood her babblings. “Trying? Next time you come to Riften I’m going to have a bondage harness tight enough that you aren’t gonna do that again! You’ve just created a feud between me and that belt. And by the Gods I’m going to get that off of you.” 

“Why do you even care so much?” Galathil mocked. “Your arm just got broken!”

“And when I get this healed by the priestess of Mara she’s going to never let me forget it. A thane of Riften breaking his hand because he was trying to liberate a woman’s pleasure?” He preened. “Can’t be more heroic than that.” But then he brushed the broken arm against the stone wall. “Vaermina’s tiny tits!” He hissed, holding the arm and gritting his teeth. “An ass that fine and you can’t use it? Insult to both Aedra and Daedra. I won’t stomach it.” 

“You’re going to bind her up? She’ll go right through rope!”

“Just you wait, lasses. You, uh, stay here. I’ll be right back.” Brynjolf cradled his arm, walking away and muttering under his breath. All the while, Serana twitched as the plugs tortured her, vibrating harshly for almost fifteen minutes. Neither said anything, since she could feel what Serana was going through. 

It tapered off, finally ending and letting her breathe. But never once did Serana ever feel like she had came. Teased mercilessly, but never a mind blowing release. So she just felt even more frustrated by it all. She was exhausted, desperate and ready to absolutely raise Beem-Ja from the dead just to kill him all over again once she caught up with him. When Brynjolf finally came back an hour later, his arm in a sling the man looked sour. 

“Thane magic fingers.” Galathil greeted him. 

“Bah.” He brushed it off. “My injury wasn’t important enough to merit any healing. But they thought my latest story of heroic daring was worth some bandages. The shortage of good mead is going to further dull my spirits, I’m sure.” He spat. “You alright?”

“Maybe.” Serana wasn’t sure herself. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. But my forgiveness isn’t going to be fully realized until I free you from that.” He thumbed his beard proudly. “I’ll work on that. But I have better news. You want Beem-Ja? Nobody’s seen him in months. Last we heard of him, he was heading north to Windhelm chasing some treasure. He’s a treasure hunter. He’s willing to betray his allies for the sake of treasure. Employed by Talon Dreth and a few others to find dwemer artifacts. The Empire doesn’t like it when anyone sells those things. Technically they declare that those items rightfully belong to them. But I don’t particularly care about that. So I’ve acted as a fence between Beem-Ja and his employers.” 

The Nord grunted, reaching with his off hand into his bag. “Beem-Ja had a crew he ran with when he was in Riften last fall. A lot of them didn’t come back from one of the raids they attempted. Beem-Ja disappeared into the hills, and the only one of his mercenaries that came back to Riften was an Argoninan named From-Deepest-Fathoms.” Brynjolf made some articulations with his off hand. “They died in prison for some reason or another. Madness, we think. We found a few dwemer artifacts on their person and before they died, they were whispering a name. Avanchanzel.” He brought out his map from his bag, and pointed to a spot to the west. “Follow the road south around the lake and you’ll be able to find it. You’re looking for him, and that’s the last place I know he was in this hold. I owe you that much.”

He dumped a small bag out onto the table. Some mad scribblings on a scroll, a spoon made from dwemer metal. Lastly a cube of the same metal, inscribed with some kind of runes. The item pulsed, making Serana blink. “What’s that?”

“Don’t know.” Brynjolf said honestly. “But it’s something that she hid from Beem-Ja. Kept from him. If you wanted something to use against the rot-scale, this could be a start.”

“Thanks, Brynjolf.” Serana offered, taking the objects. “I hope we find so many things to bring back in value for you.”

“You can borrow my wagon and horses.” He promised. “And!” He grinned. “You can call me Thane magic fingers.”

Serana snorted. Both she and Galathil needed a good night’s rest and then they would go chasing this new lead. “Beem-Ja sounds like a good fit for your guild.”

“He’s a mage. No talent for stealing. He’s got a good pair of legs and a sixth sense for when something’s hunting him.” Brynjolf stated. “He might worship Sithis. If he’s anything like the Dark Brotherhood used to be, that sixth sense might actually be something.”

“He’s got nothing on Harkon. But tracking him is not something I’m good at.”

Brynjolf nodded. “You rest, then. I’ll get my arm better and we’ll save that pretty ass of yours.” 

Avanchnzel was a city. It wasn’t a ruin, it was a fully realized city. Dirt and mud had covered much of it, but the dwemer built their cities to last. The doors were large, probably tied to some huge egos. Old damage and the wasting of time was also visible. The entrance to the city was actually some cavern that was higher up the side of the mountain. The main gate must have been buried by time. Towers rose into the air on the mountainside hundreds of feet higher. 

“That’s got to be tremendously large.” Galathil spoke up, as she tied off the horses. True to his word, Brynjolf had provided a wagon for them. No men were coming with them, which was a mixed blessing. The weather was finally cooperating, and wasn’t raining. There were clouds, but there was also sunshine! Days of travel and running around were rewarded with a beautiful view. 

“We’re chasing a trail months old.” There weren’t any tracks in the mud that were recent. But Serana wasn’t much of a tracker. She knew how to interpret the language of nobility, not the marks of someone passing through. Heavy rainfall made things worse, all of these muddy hillsides being a quagmire to pass through. The horses pushed through the hillside trail, but it meant that if Beem-Ja had come here they wouldn’t know unless they delved into it themselves. “But we are probably going to need more money. You will need thousands to afford the best armor and upkeep of it.”

“Or just dressing like you do.” 

“That’s not my choice.” Though Serana did send a letter to Taarie with a request for a few dresses. Adventuring in silk wasn’t kind to the nice fabric. It went with a large purse, half of her personal savings. Serana decided that she was a rather expensive bitch. Galathil could afford to stay decent with only fifty or so gold. That was for robes, a dress, a cloak and some decent boots. Serana’s heels were worth more than the whole outfit! “What were you thinking about your ‘sister’?” 

Serana had been waiting for her friend to bring up the subject herself. But the bosmer had avoided it. “You want to ruin a nice day with that conversation?” 

“You have to make a decision.” Serana pointed out. “Your other half seems to have found her place.”

“We always knew that the Thieves guild would be a good place to settle. Our services would be able to find a home there.” Galathil wasn’t angry about the topic. She seemed undecided. “For one of us.”

“But you know more than she does.” It was clear to Serana. “You’re the better sculptor of flesh. Whatever you did for Shashev, he gave you tools to do it. But he let you become something more powerful than the Galathil sitting in Riften fixing blemishes for all of the women there.”

“Even though I know more, it’s tainted knowledge. No one needs to know how to implant flesh like what that crazy dunmer asked for.” She shuddered. “He was experimenting upon daedra, and sending them back to Oblivion to see how the flesh I would implant would react to moving through Oblivion.” She said that with a whisper, as though someone might hear. “But I couldn’t steal the tools he made for me to do that when I crossed over. Gods only know where they went, and he did steal them from something. Or somewhere.”

“Those daedra were in a different realm. They won’t remember what you did.” Serana started to bring up. 

“We don’t know that!” She hissed. “From what you’ve told me about Elayne the daedra were aware of her using that book! They might remember me!” She shuddered. “They cursed me. Wished for me to know that they would take exquisite joy in collecting my soul.”

“Which daedra?”

“I won’t say their name.” She muttered. “I know better than that. But they are obsessed with dunmer. They don’t like Shashev.”

Azura. “He made you experiment on twilights?” Winged Twilights were summoned to attack them when they fought Harkon, last year. Winged daedra with long memories and a penchant for hatred. Molag Bal employed a few of them, and her father showed her how to conjure them. 

“And others. He ignored the warnings, and still had me do it. Even after I changed my face I ran into a daedra at one point, one of the ones I probably touched. It wasn’t happy with me. Just changing my face won’t hide me from that. I need something more permanent.”

“I know you need me. Or something from me.” 

“More than just your skin, really.” Galathil quipped. “But I won’t explain that fully until we have those tools. Because the dwemer had their own flesh sculptors, too. The people I learned from told me that they thought it originated with the dwemer. Something about them rejecting some of the limitations of flesh.” She stared up at the towers before them. “Shashev told me that the tools he got for me were taken from a powerful daedra, known for collecting things. We can’t risk that kind of ire. Especially if they know who we are before we even think of trying.”

“So where are those tools going to be?”

“I’m not stealing from the daedra!” She hissed. “But the daedra had to have gotten them from somewhere.”

“What did they look like?” 

“One of them was a gauntlet. I never learned its name, nor the other tools. Just some kind of weird hammer and a small knife. All dwemer tools that he stole from some daedra.” 

“So we are looking for the tools of trade for an obscure craft that not all dwemer were even aware of.” Serana wasn’t feeling threatened by that goal. Galathil was a bosmer, and Serana a vampire. They had a long time to look lifespan wise. But events in Riften were making it clear that this was as important as getting this belt off. Serana was starting to get frazzled. The threat of those plugs had her terrified in her waking moments. Strangely, she could sleep. She didn’t have dreams while wearing this. What bothered her most was that her cravings for the Bitch Tamer went away while stuck in this chastity belt. She couldn’t touch it, which made it all worse. “Why do you need parts of me?”

“When we experimented on the daedra, we took parts of your skin.” Galathil looked away rather than at Serana by that admission. They probably took more than that. “Attached it to the daedra and then saw what happened when we sent it back and forth into oblivion.”

“Did Shashev ever explain what he was trying to do?”

“I never asked. That would have gotten a collar around my neck that I couldn’t get off. By knowing very little, I was never dragged into his circle of attention.” The Bosmer started grabbing an empty bag, hanging an elven dagger from her belt and a basic bow on her back. The ancient bow she got in the barrow was replaced as soon as they got to the Riften markets. “But those weird tools can’t have been entirely unique.”

“If you want to check through all of Shashev’s things, Elayne still has them somewhere. Most of them were artifacts that wandered off on their own, but some of them she couldn’t identify. Maybe those will be the tools you need!”

“Won’t the Dragonborn collar me over that?”

“Elayne?” Serana couldn’t imagine it. “She’s probably going to ask you to try to fix some scarring on Queen Eola.” 

“I can’t fix a blind eye so easily.” 

“What I mean is that Elayne isn’t like Shashev. She’s mostly concerned with fucking her husband and taking care of the dragons. Teaching them how to connect to the modern era and its races.” 

“That is the work of Aedra if I’ve ever seen it. It sounds entirely unlike any Dragonborn I’ve seen or read about.”

“Elayne is as dangerous as any of them. But the woman is on her honeymoon and we haven’t seen what goals might manifest later.” Serana had seen power hungry people before. “Somehow I doubt she has intentions of taking territory or conquering a province. She’s the kind of person to come into a nordic barrow and not steal anything from it. Maybe she will leave gold she has earned from elsewhere as an offering.”

“So she’s an idiot with her money.”

“One hundred percent.” Serana nodded. “But that’s probably why most of it goes to the dragons or the silk merchants.”

“I’m beginning to understand why you went off on your own.” Galathil said with a smirk as Serana grabbed an empty bag and her own weapons. “You wanted some gods damned peace and quiet.”

“Yes!” She replied. “Is that so hard to believe that was the main reason?”

“Most people are suspicious of you because it’s a vampire that can walk in light of day and wants to have a presence in the holds. Other vampires can’t even let the sun touch them.”

“I’m special.” She admitted. “But the sun does affect me. I get weaker and less powerful under its light.” 

“But you’re still strong enough to beat an Imperial captain in combat.”

“At night I am much more powerful.” Powerful enough to take on that Falmer vampire. “When we are underground it’s much the same. But most vampires like being in tall places. It helps the egos.”

“Don’t tell me that right before we go inside of a ruin with those towers!” The elf looked abashed. “I’ve got enough anxiety!”

Serana just led the way, hefting her newest purchase. The steel shield was on her left arm, and would be so much more useful than her usual method of casting spells from her left hand. At least while she had her current problem. But with that strength of hers, she could do plenty with a shield. As well as protect her friend. “Just stay behind me. We can see what these animiculi can do.”

“What was that word?”

“Animiculi?” Serana blinked. “That’s what all of the books of my time called the dwemer constructs.”

“I don’t think anyone outside of a mage symposium would even know what you meant anymore.” 

“Language must have gone downhill since the second era.” They were talking to break the tension. Entering their second dwemer ruin brought up memories of the first, being chased into the building by the Falmer vampire. “We should expect little spiders, some human sized ones and if we are lucky we won’t see the ones they built to fight daedra.”

“Lucky.” She murmured. “Alright.” The caverns swiftly turned into stone hallways and the orange tinted dwarven metal coating on some of those walls. They were moving inwards, Serana wishing she could cast muffle. Deeply wishing. Her heels clicked too loudly, bringing the attention of their first foe. It charged forwards, slamming into her shield and bouncing off of it. It’s little claws tried to get around it, but her jinkblade was able to stab it enough times that it stopped moving. Twisting to face Galathil, she could see her shaking, another one down at her feet. The elven dagger was still lodged in its ‘head’. “Gods.” She spat. “They’re worse than I imagined. All of the nasty little legs moving.”

This area had been picked over by others in the intervening eras from the disappearance of the dwemer to their entry. But the spiders had soul gems in them! Their bags were hardly full as they moved ahead by torchlight. Though they moved forward far enough to find a dumping ground in one of the cavern like spaces. Fourteen bodies in stages of decomposition were here. Their equipment was stripped from them, though Galathil found a few stashes of gold in the mix. “Something nasty did this.” She pointed to how the bones were damaged. “Bigger than those spiders.”

The answer to that question lied in the halls ahead. A pair of spheres were rolling about a long hall filled with columns. The spheres looked to be patrolling. Galathil could see that there was a chamber in the middle of the room with a natural lightsource. But to one side was a line of dwellings. Each one had a bed, as well as storage. 

“Think arrows work?” She asked. 

“Try. One at a time, if we can.” Serana gave her a nod. Galathil pulled back on her bow, and let fly at the slow moving spheres. The arrow dented the outside. What followed was a harsh discovery. The spheres unfolded into human shapes from a torso upwards, while they moved around on those balls. They were tough, and had crossbows built into their arms. Serana swore her jinkblade was getting a chip at the rate she had to swing to bring down these things. But behind her shield she could handle the strain of blocking. On the second of the pair of sphere constructs she shoved her shield into a gap in the armor, mule kicking the thing apart. For all of their work and broken arrows they found a couple of soul gems and a bit of dwarven oil. “I wonder if Beem-Ja made it past here.” 

“He probably could have. Or sacrificed draugr under his control to do it.”

“No draugr in the body pile.” Serana couldn’t see any evidence of necromancy either. “Let’s check the side rooms. Quickly. I don’t like this place.” The sounds of gears and shifting metal bothered her.  Her belt held her captive, and this place kept her on edge. The beds were made of stone, and whoever made this place seemed perfectly comfortable in the absence of light. Serana’s searching found a few locked chests and storage containers. Anything without a lock had been opened. Those with locks she didn’t bother trying to open. She wasn’t good with that kind of skill. Doors were locked in this ruin, too. 

Galathil seemed to be more of a risk taker. She managed to open one of the chests in a bedroom, the stone like box sliding open. “A-ha!” A solid bar of ebony was inside! Though as she was drawing it out she must have spilled one of those canisters of oil. Her hand was covered in the black substance. “That’s worth all of the picks I just broke.” The bosmer laughed it off. “Come on, Serana. I’ll save the rest for doors we have blocking the way.” Pieces of dwemer metal that looked like they might hold value were also added to their packs. But a few rooms later, Serana saw from the light of Galathil’s torch what appeared to be a glove on her right hand. The same one that she had spilled oil upon. 

“Hang on.” Serana called out. “There’s something I-” From the side, Serana was bowled over by angry sphere construct. A desperate fight broke out, where it loomed over Serana and it was all she could to just to block it from smashing her face in. Galathil hopped onto its back, her dagger going into the construct again and again until it finally fell. The unmoving metal wasn’t hard for Serana to move, but it looked like Galathil was injured by a crossbow bolt. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Galathil muttered, staring at a heavy bolt stuck in her arm. “These things would have hurt you worse if I didn’t jump on it.”

“I was distracted by your glove.”

The bolt must not have been deep, for the elf was able to withdraw it with a muttered curse. “My glove? But I’m not wearing one.” Her eyes widened as she looked at her right hand, covered in a black oily substance. It looked like a skintight glove, with a bit of a shine to it. “What in Oblivion is this?!” She pulled back her sleeve, and both of them stared at the oily black coating that was going up her arm. “Oh gods, I can’t feel whatever this is!”

Serana pointed to a side chamber with doors they could shut. “In there. Go!” Scrambling, they shut the doors softly and latched the metal shut. “Strip down. We need to see where it’s going.”

Galathil blushed a little bit. But her armor came off, followed swiftly by the robes she wore underneath. Covered only by her smallclothes the elf stared at her right shoulder, where the inky black substance was crawling forward like a very slow tide. It was slow enough to watch with the naked eye, yet fast enough that Serana could guess that it would be spreading too quickly for them to get back to Riften before it made its way over her. “What the-” Galathil scrabbled at the inky substance with her fingers, discovering that it could spread. Now it was starting to coat her other hand! “Help! You’re the mage!”

Serana grabbed one of the pieces of scrap metal that were in every room. Pressing it against the advance, she saw that the inky substance didn’t spread to the metal. In fact, it moved around it! “I think I have an idea! Or at least a way of protecting you.” She reached into her bag, looking at her spare outfits. A spare stocking and a couple of other ingredients were fetched, and Serana tied a makeshift choker around Galathil’s neck with the stocking. 

“What’s that going to do?”

“It can only spread along your skin. I can protect your face with this,” She tied it tightly enough that Galathil’s neck was creased. Her teeth ached at the sight. It was delightful to her vampiric senses. But she focused. She would be fine. The second article of clothing she held up made Galathil gulp. “This will protect the rest of you.”

“Oh gods, not that! I left Alinor for a reason!” Yet the elf didn’t stop her as Serana pulled a silk corset around the woman’s waist. She didn’t need to put her heel into her back like Taarie did for Elayne. Her vampiric strength was enough that Galathil squealed like a pig and stared at her shrunken waist. “You have strong hands for a woman.” The elf said, looking away from Serana. “Hope that helps.” Her left hand was starting to look inky black, even as part of her collarbone was now covered. “What now?”

“That will keep it contained.” Serana said, confident. “We shouldn’t have to leave yet.” All this inky stuff was doing was covering her skin. Serana didn’t dare touch it herself. But Galathil was playing with it, pulling and jerking the material with her newly gloved hands. Armor was replaced, and Galathil breathed more lightly as they left the room. 

Deeper into the ruin they dared go, their torches lighting up the old halls. It seemed like they were doing alright, until they saw what stood between them and some kind of factory floor. Pieces of the constructs were everywhere, in storage containers and upon tables. As they watched, small spiders were putting together one of the spheres. It was slow going, but the room was patrolled by two spheres and three of those spiders, in addition to the ones working in the background. 

“We can’t fight that many.” Galathil said, worried. All of the spiders had an addition they weren’t familiar with. Some kind of glowing orb that radiated magic mounted on the top of the main body. “What do we do?”

“Sneak past.” Serana considered. “There is a walkway around the room. We take it, and avoid them.” The idea held merit, even as both of them carefully avoided further conflict. But there was a wall at the end of the hallway that was stained with old blood. Serana knew that color of stain intimately. As well as the sphere that was the author of it, as the object rolled out from the shadows to strike at them. It slammed Serana hard enough for her to see stars, and the shield cracked. 

Galathil leapt through the air, jumping over Serana and getting its attention. The sphere took her spells and blade, striking back through her armor. The sphere went down, but not before Galathil was injured and Serana’s shield developed a large crack. 

“You alright?”

“No.” Galathil muttered. “It just lightly cut through my back. I can breathe again.” Serana realized what she meant immediately. It damaged the corset. Alright the lower parts of the elf’s neck were inky black. The makeshift choker was doing its job, but both women now felt like it was a race against time. “You hurt anywhere?”

“If I were mortal my arm would be bruised. Those things swing harder than most.” Her shield had three crossbow bolts in it. “Go back or keep going?”

“Keep going.” She said, her chin up. “Beem-Ja wanted something from here. I just hope it’s not behind a locked door.”

A body was up ahead. A nord, his armor mangled and not decomposed. “This is more recent.” Serana pointed out. “He’s less than a year dead.” The place was mostly dry in this corridor. 

“No way to identify him. But this means we should go deeper.” 

They had to be sneaky with some of the constructs in the next area, but found a set of doors wider and taller than the rest. They also were going deeper into the structure. Galathil was keeping pace, but Serana could see her glancing down at herself often. They both wondered if the corset was still doing its job or not. But taking the time to get her armor off and check seemed like a waste. Especially if it had broken already. 

Past that door was a massive steam chamber. Giant columns moved up and down, and a fog of the stuff was filling the chamber. Massive gears rotated in the distance, making it hard for anyone to be heard. A single sphere tried to block their way, but Serana bashed it into pieces with the edge of her shield before it could fully deploy. “Look!” Galathil half yelled over the sounds of the place. “That seems important!” 

A platform. A massive platform, with the gears that made so much noise. Two large structures framed some kind of pedestal. One of the structures was empty, while the other held a fourteen foot tall monstrosity. A construct large enough that Serana could feel her ass tighten in response to just seeing it. “Centurions.” 

“That’s too big!” Galathil was looking scared, and rightly so. The amount of metal in that thing was enough to crush her with a single blow. “Serana, we can’t!” 

“I know one way we can beat it.” Serana shuddered, heat pooling in her lower belly. “I can summon a Dremora.”

“But you’ll be down!” 

“I feel a lot of magic in here! We’re close. Close to what he wanted!” Serana felt like taking the risk. The fact that she had been edged and teased by this damn belt had nothing to do with it. “Just trust me!” 

“Fine.” Galathil took up a position close to the edge of where she could see that giant construct. Then she started shooting her bow, aiming for the gigantic eyes of the thing. “But I don’t fancy my chances!”

Serana threw her shield down. It wasn’t going to do much. Plus, she needed both of her hands for this spell. Dremora were nasty things. Especially when your family knew how to call the higher orders of them. “Vonshala, I cast my suffering as your own, and summon you!” One of the strongest Dremora that served Molag Bal. She was a brutal executioner, and willing to be summoned on behalf of their family. Or at least, she remembered that much. Serana put all of her magicka into the spell, clenching her lower body as the belt would respond. 

A portal from Oblivion opened, even as she heard the heavy slamming of the centurion. The dremora she summoned was female, with thick horns on her brow and no hair to speak of. She only wore a corset made of daedric metals, along with a skirt that may better be described as a belt. A pair of cruel spiked heels adorned her feet. “Proud to serve.” She intoned, before lifting a daedric warhammer from her back. “Long your kin have waited for this day!” 

Serana would have answered her, but the belt got there first. The plugs went as deep as they had ever dared. Her intake of breath was audible over the sounds of metal. She sank to her knees even as the plugs began vibrating, pinching and pulling her insides in a concoction that shouldn’t be physically possible. There was no warning for her. It was too powerful. She screamed, hands pulling at anything. Anywhere. Anything that would help, she tried. Serana’s mouth fell open and she fell over, as she finally and mercifully came. 

But it didn’t stop! The vibrations kept building. Her voice was gone in minutes, yet the belt wanted her to be punished. That had to be the reason someone would invent something like this! It wouldn’t end! It must have been hours that Serana was reduced to just a piece of meat on the floor, the only thing her body knew was the feelings from between her legs. Her muscles spasmed so many times that they went limp. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, her lips left open to gasp as it was all she could do to just keep herself sane. Molag Bal had never been so good. All he did was take from her. This was a different kind of survival. She wasn’t facing some daedric prince. There were no tortuous aedric vigilants. The only thing Serana had to survive was her own body. 

By the time the plugs mercifully stopped, she was curled into a ball. She fought to stay awake, even as the high heels of the female dremora approached. “All of your foes are silenced, summoner. What else do you beg for?” The head of her warhammer touched the metal before Serana’s eyes, making her work so very hard just to look up at the dark skinned creature. 

“Leave her alone.” Galathil stepped in front of her, knowing she would never win such a fight. “You killed them all.”

“Indeed.” Vonshula grinned, her eyes promising suffering to something. “The next time you crave such attentions, summoner.” Her eyes roved over Serana’s form. “Summon one of the Mazken. They would happily entreat your tears.” Serana wasn’t crying. She wasn’t. “I will return to Oblivion now, my services complete.” 

The portal that opened was just slim enough for the dremora’s hips to fit through. She sashayed beyond, into the realm of Coldharbour. Serana blinked as the portal closed, leaving behind a tiny sphere of daedric metal. A small orb with a glowing interior. “Gala?” She couldn’t even say the woman’s full name. “Ok?” 

“I’m okay.” The elf said. “I’m okay.” She shuddered, looking down. The inky black coating had gone down to her thighs. The skintight oily coating seemed sleek. Almost permanently wet. “Seeing you go down scared me. But that dremora you summoned. She went back the way we came, and destroyed all of them. Every single one of those things! Shattered them with that hammer of hers.”

“Oh.” That seemed helpful. Her eyes fluttered, and Serana’s neck couldn’t support her well enough anymore. Galathil must have noticed, too. 

“You can rest. We’re safe.” Galathil promised. “Close your eyes, I’ll get you somewhere you can rest.” But that meant that there would be no saving her from whatever was coating her. Serana strangely felt at ease. She had finally had an orgasm. Many of them. Her body felt loose, relaxed in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Perhaps ever. Maybe, just maybe she was crying a little bit. All of this because she cast a spell? She could worry about that later. With a sigh, she shut her eyes and passed out in the dwemer ruin. Galathil didn’t even gag her. 

Chapter Text

Serana groaned gently as she came back into the world. She had slept! Her body still felt weak and on edge, the feeling of her skin coming back slowly. She was somewhere hot, with moisture on her body. The sounds around her were mechanical, with something heavy pressing with a hiss nearby. Steam washed over her as she heard that! Blinking her eyes open, she remembered where she was. The dwemer ruin! Avanchnzel came back into focus, the giant steam vents pumping in the room around her. Next to her, she could see a bosmer head asleep on a bag. Shaking a bit, her silk dress felt like it would need a bit of cleaning. Nothing a little bit of magic wouldn’t fix. 

Which made her clench. The belt and all of its tortures came back to her, the feeling of a plug in her ass sticking to the forefront of her mind. Serana put that behind her, getting up on her knees. Galathil was next to her, her bag balanced on some kind of metal spar to hold her head up. The woman’s armor was off, and Serana could see the full inky covering on her. From the tips of her fingers to her ankles, every inch of her skin was coated in a shiny black substance. Around her wrists it had bulked up considerable, as well as around her neck. 

At her ankles there were sections of stocking that were tied off like it was trying to keep a wound from bleeding. But her feet were looking discolored from the clear lack of bloodflow. Serana raised a hand to wake her, before Galathil squirmed to flip over. Serana blinked, noticing every inch of her skin highlighted in the inky black material. Every detail of her nipples were on display. Her belly button peeked out comfortably, and she could see every inch of detail on her labia. “Gods.” There was no hiding that. Shaking her head, she grabbed Galathil by the ankle and shook her. “Hey! Wake up!”

The elf blinked, coming awake with a start. Though as she looked over the area, she gave a yelp. “Serana! Why did you strip me?!”

“I just woke up!” She frowned. “I wouldn’t need to do that!” Why was she explaining herself? “You were that way when I woke up!”

Galathil placed a black glove over her labia, covering it. “I slept in my smallclothes! This damned thing!” Both of them heard the noise of her glove touching the similar surface, almost a squeaking noise. “It’s probably cursed.”

“Definitely.” Serana said, her knees still shaky from everything that had happened. “How long was I asleep?”

“Hours. I gathered everything of value from the other room, before any spiders could come back. Then I protected my feet and slept, too. No idea how long its been past that.” Galathil hissed, looking at her discolored feet. “I slept too long!”

“You’re losing blood flow to your feet.” Serana took hold of the tied silken stockings. “And you’re fixing these since you’ve run the seams.” Galathil definitely didn’t own silk. “Want these off?”

“No avoiding it.” She murmured. “That’s not good coloring. I didn’t want this shit expanding. And the area by neck stopped growing, thank the gods.” She plucked at it with her fingers, finding the material stretching. But it only stretched so far before it snapped back onto her skin like it was supposed to be that tight. “Now that you’re awake we can get out of here.”

“Once we find out what those centurions were guarding.” Something that large? Had to be important. “I’ll get right on that.” Serana’s heels clicked as her legs shook, making her way to the deepest part of this ruin. The tiny little piece of dwemer metal that they got from Brynjolf was pulsing along with the room. Energy sparked from it towards a waiting altar. Or something. It looked like a low platform just for the cube. A hand print was on the dusty surface next to where the cube could be inserted. “Argonian.” The hand print was argonian, but the bodies they found in this room weren’t a match. Blood was crusted on the panel from where the hand touched. Judging by the fact that one of the centurions was still functional, whoever took the cube must have just cut and run. 

“There was an argonian body.” Galathil spoke up, standing next to her. “But I don’t think they lived to this point. They were pinned by bolts to a wall.”

“And this Nord looks like she killed the second centurion.” Probably made it to Sovngarde. Her hammer was shoved through the thing’s core section. Serana let the cube snap back into place, the pedestal accepting it like it was magnetized. “I think I need to touch it.” Serana mused. 

“Why?! Even I can feel the energy coming off of that!”

“Because.” Serana didn’t have to know all of the details. She just knew that Beem-Ja was denied whatever this was for a reason. Galathil didn’t stop her as she laid a silken glove on the cube. Images flooded her mind, of a few objects. A glowing blue dagger that looked like raw crystal with dwemer metal framing it. A hammer joined it, one handed. It had a ball tip on one side, but Serana wasn’t much of a smith to know if that mattered very much. She could feel her body shaking from just seeing this. Last of all was a gauntlet, infused with power. Even she knew something was potent about it. 

It looked like just a right gauntlet. There was supposed to be a left one. Or maybe there was one at one point? A left handed dwarven gauntlet to match, with some kind of blue crystal inlaying it. It was brilliant, lighting up the entire chamber. Her senses were overcome by it all, and out of reflex she took the cube out of the pedestal. She was back! Back to herself, at least. But in the peripheral view she could sense magic trying to be noticed. Images of those tools and pieces of armor demanding her attention. “Serana?” Her bosmer friend shook her. “Serana!”

“I think I know why that Argonian went insane.” She said, more a gasp than a whisper. Letting the cube go, it snapped back into place on the pedestal. The moment it did so, the images vanished. “Touch it.” 

“After you just told me it made someone else go insane?” The bosmer made a rude noise in her throat. 

“All it shows you are some dwemer tools. Artifacts, maybe.”

“What kinds?” Serana described a couple of them, every descrition making the Bosmer bite her lip. Galathil waited a few seconds before reaching out with her gloved hand. She braced for the shock, but nothing happened. “What in the name of,” She grabbed it with both hands, the gloves making cute little noises as she tried to grab hold. “This won’t let me interact with it!”

“Maybe the Dunmer kept their servants in this to keep them from interfering in their experiments.” Serana chuckled as she watched the cube resist all attempts of removal or interaction from the inky black gloves of Galathil. The bosmer  squirmed, the skintight suit following every move she made. “It’s starting to move down your feet.” The ink was moving into her boots. The wraps she had on her ankles had come off as she moved around. Her armor had seen better days, and didn’t cover enough of her legs or neck to hide the reflective black hide. 

“But I need to know where those tools are!” Galathil hissed, glaring at her ankles. “Those are the ones Shashev let me use!” 

“That’s not what it showed me.” Serana spoke up. “I think it was some kind of treatise or agreement. It related to those tools, but it doesn’t feel like a map.” The information was neatly in her head. It didn’t feel like a map, or guide to them. “I think the cube here was an idea. Something they offered as a potential plan. There are sounds I am hearing that don’t make sense when I think of it all.”

Galathil gave up trying to make the cube work for her. Touching it with her hands didn’t do much, and touching it with her face seemed like inviting the machine to shock the eye involved. There was a small chamber off to the side of the exit, with a sliding door. Serana grinned at that. It led to the towers they saw from the outside! Though when they got outside it was the stars that greeted them. Not a cloud to be seen, and it must have been very early in the morning. Or perhaps late at night. “We were in there a long time.” 

“If we could pick locks, we would have been in there for days, just doing a basic look over.” Serana whispered. “There are probably miles of city streets we couldn’t get to because of just locked doors.” There were no constructs out on the great porch they found themselves on. But there were tables and chairs made out of that dwarven metal tucked in the shadow of one of those towers. “I bet these will sell nicely.” She chuckled, looking at the heavy objects. 

“We have to be hundreds of feet higher than where we entered!” Galathil pointed out. “I am not climbing down a muddy hill and breaking a leg.” She sat at the tables, rubbing one of her ankles. “We almost died in there, Serana. If it wasn’t for that summon of yours, I don’t think we would have made it.” She seemed shaken by that, as she rubbed her inky black gloves against matching inky black ankles. 

“I think dwarven ruins are not somewhere we want to be for a while.” Serana agreed. “I also don’t like our chances going down that hill. Vampiric balance or not, I don’t want to fall either.” The pair weren’t keen to leave just yet, and sat in the metal chairs and watched the stars for an hour. It gave more time for recovery, and cataloging all of the things they had found. A single weapon, a shock enchant on it. A couple of pieces of armor that weren’t enchanted. Lots of oil and soul gems, and some gold from the bodies of the adventurers that came before. Their weapons were mostly blunt ones that were heavily damaged from fighting the constructs, so were left behind. Their armor too was no longer useful. 

The sun began to rise, making Serana hiss. Her body was not doing well, she was freely going to admit. Poor sleep and injuries were slowing her down. “I think,” She started saying. “That we should head west. To Helgen.” 

“Isn’t that where your Mistress is?” Galathil raised an eyebrow. 

“It means allies and help. And probably a good place to fix our damaged gear. My sword is chipped and your dagger looks bent. Potions and other useful things are probably in stock there, too.” They couldn’t go back to Riften like this, even with the issue with Galathil’s other half. “Plus, maybe you want to meet her.”

“A great hero on her honeymoon? Somehow I have doubts it is going to be as miraculous as I wish.” Galathil almost tripped as she stood up, slamming her hands onto the table. “What in the,” She glared down at her ankles. “Serana!” 

“What?” The vampire moved around the table quickly, her skirts pulling against her thighs. “Oh.” 

Galathil’s inky black bodysuit had arrived at her feet. Rather than just coat them, it decided to reform her boots into a pair of spiked heels made from the same material. The bosmer was squirming, every ounce of her skin covered by the thin material. The heels rose to somewhere near her ankles, and gave her a fantastic curvature for her ass. “That’s all you’re going to say? I can’t walk in stilts!” 

“Time to learn.” Serana warned. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”

“Shashev shattered my ankles.” She said. “Broke them so that I couldn’t run away. It took my using those tools to repair my feet over time, an inch at a time.”

“So you couldn’t leave.” Serana realized. “Even if you knew then, you have to learn all over again.”

“Walking was hard enough! Ugh!” The woman started stumbling. Serana had to help her, as this decided that there would be no way for her to climb down the hill at this rate. It meant going back through the city. “Let’s just hurry. My bag is heavy and I can’t feel anything.”

Leaning on one another, they went back inside, Galathil being confident on any kind of flat ground. But there were plenty of ramps and stairs to trip on just getting back to the room with the lexicon. Serana took a piece of paper and helpfully wrote a warning to tie with a string over the cube. She simply stated ‘vision of dwemer insanity. Do not touch.’ Just for fun she drew a holy symbol of Stendarr on the scroll. That would ward away most anyone. 

Galathil just kept moving through the room, not slowing down to worry about the pedestal or its contents. Serana took only a minute to finish her work, wishing she could use some magic to put up a rune around the pedestal. Something more than just a simple note. But her body tightened at the thought. She didn’t want to hinder them again. Her hands twitched, wanting to use her magic freely. But her ass clenched right along with that. “No, I can’t.” She told herself. Though she heard the sound of breaking glass from somewhere. Turning, she saw some kind of miniature portal to oblivion surrounding Galathil. 

The bosmer was squealing, as some kind of object was formed over her. It was a red dress, going from her knees to her neck. Gloves of some thicker material had formed over the top of the inky black already on her, and then were strapped in front of Galathil. The hands were covered completely in bags of the stuff, making her thumbs useless. The neck of the dress had a crimson band of thicker material, with a long leash coming out of it. “Serana! Help!” She wailed. 

“What did you do?” Serana caught up, noticing small shards of glass by one of her heels. Her eyes widened, remembering the small orb that the dremora she summoned left behind. “The orb!”

“What orb!” Galathil balanced in the dress, the skirt so tight that she could only hobble. She struggled, the material upon her barely giving an inch. Her face got red, just trying. 

“The one my dremora left behind!” Serana was careful not to mention the daedra’s name. “You stepped on it.”

Right next to her foot was a staff, made out of daedric metal. “Serana, help!” She gasped. “I can barely move!”

Serana could see complicated locks on the neck of the dress, as well as the biceps and wrists. “I don’t think I can. It’s locked on you.” The staff she pocketed, pleased to see it. It looked like a lightning themed staff. 

“Fucking daedra!” She groaned, before almost falling. Her heeled foot got tangled with the end of the leash hanging from her neck, Serana catching her before she could fall. “Could you,” She grimaced. “Could you hold that?”

Hours of slow hobbling later, she and Galathil managed to make it outside. Serana had the leash in hand, strangely enjoying seeing the elf hobble after her. Her family’s war against the Direnni clans came to mind, with their elven heritage at the forefront of her thoughts. She wouldn’t tell Galathil that she enjoyed pulling her along on a leash. She carried her up into the seat of the wagon with a grunt, setting her down as the morning was in full bloom. The horses were wrangled, and their packs were emptied into the cart. Serana didn’t want to go back into a dwarven ruin for a long while after this. All of the ‘loot’ was either too heavy to carry enough or was hard won from battle. In other words, difficult. 

Galathil huffed as she got settled onto the wagon’s seat. “This is demeaning.” Her arms flexed ineffectually. 

“Consider yourself lucky.” Serana pointed out, as the horses got yoked. “Elayne made me wear something for over a year. My hands were behind my back most of the time, and I had to turn the pages of my books using the point of my heel.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go to Helgen.” 

“If you can guide the horses, you can decide where we go this time, alright?” Serana offered, watching as the woman struggled. 

Galathil didn’t say anything for a minute, as the horses began making their way down the westward roads. “Can you still wear a gag tonight?” 

Serana licked her lips. “Did you need me to?”

“Yeah.” The bosmer shakily admitted. “If you can.” She was scared. Serana could tell. Something at least Serana could do for her while she couldn’t run away or move her hands. 

“I will.” She promised. “You’ll be able to sleep.” Galathil was her friend. Though the inky black skintight suit made her look smaller than she actually was. The red hobble dress did make her breasts look larger, if only a little. The road to Helgen was three days ride with the wagon, going up into the mountains. The uphill climb was a struggle, but the ancient cobblestone of the area was comfortable for the horses to push on. The lone bandit that tried to attack them in the mountains was immediately regretting his decision. Serana had her first meal in what felt like a month, and the bandit would never trouble anyone ever again. Or rise as a draugr, either. 

She dumped the body in a large ravine and got them the rest of the way into Helgen. The sun was rising as she led the wagon in, with Queensworn walking the streets and a few of Elayne’s new Dragonguard trying move a sleepy Alduin out of the middle of the street. Serana was recognized by many, with a few of the people she knew better waving. The cart had to come to a stop in front of the big black dragon, as Galathil tried not to breath. She was frozen, face to face with the most dangerous creature in the world. “Alduin?”

Serana’s question hung in the air, as the big dragon perked up. “ Geh. ” He was curious as to why she was addressing him. 

“I am coming back for a day or two. Can you not scare my horses?” 

“ Kaan Drem Ov. ” The dragon’s words washed over them, as the horses stopped fidgeting. Some kind of meaning was there, a deeper calling to the soul. For her it felt alien, a calm that wasn’t hers. The animals seemed immediately at peace, even with a predator ten times their size in front of them. Alduin reached one claw forwards, gently nudging the lead horse on the shoulder. “ Come, come. ” Serana grinned, watching as the dragon nimbly twisted around to move out of the street, heading towards the old fort. Once out of the way, there were at least five wagons full of merchants that looked annoyed at the delay. Which is probably why the old lizard did it. 

As they approached the old fort, as well as the home of the Dragonborn next door Serana finally realized why Alduin was on the other side of the settlement making a nuisance of himself. The walls were shaking from some kind of tremor. “Oh no.” Serana knew that tremor. “Alduin, you just wanted to get away from them, didn’t you?” 

The black dragon chuckled. It knew exactly what it was avoiding. Galathil squirmed on the wagon as they approached the multiple tiered home, as screams of passion filled the area. The dragon didn’t bother replying, but Serana had her own answer. A bottle of mead, thrown through the open dragon roost window. It wasn’t big enough for Alduin to do anything other than move his head inside. But Serana was fairly familiar with the sounds of the Dragonborn mid-coitus. Judging by the noise, they were at the head of the damn dinner table. 

The sound of a mead bottle breaking upon bare skin made Serana smile. “Hah!” 

“What the!”

“Who the fuck?!” Elayne and Miraak could be heard in the next neighborhood over. “Mead?!” Miraak especially. “LAAS!” His shout rattled the windows. Serana thought that might be the one that let Elayne see through walls. “They’re outside!”

“I was so close! Ugh!” Serana folded her arms, as Galathil had no choice about her arms being held in front of her. Elayne’s whining was so familiar that she couldn’t help but smile. There was a commotion from inside, as the Dragonborn couple tumbled out of their house. Miraak was only wearing a pair of pants, the belt latched a hole too tight. Mead was all over his back, making Serana start cackling. Elayne stumbled out next to him, her blue hair sticking up in back and a small dress barely pulled over her body. 

The cleavage bared by the dress would be daring on any other woman. On the Dragonborn’s almost flat chest it only seemed to highlight the metal chain that went between her nipples. “Hi!” Serana waved, staring at the two very angry Dragonborn. Seeing Miraak without a shirt on was at least a plus. He looked like he could bend a dragon’s horn with his arms. “I’m back!” She wouldn’t say she was home. She couldn’t. That was the point of her leaving. This wasn’t the life she wanted. This would not be the home she wanted to return to, collar or not. 

“Serana!” Elayne’s voice changed pitch mid-word. The plucky Breton launched herself off of the ground and into Serana, hugging her. Serana laughed right along with her, hugging the woman back. “You didn’t have to throw mead on Miraak! Why didn’t you just knock on the door?”

“Because Alduin was hiding on the other side of town trying to avoid you. What day do you think it is?”

“Sundas?” Miraak mused, looking at the sky. Like it was a suddenly appreciated thing to see. “Or Morndas?”

“ Turdas .” Alduin grumbled. 

“We’ve been fucking for three days?” Elayne looked elated to hear Miraak be so surprised. The man was thinking hard. “I’m going to get some food. Serana, please come in. And bring your pet elf. It looks like you’ve got a story for us.”

Elayne hugged Serana even tighter, her dress nearly coming open. “It’s so nice to see you! We got your letter and started doing some digging for you. And then we got distracted during the translation, and well.” She laughed a bit, smiling. “Come on in! Rest from the road! Miraak might know how to get that cute outfit unlocked. He’s decent with a lockpick.”

Galathil didn’t like being called a pet, but was just too shocked to consider talking back. Serana picked her up off of the wagon and set her down on the cobblestone, both of their sets of heels noisily approaching the house after the barefoot dragonborn. The leash was held in Serana’s hand, as they approached the massive dinner table that Miraak insisted that they have. “Did you find anything about my letter?”

Elayne’s home didn’t have any other guests. The door locked behind them, as the rest of Helgen finally could have their morning in peace. Elayne pointed at one of the rows of chairs on the right side of the table next to the head seat. “Sit.” Serana could feel her collar grow tighter, and hurried to settle Galathil in the further chair and herself in the nearer. The tight feeling went away the moment her ass settled into the chair. Elayne made Miraak sit at the head of the table, giving Serana a glare. Miraak was inches away from her, the man himself smelling of mead. A pair of heels were next to his chair, along with shards of glass on the table from the broken bottle. He wasn’t scratched by them at all! He must have already had some kind of defensive spell up to protect his skin from Elayne. 

The breton huffed, and grabbed the back of her small dress to lift upwards, before literally jumping into Miraak’s lap, the man preparing himself just in time. Serana was given the full experience of watching Elayne mount her husband, sighing in relief and her eyes crossing. Her palms slammed into the table, as the woman relaxed into Miraak’s lap. “Not while-”

Elayne held up one finger, making Serana freeze. “You interrupted us, and I was close. Get over it.” She itched her hips back and forth, Miraak closing his eyes. “As for your letter? Finding a missing Draugr lord? That sounds quite fun, but the writings you uncovered revealed revealed that the barrow you were in was actually designed for two purposes.” Elayne didn’t seem at all bothered to be having sex in front of them. Or maybe she just liked to torture Serana. “Ahhh.” Elayne made eye contact with Serana, and she knew it was just to torture her. Which made the belt between her legs all the more painful to be aware of. Even if Serana wanted to have sex, she couldn’t right now. “So, that barrow was originally to prepare virgin women in the dragon cult to be given to dragon priests as part of their ascension ceremonies.” Serana politely crossed her legs, something aching in her lower body at hearing that. “But as the dragon cult fell it was changed to become a prison tomb for a necromancer that tried to steal souls from Sovngarde. His name is Gathrik, o-or A-azuran,” Elayne stopped talking, as Miraak licked her bare back. She was entirely distracted, her attention fluttering. 

“After Alduin called the army, he escaped. Once he did, the old meaning for the barrow probably activated. Which is why you saw only female draugr in there. As for your friend, she doesn’t need the bones or blood of a warlord, she needs the bone meal of a dragon priest to unlock everything. They don’t have any blood left.” Miraak remained focused, even as Elayne lost herself to her sensations. Galathil beside her was staring at the table, her heeled feet scraping in her absolute discomfort at being here. The room at least had ventilation. Miraak stopped talking for a moment as he grasped Elayne by the hips and pulled . Her friend the dragonborn shuddered, slumping right onto the table with a massive sigh of relief. Yet Miraak kept her on his lap, hopefully for modesty’s sake. 

“Thank you.” Serana said quietly to the room. Elayne couldn’t respond, and Miraak seemed content. “I’ll be sure to tell her that she now needs the remains of a dragon priest to escape from her bondage.” Because that was even harder to collect. 

“Were you the one who wanted your pet in daedric ebonite?” Miraak asked, finally bringing Galathil into the conversation. 

“I’m not her pet! But the dwarven ruin!” She didn’t even look up at Miraak. Galathil was afraid, Serana realized. Her previous experiences with Shashev didn’t lend themselves well. “It trapped me.”

“That hobble dress comes from parts of Oblivion where ebony is spun by spider daedra into shapes to confound mortals. They add their own blood to it, shaping it into a form that can fit any mortal.” Miraak explained, the damned walking library that he was. “You probably touched or opened one of the daedric charms that they come in. It’s very rare, but I know we can break those locks. They don’t actually have keys until the victim has suffered enough for the locks to stabilize. But I assume you don’t want that.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Do you want to keep that dress?” Miraak asked carefully. 

“If I can. It sounds expensive.” Galathil noted. “But I like having my thumbs.”

Miraak groaned as he stood up, setting Elayne on the table fully so that her blue hair tumbled in front of both women. Her miniscule skirt he dragged back over her ass, the man somehow keeping his modesty while Elayne thoroughly lost hers. Bare chested, he left the table. “I’ll return in a moment. Stay seated.” Serana hated how her collar tightened imperceptibly at that. Elayne just recovered, her eyes meeting both of theirs as she languidly drew her dress back over her body. Or at least enough that her chain stopped scraping the table. When Miraak returned it was still shirtless, but he carried a set of dwarven gauntlets and an ebony dagger. “It’s not daedric, but it will be enough to break these locks.” Serana and Galathil watched as the nord started cracking the locks in half with the dagger. He was working hard, struggling as one hand held Galathil still and the other tore into the locks. 

“Should have accepted, Serana.” Elayne mumbled, as they all watched. “He’s even better in bed.”

“Elayne.” Miraak mumbled, snapping another lock in half. “I am not an unfeeling atronach at your beck and call.” 

Elayne laughed into the table, as the light from the large window was filled by the large black head of Alduin. “How hard is it to break those locks?”

Miraak laughed, a deep sound. “Hard. It’s mostly knowing the correct angle and then applying pressure.” He grunted and strained, a loud snapping noise coming as he freed Galathil’s hands from being held in front of her. They were still bagged in the ebony material, but she could move her arms! “As for the skintight suit, that’s perhaps the easiest to get on and off. It’s a dwarven oil base and if you have any kind of dwarven metal gloves you can grasp it easily.” Miraak grinned, showing off his knowledge from eras spent in Apocrypha. “Watch.” He was smooth, standing Galathil up and twirling her. The collar of the dress was undone and the elf wiggled ineffectually as Miraak dragged the dress all the way to the floor. The woman laughed a bit, flexing her now-free fingers. 

“Thank you.” Galathil said earnestly, even as Miraak pulled on the dwarven gauntlets. “I don’t think I want those gloves.”

“Sometimes the daedra give useful outfits.” Miraak explained, stepping up behind Galathil. “But most of the stories I’ve read about those daedric charms in apocrypha don’t end well.” The elf looked more at ease, knowing she wasn’t stuck in that dress. Of course, Serana and Elayne had the fortune of seeing her turn beet-red as Miraak jerked the entire skintight bodysuit down to her ankles in one fell swoop. 

“Hey!” All three women echoed. Elayne was probably mad that he was paying attention to another woman. Galathil was deeply offended at being stripped to her skin without even a warning. Serana just knew that Miraak had a scheming side. Being exposed to Hermaeus Mora for an era made him callous. Perhaps a bit of a dark side. Thankfully Elayne was very into that. Galathil crouched, covering herself with her hands. Miraak just laughed, chuckling. 

“Darling, can you go and get her a dress? Her bags are outside and we aren’t going to be bad hosts!” Elayne said, unable to move from the table reliably. 

Galathil just pulled the ebonite dress back over herself. It was tight upon her skin, pulling her small breasts up into a cupping section. “I wouldn’t want to impose.” She whispered, pulling the latch around her neck. Without the lock upon it, the bright red dress seemed actually fitting on the Bosmer. Serana felt a bit of a thrill at that. Barefoot, Galathil rejoined the table and sat down at her chair. Elayne eventually composed herself and got on a set of shoes for her own feet, slumping into a chair. “Thank you for freeing me.”

Miraak snorted. His ego was just that obnoxious sometimes. “I’m going to draw a bath and get something to eat.” He ruffled the top of Elayne’s head, the blue-tinted hair cursed from her time in Oblivion getting tussled. 

Serana gave Elayne a raised eyebrow. “So.” The word hung in the air like a conjured spell. “Losing track of the days now?”

“Yeah.” Elayne said, happily. “Isn’t it amazing?” Serana swore her skin looked like she was glowing. 

“You do look like you’ve been happier.” Serana pointed out. 

“You look so much healthier too!” Elayne beamed. “Did you eat someone?”

Galathil choked. Serana just laughed in surprise, Elayne’s forthright words so pleasant. “A bandit tried to rob us on the way here.” Serana admitted. “But I think I’m having a much better time on my own than I thought I would. I’ve made some new friends. Galathil here is someone special. She’s a flesh sculptor.”

“Don’t tease me, Serana.” Elayne warned. “The last time I tried to get my boobs any bigger the aedric artifact interfered!”

“Well, I won’t cause any jiggle then.” Serana countered. “But the reason I wanted to introduce you to my friend is because she is from the world you saw. She has a ‘sister’ over in Riften.”

Elayne woke up very quickly from her lethargy at the thought of Shashev. “Did you know him?”

“I wore a collar, but got it off once I got through the oblivion gate Shashev made to get his people out.” Galathil was trying to be honest. Serana could see that she was afraid, and her skin was pale. “I barely knew him. He wanted me to do cosmetic changes on a number of people. Some experiments.”

“Did you ever meet my alternate self?” Elayne seemed curious. The other world was a much darker copy of their own, mostly due to the machinations of one Shashev Helseth. 

“I don’t remember anyone with blue hair that was a Breton.”

“My other self wasn’t an Oblivion walker.” Elayne explained. “But she only had one hand and probably spent a lot of time in Dayspring Canyon.” 

“I spent only a week at the place. Otherwise I was sent to his loyalist covens.” Galathil spoke firmly. “I don’t think I would forget someone like you.”

“Flatterer.” Elayne took the compliment well. But there was something more to whatever that question was about. Serana wasn’t sure what was going on in her mind. “Did you meet the other Serana?”

“Many times. But she never got to speak.”

“How does my friend rate, eh?” Elayne chirped that last, smiling. “She being nice to you?”

“Yes.” Galathil assured her. “But Serana helped us when we needed it. We owe her. And she is willing to help me,” The elf flushed, her dress tight enough that both women could see her struggle to get it to allow her knees to be apart. “I can’t keep my face. There can only be one Galathil.”

Elayne clapped her hands. “Then there can only be one!” She smirked. “I’m in a really good mood, knowing that Serana has found a good friend. What did you need from me?”

“Some of the things left behind by Shashev. Three tools he had, all dwarven.” Galathil explained a bit and a base description. 

“Oh!” Elayne nodded. “I know the ones you’re talking about! Kagrenac’s Tools!”

Serana and Galathil leaned forwards, knowing that name. Those were the things used upon the heart of Lorkhan! “You have Kagrenac’s Tools?!” Galathil looked horrified to learn that the tools she had used to experiment upon daedra were the dwarven artifacts. 

“I did.” Elayne held up a hand. “But we thought they were too dangerous to keep together. So they are separated for safekeeping. The weapons will kill anyone who tries to handle them, unless you have the gauntlet.” She pointed at the dwarven gauntlet that Miraak used to take off the bodysuit. “It looks exactly like that!” But Elayne wouldn’t hide a dwarven artifact in plain sight! Would she?

“So where are they?”

“I can’t say out loud.” Elayne said carefully. “But Miraak will have to go get them. I wouldn’t keep artifacts at my house unless I could keep them safe. Most of the daedric ones we returned to their prince’s shrines or to those who needed them.” Serana flinched at the way she looked at her. Elayne had wondered where Auriel’s Bow had gone. Serana was the only creature on Nirn that knew its current location. The weapon that banished her father and blinded Alduin. It was too dangerous to use. “We have a couple of ebony weapons but that’s it.”

Serana placed a hand over Galathil’s. “Elayne is very careful not to anger the daedra or aedra overly much. She does have a healthy respect for Arkay.” 

“And Dibella!” Elayne said, loudly enough that Miraak’s snort carried down the halls. “So you need Kagrenac’s tools.”

“I also need,” Galathil took the time to drink from a nearby bottle of wine. “Hair from someone I want to emulate. And some of Serana’s skin.”

“Serana’s skin is from a powerful creature related to Oblivion.” Elayne was one of the more knowledgeable people about daedra. A good friend to have. “Why do you need that?”

Galathil gave Serana a long look. “To extend my own life. I can hide the wrinkles and the sagging skin. I can’t hide the tests of time. I’m over two hundred, Serana. It’s been a long time since I was in Alinor.”

“So you need something immortal to keep living.”

“The daedra skin we were taking didn’t extend the life of those we experimented on. Or give them immunity to whatever Alduin could do with his death powers.” Galathil shuddered. “The daedra we brought back with your skin were shriveled and dying back in Oblivion. Except for one, but they belonged to Molag Bal and we didn’t summon her ever again.”

“Ooh.” Elayne leaned forwards. “They might have survived the dragon break that happened.”

“I don’t want to think about that!” Galathil shuddered. “It was a spider daedra!”

“You aren’t afraid of frostbite spiders?” Serana offered. 

“I am absolutely afraid of frostbite spiders and I’ll never forgive you for making me fight some.” The elf responded. 

Elayne laughed at their banter. “Alright, so you need the tools. Skin, and what else?”

“I need hair.” Galathil explained. “Part of rebuilding a new identity means I need a lot of hair. I’ve collected some, but it’s a material that we go through when fixing things for people.”

Elayne smirked. “Why don’t I get you some food and warm beds, and we can meet later today? I should go and help Miraak grab those tools, but feel free to use your old room. We only had sex in there a few times.” The breton winked, getting up to leave.

“I’ll summon an atronach to cool you down if you take too long!” 

Elayne and Miraak apparently had to ask for their dragon allies to carry them somewhere to get the artifacts. Serana swore she heard the word Skuldafn mentioned. But Elayne actually wore a coat and frost resistance ring. It must have been somewhere only a dragon could reach. Galathil took a nap in Serana’s bed, while Serana looked over her old room with a smile. The arcane enchanter and potion station were still where she left them. All of her old flowerpots were still cared for. A larger urn had a huge bunch of grapes growing in it, making Serana smile. The day she left, her jazbay grapes had fallen out of the window and broken. But it looked like Elayne replaced them. 

She really did miss her. Serana waited for Galathil to fully fall asleep before she went over to her set of drawers. If there was anything she missed, it would be in here. Pulling out the drawer, Serana gave an annoyed hiss. The Bitch Tamer wasn’t in here. It wasn’t in any of the chests in here! Growling, she started stomping around to look for it. The surrounding rooms were checked, Elayne’s rooms were inspected, yet she couldn’t find it! Her body ached, thinking about it. This damn belt didn’t stretch her like the Bitch Tamer did! After hours of liberally searching every room in the building, she sighed and sat at the long dining table. All that she really wanted from this place was that outfit! She shuddered. She didn’t need it. Serana hugged her body, squeezing herself for comfort. 

“I don’t need it.” She said out loud. “I don’t.” But it wouldn’t hurt to know where it was. There was a spell that her mother taught her to find enchanted objects back in the second era. Serana hadn’t used it since that time, but she recalled it today. “I never learned the one for keys.” Being able to find a key didn’t seem that important, compared to knowing how to detect animals, people, and enchantments. A shiver ran up her spine, as if that were something to worry about. Her legs crossed, pressing the plugs deeper for a moment. “It wouldn’t hurt to know.” 

The spell was ancient, and it took her a full minute to remember how to shape the magicka. But she was ready, and already sitting down. She wasn’t afraid of the belt. Serana tried casting the spell, fumbling the hand motions. The spell failed, the plugs giving her fifteen minutes of light vibrations before calming down. She sucked in breath, ignoring how tight her breastband felt on her skin. Annoyed by it, she pulled her dress down and unlaced the fine silken wrap. It took a bit, but somehow Serana felt better about that layer no longer bothering her. The long band of silk was placed on the dining table unceremoniously. 

“You can do this.” Serana whispered to herself. “Just remember what mother taught you.” This time, her hands fluttered correctly, and the entire manor lit up with small green glowing objects. Enchanted ones. Weapons, armor, jewelry. But not a single one of the silhouettes was in the shape of the Bitch Tamer. Strangely, the belt didn’t even respond to her spellcasting. Or maybe it did and she was too tense to notice. She waited an entire minute, clenching her legs and waiting. Nothing happened. But in leaning her head, she thought she saw something through one of the walls. The range on this spell was limited, after all. She stood up to move, heading towards the wall the building shared with the old fort. 

There was something in that old building! It looked like it could be armor of some kind. Her steps carried her towards the wall, and she could see some kind of shape to the object. It could be her Bitch Tamer! Serana stifled a sound in her throat, biting her lip. But the belt decided that it would punish her spell at this point. Only one of the plugs activated, her ass vibrating painfully. She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, screaming. “No!” She lost the spell’s focus, her concentration being entirely focused on the throbbing vibrations in her ass. She didn’t want this! Serana squirmed, leaning against the wall as her hips wiggled left and right trying to escape the feelings set upon them. But she couldn’t! Growling, Serana glared at the belt as if it could be removed by some other method. Her knees shook, and she sank to the floor. Without a breastband, she could feel her nipples press into the fabric of her dress. Shuddering, she reached out one hand and squeezed the small nub between her fingers. The spikes of feeling from her ass were for that moment almost ignored. Almost. She got both hands into it, trying to survive this damned vibrating plug. 

Serana must have been there a while, pulling on her sensitive body to ward off the feelings in her ass. She just blotted out the world, trying to hang on. “Serana!” Elayne’s voice cut off her actions. The woman was by the dining table, holding up the discarded breastband. She hadn’t seen the vampire, who was in the darkest corner rolled up into a ball. “Your first day back and you are leaving your silks everywhere?” Elayne’s heels clicked as she went around the table. “I’m going to make you wear a maid outfit like those Breton nobles keep!”

Serana groaned, getting the attention of her friend. Elayne approached, at first bemused. But then she got concerned when she saw dried blood on Serana’s face from biting her lip. “Sorry.” Serana croaked. Letting go of her nipples, the vibration of the belt made her eyes swim. She couldn’t stand up if she tried. 

“Serana?” Elayne was softer in tone. “What’s wrong?” Serana couldn’t speak clearly, but lifting her dress’ skirts was enough for her to recognize what happened. Elayne didn’t laugh. She didn’t find it funny. Instead the woman was horrified. “Gods! I’ve never seen such a thing!” The idea of not being able to have sex was apparently a crime against her religion. The vibrations finally ceased, letting Serana slump to the ground in relief. 

“This is why we are helping Hjorni. She has one, too.” Serana was helped to a sitting position. “I can’t get it off!” 

“I don’t think Miraak or I could help with this one.” Elayne grimaced. “It needs someone good with keys and locks.”

“I broke Brynjolf’s wrist the last time he tried. It doesn’t like being tampered with.” Her legs shook as she stood up, being helped over to the table. “Or when I cast spells.”

“I’ll ask Babette for a bit of help.” Elayne smiled fully. “But seriously, don’t leave your silks out. I will put your ass into a maid dress.” 

“I would make it look good.” Serana couldn’t help herself. Elayne joked around a lot. Backing down would mean something demeaning. 

“I’m ordering one, then.” Elayne cackled. “Let’s get your friend settled now that I have one of the tools. Miraak will be back tomorrow with the rest.” Serana gulped at the thought of being ordered to wear a maid dress. Absolutely demeaning, to have a vampire princess dressed so. But somehow she never challenged it. Nor did she mention to Elayne that she was looking for the Bitch Tamer. She even explored the old fort that night, but without the spell to find that enchantment, she wasn’t going to find it. Her ass still hurt, the morning after when Elayne had all of them come to the workshop in her house. It was small, filled with a few tools and a lot of tables for item storage. Elayne’s old forsworn armor she defeated Alduin wearing was on a mannequin along the wall, along with a collection of atmoran weapons made from stahlrim. Miraak had collected them, and kept them here. 

Laid out on the table were many sections of hair. Elayne had asked around for hair and many people had provided. Galathil was impressed, certainly. Elayne had done a bit of a help by organizing the different cuts of hair by color. Galathil walked the length of the table, seeing even a bit of blue hair off to one side. Elayne’s waist length mane of hair didn’t seem shorter, so it must have been from a previous haircut. Pale blonde hair, almost white was at one end of the table. As Galathil ran her hands across the span, the color became less bright and more filtered with brown and red hair. One of the cuts of red hair was a bright shade of red that Serana had never seen. “Who gave this?” She wondered. 

Elayne chuckled. “One of the little girls in the village heard that the dragonborn was asking for some hair for a weaving project. She’s got the brightest shade of red that can be found.” Galathil’s hand lingered upon that for a long moment, continuing down the table until the hair got brown. At the very back, the hair provided was a midnight black. 

“Alright.” Galathil whispered. “I need a mirror. It’s time to build a new face for myself. With Kagrenac’s tools, I can make myself appear like another race. But I’ll still have my elven longevity. I’ve never done this with others before.” For some reason, Galathil had kept that ebonite dress on since arriving. Serana hadn’t asked, and Galathil didn’t offer an explanation. 

“So it’s like a full body makeover!” Elayne shouted, the room rattling. “This is going to be so much fun!” Serana couldn’t help but agree. 

“You’ll get a new name, too.” Serana pointed out. “That going to bother you?”

“Galathil isn’t the name I was born with.” Her friend spoke up. “So this will be like picking my own future.” Her hands twisted, the fingers moving back and forth carefully. “I’m actually excited. Last time I did this, it was in the corner of the workshop, without a mirror.”

Chapter Text

Watching Galathil rebuild herself was like watching something she had only seen in Coldharbour. Serana was honestly sickened. The bosmer’s hands remained steady even as she suffered blood loss. Elayne couldn’t even be in the room for the more gross parts, as the Bosmer showed Serana how flesh sculpting worked. She stood in front of the mirror, making precise carvings and then restoring the skin using magic. The glowing blue dagger, Keening, carved through her skin and bones like it was unstoppable. Serana’s ears hurt, hearing some kind of underlying noise as Galathil did her work. Potions of healing by the gallon were mixed and used, replenishing her blood and body as she was injured and repaired in turn. Even when she adjusted her own neck and sensitive facial features, her hands remained steady. 

The hair on the shop tables would be folded around the dagger, and then with an infusion of magic and a chiming noise the hair would glow, and sink into her skin to reshape something. Slivers of hair went into her, one by one. The shape of her nose adjusted to a finer shape. Narrower, more pointed. Her eyes were still almond shaped, but the freckles on her face were changed. It was enthralling, watching the shape of her cheeks become more toned and healthy. In fact, she was gaining muscle tone all over. One strand of hair at a time, Galathil worked over herself. It looked tireless, taking hours. The sun rose and fell while she worked, changing all of the aspects of her appearance to her liking. She got taller, more athletic. Almost as though she had spent more of her life adventuring. 

No one said much of anything, the sound of chimes ringing all the time. Miraak watched for a while, even as Elayne was too grossed out and left. Serana read a couple volumes of 2920, taking notes on some of her thoughts about how magic had changed in the eras since its publishing. She didn’t have the entire series, but it was on her to-do list to find them all. One of her bags was entirely books she wanted to keep at this point. 

When the sun finally went down, Galathil sank into her seat, setting down Kagrenac’s tools. “I can’t anymore.” She mumbled. “I can’t.” 

“Hang on, my friend. Let’s get you into bed. You’ll be fine.” Serana lent her bed to the bosmer, again spending the night looking through the old fort for her Bitch Tamer. She even went into the mostly-collapsed catacombs, finding only skeletons and signs of old conflict. She didn’t bother bringing any of it up to the surface, not to arouse suspicion. But the days she was spending at Elayne’s house were hardly restful. She wasn’t sleeping, and still had no leads on the object she craved. Not that she could even wear it, with the belt keeping her from fully enjoying it. By the time Galathil was able to finish her work, it had been four days. Four painfully slow days of watching strands of hair slowly added to remake Galathil. 

The final product was shocking, even though Serana had watched it happen. Galathil stood over her by three inches, looking down upon Serana. She looked imperious, almost arrogant. But the most surprising thing was the gigantic fluffy red mane of hair that hung to her elbows. Styled into two rows of braids, she looked completely different. Even her voice was slightly changed. “From now on.” She said, looking brighter and more pleased than before. “My new name is Ardwen.”

“That sounds like you planned for it.” Serana raised an eyebrow, even as Elayne was giving the Bosmer a closer look. “Is that a real person?”

“I’m real.” The almond shaped eyes teased. “And anyone who was looking for a lost pilgrim by that name would never find evidence of her passing.” Ardwen spoke clearly. And Serana found herself a bit surprised every time she had to look up at her friend. Of course, the bosmer’s eyes bulged as Elayne yanked her dress out of the way to reveal the much larger breasts on her body. “H-hey!” 

“Look! You even made holes for piercings!” Elayne had no shame, and Serana cackled as she explored the much larger bustline of Ardwen. “Watching you make all that hair is amazing! And you gave yourself a mighty pair of-”

“Stop!” Her bosmer friend’s new athletic build was definitely not paired with the skill that it would appear to support. “I needed more muscle to hold them up and keep them perky!” 

As perky as they were, Serana looked longer at the holes meant for piercings to be inserted into her body. “Say, Ardwen ?” Elayne pointed out. “When we met Serana in the other world, she looked different than our friend here. Her hair never grows longer than her neck, even if he gets injured.”

“That’s because my form is connected to my last living moments. The curse of Molag Bal,” Serana internally called it a blessing still. But others viewed her vampirism as a curse. “It stops your body from aging. Returns you to the peak condition of your body at the time of your exposure. My hair can’t get longer than this, and if I get burned it will grow back to this point.” 

“So how did the other Serana get hers so long? She had waist length hair!” Elayne looked at Ardwen, as if expecting her to know. Which she might. 

“Shashev paid greatly. Summoned things from Oblivion for us to extract parts of to improve Serana in the other world.” Ardwen’s words made Serana feel suddenly uncomfortable. She also pulled her ebonite dress back over herself, covering her jiggling chest. “I don’t think we want to get involved with the saints and seducers just for some hair and extra jiggle.” 

“Maybe she does want that.” Elayne spoke up.

“Perhaps I don’t!” Serana countered. “I like my no-nonsense figure right now.” The other world’s Serana looked like she was smuggling melons inside of her Bitch Tamer. Her hair was longer, and she kept her fingernails as long as a werewolf’s claws. She didn’t know how, but assumed it was just forbidden knowledge. Or perhaps a deal brokered with Molag Bal. But perhaps it wasn’t. 

“I can’t do much for her right now.” Galathil, no, Ardwen spoke. “We would need special materials. Hair from daedra. Or their bones.” She looked like she wanted to add to that list, but the Bosmer’s new face tightened. She knew more. Serana didn’t mind how she looked. She didn’t need anything to change. She had spent centuries with the body she had! And yet. And yet Serana wanted to know more. She was incorrigibly curious about things like this. 

“What kinds of materials did you need from Oblivion?” She couldn’t live not knowing. “Elayne, I know you told me not to fuck with Oblivion, but this is interesting.”

“Oh, I totally agree!” Elayne waived her previous rule in that moment, as Serana felt a tightness around her neck vanish. “What did you need from Oblivion for making the other world’s Serana a sexy vixen?”

“It wasn’t sexy to have fingernails that long!” It looked completely useless for alchemy and spellcasting. Nor was Serana at all impressed by her larger curves and many piercings. Much like the holes in Ardwen’s nipples, Serana was a bit creeped out by that. She didn’t even own earrings. That seemed more like an Altmer kind of thing. Rings and necklaces were enough for her. Maybe a bracelet. 

“Cum, mostly.” Both women stopped at the Bosmer’s words. “Lots and lots of Sanguine’s daedra and Molag Bal’s daedra were summoned for orgiastic rites to give me fuel to transform people. I helped make certain slaves of his disappear.” 

“That is the most dangerous idea-” Serana started by saying, as Elayne interrupted her. 

“They aren’t prudish?!” 

Ardwen sighed. “No. Daedra are not prudish. They just don’t see much point in it unless their prince does. It’s not one of my favorite memories.” The matter was dropped, much to Elayne’s chagrin. But Serana knew that she could talk about Oblivion again. Elayne had rescinded her rule! She chose not to mention this very pleasant fact to her. 

Serana hadn’t had a great experience with sex in general. Her attempt to learn how to give a blowjob just showed that she didn’t need to breath. There was no way she could be comfortable enough around a man, much less a daedra. Collecting that from them sounded disgusting. There was a part of her mind that compared it to a daedra heart. It might have similar qualities, since it was still made by a daedra. Shaking her head, she tried to get that thought out of her mind at top speed. 

“Ardwen.” Elayne pronounced correctly. “You look amazing.” The bosmer smiled, enjoying the praise. “Would the two of you do something for me? It’s sensitive, and I need someone I can trust do the delivery. One of the places we have some dragons is in need of more reading material about the way of the voice. Could you deliver it to them? Since you have a wagon, after all.”

“Anything you need.” Ardwen pronounced carefully. Their ebonite dress wasn’t as long on their taller form, now. It no longer went past her knees, just hugging her more toned thighs. The red matched the bright color of her hair, and somehow Serana knew that her friend probably wanted to wear this more often. Even though it was tight as could be. Serana gave a longer than normal stare at the cleavage being created from the dress. After all that she had watched, she was surprised that it was real. “I certainly owe you for all of this.”

Miraak made certain that the tools of Kagrenac were immediately returned to whatever dragon-bound places they were keeping them. Galathil, no, Ardwen. Serana shook her head. Her friend was going by a new name. Maybe Galathil had just been another name and this was closer to the one she grew up with. She tried to imagine everyone calling her Gerda or Aela and just cringed. Inside and out, she didn’t think she could handle it. Which made her friend all the stronger in her eyes. Ardwen spent a couple of days training with some of the Dragonguard, Elayne’s defenders giving her the best they could. Gabriella, once of the Dark Brotherhood seemed to bond with her best. The Dunmer came back from one of their late night drinking events with a fixed nose and glowing skin. Her hair even looked more agreeable and lighter in shade. Of course, Ardwen’s heavier bag of gold was apparent to Serana. She promptly spent it on an elven armor. It wasn’t enough for more than the main body to be covered. Guantlets and boots were also bought. 

So Ardwen now owned a light elven armor. If you could call a mini-dress made from shimmering metal-entwined fabric armor. All of her work in the past few days left her virtually penniless once this was done. Serana spent so much of her own money on repairs and getting more outfits that she decided to get a backup weapon the next time she went into a dwarven ruin. Something not a sword. Miraak recommended a warhammer, something Serana hadn’t been taught much about in her childhood. In the words of her father she shouldn’t touch the weapons of the peasantry. A noble daughter learned swordplay. But she wasn’t some pampered princess anymore. So she got herself a steel warhammer to practice with. It was basic, but the big weapon made a very pleasing noise when she struck a practice shield. 

So off they went! Elayne had them delivering mail for dragons to some ancient set of ruins southwest of Helgen. Normal people had letters or engraved scrolls to deliver mail. For dragons, they used pictographic language carved onto heavy stone tablets. Couriers clearly had learned that delivering these to a dragon was dangerous and stupid. 

While Serana griped about the weight of dragon based post parcels, Ardwen got used to trying to use a bow with her new body. “Mara’s tits!” Ardwen was holding her right breast, where the bowstring she had been using clipped her new and improved cleavage. “That’s going to bruise!”

Serana chose to laugh at that. “Those are new, you’ve gotta be real careful with them.”

“Hah hah.” She said flatly. “I’m going to have to learn how to shoot all over again with these things.”

“You gave yourself the pair.”

“I’m already getting better deals with the other merchants.” She winked. “If I’m going to be partnered with the most famous ‘good’ vampire in Skyrim, there is no point in blending into the background.” She fluttered her bright red hair for emphasis. “So I decided not to. It’s not acting if no one is alive to correct you about the face.”

“Who was Ardwen, anyways?”

“Some crazy bosmer that made friends with a rabid dog. A pilgrim, one that I met at Silgrad. Decided that Morrowind was no longer for her and was making her way to Skyrim to see some famous tree.” Her friend took a deep breath, running her hands over her new elven armor once more. “She died to something outside of town and I was the only witness. Besides her dog, but no one noticed where it ran off to. It seemed smarter than she was.”

“So you stole her face?”

“Absolutely. No one in this province will question it. And maybe I’ll go to Whiterun and see this tree she was talking about. Just to prove it to her idiotic ideals.”

“Was she as beautiful as you make her out to be?”

“Some things we leave to the myths and legends.” Ardwen laughed. “Now, should we go? I don’t want to keep bruising these things.”

The wagon was heavy laden. The pair of horses they had were cheap, as per Brynjolf’s usual methods. So they didn’t enjoy the almost packed full load, as they moved into the mountains. The road between Helgen and Falkreath was amazing. There were merchants going back and forth along it at a rapid pace. But the turnoff for the draconic ascent was another problem entirely. A mire had filled in over part of the road, and they had no choice but to go around it. 

Ardwen was not a horse specialist or a caravaneer. Serana had brute strength but not much else when it came time for physical labor. Horses didn’t trust her because of her vampiric aura. If she was holding the reins, they trusted her. But these mountains were new to both of them. A river was running right near the bottom, and they were supposed to cross it at some point. Well, their map labeled it as more of a creek. But with all of the runoff, it was looking more like a river. 

“Think it’s alright?” 

“It’s just a creek with spring runoff.” Ardwen waved off. “The horses can push through it.” But Elayne’s load was already a struggle for the poor quality horses. They got through the creek, but the wagon did not. With a creak and a snap, the horses’ yoke broke. Serana and Ardwen screeched, abandoning the wagon as it was dragged down the creek and into a pond. The muddy surface bubbled, taking with it all of their load. It turned on its side, one wheel sticking out of the muddy pond. Ardwen just stood to one side, grumbling. They had to shake mud from their boots and stand on a nearby stone to fully see how terrible this was. 

“Just a creek, hmm?” Serana stared at the pair of horses that were eyeing them warily. “Now we have to dig out that wagon.” 

“The road is only back a quarter mile, we could probably find some merchants to help pull it out.” 

“Back through knee deep mud.” She didn’t blame Ardwen. This was terrible, but it was no reason to blame her. “I think I want to try getting the wagon out.” Which meant diving into the neck deep wash. “There might be slaughterfish in the creek.” Bags were set down on top of the rock, even as their cart continued to sink deeper into the muck. Serana glanced around, seeing no one else in the wilderness surrounding them. There were clear skies, but the swell of rainwater was slowly burying their wagon in mud. 

“Sorry.” Ardwen offered. “I’ll catch the horses.” The bosmer had her race’s gift for handling animals, though the slew of curse words that followed her use of it showed how little she actually cared for the attachment. Serana was left with the much harder task of somehow resolving their on its side wagon. Which meant getting into the muddy glacial runoff. Off came her dress, the tight lacings undone and the silk hung from a juniper tree. More carefully her breastband and stockings were removed, and hung as well. Her heeled boots were set underneath the tree, leaving her in just pale skin and the hated belt. 

Glancing up the hill, she could see one of the horses tied off next to the mountains, with Ardwen chasing the other and vainly trying to ask the horse to come back to her. Serana gave a brief chuckle, before walking into the pond. The cold didn’t bother her much, but the mud would stain her things. The wagon had somehow gotten stuck between two boulders, with mud disturbed and falling over it. Serana first unpacked the wagon, heavy stone tiles being moved one at a time. Her body was caked in mud while doing this, everything from her hair downwards covered as she moved heavy stone tablets. 

Even with all of them removed, she couldn’t get the damned cart out! It wasn’t just too heavy, it was fighting the current. But Serana felt a bit of a chill. Looking around, she could tell that something was wrong. The animals had gone quiet, and Serana couldn’t hear the horses. Looking over at where the one had been tied off, she couldn’t see it any longer. But she did see three men wearing what looked like bushes and branches hanging off of green cloaks. Serana slid back into the pond, letting her body become one with the muddy bog. Buried in the side of the moving pond, she was completely hidden. Vampires had certain benefits from Molag Bal. Even during the light of day she was better at hiding. With her eyes almost completely closed, she was as indistinct as any stone on the side of the pond. Though she made sure to bury herself a little deeper, to keep her breasts from being part of that visible surface. 

No weapons, and only stealth to give herself the advantage. The bandits showed up with their horses, and Galathil unconscious on the back of the larger. Saddlebags were loaded with all of the gear they could easily collect, and much to Serana’s annoyance all of her clothes and gear was taken too! Not even a day away from Helgen, bandits were this bad?

Many of them had bone and leather shields and weapons. Which meant that these weren’t just regular bandits. They were ex-Forsworn. That would allow them to have some degree of public acceptance for their culture. Yet they were scavengers just the same. They didn’t bother taking the dragon tablets. But every ounce of their gear that Serana had painstakingly saved was loaded up into saddlebags and a hand cart and taken into the bushes. Serana just laid perfectly still. Not letting herself breathe. It must have been two minutes after the bandits left that she dared stand up. 

Their small hand carts left traces in the muck. Small attempts had been made to conceal it, using bushes. These weren’t the average bandit. Perhaps they were somehow looking for Ardwen? No, her face was perfectly new. Serana bit her lip, the taste of dirt coming onto her tongue from the mud. This didn’t feel targeted, but it did feel professional. Elayne would have mentioned if this kind of thing were going on in her area. 

Which meant that these were bandits operating in plain sight. Ex Forsworn who were taking advantage of being near enough to Elayne and Eola to have protection. But they never would have attacked them if they had seen Serana. She followed them for an hour, going back by the main road. There was a small settlement near here, called Pinewatch on her map. Serana had been here before! There were a few buildings around a well, but the road got covered in mud part of the year and was hard to navigate. Hidden in plain sight. More importantly, Serana couldn’t get close! 

But she did recognize the dappled horse with the bad temper. That was the one she most hated. But it was Brynjolf’s horse. It got tied up with three others near Pinewatch, but she couldn’t see where the handcart went. There were too many tracks in and around Pinewatch to be able to trace where that went. But these people took her friend. This was her best bet. As the sun set, she hid in some trees near the small town. There were too many people living here, for the few buildings that stood. Four small homes and one large two story one. But Serana counted at least fifty people living here. A few children, but mostly adults. Even the children she did see were kept in the furthest outbuilding. 

They did a good job of hiding their numbers. They traveled single file, and still wore many of the clothes that the Forsworn were known for. Even though they fought against Alduin, only about a third of the Forsworn military power showed up. A lot of them remained hidden in the hills and refused the call of their queen. Eola rebranded them as Queensworn, in honor of her agreement with the Empire. As part of that agreement some of the sons and daughters of the reach were going to serve in the legion. A different legion than the stormcloak recruits, of course. But the damage to their people wouldn’t be healed in a single year. 

The mud on her body was swiftly drying into a pale caked mess. Small creeks were leading down to the lake, past other Queensworn camps. Some of the thick trees had been cleared for farmland, Serana couldn’t approach this place naked. She could go back to Helgen and get help from Elayne. But that would mean letting Miraak and Elayne see her unable to take care of herself. They might say something the collar would interpret as a command and there would go her freedom. 

One of the trackers she recognized from the theft of their things left Pinewatch, offering her an option. She was carrying arrows and Ardwen’s bow out of Pinewatch. Serana followed closely, the sun now down enough that her vampiric powers were returning in full. Smiling, she watched as the thief opened up a panel in a treestump, storing the weapon and the arrows in what looked like a miniature armory. Probably the same way the Forsworn preferred to store things. As the woman stood up, her cloak fluttered in the wind. The last glimmers of the sun disappeared behind the mountains, making the woman blink. 

Serana sank her fangs into the woman’s shoulder, using one arm to drag her backwards into the thickets. One hand contained her noise, and Serana drained enough blood that she went unconscious. No spell would be able to remove that experience from her, but Serana had at least left her alive. “I don’t need a thrall.” She whispered. “But you do have dark hair.” As well as body tattoos. Maybe making her a thrall would have been a better idea. But she had a better idea!

Serana came out of the thicket wearing Forsworn armor and a blended cloak. The now-nude woman was dosed with a cure disease potion and left to sleep off her blood loss. She would have tried to make her more comfortable, but didn’t have anything to do that with. The treestump only had bows and arrows in it, and didn’t offer her much for choice. The iron dagger of the woman she took down was in poor condition. It was more blunt than sharp. 

With the sun going down, Pinewatch showed its signs of being more than it seemed. The horses were being kept in a small corral not meant for the five the village had. Guards with torches were on guard at the large building. Three of them walked around, a mixture of leather armor and forsworn gear on. Their torches flickered, and Serana approached the small village from the forest. Their eyes were just on the road. The large building had a double door in back, and a single door in front. No guards were on the back door, and she smiled at that. 

That turned into a frown when she noticed that the door was locked. No need to guard a locked door. Kneeling down, she found the base of the door and wedged the iron dagger into the gap. The door was old, and she grunted hard. The crack of the wooden hinge breaking echoed through the night, and Serana stepped back from the door. But no one came to investigate. The door didn’t rattle, nor did the building show signs of movement. Though the iron dagger was a total loss, now. It broke in half.

But without a hinge, Serana smirked as she just lifted the door off of the broken hinge with the bar still attached. The normal locking mechanism just made her open both doors like they were a single levered object, allowing her to slip inside and let the door shut behind her. Her thighs brushed together as she crouched. The leather, feathers and bones that covered her belt were hardened from being boiled. It barely qualified as armor. The leather scraped the floor from how long the loin covering was. Annoyingly, the Breton who owned this was near flat as Elayne. So Serana was squeezed into the hardened leather armor. She looked even more stacked than Ardwen like this! Or maybe it just didn’t look that appealing to see someone squeezed into a top too small for her. Her breasts looked like a pair of fruit in too small of cups. It didn’t exactly hurt, but Serana knew that it was uncomfortable. 

Blinking, she shook her head and looked around the place. It was the lower level of the larger building, and she could hear some louder noises upstairs. One or two people working on something. But around her, she could see track marks from wheels. Smaller than a full wagon, perhaps even that handcart she had seen. But the room didn’t have any carts in it. The tracks led towards a second of wall. Serana could see two torch sconces next to it, one very clean and one very dusty. Twisting the clean one, she saw the clearly secret entrance open. Old stone and dirt formed a tunnel leading deeper into the earth. Pinewatch must be built on top of an old ruin. 

Serana’s bare feet barely made noise, entering the place. A half-broken dagger was hammered to the wall, pinning a piece of paper to the dark tunnel. In the darkness she could read it fairly well. ‘ The treasury is off limits. Try it, and I’ll break you. Keep a low profile. Winter was hard enough with your complaining. This year we ain’t going to go hungry. But we gotta be smart about it. ’ The author claimed to be someone named Egwen. 

No one she recognized. But this place was much larger than she thought it would be. Just a short few steps down this tunnel, there was an entire village of people.Or it seemed like it. A massive chamber had two levels to it. One level was raised platforms and scaffolding, with pathways going deeper into the ruin. The lower level was dirt, with a ramp and a large number of Forsworn style tents in between wagon storage areas marked out with poles. Handcarts and gear were all over. It was a bandit camp, but one that seemed organized in a different manner. 

It was well thought out. Most Bretons didn’t like spending time underground. Especially the Reachfolk. They avoided it, something about the daedra they worshipped. Yet these people did not. Skewing her lips, she frowned. Goat horn lamps hung above the room, lighting up the space. Old Nordic columns held up what probably at one point was a bustling marketplace. To her mind, this felt roomy and comfortable. But she could see a couple of the Bretons walking in the edges of the light. They were sticking to the brightly lit areas. They avoided the walls, instead preferring the open dirt over the stone. 

Serana used that to her advantage, slipping through the different darkened corners to make her way around the large chamber. She spent a minute or two waiting for one inquisitive man to keep walking. He seemed interested in another person’s tent. It was impossible to tell which wagon held her gear, or finding it in this mess. Though none of these people were wearing silk stockings. Serana knew her clothes were expensive. Hopefully they were going to the person in charge. 

The far exit in the room was well lit. A man was lounging at a table next to the source of the light, and there was no other way past him. Without magic, she clenched her thighs together. How was she supposed to get past him? She knew a dozen illusion spells that could get his attention elsewhere or just allow her to slip by him! She sat in the shadows, waiting for a minute as he calmly sat at the table. He was writing in a journal! Ugh, he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Taking a deep breathe to calm herself down, she felt the stolen top strain from the action. Glancing down, she mused at her own appearance. There were dozens of ex-forsworn here. Would he actually notice her if she just walked by like she owned the place? She bit her lip, thinking about it. Would he be so trusting?

Serana closed her eyes, considering a backup plan. If he noticed her being different, then she just had to slit his throat and accept that there would be a bit of chaos. But he was sitting where no one would potentially notice. Of course, the only weapon she had was the nearly broken iron dagger. If he didn’t die, then she would just have to use some vampiric powers and escape. Her collar might activate and it would hurt, but that was an acceptable risk. 

Nodding to herself, Serana stepped forwards. Her hands rested on the thin leather belt of the armor, where the iron dagger hung. If she had a heart it would be beating much faster in this moment, as she approached the turn in the ruin. Her bare feet walked clearly past the table, and to her annoyance the man never even looked up! She might have imagined it, but she put some extra sway into her hips as she walked beyond him. She dared to be seen and he didn’t even look up at her!

Her frustration kept up in the next room, where the ruin had been taken over by platforms of wood and a single tent. Barrels of supplies were all over the place, although many of the barrels were empty. In the dark corners there were piles of empty glass bottles, wines for the most part. The spherical containers were tossed out there along with junk that couldn’t sell. Brooms, a clothes iron or two. No clothing or cloth to speak of. 

There were bright lights over this room, too. But more importantly, she could see one of the Bretons in the chamber wearing ill-fitting elven armor. In fact, it had to be Ardwen’s armor. It was sized for someone with an actual bust, and the poor woman wearing it seemed pleased to have something so valuable. She was sharing the table with a man, his eyes on her. Serana was more eyeing the steel greatsword she was carrying. 

She needed a weapon! She needed an answer. This place had plenty of dark corners and she had already drained one person here. But using any magic at all was suicide. But her thoughts inevitably turned to options. She could just use her teeth. But every vampire that her father had trained and taught knew that their teeth were an ambush weapon at best. Vampires trained with swords or claws for the range they needed. Though her father was also of the opinion that infecting a portion of a town a few days before they attacked was wise. He always said that teeth were the weapon of the feral and should be a last resort. To bite someone, you exposed too much of your body to their own strikes in return. 

Wait, claws! When she had met her other self in Shashev’s world, she had claws! As well as more curves and longer hair. Given to her by her friend. She hadn’t offered or told Serana about that. She couldn’t assume that it had just been the work of a Fleshcrafter. She was a daughter of Coldharbour. A vampire of the highest order. But her brand of vampirism was known for ice manipulation and strength, not the ability to change their form. And yet, her mind was tickled. Using her vampiric powers hurt her, the collar around her neck shocking her if she used them. But it didn’t stop her from turning invisible or passively using her predatory senses. 

This was a terrible time to experiment upon herself. She should just slip past these people! But they had Ardwen’s armor. They would know where she was. Or at least what had happened to her. The woman would know. The man, perhaps not. Serana couldn’t hear what they were talking about behind the barrels and crates, but she prepared herself as best she could. Behind a fallen column, she drew her legs up, and she found some leather strips to bite into if things got difficult. She could manipulate her own form when she used her vampiric powers. Before, she had just turned into bats and moved through terrain or groups of foes without getting hurt. 

This time, she would be trying to shapeshift part of herself. She needed a weapon. She needed something she trusted . They stole her glass jinkblade. And her friend. By all rights she could fight them to take them back! By every legal right, yes! But more than that, she wanted to take back from them what they had so callously taken from her. Leave enough of them alive that they would suffer for it. Oh yes!

She channeled that focus. That hatred, the intimate feeling of being stolen from into her hands. It felt almost familiar. She knew that her magic was being touched. She couldn’t help it. She knew it was going to hurt. But she had to focus! Even as the vibrations started in her ass, Serana kept her whole mind on her hands. The pain she could push past, it was the fact that some part of her liked the feelings caused by the plugs that caused panic. But it just meant more hate. The hatred for her belt fed the hatred she had for things outside of her control. Biting the leather hard enough that she could feel the material snapping on one side, the magic within her acted. 

The plugs brought her to her knees, a moan escaping her mouth. Serana admitted that it was far more than a moan. The leather strip she thought would keep her quiet failed entirely, pieces of it falling out of her mouth from the force of her bite. But the shadows of her soul answered. With a loud crackle of magic, her fingernails extended. They got thicker, tougher, and she felt their connection to her soul. Claws! She didn’t need Ardwen! She didn’t need anyone but herself! The elation killed the flow of hatred she was feeding, meaning that she had no defense for the waves of vibration coming from her rear end. Twisting and turning on the floor, she shuddered as her body reacted. 

Too late, her legs swung back and forth trying to escape it. The vibrations were worse this time! She gripped a piece of stone, feeling her new fingernails start carving into the surface lightly. It hurt! It hurt enough for Serana to knock herself out of the reverie of feelings from the belt. Looking around, she could see both of the people from the table approaching her direction.

“Melda?” The man called. “Is that you?”

“She’s cursed, remember? If she doesn’t get fucked often enough she’s little better than an animal.”

“That’s why Egwen gave me that nice new armor.” Serana knew that both of them were right on top of her now. In the dark they could see the Forsworn armor style but little else. “Because Melda can’t handle anything harder than basic tasks.” The woman kicked her. It wasn’t gentle. 

But her anger was back. It was burning, and this woman knew where Ardwen was. Her hand flashed out, going for the neck of the man. Each of her new fingernails had to be four inches long. But they were strong. Her rage and anger combined with her new claws to puncture through the man’s face. It worked! She struck!

“You’re not Melda!” The woman leapt back, her stolen elven armor clinging nicely to her form. Drawing her sword, the greatsword represented farther reach than Serana could get. The man fell backwards, away from her and she had to step back as the greatsword struck between her and the body. The woman was denying her access to his gear! 

“No.” Serana let her eyes open wider, the Breton looking worried. She even put a show of licking the blood off of her new claws. It reduced the pain she was feeling some, even as she kept eye contact with her. “But you have things to tell me.”

“I’ll kill you!” Serana intercepted her next swing with a clothes iron from the pile of miscellaneous gear dumped back here, the leaden weight dully taking the hit. Her legs were too shaky to get close to the man, but with the strike she didn’t have to. The sword hit the iron, only the tip damaging her. The main body of the sword was blocked, but Serana got exactly where she needed to be. Her fingers curled carefully back together, the claws oddly not putting pressure on her own skin. “Ng!” Her fist struck the woman in the stomach, spittle coming from her mouth as her body had the wind driven out of it. Then, Serana dragged her into the side chambers. Before she could get her voice back, the rasping woman was pushed up against a wall, and Serana sank her teeth into her bare shoulder. “V-vam-” 

The side chamber was dark, with enough dust that no one spent much time in here. Probably had something to do with the dead Draugr and it’s burial site. Serana drained enough blood that the woman was close to passing out, her attempts to fight becoming more and more feeble. But Serana didn’t let her pass out. Her parents had taught her too well to let someone just die when she didn’t want them to. “Keep quiet and you’ll live.” Serana whispered. “Of that I promise.” Her ass throbbed, the vibrations making her squeeze her thighs together for comfort. “You took a Bosmer today. You wear her armor. Where is she?”

“Egwen took her! She’s by the treasury room! Deep in this damn hole!” The girl squirmed. “She’s not hurt!”

“How do you know that?” Serana’s fingernail dug a bit deeper into her skin. 

“Most of the Bosmer in Skyrim are just servants, and Egwen said we deserve a maid!” Serana blinked at that. They wanted to make her friend into their servant? Her hand relaxed for a moment, even as the vibrations in her ass distracted her further. The girl in her hands took that as a chance to run. She tried to push Serana’s hand out of the way, but all she succeeded in doing was shocking her into squeezing. Normally that would be just a grip upon someone. But with these claws, even Serana was shocked at how easily she died. The blood sank into her conjured claws quickly, turning them black. It looked like she now had pure black fingernails that went on for longer than she had seen anywhere. No one could possibly think these were useful. And yet here they were. 

Serana felt a bit of relief knowing she was armed. Though it made some normal tasks a bit difficult, she felt confident she could work with it! The belt hummed, her legs too shaky for her stand or run. Maybe if she just distracted herself a little bit, she could stand. Taking a deep breath, she felt something snap . The one good hit the woman got with her sword had cut the armored vest that the Forsworn armor was made from. She felt more than saw her breasts pop out, the fabric of the vest shredding on the side. It still covered her, but she was bouncing around freely now. “Sorry.” She grumbled. Her fingers dug into the damaged top, finding the tiny nubs of pleasure there. Pinching and rolling the skin, the vibrations stopped bothering her. Serana’s mind hazed a little, and in the cover of the old abandoned room she rode out the half hour of torture by the use of her hands. The top was completed shredded by her claws at this point, the tips never damaging her skin. But the hardened leather was worthless now. 

Shuddering, she let go of herself. Her body was a prisoner to this damned thing! She wanted more than life itself to tear this belt off! But her claws somehow didn’t even cut it. Locks or steel, they did little more than smudge the nordic script. She remembered the reaction to being tampered with, involuntarily clenching her thighs once more. She was feeling flush, and to her shame she wanted the plugs to go off. To maybe bring her some relief!

Serana considered that for all of ten seconds before she stood up, hissing. She wasn’t some cheap whore! She wouldn’t beg for attention! Clenching her thighs again, she took the steel greatsword and the elven armor from the dead Breton in front of her. Ardwen’s other clothing wasn’t here, and the woman had a few gold to her name. Serana dragged the other body into the side room as well, hiding them deep. Her parents taught her how to hide a body. Namely, put the bodies into a draugr cairn and shut the lid. They might never find them, at this rate. 

The man had a set of steel maces. Neither looked very good, but she took them anyways. The elven armor she dragged over her form, the metal resisting the claws. Sized for Ardwen, Serana was slightly annoyed that her breasts didn’t fill it out as well. But it did cover more of her thighs. Having elven guantlets and heels on helped some, too. Her bare feet very much missed being arched off of the ground. Armed and armored, Serana went deeper into the ruin. The forsworn armor was ruined, so she left that with the bodies. No one had checked up on the missing pair, and all of the barrels in the chambers ahead looked to be mostly empty. 

Then she came upon the bar. It must have been very early in the morning, because only one person was in there. One stubborn old woman scrubbing a stained table. Serana slipped past her, entering another large chamber. It was filled with beds. Bunkbeds, regular ones, even a double bed filled with four women. People were snoring, and she trembled as she slipped past what had to be more than a score of potential foes. No one was awake. Serana didn’t let her heart move during that entire walk. Though she did give a glance at the bed with four women in it. To her disappointment, none of them appeared to be doing anything sexual. They simply were sharing the large bed. Shaking her head, she got that thought out of her mind. Why was she disappointed? 

Past the sleeping ex-Forsworn, and into what had to be the deepest part of the ruin she went. Bone chimes were avoided, and she made it to the leader’s bedroom. It had to be! Her friend was there, in a stock. Her nude form hung in the contraption, locked in and with strike marks on her back. She was sleeping fitfully, her feet locked into a different set of holes on the floor. Serana was relieved to see her alive. 

But just past her was a woman with dark hair that was awake. Her full body suit of orcish armor seemed fitted, and a pair of blades of the same material promised violence to any that approached her. A whip rested next to her, the woman at a desk writing down details. Serana chewed her lip, thinking about how to deal with this. She couldn’t free Ardwen without her noticing. There would be nothing for it. She had to deal with this woman. Too much noise and she would wake the twenty or so followers just fifty feet away. Holding the greatsword, she moved behind her. 

Serana didn’t pray often, but tonight she prayed in her heart. Bal must have heard her cries, for she got within eight feet of the woman. She was sitting down, writing a letter to someone named Thelia at Hammer-Worn stables. She was promising a bosmer to her. Ardwen!

She must have heard something, because she started twisting around to look around. She caught Serana’s borrowed blade in the throat, the orcish armor breaking from the strike. Serana released the air she was holding, raising one leg and kicking the blade deeper into her body. Gurgling, Egwen fell to the floor. Serana took a moment to breathe, before looking through her things. Two keys came out, one far more ornate. The ornate key was to the stocks, which freed her friend. 

Ardwen barely awoke, as Serana held her carefully using her wrists. Her claws were too dangerous. Pulling her to the bed, she set down her Bosmer friend. “Shh.” She whispered. “They’re all asleep.”

Ardwen nodded, squeezing her wrist for comfort. Serana noticed that her friend wasn’t at all crying, or looked like she had been. She wasn’t afraid? Locked up and at the mercy of these people? “Brought friends?” She rasped. 

“No.” Serana whispered with pride. “Just me.”

Ardwen looked at the elven armor on her friend, smiling. And at the still warm corpse. “She has a secret exit.” 

“Most ruins do.” For safety, at least. Nords used to build backup exits in case something collapsed. “Might be this key.” The second key she got, almost normal looking. “Where are my clothes?” Serana hated to admit it, but the caress of silk was very missed right now, and ill fitting heels were never fun. Ardwen’s feet were slightly longer than her own. 

“Treasury.” With that in mind, they looted the entire bedroom. An entire journal of missives and letters were here, while Ardwen stripped the corpse of further value. Egwen had excellent taste, or perhaps a weakness for lingerie. The woman wore a full set of it under the armor, left intact from her death. Her drawers had more, taken from other people. Ardwen just bagged it all, pulling on a simple dress for her comfort as they both left the room empty. The corridor didn’t take long to deposit them at a larger set of doors. A modern lock sat upon them, and Serana bent over to make sure that the key inserted cleanly. These claws were making it difficult. 

Which is why she gasped loudly when Ardwen spanked her ass once. The back of the elven armor had lifted just enough that she had no problem doing so. “Ga-,” She coughed once. “Ardwen!”

“You said that those other elves got to spank you if you ever wore armor.” She whispered behind her, making Serana feel a completely different feeling. “Just seeing how it feels.”

Serana chose not to complain in this moment. “That’s not helpful!” She wasn’t Elodie or Taarie. No one was here to witness what happened. No one would tell them Serana was seen without her silks on. “You wouldn’t rat me out!”

“It’s my armor your ass is in.” The lock finally opened, and they both slipped into the chamber. “I’ve got every right to give it a feel.”

“This isn’t a time to joke!” Serana said back, allowing a bit more volume in her voice now that they were behind the heavy doors. She went over to the walls, twisting the old whale and hawk embodied locks to seal the way back. There would probably be a pull chain or something on the other side hidden somewhere that opened it, but it gave Serana the comfort she needed. “There are at least forty people living here!”

“All the more reason I need my armor.” Ardwen spoke up, trying to see in the now-total darkness. She fumbled a bit, but got a spell up that lit the room. “Gods above and below.” She whispered. “Look at that!”

The room was full of items. Bottles of wine, a couple of crates that looked expensive. On top of those crates were baskets filled with gems and gold. Most importantly, Serana could see all of her silk clothes laid out on a table, shoes to the side. Their bags were in here, too. “Fine.” She spoke up. “You can have it back.” Serana lifted the armor over her head, her claws making noises as they dragged against the belt and the armor. Ardwen found her own clothes in another pile, the ebonite dress also cataloged. 

“Thank you!” Ardwen sing-songed her answer, slipping her armor back on. Serana discretely gave her a look as she did so, her larger curves barely fitting into the elven chain. Which was when she discovered her own worst nightmare. Her claws were too dangerous to even handle her clothes! Razor sharp, she couldn’t handle the silk. Changing them back to normal would ruin her. The belt would react and she would be on the floor and useless before the things were even back to normal. So she stood in front of her wardrobe, trying and failing to put on a breastband. 

“Damnit!” She nicked the silk.

“Need help?” Ardwen leaned over her, just then noticing the long claws. “Those are nice. But they look a bit difficult for daily life.” 

“Morphing them back would activate the belt.” She squirmed.

“Does my vampire princess need someone to help dress her?” Ardwen mocked. But she was serious about it. 

Serana felt flush, more than a little red tinting her cheeks. “I would appreciate your help.” Ardwen’s hands felt warm as she dressed Serana. Stockings, breastband, garter belt and dress were all pulled into place by her. Neither of them spoke, not until Serana waved off her silk gloves. “Can’t wear those.” The claws would shred them. “Can you put the rest in my bag?” Silk was worth a bit of humiliation to preserve. She could morph her claws back once they were in safety. Until then, she would handle the feelings churning through her.

“Nothing in this room is being left behind.” Ardwen spoke up. “But they took your gag and gave it to someone else.”

But the claws were quite useful for opening a couple of boxes stamped with the East Empire Company logo. They looked expensive, and each container was sealed with resin. But inside, they found the reason why Egwen must have used honey to reseal them. Three outfits were in the container, and each made both women raise their eyebrows. “Who would even!” 

“Someone with taste, clearly.” Ardwen picked them up. One was a set of mage robes that looked skintight, with split skirts and clearly designed to show everything from ribs to ankle. A second outfit was a dress, if Serana could call it that. It seemed to be more thin straps and hope than an actual outfit. “Ahah! A bondage kitten outfit!” Serana couldn’t tell, from all of the random strips of fabric and clasps what it was. The third outfit they both could identify. It was a long dress, sized for an elf and tight all the way past the knees. The gloves were designed with some kind of thick bands along the elbows and wrists. But at least they had all five fingers! “Ooh! These are Alinor in style! Expensive, up in Solitude.”

“If they aren’t silk I don’t care.” Serana eyed the mixture of clasps and fabric, somehow identifying a cat ear. “I don’t see anything that is going to help with our real problem!”

“Which is?” 

“We still need to steal back the horses that we got from Brynjolf.”

“Ungrateful bitches!” Ardwen hissed. “I already used my power on them today.”

The entire camp woke up when they busted out the horses. But bareback, they ran all the way up the road to Helgen, where they could admit to Elayne that her dragon based post was too heavy for them to make it up the muddy paths. Strangely, it was Miraak who forgave them for it. The man went personally to investigate Pinewatch, while Serana and Ardwen eventually delivered the dragon post. Though Brynjolf would have to accept his wagon being completely caked in mud when they got back to Riften. Though Serana felt tempted to see if she and Ardwen could go and investigate a couple other things first. Taron Dreth was in Markarth, and he knew where Beem-Ja was. 

Then Serana could escape from this stupid belt!

Chapter Text

Returning to Pinewatch, they brought Miraak. Elayne said that he could fulfill his ‘murderous tendencies’ upon the bandits there, and as Thanes of Falkreath they had every authority to go in there and ruin them. But they were rather smart for bandits. The moment that Miraak came within view the buildings erupted with people so very happy to see the Dragonborn. All to try to conceal the outflow of bandits going out the back of Pinewatch and trying to slip into the trees. Queensworn loyal to Elayne and Eola cornered them, and the bandits were delivered to justice. Or rather, Miraak’s form of justice. He held the families of those who lived there ransom, forcing the rest to assist in large construction projects. 

Serana didn’t hide her glee at watching all of the bandits led away. Not at all. Ardwen looked thrilled when they dragged away the bandits that caught her. “I’ll make sure the stones make it to the dragons in the mountains. No sense in making you drag those heavy things up the mountain. Elayne must have had other things on her mind when she asked you to go do that.” 

“She’s probably wondering why she can’t get pregnant as easily as Eola.” Serana sniped at him. “Not for lack of trying.”

“Unfortunately there are few books about the birth of dragons, much less the ovulation of aedric blessed mortals.” Miraak answered without rising to the bait. “Instead of sending you on some thankless dangerous errand moving stones, I think you could be of greater help on something else. Something that would look bad if we took too much interest in.” Miraak brought them over to a larger wagon, with a covered back half. “Also, we found this in the bandit’s possession and thought you might want it. The previous owners are dead and properly buried.” 

“The other wagon was Brynjolf’s.” It was probably so buried in mud there would be no getting it out until summer. “And thank you.”

“Serana, you’re a friend. Of course we want you to have a good wagon. The other one looked like it was going to fall apart at any moment. Now.” Miraak led them away from the crime scene they were investigating. “Eola has a task she has asked for Gabriella to come and assist with. Something sensitive that came up in the last month. We’ve already sent Gabriella after something else. Elayne and I are also going out of town in the next day or so.” 

“Heading to Solstheim finally?”

“No.” Miraak laughed. “Elayne doesn’t think she would enjoy it. We’re actually going to Labyrinthian. One of the Thalmor vampires that was found after last year’s conflict had a mask that seemed normal, yet did not break when cut and had a few old nordic markings on it. We’re going to go and see what it’s like. Hopefully find a lead on the dragon priest you’re looking for.”

“As well as have fun? Visit one of your old haunts?”

“Perhaps.” The man actually smiled. Serana was astounded. “I’ve read so much about what they did with the place after I was defeated. Now that it’s warmer, Elayne wants to go and see it too. Both of us have been reading a lot about Shalidor, to prepare ourselves.”

“It might be still snowing up there.” 

“Then we will visit another place of my youth.” He returned. “We should be back within two fortnights.” 

“I’ll listen for crazy rumors about Saarthal melting early.”

“Stay safe, Serana.” Miraak said after a long moment. “Elayne and I tolerate but few people in this world.”

“You mean you tolerate few people.” 

Miraak didn’t counter that, giving them a wave as they yoked the horses onto the new wagon. The yokes were almost too small for the horses, Serana noticed. “Ardwen, I can barely get the yokes over them!” 

“Just hitch them as best you can, and we can see a blacksmith in Falkreath.” Neither of them enjoyed handling horses. Especially Brynjolf’s cantankerous ones. Still, the yokes just barely fit the horse’s bridles. It was strange to see a yoke so small. “Maybe they’re for donkeys?” The wagon was also small, but for two people it would fit everything they needed. 

“Maybe.” Serana admitted. “But I do like the idea of having a covered wagon.”

“Sleeping under the stars in spring is not terrible. But I think we only find it acceptable because I like rain and you don’t care about it.”

“I do care.” But the freedom of just doing what she wanted was more important. “It’s just hard on clothes.”

“This is why men will tell us to stay home and look pretty.” Ardwen snarked, laughing. “Come on, let’s go meet this Eola.” 

“She’s the Queen of the people here.” Serana pointed out. “And it’s almost a day’s ride there. So you’ve got plenty of time to decide how you’ll greet her.”

The rain and wind filled their day, as the horses pulled the lightly packed wagon at a rapid clip. Though the too-small yokes almost came off at one point. Troublesome things. But the pair pulled through the gates of Falkreath that night, the town bustling with people. The inns were already full, but the stables had a few places small enough for their wagon. Serana’s dress was immaculate from the day’s travel, and Ardwen changed in the back into her ebonite one. Her armor’s heeled boots looked close enough to it’s gleam that they worked. 

When they entered the town, it was past dinnertime. Yet they passed many houses being restored, tents along the walls and lots of Bretons all over the place. Few if any were wearing the Forsworn style of armor, and those that did looked to be on the receiving end of unpopularity. Serana perked up at seeing not just one but two alchemical shops. A large hall of the dead and what looked to be a new blacksmith shop were also being constructed. “Dead Man’s Drink? Grave Concoctions?” Serana read some of the signs, her heels pleasantly moving along fresh stones in the streets. “The Sanctuary?” 

“The town seems to be growing rapidly.” Ardwen smiled right along with her. “You have two apothecaries to shop at. Though the Sanctuary seems less popular.” The door had few if any tracks leading inside. Meanwhile Grave Concoctions had many people coming and going, and the tavern clearly was packed so full the door was just left open. Ardwen got some looks as she passed, but no man dared to whistle. Not when they were heading right next door to the longhouse. 

The interior looked beautiful. Tapestries were on either side of the large throne, with bedrooms all over the place. An arcane enchanter was upstairs in one corner, an old woman with Forsworn markings working on it. Jarl Siddgeir wasn’t in his seat, but his steward noticed them immediately. She was an altmer, wearing a dress much like those they found in the crates in Pinewatch. Tall heels and tight fabrics hinted at every curve the woman had, and then some. It was drawn tightly enough about her midriff that the belly button could clearly be made out. “Welcome to Falkreath, Serana.” 

“Always nice to see you, Nenya.” The elf was no nonsense, and did more than Siddgeir for running things. “Elayne sent me with a letter for Eola?”

“ Queen Eola will accept. I’ll see if she is available.” With a nod, the elf commanded the guards to lock the door. Then she turned around and sauntered towards the bedrooms, the tight fabrics displaying as much as she felt comfortable. 

“Bitch.” Ardwen mentioned in a whisper only Serana could hear. 

Heels sounded from the back room as Eola made her appearance. Horkerskin covered her form in a long robe, tied together in the midst of her cleavage. A pair of pants designed to be tight and colorful was her only other form of garment, her belly exposed for all to see. She looked a few months pregnant, though the outfit certainly helped showcase it. 

“Serana!” Eola sounded very pleased to see them, as Nenya excused herself and the guard from the meeting area. “Elayne said she had something important going on, and offered you in the place of Gabriella. I have need of some help.” Her eyes ran over Ardwen’s form and it’s far more generous handfuls. “You brought some delicious help!”

“I’m Ardwen.” She offered a bow of her head. “Serana’s friend.” 

“A friend? Babette will be so happy to hear that her big sister has one. You should go visit her once we talk. She’s just in the Sanctuary down the way.” Eola made polite talk, as she brought out a map. No locations were marked upon it, but she used pieces of silver to mark areas around Falkreath. “Publicly, Siddgeir and I worship Arkay and respect them. More privately, it’s an open secret that I worshipped Namira for a long time. But my interests have been swayed by Molag Bal since the battle last year. I still have his mace.” Which made her the de facto champion of Molag Bal. It hung at the woman’s waist, and Serana could hear dark whispers in her mind when she looked at it. 

“I won’t contest you for it.” Serana spoke carefully, feeling something in her mind rage at the thought of giving up the weapon of her god to someone else. “My family had our time.” 

“But you do understand how closely knit a group can become, worshiping a daedra. Trust is hard-won and when lost the people get angry.” Eola looked at the map for a long moment, placing two silver spoons with their handles above positions on the map. “I’ve concealed them in old places. But someone is finding them. I can’t have this happen with the Queensworn. They need to trust me. I can’t let them down if they want to worship their own way. Or my way. Or aedric if they so desire. Someone claims there is a shrine to Nocturnal somewhere around here, but if this is all discovered I’ll have priests of the other eight aedra showing up and investigating. Someone is targeting my specific cult, and it isn’t the cult members. I put Siddgeir’s useless gay uncle Dengeir in charge of Arkay worship in the hold, but he’s taking it too far.” 

Serana remembered what it was like, growing up worshiping in secret. Trust was a sacred thing for daedric worship. You might die in service to the daedra, but the daedra actually spoke to you. You could have a conversation with them. Serana’s lower body tingled at the thought of how else they interacted. “You believe that someone is interfering.” 

“I believe Molag Bal is challenging us with a task. Protect his people, and prove I have the power to control what i’ve taken. Which is why I am glad you’re here, specifically. Molag Bal might bless our efforts further with your help.” Eola spoke earnestly, openly. Like her father once did. Back when he cared. “I want you to see what Dengeir has found. If he’s the one who has found our places of worship. Sneak into his house and find out what he knows. If he isn’t the one finding us, then I have just rumors to go on for suspects.” Eola spoke honestly to them, her bare belly rubbed by a hand as she did so. “Can I count upon you?”

Serana looked over at Ardwen, who gave her a smile. She trusted her. It didn’t sound terribly dangerous. “We accept. We will try to be quiet about it.” 

“Trust a vampire to be able to be quiet.” Eola smirked. “The tavern is always full, so why don’t you go out the back door here and take the path down to Babette’s house. With the sun down no one will notice you. It’s near time for her to wake up.” The woman offered a small crystal key to them. “We’ve taken some drastic measures to make sure that the citizens of Falkreath don’t worry about a vampire in their midst. When the sun rises, I expect that key back.” Eola said meaningfully. Then she unbarred a small back door at the back of the longhouse. “Dengeir doesn’t leave his house often, but once the sun sets he usually goes for a drink. His brother and a servant stay there or go drinking with them.” 

Serana nodded, moving through the back door with Ardwen. Once the door shut behind them, she gave her friend a raised eyebrow. “You were so stiff in there! Like your opinion didn’t matter!” She hissed, leading her around the darkened backside of buildings. 

“That was a queen holding a daedric artifact! I wasn’t going to risk being rude or speaking my mind!” Ardwen’s eyes flicked to Serana, barely visible in the light coming between the buildings. “Surprise, Serana. I’ll lie to make certain I don’t anger nobility. My ‘sister’ is already in the clutches of one in Riften, and I don’t want to follow her example. So around important people like that queen? I’m going to smile, say I’m your friend and no more. I look like some pretty adventurer. I don’t want my other skills brought up unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Her red hair glittered as they passed the back of the tavern, it’s light coming through the windows and making it shine. “I have a new life.” 

“Sorry for assuming anything.” 

“Apology accepted.” Ardwen spoke fairly. “So long as you understand my desire to blend into the background. Which around you is sometimes hard!” 

Serana laughed at that. Quietly. The building with no lights on in the row was the Sanctuary. It had a main floor and basement, and the back door had a large lock on it. The crystal key slid smoothly home, unlatching it. There was a fireplace in the area, and Serana resisted the natural desire to send a small spell to light it. Her fingers itched to cast magic. Returning the fingernail claws she had grown to normal had ruined her for an entire half a day. Unable to leave her room, Serana had suffered and been teased by the belt for hours. There was no relief for her then. 

But it pained her to know that she was a great and powerful wielder of magic, yet even the smallest spell reduced her to weakness. “Can you light that?”

“Light what?” Ardwen cast a candlelight spell to see the fireplace and common area. “Ah. You have to remember, I can’t see like you do. Vampires get that Night Eye business.” The house felt cold, and quiet. A large area in front was a shop, with potions for sale. But the door was barred and the walls scorched from fire damage. The floor, too, was damaged. Ardwen used a small stick to start a fire in the fireplace, and lit the candles in the room. “Your friend lives here?”

“Babette.” Serana had a complicated relationship with the other vampire. “But she didn’t have a house last I spoke to her. It must be nice, to get one.” Serana felt a bit of jealousy at that. Babette must have done something truly helpful to be accepted by regular people. She had to know why. “Babette?” She called out. The main floor was empty of bedrooms, and were designed for storage and alchemical work. 

The basement was completely different. Vampiric artifacts were everywhere. Again, to get there the crystal key was needed. Three coffins were in the room, marked with Volkihar symbols. Serana couldn’t say that they were used recently. Mannequins with Volkihar style dresses and armor were down here, along with thigh high heeled boots in the same style. It was edgy, and overly sexualized. Serana couldn’t remember any of the women in the Volkihar clan wearing a corset and miniskirt when she was there. Chokers with symbols of Molag Bal hung on small hooks, and to her horror she noticed a headdress made from children’s skulls and bones nearby. None of the armor kept here looked decent, or was designed to objectify or deprave the wearer. “Serana.” Ardwen pointed out. “All of these are the same size. The armor is fake, designed to look like it.”

She hadn’t bothered to touch it, but in reaching out she could feel the truth. “This isn’t the Volkihar I know. I hardly recognize any of this!” 

“Oh, this is your family symbol?” Ardwen chuckled, lighting the candles in the room. “There is a lot down here.” Both of them noticed one final door at the back of the basement, past the many piles of sexualized vampiric wear. Pushing the door open, they both raised their eyebrows at the final chamber. It was a dungeon. A sex dungeon by any other name. Wall mounts for hands to be attached to. Some kind of saddle in place of a chair. The saddle was in front of a bench, and Serana could see bite marks along the end of bench. 

At the center of the room was a large coffin, set onto the floor. A heavy brace was over the coffin’s top, locked with a matching lock to all of the others in the house. The key slid home, and Serana lifted the coffin top. Inside, she saw her friend. Babette was only clothed in a collar and handcuffs. Her hands were chained to both sides of the coffin, preventing her from grabbing anything or pushing on the top of the coffin. The key opened those, too. “Babette!” 

Her friend opened her eyes, the vampiric colored vision blinking at the light. “Ser-” She flinched, twisting in her restraints for a moment. “Mistress?” 

“Babette, what happened?” Serana had her out of her restraints immediately. The younger vampire rubbed her wrists, getting feeling back into them. “What is all of this?!” 

“It’s my dungeon, Mistress.” Babette explained, climbing out of the coffin. “To keep the people of Falkreath safe.”

“Why are you calling me Mistress?” Serana looked around, finding not a single article of clothing in the room. Nothing! Not even a blanket, though the inside of the coffin was well padded. “Who is locking you in there!”

“Mistress Eola commanded me to call anyone by Mistress or Master after a vigilant of Stendarr attacked me.” 

“Did she make you use this dungeon? Buy all of these things?”

“Mistress Narri stated that I, being a vampire, should buy anything vampiric. But I’m going into debt to do it.”

“Babette, this is outrageous! Stop calling people Mistress or Master!”

Babette tried to say Serana’s name. But her collar tightened, making her choke until she gave up. “Mistress is wearing a collar, too. I can’t be commanded by a slave.”

“Ardwen? Can you help?” Her bosmer friend was just staring at Babette. 

“Oh.” She was staring at the naked skin on display, both of their red hair looking well coiffed. “Miss Babette, could you stop calling people Mistress or Master?” 

Like a string was cut, Babette sighed in relief. “Thank Bal!” She clutched herself. “Thank you, Ardwen was it?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m being a terrible host. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have you both taken care of.” She stalked into the other room, dragging a corset and miniskirt off of the racks to pull over her form. Both of them watched the long laborious process of lacing up the skirt, the thigh high boots and the corset. 

“I don’t remember these being part of the Volkihar heraldry.”

“A lot must have changed in the hundreds of years you were asleep.” Babette pointed out. “Too bad Elayne won’t let you dress like a vampire anymore.”

“I would never dress like that!” 

“Your breastband has to be three wrappings too many to get that kind of effect! Don’t call me a slut when you look like you’re trying to score a one night stand.” Babette covered her collar with one of the chokers, the symbol of Molag Bal sitting nicely at her throat. Serana’s throat had the symbol of the dragonborn. Shashev’s symbol, actually. But hardly anyone knew that. Ardwen was kind enough to never mention it. “Also, it’s really good to see you again!” Babette leaned forwards, letting her body press against Serana’s. “ Big Sister .” Serana felt a flush as she did so, gently nudging her out of the way. 

“What happened to your armor and dresses we bought together?” Babette coughed, her collar threatening her throat once more. “How many commands are you following, Babette?” 

She tried to say something, but the collar actively stopped her. A glare sent Ardwen’s way got some assistance on the matter. “How does someone undo commands for your collar?” 

“A Mistr-” Babette cleared her throat. “Someone has to say the specific thing I have to stop or start doing. But I’m not allowed to say what those commands are.”

Serana thought Babette was enjoying some kind of freedom, living amongst regular people. But the evidence of that lie was all around her. “So you consider yourself a Volkihar now?”

Babette thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Vampire bitches should always dress so everyone knows what they are.” Black leather gloves joined the outfit, as Babette pulled the headdress with children’s skulls on. “Got a problem with me showing off what I got?”

“Don’t answer that! Her collar forces her to accept commands from any woman.” Serana interjected. Any woman without a collar. “Babette was bitten when she was a child, and that collar makes her an adult, even though she’s a vampire.”

“But when she takes it off can she speak freely?” Ardwen considered. 

Babette and Serana froze. It was a good idea. It could work. “I’m not allowed to touch my collar.” Babette explained. “Queen Eola said so.”

“You seem to be important to Serana, and I’m her friend.” Ardwen gave Serana a look. She had fears of vampires. “If I take off your collar, would you bite me?”

“No?” Babette pointed out. “I make blood potions. I’ve only bitten two people and that was because they thought it was kinky.”

“Babette!” Serana looked horrified. “That’s not!”

“Don’t be a prude, Serana.” Ardwen rolled her eyes. “But at least I know the collar won’t let her lie to me. I can take it off and you can figure out how to help your friend. If Queen Eola is treating Babette like this, then we can safely say she is capricious. We’ve got to bring that key back in the morning.”

Babette rubbed her wrists at that. “Eola just wants to prove to Molag Bal that she’s powerful everywhere. Even when she takes me to bed with her,” Both Ardwen and Babette looked at Serana to notice her outrage. “Oh it’s exactly as bad as you think. She’s got some kind of unforgiven experience with Elayne that she won’t shut up about. Might be a complex.” Babette’s hands clenched. “But when she takes me to bed, she’s obsessed with power. Proving she is powerful even if it means using a strap-on against me.”

“Why do you even put up with this?!” Serana blurted out. “Why!”

“Not all of us have the freedom to choose. I can’t say no to any woman. Not just Eola. But even so, it’s better than being a child perpetually. After four centuries I can look people in the eye, Serana. It’s life-changing. I’ll never go back, even if it means I can’t say no.”

“Sit still.” Ardwen spoke clearly, as Babette fidgeted. “I’ll even help you lace up your clothes again after, if you still want to wear that.”

“I do.” Babette insisted, her collar tightening. Probably another damned command. But the moment that Ardwen pulled the collar apart from around Babette’s neck, the magic keeping her an adult fizzled and broke. Babette shrunk down to a child sized bundle of red haired breton, cackling with glee. “All bets are off now!” She poked Ardwen, making the Bosmer panic a bit. 

“She’s kidding.” Serana offered. “You alright?”

“So much better!” Babette nodded, running over to a table to grab a scroll and some ink. A quill made from bone and embossed with the Volkihar sigil was dragged over to allow her to write. “I’m still getting my boobs back, though. Once I write down everything you’re going to tell me once I have that collar back on. Those bitches made sure they stuck even if I took the collar off in between the times I had seen them.”

“Who?” Serana stepped near, politely not looking at Babette. Or rather at the piece of paper she was writing out. The commands were many, and some quite humiliating. 

“Eola, Narri, and Tekla. A couple of Queensworn that enjoy making fun of me.” Babette didn’t bother adding more. “Eola wanted me to have a house, but was planning to make a sex dungeon out of it. Put all of her slaves here where I could contain them. But she hasn’t actually collared anyone.”

“With all of her quest for power, why not?”

“The woman has to appear to have standards. Plus, it seems like everyone is perfectly willing to listen to her without a collar around their necks.” Babette handed a long sheet to Ardwen. “All of my armor and weapons are in Eola’s hands. As well as a cloak I enchanted to protect myself from sunlight. I can’t just go out in that like you can, big sister.” She beamed towards Serana, pleased. “I’ve been chained up all winter long, but recently the vigilants of stendarr got angry about me being what I am. So we had to close the shop down. Though I was going into debt paying full price for things I was never going to sell.”

“Like Volkihar Coffins?”

“Like Volkihar fucking coffins!” She confirmed with a groan. “I can’t say no! I’m running out of potion supplies and potions because I can’t leave the town to collect more, and I have to keep trading valuable ones for these items people keep bringing back from castle Volkihar!”

Serana hadn’t been to visit. The Companions send a group to clear it out, and treasure hunters had been in there since. There would likely be nothing for her to find there of any value now. “It does look rather nice on you.” 

“What does?” Babette spun, even as Ardwen started looking at the list of commands they would probably have to undo. 

“The volkihar styles. Black looks very nice on you.”

“I don’t know where Narri finds it all, but the woman has cleaned me out of every gold coin upstairs. She just has connections for vampire things I can’t refuse!” 

“Well,” Serana brought up. “Eola wants us to break into Dengeir’s house and steal some information.” 

“Anything for Big Sister Serana!” Babette was all smiles, especially when Ardwen went down the list of commands to get rid of. Honestly the most outlandish one was to fuck any orc she met. “And if you can get me out of town before Eola realizes what you’ve done, I would appreciate it more.”

“There is one more thing.” Ardwen spoke up, almost done reading from the note, as Babette was going through the long process of lacing herself into the tight outfit. “This is a command I am giving you that is superceded by any other woman commanding you.” Babette looked a bit panicked, glancing at Serana for safety. “You will not attack, hurt, or take offensive action against us or our allies without first asking my permission. Nor can you tell anyone that you’ve been given this command.” 

“Yes Mistress.” Babette snapped, too quickly. “Wait, no, fuck!” She twisting her fingers together. “Sorry, it’s just habit.”

“You can always call me that when we are alone.” Ardwen purred. “Serana is our vampire princess, so I guess you’ll have something to be known for too.”

“Yes Mistress Ardwen.” Babette said, her face flushed. “She calls you princess?”

Serana had her own embarrassment to feel, and didn’t feel like confirming it. “We need your help finding evidence that Dengeir is fucking with Eola’s cult. Do you have ingredients for a detect life potion?”

Babette nodded. “I have one made upstairs. The range is poor and the ingredients were old. But it would be enough.” Serana had to admit, the leather miniskirt did look good on her. Babette’s hips sashayed across her own shop like she was trying to get attention. “Are you going to help me pack up after?”

Babette being a homeowner was just a lie. An empty promise from Eola. Serana mulled on that as they grabbed an old phial and headed for the backdoor. What chance did she have of succeeding when Babette couldn’t? The collar made business impossible, sure. A single female merchant would have Babette cleaned out of supplies once they knew. Her storage rooms were already nearly bare as it was. Dengeir’s house had one soul within it. One female moving around the upper floor. 

“Tekla.” Babette murmured. “She usually minds the house.”

A second creature entered the house, some kind of conjured bird. It disappeared the moment it arrived next to Tekla. She picked up something and set it on top of a nearby desk on the upper floor. “Anything piss her off?” Serana whispered. 

“Lots of things.” Babette nodded. “But Solaf isn’t here to cause any trouble. They’ve been dating for a year.” Babette was holding her hands in front of her, almost as if they were cuffed together naturally. Serana would have made fun of that, if not for her own cravings for the Bitch Tamer. Sometimes putting her arms behind her back was therapeutic. Imagining them locked behind her wasted the last bit of the detect life potion she had active. “She’s a good maid. But summoned birds carrying something? That’s old school.”

“Can you climb up to that window in those heels? It’s probably not locked.” Ardwen asked. “I’ll distract her.”

Ardwen’s form of distraction was to knock on the door and leave a cheese wheel on the doorstep. Tekla opened the door, looking around for whoever had dropped it. Serana and Ardwen were of course around the corner, and could hear her call out for attention. All the while, Babette scurried up the side of the building and entered in the window. “Hello? Solaf?” Tekla walked outside, checking obvious hiding places. “Is this some kind of joke?” They heard Tekla sigh. “I’m going to your house, you lovable oaf!” She locked the door behind her, heading across the streets of Falkreath towards the general store. 

“She must like cheese.” Serana said flatly, looking at Ardwen. “Why are you making Babette call you Mistress?”

“Insurance that she doesn’t bite me or scare me. I’m already having nightmares because I don’t have a gag for you to wear at night, and traveling with a second vampire is going to shoot my nerves in the foot even with that collar on her neck.” Ardwen shuddered. “Let’s hope we don’t need to carry too much.”

“Babette is perhaps the best alchemist in the hold.” Serana pointed out. “She just lacks supplies to truly succeed.” 

Babette returned, dropping from the side of the building all the way to the floor. Her heels made a small impact in the dirt. “I stole everything in their desk. But it looks like they burn the messages they are receiving from someone.” She holds up a note. “Looks like Dengeir has a problem with someone.”

They took the note back to Babette’s Sanctuary shop so that Ardwen could read it too. It was nearly damning.

Dengeir.

Your little stunt continues to amuse me. I’ve animated both of your dead nephew’s corpses now. Thadgeir’s boys don’t look so good under my care. I’ll keep sharing the locations of these little cults for you, so long as you keep allowing me my enjoyments. Arkay’s blessings have stopped working in Falkreath, boy. I will alert every necromancer in the hold to this fact if you take a single step towards my seat of power. Your weak nephew Siddgeir the younger doesn’t have the balls to do anything about real threats in his hold. A shame, that you lost the seat of power. A deeper shame that you never had children to entrust to it. One of my line being childless is a form of amusement. Once more, I’ll use your people to sell off more of the vampiric artifacts I have stored up. If I don’t get enough gold from that, I’ll go find the rest of your family and raise them too.

Vighar

Ardwen was the slowest to read the note, whistling a long note as she understood it. “Looks like they’ve been using you, Babette.”

“This explains the source of the volkihar artifacts.” Serana mused. “But I don’t recognize Vighar’s name.”

“He’s a few hundred years old.” Babette explained. “We’ve met once or twice. He joined the Volkihar in the last few years so he wouldn’t be destroyed when your dad finally decided to do something.”

“And he survived the war.” Serana frowned. “Would he still swear allegiance to the Volkihar?”

“It looks like he is trying to get rid of any evidence of that.” Ardwen pointed at the house around them. “What about these other papers you stole?”

A few mangled notes in regards to drop off points for shipments of gear and the gold they would fetch were in the pile, along with an old map of Falkreath hold. Marks were left for the dropoff points, all to the south of Falkreath. But far into the mountains was something else. A marker for a tower of some sort. “Bloodlet.” Serana mused. “When I was alive, there used to be a castle up there called the Bloodlet throne. Father destroyed the clan of vampires from Cyrodil that made it.” 

“So we know that Dengeir has some kind of connection with a vampire. Probably an ancestor. Necromancer, and that place looks deep in the mountains. It means days of travel.” Ardwen pointed out. “Babette? I think you’ll need to put some kind of coffin in our wagon so you can come with us.” She winked. “Then make sure it’s full of everything you need to start over. When we go, you’re coming with us. We can hide the coffin outside of town and then pick up a second one if you need to smuggle more of your things out of town.”

“I want my dragonscale armor back. And my cloak. Eola has them in her secure chests.” She noted. “I’ll see what I can get loaded before sunrise.”

“That means we will have to lock you back up, so she doesn’t get suspicious.”

“No we won’t!” Serana countered Ardwen’s thoughts. “Eola doesn’t just get to hide Babette because it’s inconvenient! Dengeir seems to be the problem for her, too! He probably tried to have her shop attacked so that he could have some hold over Vighar!”

“That’s conjecture.” Ardwen pointed out. “Babette, is Eola the kind of person to be suspicious if we don’t lock you up?”

“So long as the basement is locked, she won’t be more worried.” Babette pointed out. A compromise. Yet Serana fumed at how easily she was folding to pressure. “Not all of us have the same kind of fame and fortune as you, Serana. Though if you want to borrow one of the regular coffins, they don’t lock from the outside. They double as beds here. Feel free to rest and recover from your travel, too.”

Babette and Serana spent there rest of the night moving her supplies to their wagon. By morning, they were back with Eola, showing her the evidence. The woman met with them behind the longhouse, her morning sickness a convenient excuse for the private meeting. 

“Dengeir is being blackmailed.” Eola resolved to herself. “Siddgeir is a simple man, but even he will have to rein him in after this. I’ll need to check about his claims that Arkay’s blessings aren’t protecting the largest graveyard in Skyrim. It wouldn’t surprise me if Siddgeir and Dengeir just didn’t have enough money to make sure that the dead were blessed against necromancy.” She made eye contact with Serana. “Thank you.”

“Vighar is a vampire.” Serana explained. “If he was out of the picture, Dengeir might be more supportive of your efforts.”

“But if we send a guard company or Queensworn they might see us coming and send out more conjured messages to the rest of the hold.” Eola mused. “I can’t leave the longhouse for a few days. But this is something I have to do to prove my worth.”

Serana understood the sentiment. Molag Bal’s ideology in words. “What if I handle it? You already asked us to investigate, and if anyone can handle a vampire, it’s us. And it would reflect well on you.” 

“No offense, Serana but you aren’t exactly a subtle creature.” Eola pointed out. 

“I’ve been to the location.” Serana countered. “During the second era my family destroyed the vampires that tried to control it. I doubt any of your men can say the same.” A little bit of a lie. She was invited to the ceremony after the battle, where Lord Harkon staked the surviving vampires in front of the fortress until the sun burned each and every one of them. Serana had to participate as a priestess of Molag Bal to bless their efforts. 

“But you have to admit you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“So I’ll take Babette. She has a few hundred years of assassination experience.” Eola frowned, not able to contest with that fact. “If that’s alright with you?”

Eola as a champion of Molag Bal stared at Serana. She could contest with Elayne on most anything in regards to politics. Yet Serana had blessings she couldn’t deny in regards to their shared deity. “Let me get her armor and weapons. I trust you to not create a problem for my reign.”

Serana made a show of looking at her mace. “I won’t fail.” Ardwen of course, was part of the conversation but acted like a vapid and supportive friend. They even passed Tekla on their way in the streets, a warm glow in her cheeks and at the side of a man carrying firewood, his face animated and clearly pleased to see her. It brought a little bit of a smile to her day. Even though they tricked her, it looked like she had a wonderful evening. 

Brynjolf’s horses still didn’t quite fit the yokes on the wagon when they left town. It took two days to get into the mountains, and three more to move up the winding valleys and their muddy trails before they reached the upper valley with Bloodlet castle. But the castle of her memories was half-collapsed. Only one part still stood, the rest buried in a large rockslide that must have settled centuries back. The wagon was left at the mouth of the canyon, tied off to a tree. Strangely, there was hardly any observers in the area. Snow was still piled up in drifts, a small trail of footprints going towards the old ruin. They were deep, whoever was moving along it heavy. 

“Thrall.” Babette called, finally deigning to wear her armor. It was from Shashev’s world, and it showed. Thigh high boots, a dragonscale leotard, and cups for her breasts to be shown off. Small shoulder guards supported the upper half of the armor, and a long black cloak kept the sun from hurting her. “The snow has melted around the footprints. Had to be done during the day.”

“You assume it’s a thrall.” 

“I can see a woodpile and an axe in those trees. No sane Nord would want to live this far from a source of mead.” Babette pointed towards some trees. “But this place is a dump.”

Ardwen held up her bow, looking tense. She didn’t like vampires. Yet she still was willing to go with them into the breach. Her elven armor hugged her figure nicely, making Serana wish that she could wear some. Yet, Elayne hadn’t said she couldn’t wear armor. Before she could muse on that further, a man came out of the old ruin. He was wearing a full set of steel armor, and Serana’s silk dress felt underprepared for what was to follow. 

“It’s a thrall.” Serana confirmed as the man got close to the wood pile. “He’s swaying as he walks. Can barely think for himself.”

Babette drew a dagger from her belt, a cruel looking ebony one. The poor thrall didn’t even know she was upon him before the woman grabbed him by the hair and slit his throat. Babette even collected some of it, the thrall twitching as she collected what they both would need for blood potions. “I’d rather not fight someone in full armor.” The shorter redhead explained, licking the blade. “Thin blood. He was fed upon recently.”

Whatever grandeur its creators once gave it was gone. A single torch flickered in a sconce, probably used by the thrall. The inside of the place was damaged, with empty halls and damaged chambers. The walking path to the only way out was filled with debris. Debris from old wooden objects littered the area, as it was clear that they had moved a lot of equipment out of here. Internal chambers included some large bedrooms, barely furnished. These looked lived in, though Serana could tell there were bloodstains. 

“Rooms for thralls.” Babette explained to Ardwen. “It’ll be close enough to hear if things go wrong.”

“So they’re nearby.” Serana pointed out. “Three rooms filled. Hopefully that means three vampires.”

“Three powerful enough for thralls.” Babette clarified. “But something about this place feels abandoned. Even vampires sweep floors to keep rats away.”

“Sweep stone debris?”

“I didn’t say they were smart vampires!” 

They really weren’t that smart. Three weak vampires with two remaining thralls faced them in the next room, the only actual injury being to Ardwen’s breasts. The bowstring snapped on them, while Serana was able to use her jinkblade effectively. They were raw, desperate and not a single one used magic. Babette carved one down, her armor taking the hit against a couple of steel maces. Serana had a warhammer against her, the man swinging it hard. He seemed to depend on his vampiric strength, and the look on his face when Serana caught the hammer was glorious . 

The major chamber looked like it had at one time housed dozens of vampires. But now only standard beds remained, and the marks of coffins upon the floor showed that this place was only recently far more powerful. “I think I know where all of your stock was coming from.”

“The clothes were from one of the Queensworn.” Babette insisted. “She likes to give me black leather and slap a vampire symbol on it for easy money.”

“I knew that wasn’t what was in style at the castle!”

“Maybe for the slutty ones.” Ardwen smirked. “Maybe we should show Elayne!”

“Maybe we don’t!” Serana insisted, looking ahead. There seemed to be an arena up ahead. Cages lined the walls, and death hounds howled ahead. “I think they know we’re here.”

“Let the games begin, Serana Volkihar!” A voice called. At the very end of the way, in the half collapsed arena was a throne. Not the same one that her father had melted down into nothing, but a different one. “Welcome to my throne room!” Two vampires remained. An elderly looking Nord and a young Imperial. She was dressed like an absolute slut. Straps were the only thing upon her body, restraints covering her form. They didn’t even bother to give her any modesty, her hands completely restrained. Her mouth was gagged with something that kept her mouth open, leaving Serana to glare at the male vampire.

“You must be Vighar.” Serana made her voice carry. “I was here when this place was razed to the ground the first time.”

“Why are you here this time, killing the last measly crumbs of an empty coven?” He countered. “Why do you care about this forgotten part of the world? Let it die, my lady. Let an old man remain in his part of the world and continue. Our race is few in number as it stands.”

He was giving her some form of respect. But the only way to reach him was up a slim ladder out of this arena. “What are you in the need of gold for? For someone who seems to believe they want to disappear, you’ve gotten my attention.”

“Can’t a vampire not toy with their descendants? It’s perhaps one of the few things left binding my interests anymore.” Vighar laughed, smirking. “Dengeir is simply enjoyment. When he finally dies, I will approach Thadgeir and torture him with his risen children. Then perhaps skip a generation and wait to see what that Siddgeir welp fathers.” He held out his arms, grabbing onto handles of mechanisms. Clearly to open the cages. “Leave me be, and I’ll never bother you again my Lady.” 

“You served my father.” 

“I was forced to accept dozens of his recently turned trash, in preparation for the great battle. We fought.” He glared at Serana. “I chose not to go upon a fool’s errand! I would not go and fight against the dragons, men and mer! For that, all that I had built in these centuries was nearly undone. I am a patriarch, my lady. Old enough to know what lies before me. I will not make the mistake of bowing to a Volkihar ever again.” 

“I’m not asking for your allegiance.” Serana insisted. “I’m asking for you to leave your family alone.”

He gave a half smile and half flinch. “I have but two enjoyments left in this life, my lady. I shall not part with them.” He pulled the latches, as the cages opened. Three death hounds and two skeletons charged at them. Serana grit her teeth, wishing she could summon a frost atronach. Something to give them an edge! She wasn’t some crazy hero like Elayne that thought being outnumbered was normal! 

“The death hounds will go for the living!” Serana warned. The skeletons and their arrows they would have to ignore for later. But as she predicted, the hounds weren’t attracted to her or Babette. They went right for Ardwen, dog piling her. As they fought the hounds and the hounds fought Ardwen, she was shot in the back more than once. Babette screeched as the skeletons shot her in the ass, her armor protecting her organs. The woman fumed, taking her aggression out on the risen bones. Serana would laugh at the image of Babette with an arrow in her asscheek later. 

Ardwen was covered in bite marks, frost spreading along the bites and freezing her blood by the time the last hound was crushed. The frostbitten wounds had brought her to her knees, and Serana stood in front of her with the battered shield. The cages were empty, and Serana was close enough to see that there were rotting corpses in the death hound’s cage. Vighar didn’t even bother to deal with his corpses respectably!

“My old heart is beating, child! Not a single spell or power used, and I must enter the fray. Go, my Regina! A patriarch must turn his weapons upon his blood ancestor this day.” From behind the throne, Vighar drew two staves. Both were nordic in style, meaning that they were probably elemental magic. His slutty looking companion leapt down into the arena, a pair of spiked heels digging into the dirt. Her hands were covered and wrapped, yet she had some kind of magic spell prepared. Serana clenched her thighs, resisting the urge to bring up a warding spell. 

“Serana, what are you waiting for!” Babette hissed. “Why aren’t you casting!” 

She hadn’t told Babette about the belt. “Let’s pull Ardwen back!” They were already at the mouth of the chamber, the death hounds having driven them back that far. Serana took a lightning bolt from one staff, the other’s firebolt going over her shoulder. “Move!” Serana twisted, watching as Regina ran at her. The woman wasn’t at all slowed in her tall heels, coming first for Serana. The incoming spells stopped, just as Serana caught another lightning bolt upon her shield. Not that it did anything to stop it hurting like a bitch, but it made her feel slightly better. 

Her glass blade cut through some of Regina’s arm, the vampire freezing up. But she got one good hit in. She punched Serana in the thigh. It would probably bruise a normal person. She wasn’t impressed until she felt some kind of magic work its way over her legs. Conjured ropes appeared, binding her legs together at the ankles and knees, with cross sections wrapping tastefully around her ankles and binding more connections there. 

A green bolt of magic came from Vighar, freeing Regina. “Paralysis magic! Your father’s weapon was much more dangerous!” Serana was back on the defensive, as the other woman was now free. Babette was carrying Ardwen, almost around the corner. Serana switched her stance, her legs unable to bend. She bunny hopped backwards, as Regina came after her more strongly. Serana’s blade carved up her shoulder this time, as she dove past her shield bash. 

“Damnit!” Regina’s fists hit stomach and neck, the collar crushing into her throat enough to make her cough. Spittle hit the floor, even as Serana felt more conjured ropes appearing over her arms and torso. Some even appeared over her mouth, gagging her smoothly. Her sword clattered to the ground, the shield almost making her trip. “Ng!” Her arms slammed behind her, the ropes twisting over every inch of them and then squeezing back around her torso, pulling them tight against her back and wrapping above and below her breasts. Her dress went taut, as her neck and face were completely covered by conjured rope. There were even ropes pulling between her legs, the belt pulled ever more tightly against her skin. 

Now all she could do was hop! Twisting her head, she saw Babette come against the spellcaster. Her dagger put her entirely too close to the dark haired Imperial. Even bound and gagged, she was meeting Babette strike for strike. Behind, she could see Vighar casting necromancy upon the fallen corpses in his chamber. Five or six bandits, as well as the three death hounds were starting to rise one by one. Arch Necromancer and Patriarch. Vighar was surprising. 

Babette had to drop Ardwen, the bosmer crying out as she had to fight the enemy. But with every strike ropes were being conjured. Babette’s knife flashed, as much cutting her own bonds as it was cutting into Regina. “Serana! Summon something!” 

Her fingers were latched too tightly together. Shaking her head back and forth, a firebolt went over her head. Could she summon under this tight of bondage? Just trying to get her pointer finger to touch her thumb to activate any kind of magic seemed insurmountable. But she could use herself. She was strong, and bunny hopped behind Regina. Her heels slapped the stone floor, as she leapt. She could try to cast a spell and probably fail, and the belt would torture her. Or she could do something else. 

Regina turned her head at the sound of heels, just in time to catch Serana’s forehead to her nose. Something broke, the other vampire staggering as Serana flopped to the floor. No hands to catch herself, she just rolled. Pieces of stone dug into her legs and conjured rope as she slammed into a wall. 

But Regina fell forwards, right into Ardwen. It looked like something of an accident as the elven dagger slid home. Ardwen was certainly surprised at her actually killing the vampire, Regina going still in her arms. But they had all kinds of foes still after them, Babette screeching as she too was covered in conjured ropes. “Run!” Babette growled past her own gag. “Getou-” 

Ardwen looked at both of them, and the undead shuffling their way towards them. Reaching into her belt, she grabbed a yellow tinted potion and drank it. Her muscles swelled, and Serana felt a bit of hope as she remembered what this was. A philter of strength. Ardwen grabbed both Babette and Serana, the woman grunting as she dragged both of them all of the way back through the ruin. The death hounds stumbled after them, but she ran. Her vampiric charges were bounced along and injured by the many stones and damaged sections of the floors. One of the death hounds snapped at Serana’s leg, but she was able to mule kick it into a wall, where it broke down into ashes. 

Her skin burned a bit as Ardwen kicked the doors open, the night air clear. Babette was thrown out into the snow, and Serana just dumped onto the path carved through it. Ardwen took Serana’s steel warhammer and wedged the door shut. Hounds hammered at the wood, but the old door held firm. “Gods! What kind of magic was that?!”

Babette squirmed, straining as her hands were forced at an even tighter angle behind her back. Her eyes were wide open, as she tried to fight against the tightness. Serana rolled onto her side, reminded so very much of those months she spent in the Bitch Tamer. Her arms were kept at this angle for days at a time, even the tight ropes unable to truly stress her form. Serana could feel the ropes trying to get towards her belt, but were stopped at every turn. 

“Serana!” Ardwen held the door, keeping it stuck. “Tell me what to do!”  Squirming herself, she tried biting the ropes. But they just reformed and she couldn’t spit out the conjured strands of rope. Grunting, she flipped over and sat up, using the bottom of her shoes to carve a symbol into the dirt and snow. The daedric symbols stood out to both women, and she knew Ardwen spoke it. Read it. Her aldmeris was poor and difficult to write with her hands, much less her feet. “Mysticism! I don’t know any of those!” The door thumped behind her, as she braced against it. “I can’t cast that!”

Serana dragged her feet, picking another patch of the snow and dirt to imprint into. Slowly, she carved the symbol for alchemy into the snow. A potion! She had to understand that! Babette flipped over, so that her alchemy pockets were visible from her belt. “Alchemy. Mysticism. Potion?!” The door held, even as something inside tried to get through. “Ohhhh gods!” She left the door, pulling Babette over and bracing it with one arm while the other pawed through Babette’s potions. Babette nodded or shook her head when each was held in front of her, until they found one single potion of dispel. A rare effect for potions, Babette had only one. 

The potion was pushed down her throat, Babette rising to her feet and ditching the ropes. “Hang on Serana! Once we get those ropes dispelled we can go back in there and get our weapons back!” Babette grabbed the axe of the first thrall they brought down, wedging the door shut even more. “Why in the name of Bal did you not summon something?!”

“She can’t.” Ardwen spoke up. “Our little vampire princess has a cute little chastity belt on her. One lick of magic and she gets,” Ardwen flinched as the door got battered by some kind of spell. “Completely ruined!” 

Babette laughed. She laughed so hard that Serana was worried that she might start falling over. Vighar stopped trying to get through the door, hearing the maniacal laughter going on outside. Or at least, that was what Serana hoped the door’s silence meant. “Oh gods! I need to see this thing! The prudish vampire in a chastity belt?” She couldn’t help but laugh further, loosening her grip on the door. 

At which point a fireball erupted behind it, knocking the door half open and sending Ardwen sprawling. “After we kill all the vampires! Kill them all, Babette!” Ardwen squealed, the mangled head of a risen death hound snapping at her arms. “Why did I think adventuring was a good idea?!”

Chapter Text

Vighar tried to escape once all of his minions were wiped out. Babette spotted the vampire pushing stones out of a collapsed window, and the unfortunate old man was laid to rest. Serana spent a few miserable hours being grappled by aggressive conjured ropecraft, until it finally was returned back to whatever part of Oblivion that it came from. If it was even conjuration magic. She couldn’t figure out what it was, even as it held her arms behind her back for hours. So she sat upon the wagon, her dress soaked by mud and snow with her arms pulled taut behind her. Her fingers were restrained, and she was tempted to grow her claws to cut the ropes. But she didn’t need to. 

So she sat, trying not to panic at how comfortable she was like this. Left alone and restrained, Serana found her body calm and completely at ease. She could barely tilt her chin, yet her mind felt at ease. Should she be angry? Should she be uncomfortable? Serana found that she truly wasn’t . Summoning the anger just made her mind strain keeping it. She wasn’t bothered by being tied up! She knew it would end, it was just a conjuration spell. Probably . But even that thought wasn’t too terrifying. Somehow she knew in the back of her mind that the threat had passed and that this would be fine. Was fine. So she sat, the weather clearing enough that the morning dew shone on her skin by the time that Babette and Ardwen finished in the ruin. 

“Cheap weapons, besides the staves.” Babette reported, dragging a bag that looked to be full of bloody pieces. “Good ingredients from the vampires though! Plenty for blood potions and curing diseases if we have any happy accidents.”

“Happy accidents?” Ardwen looked flabbergasted. 

“That’s what I call a common mistake when I’m eating someone out or giving head.” Babette smirked. “Vampires transmit diseases, after all.”

Serana choked on the rope gagging her, while Ardwen’s face colored. “You cannot call that a happy accident!”

“I can and I-,” Babette leaned forwards to say more, but her throat clenched as the command rocked through her collar. “I won’t, Mistress Ardwen!” Her frown told a different story, though. She just didn’t have the right to refuse. 

Ardwen realized her mistake right away. “Wait, I take that back!” Babette looked immediately more comfortable. “Sorry, Babette. It’s hard to know what I can say around you.”

“Apology accepted.” Babette smirked. “Just a happy accident.” 

Serana’s groan was accompanied by the feeling of her shoulders loosening and the snap of her wrists coming apart. The ropes were gone! Any comment she wanted to make was replaced by coughing whatever ash and dust the ropes were conjured from out of her mouth. “Hah!” She stretched, her back popping in a couple of places. Her dress gave up the ghost, laces breaking fully as her breastband was now the only thing providing her any modesty. “Damn Mara.” 

“Why blame that Aedra?” Ardwen seemed confused. 

“Because she would take offense to me damaging something this expensive.” Serana groaned. “I’m down to two dresses that I can consider functional. Without magic, I can’t repair them or clean them properly.” 

“How many spells does it take to repair them?”

“It’s not a question of how many, but for how long I can concentrate.” She glanced towards her hips, the threat of what she wore all the worse. “The belt would interrupt that.”

“Well, how good are you with a needle?” Babette raised the point. “You’re a noblewoman, aren’t you?”

“My parents raised me as a priestess of a daedra. The only thing I learned to sew with was ebony needles for necromancy. Painting was with blood and viscera for alchemy. I have none of those skills, Babette.”

“Then perhaps we should go to Solitude.” Ardwen saw that there was tension in the conversation and tried to curb it. “We go back to Falkreath for a few days and recover from these injuries and make sure I don’t have any diseases before we plan a trip to Solitude. Eola can have her sycophants, but we should bring Babette with us.”

“I won’t let her keep you.” Serana promised. “I thought you were accepted by the people but it sounds like that just isn’t possible.”

“Vampires are connected to Molag Bal. We spread suffering to mortals without realizing it.” Babette quoted someone she didn’t like. It was in a different tone of voice. “Or so a vigilant of Stendarr told me. If we try to have a mortal life, it will be stripped from us.”

“I won’t accept that.” Serana frowned, fixing what little she could of her snapped lacings of her dress. “I fought with the living against my father and against Alduin.” In the same span of sundown to sundown, both titans fell. Neither died, but both were defeated. “If they forgave these Stormcloaks, why can they not forgive me?” 

Neither of her companions felt like answering that. It took three days of carefully making their way out of the mountains to get back to Falkreath. Two of those days were miserable from rain. The third was just overcast, letting them arrive back in the town with dry clothes and happier morale. Eola didn’t greet them at the gates, nor were there any companies of guards ready to arrest them for being a vampire. No vigilants were at the Sanctuary, and once they were inside Babette set up long poles in one of her almost empty storage rooms. Set into the braces in the walls, the other ends were stacked up against candlestick mounts and crates. Two giant wooden tubs came out of another room, and were filled with water. Hot water, which took some doing and firewood. 

Serana spent ten hours on her knees, scrubbing and hand cleaning all of her silk. She was not in the practice of doing this kind of labor. Mostly on her knees, doing the work of a damned servant! It was galling, watching as Babette finished her laundry in an hour or two, and Ardwen hardly spent an hour. Yet Serana spent the entire day and on into the evening carefully managing her outfits and hanging them on the long braces just so. By the end she was just wearing that tiny nightgown she kept in her bag for resting. It came together in between her breasts and left everything below her bust concealed by a thin translucent black layer of silk. Which meant that she had the damned belt on display. 

Ardwen’s dresses and clothes were dry before Serana’s outfits could even hang. Elayne’s joke about Serana getting a maid outfit felt all the more threatening, restrained by this belt. What should have been fifteen minutes of spellcasting was instead ten hours of hard labor! And she still had to repair said outfits! She had taken her magic for granted, all this time. She tried to not feel powerless as the sun went down, finally getting off of her knees. The injuries and burns from the battle were displayed still, the lightning bolt marks probably going to take days to reduce. As she mused upon this, the back door lock rattled. 

Glancing down at her body, Serana felt a flush. Eola was the one with the key! She couldn’t be seen like this! But all of her silk was still drying! Out of desperation, she unlatched the nightgown from between her breasts, the latch sometimes undoing itself of its own accord. It was thrown haphazardly over the long poles and she went to Babette’s laundry line. One of the miniskirts had a belt, but it also had two large metal rings that sat high on both hips. Serana stepped into it, her fingers flying as the pair of rings sat tightly on top of her hips and the belt buckled just under her navel. Volkihar symbols were hanging from both rings, made from silver. The back door opened, and Serana quickly grabbed a top that looked like it had a simple execution to wear. Straps instead of the many laces that some of the leather tops required. This one too had rings in it, in odd places. Of course, drawing it over her form the formation of those rings became more apparent. 

The top only covered from the middle of her breasts to the bottom of the armpits, with some joke of partial sleeves that only covered her biceps. Small pieces of leather connected from these to the rings, forming straps that kept the sleeves barely attached and the three metal rings tight against her skin. One right between her breasts, pressing the leather down and framing every aspect of her curves. The other two rings were just under her armpits, but not touching them. Straps drew tight across her back, only just barely giving Serana any modesty while the volkihar symbols hung. All of her breastbands were hanging to dry, and were the complicated type that required sixteen times around someone before the silk could be clipped tight. 

“Serana?” Eola called into the house. Serana didn’t like the feeling of her feet flat against the floor. Working on laundry made sense, but after so long wearing heels her feet had changed their normal state of comfort. But going barefoot in front of Eola was hardly the worst she would be viewed for in this outfit. If she bent over at all, Eola would see the chastity belt. Because of the holes cut around the metal rings, if she pulled the skirt down at all the belt would be visible there, too! Damn thing.

“I’m here.” Serana called, walking out of the makeshift laundry room. The leather felt different on her skin, after so long of only wearing silk. Heavier, brushing against skin in a way that promised more weight. When Eola saw her, she got a single raised eyebrow at the makeshift outfit. 

“My apologies, priestess.” She bowed. “I did not want to intrude on your entertainment.” Serana had no idea what she meant by that. “I trust that things went well with my uncle-in-law’s business?”

“Your husband had an ancestor that at one time swore his service to Clan Volkihar.” Though the facts remained true, it wouldn’t be Serana if she didn’t twist them to her own ends. Eola was a dangerous figure. “He was still at large and was reporting your cult’s position to Dengeir, in exchange for Dengeir debasing himself to his whims. Childless and thoughtfully defending his family, he gave in to his ancestor. Vighar told us that he would not give up his fixation with your family. Once Dengeir and Thadgeir would pass on, Vighar looked forward to torturing and manipulating your own children.” Connect the problem back to Eola, and the manipulation was complete. 

“He is dead? Or returned to Bal?”

“He is dead, his ashes turned into alchemical solutions. Ancient by any means, we all were injured in the battle. We are going to recover before we do anything else.” Serana said meaningfully. “Dengeir will need convincing, and we have some evidence. As well as Thadgeir’s children to re-bury.”

“I owe Elayne a great deal, then.” Eola sighed in relief. “With that I can keep him and Thadgeir out of my house and my dealings. Vighar’s name alone will wilt any attempts upon my power.”

“Elayne isn’t the one who put their life on the line!” Serana spoke up, nose flaring. “She might own my neck, but my soul belongs to Bal.” The stark reminder made Eola chew on something. “If you are to speak to anyone’s credit, reward yourself. Your allies did this in your name, after all. And if those allies are not rewarded we might become forgetful.”

“What do you need, Serana?” Eola could see through her statement. “What is your design?”

“I’m building a house in Riften.” Serana started by saying. “They don’t mind having a vampire there, so long as I’m owned by Elayne. But a home isn’t a home without furnishings. I’d like you to move Babette’s things out. She’s coming to live with me from now on.” 

“Why would I part with my private apothecary?” Eola glanced at the closed basement door. She hadn’t seen anyone else so far that night. “She does everything I say and more.”

“You’ll part with her because I need her. There are so few vampires left in Skyrim that I have reason to protect her. The other clans of vampires will muscle in, and I would rather have two hands I can trust than one. One wrong word and she will present her neck to some other vampire clan.” Serana pointed out. “The Volkihar have fallen, and they aren’t coming back.”

“So you say.” Eola said neutrally. Almost treating her like a potential enemy. “But what will rise in their place? You?”

Serana tried to imagine herself taking over the court at her father’s castle. It just made her tongue taste like ash. Too many dark times and horrid memories in that place. “Not like my father.” She promised. “He fell, after all.” 

“I will bring a shopping list of all of the potions I will need before I am to part with my dearest vampire bitch. And,” Eola didn’t go near the basement door, turning back towards the rear door. “No one knows you went after Vighar?”

“Not a soul in Falkreath. Your husband’s family can rest easier. More importantly, we don’t think he mentioned anything to other necromancers about the lack of protections. Your kingdom has one less thing to worry about.”

“In truth, you’ve helped more than that.” Eola admitted. “I was praying the other night and heard the voice of our patron.” Eola glanced at the mace at her belt, past the healthy layer of fat from her pregnancy. “He wants me to support you, it seems. I’ll have this entire shop prepared to move to your home the moment you send word. You and Babette are fine alchemists, better than the one next door. It’s an advantage I don’t quite want to give up.” 

“Falkreath is a powerful hold. Surely you can afford it.”

“My husband hasn’t balanced a book since he was a babe.” She countered. “You don’t want to see the situation we have with coin. Nenya is only capable of so many miracles.” Eola walked into the shop proper, with its almost empty shelves. Coming to one of the lower ones, she frowned as she couldn’t see something in a slot. “Speaking of which, she has a hot date this week. Planned weeks in advance, with some longtime friend. She’s obnoxious to deal with at times, but it’s easier once she’s gotten laid. What I need is a pick me up potion for her, maybe a contraceptive. But there aren’t any left.” The shelves weren’t labeled, something a master alchemist would never have to worry about. They knew what they had made, and without labels people wouldn’t know if what they got was the full powered version or not. Simple things for simple minds, her mother would always say. “Could you ask Babette to whip up a solution for Nenya? She has a date with a powerful Dunmer in two days.”

“I’ll ask her.”

“I’ll let you get back to having fun.” Eola’s gaze lingered upon the rings seated into the leather clothing. “Goodnight, Serana.”

Serana watched her leave, letting out a sigh of relief once the door shut. The leather was tickling her thighs, the miniskirt far more daring than any of the dresses she owned. But wearing Volkihar symbols after so long made her feel stirrings. Something in her didn’t want to go back to a silk nightgown that let everyone see the chastity belt yet. Barefoot, she went for the stairs. Her feet didn’t like feeling the whorls of the wood and stone of the house, and her steps carried her into the basement chambers where boots awaited. Namely, boots with the Volkihar symbol on them. She had worn the heels given to her by Taarie for a while, but was thrilled with the thought of trying something of her own volition. Elayne certainly never expressly told her she had to wear the silks, only that the threat of paddling hung over them both. 

The closet of sexualized Volkihar leathers included thigh high boots, along with a chair in the section to facilitate them. Serana caught herself humming as her fingers laced up the boots, the tops of them ending far below the limits of the skirt. Standing, she leaned forward to better appreciate the look. A volkihar symbol adorned her cleavage, both hips and the top of her foot. Black leather covered her form, a thin line of pale skin showing on her thighs, and again between navel and the bottom of the breasts. Serana couldn’t help but start smiling about the look. Though there were some straps under the skirt attached to the rings she couldn’t figure out, the outfit was complete. 

Which was when she finally looked up to see the predatory grin of Babette peering up at her. The other vampire pointed over her shoulder at one of the coffins, lined with blankets. Ardwen was completely asleep in it, explaining Babette’s silence. Carefully slinking upstairs, Serana noticed that Babette’s outfit today was more conservative than her own. A corset and miniskirt, both covering more skin. “You can borrow the look any time, Big Sister.” Babette spoke the moment they were upstairs. “You make that look good.”

She felt a bit on edge. “Eola was coming, and all of my clothes are drying!”

“So you chose to wear my shopkeeper outfit?”

“What, is this enchanted to improve your mercantile abilities?”

Babette chuckled, coming forwards. “Let me show you. Those straps connected to the rings? Run them in between your legs and connect them back to the ring on the backside.” The other vampire moved towards the front of the shop, still rather empty with how many days Babette had been traveling with them instead of working at her shop. No stocks were replaced, and certainly there was a shortage of ingredients. Serana had run the straps to wrap around her thighs, clipping back into the rings of the skirt. Which just drew the entire construction down far enough that the gaps the rings displayed flashed the presence of the chastity belt. Though the skirt was now long enough to reduce the risk of it being seen from below. Creamy thighs were still teased, and if it weren’t for the belt, Serana would feel humiliated just wearing it. 

“I don’t think I could wear something like this outside.”

“Covers less than your favorite outfit, true.” Babette motioned her forwards. “Stand here for me?” She watched as Babette pulled a couple of ropes from the ceiling, some kind of metal brace allowing them to hang. “My clothes are a little too small for you, though. You’re taller than I am.” 

“Is that a solution for the taller shelves?”

Babette nodded, clipping the ends of the ropes into the rings under her armpits and on either hip. Though it wasn’t just that. Some kind of brace was pushed into her lower back, the cool feeling of leather letting her know it was something that wouldn’t aggravate her skin. All four rings seemed to gather their ropes to the brace, which sat comfortably and somehow pulled taut. “Feels tight? Give your top a tug, make sure you don’t pop out of it.” 

Serana could feel all of the straps on the outfit now holding tightly. Looking upwards, all of it went to a circular piece of metal much like a hook. The other end of the rope went all the way around through another metal ring above the front door, and then down next to the entrance. A weighted bag kept the rope taut there, with a slim knot keeping the bag off of the ground. “How exactly?” She started asking, but Babette answered her. She pulled a small tab from the wood that the knot was rooted on. And with that, the weighted bag slammed into the ground, easily twice her body’s weight. It didn’t fall very far, but it was enough. Serana shrieked, as the brace on her back was jerked upwards, her heeled shoes now a few inches from the ground. Her entire center of gravity was now her stomach, as the too-small top released her for all to see. “Babette!” 

Serana was unable to get upright! She was bent over, her torso at the same angle as the floor and her legs hanging uselessly. She was swinging gently, her shoes just barely scraping the floor. The miniskirt was tight, hardly covering anything anymore. “See? That is a nice look for you.” Trying to tuck her breasts back into the tight straps was impossible. “I could open the door and we could have customers see you like that.”

Serana waved her arms, the swinging carrying her towards the countertop. Babette wouldn’t dare! This must be some sort of prank from her! “Why do you even have this?!” 

“Because if I want to get with someone it’s easier if they believe they are in control.” Babette walked over and grabbed one of Serana’s feet. It was easy for her to guide Serana around the room, keeping her from the countertop she could use for stability. “See?” Babette almost spoke in a whisper. “You could cut that rope with any of your claws, knives or just break it all with your strength. But your hands are free and your legs are free.”

“I should have worn something else!” Serana groaned, holding the back of her skirt with one hand and covering her breasts with the other. “Eola saw me in this and I’m realizing why she thought I was having fun!”

Babette laughed, letting Serana swing towards the counter. With just one hand, she planted herself on the edge of the counter and let the rope go slack. Her body semed to be calm, just like when she was restrained with the conjured ropes. But once the rope was slack, it was as though she could move perfectly freely. Serana ran her hands down, tucking herself back into the top. “Every man that’s pulled the rope has been quite a fun lay.” Babette grinned. “That’s why I was washing it. I wanted to use it before you bust me out of town.”

“Eola won’t stop us.” Serana pointed out. “I just confirmed it.” Now she wanted out of this outfit. Knowing that it was something that Babette got laid in, it felt too personal. Wrong for her to take it. “Who would you even,” Serana couldn’t finish the thought. 

“Gods, Serana.” Babette tied the bag back up so that she could have enough rope to untie her. “You’re such a prude. If it wasn’t for that belt, I’d take you with me. There are a vampire couple that live outside of town. It’s a fun spot for a threesome. But I need to give them a day of warning at least, so they can set up a muffle ward. They have a bunch of Queensworn working with them.” 

“My only experience with sex was nothing pleasant.” Serana spoke up. “I don’t understand the excitement or desire behind it.”

“It’s one of the few benefits that mimic mortal life. Yes, we live forever. Just at the cost of lifeforce taken from other people.” Babette politely freed Serana, who got the floor under her with a bit more comfort than before. “But the emotions of normal life start to die as the years go on. Older vampires really only know their passions and hunger after a while. At least, my branch of vampirism seems that way. For four hundred years I only could feel something around spiders and death. That was it. Now? It’s like my eyes are opened, Serana. It’s beautiful. I can finally feel something more than what my existence was limited to.” She flicked the tight mass of straps just between Serana’s breasts. “Someone in a chastity belt shouldn’t be wearing my lucky outfit.”

“You want it back?”

“Right now! Your fat ass is stretching it!” Babette was smiling when she said that. “Plus, you’ve got some kind of tendency to destroy your outfits. So go wear your own clothes!” Babette politely shoved her towards the laundry filled room. “Or else I’ll suspend you from the ceiling again.” Babette waited long enough for Serana to take off the skirt and top before she slipped out into the night. 

Babette was in high spirits from the news that Eola was letting her go. Serana waited for her to leave as she put herself back in the ultra soft silk nightgown. Her outfits were carefully pinned to prevent damage or wrinkling. But she was left alone as she looked upon the grouping. She had even cleaned the damaged dresses. Adventuring like this was quite damaging to her things, and silk wasn’t known as a tough material! Wearing the thigh high boots and a nightgown, Serana decided that she had a plan. Replacing or repairing these would take almost all of the gold she had earned so far. Taarie’s silk dresses were some of the most expensive clothes in the province. 

She couldn’t afford to buy enchanted items, much less enchant things herself if she just had to keep replacing silk. Glaring at the belt that was open to view, Serana finally felt some spikes of anger. Serana didn’t want to spend the months it would take to learn how to fix silk clothes! Nor could she get Taarie to back down from the agreement with Elayne! The fact of the matter was that she had to use these clothes. Or others as expensive. Armor was nigh impossible for her. Perhaps she could use some armored bracers or some kind of some enchanted shawl to resist damage. 

She raised an eyebrow at that thought. It was an old spell, not one she had seen often around here. Better to reflect damage back at its source than resist it, her mother would say. A formidable mage in her time, she did teach Serana that spell. But with this belt, there was no way she could have the concentration to enchant much of anything. She had enchanted very basic things in her life, not finding the gift for bending the fine fabric of magic into items. Not that the belt would allow that under its watch. 

But she couldn’t accept this as the status quo. This wouldn’t be her lot in life! So she set out all of her damaged things in a circle around herself. All accessible without without going very far. Her knees carefully hit the floor, removing the chance for her to fall over doing this. Taking a shaky breath, she began forming the basic magic in one hand. The other, she freely tucked into the cups of nightgown. Even before the belt began its torture, she started rolling her nipple in her hand. Strange, it was already pebbled before she even touched it! But the almost-pain and pleasure started under her ministrations. 

In her right hand, the basic spell began. So weak that it barely used a flow of magic. The least powerful version of this spell, meant to knit together fragile fabrics. It glowed on the tip of her pointer finger, and would weave together split thread as her finger moved along damaged sections. The more stable her finger was, the less chance of the repair going awry. Most people used these spells for armor or weapons, but for fabric it could be too powerful. 

Still, alteration magic at its most base level was to change the nature of material. Temporarily binding something together was easier, whereas a permanent transmutation was much more difficult. Like repairing silk. Serana didn’t want to learn how to sew, but she certainly was willing to refine a school of magic to the point that she could repair it at the price of magicka. She didn’t shake as she dragged her hand over the cuts in her most damaged dress. The belt wasn’t responding! She didn’t give up on her other hand, pinching enough to prepare. 

But before her eyes, the threads were repairing themselves. It was fixing itself! Under her careful hand, the damage was being fixed. The slow chant of the power in her hands moved down the broken threads, and she smiled as the damage receded. 

About thirty seconds into her repairs, the belt activated. It had been almost a week since she had morphed back her fingernail claws. A week since these damned plugs moved on their own. It wasn’t at the most powerful she had seen them, and with the combination of her ministrations and the small vibrations of the belt she didn’t lose hold of the spell. Her finger continued to fix the rips and tears, the spell being maintained. 

But the cursed thing wouldn’t accept that. With every minute she worked, the belt increased its speed until Serana felt her asscheeks grinding into the floor. She as trying to escape it, even as her fingers worked as fast as they could! But after only a couple of her outfits were fixed, the belt accelerated, sending her into a painful conniption where she rolled on the floor under its merciless care. Yet even as she rolled amongst the silk she knew that she had repaired some of her things. She could continue living! She was just crippled for hours after every outfit fixed in that way. 

When Babette came back by sunrise, she found Serana whimpering on the floor, three of her outfits repaired and five more that needed her handiwork remaining. The other vampire picked her up, carrying her downstairs to one of the coffins. “You aren’t going to make a very good maid, Serana. Basic tasks are just lost on you, girl.” Her grumbled response was enough that Babette tucked her in. “We’ll get that belt off of you soon enough.”

By the time Serana had recovered and rested, it was almost evening once more. But this time it was with the benefit of a full outfit, a breastband and freshly bathed form. She didn’t need to take so long on her hair, but it felt nice. She had finally gotten her clothing folded right and put away when Ardwen confronted her. The redhead was wearing her ebonite dress, and little else. 

“I just met the most interesting mer!” Ardwen was actually smiling. “He picked me right out of the crowd and asked about my dress!”

“It does stand out.” Moreso the busty red haired elf designed her face and body to always stand out. A set of baggy robes made of wool would look great on her. Best not to feed that ego too heavily, in her mind. Ardwen was her friend, but that didn’t mean she had to admit that she was prettier than the rest of town. “What did he want to know?”

“He called it by it’s actual material name. Said he was researching the source of ebonite, and wanted to have me for dinner.” She quirked her lips at that. “Wanted to buy it, actually. He wants samples for his research.”

“I found a glove of the stuff a while back.” Serana mused. “I think we sold that in Riften. How long do you have?”

“Minutes?” Ardwen spun. “But you’re going to owe me.”

“For what?”

“It’s Talon Dreth.” Serana went still. Beem-Ja’s employer. He would know where the slippery Argonian was. “See? You’re going to help me land this date. It’ll be more fun than whatever bookish hiding you’re going to get up to in here. You’ve barely left the house since we got here.”

“We’ve got to find out from him where Beem-Ja is!” 

“You can’t just directly ask someone where their shady employee is.” Ardwen pointed out. “We need leverage. Or something worth trading for.”

“Are you willing to trade that dress for it?” Serana considered. “It’s got to be worth-”

“My friend’s sanity and wellbeing.” Ardwen finished for her. “That belt is not doing you any favors. Sexually repressed Serana is not as fun as the Serana I knew when we first started adventuring.” 

Perhaps Ardwen deserved more compliments. She couldn’t help but smile as the pair headed for the front door. Babette was spending time with some boyfriend nearby, and hadn’t been seen. The dying sun’s light stung a little, as the town of Falkreath seemed to slowly lose steam. Men were carrying firewood to homes, cookfires from the tent circles were growing in size and the tavern glowing in the center of town. Most people were wearing coats over their clothes, though at least three men were going through the street carrying a large log shirtless. Serana was almost distracted by that, until Ardwen dragged her towards the overly packed tavern. Men were filling it, a few women wearing linen slipping amongst their number. Just outside the front door, the bench was filled with a pair of people sharing a bottle of alto wine, Serana fairly sure that it was an Imperial and one of the Queensworn. The woman’s facial tattoos looked quite delightful next to the Imperial’s more tanned skin. 

The inside of the tavern was full of people. Mostly men, and most of them taller than she was. Her dress had a wide window for cleavage, and more than one man gave it a glance as she squeezed by. One hand ghosted along her ribcage, the thin silk of her outfit allowing her to feel his hands tracing the underside of her armpit to her ribcage. She didn’t even flinch at it, instead feeling almost validated! Someone liked what they saw!

Serana hadn’t felt like it was alright for friends to touch her, much less random strangers. But after being teased by the belt for what felt like weeks? She almost purred. Blinking, she pulled past the man and his wandering hands, trying to figure out why she reacted like that! She didn’t have long, as the pair of them moved between two tables to sit at a tiny corner bench, where three men sat. One dunmer and two Nords, both of whom looked somewhat professional. Unlike the many men around them, the pair were splitting a bottle of mead. One single bottle. Some roasted vegetables and charred slices of meat were also at the table, along with a bottle of wine from Cyrodil. 

She had met Talon Dreth once before, at a dwemer ruin many weeks back. This time he wasn’t in his enchanted dwemer armor, but a very decent set of tunic and pants. A dwemer clasp held a longer cloak over his body, hardly even latched in the heat of the tavern. His skin wasn’t as gray as other Dunmer, but a deeper color. His red eyes ghosted over Ardwen’s face and lingered on her dress, before resting upon Serana’s oval cutout in her dress. When his eyes started climbing higher, they stopped at the collar around her neck. 

“Miss Serana!” he beamed. “I would recognize that collar anywhere! You are friends with this lovely creature?”

“I am.” She grinned, not trying to steal his attention from Ardwen overly much. “Ardwen and I have seen some interesting moments. We met on the road to Riften, in passing I think.”

“In passing.” He nodded. “I’ve been quite busy this spring, working on some research! Perhaps another book might have to be written if I find success!” 

“What research has you running around during the springtime? The roads have been terrible lately!”

“I’ve been researching a new material. One that only emerged shortly before the battles that happened last year. It seems to be related to Oblivion, or it could be some kind of masterstroke that the daedra released into the world when Alduin was flying around. Either way, it’s not something that is willing to be reshaped. It can be damaged and repaired through magic or hard enough weapons, but that dress you are wearing can handle arrows better than most armors.” He motioned to Serana as well. “Your collar seems to be made with it, too. Along with dragonbone, in a way I would love to divine!” 

“I know a bit about it, of course.” Serana purred, feeling like she was looking at a man on a mission. He probably didn’t care that Ardwen was willing to sleep with him. He looked focused, not caring at all for the cleavage being bared or the skin on display. “But it’ll cost you.” 

“Any price can be considered for the quest for knowledge.” He returned, not at all concerned. “Come, sit! It’s so awkward to talk to you while I enjoy my nice corner.” The benches next to him were tiny, and would mean that their thighs would be touching his. Ardwen slid right in, almost draping her leg over his lap. Serana waited for her ass to settle in next to his, before she started getting close. Looking around, she could see one face that was very unhappy. Nenya was glaring at her, staring at the corner with Ardwen, Serana and Talon. 

Serana felt her mind snap the details together. This must be the hot date that Eola was talking about Nenya having. Talon Dreth was here and Nenya was supposed to be his normal date. Wincing internally, Serana sat down, the slim space on the bench putting her thigh against Talon’s. His eyes traced over the collar on her neck, now only inches from his face. “Have you been searching for ebonite long?”

“Ebonite?” He chuckles. “We called it something different. In Cyrodil they were calling it spun venom. When someone attempted to use this in alchemical processes, it just injured them terribly.” 

“That’s what I was told it was made from when it was put on me.” Serana still had thoughts about that day. She had barely gotten out of her coffin when Elayne gagged her. Burnt her with a massive fire spell and had the vampire within an inch of her life. Serana had no idea what that outfit had been at the time, only that she had to strip down to nothing to put it on. Parts of her stomach fluttered at the memory of the Bitch Tamer. “Ebonite and dragonbone.” That came out so breathy! She forced herself to calm down as much as she could, thankful that her breastband was hiding her body’s reaction to all of this. 

Serana didn’t like how easily she was getting distracted these days. The chastity belt was worse than the Bitch Tamer in some ways, not less. Serana could get horny from just a stray thought now. And there was no way for her to fix that problem. “Whoever made this must have been able to weave the two together.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” Serana pointed out. “If it was made, I was not present. Since it was for a vampire’s neck, the vampire shouldn’t be there to see the fine mechanisms.”

“It looks like it belongs to a larger set of items.” Serana clenched her legs at that. “Any idea on that?”

“Lost to the wind, I’m afraid.” Or buried somewhere she couldn’t find it without magic! Not that she could have worn it anyways. “What tools have you tried upon this?”

“This ebonite, as you call it. A Vigilant of Stendarr was able to sense that it was of Oblivion somehow. A toxic material that resists the touch of magic. It’s somewhat like dwarven oil-based outfits.”

“We have one of those!” Ardwen laughs. “We entered a ruin a few weeks ago, barely made it into the first room before we received it.”

“How entertaining!” Talon was smooth, his voice strong. “Which ruin was that, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“It was in the hills around Shor’s Stone. A mostly buried tower.” Serana remembered running from that falmer vampire up towards such a ruin. With the trap that dumped them into its hive. “It was very damaged, and had this glowing orb in the middle of the chamber.”

“I think I know the one you are talking about. I’ve never been.” Talon had his hands on their shoulders now. Probably to feel the ebonite and feel that it was real. “My team focuses on funding large expeditions to study entire cities. A single tower usually doesn’t reward as much, unless it connects to a larger city.”

“Team?” Ardwen asked, interested. “Your two bodyguards aren’t enough?”

“Calcelmo and I have an agreement. He provides much of the skilled labor, and his museum entertains the scholars that cannot travel all the way to the real experience. Markarth gives both of us what we want. I take the risks Calcelmo cannot, and he can entertain the scholars and seekers of knowledge. We’ve been taking years to study the dwemer, but he’s been at this for centuries. This ebonite we’ve been finding we believe could be a lead on the disappearance of the dwemer. If it acts much like the dwarven items we are familiar with, or is a more advanced form of it we could have proof that the dwemer are somewhere in Oblivion!”

“So you believe that this ebonite is leftover from the dwemer?”

“No.” He held up a hand, somehow getting cheese to his mouth in he cramped space. “I mean to say that this is new. Something similar to the dwemer’s work? It’s a sign of their potential return, or perhaps some harbinger of them!”

“Then you want to understand the source.” Serana spoke carefully. 

“But I am not a walker of Oblivion. I know that I would probably have to entertain dark powers to truly learn what I desire. I don’t feel the need to find what the daedra already stole from mundus already. The answers must lie here somewhere. The Dwemer never trusted the daedra, though they used Oblivion somehow. Or perhaps they were looking to access aetherius. Yagrum Bagarn was the last of their kind, and he didn’t have much to say about their disappearance. Yet he was wandering Oblivion when they disappeared. Unfortunately he passed in the last era, else I would have been happy to interview him. Calcelmo was born around then as well, and we reminisce often.” He grinned at both of them. “But that’s not what you’re here for!”

“Actually.” Serana brought up. “An experienced Dwemer loremaster such as yourself might be exactly what we need.” Talon looked delighted. “Ardwen here is looking for some good ideas for exploring dwemer ruins. We are adventurers, you see. But those cities are dangerous, and we might need your advice.”

“Ladies!” He laughed. “That kind of advice is not in my books, I am afraid. That’s something I can only show you. Which I will do… for that lovely dress of yours. Without a reliable method of making this, I have to acquire it wherever I can.” 

Ardwen didn’t seem too bothered. “You’ll have to conquer me for it.”

“My dear what a curious invitation!” He was smiling. “I have no fear of Bosmeri practices of nibbling or drawing blood.” His eyes traveled to Serana, before his hand held her by the shoulder. Talon pulled her tightly against him, in front of the entire tavern. In the back, she could see Nenya quietly simmering. But that frown was reserved for bandit raids or worse. Serana had known her well for the last year. “Don’t worry, darling.” She could hear him whisper into her ear, sending a thrill along her spine. No one talked like this to her without her pushing them away. But with his arm around her shoulders and pressed into the corner, she was practically in his lap! “I don’t mind if you bite a little.”

Heat was pooling in her cold body. Did she want this? This was supposed to be for information! Not some crazed desire driven escape! Serana was about to complain about that, when she felt warm lips kiss her on the side of the neck. It was almost alien, the heat that rushed through her body. Sparks flew to places she knew were hidden by that damn belt. She had to respond to this! Should she run? Should she stay? 

“Going to join us, Princess ?” Ardwen’s words conjured a very similar reaction. There was heat, and panic at those words. But her skin was itching, feelings she never had rising all across her body. She could feel panic. Absolute sheer panic. Enough that she could feel her extremities already shifting into bats. But she wasn’t feeling her collar shocking her. She was using her vampiric powers without the collar hurting her? 

“I,” She started to say, the feeling of lips on her throat making things flutter. But for all of these raw feelings, the belt around her waist was a cold reality. Even if he evoked these kinds of feelings, how in Oblivion could she follow up on it! How could she show that she wasn’t just a random person! Another part of her screamed out that she was acting like a slut, or someone that would just throw herself at someone for little to nothing. “I’m,” Both Talon and Ardwen were staring at her, their faces close. “Sorry.” 

Serana burst into a cloud of bats, exploding into the dark rafters and through the smoke. The room was too packed for her to reform there. The magic of Oblivion strained, unable to find a place for her to be. Shuffling through the gaps in the walls and tallow windows, Serana felt herself reform outside the tavern. Inside the dark alleyway, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Elayne had taken back her command about fucking with Oblivion. She could move supernaturally once more! But even with that realization the heat along her neck and body didn’t cease. She breathed not because she needed to, but because it made the feelings move through her better. 

“Why would someone think I’m even worth it!” She whispered. No one could hear her. No one had touched her in any kind of way like that since Molag Bal. People said they wanted to, but it was always with a hint of fear. Brynjolf wanted her, she knew. But he was also afraid. Other men had flirted or tried for a grab once or twice, and the legate in Windhelm tried. But he was even afraid of her. Not willing to touch her fully. She wasn’t even sure if Brynjolf meant it. But in that tavern, at that table Talon had meant what he said. Fearless. And damn if she didn’t feel something back! 

“I shouldn’t be wanted.” Hundreds of people were sacrificed to let her commune with Molag Bal. Thousands had died because of her, and there was a a not-small part of her that still considered it her fault that Harkon went on his rampage. Haafingar was still heavily depopulated from the attacks, and the Companions still hunted some of the surviving vampires out there. All of them were descendants of that ritual. What felt like days of suffering, her body and form pushed to the absolute brink. There was no joy in that night. Her mother raised her to survive the experience, not to find joy in it. “Why should I be loved at all?” 

Leaning to one side, she glanced through the window. Talon was heading for his room now, his right hand resting upon Ardwen. Nenya was in his left, his intentions clear. Flares of feeling made her stare longer, as she felt wanting. She wanted to be in those hands! Not that she even knew what to do in that situation, but she wanted it! The moment Talon entered his room, thoughts of making him into her thrall or even just charming him to give her that kind of attention also ran through her mind. The thought of performing magic made her groan, slamming her hip into the side of the building. The wall shuddered, yet she barely felt anything. “This thing!” She couldn’t even explore what she wanted. If she wanted it. “This stupid belt!” 

It was going to drive her insane. She was a prisoner, able to walk wherever she wanted. Yet she carried it with her. Ardwen and Babette were enjoying themselves. Finding some kind of happiness. Yet she was kept from the same. There was no relief. Just jealousy and anger. She barely spoke the next morning as they left town, Babette hidden away in her coffin in the wagon. She didn’t want to be exposed to the sun if she could avoid it. As well, she avoided being seen by any of the townsfolk on her way out. Ardwen was humming in a pleasing manner, happy as could be. While Serana was cold. Her body had tasted something and she was denied it. 

“Where are we going?” Babette spoke up from the back. 

“Riften?” Ardwen brought up.

“Not yet.” Serana spoke carefully. “Solitude.” 

“Why?” 

“Those east empire company things will probably sell better there than in Markarth or Whiterun. And we have a bunch of dwemer things and weapons to sell. Potions we can make along the way, while the horses rest.” Serana looked over at Ardwen. “Why are you smiling about this?”

Ardwen was wearing her elven armor, and her face was filled with a gleeful smirk. “Because I found out about Beem-Ja last night.”

Serana jerked the reins so hard that Ardwen almost fell off of the wagon. One of the horses had to be re-yoked, the still too-small yokes a problem. “Why didn’t you start with that?!” It came out harsher than intended, making Ardwen frown. 

“Head north. Take the road towards Whiterun.” Ardwen pulled herself back onto the wagon. “Beem-Ja is in a shallow grave next to a ruin.”

“He’s dead?” 

“He betrayed Talon. Talon buried him there when the man tried to get more money from him. So we aren’t chasing him any more.” 

Serana snapped the horses, starting the wagon once more. “Sorry.” She murmured quietly. “I’m not doing alright.” 

Ardwen noticed, pinching her arm. “I should have been more thoughtful. But I hope we find some help with this. Oh!” she pulled out a small handkerchief for Serana. “Talon also wanted to apologize for spooking you. He had a few more flowing words about it, but I think he didn’t want to be rude. If we ever see him on the road again he would like to see us again. He’s traveling between a ruin that there is a team researching and Markarth, most months. But he’s going to look at a new one closer to Riften here soon.”

“Maybe if I get that belt off,” Serana mused. The inside of the napkin held a small orange gem sitting on top of a familiar crystalized rose petal. Just seeing it made her thoughts trail off, thinking of the others in her bag. 

“You’ll what?” Ardwen asked suggestively. Serana just left the question unanswered, even as Babette giggled from the back.

Chapter Text

Beem-Ja’s corpse was next to a signpost. The shallow grave took an hour to find, with all of the rain concealing signs of his burial. A few inches of mud covered the argonian, his head a mangled mess. “Can’t even raise that.” Serana’s words seemed to hang in the air.

Ardwen was used to a level of graphic horror that most couldn’t even get exposed to. Babette considered giant spiders her best friends and would feed them. Serana had long ago stopped reacting to gore. But right now she was feeling jealousy. A hard deep feeling of jealousy. She wanted to be the one to take this Argonian’s head, and it stung. Knowing he was dead stole the feeling of satisfaction. She wanted to see him die, watch the life leave his eyes. “We need to dig out the rest.” Babette spoke with a bit of joy, a small shovel in her hands. 

The Argonian’s clothes were in decent shape, more than a couple of cuts in the fabric. He had been running through some hard terrain, judging by the thorns still in the lowest regions. Claw marks were on one of the hips. “Saber cat.”

“Spell damage, too.” Beem-Ja had a bad end, and it didn’t look like he had any help when it all ended. “Check his shoes.”

Ardwen dragged his legs from the grave. “Wasn’t wearing any!”

Talon took his gold pouch, clearly. But his satchel wasn’t empty. A couple of alchemical solutions were within, along with a full ten sets of armlets meant to capture female Draugr. Or women in general. “These worth anything?” Babette considered, looking at the Nordic inscriptions. 

“No.” Serana and Ardwen both insisted, throwing the objects back into the shallow grave. “He had to have a way of opening them somewhere!” Serana was starting to feel desperate, calling to mind a spell that her mother once used. “I know something. But it’s going to knock me out.” 

“What is it?” 

“Ancient mysticism spell used to detect keys. But the belt has no tolerance for anything.” Once Ardwen was asleep, Serana had been casting repair spells on her damaged clothes every night. The two nights since leaving Falkreath had been painful for her, as the belt seemed bound and determined to take out it’s anger on her ass for casting spells. But she couldn’t live with the notion that adventuring was required to afford her very clothing! Much less alchemy and other learning! 

“Before you cast it, I found his campsite.” Ardwen pointed into the distance. A small firepit was dug into a low gap between the rolling hills. Not visible from the road, so at least safe there. Worrying about the range of the spell, Serana moved until she was in between the two places and focused. She would get one shot at this before the plug in her ass would start to punish her. One chance. The ancient spell was hard, her hands shaping the magic over almost two minutes. Not that she needed that long to cast, but because of her anxiety about casting she was shaky. “Come on, Princess. It’s not like we haven’t carried you before.”

Ardwen always used the word Princess like it was a tease. Shaking, Serana finished the spell. The belt activated, both plugs vibrating so hard her hands felt like she was holding on to a skeever instead of her silk covered torso. Focus! Looking around in a circle, she almost fell to her knees. Almost lost the spell’s concentration. But by the campsite she saw a glowing pair of keys. Behind it, almost in the hill. “T-that way!” She pointed. “Help!”

Between the three of them, they could carry Serana close enough that her magic didn’t fail. Tucked into the loose dirt behind a stump, they found a bag filled with things! A large nordic axe that seemed to be enchanted, as well as a pair of journals. They seemed to just detail locations around Skyrim and Blackmarsh, apparently for the Synod. Beem-Ja seemed to be supplying necromancy research for them. Or perhaps he was a member. But at the base of the bag, they found the keys. Two of them, ancient and nordic. Beem-Ja even labeled them, which made Serana begin cursing in daedric rapidly. They were for the bracelets that couldn’t be removed. They weren’t for her belt. 

Any anger or rage that Serana wanted to feel was interrupted by a horse, careening through the clearing. It’s bridle was dragging a broken yoke, and the terrified creature almost ran over Babette. Past them it went, the trio looking towards the disturbance. Serana was helped along by Babette, while Ardwen tried to see over the low lying hills. There were bodies around a different campsite. A small wagon was on its side, the yoke torn off. Two small wolves were tearing into a body, explaining why the horse ran. 

The belt found some sense of mercy, stopping its momentum to a low hum after a few minutes. But not completely. It was still going! Just enough to remind her that it existed. The pair of wolves were scared off by Babette, yipping as she threw a rock at them. The corpses were fresh, dead within the night. “You could raise that.” Babette smirked. 

“So could you.” 

“My strain of vampirism doesn’t grant those powers. I’m Cyrodillic.” Babette laughed politely. “Uh oh.” One of Babette’s shoes pushed back the edge of the corpse’s coat. There was so little blood on the ground, and twin bite marks on either side of the neck. “Someone had a seducer’s three way.”

“Seducer’s three way?” Ardwen snickered. “Serana, is that a thing?”

“Babette might know more slur than I do, Ardwen. I’ve spent most of the last four centuries asleep.” The bite marks looked close. If the vampires doing this were draining them at the same time, their eyes would be inches apart. Noses touching. “But whoever did this had to trust the other vampire implicitly. It’s not something you often see. When you are draining the life out of someone, there are instincts that make you territorial. Defensive of your prey. To let another vampire drain that so close to you, it inspires a lot of trust.” 

“Seducer’s three way.” Babette nodded. “Sometimes you kiss.” She glanced towards Serana. “Maybe we should try it.”

“We have blood potions for a reason.” Serana didn’t want to think about having Babette that close. She liked her, certainly. But having another vampire that close went against her primal instincts. She had never shared a neck. 

“More vampires.” Ardwen said, keeping back. “Great.”

“They aren’t here. Sun’s out.” Serana noted. “But they probably are close.”

Babette waved. “I’ve got a trail to follow. They’re barefoot.” 

“We don’t have to investigate.” Ardwen whined a bit. “We aren’t heroes!”

“But vampires mean trouble. And I would prefer to not be blamed for their trouble while I’m nearby.” Serana started walking. “Stay with the horses if you want. Babette and I can investigate.” She didn’t wait for her. If these vampires were from Cyrodil, they could be worse than trouble. Without the Volkihar clan threatening this territory, vampires were bound to come and enjoy the free real estate. She didn’t hear Ardwen coming, but the trail only went as far as the nearby cave. It smelled of death. “No sense of professionalism.”

“Probably Volkihar.” Babette whispered, smirking. She was right, unfortunately. Inside the cavern they found a camp with discarded armor and weapons from the battle last year. Or perhaps imperial patrols that came through. Corpses were disposed of just inside the cavern, warding away most creatures. No magic was here other than that. Strangely, all of the corpse fingers were missing. Serana was having trouble focusing on any of this, the plugs still slowly vibrating. She could walk in a straight line but she couldn’t ignore it. 

The vampires were sleeping, a pair of women. Both looked to be altmer of some kind. They were in need of a bath, and perhaps a change of clothes. They wore remnants of Thalmor armor, the malachite in the armor heavily damaged. They were sharing a bed, holding one another. Babette looked ready to stab them, but Serana held her hand. Along one wall, the fingers had been gruesomely arranged into daedric symbols. Serana didn’t get closer, but she could tell they had done something related to Oblivion. It was a summoning circle. It wasn’t active at that moment, but she wasn’t going to trust that. 

A table stolen from somewhere had notes and journals upon it, Serana barely able to glance that direction before the belt changed its tempo. It got more aggressive, the vibrations inside of her increasing rapidly. Something built in between her clenched thighs, a heat that pushed up through her abdomen and up into her throat. She was already flexing her body tightly, trying not to fall over. Serana couldn’t help herself. Even with her teeth grit, her throat betrayed her and she moaned. The sound echoed throughout the cavern, both elves immediately going on alert. Babette buried her ebony dagger into one of them, not killing them but severely injuring them. 

Both elves rolled out of their bed together, their feet getting them into a standing position. “Who dares!” Their armor was even more damaged than Serana originally thought. It was covered in small golden chains, intersecting the metal in a way that looked like it prevented the removal of the armor. More dangerous for them was a pair of massive golden thigh cuffs that looked like spun gold. It was in the shape of wings, and hung on the upper thighs of both elves. One upon each. Gold chains ran from the thigh of one elf to the other. They couldn’t be apart, it seemed. No more than five feet apart. “Vampires!” They swore. “They’re after the cure!”

A cure? Serana rolled her eyes, chuckling. “You look ridiculous.” She spoke that in old aldmeris. “Like a pair of birds in a cage.” Really, she couldn’t risk walking. Her tongue was twisting, her legs shaking and clenching. This damn belt! Why did it activate now?!

The elves seemed to have trouble understanding her. “Ancient.” One whispered. “Spare us!” They threw themselves upon the floor, quickly followed by her bound partner. She wasn’t ready for it, and slammed into the ground hard, one of her hands holding the injury Babette already dealt her. Her nose slammed into the ground. 

“You are chasing a cure?” Serana wanted to say she sounded well put together. But the word ‘chasing’ sounded breathy. 

“We were, ancient one.” The elf with a head on her shoulders started saying. “We’ve been hiding here, ever since we called upon Oblivion.”

“Tell me your lineage. Who turned you?” She pointed towards Babette, trying her damnedest to not moan from the emotions running through her. Babette somehow understood her, grabbing a chair and dragging it forwards. It was a simple wooden thing, but it was salvation for her shaking thighs. She wasn’t going to fall to the floor in front of them. “You are Volkihar, are you not?”

“We were turned by Rulindil, who was turned by Ondelmar.” They answered. “Who was turned by Harkon.” 

“Valerica, actually.” Serana interrupted. “But,” She shook, the belt vibrating horribly. “B-but that doesn’t matter.”

“How were you getting cured?” Babette thankfully took over the questioning. “We only noticed you because you were being sloppy.”

“A few weeks ago, we collected enough fingers. The Aedra cannot help us.” One of the elves spoke quickly. Panicked. The other just glared up at Serana, the young vampire not knowing her place. Serana knew intrinsically that she was better than her. “So we called upon Sheogorath using an old ritual. Bretonian one involving fingers and tongues.”

“S-Sheogorath!” Serana didn’t whimper. No, she did not!

“His holy day is closer than Molag Bal’s! And we don’t know how to call out to him.” The pair whimpered, both of them now looking mollified. “Though, we doubt he would answer a request to lift his gift from us.”

“Curse.” The other altmer spat. “Say it like it is!” 

“Go back to the part where you tried to contact the mad-god!” Babette insisted. 

“We were sent a messenger. A daedra. They promised that if we kept an agreement for an entire year, Lord Sheogorath would release us.” 

“Sheogorath isn’t associated with any of the cures people have brought up in the past!” Babette spoke up. 

“Tell us.” Serana spoke, through grit teeth. She was certain she didn’t look kind or understanding at this moment, the belt radiating feeling. 

“We were given two objects. They bind us together.” The thigh cuffs. “We hear each other’s thoughts. It’s horrible.” 

“Driving us insane.” The other spoke with vitriol.

“But if we wear them for a year, the Mad-god will take away our vampirism!” The gold chains that seemed to be slowly expanding across their bodies didn’t look like permanent enchantments. Or any enchanted effects she knew of. But those cuffs seemed to trigger her belt just by being nearby! It must have some kind of aura like effect. It gave her a shudder to think that someone else’s magic was making the belt activate. 

“Mm.” Serana couldn’t hide her moan that time, making the vampires look up in confusion. “M-mad god? How can you trust them?” She wanted to sound so much more intelligent in that moment. Her mind could understand the finite nature of daedra and their connection to Oblivion, and the best she could do was sound like a wanton peasant! This damn belt! She couldn’t focus! Growling, she squeezed her thighs and just abandoned any sense of propriety. If she sounded like she had something up her ass, then they would know it was true! “Fuck!” She squeezed her middle this time, just holding herself together. But it was making sense. That wasn’t an item, if it could affect magic in that way. The chains coming out of their armor most likely weren’t even real chains, but signs of something potent. “Babette, that’s not a chain!” She realized. “Break it!”

The ebony dagger flashed, before the elves could react. One of them was faster on the uptake, trying to get a shield into position. But Babette was faster. “No!” The ebony dagger cut through the chain, but instead of metal shards coming out it simply released blood. Which confirmed Serana’s suspicions as to why the belt was reacting. “You can’t leave us!” 

The elves came apart at the seams. The golden chains weren’t in their armor, but their skin. They probably weren’t even aware of what they agreed to. Heinous and dark laughter filled the room as the gore revealed a daedra. She was six feet tall, with golden skin and a two handed mace. Her form was damaged, with an arm hanging on by a thread. Her golden armor was tattered and damaged. Pulses of magic were coming from her, making Serana whimper as the belt thought she was the one casting magic. It accelerated, and she saw the business end of the mace coming towards her. Panic made her conjure a ward to defend herself, taking the mace strike and whatever accompanying magic upon its glowing surface. But the belt decided that it wasn’t being listened to. It didn’t just vibrate, it drained her. Her magic disappeared in the first ten seconds, and every other part of her that she could understand disappeared over the next minute. Serana was of no help. Not an iota of help for Babette, who had to face off against the angry daedra. 

Serana passed out, watching the Golden Saint casually take down both of them. When she came to, her body was aching terribly. She was on the same bed that they found the elves upon. Naked. One hand trailed down towards her waist, her hopes dashed immediately as her fingers curled around the edge of the hated belt. The rest of her skin was in close contact with a very cuddly and also naked Babette. The other vampire was as closely wrapped around her as could be, her lips against the back of her neck. Fighting the flush that was most certainly happening on her cheeks, she glared around the cavern. The portal to Oblivion remained, flowing energy out of the wall. 

“Babette!” She hissed. The right side of her face felt like it had been hit by a warhammer. Her nose definitely needed some adjustment. “Babette!”

She wasn’t responding. Rolling over, Serana looked at her friend. She looked heavily injured. Horribly so, her neck bruised and one arm at a bad angle. She needed blood, badly. Daedra didn’t have life force that could be taken the same way that mortal creatures had, and the pile of ashes next to them suggested that the elves had trouble. Serana moved to stand up, before something dragged her back to the ground. Her teeth ground against each other as she saw a golden thigh cuff on her thigh. It looked to be made out of feathers made of gold. The slim chain that ran from her thigh to Babette’s was only three feet long. 

“The daedra.” Daedra could take forms outside of their humanoid bodies. It was difficult for them to manifest on Mundus for long periods of time. “It needed a new host.” That must be what it was intending from the start. It’s injuries, it’s connection to the elven vampires they saw. The daedra had emerged from their bodies. Serana gave a cold glare to the creature currently attached to her thigh. She knew and understood what it was. A permanent manifestation of a daedra, unbound and trying to stay in the world. It was cruel, and used the same life force that a mortal would. But the body of a vampire slowly stole that from their victims. “You were starving them!”

The elves were desperate. Whatever blood they took wasn’t feeding them, it was feeding this creature instead. And it could hear every word Serana spoke. Though it had to be weakened by the transaction of it all. It’s connection to Mundus was weak. Which meant that she and Babette couldn’t heal up properly, as this thing fed upon them. Serana stared down at her friend, worried. Babette needed blood, and soon. More than just a blood potion. When a vampire was this injured, they needed more than just a supplement. 

Serana dragged Babette forwards. Naked as the day, she ignored that in favor of the real threat to their lives. That daedra needed to be close to this portal. It could activate that belt at will. It might not realize the function or how bad it could cripple her by doing it. But she got close to that portal, seeing some kind of jungle like expanse on the other side. A ruin was in the distance, with more of those golden daedra walking around. All portals needed some kind of locus or foci to keep them bound and connected. 

“I’m not some random bitch of a vampire.” She mused. “What is that, the myriad rooms?” She knew it wasn’t the myriad rooms. But it could be. It always could be. Sanguine’s realm also had a habit of making people sound uncultured.

“ You view the Shivering Isles, my new mortal pet. I shall make the same promise I gave unto those who wore me before you. Though you perhaps may understand my intentions clearly. Wear me for one year, and we shall free you from the curse that besets you.” Serana could hear the voice of the daedra ooze from the portal. “ Power bestowed upon you, great strength and glory for those that succeed. Though your thoughts are no longer private. We shall hear and see all. So shall you hear and see all your companion does. If your mind survives the year, your power shall indeed be great in our eyes. ” Realization came to Serana. She wasn’t hearing it from the portal. She was hearing it from within herself. More importantly, she knew what this creature was. An Aureal. The Golden Saints were known by that name. 

“ You know our name! Good! The last pair hardly could think for themselves. I hope your mind remains strong. ” It could hear her thoughts. Babette was so injured she would be incapable of adding anything of value. Her eyes drank in the entire portal. The whole construction. The only way that Serana and Babette could have been bound by the Daedra in the same manner as those elves was if they were the portal. 

“I understand.” She whispered. 

“ Understand what, mortal? ”

“I am the locus.” She was the foci. She was a powerful creature related to Oblivion that could exist without problem. Closing her eyes, she looked deep within herself. She could feel Babette, the woman weak and unable to recover so far. “I belong to someone else!” She and Babette did not have souls to take. Those belonged to Molag Bal, like all Vampires did. Serana pulled on that fine connection, sensing a thin film keeping her from doing so. 

“ You cannot hope to win. Or else you would have in our earlier battle. ”

The belt kept her from winning. But if Babette wasn’t moving, she wouldn’t have to either. Her fingers began weaving a spell from memory, and she didn’t allow herself to even look at her hands. “That’s not what I think.” She understood more than just the average mage. “You made a mistake, daedra.”

“ What possibly makes you believe you have a chance at stopping me? ” 

“Because I am a daughter of Coldharbour.” The thigh cuff clamped down on her leg, and would have been painful if it wasn’t for the fact that Serana had been through worse pain. Serana grit her teeth, the low vibration of the belt hardly enough to stop her hands. “I am Serana Volkihar, and you fucked with the wrong vampire!” Her hands twisted the edge of the portal’s marking stones, disrupting it. It wouldn’t be enough to stop it, but the flow of power was disrupted for just a small amount of time. Serana cast a spell that took all of her magicka to do. Banishment was hard. She wasn’t sure it would work, but the target of the spell wasn’t the portal or the cuff. It was herself. She didn’t have to worry about accepting the spell or not. Banishment magic disrupted or tore the connection between mundus and oblivion on a small scale. Since she was the connection and the daedra was just the visible sign of it, she didn’t have to target the creature. 

But the effects were immediate. The belt activated with a vengeance, and Serana grabbed hold of the only thing she could. Babette would forgive her later, but until then Serana clamped herself upon the other vampire with all that she could. The portal behind her turned dark, twisting its nature to the plane of Oblivion that was most connected to Serana. The dark blue landscape of Coldharbour appeared, one that she would never forget. She would never forget marching past legions of daedra back to the portal when she had survived. Her brother died in that place. To a degree her parents too died in there. They let it happen. But now she was the portal. She was in control of what the daedra connected to. 

With a tortured shriek, the golden saint was torn from her thigh. Claw marks tore at her skin, Babette waking up and shrieking as it inevitably tore into her skin too. Serana gave a vicious grin as she watched the portal take the aureal into its depths. The portal started shrinking, even as a pair of dremora that served Molag Bal charge the golden saint. She was just as injured as she was previously. “Don’t fuck with me!” Serana yelled, her voice melodically whimpering as she glared at the portal. 

“ You’ll regret this! Serana Volkihar! This isn’t the last you’ll see of me!” The Golden saint threw her mace through the portal, the magic that made up its form shattering as the connection broke. Flecks of yellow magic rained over her and Babette, moving forwards into the pile of corpses that rested at the far side of the cavern. Serana waited for a corpse to rise, or some form of danger. Yet nothing came. Nothing arose to fight them. The belt, though. The belt kept up its assault and Serana held on to Babette for her own survival. Minutes later, she was a gasping mess. Her face was buried in Babette’s neck, the collar cool and her skin cooler. 

“So.” Babette sounded hoarse. “What did I miss?” She had the patience to wait until the belt stopped affecting them. 

“We lost.” Serana felt a bit hoarse herself. “It used us as its new hosts. So I twisted its connection to oblivion and sent it to Coldharbour.” 

“Serana?” Her hands were clenched around Babette’s shoulders, their bodies pressed so tightly together that “When did you get naked?”

“I wasn’t focused on that!” Serana said, not able to hide how flustered she now was. The only article of clothing she had was a damned chastity belt. Babette had nothing, and there was some reaction from the belt. Babette couldn’t hide her own reaction, something pleasant about being so close to her. “The daedra must have taken our things.”

Babette giggled, making Serana freeze. That was not a sound she ever could consider good. Then she licked Serana on the neck. Serana was in shock, and failed to hide her body’s reaction. She clenched Babette’s leg, twitching at the feeling. “You’re bleeding.” Babette whispered in her ear. It was something a vampire would whisper right before an illicit affair. Serana was keenly aware of her lips being so close to her neck, making her insides squirm. It must be the belt. That damned belt. It must be making her feel this way. 

She burst into a cloud of bats, appearing a few feet away and gasping for breath. She needed to feed. She was so low on blood that she slumped on the floor just from moving five feet. Babette cackled from where she lay, slowly getting up on her own. “We need your cloak, Babette.” She wouldn’t survive in the sunlight without it. “Before we can go anywhere.”

“I’ve never prayed for food like that before.” Babette shakily stood, not at all ashamed of her body. “When my type of vampire gets hungry we get more feral.”

“Babette!” Serana’s sharp whisper was enough to make her refocus. “Search the cavern!”

Their things were by the door. Dumped right on top of the pile of corpses. Serana would have to do more damn laundry to clean her silk, the dress and everything else carelessly thrown over a rotting orc. She gently started packing those things away, as Babette stumbled over. The moment that Babette grabbed her bag, the corpse pile shifted. Serana felt a pulse of magic, thankfully not enough to activate the belt. Her ass couldn’t take much more. 

Naked, both vampires faced the shifting mass and prepared to fight some kind of undead. Aureals weren’t known for necromancy, but daedra could surprise you. Instead of a threat, they were surprised by a number of objects rising from the mass. Clothing, she realized. She almost relaxed, not feeling threatened by clothing. But the clothing that was rising was mostly straps and buckles. “Dodge!” She yelled, trying to run. 

But that glowing magic left behind by the golden saint made the clothing follow them like a seeking spell. No amount of running worked! Serana was dragged to the ground, as straps flowed like water over her form. They went over the belt, pulling it so tight that she opened her mouth to scream about it. A heavy piece of metal slammed in between her jaws, not letting her close her mouth all of the way. Heavy leather binders were on either side of her face, straps wrapped from chin to the top of her head. Her hair was drawn into a tight ponytail, Serana blinking as it restrained her arms behind her back. Some kind of heavy boot was placed over her feet, arching them to a degree she didn’t find terrible. But the leather binders on either side of her face only let her see directly in front of herself. It limited her vision to only a narrow angle. Whining, she got up on one knee and managed to get to a standing position. She couldn’t move her head up or down, or side to side. 

Turning her entire body was the only way she could see anything different. Straining her arms, Serana couldn’t feel any kind of give in the material. Her ears caught the sound of something snapping shut. The distinct sound of a lock closing. Howling, she twisted to try to see what this was. Three more snaps sounded, her arms no longer able to move as freely. Her breasts were bouncing freely around, the straps not even concealing her. A final click sealed the entire outfit, the bit of metal in her mouth pulling taut. 

Twisting, she could hear the clopping of horses. But it was just these arched shoes. They mimicked the sound of a horse’s hooves. Glancing, she saw Babette in much the same situation as Serana, her red hair in a ponytail and her arms bound behind her. She also had the massive leather blinders over her face, not letting her look side to side. Both of them were covered in black leather straps, with strong metal containing them. Two starving vampires trussed up like this. She couldn’t pick up anything like this. Growling, Serana kicked the pile of corpses, moving enough out of the way that she could push their bags into the pile of gore. Babette helped her, as they slowly concealed their things in the gory mess. 

They would come back for them. Serana just tried to shake her head, only getting her breasts to swing back and forth. Stomping her feet just made her sound like a damned horse, the tightness of it all keeping the belt even more upon her mind. Glaring at the sun in the sky, she could see the clouds covering it. Turning oh so carefully, she looked to Babette and tried to communicate their need. To leave their things. 

It sounded like two women squealing at one another. But they figured it out. They needed to go back to Ardwen. They needed to find her, and then a blacksmith that could get them out of these damned things. Their clopping shoes were so loud that it dominated Serana’s thoughts. Her entire body was balanced upon the odd shape of the boot, almost pushing her  forwards with each step. She and Babette couldn’t walk in the mud, and risk falling over. Getting up without hands was harsh. Possibly running into those wolves or worse in the hills was worse. 

So they had to get back to the road. The stone was a comfort, as both vampires tapped their boots against the more stable roadway. But the roadway wasn’t empty! Another wagon was trundling along, heading north. A pair of redguard men were on the front of the wagon, a crossbow in their hands. Serana just hoped they recognized her by the collar around her neck and pointed her in the right direction. Their boots clopping, she and Babette moved towards them. Of course, any attempt to communicate was ruined by the gags in their mouths. 

“Kinthal!” One of the men elbowed the other, an enchanted helm upon his head. “More of the horse women.” 

“Put them in the back with the other runaway. Mistress Thelia will sort them out." Serana screeched as she and Babette were lassoed by the redguards, and dragged towards the back of their wagon. No matter how hard she tried, the metal and leather didn’t break. She was too weak, and the lack of blood meant that they captured her. No magicka left to cast with, no blood to fuel any kind of transformations or otherwise. Growling, she and Babette were tossed in the back of a wagon and dragged off. In the distance, she could see their own wagon. Ardwen! She was just over the ridge! She was so close! 

For all of her screaming the men threw a dark blanket over her and Babette, silencing their cries. But in her mind, Serana had added this Kinthal to her list of people she planned on killing. Slowly. Beem-ja was dead. She needed someone new to hate. As the wagon started moving, Serana calmed herself down. She was just restrained. That was all. Her body didn’t mind being restrained. But the moment she was free, this Kinthal was going to face her wrath.

Chapter Text

‘Mistress Thelia’ was a bitch. Serana and Babette were taken from the cart along with the other similarly dressed woman, and dragged before a stable. It looked like it had been built for horses. But the wagons within had smaller yokes. She felt a chill at recognizing their own wagon had these kinds of yokes. Human sized yokes. Just to make sure, she strained against the bondage restraining her. Annoyingly, it held. Babette struggled as well, her leather creaking. The bit in between her teeth was tough, somehow resisting her teeth. 

“Got some runaways for you, Thelia!” Kinthal, the man who captured them announced. “Standard rate for retrieval?”

Thelia approached, wearing thick furs and a minimal apron underneath. Tough shoes were on her feet, and the dark skinned woman grinned. She was as dark of skin as the other redguards, with a giant poofy pile of curling black hair. What concerned Serana most was the whip on her belt, glowing with a shock enchantment. She threw a bag of gold towards the men who dragged them here. “I recognize one of my fillies. Traded her a week or so ago. She must have run off. I’ll have to send her back to her master.” The woman matched Serana’s glare. “As for these two, half-rate. Those are vampires, Kinthal.”

“As you told me months ago, you always wanted to see if you could convince a vampire to bend to your will.” Kinthal seemed to find a lot of joy in that statement. “Here are a couple.”

Serana growled, aiming a kick at him. She could bend even though her feet were balanced in precarious footwear. The hoof-like boot took him in the side, bowling him over and rolling him a few feet. She definitely broke a rib at least. He coughed blood, twisting to glare at her. Thelia reacted faster than he did, her whip arcing out to strike Serana on the sensitive skin of her left breast. It shocked her, more from the pain of being struck somewhere so tender. 

“Kneel down on the ground if you don’t want me to work over your entire back!” Thelia’s voice was like iron. She was a woman who was used to being obeyed. Serana could kick people right now. Her arms were bound, she was starving for blood and it was daylight out. Even so, she stood tall, ponytail flicking as she took a ready stance. Right next to her, she could hear two sets of knees hit the ground. Babette! Why was she kneeling! 

Serana felt her stomach drop as she remembered Babette’s collar. Of course, she had no choice! Babette couldn’t run! She couldn’t escape a woman like Thelia. And with the tiny angle of eyesight provided by the headgear, Serana was unlikely to win on her own. Hissing in fury, she brought first one foot and then the other down, furious as the world got larger. She was kneeling before someone! It was for Babette, she had to tell herself. Her friend could not escape. Serana could try to run, but blood starved and weak meant she wasn’t even started healing from what that golden saint did to her. She needed to recover if she was going to have a chance of escaping this place. 

“Don’t touch.” Thelia whispered, pointing to one side. Serana couldn’t see what she was pointing at. But she did hear boots moving away from her. Probably Kinthal wanting revenge. Or maybe his friend. “These are mine, now. They know it. You know it. I’ve paid you both, now get out.”

“You can handle a couple of vampires?” 

“I can handle both of you and the pair of them. Unless you want to try to fuck with me again.” Her stare was directed towards Kinthal. “That jog your memory?”

Kinthal didn’t answer. His friend helped him to the cart, and the pair moved off by the power of their horses. Leaving Thelia alone with them. Serana tried to talk, but she threatened to use the whip on her. It was immediate. There was no pity in those eyes. She only saw them as objects. 

“First rule for fillies like you. I don’t care where you came from or who you were before. Your families sold you or you went into the wrong nordic ruin and now you’re a pony. Your job in life is to be strong. Pull wagons and carts. Oh!” She gave both of them a glare. “My word is law. Disobey me and I’ll find ways of making sure you keep trying. Disobey too much? I’ll ship you over the border into Hammerfell and you can learn at the feet of better masters.”

Serana needed time. Babette needed blood. Her cheeks looked sunken before they left that cave and got captured. So she did not fight as Thelia led all of them into a large stable. It was at least out of the sun, which made her feel a bit more confident about Babette. “Lean forwards.” Thelia insisted. She was somewhere behind her now, and it galled Serana to listen. She fulfilled the request sullenly, as something was dropped across her neck and shoulders. Straps were run over her, and Serana felt the weight of something heavy now resting there. She could barely pull it. The sound of heavy chains rattled, as she saw Babette led in front of her towards a heavy yoke. She couldn’t look up, but in coming in it looked like they were near a grain mill. A large one, with a wide stone that connected to a heavy wheel. 

Serana groaned as the weight on her shoulders relaxed some, and Babette gave a growl as she was connected to it. They were the engine for the grain mill. A sharp pain radiated from her back, as Thelia’s whip struck her. “Let’s see how long my vampires can go on. If that grain mill stops, you’ll regret it. I’m going to find a way to feed you. Clearly I can’t just stick your heads into a milk pail.” Babette screeched, as the whip rang out again. “Don’t stop, or else I’ll starve you. I assume the girls I trained as fillies are dead, and you’re wearing their high security restraints. You’ll find no pity from me towards their killers.” 

Serana wanted to scream, to say anything to counter her point, but all she could do was mewl past the bit gag. But she had commanded Babette. She couldn’t stop herself, now. Serana resolved herself to try hard to push this damned thing. If only to take some of the strain off of her friend. It could have been hours there, but the sun finally went down. Yet she and Babette kept going, her vision getting used to the simple walls around the grain mill. Seeds were poured in at some point, the mill crunching loudly as the stone went over them. Babette was somewhere ahead of her, just out of sight. But Serana had survived worse days and nights. Far worse. A bit of physical exertion was nothing to her. As she thought that, she could feel her muscles spasming. She had never pushed this hard for this long, to be fair. The weight upon her back was relentless. It heavily weight upon her, and Serana stopped counting the number of times she went around the grain mill. 

The night wore on, and all she could think about was her wounded friend. If she slowed down, Babette’s collar wouldn’t stop her from slowing. Serana couldn’t let herself stop. She wouldn’t! She kept that one single thought in mind, and it was almost a shock to her own eyes when the sun was starting to show through the cracks in the building. Her body felt numb, whatever stamina she had left gone as someone finally stopped the grain mill from rotating. 

Serana couldn’t even hear what people around her were saying, her eyes felt so heavy. Slumping to the ground, she could feel some kind of cup pushed past her forced open lips. Her throat churned, as something vile tried to go down it. She heaved, vomiting as blood of such poor quality it could only have come from an animal touched her mouth. The lesser the soul the blood came from, the more vile the taste. This came from a petty soul. Serana was a pureblood vampire. She couldn’t drink it. 

“She spat it out!” 

Thelia’s heeled boots came right in front of her face. “Put her in the pit. If she wants to starve, I’ll see about it.” The redguard stared down at her, without pity. Serana gave her a stare right back, knowing that she was not as threatening as Molag Bal. Not as threatening as her father. She matched the mortal’s stare with one of her own. “I’ve never trained a vampire before. I’ll need to do some reading before I know perfectly how to break you.” Serana remained conscious enough to be dragged somewhere dark and alone before she passed out. It wasn’t the rest of the damned, nor was it the sleep of someone that was healthy. 

She didn’t dream. No images came to mind nor did she have the freedom to escape from her restraints as she slept. Instead, she was woken with a boot to the side and the glare of the evening sun. “Back to the grindstone, bitch. I need to find out more about your limits. But you two pulled for longer than anyone else has been able to. It looks like vampires do sleep. A pair of night fillies would be appealing to someone out there.” 

Thelia dragged Serana back to the massive grindstone. Babette was also dragged along, the other vampire looking slightly healthier. She could probably benefit from the petty soul’s blood more than Serana could. But the days began to blend. After the third day, Serana was worried that Ardwen wouldn’t be able to find them. Babette and Serana barely got to interact with one another outside of being hooked up to the grindstone together. Thelia gave each of them a thimble of blood a night. Just enough to survive. Thelia probably didn’t know that, as she offered chicken blood to them if they wanted it. 

Babette could handle it. Serana could not, and her body vomited it when Thelia tried to force it down her throat. She felt barely awake, counting only the hours she had to spend attached to a grain mill and the barely conscious state she was in. But on the third night, Serana finally felt the wounds from the golden saint close up. A few thimbles of blood were enough to get what was needed. She was healed, mostly. 

She and Babette were being kept in a pit-like enclosure with six foot high walls, made with the joints on the far side. Serana knew how these fences were made, the style having barely changed in the last thousand years. The joints where fences turned were a weak point, and most people only had one anchor or post keeping the fence in place. Serana could see the rotted out wood barely staying together. But the weight of two sections of fence kept it from falling off. If she were on the other side, one good kick would free them. The enclosure had no other people in it, probably to keep from being drained of blood. Serana’s fangs were ahead of the bar keeping her mouth open, but the angle they were kept at very much prevented them from biting with any depth. Or force. 

She squealed once, getting Babette’s attention. The other vampire seemed stronger, healing some. Serana nodded her head towards the fence. Then, using her hoof she carved a shape into the dirt of the enclosure. Three more days. Babette carefully covered it up, trying to nod. Three days to heal. Three days to rest, recover and prepare for an escape. Three days of acting like something less than human. 

Between being blood starved and then worked from dawn until dusk, Serana felt the days blur together. Thelia was making them learn how to prance, walk and more demeaning acts for the sake of whoever would buy them. Babette followed every order with some complaining, but her body never failed to act. Serana forced herself time and time again to keep up with her. To try, try, and try again to keep pace with her. 

What little she had left in her mind she turned towards healing and recovery. She had never realized that a vampire could get sore. That their muscles could be strained hard enough that the ache would remain afterwards. But the shock whip was a harsher pain, and it meant she had spend more of her limited energy healing its injuries. Grimacing, she had to listen to that harridan Thelia as she thought she was training two vampires to be ‘fillies’. The reality was that Serana was comfortable in restraints, and Babette had no choice about commands. Thelia hadn’t felt like they were actively resisting her. Serana couldn’t cast magic while her hands were bound. Or rather, she could but only if the target was right behind her. Still, even if she could cast a spell the belt would take her out of action before she could escape. 

Six days under the boot of Mistress Thelia. Six days of her voice piercing the numbness that filled Serana’s mind. The leather didn’t break when she tried to escape from it, somehow enchanted by Thelia herself to prevent such a thing from happening. The locks were just as tough, the metal not bending when Babette was able to get her hands on one of Serana’s locks. The sixth night, the moon barely gave any light. Serana waited until all lights were out in the buildings to begin her escape. Thelia had magical prowess, that was for certain. A mark was on the door, the only clear way out of the paddock. It probably would shock someone if they tried to escape. Serana gave Babette a gentle nudge, using each other to stand up. 

Serana only had enough in her for one step. One step through the fence, as she broke into bats and reformed on the other side. Gasping for breath, she finally saw the other side of the damned fence. And to her chagrin, it was a small field. An actual horse paddock. Two of them were here, sleeping on one side of the grassy field. They didn’t react to her. She turned back to the fence, and saw that the rotten wooden joist was reinforced with a bit of stone. She couldn’t smile, but oh she tried as she lined up her boot with the joint of the fence. There was a loud crunch as the joint broke, and she almost fell over. Turning around completely so she could see, Babette was stepping over the broken fence. Past that, there was a simple wooden paddock fence meant for horses. They could just bend over and squeeze through the gaps in the paddock, Babette gleefully chuckling as she looked out over the hills. Serana could drink her fill of something, but they were free. They just had to escape. 

Lights turned on behind them, as someone came to investigate the noise. Serana started running, looking at the throat of the world off in the distance. That was the direction that Ardwen was last. Their legs pumped, and the pair of vampires could track where the other was just by the hoof like hammering upon the grasslands. Thelia knew they had gone, by now. But in the night, Serana would leave no trace. Babette was a cyrodillic vampire, squealing as she came across a creek. Serana just walked over the surface of the water, her natural abilities carrying her almost all the way across. Babette ran across a log, the wooden object rattling as she leapt. Even bound as she was, Babette was a true vampire. She knew her own strength. Not even caring about the wilderness or its environs, they both had gotten used to the strange boots they were contained in. Serana ignored the feeling of bouncing freely as they ran and sprinted, heading towards the area they had left Ardwen. It had been fair weather, and the ground was strong enough to hold up as the pair moved. 

All seemed to be well as they made it past the cavern that had started all of this. Serana didn’t slow down. They would come back for their things later. Her only concern was finding Ardwen. It took an hour of running before they even found the right narrow valley they had left the cart in. It was empty. Serana growled and stamped her foot, seeing that there were multiple wagon tracks. Babette stared at them for a longer moment, before pointing. Only one set of wagon tracks had high heeled footprints surrounding it. But those tracks led east, not north. To Whiterun. 

Attempts to say that name were mangled by the bit between her teeth. Babette seemed to be pointing at something else, something north. Serana shook her head, pointing with one foot east. While Babette tried in her own way to say that something was north. But north would put them back towards Thelia and her damned whip! Serana growled, and finally faced the north direction to see what Babette was talking about. And Serana squeaked. Not twenty feet from them was a saber cat. It was eyeing them with suspicion. Serana couldn’t understand what to do in this situation. Babette bolted. Her boots were beating the stone of the nearby road, all attempts to be stealthy gone. 

She caught up to Babette, as both of them began to bolt. Scratching of claws behind them told Serana that the cat was coming for them. But six days of being under Thelia’s boot gave them the edge. They knew how far their muscles could go. Serana swore she could feel her legs stop burning after a certain point as they ran. She didn’t know how long it was behind them, but she and Babette charged down that road like they were going to die. 

This was worse than being treated like a damn pony! They were going to die to a saber cat? An immortal life ended by some idiotic cat? Of course, the Aedra seemed to decide that they weren’t done suffering. Just ahead of them, a Khajit stepped out from the bushes. “Drop your coin, or else!” He yelled, seeing them running. 

Serana leapt, her boot outstretched as she used the powers of the night. The effect was from eye to eye. The khajit already had a weapon drawn, a nasty looking orcish sword. Simple armor adorned him, but on a road this late at night his intentions could only be harmful. Serana couldn’t charm Thelia, not that she wanted to try. The woman had an iron will and no pity for them. The Khajit saw two bound women running down the road and his sword started dropping. He saw that they weren’t a threat to him. But neither did he seem to be looking behind them. Perfect. Serana’s leg swept him, knocking him over. 

The hoof like boot didn’t let her recover perfectly, and the Khajit looked up into her orange eyes and froze. She focused on his mind, scared and in shock. It was weak, and though she hated treating someone like a thrall, Serana had the power to do this. To charm someone. It worked best against the weak of mind. His heart slowed, and Serana turned to face Babette. Of the saber cat, there was no sign. Twisting, she turned to look all around. She couldn’t see it anywhere! Her eyes scanned around, before noticing a pair of eyes in the bushes nearby. 

She bolted, Babette following. The Khajit screamed in the night, as the Saber cat found something mortal to fancy. Serana could feel drool from her mouth strike her chest, reminding her of the hunger she felt. She should have killed that Khajit for her own needs! A waste of blood! Hissing, she slowed to turn around and take back her kill, but someone ran into her. Babette got into her vision, knowing exactly what she felt. Exactly what she wanted. Her boot struck Serana in the leg, the sharp pain knocking her out of the rage she felt. 

What was she doing? Serana wasn’t feral! She didn’t need blood so badly she would fight a Saber cat for it! Or lick it off of the road like some scavenger! Holding her head high, they moved towards the torches in the distance. Whiterun was there. The remains of its western watchtower were behind them now, as they had run from the predator. Leaving the road, they could see the stables in the distance. 

They stopped, seeing rings of tents all about Whiterun. Some looked taken from the Forsworn, while others were covered in the stars and markings of the Khajit caravans. They were separate from the others. Getting off the road made them more muffled, the damn boots still not entirely silent. And they were naked as could be! Serana hadn’t worried about that fact for days. But now she was keenly aware of the bouncing feature as she approached the lines of tents. Hundreds of sleeping people who most likely would recognize her. 

Her cheeks felt flush, and she came to a hard stop. Babette stopped next to her, both of them wondering what to do. Babette stamped her foot, making Serana turn to look at where she was looking. Her eyes focused in the darkness, seeing something. Their cart! She could see their wagon! It was at the edge of the encampment around Whiterun, the covered wagon parked at the edge. They moved along the tents, keeping to the outer edges. Serana swallowed, feeling a droplet of drool pass her lips as she passed sleeping dozens, their snores calling out the night that they were easy pickings. Even in her current state, they would be something she could win. A source of blood that even this bar between her teeth wouldn’t stop her from enjoying. 

Shaking her whole upper body, she pushed on. Elayne wouldn’t allow that. Elayne didn’t want her to hurt someone that hadn’t drawn a weapon on her first! She hissed to herself, shaking so hard that she felt herself jiggle far too unnecessarily. She froze in the shadow of a tent, hearing the crunch of boots on stone. Babette ran into the back of her, her body squeezing against her bound hands. In front of them, a pair of guards with a torch wandered down the road patrolling. They took their sweet time about it. Fifteen minutes, half an hour they spent checking tents and slowly moving around their wagon. Serana and Babette avoided them handily, but both vampires flinched as they felt the eye of Magnus rising. Every vampire knew that feeling, when the sun was beginning to rise. 

People were going to see them! But they had at least found Ardwen’s wagon. They inched towards it, barely rising their boots from the mud to avoid their noise. Thankfully it wasn’t parked on any, but they made it to the covered wagon with time to spare before the sun rose. The horses weren’t attached, and the contents of the wagon seemed locked down. The volkihar coffin was covered by multiple blankets and coverings, and took up most of the back. Otherwise the wagon was clearly empty. Ardwen must have sold everything. 

Whiterun was still heavily damaged by the dragon attacks, with much of it in disrepair. Alduin’s rain of fire had been devastating to the place. Teams of people were digging out a channel on the western part of the city, looking to add an entirely new district. They hopefully had gold and merchants willing to buy some of their things. 

The sun started rising higher, the edge of the eastern mountains starting to purple. They needed to hide! But without hands they couldn’t get into the wagon! Or open a tent, to hide in. There were no clouds in the sky, and this would greatly hurt Babette. Potentially kill her. Serana looked back at Babette, and made careful eye contact. Then, she slowly bent over to allow Babette to step on her back. The woman nodded, the hoof shaped boot using her just enough to allow the younger vampire to hop into cover inside the wagon. Serana took a deep breath, resigning herself to be seen by the people of Whiterun. 

Which was when she felt two legs wrap around her midsection and drag her into the wagon along with Babette. Her vampiric strength made it a struggle, but now both of them were safe from prying eyes and the sun. Babette cackled behind her bit gag, as she pulled Serana inside. Serana tried to shush her, but it only came out as a low hiss. 

In the distance, they could hear people moving around. As the sun rose higher, the covered wagon provided them the protection it’s glare. No one looked down into the wagon, thankfully. The long run and the longer night had left Serana feeling sluggish and thirsty. Weakened and thirsty. It was not a good combination, and she could feel Babette snuggling into her arm as she snoozed. She could rest, too. But some part of her wouldn’t allow it. She was too paranoid about being on display in the middle of Whiterun. 

Her eyes were fluttering as she tried to stay awake. Blood starved and bare, she had to focus so very hard to not try to get more blood. Or worse, be recognized by the people here. They all knew her. She had saved them! Fought against Alduin and Harkon on these very fields. The worst idea would be to be paraded out in front of them like an animal. 

“-ank you again.” Ardwen! Ardwen was here! Serana felt herself come awake, leaning forwards to try to get up. “I need to find them before some vigilant of Stendarr does!”

A masculine voice carried, as weight was applied to the wagon. “Tight little yokes, eh?” It shifted side to side as the horses complained. Brynjolf’s horses were not happy about their situation. They never were when Serana and Babette were around. “So, you said it’s a day’s ride before you lost them?”

“Near the signpost for Rorikstead.” Ardwen said, the wagon tilting as the yokes were filled and someone heavy got into the front seat. Babette’s teeth brushed against the skin of her arm as the wagon rocked back and forth, Serana not quite able to stand up. “It’s been a week.” 

“How many days did you wait for them?”

“Three, but there was a saber cat that kept stalking me. So I decided to save the horses.” Ardwen was being flirtatious. She must like him. “Then I’ve been trying to afford the cost of hiring you.”

“You’re lucky.” The man had a local accent. It was a rather booming voice. Probably a Nord of some kind. “The Companions are very busy these days. But when you mentioned our local hero, I had to know if you were pulling my leg!” Serana narrowed her eyes. A Companion? She didn’t remember all of their names, since many were lycanthropes at the time of the battle against Alduin. Perhaps not anymore, but she still didn’t know all of their names. 

Serana fell over, as the wagon took off. Only once it stabilized a minute or so later, did she force herself forward and push her face through the covering in the wagon, in between the two riding the front of the wagon. Ardwen and a large Nord from the Companions both were giving each other looks, as Serana stuck her head out, the ponytail whipping in the wind. She gave a screech, as Ardwen and the nord both gave a scream of their own. Which made the man pull on the reins, and Serana fell backwards once again. 

“Gods!” Ardwen shrieked. “Serana!” 

Serana growled, boots swinging as she tried to get back up. She failed, flailing as she smacked the side of the coffin. But the Nord and Ardwen climbed down, pulling aside the flaps on the side of the wagon. The glare of the sun burned Babette, waking her as she rolled away from the beam of light. “Well.” The Nord chuckled. “That’s half the job. Found them!” His eyes traced over Serana and Babette, their naked forms on display. 

“What do you mean half, Vilkas!” Ardwen grabbed the flap and closed it until they could open a different side and not hurt Babette. “They’re okay!” Ardwen held both of them, almost willing them to be real and stay real. “You’re okay!” 

The sounds that Babette and Serana made didn’t sound very intelligent, but they tried to show their own happiness at finding her. “I know those harnesses.” Vilkas spoke up, from the side. “You got captured by Thelia.” 

Serana and Babette hissed at that name. “Thelia?”

“Bit of a crazy woman over by Rorikstead. I’m going to go and help you free them.” Vilkas grinned. “Nice to see you again, eh?” His wink was obnoxious. “Come on!”

Ardwen saw how bad she and Babette looked. “Hang on.” She spoke, digging into the coffin and pulling out two blood potions. Sweet clarity passed through Serana’s lips, as she swallowed sustenance. It felt almost too good to be true, as her tongue lapped any remaining potion from the bar between her teeth. Babette too, looking almost too appreciative as they both slumped into the wagon. “Vilkas? Can you move Babette into the coffin? She looks weak.”

“What about Serana?”

“Serana can resist the sunlight if it hits her.” That didn’t mean it wasn’t uncomfortable! Serana pouted at Ardwen, as they emptied the coffin enough to slip Babette into its safety. Then she had the kindness to cover Serana a well, a heavy blanket going over her. “Now, let’s go get those harnesses off of them.”

“I could have just called it quits, but Thelia enchants those things so hard that it’s nigh impossible to remove them. One of our companions tried one on, and it locked on her so fast that it took Eorlund Gray-mane to get it off.” Vilkas began talking about his friends, but Serana was too tired to listen. She was safe. Restrained, but safe. Somehow being restrained made her sleep easier, and not worse. 

It took more than a day to reach Thelia’s stables, which were right outside of Rorikstead. When they got there, Ardwen and Vilkas got out of the wagon while Serana and Babette peeked out of the covered rear section. It was still too bright for them to go out, but they still watched as Thelia came outside, trying to intimidate Ardwen. But then she had to back up as Vilkas advanced on her, putting a hand above her shoulder and against the wall. The big Nord trapped her in against the wall, dominating her vision. 

Whatever he said to Thelia, it made Vilkas throw her over his shoulder and carry her inside of her own building. Ardwen watched, with somewhat concealed envy. “I don’t have quite enough to pay him.” She said clearly. “Both of you have more gold in your bags, so I thought that once we found you we could afford him”

She had the full focus of Serana and Babette once she said that. Serana had her eyes narrowed, her anger far from concealed. “I can’t offer sexual favors if he’s able to just throw me over his shoulder like that!” Ardwen murmured. “She better have your things in there.”

When Vilkas came back outside, his hair was disheveled and his armor looked recently buckled back into place. “Miss Ardwen.” He spoke carefully. “Mistress Thelia deeply apologizes for taking what is clearly someone else’s slaves. She had no idea that they belonged to the Dragonborn. Since you seem to be one of her errand girls.” Vilkas winked. “She wanted to apologize by giving you a map to where their keys are kept. There was some story about someone stealing the keys to hold the previous people who wore those harnesses ransom or something.” He shrugs. “Which brings me to my second problem.”

“About pay?”

He nodded. “I have another job that the Companions were given. Roran of Rorikstead has been missing his horses for two months now. Someone stole them one night and ran off with them. We were told that they were stolen and taken on the south road. Funny part of that is that these two horses are a perfect match for the missing pair.” He walked forwards, filling Ardwen’s vision. “Where did you get them from?”

“Brynjolf, thane of Riften?” Ardwen answered honestly. 

“How that man is a thane, I can never guess.” Vilkas rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to pay me, if you let me return these horses back to their rightful owner.” 

“I didn’t know they were stolen!” Ardwen retorted. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“That wagon was made right in these stables. You’ve got all the power you need.” Vilkas winked at the vampires watching, and Serana’s cheeks heated. He wanted them to pull the wagon?! “Plus, if you kept going up this road you would have run into a hold guard eventually who recognized the horses. I’m just saving you the fifteen hundred gold fine.”

“But,” Ardwen bit her lip, thinking. “Surely you can see how this is-”

“The Companions thank you for helping us solve two problems at once. Whiterun hold’s guards are also more competent near Rorikstead and east towards Valtheim.” He warned. “The roads north and east aren’t as patrolled, so take care.” Vilkas took the horses from the front of the wagon, the small yokes releasing the horses. They were just as bad-tempered for Vilkas as they were for anyone else, the man growling as they tried to bite him. But once the horses were secure, he left their wagon and trundled back inside, his armor already coming off. 

“Damnit Brynjolf!” Ardwen hissed, staring at the empty yokes. “Damnit!” 

Serana looked over at Babette. The sun was out, and she would be hurt if she touched those yokes. She flared her nose, standing up fully. Both of the others looked at her, Serana keenly aware of her nudity. One hoof boot pressed against the seat of the wagon as Serana stepped out into the sun. The last place that Serana wanted to be was this damn place. She turned all of the way around to face Ardwen, raising one eyebrow. 

“Serana!” Ardwen held up the map they had gotten from Vilkas. “You don’t even know where we are going!” 

That was easily remedied. But feeling Ardwen’s hands attaching the yoke over her shoulders felt like another level of restraint. One she agreed to. Her insides did some flips and flops at those thoughts and feelings, as she felt the entire weight of the wagon behind her. But she was strong. Even with the light of the sun shining down upon her, she was strong. Serana could pull this thing. She just didn’t want the entire world staring at her as she did so. Ardwen also didn’t use a shocking enchantment whip. 

“Serana, this isn’t the way towards the keys!” Serana’s first step was going to get their bags. Ardwen didn’t ask what she was doing, even as Serana pulled them along. Her muscles burned, but they came upon their things that night. Which meant Babette could now wear her sun-resistant cloak. Ardwen attempted to put it on, but Babette’s harness shocked her. Apparently wearing clothes with it was a trigger. There was much hissing and annoyance at that. The moment the sun went down, Serana and Babette both pulled the wagon together. Their boots sounded like a team of horses trundling down the road, Thelia’s training and treatment of them coming to mind. 

But the thought of being free of this was stronger than the thought of all of the other caravans and travelers seeing her naked. Traveling at night helped, with only a solitary wolf trying to attack them. Ardwen used her racial power and the wolf lost interest, loping off after a hare. They went northeast, away from Whiterun’s lands and into the nearly empty expanse between Dawnstar and Windhelm. The road had some snow still on the edges, and the map apparently brought them right next to Hjorni’s tower. Ardwen was exhausted, trying to stay up all night and day to get them here. 

Ardwen didn’t want to get gagged or worse, with Serana and Babette already restrained. Babette didn’t seem to understand why both Ardwen and Serana were being supernaturally quiet and stealthy as they pulled that wagon past the tower owned by Hjorni. But finally, finally they arrived at a cavern in the muddy hills north of lake Yorgrim. Serana and Babette were released from the yokes, Ardwen yawning. The cavern was along the edge of the lake, pieces of frozen ice still in the glacial runoff. But this appeared to be the place. 

Signs of wolves being here were prevalent, and yet none rallied to meet them as they passed dozens of dwarven pipes expelling steam. There had to be a ruin around here. Ardwen kept her sword out, Babette and Serana right behind her. Just inside the main cavern, there was a small collection of supplies. Not a chest, but a satchel that hung from one of the pipes coming out of the walls of the cavern. 

“The keys are in a chest buried under the satchel.” Ardwen read their map. “Then you can finally tell me how you both got caught in the same trap!” There was so much excitement as they uncovered the chest. The layer of mud was thin, and Ardwen threw open the small wooden box. “Weird place for her to hide her keys,” Ardwen never finished her sentence, as they all saw the empty state of the interior. 

Serana and Babette squealed, even as Ardwen started digging into the dark and muddy corners. But behind them, Serana heard something. The quiet scuff of leather on metal. She twisted, getting the attention of the others. Facing them was a dunmer, her armor sleek and made from black tinted leather. A brightly enchanted golden crown was upon her forehead, with a few pink gems inserted into it. The size of the crown was immense, with wings of gold coming off of either side of her head. 

“I’ll give you those keys, if you help me.” The Dunmer spoke up. “I recognize two of you from the war.” Serana stared harder at her, noticing that her eyes were purple. An unheard of color. 

“Help you with what?” Ardwen folded her arms. “We can’t help you very much without those keys.”

“Sorry.” The woman shuddered. “My name is Karliah, and I need someone dead.”

Chapter Text

Serana hummed happily, marveling at the feeling of clothes on her skin and the freedom to move her arms and mouth after more than a week of being restrained. Having the chastity belt covered up once more behind a silk dress was delightful. Though she definitely needed to clean a lot of her gear after burying it in a pile of decomposing corpses. Which meant that the moment she had access to a good area to do so, she would need to do laundry. 

Karliah was a lockpick expert of some kind, but she broke more than a couple of tools freeing them from the harnesses. The moment they were off, Babette tore the entire thing apart and threw them into the still mostly frozen waters of Lake Yorgrim. Steam from the pipes made the entire lake foggy, and Babette almost struck an ice wraith with the objects. It took offense to that, and charged. Karliah brought it down with Ardwen before it could ever reach the shore, the body sliding into the frigid waters. 

Serana dove in. “Ice Wraith teeth! Mine!” Babette screeched, running into the water right behind her. 

“Not on your life!” Babette said, both of them pushing past frozen ice sheets to reach the floating body. The slaughterfish in the lake were disturbed by two nude vampires swimming and tried to hurt them as well. Suffice to say, they had some additional potion ingredients now. Thelia’s harnesses were destroyed and left to rot. 

Babette seemed to take especial joy in combing her hair and wearing her own outfit. Her armor was covered in gore, now. The miniskirt and corset top she replaced it with barely covered her body, but Serana understood how much comfort that probably provided. Serana’s hair was still ruined by what Thelia did to it. It was not meant for a ponytail. But she needed more than a dip in a lake to fully clean that mess. Blood and worse was involved. Especially a lake infested with slaughterfish. 

It had been a long time since she had let her hair just hang loose. Habit was something she lived by. Cutting her hair was fairly useless, since it would just grow back to that exact length. Vampires of lesser bloodlines sometimes still had hair growth. But a daughter of Coldharbour was frozen in time forever. Their appearance was never going to change. Paintings of them would forever capture their likeness. Harkon Volkihar had commissioned a family portrait of them, long ago. It had been in the castle, but she had no idea who had it now. It pointedly ignored the fact that they were not pleased with one another. 

The other world’s Serana had hair all the way to her waist. Claws from her hands. Larger breasts for certain. But her memory flickered thinking about it. She remembered the manic look in her eyes, the sheer hopelessness enough that that world’s serana sacrificed herself to taint Aureal’s Bow. Serana had hidden that, and hidden it well. Elayne was the only one who could demand to know where it was, thanks to the collar around her neck. 

Hopefully it was never needed again. She couldn’t destroy it. Nor could she go to Aetherius and just hand it back to the Aedra. She snorted at the thought of a vampire trying to go to Aetherius. That would just get her destroyed. Molag Bal would be pleased, but the Aedra would just see a necromancer trying to get into the afterlife of mortals. So she had hidden it in the best place she could. 

“Thank you.” Serana practiced working her tongue, finishing the last tightenings on her dress. Her breastband didn’t need to be this tight, but Serana wanted to feel like she competed at least a little bit with Ardwen. An elf with that kind of bust was someone that left an impression. A nord shouldn’t feel competitive, and yet Serana felt it. Babette didn’t have nearly as much to hold onto as Serana, but Ardwen had gone above and beyond. “For freeing us.” 

“You owe me fifteen lockpicks. That shock enchantment on the bridle was very frustrating.” Karliah had been shocked more than once by the harness trying to remove it. “But lately there has been a lot of that. I keep finding weird keys in chests that no one seems to remember exactly what they are needed for. Or perhaps they were always around and we just ignored them. After the dragon break it’s been weird. New items are cropping up, and people are trying to investigate them.” Karliah glanced down at Serana’s hip. “I didn’t want to try that one. It looks a bit more serious.” 

“Finding a key for it seems impossible.” The Dunmer seemed careful, but easy to talk to. “I feel like we’ve met somewhere.” The feeling seemed fleeting. 

Her purple eyes skewed at that. “I feel that, too. But I don’t know from where. I avoid people most of the time. Even before Alduin menaced Skyrim, I’ve been very private.”

“I don’t mean to pry.” Serana offered slightly. “I suppose I don’t see people like you very often.”

“Someone willing to help you?” The dunmer’s laugh was nasally. “A vampire, I would imagine not very many eager for that treatment.”

“There are quite a few dunmer in Skyrim,” As well as Bosmer, her mind helpfully supplied. “But not many that seem to be adventuring or martial types.”

“Dunmer raised traditionally should have that training.” Karliah admitted, coughing slightly. “Sorry, just a tickle in the throat.” She cleared it again. “I’m just raised traditionally.”

“Where did you find that crown?” The amount of gold involved in it would be enough to afford any home in this hold. 

“I was following someone that went into this cave. They were talking to themselves, hearing voices. They were bloodying their hands trying to dig through the back of this cave, and it seemed safe enough to camp out at until you came along.”

“We just needed the keys.” Serana folded her arms. “Though you’re asking for a difficult thing, wanting the leader of the Thieves guild dead.” 

Mercer Frey. Karliah wanted Mercer Frey dead. Serana had met the man once, when Elayne was thanking the thieve’s guild for their participation in the battle against Alduin. That was before Brynjolf stole the wedding rings, of course. “He killed my family.” Karliah spoke carefully. “As well as the previous leader.” 

“Killing begets killing, I understand. But why are you asking for help?”

Karliah gave a glance over to where Babette and Ardwen were harvesting meat from a mudcrab. Babette clearly for the alchemical benefits and Ardwen for the food value. “I can’t fight men right now. I try to draw my bow and my arm loses all strength. I can’t kill him, and I can’t figure out what it is that is affecting me.”

“What changed? Is this some kind of disease?” It would be one of the oddest she had ever heard of. “Or maybe a curse?”

“Azura was silent when I went to her shrine. If it was, she did not care to assist me.” Karliah lifted one side of her armor, showing a large scar on her side. “I fought him last year, but he stabbed me. I leapt off of the ledge we fought on, and escaped into the river.” The cut was deep, and probably took months to recover from. “Ever since then, I can’t harm any man.”

“Will he come after you just for surviving?”

“I do not doubt it. I am supposed to stop him, but I can’t. But you helped kill Alduin. One Breton won’t be too difficult.”

Her thoughts went to Elayne. “I know a few bretons. Elayne would likely be a difficult fight for anyone, even though she only has one arm.”

Karliah remember who she was talking about immediately. “I forget that the Dragonborn is mortal. Alright, perhaps he is no simple Breton. He will be hard to kill.” 

“We will try to help you.” Serana admitted. “But he’s one of the most powerful men in Riften right now. The jarl is living out of his bar in the sewers. Mercer has all of the power he needs. Brynjolf is a thane, as is Mercer.” She fiddled with her hands. “You’re asking us to kill someone that can have their crimes excused.”

“Giving Mercer more authority is just going to lead to further damage.” She started by mentioning. “He’s power hungry, and did something more than anyone should have power to do.”

“So why kill him now? He already has all that he wants, and it seems like he is content to help rebuild Riften.”

Kariah looked away, her emotions concealed. “I can’t explain everything. But if you look closely enough at him, you’ll understand.”

“Just freeing us is not quite enough for killing one of the most dangerous men in Skyrim.” Her eyes went to Ardwen, who definitely wasn’t ready for this. “Babette is an assassin, but Ardwen can’t handle it. There is nothing so simply stated as killing. Life might be cheap but taking it can be difficult. Especially when there are things you can’t tell us about him.”

“It’s not my story to tell.” 

“Then I’m going to promise to look into Mercer. I can’t promise I will kill him. But there are questions I need to ask, and not many people in Riften old enough or knowledgable to answer.” The war with the dragons had likely killed most of the people she would need to ask. Which meant talking to Brynjolf. Her nose flared at the thought. “I don’t want to think about what I’ll have to pay for it.”

“If gold is what you need, I can find it.”

“Gold in Riften just goes to wine and the jarl. Or to Mercer, through their business.” Ingun had the only alchemy shop functional at that point. “This is going to cost my dignity.”

“Well, considering how much I saw earlier, you don’t have very much of that.” Karliah tried to joke. Serana’s head whipped around so fast her hair had to wait a moment to catch up. Having it down was a frustration, she decided. The moment she could properly clean it, it was getting braided on the sides once more. 

“Excuse me?” Her voice held no humor. 

Karliah blushed all the way to her ears. “I meant with the harness, not with your demeanor! I didn’t mean to offend!”

“Apology accepted.” The vampire offered. Serana was not without dignity! The world might be at peace but Serana was still noble. Even if her family and seat of power were destroyed. “But we also have to apologize to Brynjolf. Apparently he stole the horses he gave us. And the wagon.”

“Especially the wagon!” Ardwen yelled from behind them. “I’m going to complain right to his smirking face! We don’t owe him a thing!”

“Where should we meet?” Karliah asked. “I’m going to go and ask if I can get those gems from your mistress. But after that, I don’t know where to go.”

“The Forsworn left behind a lot of ruins when they joined their queen.” Serana carefully proposed. “Some of their camps are still functional and can support you. Good hunting and alchemy ingredients.” Serana showed her on a map the one closest to Riften. “That’s Darklight. The hagravens that occupied it were killed in the battle against Alduin. A few of the old Forsworn might still be there, but most left and went to Helgen. Queensworn, now.”

“Darklight.” Karliah sounded out, marking her own map. “I’ll leave a note if I have to leave there. Hopefully you can puzzle out where I go if I have to leave.”

“I don’t quite know why,” Serana offered as everyone gathered their things. “But I feel like I do know you. I just can’t remember from where.”

“Memory is a fragile thing.” Karliah said, and something about that statement made Serana feel small. Her thighs clenched together, and talking further to the Dunmer felt like an effort. Of course, more of an effort was the fact that she and Ardwen had to pull the cart with Babette back towards Riften. Karliah parted ways with them, avoiding the roads. Serana just pulled their cart, as everyone else that had horses gave them looks and laughed. 

“The moment we can afford to, we replace the yokes and the horses!” Ardwen grunted, encountering her first hill while pulling the cart. Serana felt no pity for her, as there had been more than a few hills just getting all the way out of Whiterun hold. 

“Nice to know you appreciate the work we did.”

“Don’t you know, Serana?” Ardwen asked, her hair matting with sweat. “Friends go out of their way to save each other. When you didn’t come back, I couldn’t sleep as well. Turns out having a vampire next to you at night makes all of the other monsters that much more terrifying.”

“Hjorni only lives a few miles off of the path. We could visit her if you need more tools to help you sleep?” Ardwen frowned, not liking that. “We lost the dwarven metal gag, I meant.”

“We don’t need it.” Ardwen said, shakily. “I can trust you. I know I can.”

The ride to Riften was days of effort. Babette and Serana pulled most of the night, while Ardwen pulled with Serana much of the day. It was a rough journey, and seeing the walls of Riften in the distance was a godsend. They all were tired, and they all needed rest. Babette and Serana needed to make more blood potions, and sell a few pieces of alchemical ingredients they had picked up in their journey. Creep clusters were starting to unfurl in the spring thaw, and they sold for a decent amount. The gates were being worked on when they arrived at them, all three of them still in travel clothes. It was sundown, Babette probably the least exhausted of the group after spending the day in her coffin. She was making an attempt to not appear as a vampire slut. An attempt that wasn’t very successful with thigh high boots with skullcap knees. But the dress was short and didn’t look too edgy. 

“Where to first?” Ardwen asked, enjoying the looks she was getting from the guards. She was wearing some of the fine altmer outfits they had found in Pinewatch. It hugged her in a way that seemed ephemeral, slight folds in the dress emphasizing her small waist and thighs. 

Serana didn’t feel like she was competing with her silk outfit, but it was hard when they all were getting looks to see who was being stared at the most. She was completely surprised to see a completely different city in the three weeks since she had been here. The rubble piles were moved, and foundations were starting to be laid. Stones and mortar were being placed in along twenty different plots of land, as craftsmen were all hard at work. Dunmer from Silgrad, Nords from Windhelm, and Bretons from the Reach were all here, hard at work. 

“Serana!” One of the guards called for her. His helmet wasn’t enough to keep her from noticing his eyes on her curves. Which felt a bit more like the flattery she was expecting. “Miss Serana?”

“Yes?” 

“Captain Gonnar wanted to see you when you got back.” He motioned to a tent that was set up in the middle of all of the construction, set up to overlook all of the pits begin excavated. “Apparently your floorplan needed some touches.”

Serana almost skipped over to the table. There was a bit of blood in her hair and she needed to find a bath something fierce, but she couldn’t help it. Ardwen and Babette followed at a slower pace as she approached the guard captain and foreman of this whole operation. Gonnar Oath-Giver was bent over the table, staring at a few flimsy pieces of paper that a Dunmer in expensive robes and dreugh skin waved in front of him. 

“This is the home I am submitting for construction! Your jarl approved it!”

“The jarl is not an expert in the construction techniques and limitations of this site. Riften has been built up over multiple eras, and your design is probably going to hit the catacombs!” Gonnar gave a stink eye towards him. “Build upwards, if you want more space! But if you start digging out an undercroft, you’re going to hit the sewers. You’ll have a serious problem at that point!” He glanced up, seeing Serana. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my next appointment is here. You can leave your revised idea with me at your convenience.”

The Dunmer looked flustered at being pushed off without a second thought. But Gonnar looked above Serana’s cleavage and at her face. “Gonnar!” She greeted. “You started digging out the foundations!”

“The Jarl was pressured by his thanes that the amount of gravel was enough to start the process. Thane Mjoll has repaired much of the bridge at Ivarstead, and expressed her complaints directly with the Jarl. After that, we finally broke ground.” He laughed a bit. “Also, the pillars for the Jarl’s palace won’t be here for a few weeks. Some kind of disruption along the lake. There aren’t any major watercraft left to push the logs along.” 

“But you started digging out my plot?”

“We did.” He nodded. “Ingun Blackbriar’s shop is right below one of your corners, so we had to shore up her shop. Repair her corners. You’ll see some plaster and framing on the northeast corner of your basement.” 

“That’s fine.” She was friends with Ingun, and probably needed to talk to her. It would help to know that she might hear noises through the shared wall. “Did you not like my requirements?”

“Nordic architecture?” Gonnar chuckled. “I thought you would ask for something closer to that castle you came from. One of the mercenaries that went with the companions to clear that island out spoke about it, and I thought you were going to ask for something like that.”

“No.” Serana smiled. “But making the first floor a shop is critical. It looks like I’ll be working with some craftsmen on things.”

“Any idea what kind of shop?” He asked, curious. 

“Books.” Serana said, clearly. “We need a bookstore.”

“We do?” He looked around the nearly destroyed city. “I don’t see a lot of people willing to buy books, eh?”

“Mages, Gonnar.” She chuckled. “Mages like books. Historians like books. Bard like them, too.” She pointed north. “When I was young, and used to travel to Windhelm there was a bookstore there. Skyrim’s nobility considered them places where the rich could enjoy company. More importantly, if you want to entertain visiting merchants a bookstore is considerably worthwhile.” 

“So you want to make a bookstore.” He sighed. “How much do bookstores make, usually?”

“The last bookstore I was able to visit,” In Solitude, months ago with Elayne. “I think we spent more than six hundred gold drakes on four books.”

Gonnar spat. “What.”

“Mages hunt far for spellbooks, Gonnar.” Serana didn’t have to use any magic to hold his attention now. “Farther still for information for their questioning. Another pawnshop or alchemical shop isn’t going to be of interest to me. While I am very good at alchemy, I don’t have plans to disrupt Ingun’s work.”

“Ingun is so busy these days that she wouldn’t say no.” Gonnar spoke carefully. “She asked for help from some of the,” He carefully cleared his throat. “ Queensworn yesterday. There have been cases of the Shingles breaking out in the population. With the workers basically living in the sewers we knew it would only be a matter of time before something would spread. Mages are in short supply and potions can only be mixed so fast. If you’re skilled, then she might need your help.”

An opportunity for Babette to shine. Serana nodded at the news. “I’ll go see her after this. But the thought of having a nice large building helps.”

“Are you certain you want to have the main floor and basement just open? You’re losing floor space.”

“It’s going to impress anyone who enters. Books, staves, scrolls, as well as the odd potion.” Serana insisted. “It won’t be this first year, but I plan on bringing a lot of attention to Riften.” 

“If your bookstore makes even a third of what you claim, maybe you will.” Gonnar muttered. “Though you might want to put in a stove somewhere for making those noble types some tea.” 

“There is going to be a tavern less than a hundred feet from my door.” Serana shook her head, annoyed by the loose hair she still had to deal with. “Not in my plan. I need the main floor to have an exposed center so the basement becomes more book storage and reading space. Then I only need one set of chandeliers to light them both. The upstairs will just be three bedrooms.” One large one for herself, modeled after the same floor plan she had growing up. 

“With a building this size, that will give you a communal area upstairs.” Gonnar considered, bringing up a small scroll. “What kind of space will that be?”

“Dining area, but also somewhere I can actually have a nice table.”

“While I would like to ask you to come to us for furniture, I assume you might have other connections that will finish it faster than our carpenters.” He motioned to the large teams that were still assembling pieces for homes, or arranging holes to be cut for dowels to fit logs together upon. “I’ll make certain you have space.”

“Thank you Gonnar.” She offered. It was real thanks. “Here.” One of her cure disease potions came out of her pack, and slipped into his hand. “That will cure any disease that is out there.” 

He pocketed it like it never hit the table. “When you’re free, I’ve a couple of tasks that could use an adventurer. Shor’s Stone said that you did a good job hunting down that creature. I could use a steady hand for a couple of jobs.” 

“Like what?”

“Goblin incursion from the tribe near Bruma. Some orcs talked about seeing some in the mountains. Don’t have many people free to check it out. Second thing is more in development. Someone’s filching supplies.” He gave glances around. “But you’re almost an outsider and haven’t been around to be part of the filching. I also got a crate for you from Solitude. Had a high security lock on it, so I sent it down to Ingun for safekeeping. She volunteered to hold on to it for you.”

“Thank you again Gonnar!” Serana gave him a slight bow and wave. The man already had three people waiting for their conversation to end. But she rejoined Babette and Ardwen, her jubilant smile catching on their faces. “We’ve got some good news! And work if we need it.”

“I’ll settle for a hot bath and a clean outfit.” Ardwen considered. “Even if it means paying a high cost for it.”

Riften had plenty of cookfires but few baths to spare.  They were able to fix their hair at least, before going to meet with Ingun Black-Briar in her alchemy shop, Elixir’s. It was down in the canals, one corner of it under the edge of her home. The door was still scarred from the fire that rained upon Riften, and creaked merrily as the door opened. 

“Welcome, welcome!” A happy voice called. Ingun Black-Briar was working with a couple, at least two alembics bubbling behind her as ingredients were cooking down into useful components. An older Bosmer man was bartering with her, or had just finished doing so. Elk horns and mushrooms were tumbling out of his satchel, but his eyes seemed to stop the moment that Serana and Ardwen entered. She felt at least a little bit of a thrill at that. 

“Ingun!” Serana called. “We’re back from a few errands.” 

“Serana, it’s been almost four weeks, it feels like! What holds have you visited!” Ingun said a few quiet words to the Bosmer, whose eyes still hadn’t looked back at his goods. “You’ve got a few new friends this time!”

“I want you to meet Ardwen, an Archer I met out near Helgen.” Serana felt Ingun’s eyes trace the skintight dress that Ardwen was wearing. Her breastband was clearly leaving creases along her ribs, leaving Serana to assume the dress wasn’t meant to be worn with such underneath. But elves were that kind of arrogant sometimes. “And this is Babette. She fought with Elayne and I last year. An alchemist of some renown and skill.” 

“And a vampire.” Ingun considered. “How old are you, then?”

“Four hundred and fifteen.” Babette answered openly, her collar now a liability. “How long have you been studying the art yourself?”

“Almost ten years.” Ingun spoke carefully. “I won’t assume I am the better in any of it, however.”

“Your creep clusters are starting to burn.” Babette pointed, as Ingun gave a sigh and turned to save her ingredients. 

“How can you even tell? I can’t smell any ash!” Babette’s shoes clicked as she invited herself behind the counter. Ingun didn’t even flinch as she brought her face close, so they both could see the alembic. 

“That slight color change in the water, where the red juices start turning brown? That’s the sign that you’ve got too much heat going in the device.” Babette gently turned it down, her skill in alchemy always something to appreciate watching. Within seconds the color of the water returned to a warmer orange, and the vampire’s hands corrected a couple of other touches. “There we go. You’re allowing the negative aspects of the creep clusters into the potion.”

“I wasn’t taught that.” Ingun seemed in awe, as the Bomser at the counter sighed. “Perhaps I can interest you in a trade of information, at least. A vampire of your age probably knows all of the ingredients and their capabilities.”

“I never assume I do.” Babette spoke with some pride. “But in Skyrim I have tried and tampered with almost everything. Nirnroot has been one of the more surprising new things in the last-”

The man cleared his throat, and Ingun sighed as she stepped back to the counter to resolve their trade. Meanwhile, Ardwen and Serana could see that the cramped little shop they had seen last was full of glass bottles and vials, ingredients scattered all over the place. Ingun perhaps overpaid the man, hardly waiting before he was on his way out before turning back to Babette. “I love nirnroot! But I have had the most difficult time trying to get the positive aspects of the plant extracted! I’ve been using it to make rat poison for the city. Trying to kill off the surging rat population in the sewers has been one of the biggest things my brother has been trying to achieve as Jarl.” 

“Combined with some nightshade or deathbells and added to cheese will kill entire nests of rats within a day or two.” Babette considered. “It works on bears and wolves as well, it’s so potent.” 

“My potions don’t seem to be that powerful, unfortunately.”

“Well, I think we can work on that.” Babette brought Serana back into the conversation. “I’ll be traveling with Serana for a while. Hopefully for at least a century.” She winked. “So you’re welcome to trade for a bit of my time.” 

Ingun looked absolutely thrilled, almost energized. “If only we didn’t have that disease outbreak, I could just take a day off and learn!” She sighed. “But I need to make some resist potions and cures for the city. Sibbi wants me to show that our family can still protect everyone.”

“We can help.” Serana added her input. “But we do need a place to stay in the meantime.”

“The lack of beds in the city is a major problem. Pillow merchants from Ebonheart have been threatening to bring enough duck down and tern feathers for the supply once we have walls up. Expensive, of course. But gold can always be found for that kind of thing.” Her shelves were rather sparse for potions but she had plenty of stock. One of the only remaining stores in Riften meant that she probably had the market cornered. Ingun was only one woman, and making enough stock for an entire city in this crisis was difficult. She didn’t have enough time. 

“Ingun?” Serana’s words dragged the woman out of her thoughts. “When was the last time you slept?”

“What day is it?” When she learned from Babette which day it was, she looked a bit shocked. “Oh. Perhaps three or four days, then.”

“Let us stay with you and we can help run your shop.” Serana offered. “Friends help each other, and we can at least help you stay standing.”

Ingun shook slightly, as if her life were suddenly catching up to her. “But Sibbi needs me.” She whispered. “Sibbi needs my help here!”

“You were just burning a creep cluster.” Babette pointed out. “Go get some sleep and let us help you. Alchemists that burn out during a crisis are likely to die when their ingredients create toxic fumes.”

Ingun yawned. “You’re a wise woman, miss Babette.” Serana helped her towards the back room, where a bed stood. It had been moved recently, with fresh mortar and brick shoring up one corner of the room. The ceiling looked new, and Serana mused that this probably was where their properties linked together. Carefully, Ingun was laid down in her bed, and Serana brushed off the bed from some mortar dust. It looked like the bed at one point was underneath the newer section, and there were bags of her belongings that were still left there. Serana noticed a heeled shoe sticking out of one of the sacks. It was black, an edgy color that made Serana smile.

“Looks like you’ve got a fun side.” Ingun’s normal shoes were a pair of low heeled boots.  Very fine ones, at least. These looked like something more esoteric. Serana ignored them, as her eyes delighted upon a heavy wooden crate adorned with the symbol of Radiant Raiment. She giggled, not even caring if anyone else heard her as she dragged the crate outside. Babette and Ardwen gave her looks as she placed it upon the counter. “I’ve got mail!” 

“From who?”

“Clothier.” Turning the crate around, Serana saw a high security lock on the front of it. “It doesn’t have a key. Story of my life.”

Ardwen held up a battleaxe. “You just need to break the hinges. Locks on a chest seem like a bad run of luck for us.”

“You both are being wasteful. That’s a nice crate.” Babette grabbed a large mass of burned or bad potion ingredients. “That lock just needs an alchemical reaction. Grab the salt, Serana.”

Salt was one of the more common ingredients for alchemy and for cooking in general. Riften used more than other places with their fishery, and so there was an entire shelf of the stuff, in different grades. “What quality? Or did you want void salt?”

“If you can find any, I just need a pinch of void salt.” Babette was doing something with a congealed mass of burnt ingredients, separating the useful from the not. But with a pinch of void salt on the top of the lock, as well as whatever Babette had salvaged from Ingun’s mistakes started reacting to the metal of the lock. “She managed to ruin a daedra heart.” 

Void salts and daedra hearts. Two very expensive things to lose. But combined together the lock started becoming physically damaged. “What is this effect?”

“An era ago, this was one of the only ways to mimic disintegration magic. A byproduct of damage effects that were volatile to metals.” Babette spoke with a whisper. “Over the course of an hour or two it should destroy that lock.”

“Potion ingredients lasting that long?” Ardwen looked over the slightly smoking mess. 

“Our stomachs process the magical benefit quickly, but sitting here on the lock it will continue to bubble for a while. The danger of daedra hearts.” Babette pointed out. “They are corruptive and activate for much longer with more potency.”

They had to go work on other things, spending hours of time cooking potions to restock every aspect of Ingun’s shop. Babette was like a magnificent organizer at this point, breaking out her own higher quality set of alchemical tools and running three stations at once. Ardwen ran the front counter, while Serana and Babette managed dozens of potions humming along. Almost by midnight, Ardwen had passed out in one corner of the bedroom on a makeshift bedroll while Babette and Serana continued their work. 

Both vampires were in companionable silence when the lock fell apart. The remnants of the bar snapped under the pressure of the highly acidic substance, metal falling to the floor in a heavy clang. It was a shock, making Serana at least jump. Babette twisted towards the noise fast enough that her ruffled skirt flared, all of her thighs up to the hips visible. 

“Well, that took a while!” Babette calmed down, looking at the near-burn mark on the crate. “It’s a nice box. You might have to save it for your house since the area has a serious lack of furniture.” 

“We could solve that Miraak’s way, then.” Serana chuckled, clenching her hands as she moved in front of the chest with a rag to clean up the still partially active mess. “Raid a ruin or old city for the furniture you want.”

“So what, you and I go to Solitude and find a way to raid castle Volkihar for furniture?”

“I don’t want my father’s aesthetic! Classic nordic style with bloody gibbets for interior design? Unacceptable.” Serana pointed her nose at that. “I would rather get something Cyrodillic for that. They have more appreciation for the height and shape of wood. Nordic things have marble and stone which doesn’t really look all that great.”

“You want wooden bookshelves?” Babette laughed. “You’re a bit weird, Serana.”

“It means hiring people to make them. Contributing in a way that people appreciate.”

Babette snorted, tugging at the crate and pulling the top of it off. Inside were carefully wrapped bundles, Taarie using high quality leather to wrap the shipment. “You paid for armor-grade leather to be used as wrapping for whatever you ordered.” 

Serana was more concerned with the note from Taarie that listed what was sent. “It looks like Elayne bought some things for me.” Serana had paid for four whole new outfits, as well as stockings and breastbands. Two independently wrapped bundles awaited her, and Serana lifted up the first. It was a pair of gauntlets, enchanted heavily. They were tough, and the glowing leather was dyed black. Silver buckles and a strong system of straps made the palms thicker. But they appeared to be meant for hard work. They were enchanted for fire resistance, with another enchantment underneath that to increase her stamina. “Oh, this is thoughtful!” 

“The silver will be great for punching a werewolf.” Babette mocked, until she checked the enchantments. “Oh, that’s really nice.” 

“Elayne is very thoughtful. As is Miraak, in his own way.” They were good for one another. Serana would only accept the idea of marriage or some kind of arrangement with a spouse if they were the kind of man that could impress her. Could prove that she wasn’t giving up who she was to know them. At least, she felt like it would be a man that would finally impress her. “While I didn’t order them, this will take away much of the sting of the sun.” 

The last item should have surprised her. It was a dress, if someone could consider it a dress. It was pure black silk, with red dyed strips. The bodice and the skirt were red, a color so deep it looked like blood. The skirt barely covered the thighs, a fluffy little red thing. Serana held up the dress to herself, knowing immediately that it was made for her. There were no straps over the shoulders, a corset-like web of black silk laces the only reason it would mold itself to her body. The thin sheen of an enchantment was tucked into an interior layer of straps that would be concealed by the dress once it was on. Serana was trying to figure out what the enchantment was for, debating if she needed to use her magic to do it. “Gods above and below,” A new voice spoke, spooking both women. “That’s a sight.”

Brynjolf had just opened the door, lockpick sliding back into his pocked in a practiced motion, even as his eyes never left Serana. Her cheeks colored, even as she dumped the sultry outfit back into her crate. “Brynjolf.” She glared. “We’re closed.”

“The jarl’s men noticed that potion smoke was still coming out of the shop and asked someone to come take a look.” 

“You got an eyeful.” 

“Aye, lass.” He said, incorrigible. “But at least now I know that Ingun isn’t trying to stay up the night through making potions.” 

“She’s asleep. We’re helping her but could use more materials to stop the spread of disease in Riften. If your hands are bored, we could use skeever skin and mudcrab shells.” 

“Stuff from the refuse pile?” Brynjolf wrinkled his nose. 

“Your Ragged Flagon is an excellent source, I take it.” Serana chuckled, as Brynjolf gave a look at Babette behind her. “I’ve got some questions for you, I think.”

“I’ve got some as well, yeah?” The Nord shut the door he had opened, coming up to the counter to get a better look at Serana’s shipment of clothes. “Where is my wagon?” 

“Stuck in a quagmire south of a village called Pinewatch.” Serana spoke carefully. “But we were near Rorikstead when we had a bit of a run in with your horses.” 

Brynjolf almost concealed a wince. “Why would that be a problem, lass?” Almost. 

“Because the farmer wanted his horses back, you idiot!” Serana almost shouted. “You gave us a stolen wagon and stolen horses and sent us off on errands!”

“The wagon!” Brynjolf pointed out. “That was never stolen! It was fairly acquired,”

“I could almost believe you if it weren’t for the fact I had to pull our new wagon from Windhelm to here!” 

“A woman of your class should never be delegated to such menial labor.” Brynjolf tutted. “As for the horses, I never asked where they came from. I only heard that you needed some.”

“You’re on thin ice, Brynjolf.” Serana frowned. “You cost us a lot of gold and time chasing a dead end.” 

“You found no sign of Beem-ja?”

“The argonian is dead.” Babette turned back to her potions, content to let Serana deal with Brynjolf. Her voice had lost none of its steel. “I hope to the gods you aren’t going to fail me again.” 

“This relationship goes both ways, lass. Unless you’ve brought something for me to put to paid, I won’t be able to help you. I’m the Thane here, which means I am the one with the enormous weight of responsibility hanging over my head.” 

“What responsibility!” 

“I’ve got jobs to keep people employed, and guild members from mucking up the rebuilding efforts! The place is going insane with half the city living in the sewers, and the Ratway is falling apart from all of the piss and filth that follows.” Brynjolf matched her stare. “I have to convince farmers to go back to work with no market to sell their goods in!”

“So you’re the man keeping corruption down? With the horses you gave us we were facing fines and worse! And you didn’t bother to warn us about that!” She fumed. “How can farmers trust the word of a thief!” 

“They don’t.” Brynjolf muttered. “Bored farmers become bandits.” 

“So you need a way to convince them to go back to work instead of picking off the caravans?”

“Aye.” He slumped a little on the counter. “But I’m not the intimidating sort.” 

“Would this happen to be a problem shared with Gonnar? Someone filching supplies?”

“Aye.” Brynjolf nodded. “But I don’t want you to be the one to clean up this mess. Especially now that I know you have a cute little maid outfit.”

That was a maid’s dress?! Serana felt a rush of heat in her cheeks and in other places. “You will never see it upon me, Brynjolf.” 

“Aye.” He nodded. “But I do have good news for you.” He insisted. “That belt of yours is coming off next week. I just need a couple of details from you.” Brynjolf smoothly stepped around the counter, and offered his hand. “Can I see your wrist, lass?”

She knew she shouldn’t be so close or calm with a man like Brynjolf. Or so trusting. But he was going to get this belt off of her! She would be free! Tentatively, she offered her wrist to him. Brynjolf spun her around, letting her heels twist on the stone floor as he drew her wrist up as high as she could reach without her feet touching the ground. He was taller than Serana and held her extended arm up to his own. The ends of her fingers barely reached his palm, fully extended. “Hey!”

“There we go.” Brynjolf nodded. “I’ve got your measure. Now I can leave you lively nightwalkers for my own hauntings.” 

“Brynjolf.” Serana was still fuming. Part of her was angry, yet another part was still wanting to be friendly with him. Perhaps more than friends. “I don’t like being manhandled.” 

“That’s not what your body was saying.” He had the audacity to say, before slipping out the door into the night. Serana glanced down at herself, unsure if he could read the very confused and frustrated vampire. Her sigh carried with it the notice that her breastband somehow wasn’t wrapped enough to hide her nipples perking up through her dress. 

“That’s the one you plan on getting to Mercer through?” Babette spoke up, coming over to the crate and holding up a new pair of heels and a hairband with a red frilled brim. “That’s going to take some convincing. He’s sly.” Serana felt Babette start pulling at her loose hair, getting ready to slip the offending hairband into her hair. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“You’re getting that maid outfit on.” Babette insisted. “It’s enchanted to improve alchemy and small tasks.”

“You cannot be serious!” Serana twisted out of the way, picking up one of the shoes and the headband. Yet her stomach did a flip as she felt how heavy the enchantments were upon the shoes. They alone increased the amount Serana could carry by a significant amount, as well as increase her charisma. The headband improved her alchemical skill and the potency of the potions she made significantly. The frilly little thing alone was worth over a thousand, a mortifying bonus to alchemical value. “You wear it!” 

“It’s ‘maid’ for your head. And the enchantments don’t work unless you’re wearing the full set.” Babette pointed out, showing a flicker of understanding at the buried enchantments inside the dress. “But this is on the same level of enchantment that most people make armor and weapons for Nobility. You will improve the potions you make significantly just by wearing it.” Babette sounded serious. “Also, doing laundry is a form of alchemy. Maybe it'll help you do it faster.”

It was the darkest hours of the night. No one was going to see them, and they could just bar the door if they needed to. “Fine!” Serana growled.  She had worn worse, but only just. It felt demeaning just thinking about dressing as a maid. She barred the doors and further drugged Ardwen into a deep sleep. Being seen by her most of all caused anxiety. 

With Ingun and Ardwen dealt with, Serana changed into the blood red maid outfit. It was obnoxiously tight. The headdress wanted to slide off of her head, and the heels refused to buckle as Babette came to check on her. “You forgot the gloves!” The other vampire chortled. A pair of elbow length gloves with red bows completed the set. Serana could see that they were as enchanted as the rest, this time with a fortified stamina and feather enchantment. Objects she handled would certainly be lighter to lift or carry. 

A larger red bow sat at the base of her back, for no other reason than to be wider than her skirt once the gigantic folds of red silk were folded correctly. The apron it supported did nothing other than call attention to her thin body. Once the gloves were on and the headband was adjusted a final time, the enchantments seemed to be satisfied. A conjuration effect went off, the shoes buckling themselves. The headband dove itself into her hair, pulling the strands into a severe bun behind her head. The internal straps inside the dress adhered to her skin so hard that anyone living would have had their lungs emptied of all capacity to breathe. 

Two small bells appeared out of oblivion, hanging from each shoe like the toll of certain doom. She wobbled, each bell ringing loudly enough that she worried about the pair of mortals waking up. “Damnit Elayne!” She hissed, the top of the dress comfortably showing off her entire upper half of her breasts and the bottom only stopping an inch down her thighs. The blood red bodice and skirts were skimpy in a way that going outside was impossible. Being paraded by Elayne in the Bitch Tamer was more classy, in her mind. It held more respect than this torrid outfit!

Babette steadied her, before boldly reaching into her cleavage and retrieving a small note. “Serana, you make that look amazing! Even though I can see your belt when you bend over, it's perfect.” The small note seemed of interest, and Serana stood tall and stole it back from her. It looked like Miraak’s handwriting.

‘Serana.

Next time you throw mead all over the place you'll be able to clean up properly. Elayne meant this as kind of a prank, but I find that a little humility makes all immortals far more understanding. Every five hundred steps the outfit can be removed, but if you take an extra one, the countdown begins all over again. If anyone but you tries to wear this they will probably stop breathing before they can walk the five hundred steps required. 

Once you settle down somewhere I hereby command you to wear this outfit once a week. Potion making, enchanting, chores of any kind and cooking must be done in this outfit. Once you've learned some humility I'll rescind the order.

Don't waste any more good mead.

Miraak and Elayne.’

Serana’s mouth was open wide as her collar accepted the order with a tightening she had grown used to. “Miraak you asshole!” Babette cackled as she read over her shoulder, the grammar impeccable and handwriting without flaw. “Don't laugh! Now I have to use this!”

“Then let's see how good you are now, Big Sister.” Babette tugged gently on the bows that hung from her wrists. “Let's see if we can't restock the entire shop by ourselves before they wake up.”

“How would that help us, hmm,” No matter how carefully she walked, the bells loudly announced her presence. 

“The best revenge is to use any advantage to the absolute limit of possibility. Once Ingun runs out of resources we should have enough castoffs to make blood potions too. But imagine her face when she wakes up and the shelves are filled. You can't get revenge against Miraak yet, but I think I know one very good way.”

Serana started handling ingredients, finding herself doing it almost as though her mother’s hands were guiding her. As though she were actually improved at the art of alchemy just by wearing this rediculous outfit. “Explain, oh wise one.”

“I've got some ingredients from the third era. Special ones not likely to be found ever again. But between us I bet we can make a fertility potion that will get past Miraak’s daedric curses.”

“You want to get revenge by helping them get pregnant?!”

“Ohhhh yes.” Babette laughed. “Elayne will be too busy for a decade at least to stop us from doing whatever we want. Miraak would have to learn how to actually be a father.”

Serana huffed, her lungs barely operating. “Maybe.” It didn’t sound like effective revenge when her breasts were bouncing all over and she was a choir of bells with every step. Every five hundredth chime of those bells, it sounded deeper and more pronounced. Serana missed the first time she struck five hundred steps. As well as the second and third. The fourth time she was able to slide out of the gloves and maid outfit, shedding all of it before Ardwen could possible see the humiliating outfit. It took minutes to undo the laces around her middle, and get the hairband out of her hair. 

Of course, when Ardwen finally woke up at noon with Ingun, the two sleepy people were shocked by the state of the store. The shelves were stocked with every vial they could get their hands on. Every ingredient Babette could combine into something useful was used, the ingredient shelves completely depleted. Serana didn’t want to admit it, but she had cleaned the floor around the potion stations of enough wasted products that she considered putting Ingun in the maid outfit. The woman needed training, badly. 

“You’re both so skilled! How can I possibly compete with that?” Ingun wondered openly, yawning. Fourteen hours of sleep was not enough to help the exhausted Ingun completely, but it was a step in the right direction.

“I’m not competing.” Serana said clearly. “Babette is my friend, and I can’t speak for her. But we don’t plan on ruining your business. I plan on opening a bookstore.”

“A bookstore?” Ingun blinked. “The potential profits along this trade route are quite amazing, if a nord is willing to look past the stigma of magic.”

“Pawnbrokers seem to have no qualms about it.” Serana pointed out. “When I was born, Skyrim was a place of magic. Our mages were key to defeating the Falmer, the Chimer and many others. The Dunmer didn’t dare fight over the surface because of that heritage. But sometime in between now and then we lost that.”

“I wish you luck.” Ingun started saying. “Actually, I wanted to do something more than that. A measure of protection from my sister-in-law. She’s already heard about the Bosmer with the red hair and body people will kill over. To protect you from that, I wanted to offer you sponsorship. I’m not a thane, but if Sibbi dies I am the next in line. It gives me a degree of strength, even though I have no real desire to become that. But I can protect you from Sibbi’s wife. She is under the impression that Sibbi needs to father children from five different women in order to keep the Black-briar name alive.”

Ardwen’s lips curled. “I won’t be part of a harem.” 

“Then all of you belong to me, in his eyes.” Ingun said, her tone a bit suspicious. But Serana had learned to at least trust in her friends. Ingun was giving them hospitality right now, at least until her house was done. “Now, how would you like a job?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Does it involve aphrodisiacs?” 

“Babette!” Multiple voices interjected. 

“No, no.” Ingun laughed politely. “I need you to restock my shelves. We’re okay right now, but I need potions ingredients. Borrow my horses, my wagon. But I need potions for years. In fact, could you go to the White Phial in Windhelm and pick up an order of five hundred pounds of ingredients?”

“That sounds perfectly safe.” Ardwen seemed relieved. “Will you be alright?” 

“You don’t have to leave today!” Ingun insisted. “I like having people that actually know what an education is to talk to.” 

They stayed three days, and much to Serana’s chagrin she spent one more night with that damned outfit, cleaning all of her dresses and things. Damn it all if Miraak and Babette weren’t right. It took only eight hours to clean her clothes instead of twelve. As much as she hated it, it was progress. And it had been almost a week since she had used her magic at all. Almost a week without the plugs moving inside of her. It was almost calming, if beyond frustrating. Her fingers itched, and her dreams were constantly filled with thoughts of the Bitch Tamer. She missed it more than ever, it felt like.

Chapter Text

Working for Ingun was much more calming than doing tasks for Brynjolf. She provided them a horse and a new yoke for their covered wagon, though she had no idea what it was called. “I don’t know it’s name. That was some stablehand’s job to know.” Ingun had added as her explanation. Her understanding and connection with the common folk started and ended insomuch as they had value to her. The stablehand helpfully told them that the horse was named Frost, and was honestly too well bred for being a workhorse. But the shortage of horses meant that the Jarl had to part with his prized horse. 

Four days of riding through a rainy din that made the roads horrible left them finally at the doors of the White Phial in Windhelm. The guards wrapped their weapons as usual, still keeping the city under peace-bond. The door had chimes made from bones and worked ceramic above it, chiming pleasantly as it was opened. Serana, Babette and Ardwen came into the large building and shook their cloaks of rain. 

“Come in, come in!” A gruff voice called. “I hear some lovely ladies, eh?” An Altmer stepped around a corner, a fine dark wooden counter running almost the length of the store. Their heels clicked on the stone, and the elf gave a bit of a start at the sight of their eyes. Mostly Serana and Babette’s. “Vampires?!”

Serana held up her hands as the workers in the store armed themselves with broken bottles and an absolutely ancient looking iron blade that had a place on the wall. “Sorry for the trouble. My name is Serana, and I come here at the behest of Ingun Black-Briar. Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause anyone harm.”

“I’ve been here before, though.” Babette interjected. “Though you might not recognize me.”

“The only vampire I have ever entertained in this establishment was in my youth.” The old man waved down his employees. “And she was cursed to remain a child for her unlife.”

“You gave me Jarrin root.” One of the employees looked horrified at the word, while the old Altmer frowned. Babette seemed unperturbed at the mention of one of the world’s most famous poisons. “I used it on Alduin, since it only grows underneath bloodgrass in a specific part of Oblivion.” 

“Wait, which weapon did you poison?” Serana twisted to face Babette. This was a fact that she hadn’t heard of that day!

“The blade of woe.” Babette mentioned casually. “But that dagger needs to be repaired still.” Her focus was on the elf. “Nurelion, it’s been two and a half centuries.”

“Babette Darkworth.” Nurelion murmured. It was the first time Serana had even heard of Babette’s surname. “You’ve changed.” 

“Part of the reward for helping to defeat an Aedra.” Babette lied smoothly. “I get to finally wear a real pair of shoes.” 

“She was a master in the craft of alchemy when I first opened my store.” Nurelion wheezed. “And here we are. You remain ever young, and I stare death in the face with each breath.”

“I was better in the field of concentrating the negative aspects of potions, and you were obsessed with nordic barnacles at the time.” 

Nurelion actually broke a smile. “I’ve grown a little, I think. I only wasted fifteen years of my life thinking that nordic barnacles were capable of combining with sload soap in the way I envisioned.” He laughed, a harsh sound. “You came for that Riften brat?”

“She needs to be completely restocked. She’s facing an outbreak of disease and there aren’t any roofs overhead yet.” 

“I’ll find what you need.” He nodded. “A bit heavy handed, sending three so heavily armed for just ingredients?” 

“We all dabble in alchemy.” Serana said clearly. “But Ingun is also our friend.” 

“I trained Elgrim, the man who taught Ingun. He couldn’t understand the finer parts of alchemy but he was always on time, never complained.” He gave a cold glance at his existing employees. “Babette, do you remember perhaps a conversation from our youth? The one over bloodwine?”

Babette considered for a long minute. “I remember a lot of conversations involving bloodwine.”

“During the war with Alduin and his draugr, someone came upon a powerful draugr who held a curious set of tools. Ancient alchemical tools.” Nurelion motioned to one of his men, who grabbed an ornate chest from the wall. Serana and Babette moved closer to the counter, as Ardwen found a corner to relax better. “They’re made from obsidian, including a bowl for the mortar. The pestle is some kind of hard bone, but not one I can identify yet.” 

Serana immediately understood the dark colored bones. “Dragonbone.” 

Nerulion delighted. “Ah! I suspected, but no one in this city could ever confirm it. The materials are so ancient I’ve only made a few potions with them. And sadly, the alembic might be cracked from an idiot with an axe.” 

“Nord?”

“Overeager Imperial, actually.” The elf brought out the set, Serana even noting its ancient qualities. “But this has made miracles. It’s paired with some kind of other tools, which I was unable to acquire. Yet I was able to find which barrow he came from. Curalmil, his name is. Or was.” Nerulion gave Babette a side glance, the vampire’s bust barely contained in her current outfit. “I don’t think he aged as well as you did.”

“But you think it’s still in that barrow.” 

“ What is still in that barrow?” Serana interjected.

“The White Phial.” Nerulion spoke up. “An artifact of alchemy made in the merethic era.” Serana had only heard of it in legend. Her mother had called it a legend not worth chasing, and Serana had just accepted her word without complaint. “I believe it to exist. But my men are not adventurers capable of going into the depths of ruins for me. Could you perhaps consider taking a delve for my dream?”

“With everyone in Windhelm under martial law you’ve not been able to find anyone, have you?” Babette was giving Nerulion her total respect. “I would be happy to go, though my friends can say no if they need to.”

“You’ve asked for nothing so far.” Serana said clearly enough for Ardwen to hear. “Let’s go investigate a barrow.” 

The barrow in question was a cavern a few miles from where they had been introduced to Karliah not a tenday ago. Locals called it the ‘Forsaken Cave’. Animals made it their home, and it had only taken three days to get supplies for their investigation together. Serana had been forced to ask the local garrison for the right to purchase a pickaxe, the martial law was so tight. But armed with potions, scrolls, rope and supplies they arrived at the cavern. Wolves tried to rush them, and yet the horse they had fought right alongside them. Frost had a strong heart, and his hooves gouged at least one wolf to death. 

“Sun’s going to rise soon.” Ardwen mentioned, as she moved the bodies of the wolves off the road. “We actually made it on time.” Frost happened to love Ardwen. It had nothing to do with her propensity to give the animal carrots. Not at all! It still had marked distrust of Babette and Serana, but it absolutely loved Ardwen. “It will be nice to explore during the day for once.”

“We’ve got enough torches, just in case people can’t cast magic.” Babette snarked. “But it looks mostly safe already. If animals are living at the entrance, it’s a good sign others aren’t going in and out. Or draugr are returning.”

Serana grinned, and as a team they unloaded the gear that was needed for going into these old ruins. Shovels, arrows, repair kits for armor and weapons. Rope, but not for restraining anyone or being restrained. Without the ability to cast magic she had been practicing her shield play more. Serana was rather pleased about it. With everything loaded, all three women seemed perfectly ready to enter this ‘Forsaken Cave’. 

But her collar was feeling a little bit tight. Serana felt it. No, it was getting tighter! She cleared her throat, finding it getting a bit more tight as they went inside the cavern. But she wasn’t breaking any rules! She was just adventuring! Serana wracked her mind for anything Elayne had said or told her that would possibly be interpreted as a rule being broken. They came upon an older handcart, along with the skeleton that pulled it inside of the cave. Babette was exploring its satchel, and Serana bent over to grab the still-fine sword. Her collar gave her a slight shock! She didn’t need to breath, so its tightness wasn’t unwelcome but the shock actually hurt!

“I heard that one.” Babette was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Collar.” Serana spoke lightly. “Pissed.”

Babette thought about it more carefully. “Mind if I test a theory? I think I know what the problem is.” Serana could feel Babette reach into her pack, and rotated to give her better access. “Give me your left hand.” She said after a long moment of digging through Serana’s things. Serana offered it, feeling Babette sliding her armored gloves off and replacing it with something silken. She was about to complain about that, but the collar started loosening. 

“That’s-!” She pulled her left arm back, and felt more than a bit of fear. The maid outfit’s red ribbon’d glove was on her arm now, and her mouth hung open in concern. 

“It’s been a week since you tried it on.” Babette whispered right into her ear. “Looks like you gotta wear it again!”

“No!” She looked around the frozen cave, far from civilization or any form of chores a maid would have to do. “I’m not settled down, Miraak can’t just demand I demean myself while I’m out traveling!”

Ardwen came closer, their fussing getting her attention. Serana hid her left arm behind her back, enjoying the collar loosening. “What’s wrong?” Ardwen was actually concerned, while Babette was grinning. 

“Serana got a new command from her mistress. Looks like once a week she has to be even cuter than normal.” 

Through trial and error, she found out that Miraak had twisted his command. What was adventuring? A chore. Collecting alchemy ingredients? A task befit for a ‘maid’. Fuming, Serana slipped into the full outfit, the obnoxious red silk bows an insult to everything she respected. Once again, her feet jingled with every step. Of course, Ardwen’s eyes lit up at the sight of it all. “Don’t mock me and I won’t poison your food.” The Bosmer would survive. 

“Oh, but Princess .” Serana felt a strange feeling run down her back at the way Ardwen pronounced that. “It’s a good look for you.”

Serana hated how the maid outfit felt so fragile. Enchanted objects normally felt strong, but the feather enchantment made everything seem lighter than they should be. It made weapons feel lighter, though they still struck for the same strength. Serana kept slamming urns and jars as she opened them, the powerful feather enchantments making her misjudge the weight of everything. Combined with the bells connected to her feet, and Serana woke up all nine of the draugr that were still buried in this ruin. They could hear her coming from rooms away, and all three of them suffered for it. Serana got hit by a frost spell so powerful it froze her jiggling cleavage for a minute. Ardwen got hit by arrows, and Babette lost most of her outfit to a crazed deathlord with two axes. The injuries associated were deep, and Babette needed to rest and recover. 

Only the last room remained, the door to it locked. Serana wasn’t exactly counting her steps, but she knew she had gone more than 500. There had been no chime to let her know she could be free of it’s silken grasp. Her heels kept chiming as she paced in front of the door, keeping track out of the corner of her eye each time her cleavage wobbled. Today she was wearing it without a breastband, and it was distracting. Ardwen’s idea, of course. “Any luck?”

Babette was leaning over in front of the door, using a long tool to pour acid into the lock mechanism. “It might be time for brute strength.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out why this won’t come off.” It had to have been five hundred steps by now! “But I am certain there are daedra powerful enough to break down that door.”

“You want to summon a daedra? You’re the least injured right now.” Ardwen spoke carefully. She had an arrow in one arm they still hadn’t removed, the arrowhead too deep for just casual bandaging. She would need restoration magic to avoid serious blood loss. The old arrows that the draugr used were hopefully not rusted. “If that belt knocks you down, what about whatever is locked in there?”

“You run and I turn invisible.” 

“You just have better vampire powers.” Babette chuckled. “I can make people like me more and silence spellcasters.” 

“Do you both just want to step away? Avoid whatever might happen?” Serana planted her gloved hands on her hips. “Or should I just save my magicka for healing that puncture wound?”

The door was solved by two vampires beating upon it with warhammers. Two very exhausted vampires by the end of it all, and their ears were ringing. No draugr awaited them, instead they found the corpses of two people who had barred the doors. There was only one way in down here, and after the dust cleared they could see two corpses on top of the large altar in the room. Both corpses were devoid of clothing, and yet they both were armed. 

“Serana!” Babette hissed. “Look!” 

They were glowing with magic, their faces skewed in delight. Permanent delight, with the daedric symbol for oblivion carved into the skin of their bodies. At the head of the altar were a few more of their things, charcoal left out next to two journals. Serana hated the fact that the bells on her outfit finally struck correctly as she walked over to the altar, making her miss the first chance to get out of this fragile outfit. “Damnit.” She muttered. “Let’s see what these two were doing.” One journal went to Serana, the other to Babette. 

The rest of the chamber was dominated by one of those word walls the dragon cult used for dragon speak to be recorded. Otherwise, there was a large chest and piles of clothing and armor in front of it. “This guy was a little crazy.” Babette summed up her experience. “This reads more like a playbook of all of the women he slept with and how.” Babette’s eyebrows climbed. “This old Bosmer lady he’s with worshiped Sanguine. He was crazy enough to try it, and they got stuck in here when the dragons woke all of the draugr.”

Serana’s red ribbons fluttered as she read the woman’s journal. The old Bosmer was named Faurinthil. She had apparently been very young when the Oblivion crisis happened, and had seen an oblivion gate open firsthand. She spoke highly of Sanguine, and especially because the daedra would actually listen if you asked them for what you wanted. She didn’t have anything sordid in her journal, but instead listed ways that someone could contact Sanguine. How his shrine in Cyrodil was pulled down by the thalmor during their war. “It looks like this woman was driven from Cyrodil by the thalmor and was just looking for her next steps.” The journal was filled with scribbling, but there was an alchemical combination for summoning Sanguine. Human skin, human heart, along with something Sanguine gave his worshippers called ‘petals of myriad’. “She was using this dead man’s skin and heart to connect to Oblivion and escape from here.” Why else would she contact Sanguine in such a place?

Ardwen had lit the room’s torches, and carefully looked around with her weak arm. “I found something we aren’t going to like.” She announced, looking inside of the large chest. Heels clicked and bells rang as they joined her, looking inside of the thing. 

“We are leaving that here!” Serana immediately reacted. It was another chastity belt. The same kind that adorned her waist, this one glowing with enchantments. Thigh or bicep cuffs were also in the chest, along with a diamond. Babette used two daggers to extract that without disturbing the other things. 

“We should take it with us.” Ardwen said, as Babette froze. “Wrap it in tight packaging and bring it so that Brynjolf knows what kind of lock to expect. So he can practice on something.”

Babette interpreted it as a command, walking forward as Ardwen flinched at the damage on her arm. It was still bleeding a little. “Don’t these ruins have secret exits out of rooms like this?”

“Usually.” Serana needed to get another five hundred steps in, anyways. There was another door out of here, but the cavern had partially collapsed there. Still, she was trying to keep count of every bounce she made. While counting, she walked back over to the two corpses. “It looks like they almost succeeded.” 

“They died for something.” Babette said fairly. “But it looks like the ritual was unfinished.” Serana stopped walking, the bells annoying her as she read through the journal once more. 

“She needed something to finish the ritual. Petals of myriad.”

“That’s another word for pieces of oblivion that grow in Myriad. But I haven’t heard it used much here in Skyrim.” Babette considered. Serana’s shoes rang out in the chamber as she reached her bag, pulling out the small crystallized rose petals she had gotten months ago. One of them she held in her hand, before tossing it onto the altar. Though these people were long dead, sometimes it was a kindness to help finish someone’s ritual.

From a safe distance, of course. They all were hiding behind the word wall as the altar started glowing, as Babette had a hand on Serana’s bare shoulder and peered around her. Ardwen had a hand on Serana’s hip, leaning around further behind. “This bow is so soft!” She murmured. 

“Fondle the maid later.” Babette warned. “Something is happening.”

Serana slapped Ardwen’s hand off of her hips as they watched the two corpses rise up, disappearing into a portal that opened to Oblivion. But the portal didn’t close. It remained open, the air around it flickering as the pieces of both planes intermingled. A voice carried out of the portal, soothing in a way that could only be a greater power. 

“ These two souls were long destined to return to me. Yet the ritual was completed without complication! Step forward, daring souls. Step forward, that I may see you. ” 

All three of them looked at each other, and Babette shook her head. She didn’t want to think about moving forwards if her collar could be activated. Ardwen was injured, and terrified. Daedra ranked up there for things that could give her nightmares. Which left only one of them who had ever confronted a Daedric Prince before. 

The bells on her heels chimed with false hope as Serana walked forward. She wished she were meeting this creature under better circumstances. Anything better than showing up to talk to Sanguine wearing a maid’s fetishized dress. He probably would assume the worst. Her lips were tight and she frowned as she came in view of the portal. “I am here.” She spoke with false bravado. No magic, no armor and looking like a whore, Serana stood before the Daedric Lord of Revelry. 

“ Daughter of Coldharbour! Slave to the lusts of Bal! What brings you to me, that you would dare speak outside of your normal patron? ” The daedra sounded amused. She saw through the portal a dremora. Or at least, what could be a dremora. The crown upon its head and the loincloth barely concealing its genitals was what Serana could tell made it different. It was clear that it was a being of power. 

“I just helped a worshiper return their soul to where it was wanted. Nothing more.”

The shadows in the room lengthened, as though the portal called all light unto it. “ You don’t want more spice in your sordid existence? A powerful vampire playing the sultry maid? ” Serana felt a chill wind wash through the room, her skirts flaring and flashing the daedra. Their dark laughter echoed through the room at the sight of her belt. “ Ah! Uncle Sanguine sees your problem! Unable to have fun, are you? ” 

“That’s not what we came here for!” 

“ You’ve done me a service. For the two souls you have assisted with, what can Uncle Sanguine do for you? ” He seemed utterly bemused to see her. Serana brought a hand down, keeping her skirts contained with one gloved hand while all of the red silk bows fluttered. 

“We are looking for the White Phial!” 

“ Then you shall have it. Along with a gift from a concerned party. May you inspire debauchery in all who see it! ” The laughter was enough that she had to clench the flimsy silk skirt to prevent the wind from flaring it up once more. The flare of magic made her close her eyes, as the portal rippled and shut. Serana could feel the obnoxious red bows flutter a second longer. When the portal was completely gone, she could see the altar empty of corpses. A pure white bottle was on the altar, cracked along the spine. RIght next to it were fifteen more crystalized rose petals. A scroll with a ring of daedric ebony holding it contained was to the far side. Babette took a few seconds to arrive next to her, grasping her arm and holding on to Serana like she was going to leave them. 

“You were crazy enough to turn down the advances of Sanguine?!” Babette wailed. 

“What?!”

“That’s not what I heard.” Ardwen spoke with more concern. “We must all be hearing different things.”

“It doesn’t matter what any of you heard!” Serana stamped her foot, the bell chiming happily. “He offered a favor. For finishing the ritual correctly instead of ruining it, he gave us the White Phial. Though it looks quite damaged.”

Babette inspected the phial, looking worried about that. But Ardwen grabbed Serana by the obnoxious large red bow and dragged her aside. “I don’t know what Babette heard, but I heard you promise the lives of innocents in exchange for power.” She seemed serious. “Would you ever do such a thing?”

Her family had. Her ascension to vampiric glory was paved by the lived of hundreds. “Not anymore.” She assured her friend. “Elayne commanded me, and I’ve lost my taste for that level of butchery.” The final battle with Alduin had more dead bodies than a necromancer’s orgiastic dream sphere. Serana had lost any taste for it after that. 

“But you’re capable of it?”

“Anyone with time and patience is, Ardwen.” Serana released her bow from the Bosmer’s fingers. “And stop feeling up the outfit!”

“It’s mesmerizing, sorry.” Ardwen stuck out her tongue, but didn’t try to grab her again. “We should probably burn that scroll, then.”

Serana stepped between her and the altar. “No, I think not. Pissing off a daedra without even hearing their offer is the kind of thing that gets you hurt.” The fifteen rose petals were slipped into her bag to join the few she already had. The scroll snapped open with barely a nudge, and Serana read it. 

Not all Vampires worship Molag Bal. Some worship others. If you wish to enjoy the benefits of not sucking blood from victims every few days, and choosing when you impart your vampirism follow these instructions. The foundation if applied correctly will stave off your hunger for five weeks. 

Crush one myriad petal down to a fine dust. This will require an ebony mortar and pestle. The finer the dust, the better the results. Combine this with two alchemical agents that fortify the health of an imbiber. The last thing you shall do is dry those agents down into a dust. Combine gently with the myriad petal, and then add a drop of blood from a willing mortal. The mortal will experience pure lust and ecstasy for their efforts. Finely shape the results into a paste, and firmly apply to the lips of the vampire using it. 

There are clearly more details to this little fine piece of work, but I will let you sort it out. The color and variety will be based upon the alchemical agents. 

Good luck, Daughter of Coldharbour. May this unfreeze your heart.

Serana fumed, reading it. A vampire not requiring blood? Unheard of! Possibly a complete lie! “Babette!” She hissed. “Tell me this isn’t possible.”

“I know! The phial is damaged!” The other vampire blinked, seeing the scroll. It only took her a few moments to go through it. “That shouldn’t be possible!” 

“What’s so strange about it?”

“Molag Bal is the source of vampirism. All of it.” Serana was an expert on that fact. She paced, timing the chiming of the bells with her words. “It shouldn’t be possible to have vampirism exist outside of his sphere. Or he would have dealt with it, violently. He would have commanded his worshipers to destroy any sign of it ever existing, and use it as a warning.”

“There are things about vampirism that you don’t actually know, you would guess.” Ardwen guessed. Serana hoped it was a guess! 

“If there were anyone who knew the limits? It would be Serana.” Babette confirmed. “But I don’t think she ever met Lamae.”

“My mother said to avoid her.” Serana shuddered. Lamae Bal had no mercy or tolerance for weakness. “If she still existed when we were a family, I did not know.”

“ Is she dead?” 

“Most of the living and dead hope so.” Serana clarified. “The first vampire would be powerful on her own after this long.” She had to remove Ardwen’s hand from her bow once more, frowning. “It doesn’t matter. Sanguine seems to think he can manipulate me into doing something. I don’t think it’s safe.” The scroll was bound, its crazed and mad concoction buried. “Now, let’s get your arm healed. Then we can loot this place.” Serana clenched her thighs together, already thinking about how badly those gems were going to vibrate. She wanted to say that she had gotten used to walking around with something inside of her at all times. Two somethings. She almost felt let down when the plugs barely responded to the first use of magic in days. She couldn’t remember the last time she had drained her magic dry. Months, her mind wanted to say. It was a shame as a mage to know that you hadn’t been pushing your own limits. The plugs vibrated for all of fifteen minutes on a low enough rotation that she was able to walk on it. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or more frustrated by the end of that. 

Serana almost had to go back to Windhelm in this silly outfit, but she managed to get it off before they left the cavern. Looting everything felt so dainty that she could tear the headband out of her hair! Everything was lighter, and this damned outfit increased her ability to carry things. She almost fell over when she got the shoes off, the difference in her strength was so pronounced. Perhaps, perhaps she was more dangerous in a maid outfit than not. 

When they arrived at Windhelm days later, it was a complete rainy mess. All three of them were rather glad for their heels, as there was a good inch of standing water from the absolute rainstorm. Ardwen was wearing a pair of stilty heels from her altmer collection, and wobbled more than once. Underneath their cloaks they made it inside the gates, passing an absolutely soaked pair of argonian legionaries. 

Callixto’s shop had some kind of altercation, as they watched the old man arguing with someone. “And you won’t find anyone else willing to buy such a bauble anywhere!”

“Just watch me!” The woman he was interacting with yelled, frustrated. “Five hundred gold is too cheap!” 

“When you pull your head out of your ass, come back and I’ll still pay you five hundred!” Callixto bellowed. Then his eyes fell upon the three of them. “Ah! Ladies! Come inside, I think I’ve got some tea warmed up.”

“We wanted to go and see Nerulion first.” Serana said politely. “We found something.”

Callixto narrowed his eyes. “Then perhaps you should hear me out. It’s about that senile alchemist.”

“I would appreciate some tea and warnings about an altmer!” Ardwen spoke up, making Babette go silent. Her collar wouldn’t let her go against Ardwen. Majority vote secured, they all slipped inside the museum of curiosities. Sure enough, there was a pot of tea ready and the fires were roaring. 

“Forgive the heat, my old bones needed it on a day this cold.” He ambled towards a table, pulling out three chairs for them. “What a storm today! It’s probably absolutely horrible at Winterhold with all of this.” He amicably offered as each sat down. He himself sat in the worst of the chairs, clearly favoring his hospitality. “Now, did you find what Nerulion was looking for?”

“We did.” Ardwen didn’t bring it out, though. “It’s damaged.”

“A shame.” He steepled his fingers together. “Probably for the best he doesn’t hear that it is damaged. His heart is weak enough as it is. But!” The old man stood, grabbing some notes from a countertop. “That legend has more holes in it than a cheese from Elsewyr. You once said you were friends with some dragons alive at that time?”

“I know a few, yes.” Serana considered that. They might have seen what happened. Or have known the craftsman in his prime. “Why are you so interested?”

“Nerulion makes himself a tonic every day to keep his own heart beating. Any strength as he was talking to you is a lie, and my friend is slowly dying. Seeing the Phial will break that heart, and I am almost certain that it will end his life to see it cracked and broken.” Callixto said with seriousness. “But that object was made with some of the first snow that fell upon the world. Along with fine ground dragon bone or ivory of some kind. Impossible to find, since the Dragonborn wants all of the dragon bones returned to her for some ungodly reason.”

“She can bring them back to life.” Serana helpfully supplied, as Callixto looked intrigued. “It’s part of her redemption process.”

“Praise the dragonborn, may she ever keep surprising us all.” Callixto made a warding symbol in the air. “Terrifying creatures. Between the bone and the ice, it already sounds fantastical enough.”

They brought out the cracked phial, still radiating magic. Serana didn’t dare touch it herself, fearing her belt activating. “The crack runs the length of the crown. Repairing it would take a master craftsman, but I wouldn’t know where to start for a nord specialist.”

“There are few alive, yes. And most of them would consider weapons to be their crowning achievement!” Callixto ran his fingers down the side of the phial. “Still, it feels like I am handling ice. If I were to recommend anyone, it would have to be the head of the temple of dibella in Markarth. A domineering wench of a woman, but she knows her enchanting. The other person that might know is a dunmer named Neloth. He’s up in Solstheim, with one of those mushroom towers.” 

“We are due back in Riften within the week.” Serana said carefully. “Handling a shipment, which makes going to either of those places difficult.”

“Then perhaps do me a favor.” Callixto moved the phial back into their possession. “Tell Nerulion you are still chasing clues from that cave. Don’t tell him the truth, or you’ll watch him die in front of you.” 

Serana stood up, wandering over to the shelf where she saw a few more of those petals from sanguine. Callixto followed, raising an eyebrow about her interest. “I told you my story about owning the Sanguine Rose, Serana. Why the interest?”

“I spoke with Sanguine.” It felt strange, admitting that aloud. Her breastband felt tighter just saying it. “He claimed that there are vampires that don’t worship Molag Bal. Who belong to Sanguine instead.” 

“Those vampires were destroyed sometime in the second era.” Callixto nodded. “But yes, there were groups in Elsewyr that declared their worship for Sanguine. Weaker in some ways, but they had a strange relationship with mortals. I think I read about them in my wanderings, but my wife would know more. Bless her soul.”

“When you spoke to Sanguine, what was it like?”

Callixto stilled, looking older than he was. “It wasn’t terrifying, if that’s what you are asking. The voice was not like the terror of Dagon or Bal. It was instead like a snake, speaking to your heart. I took the Rose, and my wife and I got into more than a little bit of trouble with it. I think we slept with three passing merchants one night, though in the morning we couldn’t recognize who was who in the night. One of the most awkward meals in my life followed, as we all untangled the who and what.” He shuddered. “We buried the artifact when things got too dangerous. Corruptive.” 

“Did Sanguine keep their word? Fulfill promises?”

The older man sighed. “Yes. Strange as it may seem, Sanguine was very straightforward. So long as debauchery follows, you are favored. They kept their word.”

Then the door slammed open, as the woman from earlier came in and glared at Callixto. “Fine! Have the stupid bauble!” She threw it at Callixto. “It can go to my debts, you bastard!” Serana watched as he seemed to dodge the thrown object, but the oddly shaped amulet fluttered, changing its course ever so slightly so that it passed the old man’s cheek and hit the shelf behind him. He didn’t move his hands, but Serana could feel the pulse of magic from the moment. 

“People owe you money?” Serana asked, reaching for the amulet the woman threw. Callixto was trying to beat her to it, but sometimes a vampire is just faster than other people. It pulsed, a feeling like few others itching at her fingertips. 

“After the Empire took over, the debts incurred by different families for the sake of Ulfric’s war were bought out by interested parties. Friga Shatter-Shield employs many people and keeps her home open to refugees. She needed a supply of gold and I generously offer her that.” He offered his hand. “In exchange for baubles like the one she just gave us.”

Serana finally got a good look at the object. She recognized the skull ornament anywhere. Elayne and her had scoured Skyrim for objects like this, after all. “Callixto, this isn’t some bauble! This is an artifact!” She pointed at the doorway, where Friga had barged out into the rain and left it open. “It’s worth thousands upon thousands!” 

His hand froze. “You recognize it, do you?”

“The Necromancer’s Amulet. This was made by Mannimarco!” Serana kept it back from the old man. “It’s meant to be some of the most powerful protections that can be found for a spellcaster!” But she had also seen that amulet avoid Callixto and keep from injuring him. “It’s famously caused harm to anyone who uses it.” Her body pulsed, tempted to wear it, and have its skull peeking out of her cleavage for all to see. 

“Amulet or bauble, it makes little sense for me. It will just join my museum of oddities.” He said, acting patient. But it seemed more than that. Callixto had lost all of his kind fatherly appearance for a moment, and Serana felt like she had seen someone else. 

“You bought it for five hundred, just now. What if I offer the same price?”

They both felt the pulse that time, as the amulet almost tried to jump out of her hands. “I think I would rather not, miss Serana. I would have to evaluate the item myself first. May I?” Something about those words felt like a threat. A major threat.

“The Necromancer’s amulet famously would betray it’s wearer. The only person it ever obeyed was its creator.” Mannimarco had been dead for an era. Two eras, in the eyes of some. “It’s going to hurt you if I give it to you. Maybe I should just find a place for it to be sealed away-”

“No!” Callixto’s voice took a harder edge than normal. “No, I think not. Give me the amulet, Serana.”

“It’s not designed to by handled by a mortal! It’s safer in the hands of someone who is already dead!”

Callixto called out to the amulet, and Serana could feel her heels scrape as it almost escaped her grasp. Ardwen and Babette were standing up from the table now, looking to the struggle. Babette saw the struggle between the pair and leapt over the counter, behind Serana. She could feel the Breton holding tight, preventing the amulet from getting closer to Callixto. “I’ll take my chances!” He growled, still extending his hand. 

Babette’s heels also scraped on the floor, as the amulet fought Serana. It was like an animal all it’s own. Serana could feel the smaller vampire grab the back of her dress, as they both got stuck on a crack in the floor. Hands pulled and pressed, as Serana growled and tried to leverage her strength. It was beyond what would normally be expected for any kind of contest. And Callixto’s face looked dry, the skin almost flaky. Serana could feel a bit of shock as she saw some of the skin crack, and something more pale was underneath. Almost bone-like. Serana had been a necromancer longer than Callixto had been alive, yet that was something she recognized. The glow of animated bones. “He’s a-”

Babette had found a better way to resolve the conflict. Her hands reached around Serana, and pulled down her dress. Serana felt flushed, and pulled the amulet even harder. Callixto had all of his concentration on the amulet, meaning that her now-bare breasts framed it. The man had worshiped Sanguine for a time, and had a weakness. Babette just exploited it. The clash ended as his concentration faltered, and Serana fell backwards onto her backside with the amulet. Out of paranoia she shoved it over her head, pulling her breastband back into place. 

Ardwen had her blade at Callixto’s neck, having gotten into position from behind. “Don’t move!” She hissed. Serana could feel a rush from wearing such a powerful artifact of necromancy, her magic promising to be that much more powerful. 

“Lady Serana, I must insist that you return the amulet.” Callixto continued, before touching his face and realizing that the skin had flaked. “Ah, damn. You’ve pushed this body past it’s limits.” He flicked his hands, as Babette and Ardwen slid away from him. “I was trying to be nice to a colleague. But you are forcing my hand.”

Serana could feel the amulet get warmer against her cleavage. It was being called by it’s master once more. “You’re a lich.” She spoke, carefully. “And you’re calling to this.”

“It’s mine, Lady Serana. And you will remain silent upon my nature if you are interested in my continued support.” 

Serana took the time to pull her dress fully back into place, the jade skull now peaking out of black lace. “I think you owe us an explanation.” 

“If I gave you one? From one undead to another, what trust do you have in your own words? All those who could confirm what happened to you along your unlife are dead or on their way to such. No one can confirm my words, just as no one can confirm yours.” He did have a good point. “You already can confirm my identity. And perhaps, why I wear this skin and play this game.”

Serana felt the amulet pulse inside of her cleavage. It had a master. “You’re the King of Worms.” She whispered. “How?!”

Callixto just grinned. “Question. Everything.” He pointed back at the table. “Lace your dress back up, my dear. A longer conversation must be had. Now, sit down.” It didn’t feel like an optional choice, and all three women saw him casually wave his hand, his door slamming shut and bolting itself. “I insist .”

Chapter Text

“Mannimarco.” The name hung in the air like a dark portent. “How?!” Ardwen still was grasping her weapon, even as the Lich that was Callixto motioned for them all to sit down. Babette was worried, her hand fondling the end of her ebony dagger. 

“Mannimarco is dead. His soul has moved beyond the mortal coil.” Callixto spoke with care. “Put down your weapons, or else our fighting will get the notice of those legionaries. Even as skilled as you are, we both know it will not end quietly.” He sighed, pulling out a few bottles of wine. “You’ll need this. My story follows that of the blasted elf. For I am not Mannimarco.” 

“You said it yourself that your words cannot be trusted.” Babette said with suspicion. 

“So I did.” He mused, keeping an eye on Ardwen. “In the second era, when Tiber Septim rose to power Mannimarco was still alive. The first Lich. Technically not so fully alive by then. He wanted revenge upon the mage’s guild that fought him for eras afterwards. It’s honestly too bad that the guild did not survive the conflict’s resolution during the Oblivion crisis. My position under Tiber Septim was as his court wizard. I was powerful in life. Supremely so. Enough that I was one of the only people trusted enough to speak in the name of the God of Men.” 

“What about the amulet?”

“I was sacrificed by Tiber for his ambitions. My soul, combined with a perfect gem taken from Yokuda was used to power something called the Numidium. That mistake is no longer in existence, for which I sacrificed greatly. While I was doing so, I came across the Necromancer’s amulet. Knowing that I was about to die, I saw an opportunity to protect myself.” He kept his eyes on Serana, glancing every so often at the amulet she wore. “I combined my Mantella into the amulet that Mannimarco prided himself upon so greatly. I was a lich because of my services to Tiber Septim. I couldn’t put my soul back into my cold body. Life could never be mine again. And so I moved my phylactery and replaced the amulet with the green gem of my Mantella.”

“You are claiming to be the Underking?” Babette spoke up again, the history he was referencing probably very familiar to the four hundred year old breton. “Part of the dragon break?”

“Many timelines played out at once. I just buried my soul in the modified amulet. No matter how it ended, my soul would survive.” Callixto’s hands moved, the skin knitting back together and containing the bone-like face beneath. The face of the lich smoothly re-attached, and all evidence of his undead state was hidden. The spellwork was advanced, his quiet whispers almost a dull underbabble in between the other words he spoke. Advanced magic, to manipulate a corpse actively possessed. “My name in life was Zurin.” The words were familiar on his tongue. “Zurin Arctus. My soul was forged into a weapon, and from my hands I gave Tiber Septim the power of the brass tower. Part of his apotheosis, even.” He shuddered. “My soul was weakened from all of that, and the Numidium broke. Shattered, really. They call it the warp in the west. I personally consider it a couple hundred years of fugue where I wasn’t sure where my soul ended up.”

“Mannimarco became something in the stars, I thought.” Ardwen was shaky. “Not spun back out into Nirn!”

“He’s complicated. I simply used his methods to power the brass tower. Much to my eternal regret.” One bony old finger pointed at Serana’s cleavage, where the Necromancer’s amulet rested. “I needed a complete phylactery to escape the half-dead condition that I was left in. But the body was lost when the warp in the west happened. As for this one?” 

“What happened to the real Callixto?”

“He made a deal with something all necromancers fear. When he tried to make a deal with the ideal masters, he did so near that amulet you wear. I intervened, and he believed that he was making a deal with said masters.” He frowned. “He would have given his life either way for his sister, who he cherished. But she made a deal to keep her life extended through another source. Of course, they were an odd couple. A lich couple living out their romantic dreams in their afterlife. She’s wearing the skin of an altmer at this moment. Saw right through what happened to Callixto.” 

“Did you kill him?”

“He was already losing cohesion as a lich. His phylactery was broken and he couldn’t survive. That’s why he sought out the ideal masters. But without much of a soul, he only had a day or two anyways.” The undead at the table couldn’t trust his word. He knew it, too. “Keep my phylactery, if you must. In fact, if it proves my case to you I’ll let you borrow it for a time. Take it to someone powerful, prove my identity if that is what it takes.” Serana felt a warmth rush through her. “It’s going to do its best to protect you, as well. I don’t think either of us trust one another completely. So I’ll trust that you won’t tell the empire of my presence, and I won’t speak of your family. I have spoken with your father before, when he asked me to help him find you.” 

Serana went still. That wasn’t something most people could say. “He wouldn’t dare consort with a mortal for something that important.”

“I wasn’t mortal at the time. He came to my crypt in High Rock. Deep in the dragontail mountains, somewhere only someone powerful could reach. Woke me from my slumber and bade me answer him.” Once more, Callixto looked older than he appeared. Like he was remembering something ancient. “He demanded that I tell him of all vampires that I knew of. All covens of witches. He was hunting for any information on you or Valerica, your mother. But now I know the truth of that matter. He visited me a second time, this time to demand how to capture and torture an Ideal Master.”

Serana didn’t speak. Giving him more information would not do her any favors. “You know how to do that?” 

“There are a few ways. But each Ideal Master was once a mortal soul. Most of them related to Mannimarco in some way, or perhaps he was part of what caused them to gain power. Black Soul gems are only new relative to the cult of the worm. Mannimarco taught them to corrupt soul gems ages ago.” He pointed out. “Only specific gems corrupted in certain ways can be used to become an Ideal Master. Your mother’s gem was one such thing, but I know not how she acquired a Welkynd stone to corrupt. Apparently your father found the stone, but had no way of drawing her out. Or finding what he wanted.”

“You’re ignoring the real problem.” Serana whispered. She was paying close attention to any kind of magic that was being cast. The most that Callixto or whatever he claimed to be had done was some telekinesis on the doors and her friends. Whatever he was rambling about, she didn’t want to believe him! Everything she was looking at told her not to trust him. “I still can’t honor any agreement with you, even if you were going to promise that.”

“Fine.” Callixto waved his hand, the door unlocking. “Go, and let the only one I consider a good friend die from a broken heart. I’m a lich without a mountain of bodies or cabal of arch necromancers at my beck and call. If I truly were Mannimarco, would I sit inside a city that hates mages and just play at having a normal life?” When Serana didn’t get up, they both knew there was at least a little curiosity. “Mannimarco had dreams of becoming a god. The fact that I helped make Tiber Septim into a god never sat well with him. But in doing so I was forever weaker. I need my amulet back to start to recover.” 

“Yet you’ll let me walk out of here with it?” 

“If that is what it takes for you to trust me, Lady Serana. Take my phylactery and leave. Take that artifact and wear it proudly, or not. I’m going to put my trust in you, and if that helps you put your trust in me, then we both can at least begin to heal. I wasn’t truthful with you until forced to be. We both have been alive for an era. Though madness took most of my years, and you slept through most of yours we yet remain. I see you as a peer. Others, less so.” His words were in regard to Babette and Ardwen. “I sense that you’re all angry. But you cannot blame me for using an opportunity to be whole again.”

“Actually we can.” Babette insisted. 

“Yet the door remains open.” He replied. “Winterhold may hold answers for you to prove my words wrong or right. As well as time for you to consider my words. I will be waiting here for you, no matter what you choose.” 

“You promise?”

“I promise. If I am discovered or driven from this place, you can find me with a different face, and still in this city. I won’t be leaving until a decision is made.” 

“Why Windhelm?” Babette asked, finally contributing. “Why stay in this wretched place?”

“Because somewhere in this wretched city are my oldest living friends. Being undead, I have few enough friends. Callixto will one die pass and die of old age. But I have fond memories of this place while I was alive. This lucidity is something new to me, and I am going to enjoy it for as long as I can.” Callixto, Mannimarco, or Zurin Actus stood up to go into the back room. 

“Did you lie, about what I asked about?”

He stopped at the interior door. “It is true that Callixto and his partner took the Rose. I never lied to you on that note. And I would never lie when it comes to the threat posed by a Daedric Prince.” He gave Serana a serious look. “Memories are their own currency, in our world. With that amulet you’ll be stealing them from other places, if you aren’t careful.” 

“Serana, let’s go.” Babette spoke up from the door. “I don’t want to hear another word.”

Ardwen was already out in the rain, their cloaks retrieved and the warmth of the atmosphere dashed to pieces. She gave one look back at the creature calling itself Callixto, as the amulet in her cleavage pulsed once. Then, she was out in the rain. Her silk robes were going over her shoulders, and she was still assuming that Callixto was going to try to take back the amulet. As she crossed the threshold the door slowly slid shut via magic. 

“What in the name of-” Ardwen started saying, as Babette grabbed her hand. 

“Not here. It’s not safe to talk about any of that.” She insisted. “We get the potion ingredients and get on the road. We will be able to talk once we are away from Windhelm.” Too many people noticed them, or stared outright at them here. 

“What about the Phial?” Serana spoke carefully. Two beggars and at least five men were watching them. 

“We don’t return it. Yet.” Babette had to be thinking about Callixto’s words about Nerulion’s weak heart. “It wouldn’t be right. But we will say we explored the cavern.” 

“I’ll claim the word wall was a clue.” Serana offered. “I read something about someone named Thoringar.” No more could be said, as they entered the twisting streets of Windhelm. Soldiers trailed them, their captain probably still remembering Serana and her efforts here. She shuddered, thinking about how close she came to having sex back then, before this damned belt was attached to her. Would she have liked that? 

With a snarl of disgust, she decided that no , she would not. It was the work of the rest of the day to load hundreds of pounds of potion ingredients into their wagon. By nightfall, they were able to leave. But the stares between one another were strong, as even Ardwen was fully awake when the sun went down. 

“Let’s start traveling tonight.” She suggested. 

“The horse won’t like walking at night.” Serana brought up. 

“I am not staying in Windhelm tonight.” Babette insisted. “We push the horse, and walk next to it if need be.”

They had to, the ingredients were so heavy. Riding along in the wagon made the horse start sweating. So they all walked along in front of the wagon, a torch in Ardwen’s hands as they moved along the rainy path. Light spells stuck to surfaces and didn’t keep moving with you. On the move torches were better, and Serana couldn’t cast magic. The horse at least followed after Ardwen and her torch without fail, pulling the wagon. 

Once they had passed the stables and an obnoxiously placed imperial patrol, they were finally alone enough that they could talk. Babette used one of her vampiric powers to detect life before she started talking. “No one around us.” She admitted. “Just a few deer huddling for cover nearby”

“Was he really Mannimarco? Or Zurin? Or something else?” Ardwen was still worried. 

“He could control an artifact. He was certainly a Lich.” Serana spoke before Babette. The other vampire was more threatened by these developments. “But we can’t rule out manipulation. Speaking of which, why did you flash him!” 

“We needed a distraction and you’re hot.” Babette pointed out. “He doesn’t look at us with any kind of respect. He’s an ancient Lich and has the hots for you.” She raised an eyebrow, using one hand to shake off rain from her cloak. “Sorry, but not sorry. That kind of strength needed to be overcome with something else, not power.”

Serana brought out the amulet that was fought so hard over. Raindrops splattered against its jade skull, and she felt for the enchantments on it. “It’s the artifact, all right. Resistance to normal weapons, increased intelligence, healing and spell absorption.” 

“I don’t think you should wear it.” Babette started by saying. “It’s dangerous to have a phylactery from either potential person around your neck. Aren’t you worried about possession? Since he already admitted to taking over Callixto.”

“If that actually happened! He might just be lying about all of it!” Ardwen said her piece. “He could be some other lich, not an archetypal historical tyrant!”

“The amulet listened to him. It wouldn’t do that for me. Magical items are complicated. But this was something else. It called out to him. Still does, if you let it.” 

“So we can’t take it off.” Babette grumbled. “You’re distracted, Serana.”

“What kind of statement is that!”

“You’re making mistakes. Or just in a daze.” The breton vampire pointed out. “You should have been able to dispel that magic effect and knock him on his ass! You’re one of the most powerful vampires in existence and you nearly got spanked by a Lich!” 

“But!”

“But nothing!” Babette growled. “You’re not doing us any favors when you’re afraid of your own shadow.” 

“Be nice, Babette!” Ardwen said, regretting it immediately as Babette’s collar tightened. “I mean, I take that back!” 

Serana tucked the amulet back inside of her dress, its warmth feeling better against her skin. “What about the White Phial?”

“Even if that old sack of bones was right, I’m getting a second opinion. I’m not giving back a broken artifact.” Babette stopped walking. “Maybe I should go up to Winterhold on my own. Ask them.” 

Everyone stopped walking. Babette grumbled, her slutty outfit sticking to her thighs. “Only if you get Ardwen to make you promise to obey her before anyone else. We can at least protect you from being taken advantage of.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Babette sighed. “But we can chase two leads at once. I’ll go up to Winterhold and have them examine the Phial. But to repair it we will need powdered dragonbone and snow from a place that only a friend of the dragonborn could access. Along with a way of keeping it frozen.”

“I’d need to get this belt off, but I think I could find a way to do that.” She could, if she could just use magic! 

“Then you go down to Riften and get these potions delivered. I’m going to slip into the night and take the Phial to Winterhold. If they don’t know, I’ll maybe go visit that crazy old Dunmer in Solstheim.” Babette considered her next words carefully. “You should dump that amulet somewhere.”

“So it can make it’s way back to him? No!” She frowned. “I’ll try to settle down more in Riften, until you get back.”

“I’ll send a letter.” Babette promised, grabbing her things. “You both stay safe, okay?” She gave both of them a hug. Serana wasn’t sure if she could trust Babette’s words, but the statements she made were partially correct. She had become afraid to cast magic. She wasn’t as good, just a brute force of a vampire. 

It took five days to get to Riften. The horse needed their help, for much of the uphill journey. Frost had to work hard to get up the last few miles, the poor thing exhausted by it all. More than once they had to stop after only going a mile because Ardwen was also exhausted. A pair of wolves tried to attack them one evening, and Frost sent one of them over a ledge with his hooves. The other met swords, and Serana chose to bribe Frost with extra apples. So far he was the most agreeable and proud horse she had ever known. Even if he didn't trust Serana, he took the apples. 

At the gates, a messenger awaited them. Apparently the other caravans that passed them noticed their arrival and alerted the city. The young man had a dirty face and his outfit looked like he had been dragged through the mud a few times. “Message for Lady Serana?”

“Hello.” She gave a wave back to him. “What have you got for me?” She smiled, letting him see the fangs she was famous for. The man predictable wilted. 

“H-here.” He said shakily as he held out an envelope, sealed with a small circle of wax. “Also, Lady Ingun has a lot of people coming to unload your wagon, including some guards. Please prepare for their arrival!” The messenger boy bolted at that point, making Serana chuckle. The letter was marked with wax but had no seal. Opening it with raw strength, the contents were revealed to be a folded letter from Brynjolf. 

Lass,

I’ve got what’s needed for you, in my room at the Black-Briar Lodge. Sickness was really getting around and the Jarl’s court vacated Riften for a few weeks to avoid getting sick. Unfortunately that means you’ll be introduced to the whole court. No avoiding it now. Come and join us, when you arrive in Riften. It’ll be a hero’s welcome with the potions and ingredients.

Since you have to show up, feel free to shock them. Impress them, yeah? I’m saving you a room in my wing of the lodge. Mercer and I are splitting the west wing. 

By the time she had finished the note, there were three men and women starting to unload her wagon under the careful watch of four guards. “Lady Serana!” Their leader spoke up. “Once the rains stop the architects plan on getting the frames into place! They’ve cut the wood pegs just today!”

Whatever a peg was, she gave a smile for it. “I’m glad to hear it. So once the sun is back full time they’ll be finishing?”

“It’ll be weeks, sadly. Framing the homes goes first, and then they need a good two weeks of dry weather before the thatch can start going in. Though the commander said you opted for shingles.” 

“I did.” Serana wanted to try something that didn’t feel like thatch for once. Shingled roofs sounded so nice! That technology was new since she went to sleep for centuries. She wanted a house with the latest architecture! “Do you know where the Black-briar lodge is? I’ve been invited out there.” 

The guard nodded. “Just follow the curve of the mountains! There, in the distance.” He pointed to a knobby looking peak. “Just under that peak is the lodge.” It was miles and miles to said peaks. “If you follow the main road towards Silgrad and follow the dirt path on the left after the bridge you’ll find it.”

She could see some of the people here already coughing. A wet, heavy sound. “Ardwen!” She waved the woman down, where she was flirting with a merchant. “We’re invited to somewhere!” 

Frost seemed to know exactly where they were going, and deeply appreciated the lighter load of the wagon. Without Babette and her alchemical equipment, and the hundreds and hundreds of pounds of potion ingredients the cart jumped behind Frost. The horse didn’t slow down at all on the way into the hills, his hooves upbeat as he plowed through mud and slick roads to reach this lodge. Frost was huffing loudly as they finally reached the lodge. It was late at night when the horse pulled them through the area, some Riften guards checking them over. 

Their torches were bright enough to capture the exhausted look in Ardwen’s face, and one Nord stepped forward to greet them. “Just like a vampire to turn up in the middle of the night, eh?” 

She didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s not raining, so it must be nice for you.”

“I prefer the rain, actually.” The man countered. “Better than the snow.”

“Strange for a Nord.”

He laughed deeply. “Pa would throw me in the lake when I bothered him too much as a kid. Got used to it, eh?” He motioned to one of the outbuildings. “Your friend can sleep in that building. Only people on the jarl’s list can even enter the lodge. The guard’s families are splitting the building with other staff while Riften recovers.” It was nice to know that the Jarl let the guards take their families out of Riften. Thoughtful, it seemed. 

“She can share my bed, then.”

“Sorry, miss Serana.” The guard insisted. “The Jarl will meet them in the morning and they can be let in then.”

Ardwen put a hand on Serana’s arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll find you in the morning. Or whenever. The woods here look nice to walk in.” The thick woods around this place would have let any lesser person get lost. Her words were more of an indicator to look in the woods if anything went wrong. Serana gave her a warm smile, understanding. 

The lodge itself looked like a hunting lodge with a bit more class to it. Sconces were of high quality, and silver candlesticks held all of the candles. Opulent, she noted. Only a few candles were lit, and one of the guards escorted Serana to one wing of the lodge. Escorting a vampire, they thought they were threatening with their steel weapons. Brynjolf’s suite of rooms was more like a small common room with thin doors leading to bedrooms. The guard left her at the door, eager to leave the vampire alone. 

Snores came from one of the rooms, heavy and deep. But sitting in one of the chairs was someone she had only seen in passing. Mercer. The man had ledgers and journals out, and seemed to be comparing multiple ledgers with a journal he was keeping. “Good evening.” He whispered. “Miss Serana?”

“You must be Thane Mercer Frey.”

He gave a nod. Even though it was late, the man seemed entirely too focused. Serana felt a chill over her skin from his glance. He didn’t look at her with any kind of respect. His eyes were dark, empty of pity or any other emotion. “Call me Mercer, if you’d like.” He was charming, at least. Calm, in the face of a powerful vampire. “Brynjolf gives much credit to you fixing some of the problems we’ve been having crop up.”

“I found some booze and dealt with a vampiric Falmer.” She put her arms on her hips, not at all liking how she was feeling. Something was off about this man, and it felt strong. “That doesn’t seem to be as much as others in the city.”

“Wars have a way of killing off heroes. I’m pushing fifty.” Mercer spoke with emotive inflection that sounded like he respected her. But his eyes never matched the words. They remained impassive. “Riften didn’t have a lot of heroes to give when Stormcloak rose up. Yet they all went. Law-Giver and Oath-Giver went, and all the men I grew up with died or came back a shadow of themselves. So when something needs killing, the city can really only count on a few people to take care of it. Mjoll lost her taste for conflict years ago. I’m no slayer of beasts. Brynjolf was a horse thief who somehow made it big. Sibbi has no one that he can call upon to fight a challenge, and the other Thanes know it. The other Jarls know it.”

“Then,” Serana made a show of taking a breath. “Thank you for the compliment, I guess. I don’t see the weight of it.”

“If Windhelm was free to act on their own, we would see bandits supplied by their forges harassing us. Falkreath is so obsessed with pissing off Markarth that they don’t cause us trouble, and Whiterun was leveled just as we were. We need people who can take a bit of danger and spit on it. Names that carry some value.” Mercer snapped his journal shut, motioning to one of the chairs next to him. “My apologies, I should have offered you a seat before we got into any kind of details.”

She narrowed her eyes. This was calculated. He wanted something from her. But he probably could end any attempts for her to have a life in Riften if she refused outright. She had to hear him out. Heels clicking, she took a seat in the surprisingly comfortable chairs by the fire. “Brynjolf said he had bandit problems last time. Something about farmers refusing to farm.” 

“It’s part of that.” He nodded. “The farmers that did go back, they’re all Dunmer from Silgrad. And with land being up for grabs, dozens of them are showing up with their families to claim it. The Nords and Imperials that lost that land are still trying to claim that they own it, and the records burned in dragonfire.” Mercer brought up. “There is a large clan of Dunmer, controlling an aggressive interest in the alchemical market. The Sarethi, an old Redoran family from the island of Vvardenfell. Famous for their warriors and craftsmen. Not famous for their money.”

“But they will bring in some degree of safety if you settle them.” She pointed out. “Or is this an issue where Nords can’t handle elves taking over large parts of their homeland?”

Mercer closed each ledger one by one, bringing out a cup and some dice. Absentmindedly he played with them, rolling the dice and letting the cup spill them out. No matter how many times he rolled, it came out as snake eyes. No amount of shaking changed it. “It’s a bit of both. But with the records gone all we have are ledgers, which are in conflict. What we need is someone to convince the Sarethi to part with some of their land that they are squatting on. There is an old soldier in the guards right now named Stalleo. He’s got a lot of family in the stormcloaks, detained by the Imperial legion. All of his sons and daughters aren’t coming back for another year. Not till they pay the penance for uprising. But that means their village and old castle have been empty. Stalleo doesn’t want to live there all alone, and his friends here in Riften offered employment. While he was gone, the Sarethi moved in. But without records, Stalleo has hit an impasse.” One ledger was shown to Serana. She didn’t understand all of the numbers, but the totals at the bottom were clear. Sibbi was getting paid quite well for the transactions recorded. 

“These are the Sarethi records?” 

“A copy of them.” Mercer nodded. “Sibbi is a daft twit. He sold out my old friend Stalleo and took away land that has belonged to them since the second era. Being a Thane is a lot of worrying and trouble, and I’m little better than a very educated scribe for the court at this stage of my life. Sure, I can run around and pick pockets, but I have to think about the Jarl’s actions. He has no children to inherit yet, though two women are carrying them. Stalleo doesn’t have gold, else he could just get Sibbi off his back. But if you can impress the Sarethi into compromising and giving back the town they’re occupying, it would go a long way to cooling tensions between the Dunmer and the old farmers. Convince them to stop banditry and get back to planting. We don’t have a lot of time before summer arrives and the food crisis gets worse.”

“Your scary thieves not enough to intimidate them?”

“House Redoran have a lot of pride. Pride enough to challenge a Jarl in combat if they feel they are threatened.” Mercer made the connection clear. “Treva’s Watch is a nord village. Nords will be coming back there in a year. It would mean a lot to I and Brynjolf if you could solve it. This doesn’t require bloodshed, only that you impress the need upon the Sarethi. You’ve got the clout and the fear tactics. If we don’t address this Sibbi is going to call his guards upon the very friends they grew up with. I don’t have to mention how that will end.”

“I’ll think about it.” She promised. “What would I get in return?”

Mercer nodded his head, somewhat tired of something. “Gold I can find. Labor I can find. Miracles I can fabricate. You solve the farmers not working and you’ll have saved everyone’s lives this winter. You do this and a second task I have, well.” He shrugged. “Gonnar is one of my oldest friends. I can have any kind of design restrictions waved for your house. Perhaps even acquire things from the Volkihar that you might want as furniture or souvenirs. Miracles do happen. I know for certain that the ship that carried the treasury from your father’s castle went off course in a storm. It’s lost somewhere along the sea of ghosts.” The offer on the tip of his tongue was implied. Mercer knew people, had connections that she appeared to need. 

“The second job?” Focus. She needed focus. Not to get lost in what could be. 

“There is a skooma dealer in the hold. Not just a few khajit around a pot, but a serious den. Corrupted stuff, though. I don’t know where it is, but the volume they seem to be putting out is something that you could only get if you used large barrel batches. The moon sugar they must be using would be a fortune alone, but I’m after the facility.” Mercer tapped his fingers together, thinking. “We need a meadery once more. But the treatment of the wood for the barrels is a time consuming process. And the only person I can find to make such barrels is a vampire lumberjack near Falkreath. He’s too busy with construction there to even think about mead barrels. So if I can’t buy, I’ll steal them. If you hear about a skooma den or find it, let us know. It could mean mead this autumn if we find them fast enough.”

“If I find such a place, I’ll let you know immediately. You can bring the guards in and clear it out for your needs.” 

“You’re perhaps one of the only people I can trust with this, Serana.” Mercer’s words never reached his eyes. They remained dead. The only emotion he actually showed was when he rolled the dice twice more, both times coming up with a pair of single pips. “I’ll be leaving in the afternoon, to help Gonnar. Rest well.” 

He left the room, as Serana felt a touch lighter. The air felt heavy around Mercer, in a way that made her skin prickle. If she hadn’t met Karliah, she would be freaked out. But the woman was right. Standing up, she got slightly annoyed that the doors had no locks on them. Even though she could probably stay up the rest of the night, Serana took advantage of the fine bed and its fur and linens. Slipping into her silk nightgown, she burrowed beneath the covers and got what sleep she could. 

That was ruined by the sound of her door opening. She didn’t bother with subtlety, flinging back the covers and drawing her glass jinkblade. The semi-transparent nightgown hugged her form, revealing the necromancer’s amulet as well as her entire back and sides. She didn’t dare take off the damned Phylactery. At the door, Brynjolf was staring at her with a grin. “Hello, lass!” He clapped, slipping inside the doorway and shutting the door behind him. Of course, without being invited inside. “A fine morning to you, if I don’t mind saying.”

“I don’t remember inviting you in.” 

“You’re my guest.” He countered, smoothly. “I had to make sure you arrived safely. If I remember correctly, it was I that invited you.” Brynjolf’s eyes roved over her bare skin, the chastity belt barely concealed by the silk. “Is that normally what you sleep in?”

“Out!” Serana barked. “Now!”

The man sighed. “You’re invited to breakfast with the court. Get dressed, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows and slipped out of the door. “You’re my guest, so I found something that might suit you!”

By the time the door shut, Serana was fully awake. She felt exposed, and grateful that she didn’t twist and turn too much in her sleep that a nipple escaped. Sometimes that happened on especially dreamy nights where she dreamt about her Bitch Tamer. Taarie insisted that noblewomen slept in these kinds of things in this era, and Serana wasn’t sure of that. To be fair, she hadn’t seen a lot of noblewomen in such a vulnerable state outside of her mother and Eola. And Eola preferred to sleep in the nude. 

Using her jinkblade, she jammed the door shut. Then she dared to get changed. Today, she told herself was the day. She would be free of that damned belt! She could cast magic once more! That meant wearing as little as could get in Brynjolf’s way when he finally took that belt off. Or perhaps he might find that an invitation? Serana shook her head, her hair waving around her. In her dreams, sometimes it was longer. Did people dream of being different in their dreams sometimes? 

Instead of a corset to hold herself up, she opted for just her thinnest and most opaque breastband. Then she wrapped it eighteen times around, clasping it finally as what little breasts she had looked twice their size. She did her hair, adjusting the mess and combing it, and chose one of the party dresses Taarie had given her. She hadn’t worn them very often. Perhaps a lonely day or Elayne’s wedding. The dress wrapped above and below her breasts enough to barely conceal a breastband. Her navel was exposed, a thin layer of sheer silk covering her midriff down to her hips. Two strong wraps of silk hung on each hip, letting the sheer fabric tease down further before coming together into a skirt with a split along her right thigh. The fabric hung past her knees, letting her stockings speak for themselves. Two elbow gloves with fingers exposed finished the look, everything in a crimson color. The belt was still hidden, and the dress was a level of finery that Elayne would be proud of. Serana was quite proud of it, even. 

Her collar felt a little tight as she stood up, finally ready to greet the day. Outside of the room, Brynjolf was in the common area counting coins. Or maybe playing with them. “Well now!” Brynjolf grins. “You missed breakfast with all the time you took, so I brought it for you!” With a bit of a flourish, the nord held up a dark bottle of wine. “Argonian Bloodwine.”

Serana smiled at that. “You know I came for other reasons, right?”

“Just because we have business doesn’t mean you can’t make a good impression. The Jarl is tired of you not speaking with him.” Brynjolf couldn’t take help but stare at her in this dress. Which Taarie had made by design. “Or rather, his wife wants to have as friends all of the important women in the hold. Control obsessed.” 

“So you think now I should say hello? When you haven’t actually fulfilled your bargain?”

“I think you avoiding the matter is going to ruffle some feathers. I can at least excuse the fact that you missed the morning festivities on you being nocturnal.” Brynjolf sighed. “Also, I think you need to accept the fact that people want to be friends with the thousand year old noblewoman with claims on large parts of Haafingar hold.”

“Claims on a hold?!” Serana blinked. “You mean my parents lands?”

“When your father attacked, he told Elisef via messenger that Solitude and all of the lands from dragonstar to Windhelm were under his personal family claim. That his line would forever claim those lands.” Brynjolf said this plainly, and Serana closed her eyes, already imagining her father saying that on the cusp of victory. Probably preserving those lands for his personal hunting grounds and controlling all of the ports in Skyrim. “Did you not hear about this?”

“I think Elayne may have forgotten to tell me. As you know, I am such a social creature.” Serana finally let herself come and sit with Brynjolf. The chairs were just as good as they were previously, and it felt nice sinking into goose down. “My avoidance of it just makes it worse, doesn’t it.” 

“Absolutely.” He nodded, pouring her a glass. And himself a thimble. It was actually flavorful, a wine that made her body excited. Not the kind of excited that Brynjolf would hope for, but the excitement of almost being a meal. “But while the court of Riften is out here you have the chance to meet all of the people who want to make friends with the scary vampire bitch with deep pockets.”

“Deep pockets, huh?” 

“Not denying the scary vampire bitch?”

Serana laughed, the scent of argonian bloodwine rather thrilling. “No, I actually like that one. But do they expect ostracized vampires to just be rich?”

“You wear jewelry more expensive than most people’s armor,” Brynjolf held up a hand, counting off reasons. “You wear silk of the highest quality from Alinor every day, as well as night.” Well, she couldn’t wear anything else. But no one would believe that on the street. “You also have enchanted weapons and an Aedric artifact on hand.” She couldn’t deny that. “Oh, and when I’ve pickpocketed you it’s always the largest denominations of coinage.”

“When did you pickpocket me?”

Brynjolf cackled. “I pickpocketed the Dragonborn’s wedding rings from a dragon. A dragon . I pickpocketed from you the first night we met.” He refilled her drink, Serana surprised that the wine had gone that quickly. “But lately you’ve been just carrying the big coins.”

“Do you pickpocket everyone you meet?” 

“It’s a respect thing!” Brynjolf insisted. “Sometimes the people that I’m supposed to help won’t accept it. As though I am some kind of criminal!” His laugh felt warm. “So I just slip things into their pockets when I have to. I don’t like it on principal, but being a Thane is hard work.”

“How hard is this to find in Skyrim?” She asked, looking at the cup in her hands. It was almost sating her hunger. Which she had never had the experience before in alcohol outside of her parent’s castle. 

“Difficult. Argonian Bloodwine has grades, just like colovian grape wines. This stuff is higher grade than I usually can find.” Brynjolf pointed out. “But it came highly recommended. I thought it might be a nice gift for someone who was about to be free.”

Serana felt like her throat was constricted by a vice as Brynjolf spilled a few drops of his own wine on the table. Her collar was tightening harder, and she could barely swallow anything. Serana couldn’t remember what she was doing wrong here. She didn’t kill the argonian that gave of their blood for the wine! She was doing nothing wrong! Swallowing slowly, she got more of the delicious liquid down but it was not easy. It got through the tight ring of her collar in fits. 

“Well,” She rasped. “Where are we doing this?”

“Burns, doesn’t it?” He laughed. “Down in the basement I’ve got it all set up. Had to build it in the Jarl’s sex dungeon but he doesn’t go down there this early. We’ve at least got until late afternoon to-”

“Sibbi has a sex dungeon?” She rasped, not able to help but laugh. 

“Something caught in your throat, lass?”

“Don’t need to breath, it’s fine.” 

“I know how slave collars work.” Brynjolf spoke up. “Yours ain’t happy, pressing on you like that.” She would have answered but Brynjolf reached down and wiped off the table with his sleeve, an action that normally would be unobtrusive. But her collar took him doing it as an offense, shocking her lightly. But both of them flinched, hearing the shock magic reach out. Serana reached on hand up, glaring downwards. A single cough was all she could give. There was no way she was breaking any rules! “It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen you, eh? Dragonborn has been over in Haafingar all this time! Apparently she was investigating some dragon thing by Dragonbridge. So there is no way you’ve gotten new orders from her.”

Two weeks? Serana did some quick math, and hissed in annoyance. Two weeks since she got that damned maid outfit. Clenching her thighs together, she grimaced and rasped out some words. “How long to get this off of me?” 

“The belt? It’s got multiple locks on it. Could be a while. And I’ve got enough lockpicks here to get through. Last time didn’t go so well.” He shook his wrist back and forth. “Still recovering a bit, even after a few potions.”

Not something that could wait. “You’ll need to give me some time.” She stood up, skirts gently falling back into position. “I’ll be back.”

She didn’t stamp her feet. But gods above and below she wanted to step on Miraak! That damned order! She had spent so long getting ready that she forgot how long it had been! A week! It frustrated her immensely that just stepping back into her room made the collar loosen. As a test, she reached into her bag and pulled out one of the obnoxious gloves from the maid outfit. The red bow on top of the wrist slid home just as the collar around her neck loosened slightly. “Damn you Miraak!” She muttered. Her heels clicked on the stone floors of the lodge as she stuck her head out of the door. “Brynjolf, you had better not say a word about this.”

The Nord was still at the table, drawing something in his journal. “Oh, I know how to keep a secret.” 

She didn’t want to get shocked by her collar as she got free from the belt! Chewing one fingernail, she debated her chances. The collar was ruthless with her. Trying to transform or use higher powers of being a vampire was a terrible plan. So she was fully aware of it’s intent to increase the suffering if she did not comply. Elayne wasn’t a slave driver, but this collar was made by Shashev Helseth. Designed to contain his world’s Serana. It did so to her with extreme prejudice. 

Serana took her time about getting into the hated maid outfit. The dress hugged every aspect of her form, and she felt annoyed as she latched the shoes on last. The ankle straps snapped tight with a sense of finality, and she fumed as she stood up, jiggling. “I look ridiculous.” 

“I’m certain you don’t!” Brynjolf called from the main room, her door still jammed shut. “I’ve never seen you look bad!”

Glaring at the outfit, Serana reached for a cloak to cover herself with. But the moment she tried to wrap it around herself and her cleavage was hidden the collar shocked her. Hissing, she threw her cloak on the bed and made the sign of Bal towards the hated garment. Not that she could see anything but the giant bow and her cleavage. Opening the door, Brynjolf’s eyebrows climbed as her shoes chimed her entrance. “I look ridiculous!” She insisted, fuming. Her arms folded, not at all comfortable with this. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone like this. 

“You’ve got another absolutely sexy command besides dressing in silk all the time?” He refilled her cup. “Because I like this one.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She would sit down, but the skirt on this was so short that it meant that Brynjolf would have a free look. Not that he wouldn’t have his hands on her later, which brought thoughts she wasn’t prepared to have. 

“Well, let’s talk payment, since you clearly want this over with.” Brynjolf handed her the cup, seemingly understanding her desire to remain standing. The chimes of her shoes brought a smile to his face, and a frown to hers. Though the bloodwine helped her feel slightly better. “I don’t need gold right now. Which is almost a sin for a thief to admit.”

“I’ve got gold.” She insisted. “Lots of large denominations of gold.”

“I would prefer favors. Big ones.” 

“What kind?”

“I’m the one that found a vampire proof bondage frame and built it.” It was his turn to fold his arms. “Used silver and adamantine from Morrowind. It wasn’t easy and it was expensive.”

“Then why do you not want money!”

“Because it would be a shame to only use it once.” He winked. “I want three favors. No questions asked favors.” 

“For taking off my belt?”

“You could hunt skyrim for a key held by a draugr that probably aged to dust?”

Serana didn’t say anything for a bit. Annoyed, she took a few steps to clear her head, but all that did was make her shoes chime loudly. It didn’t help her think straight. “One favor.” She said instead. “How am I supposed to know what these are?!”

“That’s part of the fun!” Brynjolf grinned. “You don’t know.”

“I don’t like that.” 

“Why don’t you tell me why I’m looking at my own personal maid right now, and I’ll see about lowering the amount of favors.”

“Miraak spent more money enchanting this than most sets of armor to punish me for something.” She frowned, not liking the way he stared at her. “I just don’t see a way of avoiding being shocked while you have to take off the belt. It might be better to just not cause you harm if you’re trying to free me.”

“If I break my arm again it’s another favor.”

“I haven’t agreed to any favors!” She fumed. “Unless you agree to stipulations!”

“What kind of stipulations, lass?” 

“Nothing public, and nothing that goes against Elayne’s orders, for starters.” She still needed this belt off, before anything else. “If I am paying one more fine because you stole something,”

“Then you got seen and caught.” Brynjolf smirked. Her feet rose and fell gently, as if to emphasize the bells that chimed every step. There was no ability to be quiet with this! “Perhaps not when you are dressed like that. Though a bit of makeup and you’ll fit right in near Svana.” He laughed, and not in a good way. “How long do you have to wear that, anyways?”

The last person she wanted to admit those details to was him. “A while. But I don’t want to be involved in some theft!”

“One of the favors might be something of an investigation. Something only someone familiar with the daedra might be able to help with.” Brynjolf explained. “But that’s just one. The others I will be very much abusing.” His fingers curled his mustache. “But I can agree to those stipulations.”

“You promise?”

Brynjolf changed his posture, finally dragging his eyes above her cleavage. “Serana, I promise that I won’t make you get in trouble with Elayne, or parade in public on a leash, or something of that nature. The favors I have in mind? They’re the kind of thing that you would normally be afraid of taking under your wing. Or might say no to.” 

“For good reason!”

“But you do need that belt off.” Brynjolf offered once more. “As well as the promise that I’ll help with any other locked objects you have trouble with.”

“Without further favors?” 

“Within reason, if I lose fifty lockpicks and got some broken bones there is a definite chance of needing some compensation.” 

Serana tried to stay still, to think clearly. Though it didn’t help, knowing that he was watching her. “Two favors? So long as one of them is at least this daedra problem.”

“One favor, daedra problem on the side, and you finally stop being frigid with me.” 

“Frigid!”

“Frigid!” Brynjolf responded. “The only signals I seem to understand from you is that you’re interested! Yet every time I get close you rebuff me!” 

“I’m not trying to be a cocktease!” It’s just the way she was forced to dress, oh sure he will believe that when she is dressed like a slutty maid. “I’m complicated and I’m sorry!” 

“That’s still not answering my bloody question!” He ran his hand over his face, as if it would help dispel her from his mind. Or at least she hoped so. “Mara’s tits, are you actually going to follow through on all of this teasing!” 

“Just get this belt off.” She murmured, looking at the floor. She didn’t even know the answer. “I’ve had enough complications from it.”

“I’m not going to be able to sneak you into the basement dungeon if you sound like half the choir.” Brynjolf stood up. “I’ll have to carry you.”

“I am not going to be seen outside like this.”

“Drink a potion of invisibility, then. Or just trust me. I can slip through anywhere without getting seen.” He was taller than her, a bit. In heels she wasn’t too far from his height though. She didn’t want to waste a potion on something like this anyways. 

“I’ll just cast a spell. The belt is going to be punishing me anyways.” Heels clicking, she came over by the door to the rest of the lodge. “Just pick me up and let’s get this over with.” 

“One favor, and daedra problem.” She reminded him.

“What about the cockteasing?!”

“Talk to the collar, not me.” She muttered. “I don’t have a choice on that.”

“Alright then!” The bare skin of her thighs was grabbed, as Brynjolf threw Serana over his shoulder. 

“Hey!” 

“I’ll take what I can get! Cast, damn it.” Her hands shook as she moved through the motions of her familiar illusion magic, casting like she was still an apprentice mage. Most mages didn’t learn how to cast spells when the hands of unfamiliar men were holding them by the thighs, though! She barely cast an invisibility spell, the tight laces of her maid outfit pressing into her stomach. Brynjolf opened the door just as started turning invisible, both of them rather shocked to see Mercer standing there. He got a full view of her poofy red skirts and pale white legs for a second before it all turned invisible, even though it was clear that Brynjolf was holding something female shaped. 

“Have fun.” Mercer smirked. “Two patrols, standard formation. Svana and Sibbi are fucking by the stables. No eyes in the south corridor.”

Serana didn’t dare speak, trying to keep her invisible feet from touching anything. Which meant that Brynjolf’s hands held her by the bottom of her thighs. His hands were warm, and as she bounced along she felt a thrum from her insides. The plugs flared to life as she grit her teeth. “Shh, lass!”

The plugs weren’t giving her much choice, as her legs squirmed trying to escape the vibrations. One of her heels scraped a door, bell chiming helpfully. Brynjolf somehow slipped from hallway to hallway, feet not making noise as she was carried all the way into the basement. She clenched her eyes shut, the vibrations from the plugs and being carried driving the objects deeper inside of her. She missed three turns as Brynjolf moved quickly through the basement, his feet now daring to make more noise. The sounds of other people melted away as a heavy door was opened. It creaked, metal and wood groaning as it was opened. 

The darkened interior room had a plush red color, with cloth drapes on the thick wooden paneled walls. With candlelight spells, the red fabric created a filter over the light, covering everything in a red haze. She wasn’t staying quiet, moaning behind clenched teeth. “Going to wake the whole house, damnit!” 

Serana squealed as she was hoisted back over his shoulders, her ass deposited into a stool gently. Her toes curled, as she felt Brynjolf grab one of her legs. A hard snap was heard next, as that leg stopped moving. Something was snapped onto her ankle, and it felt warm. Or at least the skin felt warmer from it. Her heeled shoe still touched the ground, and she couldn’t quite see what was going on down there. Another snap followed, as something clamped over her knee. And then her thigh! She as standing once more, leaning on Brynjolf for balance. He kicked her other foot further from its partner, until Serana felt completely off balance and her legs were extended a shoulder’s width apart. 

“Wait.” She whispered, the vibrations making her sound needy. But Brynjolf didn’t wait! Another set of metal clamps came over her skin, making both legs simmer with heat. Blinking, she finally could see what she was stuck in. It looked like a doorway, or at least just a doorframe. It was made with metal, and had multiple clamps and clasps attached along its frame. It looked tough, with multiple layers of steel and even dwarven metals keeping the frame strong. The base of it had three layers of metal along the spine, and her legs were already at their comfortable extended limit. 

While she was looking down, she felt one of her arms grabbed. “I paid some crazy blacksmith woman named Sorine Jurard more than two thousand gold to be able to get that belt off of you.” Brynjolf’s mention of the dawnguard made her stiffen up. “So be a dear and relax? I know you don’t mind being restrained.”

“How would you guess that?!”

“You lived in that outfit with Elayne for almost a year.” Brynjolf patted her cheek like it was an achievement. But while she was offended, she felt a wrist clamped high above her head. The metal felt warm, and she tried to put her full strength into escaping. Just to prove that Brynjolf might have wasted his money. She pulled, feeling her dress pull tight against her body as she tried to pull this thing apart. The dwarven parts of the frame dragged downwards, and for a moment it looked like she could bend it! But then the metal snapped back into position, and she was unable to get any further traction. “Works like a charm, eh?” 

“This is enough.” She motioned with her free hand. “Just get this belt off already!”

“I’ve seen you literally turn into bats.” Brynjolf said meaningfully. “If you want that belt off, reach your hand up.” He held out the cuff that it would be snapped into. Damn him, he was making this her choice! The vibrations weren’t helping, and she closed her eyes as she felt every other part of her body restrained. Her nipples were aching to be touched, and the red ruffled silk fabric was all that was keeping them hidden. Shakily, she offered her wrist. There was a sense of finality as it was drawn out all the way, her hands above her head and pulled to the top corners of the metal frame. The lower part of the frame did the same with her feet, but at least the shoes let her feel like she was standing under her own power. “Speaking of turning into bats, Sorine thought about that, too!”

Brynjolf’s hands grabbed the top of her maid outfit and pulled. The ruffled bodice was dragged down until it hit the heavily laced corset section, and Serana felt her blush go all the way down as her breasts were fully revealed. “H-hey!” Glittering between them was the Necromancer’s amulet, which Brynjolf raised a single eyebrow at before moving on. 

Two long chains enchanted with something were grabbed from each side of the frame, and tipped with some kind of clamp. She tried to squirm, seeing Brynjolf line up the clamp with her exposed nipples. The engorged skin wasn’t ready for this! But the frame held her fast, and trying to move away from it just made the frame slide as the dwarven metal took all of her great strength and made it worthless. She would have yelled, but with nowhere to escape the clamp caught up to her. She bit her lip, expecting pain. Instead it was like all of the strain and tension of the moment triggered a release. 

White hot pain came from her skin, and she reacted. She strained, the metal of the frame squealing as she wrenched herself forwards, her teeth snapping just short of Brynjolf’s nose. Or maybe she nicked him, with how fast he jerked back in surprise. “Mara’s Tits!” She scowled, talking about breasts at a time like this. “Forgot you were a vampire for a second, lass. Hang on!” 

“No hang on, get that thing off of-” Brynjolf had quick hands, though. The other clamp snapped onto her free nipple and formed a complete circuit in her system. Some kind of energy was flowing from her into the clamps, and the sparks all over her body followed, Both she and Brynjolf seemed surprised to hear her give a long moan. There was nothing she could do to stop it from coming out, even with how tightly her dress was laced onto her. With a start, she realized that the clamps were slowly draining her magicka. Every instant, it was draining away the only tool she had left as a mage. Not that she could focus together a spell right now anyways. But she needed that for the ability to escape this! 

“Sorine said that those would keep you from turning into bats or other esoteric powers. But since I nearly lost my nose, you’re getting all of the things I thought weren’t necessary.” Three more clamps came out, two to restrain her biceps and bring that accursed warmth. The third went tightly over her torso, clamping around her midsection. 

“Brynjolf!” She hissed. “Just get this belt off now!” Before she came in front of him. But part of her wanted to have that release. To have what she got in her dreams. She was close. Too close. The man hadn’t even opened a lock and she was probably drenched. 

“Last thing, lass.” He promised, grabbing a lever. A metal bar was drawn down from one side of the frame, and then clicked into place just in front of her upper thighs. She didn’t see the purpose of it until Brynjolf started spinning a rotating wheel made from dwemer metal. The entire doorframe bent, slowly ratcheting her body to bend over. Hissing, it kept the tension between wrists and ankles as her face and torso were dragged downwards. Now she was bent over, her breasts hanging in air instead of on her chest. The hated clamps swung back and forth gently with her nipples, draining more of her magic. The dress was lifted up in back, presenting her entire backside to Brynjolf. The stool she had first sat in made noise as it was dragged, and Brynjolf sat down in it. He sighed in relief. “There we go! No chance of losing noses or blood or breaking bones.”

She leaned her head down, not able to look him in the eye. All she could see was his feet, positioned right behind her. “This wasn’t necessary!” This was humiliating! 

“Do you want to be gagged?” Brynjolf threatened. “Because right now it’s just us in here.”

“No.” She didn’t want to lose her ability to speak. Spending a week like that because of a golden saint was demeaning enough. 

“Great!” Brynjolf gave her thighs a pat. “Now, if you scream too loudly I’m going to have to gag you. Just business, lass.” 

“Stop stalling!” 

She knew the moment he began working on a lock. The vibrations took a new turn, and she bit her lip hard to contain the reaction. They were alternating, going faster and then slowing randomly. She couldn’t even twitch her hips, so tightly were her legs kept. Over the vibration he was humming, and both of them flinched as she got shocked by the belt when one of the locks was beaten. “Sorry lass!” He mumbled. “I guess it doesn’t want to come off.”

Serana didn’t dare speak, just promising that she would kill him later. His fingers worked on a second lock, his knuckles against suddenly hot skin of her uppermost thighs. The vibrations and shocks grew, Serana gasping and whimpering as the lock finally unlatched. The stool rotated, and Brynjolf worked on the third and final lock. 

As if the belt felt threatened, it shocked her horribly, and the vibrations reached a fever pitch. Serana let her mouth hang open, not quite screaming as the minutes went on. She was close, as spots were appearing in her vision when the vibrations and slight shock suddenly stopped. It was over. Her hips bucked as the plugs loosened for the first time she could remember. No, they weren’t loosening! Brynjolf had done it!

“Didn’t know you could sing, lass!” Serana tried to respond, but her voice refused to work, as Brynjolf pulled the belt free of her hips. Which dragged out the plugs, prompting her to cry out once more. Still bent over in front of him, her skirts raised so high that she couldn’t conceal a thing if she wanted to Serana whispered a sigh of relief. “Now, I think I need to dispose of this damned thing.” 

“Wait!” She didn’t let him get up. But damn it if she hadn’t spent weeks unable to feel anything but those plugs. 

The sound of metal clattered behind her as Brynjolf stood up from his stool. She could feel his hands on her mercifully bare hips, with him standing right behind her. “You’ve teased me long enough, Serana.” Her name punched through the haze, as she tried to look behind herself but the frame could only let her see his boots standing squarely between her extended heels. “Are you going to keep teasing me?”

“Yes?” She was being honest. “I can’t help it!”

She felt something teasing her entrance. It felt warm, and her entire body clenched in response. For weeks, it had gotten used to something always being inside of her. In places that she normally never touched unless absolutely necessary. But after weeks of getting comfortably stretched by those plugs, her body cried out in the emptiness that followed. Even her ass seemed to miss the plug that sat inside of it. “Then as thane of Riften I’m going to tell you this just once.” That wasn’t his finger! She could feel her own body part ways for him to barely enter her. Not fully, but just enough that she shuddered. “Any time I see you in that outfit? We’re friends with benefits.” 

Every week?! She was ready to curse Miraak, especially once Brynjolf found out. She started speaking, but saw him kick the dropped chastity belt in between her legs, the cursed thing rolling past her. “Favor?” She gasped out, willing her hips to stay perfectly still. A large part of her wanted to just roll back and enjoy herself. Finally feel what Babette and Ardwen found so damn fulfilling. 

“Just one of them.” Brynjolf ran a finger along her ass, tracing the bare curve with his hand. “But if you don’t like that favor, you can always just tell me you’re more open than that.”

She twitched, wanting to yell at him. To take his stupid sexy voice and shove it somewhere it might be appreciated, or perhaps where all of the other women in his life seemed to find use for it! But as she twitched, all that she succeeded in doing was pushing herself backwards a single inch. But it was enough. She gasped as the Nord behind her went from just teasing to being partially inside of her. The first since Molag Bal. “N-no!” She wasn’t ready for this! Who could ever be!

“Your tongue says no but your body screams otherwise.” She felt a pair of his fingers run along her thighs, the skin slick. Slick from her own body. “This is your last change, lass.” His hands stopped exploring, fitting comfortably on the sensitive skin of her backside. “Speak now or enjoy every benefit of what our partnership can be.” 

All she had to do was pull her hips backwards and it would be over for her. She would be just like Ardwen and Babette. She shuddered, the restraints not letting her run away from it this time. She wanted this. Gods above and below, she wanted it. But every part of her mind was reminded of that horrible night with Molag Bal. All she had to do was open her mouth, and the decision was made. But she felt frozen. Warm from where everything was touching her, but frozen in her mind. 

Biting her lip, she hung her head and wondered what she could possibly decide.

Chapter Text

When Serana had gone into Coldharbour all those years ago, she was given only a couple of things from her mother. A pair of sensible boots and the white dress of a virginal sacrifice. Valerica had forsook anything else. Potions and remedies were applied to Serana heavily, and she was certain her hair was growing from all of the regenerative properties of those potions. 

Still, it had hurt. Hurt enough that she never wanted anything to touch her body ever again. Vampires didn’t marry to produce heirs, after all. The only thing that mattered to Harkon was her blood’s ability to confer the gift of Vampirism. The daedric prince could be as tall or small as he wanted in his domain, and for Serana he chose to be somewhere over ten feet tall. His dick was similarly proportioned, and the little she chose to remember of that were that it hurt her. Perhaps it was barbed somewhere, but Serana remembered her entire world almost breaking apart from the first moment they copulated. Molag Bal spared nothing in his conquering. Her body, her magic and her soul all were torn under his ministrations.

Here she was again, with a dick teasing her. Promising that she was going to get torn into pieces all over again. She wanted it! But her undead heart was terrified that it would be as bad as Coldharbour, or worse; Serana worried that she was ruined forever. That she couldn’t feel anything when someone touched her there. Which didn’t make sense, considering the belt she wore for weeks. It had teased her mercilessly, and only now did she realize it was making her more sensitive to contact, and not less! 

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a whimper. For the first time in a thousand years there was something that wasn’t familiar. A new experience! She let herself inch backwards slightly, as it felt like her entire lower half was admitting Brynjolf in. Nerves that had been tortured for a month finally screamed their delight, and Serana lewdly moaned to the entire dungeon. Sucking in air wasn’t necessary, but it made what was inside feel larger. 

“Good girl.” Brynjolf intoned, placing a hand on her lower back. “I’ll start slow, since you seem a bit tender-hearted.” 

Tender hearted?! She was a gods-damned vampire! Her heart was hardened from centuries of slaughter and worship of Molag Bal! Spikes of magic tried to run through her at that, but the clips on her nipples just drained anything she tried to muster. Twitching, she looked down between her hanging breasts to see where Brynjolf was standing. His legs weren’t even close to touching hers! There was still so much space between them! “I-” He waited for her to speak before slapping her ass, the shock of the blow moving her forwards. Her entire body clenched up, before the bondage frame dragged her back. Back yet another inch over Brynjolf, and expelled all of the air from her body in another involuntary gasp. 

“But since you’re a vampire, I know you need a bit more encouragement.” He was leaning over her back, whispering that into her ear. He couldn’t see her red cheeks, but she felt when he grabbed her by the hips and pressed into the thin fabric of the maid outfit with his hands. It felt like her entire world came down to her love canal, as every other nerve in her body went silent. Her eyes crossed, and her body clenched around the intruding presence. Yet she was so damn wet that it just made it feel even better. 

Molag Bal had felt like her entire body was being torn in half. She had bled for more than one reason that night. This? Brynjolf was forceful, but not tearing her apart. He had her restrained in so many ways that she could go limp and it only disturbed things slightly. He moved slowly, taking almost a minute to carefully move forwards. Until his hips met the pillows of her ass. “Gods.” She gasped. “Gods!” 

Her entire body started a spark, as her thighs clenched together. It felt like shocks were running through her, as her vision dimmed for a moment. But pure comfort thundered from her loins throughout her body. This must be what Babette and Ardwen craved. This feeling of being comforted from within. She slumped, gasping and letting her eyes rest on the floor. “You just came from being spanked once.” Brynjolf chuckled. “Gods, you’re easy.”

Easy? Easy! “No!” She tried to turn her head, to give him a piece of her mind. But she felt so delightful. Her muscles didn’t want to flex at all. And he was still very much inside of her. “I’m not!” 

She felt her asscheeks slapped once more, as the sharp spike of feeling made her gasp. Her eyes crossed again, as her body rippled forwards and back on its axis. “Hang on, lass. This has been a long time coming. I’m going to take out every inch of frustration you’ve caused me. Maybe you’ll like it.” 

She felt her lips tremble. More of this? She didn’t have the chance to respond, as Brynjolf began moving. First, he drew back, and her legs tried to come together, to stop him from leaving. But the bondage frame kept her still as he started moving back and forth. It was good, better than good. Her body again lost feeling, as the only thing that continued to matter was Brynjolf. She couldn’t even make more than the most animalistic of noises, as he began hammering her. Literally hammering! His hips would slam forward, and drive her into the bondage frame. The metal springs in it would allow her to slide for a second, before her body would be dragged back down onto his cock. 

She couldn’t escape. There was nothing she could do to avoid the cascade of feelings and experiences. But deep inside of her mind? She could feel the stain of her night with Molag Bal lessened. What was happening right now was almost purifying her of that pain. A little bit, as she groaned at the continued treatment. 

Brynjolf started breathing hard, driving her even harder into the frame. She squirmed, trying to find some way of expressing the tension building. Her muscles were coiling, as something deep inside of her built. She couldn’t run from it! Organs inside of her body that had long since gone silent or frozen with becoming a vampire were coming alive, and they pulsed. Her vision was dimming, but it didn’t feel like she was going to pass out. Small stars swirled in her vision, and she blinked. They remained, even as she tried to blink it away. 

Brynjolf hammered her even harder, the entire frame shuddering as she pulled against it along with him. No matter their strength the frame held, and she got railed. Her ears caught the sound of a potion being uncorked, as Brynjolf squeezed her lower back for stability. “That’s for later.” He laughed, slowing for a moment. “Gods, you’re finally getting warm! Slick as a river but only welcoming for a Nord!” 

“Gah!” How was she supposed to say anything! Her guts were responding for the first time in centuries and she was a complete lush! 

“I can feel you clenching around me! Mara’s tits, it’s amazing!” Brynjolf slowed, reaching down with the cork from the potion. “But I’m close. I don’t know how many times you’ve come, but this should be good. Probably been with thirty men with how easy you are.” 

Her lips trembled, wanting to challenge him. To say anything that wasn’t some lewd moan or worse. Part of her wanted to beg. To beg Brynjolf for more! She was much too proud for that. Or so she thought. The cork was dragged up her leg, and into the hot pot of moisture that was between her legs. He was still inside of her! There is only a sliver of room between them, yet his hands squirmed the small piece of wood up there. Two fingers drew her inner folds further apart, and the wooden cork slipped up until it pressed against a bundle of nerves so densely located she gave a small cry. It turned into a whimper when he let her body pull taut over the cork, her entire being on edge. It was too much! If this tension broke, she wasn’t sure she would survive!

“Come for me, lass. We’re just getting started!” The cork twisted, the wood swirling over her being. But it was enough. It threw her over the edge as all of the emotions she had been holding exploded. It felt like a wave, pulsating from deep within her. Every time the wave washed over a part of her she grew excited and then numb. Her eyes crossed completely, the stars becoming brighter until her vision was just filled with sparkling lights. She could hardly tell the wall and its bondage rack from the giggling mass of stars in her sight. 

Brynjolf rode her for minutes, but she had no idea when he came. She only knew the bondage frame stopped moving, swaying long after her body went numb. There was no way she could walk this off. SO she just slumped in the mess, barely responding to the spanking and railing she continued to receive. In between states of consciousness, all she could think of was how nice this was compared to Molag Bal. There wasn’t even a barb in the penis! Why did she wait so long to experience this! Why deny herself? More importantly, why was Brynjolf so damn good at this?! 

She might have passed out. But she blinked as someone slapped her face. It wasn’t hard, but a gentle tapping of fingers upon cheek. She blinked, still seeing stars. Brynjolf was right in front of her, bemusedly drinking a mead. “Lass?” He asked with a darker tone. “I was beginning to worry when you stopped breathing.”

“Vampires don’t need to survive on that.” Her voice sounded hoarse. Straining, she could feel her arms and legs still bound. “Why?” She asked, not even trying to pronounce the rest of the sentence. “Why am I still restrained?” It took far too long to say that. Stars were still in her vision when she tried to look up at Brynjolf. 

“I had you twice.” The Nord said, pleased. “But you’ve been a cocktease for months. While I’ve got you like this, I’m going to enjoy it. Because I’m going to enjoy you again and again.” 

“You’ve had your fun!” She focused, annoyed that she had to lift her entire torso to look up at him. Her breasts still had the clamps upon them, restricting the use of her magic and powers. “But you got that belt off! We’ve finished the need for these restraints!” 

“I’ll give you a choice, lass.” He pointed past her, towards something. Her head twisted to follow, his finger pointing at a wheel that could rotate on the side of the bondage frame. It would have to be twisted to let her be permitted to go back into a standing position instead of being bent over like cattle. When she turned her head back, Brynjolf was now standing. Her entire field of vision was blocked by veiny skin, with a slick surface. Fluids coated it, and she widened her eyes when she understood. Brynjolf had stood up while she turned her head! Now he was standing just in front of her, facing perpendicular. Meaning that all she could see was recently used Nord dick. It was just past the bridge of her nose, the ambient warmth teasing her cold skin. “Either you be a good maid and clean up, or I can keep going and see if you wake up before the Jarl gets back here with his evening playtoy.”

More sex?! She couldn’t see past it! If he fucked her again, she would probably pass out. She would be ruined. The Jarl would meet her wearing a maid outfit and restrained in a bondage frame! Her cheeks heated at the thought of the humiliation. Yet her nose was filling with the smell. The smell of both of them mixing, really. It was overpowering, with her eyes only seeing his prick. He was keeping it right at the eye level, so she couldn’t even see past it if she wanted to! If she moved her head at all, she would touch it! Or brush it with her hair! “Brynjolf!” 

“That’s Thane Brynjolf, maid.” She took a longer sniff, worried. He wanted her to clean him off? That was vile! It was wrong! She couldn’t even use her hands! Her mind caught up, as he planted a hand on the left side of her ass. “Any biting and I will take it out of your hide.”

He wanted her to clean him like this? The damned thief! She squirmed, as the bondage frame kept her firmly in place. But she shuddered at the thought of getting hammered into Oblivion further. “This isn’t what we agreed to, Brynjolf!” 

“That was before I found out that you were a total slut.” He wasn’t moving his cock from right before her eyes. “I didn’t even have to touch you, you were about to cum. You’ve teased me for months, now it’s time to pay the fine.” His voice carried a weight to it. “Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t had worse in your mouth. Vampires are filthy creatures, after all.”

“Brynjolf!” The smell was overwhelming. “I won’t!” 

From his bag, he withdrew the bottle of Argonian Bloodwine. He dribbled it over his length, making a mess. Not that he wasn’t a mess already! “You’re this close to meeting the Jarl after I’ve had my way with you.”

Brynjolf would leave her compromised! He would leave her restrained and exposed to meet him! She still had hundreds of steps before this maid outfit would even come off, and she opened her mouth to consider complaining further! She hated to admit it, but the bloodwine made everything smell slightly better to her. There had been worse things in her mouth before. That much was true. But if she did this, she felt like she was embracing something that she had refused for so long. “Just because you got that belt off, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t think I’ll ever do this for you again.”

She couldn’t see his face, but the cock in front of her twitched. Gods, she felt heat rising from her in shame. She was a priestess of Molag Bal! She was beyond the scale of a normal mortal! Her eyes burned with fury as she brought out her tongue, and ran it along the underside of Brynjolf. She hated herself for even doing it. She hated it more that the taste of blood and viscera was pleasant. She could taste the wine, a familiar thing today. There was something a bit salty, and then another taste that was purely sweet. She could watch as the thing dominating her vision moved ever so slightly with every movement of her tongue. 

This was the most power she had been given since getting onto this bondage frame! The power to lick something? She could feel humiliated. Reduced to a piece of meat for Brynjolf to take advantage of! Worst of all, she could taste how much she liked it. Her body got off on its treatment! She’d dreamt about it for months, with how much she was missing the Bitch Tamer. So, she closed her eyes. It was easier to stomach all of this when she wasn’t looking. 

It probably didn’t take very long, but it felt like it dragged on forever before she ran into the tip of the penis. Her tongue was covered in the mixture, and time and again she drew it back into her mouth to clear it. Three times she swallowed the mixture, before she reached the tip. Good. She was done! Done! 

Brynjolf didn’t agree, sliding himself inside her unprepared mouth. She loudly protested, but the Nord grabbed her ear. “No teeth, you hear me? You’ve got plenty to clean.” 

He took a few steps, as the tip of the thing in her mouth slowly followed the motion. She was keeping her teeth together, even as one cheek was pushed outwards. His hands reached down and twisted both of her nipples, making her entire body squirm. His hands kept exploring, twisting and pulling freely. “I could just pull out and just make more of a mess somewhere else.” His face was far above her, and she didn’t dare open her eyes or look up. He would do it, too. She shuddered, hating herself. Hating how good all of this felt. 

Gently, she relaxed her teeth. Brynjolf didn’t wait long, sliding to fill her mouth the moment she relaxed. The mixture of fluids was getting all over her lips, even as the smell and taste overwhelmed her. Brynjolf kept pressing, and they both groaned for different reasons as her throat relaxed. After her night with Molag Bal, Serana lost any kind of gag reflex. He made her choke on his blood and viscera that night. There was no panic as he pushed into her throat. She didn’t need to breath. That didn’t mean this didn’t make her feel things, though! 

It was warm, and the knowledge of something filled with blood so close to her made her crave it. But she was a pure vampire. If she bit him at all? She would be lucky to walk through Riften without a gag for the foreseeable future. Or worse. But that didn’t mean she had to help him along. Glaring up at him, she sat there and did nothing. She didn’t need to breathe, and didn’t suck on the prick. She didn’t need to. Brynjolf waited, slowly moving back and forth but never leaving her mouth. “If you’re going to be difficult, huh?” He said darkly. “I guess I’ll make it worth my while.”

Brynjolf went deep. Deep enough that Serana’ nose was buried in hair! She panicked slightly, as the bondage frame gave slightly, preventing her from moving her head or moving back. There was no escape from this pressure! Looking up, she could see Brynjolf popping a potion. It was a black bottle, and he grinned as he chugged it. She could see the magic affect him, as the prick in her mouth pulsed. 

She screamed around it, even as Brynjolf came. He got pale, and dark lines drew themselves on his skin. Blood was pooling, and Serana could feel some kind of magic moving. She felt shock when the magic fired, and all of the contents of Brynjolf began flowing down her throat. She couldn’t move her head! The frame kept her from pulling back, and all of her limbs strained for nothing. The metal squeezed, squeaked and then popped back into place keeping her fully restrained. 

But it didn’t stop after thirty seconds. It was still coming! She screamed again, even as Brynjolf grabbed hold of her braided hair for stability. He could barely stand. For almost a minute, magic fueled a reaction that slowly began filling her stomach, a liquid heat that she couldn’t deal with! It was fueling her with magic, but the clips on her nipples happily drained it all, but left behind the pulsating organ still pumping into her throat. 

She wasn’t sure when it ended, but it did. Brynjolf was shakily breathing, wheezing as he recovered. Slowly, ever so slowly he withdrew from her throat, but gave himself a soak in her mouth until he was completely limp. “Gods!” He whispered. “That potion really takes it out of you!”

“What,” She coughed, tastes in her mouth reminiscent of magic and sex overpowering. “What the fuck, Brynjolf!”

“Sheogorath’s Gift.” He laughed. “A cocktease like you deserved it.”

Her stomach felt full! She had only consumed blood for the last centuries, and her body had become refined to it! She coughed, trying to get her long-destroyed gag reflex to work. She wanted this out of her, damnit! She wasn’t supposed to have anything else inside of her! Squirming, she realized she had never heard of that before. But any benefits for her were being slowly drained away by the clips on her nipples.  Brynjolf could see her trying to cough and get rid of it, and he shakily walked over to the side of the bondage frame. “No!” 

“Yes!” He laughed, twisting the wheel. Her body was dragged back into a standing position, her breasts bouncing and any further attempts to void her stomach ruined. “No escaping it that easily!” 

“When I get out of here,” She started to threaten, as Brynjolf gave her a look. 

“What are you going to do, huh?” He joked. With one hand, the Nord held up the chastity belt that had caused her so much trouble. “You should thank me, your thane, for helping you. And for showing you affection.” Brynjolf was having way too much fun with this! 

The moment drew on, as he adjusted her maid outfit to cover her ass. He left her breasts hanging out, of course. But the hated belt could be reapplied with all the pomp and circumstance of a refused compliment. “Thank you, Brynjolf.” The words felt like betrayal, but the rest of her body reverberated with meaning. She couldn’t deny that he took care of her. And filled her stomach with something that felt like a churning ball of disgust. 

He grinned. “ Thane Brynjolf.”

She growled, a sound that would have been threatening if she wasn’t filled with his spunk. “Thank you, Thane Brynjolf.”

“I hope you are just as appreciative the next time, hmm?” He mused, before grabbing some of the restraints. 

“I’m not getting into this thing ever again, Brynjolf!” She muttered. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’m not going to kill you for this.”

“Oh, Serana.” He grinned. “You’re here all week!” He clapped his hands, only releasing the restraints upon her legs. “And you’re a well fucked lady right now. You can’t kill a man when he was only doing his job. But while you’re going to be a cockteasing little maid, just know that it’ll cost you. You bite or threaten any of the court here and your position becomes tenuous.” 

“But I can’t help it!” Her legs were shaking, damnit! She tried to put weight on them, but her body didn’t want to cooperate! 

“You can’t help what?” Brynjolf leaned around the bondage frame, leaving her hands tied up. His face leered at her. He wanted her to say it. While she was restrained. 

“I can’t help being a cocktease!” She bit her lip, humiliated. 

Brynjolf slid the stool in the room over to her, setting her still tingling ass upon the seat as he released both of her arms. Serana honestly tried to stand, but all she could feel were numb limbs and a stomach that hadn’t been forced to work in too long. The very last thing attached to her were the clasps on her nipples. Brynjolf took great care in removing them, being almost tender. “If you can’t help being a cocktease, then your good friend Brynjolf can’t help treating you like one. And he won’t get in trouble for doing it.”

“You’re punishing me for the commands I have to follow?”

“I’m a thief, not a city guard.” He chuckled. “I’m selfishly taking advantage of your situation. And if you refuse me, I could twist this into a blackmail fetish.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” She glowered. But she was free. Free of the belt! She could cast magic once more! “Of course you’re into that.” 

“That’s a very fast way of getting my attention.” Brynjolf chuckled. “Now, let’s talk about another proposition! Since you’re in such a good bargaining position.” 

The clamps were gone, and her body felt like it could recover magic. She squirmed on the seat, feeling almost sore. But that was a mortal pain. “No more deals! No more favors!” She hissed. 

“Alright. You can make it back to our rooms on your own.” He chuckled. “Have fun, Serana. I’ll let the Jarl know you are coming to court this afternoon. That enough time to figure yourself out?”

He dodged her half-hearted ice spike. Her legs were still shaking, and her body was in shock from whatever was in her stomach. It had magical properties, and it made her cringe. It felt alien, to have all of these organs acting up after so long without a problem. She slipped past the patrols, using a muffle spell to keep the bells on her shoes down. She was able to pace in her room and use her magic to do any cleaning or laundry for her things, and somehow got the maid outfit off after only an hour and a half of pacing. Brynjolf didn’t dare bother her, and Mercer only gave her one raised eyebrow. 

Somehow, she made it to the afternoon. Wearing one of her nicer silk dresses and freshly laundered, Serana felt almost ready to handle the world. Yet parts of her were awake now that she could not silence. Nor could the feeling of her stomach stop affecting her.

It took hours for her to get used to it. The feeling was something that was only humiliating for her. No one else knew, except for Brynjolf with his secret smug looks. But this was a court full of Nords. Even after an era or two, Serana could handle a court of Nords. The language had changed slightly. Cyrodil had replaced Windhelm and Solitude as the center of fashion and culture. 

When she was introduced to the court, Brynjolf tried to associate with her as best he could. Still sour from what he did, she kept herself a bit separate. Sibbi’s wife had a hand on his inner thigh the entire time she was introduced, and his attention wavered. All good, in her opinion. Sibbi was intimidated that such a powerful vampire was here in his court, and had no idea how to treat her. Especially when she inferred that she visited the court in Riften and Windhelm back in the second era. 

She could handle the small talk. But two conversations she really needed to put effort in. The first happened the very first day she was introduced. The thanes of Riften were by and large a greedy and viscous lot, barring one excellent woman. Her name was Mjoll. She had a large number of scars on her body, but her blonde hair was a standard to be held to. 

Mjoll didn’t mind wearing some armor around the court. She wore bicep length armored greaves, the ancient nordic steel reinforced with some kind of enchantments. Her thigh high ancient nordic steel boots had heels, but those enchantments definitely were from the second era. Enchantments meant to give the wearer waterwalking. In snow, mud or any kind of slick surface she would have sureness of step. The rest of her outfit was completely demeaning. A halter top and a miniskirt were her preferred outfit at court. A dwemer cog hung from a piercing at her navel, clearly enchanted. 

“I’ve wanted to meet you for some time.” Mjoll spoke, offering her arm to clasp. Her grip was strong, as was the pair of warhammers on her back. “You did good at Shor’s Stone. Hunting down that Falmer was something I don’t think many of us could have succeeded in. Not to mention your efforts against Alduin.”

“Thank you.” Serana offered, smiling. It was more than the empty platitudes of the rest of the court. 

“Oh no.” Her grip was fierce. “You deserve the thanks. More than the layabouts who profess to be Thanes but just move little pieces on the map and think they’re doing work.”

“I heard that you were fixing the bridge at Ivarstead?” 

“Aye!” Mjoll grinned. “Can’t fix High Hrothgar until it’s repaired. Mortar stones and keystones for the archways are setting this week. I’d say by midsummer we will have it back to full functionality. Not that anyone is even on the throat of the world right now. But as Nords, someone is going to make that climb. We owe it to our children to rebuild.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Spent time in the legion. I’m fascinated with projects like that. Though I’m better with a blade or hammer. Though I had some bad luck last year. Got this little trinket,” She nudged her belly with the dwemer cog hanging from it. “Cursed now, haven’t figured out how to remove it.”

“I’m not a terrible mage.” Serana offered. “I can take a look at some point. Have you been up to Winterhold about it yet?”

“Aerin won’t let me leave the hold. My husband, the worrywort.” She laughed, a golden sound. “He thinks I’m too vulnerable in stormcloak held lands.”

“Isn’t the legion occupying Windhelm?”

“The city, sure.” She nodded. “But there isn’t a lot of trust. The outlying villages still have their sons and daughters taken by the war. Whether by death or by the Empire putting them to work. Winterhold isn’t garrisoned and I would need to pass through it to reach the mages college. Aerin thinks I would get in trouble going up there.”

“I’ve only been a few times.” She admitted. “But I’ve got my own profile problems. Elayne won’t let me wear armor. I get in trouble if I’m too threatening.”

Mjoll laughed again, smirking. “You should spend more time with Brynjolf if you want to get better at appearing non-threatening. He’s a snake in a field of sheep.” She lost all of her smiles when Mercer walked by. “Then there is that man.” Serana finally was getting somewhere, perhaps. Karliah had bad things to say about him too, yet the man appeared perfectly calm and reasonable. But she had known enough like him over the years. 

“What did he do to you?”

“Mercer Frey is one of the only men that can scare me,” Mjoll admitted. “I can’t feel safe around him. I don’t know if he will ever do anything, but the one time I beat up some of his thieves in the open he showed up at my house that night. Broke four of my ribs. Told me that I would wake up in a den full of Falmer if I ever tried to hurt his people without catching them in the act.” 

“He broke into your house?”

“Aerin never woke up. Never even noticed. We had a unique dwemer lock on our house, too! But he got in anyways. So I can’t trust him. I can’t risk it.” She glanced at Sibbi, who was speaking animatedly with Mercer about something. “But he has friends in all the right places. I can’t do anything about his guild when he’s literally hosting the court.”

“He’s been a big player in Riften for a while?”

“Twenty years at least.” She nodded. “He’s getting old, now. But I think he’s gay. I’ve never seen him touch any of the women that are offered. Not even flirt with them. He’s only got coin on his mind.”

Or Karliah. Serana didn’t know what more she could find on him. “I might have to have dealings with him.” She said carefully. “Is there any way you can write down anything you know about Mercer? I’d really appreciate being forewarned.”

“You make sure I stop being called Thane Wetnurse and we can make a deal.” She grumbled. 

“Wetnurse?”

“The curse I have. If I cover up for too long I become a bit like a cow. Mercer likes to make fun of it. But you seem to like showing off what you’ve got.”

Brynjolf was nearby. Just a few feet away grabbing drinks. “Guilty as charged, going by what I have to follow for orders.” She let her eyes linger along Mjoll’s bare waist. “Can’t hide the cog?”

“If I do it gets worse before it gets better.” Mjoll nodded. “Can’t hide your anything?” 

Her dress was backless. “I have to wear silk. It makes adventuring kind of expensive.” She motioned to her left hand, where a candlelight spell perked up. “Being a mage helps some.”

“I think I would die a swift death under the same circumstances.” Mjoll leaned forwards and made to give Serana a hug. Not very many people hugged her! Serana let her do it, feeling only the churning of her gut as Mjoll’s armor touched her. “I know you’re probably in a difficult position. If you ever need someone at your back, call upon me.” When Mjoll pulled back, she no longer whispered. “We should adventure together some time! It would bring me comfort to work together with one of the heroes that fought Alduin.” Serana wasn’t Elayne who could make friends at the drop of a skirt, but that felt like someone was trying to reach out. 

“Of course. You’ll hear from me, Mjoll.” The woman grinned wider when Serana didn’t call her Thane. The people of court treated her as a dangerous creature. The men would leer, but if they got close would make small talk and then avoid her. The women would come with empty platitudes and compliments on her appearance. Ingun wasn’t here, so there was no one to talk alchemy with. The court mage was scatterbrained and clearly had too much skooma in her formative years. Nothing else could explain her miscasting restoration magic and transmuting instead. She was fun to talk to only for the panic she would have afterwards. But Brynjolf politely asked her to leave the vampire-traumatized court wizard alone so that she could do her job in peace. Which took away someone to talk about magic with. 

She barely needed to sleep, so she went to the main chamber of the lodge to read. There were books here. Anything to keep her mind from the still buzzing feeling between her legs. It took hours to recognize, but she did realize that her body wasn’t ruined. She wasn’t about to be torn apart by Molag Bal. Whatever shreds of pleasure she felt so long ago were washed over by the pain of becoming a pure vampire. Only a virgin could survive the process. 

The freedom to not wear anything under her dress was nice. Comforting. She did small spells whenever she had the time all day. At first, her thighs would clench together and she would almost flinch, flexing in worry that she was about to be punished. But she couldn’t let the belt beat her, even when it was gone. The glow of her candlelight spell was the only source of light this late at night, and another round of 2920 was a pleasant distraction. 

Someone in heels was walking along the corridor, and Serana glanced at the window. It was past midnight. Raising an eyebrow, she could see a sealskin cloak and a shock of red hair. It was Svana, the Jarl’s wife. She was slipping down the corridor, walking a bit bowlegged and holding a candle up. There were a pair of guards patrolling but they didn’t go near Serana. Svana noticed her and blinked, her and and the candlelight spell the only things that could draw the eye. 

“Lady Volkihar.” She whispered, eyes wide. Serana smiled. Sibbi’s rooms were the opposite direction from where Svana was coming from. A curious thing to see. 

“Lady Black-briar.” Serana didn’t care that her voice carried. “I wasn’t aware you were one of the people that needed so little sleep.”

She stepped forwards, the evidence of her affair on her bare legs. “We should talk.” She tried to walk with grace, but stumbled into the chair across from Serana. Inside that cloak, Serana could see her wearing only a thin transparent nightgown. Silk, like her own outfit. It was askew, and it looked like Svana hadn’t had time to correct anything. Which meant that her affair was just around the corner. There weren’t any bedrooms there, so that meant a midnight rendezvous. 

“We should.” Serana couldn’t help but smile. A vampire smiling in the middle of the night was always a way to make people sweat. “I don’t need the spell to see. Vampires can see plenty without it.”

“But you can’t be bothered to clean up after yourselves downstairs.” She scoffed. Serana felt her stomach churn further at the thought of someone knowing. “When Brynjolf brought in that monstrous piece of equipment I thought he was being crazy. But if that’s what it takes for you to get off, I don’t think I want to know.” She sounded like she was in charge. Used to having power over others. As she articulated with her hands Serana could see her small pair of breasts peak out. “Wine all over the floor! At least call upon the servants to clean up after yourselves!”

“I was a little restrained.” Serana admitted. A bit of heat flared at the thought of the bondage frame. “I’m not sure what to think about it.”

“The sex? Or Brynjolf?” She asked, relaxing. “Because it seems as though neither of us wants to have certain details escape.”

“This lodge feels more like a pleasure house than a manor.” Serana brought up first. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen until it happened. For me, sex isn’t that important.”

“Not that important?” Svana was fully awake, now. “It’s critical to what defines us as women! And after this war? We need babies. Lots and lots of them. As for your comments on the lodge, well.” She waved away something with her hand. “I specifically chose all of the women here for Sibbi’s sake. My husband is many things, but jealousy is a problem. So all of the women here are idiots. Pretty little things that could never threaten his ego. Playthings for him to hopefully father whelps on so that the family can have many branches. Riften lost most of its nobility. I’m only barely noble. My family hadn’t been important for hundreds of years, but we were still on the books. We have a barrow. Not a very nice one, but our family did have it. I don’t have time to waste for distractions or women outside of the carefully crafted experience I’ve made for Sibbi.” 

“Which is why you went to have a tryst?” 

“I’m not in the fertile parts of my cycle.” She admitted, annoyed. “But I still have needs while my husband spends time with those he should.”

Serana decided to shock the poor woman. But this frankness wasn’t something that she was used to. Svana was almost treating her as an equal. Or an ally. But they had never spoken before. “The last time I had sex was,” She made a show of counting. “Probably centuries.” She knew exactly how long it had been. Her thighs clenched once thinking about how different today was. 

“You’re immortal and you don’t even?” Svana seemed shocked. “Well, I don’t have to worry about you making designs on Sibbi.” 

“No.” Serana promised. “All I want is to have my bookstore and start a new life.”

“At least you’re keeping Brynjolf busy.” Svana shrugged. “I’ve never seen a bookstore before. It sounds rather unnecessary compared to a pawnbroker or fishmonger.”

“The revenue it brings Riften would represent something good. Most bookstores are frequented by mages and alchemists looking for information. Researchers, scholars and adventurers.” She smiled. “The one in Windhelm brings in thousands of drakes every month.”

“Paper is worth that much? I’ve been trying to convince a proper clothier to move to Riften but haven’t had any luck. Worries about theft, I was told.” She scoffed. “You think you could turn such a profit?”

“Not immediately. But I’m immortal. There will be people who come to ask questions or seek knowledge. Better that I am in a city and accessible for that. The business I build will represent an investment that will last longer than your lifetime.”

Svana considered that. “It’s better than a fishmonger.” She admitted. “But I’ll need to see proof.”

“If I can afford to wear silk every day, perhaps that is proof enough.”

“You’re also an immortal vampire who doesn’t need to eat, drink, or worry about getting old or fat.” Svana complained bitterly. “What do you spend your money on, anyways? I know you’re some kind of adventurer or mercenary. Or so the court believes.”

“Honestly?” Svana wasn’t a terrible person. Serana felt like she was just scary when anyone threatened Sibbi. Probably why Brynjolf was worried about her. “I spend most of my money on potion ingredients so I don’t have to drink blood from anyone, silk, and repairs for the gear I use. Otherwise, I buy a lot of books.”

Svana thought about that, as she recast her Candlelight spell. They both kept mostly quiet as the patrol walked by, Svana fiddling with the hem of her nightgown as they waited for privacy once more. “Why Riften? You could easily have made your bookstore in Whiterun or even Solitude. Your family’s lands are close to the area, even.”

“I’ve given up those claims.” Serana said. “I have no mortal descendants to inherit them, and vampires don’t make good monarchs. We lose the connection with the people we govern after a while. It’s hard, when the only people you can speak freely with are the ones you trust. As a vampire, trust isn’t something granted often. The older we get, the more of a caricature of ourselves we become. It’s worse when that vampire is a monarch or controls territory. After a few centuries, the reasons you became a monarch or leader are washed away in the blood of those you have brought down to keep a status quo that no one alive understands anymore.”

“Gods, that’s depressing.” Svana muttered. “But from that I take it you have some degree of respect for mere mortals.”

“I chose Riften because my family had nothing to do with it. Windhelm, Whiterun and Solitude are all too close to memories I would care to forget. Markarth is complicated and far from the trade routes I want. Falkreath was too small and also too close to things I wanted to avoid. Dawnstar and Winterhold were also not viable for the same reasons.” 

“Then perhaps while we keep each other’s secrets, I can ask you for a favor.” 

“What kind?”

“Sibbi has a fiance from before the war.” She said, her voice a whisper. “There is a chance that she has survived.”

Svana couldn’t have her position compromised. “She’s of a greater noble house, isn’t she.” 

Svana’s nose flared. “It’s a problem. But Brynjolf has been less than cooperative and Mercer complains that their people are already at task. Mjoll would never understand what a threat this is, or the problems we face with Windhelm. The girl’s family are powerful there, and I can’t risk further conflict. If you help me, I’ll guarantee your bookstore has my blessing and Sibbi will ignore you and your bosmer servant girl.” Svana motioned towards the window. “The overly pretty one.”

“What happens if I find her?” Serana considered. 

“You’re no hero like Mjoll would have everyone believe.” Svana leaned forwards, a small piece of jewelry glittering in the night where her sealskin cloak opened wide enough for her breasts to show. One pierced nipple had the symbol of Riften made in silver hanging from it. “That damn cow is useful, I will admit. But I think you’re less of a moral person.”

“Is this because I’m a vampire?”

“This is because you’re a selfish immortal bitch. Books? Silk dresses? In a century I hope this city can afford to dress like you. But right now you just seem like that rich bitch from Solitude.” That part was closer to the truth than Serana would have liked. “I control the women of the court. I’m quite sad it’s taken us this long to meet, since you seem so capable.” 

Serana nodded, but a pulse of magic came from her stomach. Her gut churned once more, as she felt the spunk from Brynjolf still throwing off waves of magic. One hand went to her waist, the distinct discomfort of whatever it was doing sitting poorly with her. But the magic seemed to move with her, making her body think it was back on the bondage frame for a moment. She coughed, trying to feel different. 

“A favorite of his.” She chuckled. “Sheogorath’s Gift.” 

She didn’t like Svana knowing about that. “What does that even do?”

“Makes everything in the bedroom go for longer. And for hours afterwards makes the experience come back. It shouldn’t last this long, though.” She mused. “He must have had a concentrated dose.” 

“Or it works differently on a vampire.” 

“Hmm.” She reached into the pocket of her robes, grabbing a vial with a blood red mixture within. “I normally save this for nights where I’m already exhausted and sore. But this should help.” Svana offered it. “Sanguine’s Kiss.”

Serana had never heard of either of these alchemical concoctions. “Where did you get this?”

“Someone who used to supply Forsworn men with potions to help them keep it up with Hagravens.” Svana’s cheeks colored at the thought of those creatures. “Apparently they keep those urges.”

“This explains so much about Briarhearts.”

“Are those the men who wear the headdresses?”

“Their hearts are replaced by ritually treated bulbs from a briar bush that are connected to Oblivion. Technically it’s necromancy.”

She shuddered. “That’s creepy. Now, drink up. It’ll help. That ‘gift’ likes to twist and turn on you. Sanguine’s Kiss makes everything a turn on. As well as helps with being able to handle hard to swallow truths.” 

Serana could feel the potency of the potion. “I’d like to know how this was made.” 

“Be a pleasant friend to me while court is in session and I’ll introduce you.” They were at court! Her supplier had to be here. Someone Serana hadn’t met. “I’m actually quite pleased we had this chat, Lady Volkihar.”

“Please,” She said, standing up. There was no way she was going to drink this out here. “Call me Serana.” 

“Likewise.” Svana whispered, picking up her candle and heading for the hallway. Both of their heels were the only noises in the night as they returned to their rooms. Serana noticed the light out in both Brynjolf and Mercer’s chambers, and once inside of hers she cast a lock spell on the door. Away went her book, and under her pillow went her jinkblade. The contents of her stomach still roiled, not going anywhere. But the magic in it pulsed, conjuring phantom feelings of her time that morning. 

Only when she was sitting down on her bed in her own silk nightgown did she feel comfortable prodding the potion. The quiet of the night was enough that the phantom feelings couldn’t be ignored. Serana had sex today. She liked it. She felt used and abused, but the problem she had was that it excited her. Being restrained while it happened made it better, not worse. 

“If I want this to go away, this will help.” She grumbled quietly. “If I don’t do this, my stomach could be like this for days.” Days of churning and phantom feelings of being fucked. Serana knew that was the descriptor for it. One man had reduced her to his personal sex doll and she hated how much she liked it. 

Grimacing, she drank the potion. It didn’t seem to do anything, for the first few seconds. A tingling in her fingers started first. Almost drunken. Her toes and feet arched as feeling flowed through them. It was like fire, but not an incinerating feeling. Nor was it going away! It flowed along her skin slowly, getting more intense when it reached anything touched by silk. It tickled, and Serana took a deep breath as her neck and throat became warm. She had to bite down into one of the pillows when it moved onto her torso. Everything was on fire, and it was as bad as when she was restrained! 

But she was stronger than any potion or desire! Or so she thought. The potion got to her stomach, and she finally felt blessed relief. Something bubbled, and she could feel some of Brynjolf’s ‘gift’ to her transmute itself. Turn into blood. It was transmuting everything into food! But in the most pleasurable way possible. Heaving, she hated how pleasant it felt. How much she wanted to just scream and make noise! But if Brynjolf heard her, he would assume the worst. She couldn’t let the man know he was affecting her this way! 

Slowly, she could feel everything changing. The feelings of disgust were shifting to joy as somehow this was transmuting food for her. She wouldn’t need a blood potion for this week! Rolling on the bed, she tried to stay comfortable but found it impossible. So she turned her glare to the potion she received. At the bottom of the glass she could see pink shards. Familiar pink shards. The same texture as those crystallized petals that she had found. This was really from Sanguine. That feeling took away some resistance, as she bit her lip. 

A Daedric prince was changing a difficult situation into one where she could feed without hurting anyone. One of her hands crept lower, as Serana tried to survive this experience. Her only real consolation was that the belt was finally gone. She was free! Though, that night she certainly wavered between states of being. Her dreams were different, that night. She felt like something was watching her, and of eyes in the dark.

Chapter Text

The morning after her talk with Svana, everything changed. Svana had Serana sit at her right hand seat, and she was involved in more inane conversations. But a palpable shift had happened. The court knew she was favored, or at least liked enough by Svana to be involved. It provided an unintended shield from the one who had invited her to this event. Brynjolf tried to talk to her at multiple points that day, and she remained next to Svana. A degree of protection. Eventually he stopped trying and just passed a note under her locked and jammed door along with a potion. Her spare sword was shoved through the gap between the door and the frame, not letting it come back. Apparently a thief can get through a door locked by magic. How? She didn’t know but Brynjolf and Mercer seemed to take delight in undoing her lock spells. Not even to unlock her door or get inside, but just the act of getting rid of it!

So she finally gave the man attention. He at least wasn’t leering at her when she was spending time with Svana. The note was sealed with the barest fold, not even sealed with wax. 

Lass,

I very much enjoyed yesterday, and I think you did as well. I couldn’t find you last night, and this morning you seemed to be in the she-bitch’s clutches. I hope you didn’t find her bed more inviting than mine after everything. The potion here is for you. I know a few things about alchemy, though combining different plants is beyond me. But here are some things I do know. Vampires and certain potions are affected differently than most people. That first potion we shared? Sheogorath’s Gift? It’s more potent the longer it stays in someone. I found out with an old flame that in vampires it’s not quite the same. Normally, the magic goes from one person to another and then to another as their bodies go with the normal flow. For vampires, that doesn’t happen and it just sits there. Waiting to be used. 

She about wadded up the note right there. She knew exactly how that felt! And the magic had kept getting worse! “Insufferable ass.” Frustrated, she kept reading. 

No thief worth their fingers would have an amazing night like that without an appropriate follow up. That potion that came with this? It’s a rare thing called Sanguine’s Kiss. Normal people take that and everything becomes very sexy very fast. But if a vampire takes it, it makes anything from other people be accepted by the vampire’s body. No need to thank me, you don’t have to eat for a couple of months. If you’ve been holding in all of that magic this far? You probably won’t have to eat anyone for a while. 

If you need me, I’ll be around.

The same potion that Svana had! Brynjolf had the same supplier! She glared at the door, a burst of feeling coming from her body at the thought of going back to him. Part of her wanted to. But most of her did not. 

So she went and looked for someone that could make sense of it all. Wrapping a cloak around herself, she slipped past patrols of guards and out into the sunset. While most people were having dinner, she turned into a cloud of bats and slipped out of the manor to go look for Ardwen. She found her, talking animatedly with some of the men working the manor. Serana stepped out from the treeline, and Ardwen perked up. She said some goodbyes to the men she was speaking with, and bound over to the edge of the forest. 

“How’s the food?” She joked. 

“Stale and airheaded.” The only food in that house a vampire could snack on were the vapid women surrounding Sibbi and the airheaded guards. 

“Yesterday was your maid day, so I figured you weren’t going to come out.”

“Maid day?” She frowned, finding a thicket of branches around a fallen tree to talk to her friend. A safe place. “It’s not inaccurate.” 

“You save all of your chores for then.” Ardwen smiled cheekily. “Did you get your belt off, finally?”

“Yes.” It felt good to say that. “It’s gone.”

Ardwen gave her a hug, sitting next to her on the log. “We did it! You’re free of it! Gods, I think I would go insane if I had something like that on me.”

“Not being able to cast magic was making me lose my mind.” She admitted. “Everything else I have mixed feelings on.”

“If I couldn’t be with a man at least once a month I think I would go mad.” Ardwen said, laughing. “Some women crave it a lot more than that, but I’m fairly patient.”

“Svana, the Jarl’s wife.” Serana started by saying. “She’s someone who probably would die if she had that belt on for a month. She’s a creature of habit.”

“Weren’t you trying to avoid her?”

“We have dirt on each other now. Things that neither of us want to spread around.”

“How can she possibly have anything on you?” Ardwen took a deep breath, enjoying the mountain air. “You’re a centuries old vampire who's a hero.”

“Brynjolf and I had sex yesterday.” She said, trying to not sound worried. Or ashamed. “And only she and you know.”

“You actually,” Ardwen twisted her tongue, eyes racing along Serana’s legs. “How? When?”

“When he got the belt off.” Better to not say that she was bound and restrained at the time. Though with her friend it felt like something that she could actually share. They hadn’t talked about Serana’s calm enjoyment of bondage. Ardwen hadn’t talked about the way she would gag herself without complaint and Serana hadn’t shared that. “It was unexpected.”

“How was it?”

Serana squirmed, folding one thigh over the other. Perhaps she should wear something under her skirts if she was going to talk about it. It was just Ardwen here. She could trust her! She had to put some trust in her. “To be clear,” She said first. “The only other time I have had any kind of sex was in the second era. And it wasn’t nice or happy.”

“Serana.” Ardwen leaned her head back, exasperated. “Is this why you didn’t want to join that threesome? Because you were afraid?”

“No!” Yes. So very yes. But the ancient vampire shouldn’t be afraid of anything! Or some mortal who made her knees shudder at the thought of him doing it again. “But I am not very driven by it.” 

“You act like you’re afraid of it.” Ardwen called her out. “Was Brynjolf mean?”

“He was himself.” A thief. A selfish man. “But,” She had to shift her thighs again, not quite comfortable on the log. The silk stockings she wore out of habit pulled on skin that had been scraped by his fingernails. “I liked it.” 

Ardwen looked like she wanted to say things, and would open her mouth for a moment before closing it. This lasted a half minute before the woman sighed. “You’re not someone used to talking about this, I have to remember. Literally a thousand years between sex. I’ve met a Lich with more sex drive than that.”

“It’s not a bad thing.” Serana reasoned. “I had a lot of time to learn about other arts. Not to mention sex was a vehicle for vampirism. If you aren’t careful.”

“Was Brynjolf careful?” 

“He took what he wanted while he had me restrained, Ardwen!” She growled. “Called me a cocktease,”

“You totally are.”

“Ugh! Not you too!” 

“Serana, you don’t have a single outfit that doesn’t scream sex appeal.” Ardwen pointed out. “Most people think you’re probably sleeping with all of the important men. Though I very much believe you when you say this was your first time in a while.”

She still felt confused about it all. Ardwen was someone that actually knew more about this than others, and wouldn’t judge her for asking. “Do you mind if I ask you some very,” She swallowed, feeling awkward. “Very personal questions?”

“Only if you let me ask as many to you.” Ardwen said, serious. “You know most of my secrets. I don’t know all of yours.”

It was a fair exchange, but her lips soured once at the thought of it all. “Alright. But if you ask about certain things I’ll only give you simple answers. Some things are meant to be buried with the eras.”

“Ask your questions, Serana. I’m not afraid.” Ardwen mentioned, as a light rain began to fall around them. Serana cast a small spell to keep the rain from them, sighing in relief. “Okay, it’s nice to have you back to your magical self.”

Serana took a few moments to think about all of the questions that were taboo. Everything that had been on her mind since yesterday. “How do you characterize good or bad experiences with sex?” She carefully constructed that question, not wanting to be rude. “My parents only gave me the most rudimentary explanation.”

“How rudimentary?”

“Horker tusks and sea urchins.” 

Ardwen snorted. A full on snort. “Since you’re not a virgin I don’t have to explain much to you. And so recently, too!” She clapped her hands, as Serana rolled her eyes. “How did he get the belt off of you, anyways? Didn’t you break his wrist last time?”

“Actually, that part he did right.” She grumbled, feeling her body warm up thinking about it. “He had some kind of really strong door frame with cuffs that held my body tightly. I couldn’t even bite him! It kept every inch of me tied down!” Ardwen was paying very close attention to her. Patiently. “It could rotate back and forth,” She leaned her body forwards and backwards. “And it could drain magic from people.”

“That seems like a lot of things for one device.” Ardwen muttered. “I mean, the most I’ve been put through was some dwemer ruin and a sphere. It only held my legs and wrists. We got out eventually. Some mistake that we were even caught in the first place.” Ardwen took a moment. “So once the belt was off, did he just go after you? Like a man starved?”

“No.” Serana admitted. “He made it my decision. Like I could say no. But he was asking when he was already touching me!”

Ardwen wanted the whole story. Serana gave it to her. All the ways Brynjolf used her. Though Ardwen looked like she was envious when Serana talked about not having a gag reflex. Or being comfortable with whatever he did to her throat. She hated the feeling of being used, but that didn’t mean she hated the experience. Worse, Ardwen admitted that most of the time she had sex she had very little pleasure in it. Both women had a moment of contemplation when Serana admitted that she felt completely fulfilled. Passing out from it all? She couldn’t even deny it. 

“That belt teased you for weeks, right?” Ardwen asked after she had gone over everything. “Had you on edge?”

“Yes.” She admitted. “It fought like a bitch when it got removed.”

“Then there is only one thing to do, Serana.” Ardwen spoke up, wiggling her eyebrows. “You’re going to do it again.”

“With Brynjolf?!” 

“Not unless you think you want to see if he can get you to the canopies and the rain again.” The Bosmer chuckled. “No, if you want to understand sex, you have to have more of it. You find someone that makes you feel interested, and then use your magic to make them do what you want. Skip the whole flirting and interrogation thing.”

Serana laughed. It was just like Ardwen to think about things like that. “But what if I don’t like it? Or if I don’t need it for another century?”

Ardwen leaned into her shoulder, still in a good mood. “A woman that isn’t interested wouldn’t wear a dress that tight or short without anything under it. Stop dressing like a slut and I’ll believe you aren’t looking for that kind of attention.”

“You know why!” She grumbled. “I don’t mean to dress like this!”

“Serana.” One of her fingers plucked at the strap revealed holding up her stockings. “Frigid bitches wear underwear. You just seem like you’ve gotten used to being a tease. Embrace it already.”

“I’ll consider it.” It felt good to have a frank conversation. “Why do you think I should try other people?”

“Sometimes feeling good from sex comes from the people you have it with. All mental.” She tapped her forehead. “Other times you feel like an animal that just wants to get thrown on her back and treated like a tool. Mortals were given that gift so that we would at least have children. Or not hate the experience. Or else the Altmer would disappear in a hundred years.”

Serana thought that was hilarious. “Or they turn their tastes to Nedes and breed themselves out anyways.”

“Nedes?” Ardwen blinked. “Who?”

Serana blinked. “Oh, sorry. That’s what we called the humans that lived in between high rock and dragonstar back in the second era. The Direnni would sire children from them enough that they invented the Breton race with their affairs and frivolity.” Though no altmer would dress like Serana did back then. Just more ways the world had changed. 

“Old soul.” She mocked gently. “My turn for an awkward question, since now I know you’re into being tied up. Why did Shashev worry so much about you? In the other world, you were like some prized possession of his. But every time anyone saw you, it was imprisoned in this crazy outfit. But it seemed important. Like, she was led around on a leash in every court.” 

“I’m not a normal vampire.” Serana whispered, not sure she should talk about this. “I didn’t become one normally.”

“Not with a nibble? Or a threeway, as Babette called it?”

“Vampires don’t do that!” Serana insisted. “We’re likely to claw out the other’s eyes instead.” She huffed. “Most of the time vampires come from different bloodlines. These bloodlines go back to vampires created directly by Molag Bal.” 

Ardwen stopped looking so jovial. “Sorry to bring that up, then.” 

“You deserve to know.” She was her friend! “It’s not a nice process. If you survive meeting Molag Bal, and you sacrifice enough people he gives you his gift.” 

“Not a curse?”

“Gift.” Serana insisted. “Call vampirism a curse and I would cause Molag Bal to shame my entire bloodline. I’m kind of like a priestess for him.”

“You could summon him?”

“Yes.” Her body clenched at the thought. She had always known she could do it, but it would take great sacrifice on someone’s part. “It would have to be under special circumstances. If you ask for him without the right preparations, he sends Dremora and Xyvilai to punish you instead.”

“Like that one you summoned.” 

She nodded, stiffly. “I have never done it.”

“Sounds expensive.” Ardwen changed the subject. “Speaking of money, we are going to run out if we keep hanging around Riften. I’ve gotten swindled by guards too good at gambling and my lips aren’t enough to handle too many more days at this manor.”

“I’ve got a task for us. Something that will help keep the peace. Pay for us if we can help some Dunmer settlers and their dispute.”

“Ooh, Dunmer! They’re into some weird fetishes.” 

“Ardwen!” She hushed. “I don’t need that kind of encouragement!”

At the end of the week, Serana left in the middle of the night. Near sundown. She would rather travel through the night with Ardwen than risk getting caught in a maid dress by Brynjolf once more. She wore it and walked it off next to the cart until she could get out of the mess. The bells attracted foxes, deer and the attention of a passing pair of hunters. They wisely chose not to laugh at the woman holding a glass blade. Even if the bow at her waist felt larger than ever and obnoxious in the light of day.

For the next week they went around Riften hold, looking for things on their list of jobs. The fiance of Sibbi that she was told to look for was named Svidi Stone-Fist. A relative of Galmar Stone-Fist’s family up in Windhelm. Little wonder Svana wanted her quietly dealt with. All they were able to find out was that she could sing, and had beautiful dark hair. There was little luck there. 

The skooma den that Mercer wanted found was much easier to track down. They would have gone right in to investigate, but Serana was having bad luck and it came upon the day she had to dress up in her maid outfit again. The man they followed to this den went in for hours. Hours that Serana was compelled by her damn collar to fold and organize her entire satchel. She spilled it while getting dressed and her collar forced her to clean and organize the entire thing! Laundry lines were set up, and she went into her normal mode of cleaning and alchemy. Though she still hadn’t needed a blood potion. She was getting a good stock of them built up! She even hummed a little bit as she was hanging up clothes to dry. 

Though Serana blinked as she noticed a pair of long socks that weren’t hers up on the laundry line. There was a hill overlooking the skooma den, and Ardwen was on lookout duty while Serana had to do her chores. “Ardwen!” She called. “Are these your socks?” The bells on her heels loudly announced her approach as Ardwen didn’t reply immediately. Serana annoyed herself by noticing a different tone of the bell. She had missed a chance to get this off. “Ardwen!”

“Shh.” She whispered, pointing down at the skooma den. Two people were wandering out of it, unstable and shaky. Not the normal unstable that came from walking off a bender, but something else. “That can’t be normal Skooma. That guy has blood on his shirt. Ever heard of skooma making someone vomit blood?”

“Mercer said it was tainted.” Serana muttered. “Did you put some of your socks in my bag?” 

Ardwen twisted to look at Serana easier. “Call it a hunch, but I think your collar doesn’t know how to identify ownership. It just likes you doing things.”

“Are you saying you can trick it?”

Ardwen tipped out her bag, letting two of her dresses tumble out onto the grass. Her nice ones! “Oh yes I can. What’s your collar think about that, Princess?”

Serana hated the fact that it was growing tighter. It couldn’t tell the difference between whose laundry needed to be done! “Pick them up, Ardwen.” She wasn’t the only one who could get around the collar. 

“Oh, I think I can stand a dirt stain or two. Can you, Princess?” The way she said Princess today was a bit mocking. But Ardwen really liked when Serana wore her maid outfit. She liked touching it, especially the giant silk bows. 

Serana hissed as she bent over, picking up the two dresses and noticing that Ardwen hadn’t been cleaning them properly anyways! Her glare was delivered as she bent over, Necromancer’s amulet almost tumbling from her bodice. But the collar was ruthless! “Your dresses are filthy!” It looked like she hadn’t taken good care of them! 

“What do you expect? I don’t know the magic to make silk and velvet shine, and my clothes iron isn’t high quality.” Ardwen grinned. “I’ve been wondering if your maid days worked like this.”

“Worked how!” She fumed, the collar no longer angry once her clothes were in Serana’s arms. 

“Where you treated me like your lady, Princess .” Ardwen looked pleased with herself. “Plus, I know you can cast magic again so I don’t feel guilty for adding to the pile.” 

“I’m not everybody’s maid!” Bells tinkled from her angry stepping. 

“It doesn’t look like that from my angle. It almost looks like you enjoy it. If you’d let me, I would show you some deeper appreciation.” Serana felt Ardwen’s hand run along her thigh down to a scarlet bowed stocking top. 

“Ardwen!” She jumped back, feeling a tingle run up her skin. She didn’t know if the woman was joking or not. She hoped she was joking. Serana didn’t know how she would feel about it otherwise. But frustratingly those dresses looked fantastic after she was done. They went up on the laundry line with everything else, and the colors were more outstanding. Her magic literally did well. 

But Serana squirmed. Why did she cave so fast to doing Ardwen’s chores? She had even tried to be less of a tease today and wear panties. She still wanted to kill Miraak for this. When she stomped back over to Ardwen, she was ready to yell at her, too. But she was focused on the building they were staking out. 

It was impossible to be perfectly quiet, but she knelt down next to her friend. “What’s going on?”

“Someone is taking a body out of the place.” Down below, out the back door there was a pair of men dragging a body. It was stiff and unmoving, in that familiar way. They were putting it into a handcart, and shook hands with a different person wearing the robes of Arkay. But the robes were poorly maintained, and Serana couldn’t see an amulet of Arkay displayed. The hems looked slightly burnt. 

“That’s not a priest of Arkay.” Serana whispered. “He’s probably a necromancer masquerading as one.”

“Why would you say that? He’s just a Dunmer.” 

“A dunmer that worships Aedra?” Serana might be a couple of eras old, but her distrust for Dunmer and Altmer never truly went away. “We should follow him and investigate the body while he’s distracted.” 

“Well maybe you should get your outfit off!” Ardwen chuckled. “I could always drop my armor on the ground and see what the collar thinks of it.”

“No!” Serana took a couple of steps back from the edge, and balanced on one foot she heard the chime of a different tone. “Wait, Ardwen, help!” Or else she would have to wait another 500 steps!

The Bosmer rolled her eyes, and within minutes they were off chasing the fake priest of Arkay. He was heading through the woods, not even following a road. He knew exactly where he was going. By nightfall, he settled into a tiny little alcove between stones and slept under the handcart. But a vampire in the night was worth an entire patrol of guards. This man most certainly was doing something illegal or wrong. The body wasn’t even prepared correctly. Then again, most vampires learned the rites of Arkay just so they knew when to disrupt them. 

She was able to approach and throw a sleep spell at the sleeping Dunmer. While he rested, she examined the corpse. It was pale, and its limbs were broken. Deep marks on the arms showed that they fought hard before dying. Or tried to resist. The neck had a deep slash in it, yet she couldn’t see much of a bloodstain. Hardly any blood at all. With the tip of her dagger, she pushed the damaged flap of skin aside. She frowned, seeing two holes from teeth. A vampire killed this man. The sleeping man she didn’t do much investigating. His bag had a few simple potions, and a spare robe. His dagger was elven, but she left it alone. She wasn’t a thief. She would leave no trace.

When she ghosted back to Ardwen, The Bosmer was waiting for her. A wolf was sullenly ignoring Ardwen, and she cackled in laughter when Serana had to deal with the angry creature. She got wolf blood on her gloves! Sighing, she gave the woman a glare. 

“I didn’t want to fight them at night.” She admitted to using her racial power. “They were so scary!” 

“Wait.” It had friends! Friends that took her sword a few swings to deal with. Now her dress was clawed up, and the surly pair retreated back towards their laundry. “The body was killed by a vampire. So that skooma den just got a bit more important.”

“You don’t want to get blamed for other vampires hunting?”

“We’re going inside.” She insisted. “If their facilities can be converted for making mead, it’s going to make Riften rather happy. The honey and berries they use here make the best mead, or so they say. It’s good money if we do it.”

“What about the people working here?”

“Let’s grab one and ask some questions. Most are probably looking for easy money.” Both of them collected their now-dry clothes, before coming back to the top of the hill. There was a lone woman wearing hide armor cutting firewood out behind the building. “You want to grab her, or should I?” 

“You’d know if she were a thrall or not.” Ardwen said. “I’ll get some ropes ready.” 

The poor woman wasn’t a thrall, nor was she strong of will. This place was called Redwater Den. Skooma addicts came for the skooma and they had some kind of deal with Khajit suppliers for moon sugar. But the entire staff were ex-Stormcloaks. Deserters who were avoiding the Imperial Legion. A dozen battle-hardened men and women who were all working for an Imperial alchemist and an Imperial Mage. 

Serana decided not to kill them all. She did them one better. She told the woman that she was Serana, the hero who fought against Alduin. She would give the deserters a few minutes to get their things and leave, or else she would come for them. Strangely, the Nord wasn’t afraid of her vampiric features. They knew they were working for one. But a fear spell helped her along! 

Within four minutes, a dozen men and women came tumbling out of the den, a grizzled old man leading them. He gave a salute with his steel warhammer to Serana, whispered something about Ulfric and disappeared into the night. The den was empty but for two trembling creatures that once were men or mer. Skooma had broken them. Both were shivering, pale and weak. And both sported injuries to the neck. “Ardwen.” She whispered. “They just drained them.”

“Another vampire.” Two vampires came out from cover, both wielding glass weapons. One held a large warhammer in one hand, while the other used a short blade. “We did not expect your company.” They hadn’t raised spells yet. 

“Who exactly are you?”

“I am of Cyrodil, by the name of Venarus. My compatriot is my only fledgling. We desire no quarrel.” He seemed straightforward, for a vampire. Impressive. But she also remembered that Cyrodillic vampires had powers to improve their speechcraft. Only temporarily. But if she were of that bloodline she would be using those gifts too.  

“A skooma den?” She sniffed, the smell intense. “Your grand idea?”

“This is so much more than any simple skooma operation!” The man scoffed. “Skooma is just a vehicle. The redwater makes the addicts more sick, but the adverse affects are so much more valuable when you drink from them!” He pointed to some of the less wretched souls in the corner. “Have a sample and tell me what your bloodline’s reaction is. Us Cyrodillics increase our powers and need less blood to survive. Not to mention our features are almost human, drinking this.” 

“Red water?” She raised an eyebrow. 

“The Bloodstone!” He raved, eyes more than a little manic. “I can’t use it the way the ancients claimed it could be, but if you add its water to a mortal, it makes their blood so much more potent, and require far less! They don’t even notice while they are in their own minds, and just think it was a skooma crash. I can support an entire coven, once I figure out how to get the bloodstone to function correctly!” 

“Back in the second era,” Both vampires stood a bit straighter. Serana was using her old accent. The one that made old vampires reconsider their life. “The Bloodstone represented one of the places where Molag Bal tried to take over the mortal realm. Some of his realm was left behind. What you are seeking is a piece of Coldharbour. It doesn’t listen to anyone, unless you have the mechanism to control it.” 

Both vampires looked at each other, a thousand words passing between their eyes. “Ancient.” They decided to start there. “How may we learn of this?”

“No need.” She smiled. “There was a chalice, another artifact of that era. It is what you need. Though I think it got ransacked when Castle Volkihar fell. Either the Companions or some pawnbroker in Solitude has it.” Both of the vampires stood there, not sure what to do. “I don’t want to kill you, honestly. I just don’t want more bodies with vampire bites being blamed on me.”

“I told you that man isn’t good enough at hiding a body!”

“Shut up!”

Ardwen had just kept quiet the entire time. So Serana kept talking. It helped that she was wearing a silk dress and appeared to be so put together. “I’m asking you to leave this place. The Jarl is bringing their soldiers to take over this part of the hold. Though,” She took a deep breath. “They will take what they think they can use and then likely move on. Come back in a year or two and the bloodstone will still be here. But Skyrim is a dangerous place for any vampire right now. Come back when things calm down, and there will be better ways to hide your existence.” 

“This has been my life, Ancient one.” He looked pissed. “I cannot just turn my back on a century of effort!”

“My name is Serana Volkihar.” She spoke, letting the shadows begin bleeding from her long gloves. “When I speak, you either listen or you will be broken under my heel.” 

“But!”

“I’m not asking you to give up on an obsession!” She yelled, her voice carrying. “I understand that better than most! I’m not going to kill you, nor am I turning you in! I’m actually kind of hopeful you figure out a way to not kill as many mortals with this project! Stomach your pride for a year and go find the Bloodstone Chalice. Bring it to me and I’ll bless the damn thing if I must.”

“Bless it, who does she think she is, Master?” The younger vampire said. 

“She is a priestess of Molag Bal.” Venarua insisted. “You’ve given me a choice, Ancient. I don’t like my options, but I will accept your terms. I’ll even share with you the value and research, once I have had time to sort it out.” 

“We’re leaving?!”

“Gather your things! Don’t talk back to the vampire that fought Alduin!” The pair pushed into the back rooms, and came back soon after. Both vampires were packed for a journey, and ignored the groaning men on the ground. “Where shall we find you?” Venarus asked, standing at the threshold. He looked pained, leaving what was his. 

“I own a bookstore in Riften. Don’t make trouble for me and I won’t have reason to disturb you.” 

He laughed at the mention of a bookstore. “Alright. I don’t like it, but I won’t challenge the voice of Molag Bal. Nor do we seek violence against you and your court.” All vampires assumed someone as old as her had a court. “We offer this gift, as form of thanks for sparing our lives.” The Imperial vampire bowed deeply, placing a large chest on the floor. His subordinate looked angry at this, yet he didn’t dare direct his anger at her. 

“What is this?”

“Spoils and gold, as I would rather it go to you than these Nords and their sodden sensibilities.” He waved his hand. “Along with other more esoteric items. I promise I am only taking items less powerful than those. Potions and valuables we will need to find the Bloodstone Chalice.” 

“How good is your alchemy?” Serana asked, making the orange eyes meet her own. She grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote down a few notes. “If you are at least capable of intermediate skill, you can use this recipe to form potions that mimic drinking from a mortal. It helps if you want to avoid notice.”

The vampire calmed down a lot. “We will come and find you, Serana. You’ve shown us kindness, and we shall not forget it.” 

They left, and Serana looked down at the chest on the floor. Ardwen released the breath she had been holding, and slumped. “How did you even convince everyone to leave? I thought we would have to fight for sure!”

“Elayne would have had all of them as friends of hers within minutes. They wouldn’t have left, they would have followed her out the door. I just had to be a bit more forceful.” She gave the chest a kick, noticing the good quality of the wood. “Do you want to see all of the small denominations of coin they just paid us with? I’m going to see if these people are going to survive or become vampires.”

Almost all of these people were near death’s door. They were drained heavily, more than enough to sate two vampires. More than enough to empower two vampires. 

As she thought that, she could hear the crackling of a spell contacting Oblivion. Her head twisted in time to see the chest disappear, as Ardwen screeched. Her elven armor went flying, damaged far too much to wear. Her sword also went across the room, as some kind of daedric curse washed over her. 

The back door banged open, as Venarus’ fledgling busted the door in. Serana frowned, and flared her power. He tried to block her with his warhammer, but seemed entirely shocked when she let him block her sword. The rest of her turned into bats, appearing between hammer and body. She transmuted her fingers into claws, tearing his face completely off. He gurgled, falling to the ground. 

“Stupid fool.” Venarus growled, having come back in the front door. His short sword glittered with enchantments, and he glared at where the chest was. Ardwen was on the ground, twitching. “But I cannot let you take this away from me!” 

Their weapons combined, as she summoned an atronach. He summoned his own, a weaker one. They crashed together, the icy creatures hammering one another. Serana could feel a thrill. She could finally fight freely! She could use her magic! 

He looked like he could cast magic freely, too. Empowered by his feasting, he threw lightning bolt after lightning bolt at her. She took them on her ward, absorbing them. But Serana stepped behind the atronachs, smirking. He was fighting a Volkihar. Focusing, she could feel her form shudder. But her atronach let her move through him. Volkihar could move through ice, and she abused this. Venarus looked utterly shocked when she came out from inside of an atronach inside of his guard. His head rolled, still shocked by it all. His atronach returned to Oblivion, and Serana took a longer breath. 

Quietly, she made sure that both vampires were very dead. And that there were no more surprises. Each of the groaning victims she whispered a few prayers for as they died. They were having some kind of reaction to the death of the one who drained them. Twitching, each of the skooma addicts frothed at the mouth and died. She didn’t know why, and didn’t try hard to save them. They weren’t Ardwen. She shut the doors, moving to her friend. 

She was just unconscious, though mostly naked. The pieces of her elven armor were all around her, along with the torn remnants of whatever she was wearing underneath. What was left was a shiny red outfit, looping heavily around her shoulders and neck. It looked secured to her body by four massive straps, all looping under the arms and connecting to a corset that even by Taarie’s terms would be demanding. Ardwen’s waist looked painfully cinched. Funny enough, the corset only formed a shelf for her breasts to be supported by, everything else left out to be viewed. The red material went all the way down to her mons, hugging so tightly that her hips looked framed by it just as much. Straps ran down to her thighs, holding so tightly it pulled her legs towards her torso. 

It also went so high up her neck that it was touching her ears. It was definitely enchanted, and most certainly from Oblivion. Serana just picked her up, finding a bunkroom to lay her down in. Then she painstakingly recovered all of the pieces of armor and her weapons, before covering her in a blanket. It was early in the morning, after all. Locking the doors with the keys they found on the vampires gave them a bit of security, and Serana looked through the old caverns to find out what was there. 

At the very bottom of the caverns was the bloodspring. Bloodspring with a capital B. She could feel the power coming from this area, the touch of Coldharbour. But all this did was infect someone with vampirism. Or worse, drive a vampire mad if they fed upon it. It was tainted. The barrels that Mercer wanted were in this cavern, but the bloodspring was too dangerous. So she wrote five different notes. Each read as follows:

Do not touch the red water. It will drain your life from you. If you drink or touch the red water, see a priest immediately. Pray to whatever Aedra you can. 

Those with questions about this should go and see Serana in Riften. This water is cursed. 

A last warning to those who seek this place. Even if you believe it has power, the only thing you will find here is pain and suffering. Eventually you will wish for death, and no Aedra will hear your pleas. 

Don’t touch the water. 

Every bottle of skooma was destroyed. Even the ones that were empty. She shattered them all and poured them into a ceremonial urn before throwing it back into the draugr burial cairn it came from. It took the rest of the night to clean up the bodies, loot anything of value, and then make a map for Mercer to follow. All the while, she waited for Ardwen to wake up. She didn’t appear injured, nor did she look like she was hurt. 

When the sun rose, the house started to fill with a dust-tinted light. The windows were limited, and Ardwen squirmed as Serana made some noise puttering around. There wasn’t anything left to loot or find, but moving furniture out of the way had improved the smell slightly. “I don’t know how you can sleep with that stench.” She said as she saw Ardwen start to open her eyes. “But you’re safe.”

Ardwen tried to take a deep breath, lightly coughing. “I don’t remember what happened.” 

“The chest was trapped. But it caught you, and I cut off their heads.” She came over, and dragged the blanket off of Ardwen. “But you’ve got a new outfit. Which I have no idea how to get off of you.”

“What the fuck is this?!” Ardwen leaned forwards, her voice lighter than normal. “I can’t even breathe!” Her hands reached around her midsection, only encountering the hard material. It didn’t even bend when she tried to squeeze it. There was a pleasant jiggle from her exposed breasts as she tried to feel around for anything to help. “I can’t turn my head!” She had to rotate her entire body just to turn one way or the other. 

Serana tested her weapons on the corset, which failed to even dent it. Both grimaced at the sound of her elven dagger chipping. “Ebonite.” Serana added. “You know what that means.”

“But I hate talking to Brynjolf!” She pouted. But even that was difficult. Her back was being kept at so straight an angle that Ardwen was almost as stern as an Altmer. “What happened to my armor?”

“You’re going to have to pay a price next you see a blacksmith. All of it was broken apart by whatever put you in that.” Serana was bemused until she noticed that Ardwen couldn’t reach her own feet. She tried, her face turning red but the ebonite not allowing her to reach. “Relax, you’re going to pass out.” 

She did, sipping air and sitting on the bed. Serana just put her in charge of combing her hair to keep her busy. “Hey Princess,” Serana rolled her eyes. “Sorry to ask, but can I get that ladylike treatment? I’m not getting out of here without shoes on.”

Just for that comment, Serana put her feet into three inch heeled ankle boots. Clean socks and one of her tight altmer dresses came next. Though with the ebonite shaping her, it wasn’t quite as tightly fitted. The ebonite on her neck and shoulders shone brightly, unable to be hidden by the outfit. She could walk well enough, but if she took a full step the corset would draw tighter, jerking her breasts higher. Putting a breastband on top of all of that was useless, and Ardwen squealed more than once as her body was pressed by the ebonite. 

They needed help. Ardwen was crippled by this outfit, unable to run very far and not able to dodge very well. Worst of all, though her arms were free she couldn’t shoot her bow. She couldn’t get dressed on her own, and their old horse was near about the only thing she could control. Serana was trying not to find the situation hilarious. Really trying! But it was quite nice to not be the one restrained for once. Ardwen’s nipples tented her dress as they got started on the road to Riften. 

“I wish I knew how to get this off.” 

“I’m just grateful you didn’t get more.”

“More? Serana, I’m wondering how I’m going to sleep well enough like this.” She sipped air for a moment. “It’s too tight.”

“Well maybe the daedra will take pity on you if you please them somehow.” Both of them thought that was fairly funny. A little bit of humor to help take the edge off. Though the wagon load of loot helped. Serana was even able to load the barrels that Mercer wanted. All of the pipes and glass alembics that helped the process were stained dark red from the tainted Bloodspring. 

The air in front of the wagon crackled. A small portal from Oblivion opened, dumping something out onto the ground. Ardwen froze in her seat, and Serana drew her sword. She advanced slowly, with an ice spike conjured. All she found were two rolls of cheese. Cheese? Nudging the edge of one with her sword, the magic didn’t trigger. It wasn’t a daedra. Neither was the other. One of the cheeses was a bright golden thing, with a rich aroma. The other was a darker cheese, and it seemed like a smoother scent. 

“What is it?”

“Two cheese rolls.” She picked up the offending items.  But on the back of each cheese roll was a map of a hold of skyrim. One seemed to be of the Reach, with a specific location marked. Another was a familiar location, the cave she met Karliah in. Or near it. A dawning realization came as she starting putting together what happened. “Ardwen.” She whispered, looking up at her friend. “I think you’re wearing something from Sheogorath.”

“Gods damn it.” She whispered back. “This is because you fucked over that Golden Saint!” 

“Even if it was, you can’t get shoes on without my help. Neither of us can help pissing off people. You piss off a lot of women and I piss off aedra.”

“Other women are angry at me?” She overdramatically placed a hand on her chest, the keyhole for her cleavage jiggling. “Say it isn’t so!”

“You knew what you were doing when you gave yourself those curves! Svana Black-briar says Sibbi will ignore them if we find someone for her. Which is going to be extremely difficult.” Serana put the cheese into the cart, marking the locations on her personal map. “Now, let’s go get paid.” And figure out how bad of a position she would be in while Ardwen was restrained.

Chapter Text

Ardwen’s new clothes were diabolic. Serana decided that Sheogorath really had it in for them. Or at least had decided to punish them for what they did to his Aureal. The posture collar that went over Ardwen’s shoulders and neck kept her head facing forwards, unable to turn at all. She couldn’t raise her arms above the shoulders, and if were just the posture collar she could at least rotate her shoulders to be able to work around the restraint. The corset restrained the shoulders in such a way her arms couldn’t rotate much at all. It connected to the shoulder sections of the posture collar, and held her straight backed and tight from the shoulders all the way down to her mound. Watching her try to sit down was like watching an Altmer pompously lord herself over a seat. There wasn’t a single inch of her torso that could bend, stretch or lean. Two bands rested on her thighs that pulled taut when she stood, making her mostly exposed breasts stand out even more. The small shelf that supported them could raise or lower if she were sitting or standing. Serana couldn’t even find a way to get the damned thing off. The knots were internal . Casting a banishment spell didn’t remove the things, so they weren’t transformed daedra. It was an object made in Oblivion and designed to curse mortals. 

Though casting a spell on her revealed some aspects of the enchantments on the items. Because of course it wasn’t enough that they couldn’t be removed! The posture collar drained Ardwen’s limited stamina any time a spell was cast around her. Just casting the banishment was

enough that she needed to take a rest afterwards. If she took a single lightning bolt, she was going to be on the ground. Again, Serana decided that this was designed to punish them for denying that Aureal from forcing its way into Mundus. 

The corset? Serana could tell it was enchanted, but not much beyond that. They needed an ebony weapon to just consider cutting through the straps on the outfit, much less dig down to where the strings held it all together. So Ardwen needed help . She couldn’t get her clothes on or off without help. Shooting a bow was impossible. She couldn’t turn her head down range. Using a sword or knife she could do, only if she kept her target in front of her. So not completely useless. But still, this outfit had made her friend a liability instead of an ally. 

It took three long days to ride back to Riften. Ardwen could lead the horses, feed herself, and little else. Serana had to take care of everything else! Though as they parked their wagon at the stables, Serana found out a new problem. Ardwen couldn’t reach into her bag if she was wearing it. So to be marginally helpful, Serana loaded Ardwen up with the cheese wheels, along with a small chest of loose coinage they could spend. Serana had the bags of larger denominations of coin deep inside of her dress. Since apparently she had the capacity to just hide coin bags in between places. She didn’t have to breathe, so what was an extra notch on her own corset going to do? 

“Stables have to be downhill of the damned-” Ardwen grumbled, taking it slow. 

“It’s really too bad you don’t own any clothes meant for slumming it.” Serana remarked as Ardwen took what breath she could. 

“I kept those for under my armor! And Serana,” She took a moment as they encountered more uphill road. “Being next to you, I’ve got to wear something nice. Or else I’ll feel lazy.” The items she carried in front of her shook side to side but never fell. When they reached the gates, the guards didn’t even think about fleecing them. They were well known. But Riften had changed in the last few months! The frames of buildings were going in, and hers was up to two stories! Watching the store being built was like a metaphor for her own life. She was creating it. There wasn’t a roof over her head, yet. But it was getting there. “Gods, no no no!” Ardwen wailed, as half of the things she was carrying teetered and fell onto the ground. 

“You can’t be that clumsy,” Serana started saying, before both of them saw what caused it. Ardwen’s breasts had grown. Significantly, tenting her tight dress and wobbling. They had knocked the stack she was carrying right out of her hands. “I think I found out what the corset does.” The cheese wheels were recovered from the mud and restacked less ponderously. 

“No shit!” Ardwen had to reduce her carrying to below the level of her breasts, which seemed intent on straining her ability to do much of anything. They were only growing when Ardwen strained herself. Which meant that just walking uphill from the stables was enough that she might need to take her dress off to keep the stitches from stretching once they stopped for the day. “People are staring!” 

“Just keep walking and they’ll get over it.” Serana grumbled, as they headed for Ingun’s alchemy shop. Elixir’s was busy, with three people inside when they opened the door. Their friend had bags under her eyes, but a proud kind of look to her. Accomplished. “Ingun!”

“Serana, Ardwen!” She smiled. “You have mail! Since we share the same foundation, they’ve been delivering your mail here.” 

They came around  behind the counter, seeing every nook and cranny filled with ingredients. Ingun was staying stocked somehow! “What about the diseases Riften was down from? Did you protect enough people?”

“Sibbi paid for every person in Riften to drink a cure potion at once. He said it was more important to save the city than to make the citizens pay for something that wasn’t their fault.” That sounded like Svana speaking for her husband, as Sibbi was hardly concerned with regular people. “We got everyone together and got people cured, and since then everything is going well! Your house’s basement kind of accidentally connects to my bedroom,” She drove out the people she was selling to with the barest tolerance, her own noble upbringing showing. Or at least the rude parts of it. “Please don’t abuse that.”

“I won’t.” She promised. “Ardwen here got cursed from something and needs to sit down. Do you have any chairs that aren’t full of ingredients?”

Ingun blinked, looking around at her shop. “There should be a,” She mused, her short heels clicking as she moved about the place, clearing a seat off. Ardwen sat, her back remaining locked straight up. “Real proper, aren’t you.” 

“Once you close the shop you’ll see.” Serana said. “That dress has to come off before you break a stitch.”

“That’s one of the east empire company brands!” Ingun gushed. “I want to buy a full set when I can, but I am buying and selling ingredients too much to go and get measured when the representative comes into town.” 

“There is an entire line of these things?”

“Elarie is the name of the altmer that makes it. Or has it made. She has a shop in Dragonbridge.” Ingun said, annoyed by the disturbance of more visitors when she clearly wanted to talk to Serana. “If yours get damaged you can go and get it repaired for a fair price. Svana said she was trying to convince her to move to Riften but couldn’t convince the Altmer to do it. She’s really trying hard to get seamstresses and clothiers of renown here. She also said you’ve been her friend lately! How did you get that to come about? Svana is known for her generosity, sure, but very picky about her friends.” Sometimes, Serana was sure that Ingun had been raised without anyone telling her about some of the realities of life. She was just that shade of offensive to deal with, unless you were important to her. 

Of course, as soon as they got settled, she had a guest. Mercer came in, as polite as you please. He didn’t strut or act like he was better than anyone else, but something about his presence felt off. It made you stand straighter, though in Ardwen’s case it was imperceptible. He gently locked the door behind him, and took a deep breath. “Lady Serana.” His voice carried respect for her, but his eyes were dead. There was no sign of interest within them. “I came to thank you.” 

“I found your source of skooma, as well as corrected the Sarethi situation.” She was straightforward with him. “The skooma was tainted by an ancient daedric source. If your people find it I’ve left a sign or three warning them to avoid it. I brought the barrels from the place, but you’ll want to scourge them with something potent. The skooma they were brewing carried diseases.” 

Mercer closed his eyes, thinking. “Ingun, can I borrow your failed potions? Just keep them around, anything that you fail to create with poisonous ingredients would help. These barrels are going to be the core of the next black-briar meadery.”

Ingun perked right up at that. “Of course! But, with Sibbi as Jarl and me running the potion shop, who is able to handle that?”

Mercer finally showed some emotion. A sneer worked its way across his face for a moment, before he controlled himself. “Don’t worry, my lady. Skyrim can’t function without supplies of mead. If we don’t make it, anyone with a bathtub and access to honey is going to make cheap swill and bottle it like it’s something good. I might hate the idea, but as a Nord we can’t have our good name ruined when it comes to mead. I’ll just use some of Ingun’s creative efforts to clean the barrels and put them to better use.” He looked over the three of them, his eyes resting on Ardwen for a longer moment. “Looks like you have some trouble, there.”

“We got caught in a nasty trap.” Serana added, seeing that Mercer didn’t actually have any empathy for the situation. 

“I have heard of a crazy seer that might know more about those items, but it will take my people some effort to find them. She helped Vex get out of some boots that were difficult to move in. She visited Riften over the winter but didn’t stay.” Mercer being helpful ? “I believe her name was Laekette, but I can check with my people for it. You’ve done plenty enough for my old friend. I’ve got few enough left. Speaking of which, here’s your payment.” A hefty bag hit the counter, and Mercer spared it no further thought. He was used to throwing money at problems. 

“That’s the Sarethi and the skooma den dealt with.” Serana brought up. “I’m sure that only chips away at the mountain of issues for Riften, but I had a request.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m looking for furniture. Lots and lots of bookshelves. But the hold is looking at a distinct lack of carpenters available.”

“Are you looking to appropriate them?” He asked, considering. 

“I know you’ve been in many places, Thane Mercer.” No, Serana did not want to break the law! “I was wondering if you or your associates know of a ruin that is heavy on bookshelves I could pick up for a low price.” 

“Interesting.” He mused. “I know of a couple of places that you might find bookshelves in large quantities. Mistwatch, that’s an old place. Lots of shelves there. But it’s got some deserters in it right now. They’re being hunted by the Legion now that the thaw has come. So the bands of renegades are coming together and trying to survive. Not sure if that’s worth it.” He mused. “Wait, you’re friends with the Forsworn, right?”

“ Queensworn .” She corrected. “Queen Eola is reforming them.” 

“Whatever the crazy bastards want to call themselves.” He sighed. “They’ve been helpful for Riften, I’ll admit. Strong bodies and hard people. Some of our best teams of laborers are made up of Reachmen. But some of them talked about the places they’ve left. There’s a place here in the Rift that is home to a lot of Hags. They collect lots of scrolls and books. Darklight Tower, it’s called. I know only of where it should be, haven’t actually been there.” Mercer said, looking earnest. “Might be a good place to go.” Darklight Tower was where Karliah wanted to meet with them! Him knowing about the place made her feel very ill indeed.

“Thank you.” Serana said, honestly. “Mercer, how often are you sending people to Solitude?” 

“Once a month? Perhaps more, when there is something big going on.” 

“There’s something I need. It belonged to my father.” Mercer finally gave her real attention. His eyes were full of fury, and anger. “I know that teams of people raided Castle Volkihar for valuables.”

“Mostly the College in Winterhold and the Companions of Whiterun. Since they have most of Whiterun living out of their upside down ship. Few buildings survived.” He clarified. “But I know where they sold the gear. What are you looking for?”

“It’s a chalice. Large, probably made of gold with rubies and such in it. Radiates necromancy. Absolutely not something anyone wants to have in their homes or trophy rooms. Not if they want to keep living.” 

“What would you do with it?” Mercer grunted. “What’s it even called?”

“The Bloodstone Chalice.” She had half of the equation, perhaps it would be nice to let Mercer chase after something she really didn’t care about. “It’s a vampiric artifact from the second era. Any water or liquid you put into it disappears. I think,” She mused, realizing that she wanted this. “I think that I want to collect any Volkihar artifacts that might be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Are your hands safe for them?”

“You can ask the Dragonborn.” She counteracted. “More than likely I’d bury them or find a way of getting rid of them permanently.”

Mercer nodded slowly. “If it’s worth that much to you, I’ll put some people on it. But it might be a decade.”

“I’ll be fine waiting.” His facade cracked for a moment, as if he found her immortal state of being funny. “I’ll get some furniture, and I’ll look forward to further business with you.”

Mercer seemed to debate that for a long moment. “Good night, Lady Black-briar, Lady Volkihar. Tart.” His words for Ardwen were something he intended. Something biting, or perhaps more threatening. Though strangely, Serana didn’t see him glance at exposed cleavage or Ardwen’s expanded rack once. Either he had the self control of a monk or he was something else. As he left, he gave a gentle wave and a false smile. 

“Sibbi says that if it weren’t for Mercer, he would have died when Riften fell. We owe him a lot.” Ingun spoke with warm tones once the door shut. “From what little I know, he saved Sibbi and made sure we survived. Mercer was the one who saved Riften when Dragons burned it down, and no one else. He rallied what people were left and flooded the lower areas to put out the fires in the city, and kept Riften’s foundations from melting. Mercer Frey is a hero here. A good man, even if he has a dark history.”

“What do you even know of the man, Ingun?”

“Mother told us secrets about him, just in case she died.” Ingun said honestly. “He’s got a single obsession for these gemstones. Stones of Berenziah. Odd man, but he’s obsessed for rare treasures and unique things. He hates elves, and for some reason he likes ancient history. I think at one point in his youth he was an assistant to Calcelmo in Markarth, helping with the Dwemer museum there.” Ingun said. “Mother always said that we had to know those things and others just in case. Sibbi might not remember as much of the secrets and blackmail mother kept, but she had journals of it in a safe. I think it’s at the bottom of the lake now.” Ingun noticed that the customers had stopped coming, and her potion was boiling over. “Oh dear!” 

“End of day rush?” Serana mused. She had a lot to write down about Mercer. Ingun probably was holding back more information for her own protection, too. This was the man that Karliah wanted them to kill. 

“They just know I have guests and it’s closing time. Speaking of which, your friend looks like she needs to be unlaced! She’s going to pass out at this rate!”

Getting Ardwen out of her tight dress took both Ingun and Serana. Even so, some of the stitches were stretched. But Ardwen breathed a sigh of relief once the dress was off. With the front door locked she wasn’t concerned about people seeing her topless. “Thank you. It’s going to be nice to sleep indoors for once.” Ardwen said with real feeling. 

“Oh!” Ingun perked up. “Take the bed, then! I’ve drank some of this bean tea from Elsewyr that keeps me awake all night!” 

“Why do that to yourself, Ingun?”

“Because if I want to be as good as you and your friend Babette at alchemy, I need more time. Riften needs me. I need to be better, or else my hold will suffer. The man who taught me alchemy learned from Nurelion in Windhelm, and that’s a heritage of learning I cannot spit upon.” She looked resolute. “I will be the best alchemist I can, for myself and for my home.” 

Serana felt as tired as Ardwen probably felt. She had been carrying everything and covering for her tasks since she got locked in that outfit. “Then I hope you don’t mind if we both lay down. It’s been a long few weeks.”

Ingun smirked. “You know, a few weeks ago Brynjolf came in here and said something about you.”

Serana came fully awake, her exhaustion put aside for a moment. “What did he say?” Ingun looked wary. Serana hadn’t kept her tone under control. “I won’t bite, Ingun. My blood would boil you alive, after all.”

“That sounds like a fun potion ingredient, then!” She said, getting distracted. But one look at Serana’s unhappy face ended that line of thought. “Uh, Brynjolf wanted to buy back something from me. Said it would be for you, when I pressed him.”

“Buy back?”

“Last year, Brynjolf’s little whore Sapphire was stuck in an outfit he had procured from gods knows where. The lock had somehow warped and they couldn’t break it without really injuring Sapphire. So I helped, using some acidic combinations to melt the lock and free her. Though I got to keep the outfit. I never got the lock replaced, but I still had it. It’s nice on cold nights where you’re craving a little more than the fingers.”  Brynjolf had whores? Serana didn’t know why that angered her more than anything else. 

“How long ago was this?”

“A week or so? He was trying to insist. But the man was short on gold and I didn’t feel like parting with it. I wouldn’t even give him a price unless he said why he needed it. The real reason, not the fake ones he spouted about Sapphire being an addict that needed it back.” Ingun perked up, smiling. “You know what? Maybe it’ll help Ardwen sleep better if you wear it! It seems like the kind of thing that will calm down that trauma she feels about vampires.”

“I can hear you when you talk about me like that!” Ardwen grumbled. But she did feel more vulnerable when she was so tightly restrained. Her sleep hadn’t been as full. Though part of that had to be the corset reducing the bosmer’s waist by three inches. 

“Let’s see it, Ingun. Maybe it will.” Serana said, bemused. She was prepared for some kind of gag or leather contraption to come out, or something Ingun was keeping for a lonely night. When the woman started pulling out the outfit, it was leather. Leather and hardened material. But Serana gasped. It was the copy of the Bitch Tamer that Sapphire had once worn! The one that Taarie had sold the thieves when they escaped Solitude! Serana could feel her thighs clench as her body responded to seeing it. 

“No idea why he wanted it so badly. It’s just leather.” 

“It’s because it’s a copy of something I used to wear. A lot.” Serana could feel a bit of heat pooling in her body. “Brynjolf short on gold? That’s unbelievable.” 

“Here, then!” Ingun didn’t even hesitate, handing Serana the leather and metal. She had no idea how much her skin prickled at the touch. “That will help Ardwen rest.”

Serana was tired too, but there was a massive degree of excitement at the thought of wearing what she had dreamed about for months. In Ingun’s bedroom she stripped down and slipped her feet into the tall leather boots. They went so far up her thighs that they clamped on the meatiest part of them. Since it wasn’t a perfect replica, she could see the skin of her thighs puff over the top of the boots once laced. Though she felt even more comfortably balanced on the tall heels. She was used to this height. 

The leotard was the most complicated. The toy built into its base was large, bulbous and intimidating. The long sleeves were reinforced with boiled leather strips and metal bars to pull everything tight. Each sleeve ended in a ring that wrapped around her middle finger, with heavy cuffs built into the wrists, elbows and biceps. Which she gladly pulled over her arms, sitting on the edge of the bed with the rest of the leotard bunched up at her thighs. When Elayne first put her in that original outfit, she had been groggy. 

Serana remembered her crypt opening, the dust of a thousand years disturbed around her. She had taken in a deep breath, as organs that had lain frozen reactivated. Elayne shoved a ballgag into her open mouth and Serana had come out of her crypt fuming. She had been humiliated and burned by Elayne’s magic, and then forced at spellpoint to dress in the other sections of the outfit. First the leotard, which was a mistake. Shoes first, then the rest of the outfit. It was harder to do once her arms were in the sleeves and the metal constricting her ribs was on. Though the real outfit was made with ebonite and dragonbone. 

Serana slid both middle fingers onto the sleeves, leaning forwards so that the rest of the leotard hung loose in front. She was so focused that she never noticed Ardwen’s approach. She gently sat on the bed, and Serana ignored her. But the bosmer gave Serana a spank. Not a light one, either! It was full bodied, and the vampire reacted. 

Serana jumped, landing on her newly-donned heeltips. Wobbling, she raised her arms for stability. Which pulled the leotard all the way up, snapping it over her torso. She squealed as the sex toy in it slammed home, going almost halfway in with a single pull. The collar snapped tight over her neck, and she could feel her breasts supported by the barely-concealing strapwork of the outfit. “Ahh! Ardwen!” She reacted, twisting to glare at her. Her arms pinwheeled, and she stabilized. “I wasn’t ready!” 

“You didn’t even hear me talking.” The bosmer said. “I asked you questions but you were just staring at that outfit. It’s a lot like the one I saw on your counterpart.”

“It’s not the real one.” Serana admitted, not feeling the crushing grip that the real ebonite and dragonbone would provide. “That one’s called the Bitch Tamer.”

Ardwen couldn’t contain herself, and laughed hard. “What.” 

“Elayne didn’t name it, Shashev did!” Serana could feel the outfit pull delightfully at her skin. Dreams didn’t compare to wearing a facsimile of what she missed. “Now, I’m not going to ask why you’re so comfortable in a bed, and you need good sleep. So clip my cuffs already.” Ardwen didn’t say anything mocking of Serana as she snapped the sleeves and their cuffs behind Serana’s back. Ingun said nothing when the pair of them rested. But they did get excellent sleep that night. Though Ingun kept her copy of the Bitch Tamer to ‘make sure they came back more often’. 

Getting to Darklight Tower took four days with their small wagon and old horse. Which mostly meant going up washed out old dirt paths and tracing which range of hills they were trying to get around on a map. A saber cat tried to take out their horse, and Serana animated its corpse. She put it to work defending them until it was ground down to dust. But when they finally pulled up to the tower, it was a towering monument. The doors were shut, but not barred. There were tanning racks outside the tower, along with an old firepit. None of them had been used recently, and Serana tied off the horse a few hundred feet away. Scattering the ashes of the sabercat, the smell bothered the horse but kept predators away from it. 

But now she and Ardwen were ready to approach. Ardwen’s elven armor was repaired, and it gave them a little comfort if she were to take a hit. Not to mention how strong the ebonite was, it could act like a layer of armor on its own. If it wasn’t for the fact it left important sections of the torso exposed to be stabbed. So she wore her armor. The corset’s magic made her breasts grow if she ever had to exert herself. When Ardwen could sit in comfort and not move very much for a day, the effects went away. 

Being unable to cast spells meant that giving her a scroll or staff to use would just make her exhausted. That other item she had interfered. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Ardwen lied. Together they inched forwards, coming up to the tower. Before they got to the door, someone kicked it open. A woman wearing a rather skimpy set of robes stormed out of the tower, swearing and yelling about something. Still too far to hear, they saw her stomp over to the firepit and sit down. She was fuming, crying and whispering epithets. More importantly, her robes had symbols of necromancy. 

Serana could see someone having a bad day. A really bad day, judging by the sounds of the whimpering and crying. “We should talk to her.”

“And lose the element of surprise?” 

“Karliah isn’t even here.” The dunmer was sneaky, but Serana had a feeling she wasn’t around. “Or if she is, she is avoiding the tower.”

Ardwen started to get cover behind a tree when she stepped on a branch. But the noise got the attention of the mage, who stood up in surprise. Tear tracks ran down her face, fresh signs of her emotional state still visible. Serana just pinched her nose and took a moment before she came out from behind the trees. That mage knew someone was here. Better she assume it was just Serana. “Sorry for disturbing you.” Serana offered. 

“Don’t come any closer!” The woman blubbered. “This day can’t get any worse! Mom’s crazy, a vampire is talking to me in the afternoon, and I’m seeing things!” 

“If it helps, I came to trade with you?”

“What kind of vampire comes to trade?!”

“My kind?” Serana said, sheathing her sword. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you. I actually came to buy bookshelves, since I heard your tower had a lot of nice furniture.” 

“First the purple eyes in the dark, now a vampire. Gods below, what did we do to deserve this?” Purple eyes? Karliah! “This is the weirdest scam I’ve ever heard of!” The mage girl was starting to lose it. 

Serana just took a deep breath. “My name is Serana. I fought against Alduin and Harkon, and Queen Eola is one of my friends. I might be a vampire, but I also don’t want to start a fight. I really am looking for bookshelves, and all of the carpenters in the province are rebuilding homes.”

“You came up the flooded road and went up here for furniture?!” The woman wiped her face, shocked. “Have you started at all of the burned and destroyed homes across the province? Maybe you’ll find some!” 

“Most of those are firewood for the people that needed it.” Serana pointed out. “Listen, if you don’t want me to be here, I can leave.”

“No, no no!” The mage waved her hands. “Maybe you’re perfect for what I need!”

Serana folded her arms. “What’s this about.”

“My mother, she-” She started pacing, keeping a hand pointed towards Serana. “She’s gone mad! Almost everyone else has left, and it’s just a few that remain. Great grandma wants mom to join her and she accepted! Tonight’s the full moon and mom is going to become a damned hagraven!” 

“Do you want to stop her?” 

“Yes! She’s going to turn out like great grandma! And then they both are going to expect me to raise my kids to be just like them!” She paced, fuming. “I can’t! I won’t! It’s not right!”

“Coming from a vampire, I’m going to admit that I’ve done some terrible things. But that doesn’t mean I’m always going to be a bad person. The hagravens fought with us against Harkon and Alduin, and they fought honorably.” Serana spoke carefully. “A hagraven is callous and partially of Oblivion. But they remember their family. You know who the Dragonborn is?”

The woman nodded. “Elayne of Wayrest!”

“During that fight against Harkon, her grandmother sacrificed herself to save her. A hagraven giving its life for someone else?” Serana smiled. “Sometimes the monsters you know are people too.” 

“But,” The mage whimpered. “Will she still be my mom after everything? Will she still be nice?” 

“Most hagravens have a degree of callousness. But if she’s your mother?” Serana looked at her calmly. “She’s going to still protect you fiercely. More than that, she probably wants to live long enough to see you raise your children. If you have them.”

“But she didn’t say why, she just agreed to do it!”

“Then maybe you should show her that you trust her. When someone makes a deal with the daedric princes, it’s kind of scary.” The mage’s hand drooped. She was calming down. “She’s probably just as worried. This is permanent. She might die trying to get there. She might appreciate your support tonight when she makes the transition.”

“Why? I just told her that she’s wrong to do this!”

“Because family is important.” Serana pointed up at the tower, where only a few candles were lighting rooms inside. “It looks like most of your family isn’t here anymore. Do you think she’s becoming a hagraven because of how that feels?”

“What would you know about it, huh?”

“My mother convinced me that becoming a vampire would keep our family together forever.” Serana felt some conflict just by saying it. Her father was the one really pushing for it. But she hadn’t been ready to confront him when the battle ended, and her feelings were still clouded on it. “She walked me through everything once I was old enough.”

“What are you saying?”

“If you go back into that tower to confront her, you’re going to challenge your family. Even if they are becoming something dark, they are still family. We can pick our friends, but we can’t pick our family. If you don’t support her, then it’s just going to cause more hurt. But if you haven’t changed her mind by now the only way you’ll force the matter is with a fist.”

“I am so mad I’m willing to try!” 

“There would be a good chance one of you would be burying the other, then.” Serana knew how it felt, to be in a cult. How it felt when family betrayed you. “What normally happens when someone becomes a hagraven?”

“We celebrate.” She sniffled. “We drink and sing and dance under the moonlight on top of the tower. But everyone’s gone, now! No one is going to sing and dance with me tonight! And mom is going to be one of them !” 

Serana sighed. “Listen.” She whispered. “Listen. You could go in there and ruin your coven so much that it's broken forever. Break your family apart. Or, if you don’t want to ruin any of that, you go get some flowers and void salts to apologize!” She held out a small bag of the stuff. “My mother would think it very sweet, if she were still alive.” 

“You’ve gotta be someone important, to know so much.” The mage muttered. “My name’s Illia.” 

“I’ve got another friend in the trees. Do you mind if she comes too?”

“What do you mean?” Illia was giving her a suspicious look. 

“I’m friends with a lot of Reachfolk. But I’ve never seen a hagraven ceremony.” 

“It’s a little gruesome.” Illia warned. “But I can ask if they would allow you to come.” 

Ardwen waved when she stepped out from the bushes. It turned out that void salts were very welcome indeed, and Serana got to experience one rather crazy night. There were only four hags left living in the tower, all but Illia in their middle years. Her mother was the oldest, and walked with a limp. She was so happy that her daughter chose to support her, she let Serana and Ardwen join the ceremony. 

Ardwen looked like she actually wanted to be here. Strange, but she had spent time with cults before. The night started with a roast boar, slow cooked for a day. The coven’s only hagraven was actually an amazing cook, and her attention to detail led to some amazing food. Serana couldn’t really enjoy that, but Ardwen loved it! The coven chanted a hymn to the daedra to celebrate their success, and the drinking actually began. Just as the sun went down, the hags got loose. They drank like fish, and broke out bottle after bottle. There was a human sacrifice, but the hagravens had to choose a truly terrible soul to sacrifice. Whoever they found was branded by the legion for crimes that Serana honestly didn’t care to learn about. 

It was beautiful, in a way. Illia’s mother Sylvia was celebrated. Her children, her life, and her accomplishments were embellished. Stories about her were told going back to her birth. The moon started rising into the night sky, and everyone ditched robes. Shrieking like harpies, the coven screamed into the night with lots of drunken yelling. But they were celebrating their sister. Sylvia was going to change, and Serana found the entire process kind. They all knew their sister would never be the same. All of them danced naked under the moon, drinking and eating good food. The hagraven even joined in, her smile something Serana wished drink could make her forget. But the moon rose to its height, and all of the coven gathered into a circle. Serana and Ardwen were on one side of it, as the hagraven led Sylvia to the altar at the top of the tower. 

“Strength, grand daughter.” Serana heard the hagraven whisper. “The mother in the void calls to us all.” 

Sylvia had barely drank anything. But she stepped onto the altar with no fear. “Nocturnal, hear our plea!” She called to the moon above. “Mother in the dark, I wish to become thine songbird! In the blood of our sacrifice and the secrets of our worship we beg of you, grant us your power!” 

Whispers came from the coven, long-memorized prayers being repeated often. Serana even added her own whispered hopes to this, hoping that Illia wouldn’t lose her mother tonight. Ardwen was silent, exhausted from dancing and her corset showing off its curse with gusto. But something heard their plea. The area just above the tower crackled, as small portals to oblivion opened. Barely large enough for a hand. Ravens poured from the portals, and flew down in a swarm. All around the altar they flew, circling Sylvia. 

Sylvia’s eyes were not on the ravens, but on her daughter. She never lost eye contact with her. The other hagraven stared at Illia too. The future of their little cult. The reason that she had done this. Serana found the next part as gruesome as promised. The transformation involved the infusion of the crows through Sylvia’s skin. The coven called it divine power, but it was clear that the crow daedra were becoming part of Sylvia. Her limbs elongated, feathers came off of her, and her skin changed. Made her immune to normal weapons, if the old stories were to be believed. 

The very last crow daedra flew to each member of the circle, whispering words of comfort and promises of power. When it stopped on Ardwen’s shoulder, it whispered that if she wanted to learn how to truly change the spirit and the flesh, she would have to swear herself to Nocturnal completely. The sweat pouring from Ardwen’s skin was very real in that moment. For Serana, the crow clucked once and pecked her cheek. Serana belonged to Molag Bal, and it didn’t waste words upon her. It rippled through the night and into the portal, leaving the tower only lit by the few torches not knocked over by drunken dancing. 

Sylvia stood tall upon the altar, a hagraven in full. Serana saw past her, to the base of the stairs and the pair of purple eyes that waited there. Karliah. As the coven reveled in their victory, Serana politely excused herself, grabbing her fallen clothing and becoming a cloud of bats. She came back together at the base of the tower, taking the time to throw her dress back on but leaving herself barefoot. Karliah slipped out the door, the giant crown on her head decorated with three more gems than the last time Serana had seen her. She was dressed in a darkly tinted leather armor. Though her boots looked elven, with very sharp pointed heels. “Karliah!”

“You were right about your mistress.” She said, smiling. “She just gave the gems to me! Like it was nothing to her!” 

“Elayne probably can guess that they mean more to you than they would to her.” Elayne was also the kind of person to just give away gold. The woman was terrible with money. For being a legendary hero, she was quite terrible at living. “You look like you’ve been feeling better.” 

“I didn’t know the tower was inhabited when you told me about it. But they’ve been superstitious about me, and so I’ve had this entire side of the mountain to myself. Except for the times where I have to feed my curse.” 

“You can’t attack men, if I remember correctly.” The crown she couldn’t remove was the issue. “Or did you get hit by something else?”

“Nothing like Ardwen or you,” Karliah flicked her eyes downwards towards Serana’s hips. “Though you seem better than I saw you last.” 

“I got the belt off, thankfully.” 

“Must have taken quite the specialist.” She raised an eyebrow. “What about our deal?”

“I’ve met Mercer.” Serana spoke up. “He’s collecting other stones of Barenziah. But he’s odd. Barely cares about anyone, yet he somehow saved Riften’s people when the city was attacked. At least, that’s what I am told. He’s got the Jarl’s ear and all the power he needs to be the most powerful man in the hold. Everyone knows he’s done dark things, but no one is left who can hold him accountable besides King [] in Whiterun. He’s got a few friends but no great personal army. No pile of corpses behind him. But when I thought about fighting him, I could feel how bad of an idea that would be.”

“He’s got artifacts. Powerful weapons.” Karliah reminded. “If you try to kill him, you’ve got to do it clean. Where he doesn’t expect it.”

“He saw through my invisibility already. He’s smart.” And damned perceptive. “I’m not an assassin, Karliah. But killing Mercer isn’t something I can just do and get away with. There’s something off about him.”

“Will you give up?” Karliah asked, carefully. 

“No.” Serana spoke with meaning. “Elayne met you in Shashev’s world. She said that it was one of the things that determined the victory against Alduin and Harkon. If she thinks you are a good person even when the world is mad, then the person you are now is probably some kind of saint.” 

Karliah looked away, ashamed. “I’m not a good person! I’m not! I selfishly want just one man dead, for what he did to my family.”

“Get in line!” Serana yelled. “You think you’re the only one with a hit list? I’ve still got grudges from the second era!” A very short list, to be fair. But it did exist. “Just stop worrying about good or evil, right and wrong. Sometimes, it’s okay for us to be selfish. It’s not a crime to want things in life. You wanting someone dead makes you at least a woman.” 

“Most women want to kill someone?” Karliah looked a bit shocked. 

“Most of us think it. A few of us have to really really try to control those urges.” Upstairs, there were howls of laughter as a bottle went flying over the side of the tower. “Did you want me to introduce you to them?”

“Are they nice?” Karliah seemed worried. 

“For witches and hagravens, they’re pretty nice. They just don’t want to be alone. Some people like being alone, but most of us just want someone to make sure we don’t lose ourselves.” Serana shrugged, feeling the lack of breastband affecting her. “They are a little aggressive with their worship of Nocturnal, but I think they’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“No thanks.” She waved off. “Watching from the sidelines was enough.”

“Wait.” Serana smirked. “Did that crow talk to you before disappearing?”

“No.” Karliah said bitterly. “It did not.” Curious. 

“Well.” Serana changed the subject. “I know that Mercer has more of those stones you are looking for. If you want I can try to find out where he is keeping them. Or even ask about them.” 

“Don’t ask! He’ll get suspicious and bury them!”

“Alright. But he’s starting to trust me. I’ll use that.”

Karliah looked uncomfortable. “Fine.” She started by saying. “But I don’t like waiting. It’s been twenty years, Serana. I don’t want to wait much longer.” 

“Well, if you want to do some digging, I got some dirt on him.” Karliah smiled at that. “It’s old, so it might be right up your alley. He worked with Calcelmo of Markarth when he was young. I don’t know what he did, but people considered that a form of blackmail against him.”

Karliah nodded. “I think I can work on that. I spent some time in Markarth over the years. It’s safer now after the war, but Calcelmo is very difficult to get access to.”

Serana didn’t know him at all. But she did know that Mercer had something about him that was wrong. More than most people, at least. Serana had met a lot of people in her lifetimes, but Mercer was a sociopath. That alone made him something to worry about, but giving him so much power over the Rift made him terrifying. Serana wished she knew what he wanted. His goals seemed to appear to be aligned with Sibbi and Svana. But in her heart she knew that wasn’t true. “I don’t know if I can slip away to Darklight every week, but we should find a better place to meet. Or a time to meet.”

Karliah nodded. “This time, I pick the place. Snow Veil Sanctum is northeast of Windhelm. I’ve got a key to the place, so just knock at the door a month from now. Fourteen times, so I’ll know it’s you.” 

“Why not sixteen for all of the Daedra?”

Karliah snorted, a light laugh coming from her. “Fourteen. And Serana?” She looked at her, those purple eyes sad. “I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me.” 

“I’ll be calling in favors on this for decades if I do this, Karliah.” Serana warned. “Really annoying ones like collecting potion ingredients!” 

The dunmer stood up, the giant crown on her head bobbing. “I’ll see you in a month, Serana. Be careful.” 

Serana watched her go, before a drunken Illia found her and placed a bottle in her hands. “Come on, Serana! It’s your turn for stories!” 

“Illia, I’m not sure you’d like my stories,” She felt her arm pulled hard, the mage insisting. 

“You’re the guest of honor! Come on! Plus, you just watched the most intimate ritual we have! If you don’t come up and share with us, my mother’s going to start a blood feud against you.” Serana wasn’t sure if she was serious or not. “Oh, and you’re officially a friend! I’ve missed having friends.”

Serana gave the young Breton a hug. “Alright, alright. I’ll tell you about the time I killed a Direnni Altmer with their own shoe.” 

“Yay!” That was not a healthy reaction. Most people found that kind of thing abhorrent! But apparently Illia was not a normal young woman. Whatever she was expecting to find at Darklight Tower, this was not it. Even so, Serana was having an amazing time. 

What worried her most was that for three weeks she had no cravings for blood. None. Whatever Brynjolf did to her, he was right. It was keeping her from needing to eat. Though she was starting to feel a little sluggish. Her blood wasn’t pumping as quickly. It was almost as though she was starving, but she felt none of the hunger pangs. She needed to know more about this. About how a vampire could avoid the need for blood to survive. 

After a night like that? Serana was able to get all the bookshelves she needed. Darklight had plenty of empty rooms and unused furniture. Chairs, tables and bookshelves all were loaded in multiple trips and taken to Riften. The Hagravens seemed to believe that they would replenish their coven’s numbers eventually. But Serana was welcome to trade potions and scrolls for the furniture she needed. So long as Illia was allowed to come to Riften and stay with her to learn from all of the magic that would soon be filling those shelves. 

Chapter Text

Serana was nearly to Ivarstead delivering some important supplies to Mjoll. The woman had ordered fittings for the bridge being constructed at Ivarstead. The first shipment was raided, and the second got hit even harder. Svana decided to send Serana with the third. Ardwen was still effectively useless, the corset only shrinking her breasts if she spent an entire day at ease. Which meant the woman couldn’t train with her weapons or really improve on her skills without ballooning her breasts. Which of course made clothes hard, and further efforts difficult if not impossible. Ardwen wasn’t sleeping well, her neck unable to relax. Extra pillows had helped her get better sleep, but the woman was looking haggard. She was bored, and unable to escape her bondage. Being a prisoner was starting to eat at her. 

So she was riding in the cart, and Serana sat at her side, not resting at all in the two and half days it would take to get to Ivarstead. The first day was lovely. The rest of the trip was heavy rain, the horse annoyed as it dragged the heavy load towards Ivarstead. Uphill, the old stones gave them the traction they needed. But that last stretch of road to Ivarstead took them around through the only ford across the white river that was in the Rift. Without a bridge, they had to go a mile or four upstream, following an old trail. No longer on the worn stone of the road to Ivarstead, the mud bogged them all down. Just to help, Serana took off her shoes and stockings and pushed. 

She was feeling more than a little off at this point. But Serana was feeling a bit scared. Blood potions did nothing . She had drank two, in the last days. Even still, she was feeling sluggish. Symptoms of starvation. Those potions she had from Brynjolf and Svana shouldn’t still be affecting her! Even the most powerful alchemists couldn’t devise of potions with nigh-permanent changes. Hours was the longest any potion could go by what her mother had taught her. Yet it had been four weeks since she was used like a whore and drank that potion, Sanguine’s Kiss. 

She had a spare one of those in her bag. She didn’t want to think about that. Using it had turned everything in her stomach into blood, a rich and flavorful burst that made her squirm just thinking about. All she needed was to fill her stomach once more and drink that potion, and she could have that again. A potion she didn’t know how to replicate or reproduce, and something she was terrified of having to depend on. If she used it, it would mean going back to Brynjolf for more. Did she even want that? To be put back on that bondage frame and fucked again? 

Her cheeks colored. A certain part of her really enjoyed that. Her mind was undecided. But she didn’t want to be some all powerful vampire princess who had to depend on Brynjolf for nourishment. The alchemist in her was worried sick about the secondary effects on a vampire as powerful as herself. She needed to understand what was happening to her. What these ingredients were!

Her mind was pulled from its musings by the scream of Ardwen. “Deserters!” Men in rusting stormcloak armor were coming from the woods on the far side of the ford. The armor didn’t seem to fit them, but the weapons were held firmly. Serana counted five men. But they were positioned in the rocks overlooking the ford. They came right when the wagon was at its worst. The wagon was in water, and Serana was up to her waist in the froth. 

“Alright ladies.” A redguard stepped forward. “It appears you’re in need of assistance.” His tone clearly showed that they weren’t going to get the kind of help they needed. 

“A redguard in stormcloak gear?” Serana stepped forwards, her wet silk dress painting her legs as she left the river. Their old horse whinnied in worry, not liking Serana being close to it. “That seems suspicious enough. We don’t want your help.”

“That’s too bad.” The redguard said, eyeing her glass longsword. “I was going to offer to just bed you, but that sword will fetch a nice price. Boys? Let’s assist these poor ladies. The redhead is mine.” Ardwen squirmed, keeping the horse from running away. 

Serana called an ice atronach from Oblivion the moment the men stepped forwards. Her sword flashed out at the first man, paralyzing him and smoothly ending his life before he could fall into the river and drown. His large axe looked like it was going to tumble, but she grabbed it in her spare hand. The next man slid to a stop, seeing her casually holding the two handed battleaxe and hefting it. 

“Vampire, boss!” He warned. “Couldn’t see past the tits, sorry!”

“Thanks.” Serana drew his attention back to her, the battleaxe almost taking his shoulder. His friends started helping, the redguard taking the atronach with one man and the other three coming for her. An archer shot down at her from above, and Serana hissed as she felt the sluggishness in her body slow her down. The arrow was in her left arm, digging in deep. She blocked strikes from two eager soldiers, before drawing back the axe and throwing it like a spear. The spiked tip went right through the rusting stormcloak armor, and he fell to the ground nearly impaled by the weapon. No more arrows, so Serana took a few more slices from the men as she dealt with them. After a minute, she could hear the atronach return to its realm and she pulled her sword from the chest of the third man. Turning to face the redguard, she didn’t have the time to go and finish off the archer. He was supporting his own injured fellow, with ice covering his skin. “Those men were veterans.” He growled. “What the hell are you?”

“Just a friendly neighborhood-” Serana started saying, but she had to dodge. The redguard was fast. He was using a long blade himself, and the lunge he just performed tore through some of her side. The silk would need so much repairing! Not to mention cleaning of Serana’s blood! “Who the hell are you?!” She growled back, casting a spell to cast walls of ice. Ice that she could move through freely. 

“Serin?” He addressed the injured man. “Run. I’m gonna fight her, but you’ll just be a liability. Get out of here!” But to all of their shock, Ardwen was on top of the injured ally, driving a dagger into his chest. Her dress was tightening as the corset punished her, but the red haired bosmer was glaring up at the redguard. “No mercy. Neither of you are normal.” He growled, before going after Ardwen. He was going after her friend!

Serana didn’t think. She just turned into bats, coming out of the shadow of the boulder next to her. The glass blade caught the attack, but Serana could feel the damaged muscles in her injured arm starting to fail. She twisted, feeling the blade slide past her as she tried to hurt the man. “You will not touch her!” She was feeling even more drained from moving herself in daylight, the eye of Magnus above cruelly staring down at the vampire. 

“You’ve killed my shield-brothers!” He spoke angrily. “One measly vampire whore killed my men!” His skin went flush, as he activated his race’s power. Veins flared, and Serana saw her glass sword chip from when she tried to block him. He was stronger! Faster than whatever this sluggishness was!

Freeing one hand, she sent a spell towards him, and he dodged smoothly. “So fast!” She said, eyes wide. 

“That’s what she-” He started saying, before a sword went through him. The spell she cast was necromancy, and the body of his fallen friend stood behind him, sword darkened by the blood of its fellow. Coughing, the redguard roared and swung a final time, his weapon cracking her glass blade and striking her midsection. 

Serana fell next to Ardwen, wetly coughing from the injuries. If she weren’t a vampire, she would be dead. Redguards were terrifying when they activated their racial powers! Nords simply resisted the cold. But she could hear someone else coughing. The archer she had impaled! The risen zombie started shuffling towards them, and Serana stopped her connection to the corpse before it could kill him. No, that was Serana’s job. 

The man screamed as she carried herself to him and fed upon the archer. She needed blood, badly. She took everything he had, though to her shock she didn’t feel the normal rush going through her body. It was healing, yes. But she still felt sluggish, and she wasn’t feeling full. Not in the same way that she felt after Brynjolf all those weeks ago. 

The body below her was pale, drained as much as she could go. Her wounds had closed, but Serana was really starting to worry. She had just drained someone, for the first time in a very long while. She should be overcome by the feeling of power and glory from her vampirism! And yet she still felt sluggish and weak! She could feel blood coursing through her form, but she felt scared! This had never happened before! Her gaze lingered upon her bag, where the other potion of Sanguine’s Kiss remained. She needed Babette for this. Not just for the alchemical knowledge, but for the effect it had upon vampires. Because this felt wrong. This was not how it should be!

Ardwen was leading the horse across the ford and past the bodies, her dress wobbling and her dagger clean of any blood. “Thanks.” She said, smiling. “That could have gone really badly.”

“My sword is almost broken, though.” Serana fumed. “And this dress is going to take so much effort to clean and repair!” 

The water of the river was enough to clean her clothes of the blood, for the most part. Silk was such a sensitive substance, after all. Her sword was so bent that it refused to go back into its scabbard, and so she put one of the orcish battleaxes on her back until she could get it fixed. These men were bandits and clearly enjoyed it. They had booze, money and potions. Probably more where they were camped out, but she was feeling too sluggish for that kind of adventure. “Serana.” Ardwen started saying, her breasts ponderous and being held up by one arm. “Maybe we should go spend time in a hold that isn’t in a rough patch. Your roof will be up soon and you have bookshelves. And we can avoid the drama here in the Rift.” 

“You have a place in mind that isn’t going to be torn apart by civil war?” The Rift was full of stormcloak renegades and problems. Windhelm and its environs were worse, and Winterhold was probably full of people who wouldn’t appreciate them. Dawnstar Serana didn’t have fond memories of. Back in the second era it had been a stinky fishing village that her family often raided for servants and sources of blood. Now it was a city of fishmongers and hardy farmers. Markarth was technically safer, but the jarl there hated Elayne. Serana would just be in trouble if she went there. 

Which left Whiterun, Morthal and Solitude. Whiterun was under construction, burned as badly as Riften. They wouldn’t find any free blacksmiths there. Morthal had alchemy solutions yet Serana hadn’t spent much time there. In the second era it was an outpost, not a full hold. It was poor these days, unless someone was involved in the alchemy business. “I don’t like where this is going.” Serana bemoaned. “There’s only one place we could go.”

“How do you figure?” Ardwen raised her own points. “Winterhold has so few people that it’s totally going to be safe. Windhelm is under martial law, Dawnstar the same.”

“Winterhold hates Elayne. Windhelm has a lich that we don’t like. Dawnstar smells of fish and I hate it. I’ve probably fed on most of their ancestors. The only place with blacksmiths and safety that likes Elayne is Solitude.” 

“You’re picky.” Ardwen pointed out. “I can’t go back through Cyrodil, and you have reasons to complain about most of Skyrim.”

“Like any true Nord.” She sniffed, pulling off the remains of her silk dress. “But this means talking to those damned Altmer at Radiant Raiment.”

“Look on the bright side.” Ardwen pointed out. “You can literally buy out the entire bookstore and we can stock yours with all of the ones we fill the wagon with!”

“We have the shelving now.” Serana admitted. “Okay, we go to Solitude until whatever is happening to us gets resolved. Because I’m not feeling any better.” She shouldn’t be feeling so weak right now! “You shouldn’t fight and I’m going to need somewhere safe to see when this damned potion effect ends.”

Mjoll was at Ivarstead, her dwarven cog glimmering brightly from her navel. Serana tried to help her, but it seemed like the item wouldn’t disconnect from Mjoll without some control method. Another dwemer artifact. It made the poor woman produce milk, which explained why the rest of the court referred to her as Thane Nursemaid. Mjoll was tough, though. She and her husband had nearly repaired the bridges that connected the Rift to Whiterun. Trade was necessary along this road, but Serana stared up at the mountain once they got to Ivarstead. 

“Ardwen.” She said. “I’m going to go up the mountain.” Something was calling to her. 

“I would burst my dress before we got up the first hill!” She said, alarmed. 

“You’re staying here and being calm. One of the things Babette needed for the Phial was snow from the top of that mountain. Even Nords freeze up there, but I’m immune.” 

Ardwen smirked. “Your silk is going to shatter if you go up there.” 

Serana frowned. “Not all the way up there.” 

“No one is going to be on that mountain, Serana. I just thought you’d jump at the chance to be more of an exhibitionist.” 

“Ardwen!” 

“Serana.” She mused. “Come on, you skip panties most days and now you are getting all weird. We were in those horse harnesses for a week, and your maid day is in three days.”

Elayne had led her up this mountain for her moot. Serana had been bound and gagged in her Bitch Tamer for the entire hike, as Elayne nearly froze to death climbing this mountain. Everyone saw her body on display that day, everyone that mattered in Skyrim. Her dresses covered more, but the only people that lived on that mountain were a few pilgrims. Talos worshippers that were walking the steps to show religious penitence. Only the most dedicated walked the steps, and even though it was the middle of spring the mountain was still covered in snow. “The Greybeards aren’t up there.”

“The who?” Ardwen asked, confused. 

“Speakers of the dragon tongue.” Serana informed. “They are monks of Kynareth at the top of the mountain. Well, they did have a building at the top. It got destroyed by Alduin, and they plan to have Alduin help rebuild it once summer comes. Elayne wouldn’t stay quiet about that. Though none of them should be up there right now.” 

“Guess that makes you a pilgrim, then.” Ardwen said lightly, calming their old horse. “But now at least we can tell Mjoll about the people who are interfering with the shipments.”

“Mercer said those ex-Stormcloaks were near a fort on the long road from Whiterun to Kynesgrove. If Mjoll fixes the bridge, trade stops going by that fort.”

“That’s really too bad.” Serana mentioned with a smile. When Ivarstead came into view there were teams of men working on lifting stones from the destroyed bridge back up to the village. A single crane was hanging over the cliff, with men at the top working hard to remove debris from the river. Pieces of the old bridge were being repurposed for the new, but some things once broken were impossible to replace. Their horse deserved a day without pulling a heavy load, and Ardwen needed a day where she didn’t have to do anything. Just killing one man had made that cursed corset of hers activate, and she wasn’t in any condition to do much of anything. 

Left with an entire day to herself, Serana didn’t like being around the working men. They stared at her. The old and worn potion station in the only inn was cracked on one side, and needed repairs. Probably replacement. She didn’t even bother using it. The shelves of Ivarstead were low on bottles, and even the garlic braid was looking low. This town needed trade. Needed it right now. She could see Mjoll moving through the village, a man that had to be her husband holding her waist and laughing as they walked through the village. He had a bunch of wild mushrooms and looked quite happy. Mjoll deserved happiness, at least. She was an honest Nord. 

Ivarstead had two bridges. One to towards Whiterun, and one towards Riften. The more damaged bridge was on the Riften side. Serana took the only somewhat damaged Whiterun bridge in a single leap, all of her strength still available despite her feeling sluggish. “Seven thousand steps.” The mountain was way more intimidating in the daytime. She and Elayne had scaled it from a different point, on the northern side of the summit. Long ropes and assisted by Ulfric Stormcloak, they got up the mountain. When it was just her alone, she could appreciate it better. 

She went all the way up the lonely mountain. Past the marking stones that spoke of the way of the voice. Hypocritical. The Dragons invented the voice, and the Nords copied them as best they could. Being peaceful about it wasn’t helpful. By midnight, she had climbed unceasingly up to High Hrothgar. It’s ruins were dashed across the mountain, torn apart by Alduin’s claws. A crude wordwall had been built from the pieces, large and impressive. Only a single word was carved into it, the word for peace. “Drem.” It sounded nice when she said it.  

Above the ruins of High Hrothgar, she could see the wind whipping across the mountain. A normal mortal would be too tired to continue, to charge up the steps. Past the monastery, the stairs stopped. The mountain remained. Snow up to her waist was here, and she hissed as she noticed her stockings starting to freeze. They were beginning to cling to her form and stay stiff. The skirts were similarly freezing in the wind, and she could see ice crystals forming on her exposed arms. “Ardwen was right.” 

It would really help if she could wear fur! Or even leather! But she could cast waterwalking to go on top of the snow. At least the worst parts. Naked but for her stilt like heels, she ran through the wind to the very top of the mountain. The world below was so small! She could see Whiterun in the distance, and Helgen to the west. Ice had formed on her eyebrows, growing icicles from the hair. Her actual hair from her head was long since covered in ice, and her skin was building it up in some places. Huffing, she climbed onto the face of the mountain, clouds swirling around it completely. The world could not be seen. 

She should have done this back in the second era! But then again, she most likely would have disturbed Paarthuurnax. Shaking her head, she focused on the area around her. “This place, I could really freeze over here.” 

The top wasn’t far. The very top of the peak! The snow on top of it seemed ethereal, glowing in the light that pierced the cloud layer. Scooping some of the snow into a container, she noticed that it actually hurt her to touch. “Cold enough to hurt me.” That quickly got sealed away, as she felt the ice slowly building on her skin and hair. She looked like some kind of monstrosity, with ice crystals forming a giant headdress behind her. She could barely hear over the wind, and once the items were bagged she could leave. Though her heart felt a degree of peace up here. 

Only a degree. There was movement behind her, and she turned to face the way she had climbed up. The only way back down. Staring her in the eyes was a long white dragon with fins and blue eyes. It was stalking her. She didn’t scream, and she glanced at her belt. Covered completely in ice, the warhammer she was carrying frozen over. “Oh!” She spoke up. “Hello.”

The Dragon growled, positioning itself in between Serana and the easiest way down. A magic aura surrounded it, as the air grew even colder. A frost dragon. Looking around her, she could see the shade of the clouds all around her. There was no fighting this thing, and she wasn’t Elayne. Serana didn’t hesitate. Turning, she leapt off of the top of the mountain, tucking her arms in as she fell down the rock face. 

“Of course there is a dragon on top of the mountain!” She growled, glancing back to see it charging down the rock face after her. “Because of course there is!” The nearly naked vampire saw the storm ahead, and screamed more than a little as both she and the dragon plunged into the giant pits of snow. She saw the ruins in the distance. There would be dark places there! Just as she hit the clouds, she used what power she could to turn into bats. It was an extreme distance, almost a hundred yards. 

She reformed, collapsing to her knees as the blood she just took was almost rendered inert in her body. The collar shocked her, but she bit her tongue and hit. Behind her, she could see the shape of the dragon as it hit the snow she was jumping towards, its wings flapping and it crying out in shock at the lack of dinner. It was karmic, watching the dragon plow into the snowbank and clumsily dig into the piles of snow and find nothing. She just hid behind parts of the ruins until the dragon angrily left. Getting down the mountain was so much worse for her. She was running down, trying to avoid that dragon! She ended at the bottom with frizzy hair, bruises, and if she were mortal she would be sore. But a very exhausted and unhappy vampire kicked Ardwen out of bed so she could rest and recover. 

“Did Kynareth hurt you or something?” Ardwen grumbled, unhappy at the early wakeup call. “You look terrible.”

“Dragons roost on the mountain.” Serana supplied, unhappy. “And I finally found a place that makes a vampire feel cold.”

“Dragon?” Ardwen looked worried. “Did it follow you down?”

“No, dragons just really like the tops of mountains. Their ego is satisfied when they can look down on everyone else.” Her humor calmed down the elf. “But I got something that Babette needed.” 

They had to ford the river again to get to Whiterun hold. She sent a letter to Babette through a tired old courier informing her of the snow she had collected. As well as a mention of Sanguine’s Kiss. The potion was taunting her, now. Sheogorath’s Gift she paired in the letter, asking Babette about on top of things. But that was the only thing of note as they moved through Whiterun. There was a strong military presence there, along with work camps full of bandits taken by the legion. Those that were serving time were helping rebuild the walls of Whiterun, wider and farther out. But she felt more and more sluggish as they passed through the hold. Days of riding in the wagon were broken only by particularly virulent packs of flowers or alchemical ingredients to pick. But she was so sluggish she couldn’t even catch butterflies! Normally her vampiric strength and reflexes were fast enough that the insects couldn’t get away from her, but her attempts on this trip were slow and painful. 

Ardwen did not laugh or find it funny. Her friend commiserated. But when their wagon went over Dragonbridge, the town beyond was bustling. Wagons of supplies were being gathered from the woods nearby, a quarry, and from caravans that came from the north. Legionnaires with an eye symbol on their breastplates stood watchful over the area, descending upon them the moment they crossed the bridge. 

“Hold!” They barked. “Vampire, sir!” Serana wasn’t exactly hiding. But the men and women all drew weapons. One of them ran from a nearby building, his armor more decadent and detailed. But now they had the attention of every single wagon driver and villager, as they blocked the road south. 

“A vampire?” His voice was Imperial. Serana wasn’t sure what the accent was, but it sounded haughty. “You complete idiots!” His soldiers flinched. “That’s the Dragonborn’s vampire! She’s a gods-damned hero of this land! Let them go, damn it!” The commander grabbed their horse’s reins himself, leading them through his people. “My apologies, ladies. These men and women are all green. Arrived a few weeks ago for their service. Can’t recognize a collar properly.”

Serana felt a bit annoyed at the reference to the collar around her neck. To be reduced to just being owned by someone else. “Thank you, commander.” 

“Captain Maro.” He offers. “I fought near you when Alduin attacked. Though it mostly was shouting and screaming, from what I remember.” 

“There was a lot of screaming.” Serana offered with a smile. “Though Alduin has calmed down a lot.”

“He refused visiting the Imperial City, or sending any of his dragons to represent him. I don’t see that as trusting.” Maro considered. “It’s a new race of creatures that are powerful and intelligent.”

“Alduin swears his loyalty to Elayne. Even if he agreed to come to Imperial City, what good would that do?” Serana tried to explain. 

“Perhaps it would keep those elves off for another generation.” Maro said with a sigh. “Or convince Morrowind to agree to a treaty.”

“Dragons don’t view time the same way you do.” She pointed out. “They’re immortal, and even though they’ve only recently come back they don’t see you as more than a short lived meal that has the potential of speaking to them.”

“Potential?! We speak more languages than they do!”

“When I was born, remember that we called you Nedes.” Maro lost his ego and started listening. “Your race didn’t exist. They can’t even pronounce the name Septim correctly. The Empire you so dearly love has such a short existence that the dragons consider it a footnote compared to their own Atmoran peoples. A few hundred years means a few shed scales and some growth if they eat more.” 

“Perhaps I spoke out of turn.” He said, bemused. “Call me Gaius.” 

“Gaius Maro.” She sounded the name out. It was new to her. “That sounds like a rare name.”

“If only.” He scoffed. “I have three cousins by the same name, and my grandfather as well. The name Serana is unique, I’ll give you.”

“It was all the rage in the Second Era.” She said, smirking. “I had an aunt with the name. But she passed away before I reached adulthood. You can call me by my name. I don’t prefer my family name, at least.” 

Gaius was smiling, before he twisted. One of the villagers had made a noise of complaint, as they tried to move the caravan forwards across the narrow bridge. “I’ll return to my duties, Lady Serana. But if you need me I can make myself available to you.” He went to the gathered wagons, waving his arms and barking orders. 

The soldiers nearest to her grumbled loudly enough her improved hearing caught what they said. Both were women, their armor fitted for their lithe forms. “Make himself available to her? That bitch. Maybe if you had a rack as nice as hers Captain Maro might actually glance at you.”

“Maybe if your ass didn’t resemble a flat stone he’d remember your name. We can’t compete with some daedra touched Nord! That silk dress probably costs more than three months of earnings!”

Ah, jealousy. Serana felt particularly validated when she led the wagon past that pair of glowering women. Nedes were a smaller and more compact people. Most were slaves or secondary races to the others when she was born. This modern era had them at the top of the pecking order, but the natural advantages of their races stood out. Ardwen totally helped, being herself. Nothing bothered an Imperial woman more than an elf with better curves, Serana found. As she mused upon this, someone grabbed their horse and dragged them to a halt. 

She was an Altmer, standing taller than most. Her hair piled on top of her head in coiffed ringlets, and she wore a red dress from a material that they knew all too well. The same fiber as the dresses they had stolen for Ardwen to wear. Stolen wasn’t the right word. Those ex-Forsworn had captured Ardwen and deserved to have their things taken away. “My dress!” 

“Your dress?” 

“The one you are wearing!” The Altmer stomped forwards, balancing perfectly in heels taller than Serana’s. “That does not belong to you!” Her own dress was skintight, every inch of her lithe elven form highlighted from her accented shoulders to the feet bound in towering heels. The red dress was striking on her, and had a gap in the cleavage that allowed for her to probably breathe in the tight fabric.

“We took them from some bandits!” Serana stared her in the eye, noticing that the Altmer would tower over her if they were standing on the ground together. “Listen, my name is-”

“It doesn’t matter who you think you are!” The altmer said with disdain. “You’ll return those clothes and I’ll make certain they reach their proper recipient! Of course, I’ll reward you for their proper delivery.” She clapped her hands. “Come, come! You must see my shop!” 

The haughty altmer was clearly a dangerous one to cross, as a pair of Nord lumberjacks switched sides of the street to avoid her. The woman had stolen their reins! “Well?” Ardwen asked, slipping a knife out from her bag. 

“No!” She could see at least four members of the legion looking their way. “For all we know she’s rightfully collecting her property.”

“But I don’t have things that cover the corset other than this dress!”

“Shh!” The building the Altmer led them to was clearly different than most Nord ones. Two stories of cyrodilic style, with excellent shingles. “You’re one of those unfortunate people who is forced to use near-acceptable silks from that slatternly pair of sisters over in Solitude!”

“Taarie and her sisters?” Serana raised an eyebrow.

“Yes!” She rolled her eyes. “They make daringly passable clothes. If it were not for my own sponsorship with the East Empire Company, I would have made a deal with their guild of silk peddlers. Come inside, and we can discuss your reward for returning property to me, so it may reach its intended recipient.”

Serana helped Ardwen off of the wagon, unsurprised that the altmer had her own small stable area. Their old horse pulled the wagon in, and seemed happy as they let it rest. Multiple sets of heels moved over the threshold, Ardwen moving the most carefully. “What’s your name?” Ardwen asked. “That’s Serana, and I’m Ardwen.”

“Wandering green woman.” The altmer mused. “And a Nordic classic name. My name is Mistress Eldarie.” Behind them, the door glowed as complicated machinery in it slammed it shut. A small glowing key twisted in the lock before flowing through the air into the Altmer’s hands. “You two reek of unresolved tension. Which one of you is the mistress and which is her submissive servant?” She tapped long nails against the keyhole of her dress. “I’m not letting either of you leave until this is resolved.”

Chapter Text

“Excuse me?” Ardwen was the first to raise a complaint to the Altmer behind closed doors. “We reek of tension?”

Serana could unlock that door with magic or with her impressive strength at any time. This was a standard house. But the more she looked at it, the less Serana felt comfortable with her assessment. The door seemed to actually have malachite running through the supports and hinges. Though the outside of the house had patterns of stone the inside had a frame. That frame reinforced the walls against collapse. A dragon could slam into the house and it would bend, not break. This place was designed like a fortress. A fortress of decor and fashion, at least. But she felt so sluggish! 

Ever since she used her powers on the throat of the world, she had been feeling almost sleepy. Like her senses were dulled. “I know who you are, only by reputation. The vampire with the Dragonborn’s collar. You I’ve heard all kinds of torrid things. I think only by association with the Dragonborn. Honestly, the woman got in trouble last week in Solitude when she broke one of the doors of the blue palace and started a fire because her husband didn’t keep her in their bedroom enough.” The Altmer tutted. “They have a bed, they should have been using that instead of the servant’s closet next to Elisef’s court!”

“While that sounds like Elayne, that doesn’t explain why you locked us in here!” Serana folded her arms, the Altmer at least eight inches taller than her with her heels. 

“You’re wearing my stolen property. Those clothes you are wearing are meant for my buyer, miss Svana Black-briar. Which now have to be resized and sent out to her again! This backwater province has such difficulty insuring the delivery of my orders, more than half of the crates I ship are lost on the roads!” She waved her hands, casually drawing chairs our from a table using a spell. “If you don’t want me to come after you for theft, we can find an arrangement. One that pleases everyone.” She started walking out of the room, not at all concerned with the adventurers she just locked into her shop. “How do you like your tea?”

The woman’s heels slowly moved upstairs, as Ardwen tried the door. Even with Serana, it didn’t even budge. All of her strength was barely enough to make the metal door handle squirm. The handle might break before the lock would. All of the windows were small, arrow slits that could allow light in but have no offer for escape. “If I could turn into bats I could escape.” 

“Then your collar would shock you and you would be outside and the door would still be locked.” Ardwen rolled her eyes, not daring to try to escape harder. “Why don’t you use that door unlocking magic?”

“Because if I cast it this close to you you’ll burst that seam and that elf will be even more angry!” 

“We can’t fight her! She’s a powerful enough mage that it might kill one of us.” Ardwen mentioned. One spell and she would be useless, no matter what the spell. “And if we kill her, those legionnaires will be all over us.”

“What are you saying, Ardwen?”

“I’m saying we should play along to her game. I know how to fake an act and you’re a noble. You can put on a brave face for a day, and she might just pay us for the outfits.”

“Play her game? She thinks we’re lovers, Ardwen!” 

“So what?” Ardwen leaned forwards, whispering. “You dress like a slut all the time and people have asked me plenty about that.”

“That’s not my choice and you know it!”

“Say it all you want, you aren’t discouraging the looks you get.” Ardwen poked her in the collarbone ineffectively. “That woman is going to be back and expecting something from us. Are you going to play nice or not?”

“So long as we don’t do anything humiliating.” Serana groaned. “She thinks one of us is a mistress and the other is a servant.”

“Well, I know why she thought of that.” Ardwen seemed confident. “ Princess. ” 

Serana was about to launch into another tirade when they both heard the elf returning. Coming back to the table, the fuming pair noticed a tea tray made from expensive blue tinted ceramics. Two teacups were there, one filled with a rich red liquid. It was blood! Or at least something that smelled good. “Most of the Thalmor were turned into vampires during the conflict last year. I still had something distilled for them in my cabinets.”

“Thank you?” It was rare enough to have that kind of hospitality. Serana glanced at Ardwen, seeing the woman raising an eyebrow. She sighed, reminding herself to play nice. 

“Thank you.” Ardwen said, worried. “But you better start making sense.”

“Being eloquent does not mean I am not being blunt.” The elf countered. “I won’t compromise my manners for tact.” She had a small teacup for herself, sipping gingerly. “But before anything else, I will want my things back.”

“We recovered these from a bandit.” Serana spoke up, pointing out. “If anything, it’s fair to claim ownership under local laws.”

“Normally my gracious self would agree with you.” Eldarie responded. “But those outfits are my pride and joy. Upon someone fitted for them, I am deeply pleased. But you are not Svana.”

“Probably explains why I had to let the bodice out.”

“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. You seem to enjoy this style, even though you haven’t paid for it. If you return those dresses I will give you a deal. A discount upon a purchase with me. Most importantly, I can fit you in a way that you have only dreamed of.”

“How much are we talking?”

“I can’t price what I can’t see.” The elf chuckled. “Though if you are an adventurer, I am told that I am more expensive than a set of armor.” Hundreds of gold. Ardwen had a good supply right now from their successes. Maybe seven hundred or eight hundred if Serana thought correctly. “I can promise a reward of at least one hundred and fifty drakes for each dress returned to me.”

“Because you’ll charge for secure shipping back to Svana?” Ardwen smirked. “We could extradite that.”

“Because you are swifter than couriers? I think not.”

“Because we would actually guarantee the delivery!” Serana grumbled. “I am friends with Svana and can’t actually wear the outfits.”

“I’ve had good luck with the couriers for the most part, though I only send shipments once a month at best.” The table could hear the seams of Ardwen’s dress strain as she swelled, enough spells cast that the corset was reacting. Instead of being surprised, the elf laughed. “Oh, my poor dear. Perhaps I can be of more help than you believe.”

“You’re familiar with daedric curses?”

“In Alinor we learn many schools of magic. Some of which can help when you encounter creatures of Oblivion or their detritus.” She clapped her hands. “Strip. That dress couldn’t handle more strain if it tried.”

Ardwen’s cheeks colored. The woman couldn’t bend to accomplish it. The ebonite around her shoulders and neck restrained her completely. “Princess.” She said, her voice shaky but firm. Serana flinched. She didn’t like that tone. She didn’t want to play this damned altmer’s game! “Start with the shoes.”

But any fighting in here and Ardwen was useless. Serana wasn’t confident in her chances against a full sorceress. Even though she had heard nothing, the woman had already referenced knowing Thalmor. Thalmor vampires at that. Vampires that were technically part of the Volkihar. She might not even be alone in this house. It was large, and it would complicate things. Most importantly, she might hate that elf but she made a promise to Elayne. She couldn’t start a fight with someone she knew to be innocent. Or at least not guilty of crimes. So she could fight Brynjolf even though he was a Thane, because she knew he had committed crimes. Mercer because he seemed to do the same. But her collar was already warning her about this woman. If they fought, it wouldn’t be to the blood or until she gave up. 

Serana gave Ardwen a warning glare. She would feel this later. This was humiliating! But in front of this altmer, she stepped out of her chair and bent over. One knee almost touched the ground. The room stood silent as Serana’s fingers flew through the familiar motions of taking the shoes off. The small sounds of the heeled elven armor boots hitting the floor were followed by the more complicated belt and gauntlets. 

Ardwen seemed to be calming down a lot as Serana reached up past her knee-length skirt to take her stockings. But the vampire was feeling very unhappy with her friend at that moment, and sent her hands higher. She took everything Ardwen had, dragging it down to her toes. Back into her bag it all went, as the elf seemed to regret forcing Serana to do this. Which was justified! 

Serana wanted this over with, but that damned daedric corset made everything harder. Ardwen squealed more than once as her dress was dragged up her body, laces slowly unraveling as Serana used more force than necessary. Or perhaps it was justified. But she was smiling wide when Ardwen fell back into her chair, left to be scrutinized by the altmer across the table from them. 

“Look at those curves! No wonder my dress couldn’t handle the strain!” She purred. “If you and your servant stay here for a few days and assist me, we can make you a wardrobe that fits. I know just the thing for that curse! I’ll need a few days to adjust everything. Those ebonite pieces can’t come off, not unless you have a daedric key. I’ve only heard of someone making one from a sigil stone or something equivalent.” The elf sneered. More information she could hold over them. 

“Sigil stone?” Serana started asking, wanting to know more. Damn this elf for knowing things! It didn’t help that they lived for hundreds of years, making them have a natural advantage for study and learning. They had to hold it over everyone, too! 

“Serana?” Ardwen said carefully. She didn’t break eye contact with the elf. “ Princess .” She glared back at her friend. “We’re going to be here for a few days. Can you take our things to a room,” Ardwen glanced at Eldarie. “And then get dressed for helping around the house.”

Both elves could hear the grindstone that was her teeth as she stalked up the stairs, Eldarie laughing lightly. “Second door at the top!” All of Ardwen’s weapons and armor along with Serana’s things went upstairs. Already the altmer had her on edge. Ardwen ordering her around was worse! They were around an elf they couldn’t trust, and she was demanding things of her! Serana fumed, as she got into a small guest room with a bed. 

Serana was about to lose her patience and just kill the elf when she saw the ornaments in the room. More importantly, she could see banners in the room. Different ones, with ones of her family in one corner. “Damnit.” The damn Altmer knew too much! She was getting to be too useful to kill, which was a state of being that made Serana grind her teeth. “I’m going to go out there,” And what? Make the altmer that already locked them in the house bend to her will? Serana fumed, annoyed as she noticed the bed was of exceedingly high quality. She kept a dagger on her person, and was about to go back downstairs when Ardwen’s words came back to her. Help around the house? Get changed?

Ardwen knew it wasn’t a day she had to be a maid! But that had to be what she was asking her. She took a moment to collect her thoughts. There were larger windows on this level. She could break out any time she wanted. She just had to be patient. Just be patient. She just needed to be patient and humiliate herself in front of an Altmer! 

Serana pantomimed biting the Altmer for all she was worth, before still feeling that sluggishness make what was something predatory into something a bit less than intimidating. Serana tried to throw a punch. Her fastest was now almost completely mortal. She was a damned liability. Sitting on the bed, she huffed and took off her shoes. The nice silk dress followed, and though she kept her underwear she was still facing the stares of an altmer in a few minutes. “Just until we escape.” She felt a slight tingle of magic as she got dressed in the stockings with their scarlet red ribbons. She was putting this on without being forced to by the collar, and it felt odd. 

But she was a vampire! She was just as dangerous like this as she was when without. Between mages armor meant nothing, anyways. That’s what she told herself as the large red ribbon settled upon her waist. Even though she knew the outfit would size itself, Serana took the time to adjust it properly. Just because it meant Ardwen was more scrutinized. It was almost with some pride that the outfit barely adjusted itself when all of the pieces snapped tight. 

She took her dagger and slipped it into a stocking. Now suitably armed, she gave a short glare at the outfit and started walking for the stairs. For a moment she felt like she was smelling something familiar, but the scent passed as Serana sluggishly reached the first floor. Eldarie clapped when she came in, while Ardwen looked up with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll help you, but only for information.” She insisted. “So speak.” Serana marched her way back to the table, standing behind Ardwen. 

“Now isn’t that the most delightful layer of enchantments!” Eldarie grinned. “But a servant should refer to her betters correctly.”

“Ardwen!” Serana hissed. “I agreed to help her, nothing else!”

“Bow and scrape, Princess . She’s agreed to tell me what we need to know. While you scrub every inch of her house clean. That collar doesn’t let you steal anything, after all.” Serana was allowed to steal things! But Eldarie didn’t know that. Ardwen was covering for her. 

But that meant that Serana Volkihar had to bow to an elf. Not since the second era did she ever have to endure such. Even then it was to some Direnni bitch who could have matched her father in power. Eldarie wasn’t like that. “Let me know where you need help, Eldarie.” She grimaced, bowing.That key was somewhere on her person, keeping them from leaving. 

“ Mistress Eldarie. ” The Altmer intoned. “As well as Mistress Ardwen.”

“She’s not my mistress! That’s the Dragonborn, Elayne!” Elayne never demanded Serana call her that, either. The woman was too caught up with her husband. 

“You’re wearing a collar. No one gave you proper training, clearly.” The last word was enunciated with flair. “You dress the part but anyone who spends time with you learns that you are trying to top from the bottom, or rather you are of a rank in society where a vampire can be in society. But only as a position where her authority and status is so minimal that she can no longer be a threat.”

“I’m-” Serana could almost feel her hands itching to turn into claws. 

“A threat.” Ardwen interjected. “Don’t get off calling my friend anything less than the scariest person in this room.”

“Vampires are easy to train, Ardwen. You just need to provide the right incentive.” The elf stood up, not at all concerned as she walked to one of the standing cupboards and took out a small wand, almost. It was two feet long, and swished like it was a stick fresh cut from a tree. There was a glint of metal in it, as Eldarie passed it over across the table. “It’s hardly an effort to swing, if you’re worried about that cursed object. Give it a swish.”

Serana rolled her eyes. “Like a wand is going to hurt me.” 

Ardwen took that as a challenge and swung it against Serana’s silk covered thigh. Neither were expecting Serana to jump two feet in response. That burned her! When her heels landed back on the floor, she was ready to swing. “Oh Princess likes that!” Ardwen said, returning to face Eldarie. “What were you saying about training a vampire?”

“Your maid helps clean the house, and I’ll teach you how to discipline her.” Eldarie clapped her hands. “In three days we should have you a wardrobe and your servant much more willing.”

“I’m not her servant!” Her complaints were ignored by both elves. 

Ardwen barely touched her with the small wand. Whatever it was made with, it burned. While she grimaced, she didn’t jump. “Serana. She doesn’t want to have any trouble either. We have a good opportunity. She doesn’t want to talk to you, Princess.”

“I promise that neither of you will come to harm from me.” Eldarie spoke carefully. “So long as you obey the rules of my house. Maid, if you would please clean and dust the upper floors?” 

Serana glared, as Ardwen looked like she wanted Serana to reduce the tension. “Fine.” Her eyes raked over both of them. “But you’ll owe me blood.”

Eldarie cleared her throat as Serana was about to leave the room. “Refer to your Mistress correctly. Give a bow so she knows you respect her.”

Serana fumed, her magic barely contained. Ardwen had some kind of play here, and Serana was the one who had to pay for it. Her heels scraped slightly as she turned, facing her friend. She bowed the way she had seen some do in Wayrest a thousand years ago. With a skirt this small it meant the world to anyone standing behind her. “Mistress Ardwen.” The words felt sour, leaving her mouth. 

Serana was made to clean every inch of that house. Her shoes had bells, ruining any attempt she made to listen in to the conversation happening downstairs. They could hear her coming from far away, and the outfit was only coming off when Ardwen said. Serana didn’t want to let that damned elf know how the enchanted gear worked. But all day, Ardwen stayed downstairs with Eldarie. They called for Serana constantly, for the smallest of things! 

Measuring lines! A scroll on the second floor and Eldarie’s favorite quill from the third! Fabrics from rungs on the third, and tendons of birds from storage on the third! Worse, they would barely tell her to carry any of it. Tiny amounts at a time! Every time Serana had to leave the room to go back to fussing on the upstairs, Eldarie would make her bow and scrape to Ardwen. Calling her Mistress. Dozens of times throughout the day Serana had bowed and bent. 

When night fell, her sluggish legs had rung the bells of her shoes so many times that she sank into the bed they had been given. Ardwen trudged into the room, looking exhausted. Before Serana could raise her voice, Ardwen hushed her. “Princess.” Ardwen glanced at the walls. They weren’t safe here. “Hold me, it’s always nice when I sleep next to you.”

Still dressed, as little as they both were their faces were inches apart when they finally got settled onto the bed. “What in the name of Bal are you doing?!” Serana hissed. 

“You’re not the only vampire here.” She whispered. “She takes her on ‘walks’ through the village. The entire reason the vampires didn’t wipe out the village of Dragonsbridge is because her house is warded. Protected.”

“Not the only-” She hadn’t smelled any signs of one! She had been cleaning all over that house and Eldarie was kind of messy. But nothing suggested that there was a second vampire here!

“It’s in the basement. Behind a locked door and kept in a coffin. But that vampire has been here for a year. Kept like a pet.”

“What!”

“Shh.” Ardwen insisted. “If I don’t properly dominate you, we get nothing. It’s going to take both of us to get out of here. Play nice.”

“I could just charm her-”

“Don’t. She has magic resistant enchantments. That’s why she wasn’t afraid of you at all.” Serana remained quiet, closing her eyes to think. She could hear Ardwen’s raised heartbeat. She was terrified. “Please forgive me.” 

“For now.” Serana was still angry. Still stuck as some vampire maid for two more days, unless she figured out a way to kill her. “You find out more about what she knows.”

“She asked me about Daedric Princes today. I think she might want to extract answers from you tomorrow, through me.”

“She has to talk to me, then.”

“Shh.” Ardwen whispered, as they both saw a light moving through the house through the gap in between the door and the floor. They were not alone. “Tomorrow, you need to keep up the act. Keep calling me Mistress. Do what I say.”

Ardwen’s heartbeat fluttered as she said it. She felt warmer, where their skin connected. After a day of constant moving through the warm house, Serana’s skin wasn’t cold. She had been moving around enough that she wasn’t terrible to touch. “I’ll do this, Ardwen.” She whispered into the other’s ear. “But you’re going to owe me blood for this. Since i know you’re going to need every ounce of gold we make to keep these dresses maintained.”

“But I have you for that.” Ardwen’s hand rested right on Serana’s hip. The glow under the door was moving back and forth, and Serana realized what it must be. 

“Atronach.” She whispered. 

“The walls have eyes, Serana.” Ardwen whispered into her neck. Where no one could read their lips. Her hand climbed, reaching under her skirt and grabbing the dagger that Serana had put there at the start of the day. “You think I didn’t notice you carrying a blade? Don’t bother tomorrow.” That was said louder, and the elven dagger was thrown across the floor. Serana’s pulse quickened, as Ardwen returned her hand back to Serana’s hip. 

All night, Ardwen slept. Serana didn’t. That atronach remained outside of their room all night, and more than once she felt eyes upon them. Ardwen’s fingers dug into her skin more than once, making it harder to sleep. But she didn’t trust this Altmer at all. She could leave at any time, but this sluggish feeling remained. This weakness that Serana couldn’t stand. She felt like her reflexes were dulling ever so slightly by the day. 

Nothing came into their room during the night. At one point she heard Eldarie moving around the house, but Ardwen was especially clingy with her. The woman needed her sleep. One day without sleep didn’t bother her. But the morning light coming through the arrow-slit like windows heralded the weakening of her vampiric powers as well as the sniffling of Ardwen coming awake from her dreams. 

For the next two days Serana bowed and scraped. Every time she had to come into a room with Ardwen and Eldarie, she had to call both of them Mistress. Both of them! Eldarie had her perform the most menial of tasks, including using an oil soaked rag to try to bring more color to the wooden planks of her stairs and floor. With constant interruptions, she somehow did the first floor before sundown. It was also the first time she could remember wearing the maid outfit for longer than a day, and she was starting to filter out the bells on her feet. It had become background noise for all of the other things she had to pick up on. Like the sound of Eldarie clearing her throat from two floors away. Or Ardwen making a noise in the back of her throat as if she were choking. 

That made Serana nearly run. Unarmed and in hostile territory, she had half a claw morphed only to see Ardwen trying to learn some kind of eloquence training. Where Serana was working herself to exhaustion, Eldarie was fitting clothes to Ardwen and repairing the ones that were supposed to make it to Svana. Serana just hoped that she would find them distracting enough to tell them what they wanted to know. 

On the third day, Serana knew that her hair was not quite held together by the headband anymore. The outfit was in need of cleaning itself, after all she had done in it. Ardwen’s breasts had shrunk back to normal proportions, and Eldarie was making her take graceful and careful steps around the upstairs tables in a hobble skirt. It was just Serana and Eldarie on the main floor, Serana finishing dishes from their lunch. 

“I have a test for you.” Eldarie spoke. “If you pass it I will answer two of your questions. Your Mistress is asking them, but I know that you are the real author.” Serana folded her arms. She was mostly immune to her magics and charms with her enchanted outfits. She didn’t say anything, knowing Eldarie would just use the moment to chastise her. “Come on, and don’t dawdle.”

The doors to her basement opened via a key, and for the first time Serana was able to go inside. She was following the fearless Altmer, coming into a dungeon of materials. With how expensive the material was, this room alone could afford the rest of Dragonbridge. At the far end, Serana sighed at the sight of torture devices with sexual tools attached. It wasn’t as bad as the room she had seen from Hjorni, but it was a close thing. Most of it was racks of tough metal and cage like containers meant to keep people kneeling inside of them. She tried to ignore the old bloodstains on the floor, as well as the burn marks in the corners. Spells had been cast here, upon victims. 

“Castle Volkihar could learn from your tidiness.” She offered as a complement. 

It was clean in here. Supernaturally clean. The kind of clean that only came from Transmutation magic. In the back, there were a number of cages and coffins in the Volkihar style. Some of them had been modified to allow for their victims to be restrained with a stockade or pillory in combination with the cage. But the cages were empty. The smell was clean in here too, even though it had been used recently. “Castle Volkihar is old and dead. I’ve never been but I needed to modify some of their coffins they save for use.” She noticed that Serana stopped following her at this point, chuckling. “These aren’t for you. Your Mistress Ardwen is not the only one who can control a vampire.”

Serana stopped breathing when the elf opened the pair of coffins. A small key was used on one of two latches on each coffin. The lids were removed, but the interior was a layer of chains and a second layer of wood frame. Small holes were cut out at the level of the face and waist. Filling both of the coffins were Altmer. “Your own people!”

“They were my own people. Now they are Volkihar vampires.” Eldarie brushed the hair of the first, the blonde hair unkempt. A silver rod was filling the Vampire’s mouth, and the creature seemed entirely too out of sorts. The other was more starved, the dark pits of her face more sunken. “They are my own servants. They were the ones left from the Thalmor-turned vampires to guard Dragonbridge. When the battle ended, they begged for my help. Accepted any cost to keep on living. Even if it meant my collar and leash.”

“Why show me this?” Serana asked, seeing the lethargic vampires blinking. It was the daytime, and Serana could see the signs of youth on those vampire’s faces. They were young of mortal age and of deathless state. More desperate for blood and lacking the powers of their bloodline. 

“The vampires of clan Volkihar still have you. But with that collar around your neck I cannot tolerate your disrespect of your mistress. You might be some vampire priestess or princess. But you are completely untrained for your duties. You have this one day to show me your commitment to Mistress Ardwen, or I’ll bring her down here and have you gain a more object lesson on how you can be disciplined.”

“Why do you even care how I and,” A glance at the whips that adorned some of the dungeon reminded her of the pain that might follow. “Mistress Ardwen have an arrangement? She’s not even the owner of this collar!” 

“That could change.” The elf whispers darkly. “Very quickly, in the right hands.” She shut both coffins, as the vampires within didn’t seem to react. “I know who has control of more than a few sigil stones. I had the misfortune of being cursed once from a particularly cute pair of shoes. Your Mistress has been asking for you, even if she doesn’t understand the full value of a sigil stones.”

“Mistress Ardwen doesn’t deserve to be stuck in her bondage.”

“Mistress Ardwen certainly deserves to let her hair down and have an easier life. A servant like you waiting hand and foot for her is deserved. She is free and you are not. Those daedric curses are simply a reflection of her superiority to you.”

“They are not! She got cursed for something she didn’t deserve!” 

“Mistress Ardwen was cursed by the daedra. How or why is no longer your concern as a servant. Though I respect your desire to free her.” The elf motioned to the room around her. “Her clothes will take less than a day to finish if I am certain I don’t have to teach her how to ensure your respect. If I must waste my time? Then you’ll be spending another day here and I’ll be teaching Mistress Ardwen how to properly train a vampire.”

“What are you saying?” Serana felt threatened, down here. Ardwen wouldn’t do that to her! Would she?

“I am saying that you have this day to prove you are her servant in truth. Or else.” Eldarie said without feeling. “Now, thank me for showing you this, and you may return upstairs.”

Serana knew what she wanted. But oh how it galled her to give any Altmer that kind of respect. Or know that two Volkihar were being treated like this. Yet her knees shook as she gave a bow, and her mouth set into a thin line. “Thank you, Mistress Eldarie.” The words tasted like ash. 

“You may go. But if I waste too much time making certain your Mistress treats you properly, you know what will happen.”

Serana’s heels clicked on the stairs, as she walked up to the second floor. Ardwen was practicing some reading, perched on the edge of a chair and sitting straight up. She was reading about some kind of spell tome. “Mistress Ardwen.” Serana announced, as if the bells on her shoes weren’t enough. “We are in deep shite.”

It took two minutes to explain to Ardwen that the house’s basement had two more vampires like her. With collars. Especially that Eldarie wasn’t sold on their treatment of one another. “I’ll do anything I can to avoid that.” She stood up, precariously offering a hug. 

“Thank you.” Serana started to say, before shrieking. Her ass was on fire! Jumping back, she could see the small wand in Ardwen’s hands. “Wait, why!”

“You went into the basement without your Mistress!” Ardwen said loudly. Loudly enough for others to hear. “So i get to punish you.”

“Ah,” She would have contested it! She really would have! But that wand came down swishy fast! Two more strikes to Serana’s rear end, as Ardwen giggled. Serana fumed, one of her fingers lengthening into a claw in response. “A-ardwen!” It was burning her skin beneath her skirt with every strike! 

“That’s Mistress Ardwen.” Another strike, this time on her arm! But the maid outfit didn’t even seem to matter to the small wand. “And if you want us to get out of here without you starting to have weird thoughts about Altmer, you need to embrace whatever that inner slut is that will do things for Elayne.”

“That person doesn’t exist!” 

Her ass was really starting to burn as that wand came down again. Why did she not even try to block it! She even glanced at the stairs to see if Eldarie was somehow looking. “Princess? For your sake you had better imagine that a version of you begging at my feet does exist. Because it’s not going to end well for either of us if you can’t conjure that. Or maybe you secretly want that. Who knows. But I’ll give you a break for a few minutes to compose yourself. Go into our room and make the bed. Again.” Ardwen ordered her. Serana was openly fuming, her ass feeling toasty and crisp. Yet when she lifted her skirt, the skin was unbroken. Even though there was pain, her skin was uninjured. 

Giving Ardwen a glare, she took the order literally, walking back to their shared room and sitting on the bed. The completely clean and fine bed that absolutely didn’t need to be made again. Yet her hands did so just because it was better than stewing on that feeling. She preferred not just standing there thinking about Eldarie’s blackmail. Because it was blackmail! Outright plain manipulation! Though if Elayne ever heard about this place Serana was certain that she would make friends with that Altmer. Somehow. It was giving Serana conniptions just to think about. 

But Ardwen wasn’t siding with her plan of faking it! She wanted her to lean more into this persona! There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world that could knock her sensibilities off enough for her to feel comfortable faking it. Staring into the mirror and seeing herself made the vampire angry. Angry that she looked like some trollop. She was one of the pureblooded of Molag Bal! Yet her cleavage jiggled as she stepped towards that mirror, lewdly presenting the bare skin of her chest leading up to that collar. 

Though the choker she wore back when she was free was also a collar, in a way. A sign of her connection to Molag Bal. She could take it off, but there was no way she could ever clear the mark on her soul from him. Her soul was slated to go to Coldharbour, dragging all of those she had killed with her. She felt a shiver at that thought. But that thought inspired something. Age old knowledge of Conjuration brought back thoughts of spells that her mother had taught her long ago. 

One came to mind. There were spells that caused undead to flee, to lose their desire to fight. Like the demoralizing spells of Illusion magic, these spells were of the conjuration school. They attacked the anchors of conjuration that kept an undead animated, which was one of the few ways you could terrify them. It wasn’t real fear, but more a realization that their existence was threatened. The undead creature would then try to avoid conflict and survive. More powerful versions of the spell banished those connections and made undead lose cohesion. Similar to banishing a daedra, after all. 

But Serana remembered the words and actions to that spell. The specific hand movements were easy, and she cast the spell she remembered from her mother’s instruction. It left her hands, splashing harmlessly against the wall. But for a moment she could feel that pull in her fingers, a tingle that promised danger. Serana took a deeper breath. She could play into Ardwen’s hands. Her ego was the thing in the way of them leaving this place without Eldarie putting them through further tortures. All that Serana had to do was mute her ego for a while. 

Most mages didn’t think about casting harmful effects on themselves. But any spell could be turned back to its caster. Any mage could cast any spell effect on themselves directly. It was just stupid to do that with most of the magic available, and modern mages certainly weren’t taught about that. 

But Serana remembered when that was part of training. She wished she knew those flying spells the Dunmer liked so much. But the Telvanni mages were not on good terms with the Nords in her era. Her ego needed to be out of the way. She needed to stop fighting all of this. If Serana didn’t want to get shoved into a coffin and trained by Eldarie, she needed to stop fighting for a while. Her hands gathered almost all of her magic, focusing it along her internal paths. She relaxed her mind, prepared to receive a spell. Past her resistances, past her willful objection to this idea. And then she hit herself with a long-lasting Turn Undead spell effect. 

Her mind immediately was slammed into a bleak existential crisis. She wanted to run away! Run away from what? The source of the spell was her own hands! With nowhere to run, her mind could only retreat further into itself, until Serana could barely feel her extremities. Her ego was crushed under the weight of fear. Fear of her own self, overriding her sense of will. She was in a fog, as her ass sank to the floor. She was kneeling without telling herself to. 

Blearily, she tried to tell her body to stand. Yet it refused, stubbornly kneeling on the floor. Stubbornly staring into the mirror in an almost slack-jawed state. Serana was worried that she had made the spell too powerful, when there was a jingle in the background. Eldarie or Ardwen was calling for her. Serana didn’t have to command her body to move, it simply got up. It was running on its own, right to Ardwen! 

Serana tried to command her body to do anything of her own volition! Yet it pleasantly followed orders from Ardwen like it was the most pleasant thing in existence. Ardwen noticed that Serana was odd the moment she came into the downstairs room and bowed. “Mistress Ardwen.” 

It took so much effort to force her body to speak! It was like pushing through soup. “Serana. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Her lips moved. But inside Serana was screaming a very different word. As she raged against the spell of her own making. A spell that would last for hours. 

“Did you think about our conversation, Princess ? Are you going to do everything I say?” Eldarie was just in the kitchen, not fifteen feet from her. Serana was raging inside of her mind to respond in some way that would imply self-respect. Yet her body had lost its will to fight. Any fight. In front of both elves, Serana sank down to her knees and her mouth moved against her will. The spell was designed to make her flee from the spell’s source. That source was herself. 

“Yes, Mistress Ardwen.” She was kneeling before her friend! Serana had never done that before! Every ounce of her willpower was only enough to wiggle her toes! 

“My corset is dirty, Princess. Clean it.” It wasn’t that dirty. But sometimes Ardwen complained about sweating inside of a daedric cursed object. Serana’s dulled mind immediately followed the order. There was no shred of resistance, and for the rest of the day Ardwen ordered her around with impunity! Serana couldn’t even tease her as she was made to clean the grooves of the ebonite corset without letting any of the cleaning liquid touch Ardwen’s skin. Hours of simple mindless tasks that her body happily did under the watchful eyes of both Ardwen and Eldarie. But when the sun finally went down and Eldarie went to her basement, she did not invite Ardwen to join her! 

Serana was overjoyed, but still in a state where she was terrified of her own decision making. She followed behind her friend like a dog, bowing and scraping at the slightest decision. Worst of all, her body would kneel down if she had nothing to do. To just sit there! Kneeling next to Ardwen! For hours both elves tried and failed to get Serana to overreact to their commands, and she just acted docile and submissive. Hours and hours of her anger rising, and she couldn’t even get off of her knees before Ardwen! 

She was in shock when she felt her hand touch her cheek. Ardwen’s warm hand. “I don’t know what you told yourself, Princess, but it worked. Eldarie is convinced. But I’m curious. You haven’t complained once since we talked. And I didn’t ask you to kneel, either.” Her eyes were suspicious. “You did that on your own.”

“Yes, Mistress Ardwen.” Damn her tongue! It refused to do a single thing for her! Ardwen had gotten comfortable in Eldarie’s home, enough that in the comfort of their room she was happy to only be wearing the daedric cursed corset and posture collar. But she could feel some of the feeling in her toes returning. 

“She’s watching us.” Ardwen whispered, drawing her lips near Serana’s ear. “I’m going to ask you to do something special for me, alright? Please, do it for me?”

“Of course, Mistress Ardwen.” Serana squirmed inside of her mind, even as she could feel the spell starting to wear down. 

“Worship my body, Princess.” Ardwen’s command felt like the most daring thing she had ever asked. Inside of the chains binding her ego, the vampire felt embarrassed. But her body acted on its own, without hesitation! 

She kissed Ardwen’s feet, taking the time to lewdly lick her way up to her knees. Serana’s tongue was warm from all of the skin she was in contact with, the rest of her cold. She could feel her knees and hands again! Thinking, she could twitch her toes. Move her fingers! But her wrists stayed stubbornly on her thighs, presenting herself for Ardwen. 

Her tongue was trailing up Ardwen’s legs now, and Serana closed her eyes. It was easier to focus this way. The spell was unraveling! But with that freedom came the realization that Eldarie was watching them. She had watched Serana play this part all day, and if she broke character now, that altmer would certainly throw her into the basement! Even as she regained control of her body, and the restrained part of her mind started to return she kept kissing and licking. Ardwen had a lot of thigh to kiss, after all. Her cheeks felt hot, and her lips were dragging against skin. Past the bands of ebonite that sat upon her thighs, she could feel something new on her tongue. A different taste. It wasn’t sweat, and it wasn’t anything that Serana felt a connection to. 

But there was a snap as she finally came back to herself. She no longer felt that overriding fear! What replaced it was a powerful sense of shame. For what she didn’t know at the time but by the gods she felt shameful! But there was another feeling rising. Her body was trembling, as that sluggish feeling was also retreating! 

But she hadn’t had any blood! Her strength was returning! As she thought that, her tongue dragged up Ardwen’s inner thigh. Again, she felt more strength returning to her. Her mind no longer feeling like it was in a fog. Strength and power that had been denied to her so long! Weeks of feeling weak and mortal were being washed away as her tongue lapped away at Ardwen’s thigh. But why was this and not blood restoring her?! 

The answer came to her as her forehead touched somewhere warm. Opening her eyes, she remembered that Ardwen hadn’t been wearing anything around her hips but a loose skirt for days. What she had been licking was from Ardwen! Serana froze, looking up at Ardwen. The Bosmer’s eyes were closed, as if she were enjoying this. Enjoying watching Serana parade herself as a complete slave!

She could feel the heat coming from her, and felt more flush when she realized that Ardwen was getting off on this. She was turned on by what Serana was doing! Should she feel as though that was a complement? Serana felt slightly surprised to not be offended or freaked out by it. She knew that she dressed to impress and tease. It shouldn’t surprise her that Ardwen found her attractive. Or was she attracted to Serana being her slave? The questions burned at her, as her tongue stopped moving. 

“Other leg too, Princess.” Ardwen whispered. She didn’t even open her eyes. She just blindly trusted her. Serana was completely free of her self-inflicted magical effect. It was her choice to keep going or not. Her forehead brushed against forbidden territory as she turned her head, and kept her hands calmly upon her own bare thighs. She had to do this. She couldn’t show Eldarie something that might keep them there! 

Her tongue took its time on Ardwen’s other thigh. By choice. When she got to the heavy bands that wrapped around the upper thighs, she could taste that source again. She was slowly beating back this sluggish weakness! But if it was only from fluids, that meant that all of the blood potions she had made recently were doing nothing for her! Nothing! Not if that Sheogorath potion or Sanguine potion were permanent things instead of temporary!

Her tongue went all over Ardwen’s thighs, before all Serana had left was above them. Ardwen was making moaning noises above, unable to bend a single inch to help or hinder. She felt too embarrassed to go further! She knew Ardwen liked her in that way, but Serana wasn’t sure about herself. Except that she could tell that she was excited. Losing her mind and acting this way had her on just as much edge as Ardwen! Her nipples were trying to escape their confines, and she didn’t want to think about the state of her underwear. 

Thankfully, Ardwen reached down with her hand and patted Serana's cheek. “We will get there, Princess. Oh Gods we will get there. Hold me, now. Eldarie told me about someone that can help me get these off. We leave in the morning.” 

“Of course, Mistress.” Serana mouthed, climbing into bed blushing hard. There were parts of her that were comfortably cold, and others that were uncomfortably hot. It was hard to sleep, even as the atronach watched over them from the hallway. But this would be the last night she was subjected to this! Though the complicated emotions surrounding her were not fading so easily.

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, that wasn’t me! That was just a spell making me act that way!” 

Ardwen hummed appreciatively. “We can turn around if you want to go ask for more of her attention, you know.” The altmer’s house was only a half mile back down the road. 

“We don’t need more weight in the wagon! We have to get all of the books back to Riften!” Ardwen had a completely new wardrobe now. As part of her deal with Eldarie the bosmer paid most of two thousand gold for dresses, layers, and underthings all made in the soft fabric that Eldarie parroted about. It wasn’t silk, but it was a very tough and close second. Unlike her previous stolen outfits, these were made with the curse of that damned corset in mind. Each dress was skintight, going down to lower thigh. There was a slit in the back of the dress so she could ostensibly walk freely, but it also had built in heavy duty straps to keep the skirt tight and close together. An illusion of elegant freedom, in Eldarie’s words. 

The upper portion hugged her just as tightly, showing off her daedric items with a keyhole wide enough that a mudcrab could find a home in it. It had give, willing to extend whenever the curse on the corset would cause Ardwen’s breasts to expand. All of it combined with a halter to work over her posture collar, the color mixing well with the red ebonite. Fashionable gloves were enchanted to give some help to bartering and interaction with other people. Ardwen teetered on matching heeled shoes, which she was going to take days to get used to. Her blisters were going to be wretched, and Serana couldn’t admit she felt any kind of empathy for her. 

“I’m still not convinced. You seemed so happy calling me mistress and debasing yourself for my sake.” Ardwen was smiling big. “You chose to be the little spoon in our relationship yesterday and it worked out for us.”

“That was not ‘working out’, that was us trying to avoid more whippings with a silver blessed wand!”

“She let me keep it.” 

Serana gave her a level look. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I don’t have to.” She promised. “You’re such a natural. I’ll just keep this for Babette.”

“She can’t even say no to anything you ask!”

“I bet she’s into it, though.”

Serana was a bit gloomy about this line of conversation until they reached Solitude’s gates. Her silk dress was impeccable as they came into the city, and she couldn’t be happier to see the place. It was overcast but not raining, and so the burn of the sun upon her was dimmed. It was warm enough that Ardwen wasn’t shivering from wearing a mostly backless dress in Solitude. More importantly, the women in Solitude hadn’t lost their city to dragonfire or vampires. There were a number of more destitute people wearing fur and woolen clothes, but by and large the men and women of Solitude were wearing silks and linens from all across the Empire. 

Serana and Ardwen were still wearing some of the best that money could buy, but there were other women in the same. Some men, even. It was a comfort. As they passed Radiant Raiment, Serana hissed in annoyance as she came face to face with Taarie. Another Altmer. Except this one she was beholden to.”Good day to you, Taarie.”

“Serana!” She beamed. “You are such a welcome feast for the eyes.” She could feel the elf running her eyes over Serana’s form. No elf should have curves that impressive! Besides Ardwen, of course. But she made those from flesh she carved off of Serana. Taarie had to have cheated somehow. “I don’t remember doing any kind of adjustment for that dress of yours in the last year, yet I don’t see a single stain upon the silk!”

“Any accomplished mage can cast the spells necessary to purge oils from fabrics.” 

“Oh, but it’s more than that. Whatever spellwork you’ve done, it’s adjusted the fit of your dress slightly. For the better, I assume you thought. I didn’t know that vampires could change their appearance, but you do appear to be more topheavy than the last time I saw you.” Taarie combined the best and worst parts of being a friend with Altmer. Backhanded compliments, even if the woman recognized Serana’s skill with spellcraft. And she wasn’t topheavy! 

“Thank you Taarie.”

“Who is this with you? I don’t recognize her.”

“This is Ardwen.” Just Ardwen! Not Mistress Ardwen! “She’s a companion of mine during my travels. I’ve bought some land inside of Riften and need to get some supplies for it.”

“Wise of you to bring someone that isn’t a slave to keep your vampiric nature in check. I saw your mistress not a week back. She’s so very happy with that husband of hers. It’s something the bards are going to write about for the ages, the kind of love they have. Makes me wish that I could find someone that matched me so perfectly.” The Altmer preened. “But somehow I doubt there will be a man so pleasing for me as Miraak is for Elayne.”

“If all of us could find someone like him the world would burn to the ground from their egos clashing.” Serana gave her input. She particularly didn’t share what kind of person she thought she needed in her life. Answering that question was complicated right now. Her inexperience made it a poor decision. 

Taarie didn’t find her thought very funny. Or if she did, she refused to admit it in front of all of these Nords in the city. “Will you be needing more supplies from us, darling?” 

“I presume so, if I am settling down. I hope it’s no trouble.”

“This week it could be, darling. We have some of our cousins staying here this month, honoring our family’s sacrifices in the mainland. If you need anything, we will try to help. Even if your friend is wearing our competition.” 

“I’ll let you know, Taarie. We wouldn’t want to keep you from your family festivities.” Serana offered her a way out of the conversation, which the Altmer took. 

“Is she going to charge you more because of me?” Ardwen asked, a hint of concern. 

“I can’t get my clothes anywhere else.” Serana angled for one of the local inns. “But I know we can’t stay there if you’re dressed like that. We’ll need to find a room.” Even with all of the people sharing in wearing high quality outfits, Serana was still getting glances. She was at least used to drawing attention to herself. “Then I can worry about having enough stockings and not losing them to stray arrows.”

Finding a room took hours, as the city was packed full of people. Some polite inquiries revealed that Elayne had been here a few days back, but had moved on with Miraak to go somewhere. But once they were settled, the real work began. Or rather, the real shopping could start!

Serana wanted to go to all of the bookstores, spend thousands of gold! Which she did, buying every kind of book. Children’s books, books for flora and fauna; Even spellbooks! More than once she had to walk back to the inn and drop off purchases. The Breton who owned the largest bookstore in Solitude at first was delighted that she was buying his books. The third trip where she left with hundreds of pounds of books his smile was waning. His shelves looked drained, with every single Childrens Annuad gone. Ardwen was hunting for things over at Bits and Pieces, a pawnbroker. 

When they finally caught up with one another that night, Serana was behind a bookfort. The one chair in their small room was surrounded by stacks of books, including an archway made from just books on Barenziah. She was reading about a mortal interacting with Hircine as Ardwen came back in. She looked exhausted, taking careful steps. But even though she looked it, her corset curse hadn’t activated. “Serana, we have to sleep in that bed!” She reacted, seeing Serana’s second book-based construction. An attempt at making her Riften house out of books, taking up most of the bed. 

“You have to sleep in that bed. And I ran out of wall space!” The one tiny room they found was hardly enough to store themselves in, much less all of the baggage that followed them. “Tomorrow I’ll sell our bags of alchemical ingredients and trade goods.”

“I sold some of the weapons we picked up.” Ardwen shared. “But then I spent the earnings on rations and crates for the books to be carried in. Because I don’t think that Volkihar coffin we keep in the back can hold all of this.”

“Oh! Speaking of which, I found the shop with all of the Volkihar goods. It’s called the Wyrm’s Provisions. The building is slightly tilted, so watch out in your heels.”

“I’ve been to this place!” She smirked. “It can’t be the same store!”

It was. A thousand years had not been perfectly kind on the stonework, but the old store was standing exactly where it used to be! A little tilted, but the carved dragon on the keystone was almost completely faded. It was a misshapen lump above the door, with a beaten bronze doorknocker. The door was new, but she could hardly conceal her excitement to see something from her childhood still standing. 

The owner welcomed her, as she came face to face with another woman wearing mage robes. Someone who had a small illusion spell protecting her identity. But the moment that Serana looked at her the spell shattered, and the vampiric eyes were revealed. As well as the slim steel collar around her neck. 

The other vampire hissed, stepping back into a shelf and knocking over a dwemer cog. “Oh dear! Did something fall over?” A Nordic voice called. 

“Just a cog. I’ll put it back!” The other vampire spoke up. “May I have a word with you?”

“Who are you?” She asked. 

“The court wizard.” She puffed up, casting her illusion spell quietly. Her eyes now appeared green, and the collar around her neck was invisible. “Sybille Stentor.”

“Serana Volkihar.”

Her eyes widened. “We should talk. Come by the Blue Palace, I have a room there where I practice the arcane. Give me a week to prepare.” She had a collar, just like Serana did. A vampire under control. For a moment she got excited, to meet another vampire that somehow functioned in society. But the reality of it all was disheartening, and the loss must have shown on her face.”Are you alright?”

“No.” Serana whispered. “For a moment I was so excited to meet someone that was a member of society. Someone accepted by the rest of the world! But that illusion broke.”

The other vampire nodded. “I think I understand why you feel that way, even if we haven’t officially met. But come by in a couple of days, and I’ll be ready for you. I remember the old ways.”

The old rules of hospitality. She was from a different strain of vampirism. Serana offered her hand. Her pinky finger was extended, as though she would reach underneath the other vampire’s palm. Sybille met it, giving her a polite nod before they separated. It was an old handshake, meant to test the resolve of the other party. 

But the moment passed, as they looked over one another. Then Serana was left alone in the shop, the collar around her neck heavier somehow. But her heels echoed on the old stone floor with their slight tilt. “Hello!” 

“Welcome to the Wyrm’s Provisions!” A jovial Nord called. He had a pair of sideburns the likes of which Serana was impressed by. “You look like a woman of means! What can I interest you in?”

“The last time I was here, it wasn’t so tilted.” She started by saying. “My mother used to take me here to get alchemical supplies.”

“You must have visited in a dream, then. Floor shifted a hundred years ago.” He chuckled. “And I’ll buy ingredients but I don’t stock very many. I like to wait until winter when all of the berries and spring ingredients are in short supply before I sell them.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” Serana could see an entire third of this place filled with artifacts from her family. From the Volkihar. “But the last time I was here was sometime in the Second Era.”

“You’re the Dragonborn’s Vampire!” He realized. “I’m pleased to have you here, then! One of my ancestors,” He crossed his fingers. “Hopefully one of my ancestors was here running the place. But the Second Era? I dunno if my family’s barrow has records that far.” 

“They were kind then, too.” There were days that Serana felt most at home with what had become of the Atmoran race. “I was wondering if you might have bought some things from my family’s castle. I had a bedroom there, once.”

“The name’s Gunjar.” He grinned. “Most of the stuff I have out here is just the things that anyone might sell. Or just too big for the space. I’ve stopped buying the coffins and things.”

“Well, the really nice stuff is in some stuffy museum at the Blue Palace. I’ve mostly got random pieces. Tabards, clothes, coffins,” He opened one of the coffins, the inside filled with cutlery and torture equipment emblazoned with her family’s symbol. “Oh! I’ve got books that were taken from there, but no one seems interested in-”

“I’ll take all of them.” She promised. Her family’s library had books going back to the end of the first era! Some of them were bound in different covers to hide their identity from visitors. “I own a bookstore.” 

“R-really?” Gunjar goggled. “That’s thousands of gold sovereigns! And more weight than can be carried on a wagon!” 

“Then I’ll commission another wagon to help.” Serana laughed politely. “Or lock the rest away until I can come back for it.”

“Well.” Gunjar fumbled, opening up four more coffins, each stacked to the brim with books and miscellaneous debris from her father’s court. “It’ll take days for everything to be priced out and organized. Some of these books are a bit old, too. Musty from whatever went on in that horrid place.” 

“Normal people would probably be angry they were spending money on what is their birthright.” Serana pointed out. “But I want your store to last into the Fifth Era.”

Gunjar colored. “Well!” He shuffled along, clearly happy. “Then there is a little bit of a horker in the mix. I was supposed to get the last of the books from the library. The valuable ones, some of Thane Erikur’s men were supposed to deliver to me. I paid them for the delivery, but Erikur hasn’t provided them yet. If you want to make sure you get all of them, maybe you could help a friend get his final shipment from Volkihar Castle?”

“Erikur, hmm?” She didn’t know that one. “Give me a good deal, Gunjar and I’ll get that for you.”

“There’s a ship in the harbor that he has been sending to the castle. The Red Wave. Thane Erikur has been bringing shipments through it but I the one I was most excited for is late. I was supposed to get some of the bedroom furniture from the lord’s chambers!”

“Who would even buy that?”

“Well, there was some debate on whose chamber it was they were extracting. The Red Wave was supposed to bring me all of the furniture that could be moved, some Direnni wanted to buy it up.”

“Altmer Direnni or Breton Direnni?” There were near-human branches of the filthy elven bastards now. 

“Breton, maybe?” Gunjar stroked his mustache. Strangely, the man hadn’t glanced at Serana’s cleavage the entire conversation. It was unexpected. “But if you want your family’s things back I can always tell them that they were lost at sea.”

“I think I’ll go have a chat with Thane Erikur. I will be back soon, Gunjar.” 

“I can’t wait to tell me children that you came to visit! Our family is honored to have you continue to come back here for another era.” He chuckled. “Even if I don’t live to see it, I’m happy that you found something. You’ve sacrificed for Skyrim, miss. Though I don’t think anyone’s said thank you often enough.”

“You’re welcome.” The words felt warm. “Kyne grace you with age and wisdom.” In her childhood that had been something she said as a lie to keep the regular people thinking she wasn’t a daedric worshipper. Today it felt right to tell him. Some people deserved the daedra. Others, like Gunjar deserved the Aedra. Kyne, not Kynareth. 

Erikur wasn’t hard to find. The Thane was drinking at their inn that night, at the center of five men clinking glasses together. Of course, Ardwen was pleased to hear that Serana had bought so many books that they now needed their own caravan. “We don’t have that much gold left, Serana!”

“I’ve found a way to afford it all. But we need to talk to that Thane over there.” Ardwen squirmed, her new outfit making her look like any other high class woman in Solitude. But she clearly didn’t feel comfortable here. “Unless you want to help me move more books to a wagon,” 

“I’ll help!” The elf grumbled. “What, need a distraction?”

“No!” Serana might have met this one before. But it was hard to know, since she had been so many places with Elayne. “We are not going to act anything like we did in Windhelm.”

“Too late.” Ardwen sing-song’d. “I already hooked up with a nice mage earlier.”

“Ardwen! Our bedroom was full of books!” 

“I went to his room, Serana. Bishop was a nice man, definitely knew how to tickle my fancies.” Ardwen did seem to be rather happy. “Plus, if we are out doing dangerous adventuring things I should at least get the benefits of it! I didn’t give myself these curves for them to not get handled!”

Serana felt flush as she remembered licking Ardwen’s thighs. “Well.” She cleared her throat, still feeling whatever this sluggishness was. The only relief she had gained from that was from lapping at Ardwen’s thighs that one night, but the benefits quickly disappeared. Within a couple of days the sluggish weak feeling had returned, and after shopping all day Serana was feeling just as weakened as before. Perhaps not quite as badly. “If you’re going to sleep around then I guess I’ll just approach the Thane without you.”

Ardwen stood up, blowing air into Serana’s ear. “Then I’ll be going back for round two.” The elf whispered. “You really need a better way to relax, Princess.” 

“I would if my blood potions were actually working!”

“It sounds like I’m not the only one cursed.” Ardwen’s joke felt a lot heavier than it should. “It’s too bad you can’t go into the temple and get that removed. You just have to find out what this curse is doing that prevents or changes the way you get food in. Or maybe you are just ensorcelled to think you’re starving.”

“There are few things that can curse a vampire normally. This goes beyond that.” But it all started after Brynjolf gave her that potion. Whatever he did that night in the bondage harness was still having an effect on her. She was hungry, but not for blood. Even draining bandits near Ivarstead did nothing for her. Or perhaps it did and she just didn’t know for sure? It was hard to tell when there was so little to go on. “Talking to someone who worships the Aedra isn’t going to get any more answers. The first vampire, Lamae Bal.” Ardwen leaned near her, curious. “She worshipped Arkay deeply and felt his counsel before she was turned. Before she survived the night with Molag Bal, she could hear the voice of Arkay. An innocent soul. After her transformation she tried to talk to them, to beg them for answers. Yet Arkay was silent. The taint alone from Molag Bal was enough to let the Aedra ignore her plight. I can only assume that I would be treated the same.”

“If the Aedra aren’t listening, maybe we try some other source. One of us has got to be able to kick ass. And Eldarie was talking about a seer named Laekette. If we can talk to her I should be able to get some help for the items I’m stuck in.”

“How many people can be named Laekette?” Serana murmured. “At least go and ask the tavern’s eyes and ears before your legs turn to jelly.” 

“If this Bishop fellow can provide!” Ardwen smiled. “And is that any way to talk to your Mistress?”

Serana felt her thighs clench at that. She would not entertain that thought! Her heels made some noise as she stood up, leaving the table and heading over towards Erikur. The Nord was laughing with his table at something, but fell silent as she approached. The stares from the table reached her stockings and ass, and then mostly stopped at the cut of her dress. Erikur looked beyond, into her eyes. He recognized her. “The Dragonborn’s pet vampire! We’ve met before but your mouth was full.”

She had been wearing the Bitch Tamer then. Her mouth locked away for safekeeping whilst in the city full of ‘prey’. “My name is Serana.” 

The other men at the table finally looked up at her eyes. “So it is.” Erikur said with a bit of joy. “If you are here on official business, you can tell Elayne that I’ve had no contact with those people since we saw them last.”

“I’m not here for her.” She wasn’t here for any Mistress or Master! The scent of mead was strong at the table. 

“Well, I’ve gotten rather deep into my cups already tonight. Y’see, we are all celebrating those that we lost. Immanuel here rarely makes it to Solitude, since he’s normally in the Rift.” Erikur said, his eyes slightly red. “If any of our wives ask, we are quite useless for any small task or moving of furniture.”

“Hear, hear!” The other men at the table pounded their cups into it, cackling. 

“I was talking with Gunjar over at the Wyrm’s Provisions.” Serana kept her back straight, not feeling angry that they were drunk. She was hardly a wife or lover to be offended. Nor did she want to be, she reminded herself! “He said you had a vessel that was supposed to deliver some goods from Volkihar Castle.”

“You would take interest in that.” He grumbled. “There was some trouble over the winter. Hard time getting ships through the ice. Then we lost contact with the people who were supposed to get the stuff. Scavengers with a bone to pick with someone, I know.” He waved his hands. “Go talk to the captain of the Red Wave. There’s an iceberg they’ve been avoiding launching around for weeks.” He growled. “Superstitious lot, and that old castle has a lot of ghosts. The Captain thinks it’s haunted beyond her ability to deal with.”

“I could go and calm those spirits down, if I had a ship to get me there. But that would mean that I would like to claim some of my family’s property.” 

“Well, you’ve got a collar around your neck. Anything you want to claim is part of the Dragonborn’s claim. So it’s a fair claim for anyone that can get to it!” Erikur slammed more of his mead home. “If you can convince that superstitious captain to take you there, I’ll give your Mistress a share of the rewards. Though the woman has refused any kind of monetary anything for her damned good work. All she wants is alchemical ingredients and magical shite.”

“Fine.” Serana muttered. “Thank you for pointing me in the right direction.” 

The next day a bowlegged Ardwen and a sluggish Serana made their way down to the docks. She was feeling even worse than yesterday, with parts of her body feeling numb. Numb! She hadn’t experienced anything like that since her mother had starved her to prove a point about their new existence! When a Vampire’s extremities were feeling numb, it meant they were starving themselves to death. She was literally dying, and she had drank a blood potion recently! 

It had to be some charm or illusion. Yet it was not an illusion that she was feeling sluggish and weak. Was she feeling close to death? Was this curse killing her? Immortality had never felt so risky. She had avoided using her vampiric powers, or running at all. Small short steps were best in sunlight. So it was no wonder that she and Ardwen made a matched pair coming out of the city. 

“Feel like you got knocked up?” Serana mocked. Ardwen’s breasts had grown, whatever she had been up to must have completely exhausted her, activating the curses. 

“He tried his best.” Ardwen murmured. “I couldn’t even lace myself up properly today. He did it for me.” 

“No pretty little maid to do it for you?” 

“You volunteering?” Ardwen chuckled. “At least you make it look so damn appealing.”

Their heels found better purchase on the large docks of Solitude, with warehouses and buildings built into the waterline. The stench of fish was contained to just one part of the docks, while the rest of them smelled of wood and cheap ale. It hadn’t changed since the second era. Down the quays they walked, dodging past sailors carrying large crates and barrels. One vessel remained at ease amongst all of the moving men, the flag on the ship that of Hammerfell. 

“That’s the ship.” Serana said, wincing at the sunlight. Was she dying or just not able to feel her toes in these heels? It was so hard to quantify. It was more confusing because the previous time her Mother showed her what starving felt like, she felt like she had been burning up, her throat and body ravaged by pain. A starving vampire should at least feel like it wanted something to fill itself. All she felt was numb and weakened by sunlight. 

When they got to the ship, it was sitting calmly in the water as a pair of Nords swam around the edge of the ship, chipping off barnacles that were attached to the hull. One redguard sat on the deck, giving them a raised eyebrow. “What’dya want?”

“To talk to the captain.” Ardwen spoke up. 

“She ain’t got time for ya.” The Redguard shrugged off, going back to some kind of whittling project. 

Serana sighed, before raising a single spell and stealing the small piece of wood she was cutting, floating it over to her waiting palm. It was rude, sure. But it was not the kind of rude that started a fight. “My name is Serana Volkihar. I was wondering if you could take me home, please?” 

The Redguard looked pale enough to appear Nordic for a moment. “Give me a few minutes.” She grumbled, heading below decks. 

“Take you home? Home is in Riften!” Ardwen whispered. 

“We’re going back to the place I was born. Even if it isn’t where I can live or should live, it was home for a very long time.” The sound of footsteps on the wood brought attention back to the deck, where the Redguard came back. 

“The Captain will see you, but no funny business, vampire!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her leash.” Ardwen said triumphantly, making Serana squirm. Correcting her would just make the other woman less likely to let them aboard! Cursing internally, Serana pushed past Ardwen and stepped onto the boat. She walked aggressively towards the captain’s cabin, which was always the same on these boats. That hadn’t changed throughout all the years she had been around. 

The captain was wearing a strapless vest along with a set of leggings. She looked worried when Serana entered her room, and the vampire didn’t have to put any effort into making her worried. Being out of the sun was already enough to give her the boost she needed. “Vampire.” It wasn’t that much of a curse so much as a sigh of realization.

“Erikur told me that your ship is scheduled to go back to the island. Was supposed to be there and back twice over. Your shipment’s goods have mostly been bought already.”

“We’ve gotta wait longer before we go back to that accursed place.” The captain growled. As Serana watched, one of the buttons holding her vest on her simply faded away to nothing, as the fabric gently started to fall open. “The place is downright haunted. No one could get in over the winter and I lost two crew to frostbite. Entire rooms filled with ice, you understand? We can’t go back to that place until height of summer can melt those ice walls.” Another button disappeared from her vest, as Serana could finally tell that some kind of magic was doing it. Not hers, of course. 

“Do you have any mages to assist? That sounds like a problem they could solve.” 

“Does it look like I have enough money for that? Plus, I ran out of juice trying to melt the front gate ice and it just restored itself after I melted some of it.” The Redguard captain created a few sparks. “So, we ain’t going near that place until summer is on and it’s warm enough to melt the ice.” 

Behind Serana, the others finally caught up. “Captain Sadia! There’s a-”

Sadia waved off the other crew’s worries. “A vampire. Thank you for warning me so effectively.” The dark tone of the sarcasm was evidence enough that her crew would suffer for this. “Was that your home, then? The place has seen better days.”

“I haven’t been there in eight hundred years.” Serana folded her arms, as two more of Sadia’s vest buttons seemingly disappeared. “But I know where all of the secret passages are. Secret entrances.”

Sadia growled. “Sit yer pretty asses down!” She motioned to some old weathered wooden seats. “Can you guarantee that these entrances exist?”

“My father would not have gotten rid of them.” Serana pointed out, sitting down gracefully. Ardwen looked like a swan, her corset hardly letting her bend at all. “And my breed of vampire can walk through ice as though it is nothing.” 

Sadia looked distinctly annoyed. Her breasts were trying their hardest to escape from that vest, as more buttons disappeared until one small one vainly tried to hold it together. “F-fine, we can take you there.” She gave a short squirm, as the vest looked like it was warped by some kind of force. It twisted, the last button snapping before the entire vest was swallowed by a small portal to Oblivion and leaving her bare from the waist up. “Get out.” Her voice said, coldly. 

“That’s a nasty little curse you’ve got there.” Serana chuckled. “You get that from the castle?”

“You know what this is?” Sadia growled, reaching for her belt. For a dagger that was falling to the floor even as she reached downwards. To her shame, the Redguard was bare everywhere. Her pants were also swallowed by a portal to oblivion, somehow not taking her dagger but taking its sheathe. Only wearing boots, the woman fumed, red faced. “Tell me!” 

“My father liked to make sure his cattle couldn’t fight back properly.” The feel of the magic was familiar. Sadia definitely got this curse inside of the castle. “I could break it, but I can’t right now.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Sadia picked up the dagger, probably for comfort. Her boots somehow stayed on. “Because I’ve lost most of my damn clothes to this curse! I thought putting some distance between me and that castle would be enough. But it isn’t getting any weaker.”

“Cannot.” Serana emphasized. “I need to see where you got it, and break it from there.” A lie of convenience. She probably could break it here, but it would be easier if she saw where the woman got it. “Vampire magics are old things. Spells that have been kept secret since the second era.”

“It’s worse around you.” Sadia pointed out. “Vampire magic it is. But if you don’t fix it I’m leaving you on that gods-forsaken island.” Ardwen looked a bit worried. Neither of them were in any condition to fight these people. 

“I fought against the vampires when they invaded. We’re ready to go whenever you are ready.” Serana stood up, taller than the shorter human. But confident that she would do it. 

“Sabine! Take these two and put them as far away from me as possible!” She growled, bothered by her body being on display. “Everyone get out of my sight or I’ll start carving a price on your skins!” 

The angry captain was shut back into her quarters, as Serana and Ardwen were herded towards a room at the front of the ship. A room packed with a single bed, with sacks of grain and other foodstuffs filling the corners. Ardwen waited for the door to shut and then laughed, the sound filling up the room. “Congrats Princess, that was a creative little curse.”

“That’s not from me!” She growled. “It’s creative, but I wouldn’t do that to someone. It’s reacting worse around a vampire, which means that it has to have some other component.” 

The ship creaked, as it started moving. It would be a day before it got to her family’s island if the tide was with them. Two if it wasn’t, if the Sea of Atmora behaved. Or rather, the sea of Ghosts as the people of today called it. “You’ll need to fix her if we want these people to take back the things you want.” Ardwen slumped onto the bed, her curves the only thing that could freely jiggle. “Can you help me out of all of this, Princess? I don’t want to spend the entire trip in these shoes that Eldarie thinks I find comfortable.”

Serana helped her, as the ship rocked and rolled in the ocean’s waves. No one bothered them or provided for them the entire day and a half trip, leaving Ardwen grumpy and seasick, and Serana trying to update her lists of books she wanted to read against all of the books she now owned. She was almost too grateful to dress Ardwen when the boat came to a stop, an anchor sliding down the side of the craft. 

Their door was opened by the same Redguard that introduced them the first time. “We’re here. I’ve got a rowboat prepared.”

“There should be docks on the landward side of the island.” Serana spoke up. “A natural dock with a lot of buildings around it.”

The Redguard looked a bit queasy. “This island is clearly not the same way you left it. Get up on deck and you’ll see why we only use rowboats for approaching this damned place.”

Heels clicked on the wood as they got on top of the deck. It was the first time she had seen home since her mother sealed her away. Clouds were moving behind the castle, and the sight filled Serana with a feeling of nostalgia. But also one of pain and sorrow. How else can you feel when the town and castle you expect to see was no more? 

All that was left was the castle keep. The fishing town around it was gone! In fact, much of the island was missing. Water damage lapped at the old stones, with one watchtower completely collapsed. The other was leaning and looked old. Not even old foundations of the buildings remained of what had once been a hold unto itself. “It’s all gone.” Her hands felt clammy, weak under the eye of Magnus above. 

“The castle is still there, what’re you talking about?” The Redguard escorting them grumbled. 

“There used to be a town, too! A wharf, ships! This was a major town within Haafingar!” Serana bemoaned. “He wiped away the homes of everyone. At least if people were still living there we could claim we were doing them right. That we weren’t just monsters!” 

“There’s a lot of ruins underneath the waterline. Makes the approach kind of difficult. And three shipwrecks pretty close to the shore, to boot. Captain’s told me where she got cursed, so you gotta get us inside.”

Serana was in absolute mourning, looking at the remains of her childhood. She couldn’t hear anything, a ringing filling her ears as rage mounted. She was furious! How could her father abandon their kingdom? They were the nobility! These were their people! She must have been radiating something, because Ardwen grabbed her hand. Serana turned, her face tightening as she prepared to lash out against her. 

To Serana’s surprise, Ardwen’s silver wand reached her first. The same that she had punished her with at Eldarie’s! Groaning in absolute rage, Serana couldn’t summon the strength to keep standing. The shock and pain of the wand drove her to her knees. “Down, Princess!” Ardwen said. Serana was not among friends. The entire crew of the Red Wave had drawn weapons, and their armor was too high of quality for a normal crew of sailors. There was a certain amount of realization at their position. She tried to raise a leg, but Ardwen slapped it with the wand. “Stay.” 

Sadia came onto the deck, naked as a jaybird. Armed, at least. “You keep that thing from killing us.” 

“This vampire knows how to listen. See that collar?” Ardwen insisted, her heart rate skyrocketing. She was lying to these people. “She’s a pet. But we have to forgive someone when the home they grew up in gets sacked while they’re away. She hasn’t been back here in a long time!”

“Just put a leash on it! We still need it to remove that curse!” Sadia bellowed. To Serana’s shame, Ardwen did . All under the threat of that silver wand pointed right at the top of Serana’s thighs. 

She was being taken back to her childhood home on a leash. Serana felt numb. Numb as four pirates and Ardwen stepped onto the blackened ground of her home. Ardwen didn’t pull on the leash, and just walked next to Serana. Not forcing her, and keeping pace with her. “Sorry.” She voiced, only loud enough that Serana could hear. “They would have killed us.”

Serana didn’t say anything. Her anger was still so palpable that she couldn’t answer Ardwen. It wouldn’t be quiet and it wouldn’t be nice. Nor would it keep the pirates with them from trusting her. So she bit her tongue. Instead she led the way up the drawbridge to the castle proper. Empty gargoyle plinths stood testament to the fall of the defenses. 

The portcullis was shattered, and she could see a magical wall of ice filling the space. It was clear that it was being fueled by something, and Serana stomped forwards into the ice. Ardwen let go of the leash, even as Serana stepped into the gatehouse. Two soul gems were tucked away in the walls fueling this, and a short burst of ice to each netted Serana with two filled gems. The ice would take hours to melt substantially, and she didn’t feel like going out there yet. This was home. 

Home was just as ransacked as the outside. Heavy tables and chairs still remained, but most of the wood had been burned or stained by blood. Centuries of blood. The stench was still filling her nose even with the castle clearly abandoned. Bodies were dumped in the corners and fires had burned, scorching the vampires to the bone. Vampire dust still resided in the corners, but in such poor concentrations that it would make poor potion ingredients. 

The windows were tarred over, and the dark corners of the room seemed more oppressive than before. But she knew how this place should look, with red flags and bright light shining through the windows. The sigils of all Nords and the King in Windhelm should be hanging above the throne, and yet the anchor points lay empty. No flags hung in this sour hall. Nothing suggested that anything living here would find any comfort. No sign of the beauty that this place had once been. 

If she had tears to shed, they would be ready to go right now. Her fingernails carved furrows in the wooden table. But as she approached, she could see more concerning things. Signs of tracks in the dust. Boot prints that were left here. Studying the floor, Serana could see the prints of high heels everywhere. Paying closer attention, she could see marks carved into the table that disrupted the skull imagery of Molag Bal. 

Not a single homage to the daedric lord was here! Father would never have abandoned his senses and his daedric worship. If it wasn’t left behind and had been disrupted, the aedric priests must already have been here. 

But something twisted in her gut. Warned her that this wasn’t right. Everything about this was wrong. Instead of going further, she stepped back to the wall of ice, sliding into it easily. The leash still hung from her neck, sliding through after her like an unwanted sibling. Outside the pirates and Ardwen were waiting in the shadows of the gatehouse, leisurely hitting the ice with an old iron warhammer to kill time. It nearly made one of the pirates faint when Serana caught the head with her palm before it could hit the ice.

“Gods!” The one swinging the hammer muttered. “You stopped the ice from growing back!”

“Someone triggered the defenses there. Or set up that ice wall.” She wasn’t familiar with anything about this place anymore. “But if they blocked off the main entrance, they have to be using one of the other entrances on the island.”

“We’ve raided this place for months and it’s still creepy and haunted.” The pirates grumbled. “But there are places that are just impossible to enter without getting spelled at  or something. We were trying to go into one of those places when the Captain got cursed.” 

None of the pirate crew wore heels. They weren’t the ones leaving those footprints in the dust. “Something’s been busy in there since you left, then. We can either break this wall down or take a short hike around the back of the castle and see if that area is active.”

“The island has such strong necromancy around it that exploring is dangerous. Corpses just rise when you get near. Captain said we weren’t to go in any other way than the front door.”

“Fine.” Serana growled. “I’m going to explore around the island and see if the other entrances are sealed or not.” Just to be a bitch about things, she handed the other end of the leash to Ardwen. “Get out your sword, Mistress Ardwen.” Serana felt that slip out. She wasn’t thinking clearly! She just fell back on what she did to survive with Eldarie! 

Ardwen smirked happily as the pirates didn’t slow them down. The crew was barely able to pull their own superstitions together long enough to consider following them before they waved it off. “I thought this was all just a spell that made you so agreeable.”

“I’m making sure the pirates don’t betray us!”

“The leash was enough to calm them down.” Ardwen spoke up. “But if we find anything truly valuable I don’t think they’ll let us take it back so easily.”

“So long as I find a way to cure that captain of her curse we should be fine.” She would have said more, but Ardwen gave a sharp tug on the leash. It dragged Serana towards her, her entire train of thought disrupted. 

“You can call me Mistress anytime, Princess.” She unclipped the leash, leaving Serana blinking at the moment. Ardwen hummed, strutting along the hard packed earth surrounding the castle. Leaving Serana to catch up to her. But wouldn’t that just confirm what she was saying? Serana’s mouth worked silently as she chewed on that logic. Ardwen liked all of this. She liked treating Serana like she was her pet. “Oh look! Necromancy!” By the same token, she didn’t stop treating her like she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. Serana ran a hand over the collar around her neck, stepping up next to her friend. 

Up ahead was the old docks. Much dilapidated and collapsed, all that was left of the harbor her family had depended upon was a single stone quay with four posts on it. Three ships of different sizes were sunken in the dock, rotting. One had to have been here for a decade or more. Two were elven in style, and had Thalmor flags on them. Small mountains of cadavers and bones rested in the corners of the docks, and the taint of it all leaving a glow about some of the bones. Even as they watched, from the bones the taint of necromancy was causing the bones to connect, to form something. 

Serana casually kicked the mass, sending bones all over the place and starting the whole process over again. “You would need to remove these piles of bones to prevent them from rising.”

Ardwen just stared at the small docks, before she took a closer look at a section of stone. “There’s a boat hidden behind that wall.” A tiny one, but it had enough sail that it could reach the mainland. The sail’s mast could collapse, meaning that it could perhaps fit three people. Four if you felt cozy. “Someone must be here.”

“Well, we should probably go and check.” Ardwen smiled. “Where does that doorway lead?”

“Sewers, I think.” Serana hadn’t been down those. A noblewoman was never seen in such places. Stepping closer, she could smell the familiar stench of death. “I think it is more of a graveyard now.”

“Lead the way. I can barely see down there.”

Before they could enter the place, the sound of heels upon stone could be heard. Ardwen hid by the boat, taking cover behind the stone wall. Serana simply drew her sword and waited. What sauntered out was almost a Dunmer. Almost. The glittering daedric eyes and the sword made from something that made Serana’s eyes twitch spoke otherwise. A Dark Seducer. Serana didn’t even let it draw it’s weapon, throwing a third of her magicka into a banishment spell. The daedra’s axe was almost out of its belt when it faded, screeching as it was dragged back to Oblivion. 

“What was that?” Ardwen spoke up. “She looked like a skank.”

“That was a Dark Seducer. A daedra.”

“Clearly.” Ardwen murmured. “But that means there are conjurers in there.”

“I can muffle my approach and see what I can do.” Serana offered. “Mind if I go ahead?”

She felt a sharp smack to her backside, and Ardwen giggled. “Go right ahead, Princess. I can hide here and stay out of the way.” 

Into the old sewers she went. The smell was amazingly terrible. The sewer connection to the basement of the castle was packed full of rot and bones. The taint of necromancy was even stronger here, but no skeletons stood guard over the darkened halls. The daedra must have been patrolling to keep them down. But the stench reduced and the sewers ended past an empty cistern. Ancient stairs gave way to more familiar styles that she recognized. She was close to the gardens! Underneath the old garden shed! Well, less of a shed and more of it being the original keep that was on the island. The oldest parts of the place were a Nordic ruin that they turned into a cistern and sewer system. 

Here there was more tracks in the dust. Signs of activity in the dirt of the floors. All of the marks were from the heeled boots that had to have been the daedra. She moved forward, the natural stealth of a vampire assisting her. Everything else about her attempts here felt sluggish and weak. 

Defeating a Dark Seducer meant nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Some served Molag Bal, but Serana did not summon these. Most Dark Seducers served Sheogorath, after all. There was a sense of complete loss when she saw the state of her mother’s garden. All of the plants were dead. Rare plants from far off lands were gone, the wealth of centuries’ old gardener gone. A few Nightshade were blooming, but nothing else lived in this place. 

Serana could feel tears threatening to form from her eyes. Was there nothing left? The way to the main castle was almost entirely collapsed, with only a small path through rubble. One of the towers was tilting, the top completely rotted away. Stones had fallen piecemeal all over the garden, and the path of heel marks in the dust went towards the only standing tower left. Serana moved quickly in the daylight, getting close to the door. 

A muffle spell silenced the noise of the old hinges, and she was in the old tower. The moment the door shut behind her, her eyes adjusted. The tower’s base level had alchemical stations, as well as some kind of stirrup like chair. Some straw had been placed at the foot of the chair for some reason, with a few old sacks draped there. More importantly, fresh potions lay on top of a table!

It was the comforting blue of magicka potions, though a lighter shade than she normally would see. Perhaps they were made from some moon sugar. Something about them seemed off. A larger potion sat on the alchemical stand, not even corked yet. It smelled familiar, the magic in it vibrant. Taking a closer sniff, she felt her insides squirm. She knew what that was! This had the exact same scent as what Brynjolf had poured down her throat! This was a bottle of Sheogorath’s Gift. Guaranteed to make the drinker have a very explosive orgasm. But for a vampire the effects were more drawn out, making the experiences flash back for hours. 

One of these started the problems she felt in terms of weakness and sluggishness! Grunting in annoyance, she capped that potion and stole the others. Upstairs, she could hear heels marching along, and she grimaced as she could hear them coming this way. Not one but two pairs of feet coming down the old steps. Two Dark Seducers. It took the rest of her stored magick reserves, but she prepared a banishment in each hand. 

Both daedra screeched as they were dragged back to Oblivion. But there was the scraping of a chair upstairs, and yelling. “What was that! Figure that out, now!”

That was the yell of a mortal woman, at least. The snap of Oblivion being opened and conjured creatures coming out made Serana debate what she should do next. She didn’t have enough herself to handle more daedra. Or summon her own. 

She popped the cork on one of those new potions she stole, drinking the blue mixture. It felt thicker than the normal potion, a thicker solution than normal. But it was so potent! She felt healed and her magick restored! Swallowing, she summoned her own Ice Atronach, and banishing a fourth daedra brought forth from the mages above. She felt so proud of herself, having removed four Dark Seducers! 

The Ice atronach went wild, carving through a weaker fire atronach and impaling a short Nordic woman before falling to the last of the mages. She could see a gasp as the conjurer cast another Dark Seducer, but the portal into Oblivion was still forming when Serana countercast the spell. Her heels moved quickly, as she felt free. This potion was restoring the feelings of being weak! All sluggishness gone, she leapt towards the mage, bursting into a cloud of bats to avoid a fireball. It exploded against the wall behind her, as Serana reformed behind the woman. She was wearing heavily enchanted fur robes, most likely to boost her Conjuration. The knife in her hand clattered to the floor as Serana bit into her shoulder, watching as the woman’s body wilted. The rush of blood felt familiar, but didn’t come with the rush of power she expected. 

Still, the Conjurer fell faint against the ground, as Serana debated killing her. She was a Dunmer, as it turned out. Talented with alchemy and Conjuration. She was still overflowing with power from that potion, so she healed her just enough for her to survive. Taking a deep breath, she looked around at the room around her. She had won! Against six daedra and two spellcasters! She still had two more of these potions, too! 

Humming happily, she checked all of the other rooms on the upper floor of the tower, finding one room with bloodstains fresh on the floor. Nudging the door open, there were no more enemies to be found. Instead, she found a conundrum. Chained to a wall was a vampire, wearing ragged remains of some kind of darkened leather armor. She looked to be in good health, but the chains on her body were connected to massively heavy nordic cuffs. The kind that needed help to get off. Her hands were encased in the ancient iron, glowing symbols showing that it would be difficult to remove. Bands around the thighs prevented running. Her mouth was free, but the vampire looked to be barely aware of her surroundings.

She didn’t even notice when Serana carried the Dunmer into the room and chained her up with other equipment that was available. But there was noise coming from the area! Preparing herself, she drew her jinkblade and moved for the stairs. 

“Serana!” It was Ardwen. “Help!” An arrow slammed into a wall down there, and she ran. Kicking open the door, she could see a final Dark Seducer across the courtyard. Her longbow shot out again, taking a chunk out of a small stone curb that Ardwen was hiding behind. But moving from the sewer direction was also a pair of skeletons in hot pursuit of her. No wonder she came looking for help!

Serana moved to the balcony and flitted across the courtyard in a cloud of bats. The opposite balcony was partially collapsed, but she saw a body up there with a coin purse. “How kind.” She mused, before dropping. She felt powerful again! The entire focus of her form blurred, and she slammed into the daedra from above. Her blood smelled vile, as Serana brought the jinkblade down again and again, until it was returned to Oblivion. Four lightning bolts brought down the skeletons, and the potion finally ran out of effect. 

“That was amazing! You just dropped from all the way up there!”

“Are you alright?” She couldn’t tell if Ardwen was, or if she just was having trouble with the daedric made items plaguing her still.

“She only grazed me.” The Bosmer grinned. “My kind resist poison, but not curses. But right after you left the skeletons started coming back, and I couldn’t stay hidden.”

“Wanna see who I tied up?”

“Wait, what?” Of course, Ardwen critiqued her the moment they both got upstairs and saw the Dunmer nearly out of the cuffs she had been locked into. “Oh, Princess that is not how you tie someone up.”

Ardwen demonstrated by using that Altmer-designed stilt of a heel to drive the point down into the injured mage, kicking them back into the room and shoving cuffs back over them. “I wanted to go get you instead of tying her up.”

“It’s not your fault.” Ardwen pointed out. “She had the keys.”

The mage squirmed, her shoes just as heeled as the Seducers she had summoned. In fact, they looked like the same material. “Who are you people?” She blurted out. 

Ardwen raised an eyebrow and looked at the chained up vampire nearby. “Heroes.” She chuckled. “Here to rescue someone.”

“Rescue?!” The dunmer sputtered. “That’s a vampire!”

“So?” Ardwen growled. “My best friends are vampires!”

Somehow Serana felt a flutter at that. “It’s not a crime to hide in this part of the ruin.” She noted. “But you’re torturing this vampire.”

“Thank Bal.” The hanging vampire said, one eye able to focus on what was happening around her. “All is not lost. Clan Volkihar survives!” She squirmed, trying to get free. “I shall serve you, as I did your father before you!” 

Serana blinked. “But I fought and defeated him!”

“After you did that, the army we raised from the Thalmor and nearby villages had no guidance. The temporary allies left us to die. Your court remains loyal to you, even though few of us are left. How could we forget what you looked like, when the only portrait allowed in the castle was of you.”

“Wait, how many of you are there?”

“Three.” The woman said proudly. “Three of us yet survive. None are Lords or Ladies of the court, but we kept your picture and as much of the library as we could carry.” Serana grinned as she used her returning strength to shatter the chains on the other vampire. The other woman fell to her knees, bowing in spite of her wounds. “My name is Modhna, my Lady.”

“Why didn’t any of you approach me before?” Serana glowered, feeling utterly confident in her ability to stop the injured vampire if she tried anything. “I haven’t exactly been hiding!”

“We can’t walk freely, My Lady.” The vampire remained prostrate. “Too many are willing to sell us out for the reward. As well, though we know of you we never knew if you were coming to save us.” She lifted her head, staring up at Serana. “We didn’t think you would come.”

“I don’t know what to think.” The Dunmer was glaring at her with her one good eye, Ardwen seemed content to let her bury herself off to the side. Serana’s words rippled through the room, as she glared. “Why are you here? Both of you!” 

The Dunmer tried to speak first, her voice ragged from being kicked in the chest. “Picking over the dead and their valuables!”

“She’s cursed and has to follow orders of some daedra.” Modhna spoke up darkly. “One of the Dark Seducers. But if you take those shoes of hers she’ll die for real. They had her extracting my blood and worse in exchange for some kind of potion they were supplying.”

“Is she actually a Conjurer or just some puppet for them?” Serana asked the surprisingly well informed vampire. “Is the alchemy a lie?”

“No!” The Dunmer yelled.

“She does everything on her knees or between the legs of the daedra. If there are potions that are well done, it’s not because she had skill. It’s because the daedra were making her do it.”

“That’s a lie!”

Serana gave the Dunmer a glance. “The vampire you were torturing for potion ingredients seems to be giving me some different information.”

“She was mixing their cum with my blood to make some kind of potion.” Modhna said, giving the Dunmer a glare. 

“Modhna.” Serana’s voice was heavier, all of the sudden. “You can drink from her all you need.” She and Ardwen gave them both time, not even flinching as the Dunmer received her just reward. 

“What are you going to do with a minion, Princess?” 

“I don’t know!” Their conversation was whispered in between the sounds of violence. “I’ve never had a court before!”

“You were the heir, weren’t you raised for this?”

“Father was immortal and made sure that I never considered it!” She hissed. “Now I’ve got more problems because of him!”

“If it’s too complicated for you I can help.” 

“Shut up!” Ardwen’s teasing wasn’t needed right now. “I’m technically responsible for the Volkihar now. So I can’t just ignore them.” A particularly wretched sound came from the room behind them. “I also feel like I can help them better than my parents ever did.”

“What, are you going to somehow get them into Riften too?” Ardwen rolled her eyes. “One civilized vampire is tolerated. Any more than Babette and you’re going to have everyone spooked.”

“So you’re saying I should move what’s left of my kind somewhere else?”

“I didn’t say anything about moving. But you aren’t going to convince Svana that four or five vampires living in Riften are no longer a threat.”

Looking around, the castle was covered in cracks and the ravages of time. “This can’t be their home, either.” Her memories clearly were of a different place. Living gardens, colorful banners, and standing towers. A town filled with subjects surrounding them. A purpose, to defend the Nords against the Direnni tyranny coming from High Rock. But their Altmer enemies were long dead, their kings and their lineage went to Nords they could not recognize, and their home was a ruin tainted by necromancy. “This place will only lead to entropy.”

“Then they need a home and a feeding ground that will hide them.” Ardwen said as if were not a problem. The fact that for an age the Sea of Ghosts had been taking people, and really it had been Clan Volkihar. When she was young, it was still called the Atmoran Sea. But her father’s work had changed the name of an ocean. He should have been proud of that alone. 

“Three vampires.” Serana mused. “We housed more than a hundred in this castle. We just need a home for them somewhere. There are plenty of places we can put them.”

“That dwemer ruin? Or perhaps some cavern we’ve been inside of?”

“Vampires and dwemer ruins don’t mix. Those cities have a way of attacking anything that lives there for too long. No, a vampire would do well to live among forgotten places. Far enough from Riften that I can’t get blamed for what they do.”

“They’ve survived as long as they have where they are now.” Ardwen assured her. “But you don’t have to take care of them right now. Prepare to help them when I can.”

“No!” Serana expressed, louder than she intended. All other sound seemed muted compared to what had escaped from her throat. “My father sacrificed hundreds of Direnni and dozens of our subjects to turn us into vampires! They’re gone!” She pointed to the castle around them. “This was my home, Ardwen! My home! This was where I grew up, made friends! The town that I was supposed to inherit is gone. The people that called us liege lords and ladies are undead.” Ardwen was looking at the floor. “How can I walk away from people that are actually looking to me for support?! They are literally my descendants in vampiric heritage! I am their progenitor and if I leave them to die, I’ll never forgive myself!” This. This was the core anger within her. 

The reason she felt so bitter and angry about coming here. She felt like she had failed. Serana had failed the people who were supposed to look to her for aid. Part of that was characterized by the realization that Father would probably have killed her for his prophecy. But still, this was her clan. She was a daughter of Coldharbour, like Lamae Bal before her. These were her children, in some fucked up way. With her mother and father no longer here, the responsibility fell to her. 

“I’m sorry for presuming anything.” Ardwen finally replied. Behind them, the wooden door finally opened. Modhna was wearing the Dunmer’s conjuration robes, though the Breton vampire filled them out much better. 

“We have your things, Lady Serana.” Modhna bowed. “When Harkon died, many of the wards around the castle failed. We knew which way the winds were blowing. The chief librarian gathered what few could be found, and we rallied to get all of the things in the sealed bedroom. Your bedroom.” 

“Father sealed it?” 

“One of his mages cast a spell that preserved the chamber and would destroy any vampire who opened it unless they were a blood relative. This ward broke, and we knew that they had fallen.” Modhna explained. “Faren told us to pack everything inside and bring it to the vaults. I’d never heard of the place before, so it must have been sacred. Five of us left, and three of us were sent to try to recover what we could. But we were ambushed by Dark Seducers.” Modhna seemed to be a woman of few words. “I live to serve, Lady Serana.”

“Why?” Ardwen wondered. “You’ve never known her.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Modhna responded. “There is nothing left for us in the world of Aedra and the living. I would have served you and waited another thousand years.”

“It does matter, Modhna.” Serana insisted. “I want to know why I should trust your loyalty.”

“I was your father’s thrall for many years.” The Breton matched the stare of Ardwen. “But there was enough sharp corners in the castle and I was transformed. Rather than be furious, your father accepted me. The only one who ever accepted me. I have spent the last sixty years like this, and I will not forget such kindness. I thought I was going to die in my home, but you saved me.” She rasped the last words, spitting a bit of dunmer onto the floor. Her manners could really use work. “You saved me. My faith in your family has never wavered.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” Serana whispered. “I feel responsible. But I also don’t know if I can trust everyone. Some of Father’s vampires threatened me. Wanted to fulfill that prophecy.”

“The prophecy was read to the entire court.” Modhna spoke carefully, looking at Ardwen and then back at Serana. “But Faren remembered the prophecies of Nerevar ending poorly for his people, and warned us about the same possibility.” 

“Faren?” 

Modhna nodded. “The other survivors. Faren Sadri and Ronthil. They managed the library and records for us.” The way she said the name Ronthil seemed loaded with feeling. “We took as much with us as we could. The trouble was not being able to just walk along the ocean floor.”

“Walk along the-” Ardwen sounded flabbergasted.

“Vampires don’t need to breathe. Part of our wealth came from the fact that we could go to the ships we sink and loot them, and then walk back to the castle with whatever we found. The hard part is how truly dark it is down there.” Serana explained to the stunned Bosmer. She did hate swimming, so it made sense. “Modhna, is there enough here for pirates to be satisfied with?”

“They were after the altar, My Lady. It still survives. A great pair of daedra protect it, and they could not gain access to it. Selveni was trying to summon enough Dark Seducers to take the chamber when you interrupted her.” Selveni must be the name of the Dunmer. “We should offer her to Bal as sacrifice.”

Serana was a priestess of him. By all rights she should be celebrating the chance to sacrifice someone intent on defiling this place. But it was defiled long before that Dunmer ever came here. “Take her with us.” She ordered the other vampire.

“Yes, My Lady.” Modhna didn’t hesitate, grabbing the bloodied and twice fed upon elf in her hands. Both shoulders were healed just enough to preserve her life. She seemed to be on cloud nine, excited and nearly levitating along the ground. “There are some pieces of furniture and the thrall chambers have not been fully looted. But the taint and smell down there are too much for mortals to handle.”

“Speaking of thralls, we met someone with a thrall curse I didn’t recognize on our way here. I think it was a thrall curse. Any clothes she had were being consumed by magic.”

Modhna grinned. “I love that one! Just put a drop of your blood on an outfit and it won’t disappear. Give them a bit of blood and it cures the curse.” 

“Some of the outfits we’ve seen from the Volkihar were rather daring.” Ardwen pointed out. “Thralls must have gone naked as a matter of respect?”

“Ah, no. It’s cold here and even if you’re a vampire ice on the nethers is not ideal. The only ones who wore that were the Thalmor vampires. Lord Harkon thought it fitting for them to stand out and be humiliated.”

Serana cackled at that. They deserved it, in her book. “Any of those left? I’ve got a pirate captain that needs something fitting.”

Modhna led them into what remained of the main castle. The silver decorations were taken, the tables a mess. Each bedroom was completely emptied. Her own looked remarkably intact. The bed was still there, the same one she had since childhood. But everything else looked carefully picked over. Taken away. Harkon’s bedroom was torched by enough Aedric wardings and a shrine of Arkay so potent none of them wanted to go inside. 

Modhna was as good as her word, and brought them to the only intact main tower in the entire castle. The one with the shrine of Molag Bal. This was the place that Father had created a river of Direnni blood to fuel their gift of vampirism. This was the room it all happened in. Her heart stilled, all of her great strength and glory muted in the face of the skull mounted above the dark fountain. Even after all of these years, it looked like the blood of the Direnni that fueled it still bubbled there. 

Two daedra stood by, with wings and exaggerated humanoid bodies. Grievous Twilights, tainted and corrupted versions of Azura’s Winged Twilights. The pair of them stood on either side of the altar, mountains of bodies filling the once grand chamber. Blue flames burned in large cauldrons as the only source of light in the room. The daedra did not attack them, nor threaten. 

The shrine was intact. Untouched by time. It looked the same as the night she had been summoned to Coldharbour. The taint was only stronger after a thousand years of thralls. “Lord of Rape, Taker of Virgins and Lord of the Scheming Kingdom, Coldharbour!” Her voice felt stronger in this room, dressed in silk and carrying a sacrifice like the old days. “Your Priestess offers you her gifts.”

The blue fires burned higher, as all warmth in the room left. Ardwen’s breathe fogged. It was cold enough that lines of frost began forming in the bloody marks in the floor. The altar spewed smoke, and she knew that Molag Bal was listening. “What-” Ardwen started to say, but Modhna shushed her. 

“My bloodline cannot call this place home any more. It has fallen. But I ask that you hide this shrine from the eyes of the unfaithful. Conceal this place until someone can call upon you once more.” Serana tossed the Dunmer heavily forward. “In your name, may blood be shed, the world weep at our coming, and your shadow be long through us.”

The fate of the Dunmer was sealed with a whimper. Serana left the chamber, even as the walls sealed behind them. To look like any other part of this dark and terrible place. Modhna beamed, seeing Serana being a priestess of Molag Bal enough to make the younger vampire wilt. Ardwen was quiet, still wary of what happened. “Modhna? Can you take that vessel that is at the old docks? I think I have a plan.” Serana insisted. “Then I’m going back to Solitude with the pirates we came with, and you’re going to meet us along the beach.” She remembered the lighthouse that so long ago she had been cornered by her father’s vampires at. “There is a lighthouse there. You will meet us there in two days.”

“Of course, my Lady.” Modhna couldn’t be more excited if she tried. “I’ll bring horses to get you and your companion.”

“You have horses?” Serana seemed shocked. “Horses that don’t hate vampires?”

“We raised some horses and try not to get seen.” Modhna explained, waving her hands apologetically. “The living ones are not so easily ridden by us.”

“Modhna.” Ardwen was the one to speak up, as all of them noticed cracks appearing in the ice wall. The pirates were starting to get through. “It’s good to have another friend.”

“It’s nice to meet Serana’s Thrall.” She gave another bow, leaving through the back just as Ardwen puffed up red-faced. 

Serana held her laughter in for a few moments. But it tumbled out, surrounded by the burnt out remnants of her family. Her father’s pride and glory looked like a massacre had been the daily meal. Her mother’s ego drove her to become an Ideal Master. Abandon this world. What was supposed to be a small laughter of entertainment turned into a mad cackle, worthy of this place. Something to make these halls shake one last time! To give this place the sendoff that it deserved! As a child her laughter could have echoed through these same halls. Now they stood desolate, dark and stained by blood and corruption. 

That’s what the pirates witnessed. Serana standing on the remains of her father’s court, her laugh filling all of the dark spaces of the castle. It echoed, coming back and echoing twice again before her laughter was cut off by a very significant click . 

Ardwen stood next to her, holding the silver wand. In her other hand was the damned leash, clipped to Serana’s throat. As the last of the laughter died, the blood started flowing back into people’s faces. The Redguard pirate crew looked queasy. “Serana.” Ardwen whispered, the sound the only thing that carried in the chamber. “Stop!” 

“This fucking place.” Sadia the Captain stepped forward, draped in a sheet. “You better have found a cure to this curse!”

Serana wasn’t about to cure her outright. Not a chance. She would kill them and leave them here if so. So she and Modhna had found the sluttiest little outfit in the vaults of things her father had forced upon the Thalmor vampires. A miniskirt with skulls on each hip along with a top more suited for a bedroom. “No cure, not for a curse set by my Father.” Serana rasped. Her voice felt like it had been pushed to its limits. “But if you dress like one of the Thralls the clothing won’t disappear.”

“Dress like a what?!”

Serana presented the humiliating attire, letting her eyes bore into the Redguard’s. The other woman still hadn’t recovered from hearing Serana’s last laugh for this place. “We vampires like to play with our food. You just had the misfortune to trigger that curse. Maybe if I had reason to-”

Ardwen silenced her with a gentle tug on the leash. “What she means to say is that there is a way to break it, but we would need to find out through study and effort. You can be thankful that we waded through the darkest areas of this place finding you those things to wear.” She started walking out the front gate, taking Serana with her. “I’ll keep this one out of the way of your people. Oh, and stay out of the sewers. The undead are raising on their own, it’s so tainted down there.”

As they walked down the way towards the Red Wave , Serana gave a last longing look at the castle. An old and broken thing, now. She hoped her laughter would carry on there for longer, like it did when her family lived here. She and Ardwen didn’t say a thing to one another the entire way back to Solitude. Serana was writing frantically in her journals, documenting everything that happened. Ardwen seemed intent on sneaking glances at her, or the journal she was writing in. But Serana was fairly certain the woman didn’t read that dialect of Daedric.

Chapter Text

The pirates of the Red Wave were not inclined to split any kind of deal with them by the end of the voyage. Another of their crew had run into the same trap that their captain did as they were leaving, leaving two of them begging for a cure. Serana didn’t feel like helping. She wasn’t Elayne, who would bend over backwards to help people she had never met in her life. There was hardly anything left at Castle Volkihar for them to loot and carry off now. Nothing of her original life remained there. 

Only the threat that Serana could curse the rest of them with the same curse let them off the ship peacefully, as Ardwen led her via leash back onto the docks of Solitude. The pirates didn’t scream at them, but it would take a miracle to ever talk to one of them ever again. It was midday, the sun just uncomfortable enough that Serana only felt slightly more powerful than a mortal. A couple of guards snickered at her as Ardwen took her past the docks, but she kept her head high. A collar around her neck wouldn’t deter her from having a good time. “Ardwen.” She spoke, once they were out of sight from the guards. “It might be bad if people see you with a leash on me.” They no longer had pirates they had to entertain. 

Ardwen pulled it, surprising Serana and meeting her halfway, her warm lips crashing into hers. She opened her mouth to protest, but her tongue darted into the gap and explored, the warm appendage feeling hot inside of her mouth. Then she pulled back, grinning and looking like she got what she wanted. “It’s not locked upon you, Princess.” Her cheeks felt flush the way Ardwen said that. “You can take it off if that’s what you really want.” 

She was flabbergasted. Confused. “Ardwen!” She had the presence of mind to reach up towards her collar, but fear of being shocked by the powerful enchantments froze her hands inches from the leashes’ clasp. “I can’t!” If she dare touch the collar on her neck she would be punished. 

“Then you seem to appreciate it.” Ardwen chuckled. 

“No, I just don’t want to be led around on a leash! It makes me seem like I’m a slave in truth!”

“Oh Serana! The way I see it?” Ardwen smiled widely, dropping her end of the leash and letting it fall. No one was holding it now. “It’s my way of saying you’re off limits.”

“Off limits?” She kept pace with the elf, staring. “Elayne’s symbol is around my neck, of course I’m off limits!”

“But you sucked off Brynjolf and people are going to figure out pretty quickly that you’re kind of a slut. But if I’m holding the leash I can at least make sure you’re not getting harassed by Brynjolf without my say so.” Ardwen twisted, putting her pointer and middle fingers together and placing them right on Serana’s lips to quiet the response she was formulating. Just knowing that there were sources of blood touching her made her want to nibble them. Just nibble them, not suck on them! “He’s not the kind of man to keep that to himself.”

That was true. But the fingers didn’t dislodge themselves even as she sidestepped. “He-!” When Serana attempted to speak she felt Ardwen strike. She was two knuckles deep inside of her mouth, completely unafraid of being bitten by the vampire she was touching. Her fingers tasted like the inside of a book. She must have been reading something from her collection this morning. 

“I think I’ve figured you out, Serana Volkihar. And if you want me to take care of you, to explore whatever this is between us? Hand me the leash before we go through Solitude’s gates.” Serana sucked unconsciously, feeling warmth in her undead body. Her teeth were brushing those fingers, but they did not bite. “Or you can always take the leash off if you don’t want everyone to know you like being treated like this.”

Serana wanted to scream. All of this felt like a confrontation, but without the violence she was used to. There was a feeling of twisting in her heart, of emotions too potent to name as Ardwen’s fingers slipped out of her lips with a wet pop. And then the elf started strutting for the gates, leaving Serana standing there in confusion. Did she want this? Whatever this was? 

Ardwen was her friend. A friend who seemed to want more than that! She had invited Serana into her bed more than once, and when they shared a bed on the road hadn’t taken any liberties. Other than gagging her for safety. Serana felt that emotion pooling in her gut at the thought of sleeping in a gag nightly for her. Or doing her laundry. Serana realized that for months that her friend had been giving her signals of interest and she had been brushing them off! But Ardwen wanted to be the one holding the leash. 

Modern society would expect that of her, since Serana was the one wearing the collar. A frustrating detail that bothered her often enough in her journal entries. The leash slapped against her thighs as she started walking towards her friend. Ardwen wasn’t going fast, not if she wanted to keep from getting tired and then cursed from her daedric items. Serana could run and catch up to her instantly, but for what? She hadn’t decided anything. 

The gates were only a few hundred paces away! Was Ardwen angry at Serana? Was she disappointed that Serana wasn’t getting a hint? Probably. She was so abuzz with thoughts about this that one of her heels almost tripped her on a particularly bad stone on those hills. The leash, longer than she was tall seemed to be the actual culprit. Picking it up didn’t hurt her. But her hands shook as she they got near the latch. 

No, she couldn’t touch it. Even when she was certain that she would survive the experience, she had just gotten stronger again. If her body was shocked that badly, Serana would probably be as weak as a kitten if it hurt her. But that wasn’t the issue, was it? Ardwen knew she couldn’t touch her collar! She wanted Serana to accept this! 

But was it so bad? Elayne had friends. She also seemed to invite Serana to join her, but it wasn’t as blatant as Ardwen’s offers. Most of the people Serana was interacting with these days wanted something from her. Brynjolf wanted a lot of things. Sex was just part of it, or maybe just a perk for him. Karliah wasn’t exactly a friend, but she did friendly things like take off that damned bridle. Svana tolerated Serana so long as she could use her. Sighing loudly, she felt more lonely at the thought of all of these people she had gotten to know, and so few she could consider a friend. Babette was more like a sister, a vexing one. 

If she said no to Ardwen, would she grow cold? Move on and leave Serana to fend for herself? She could feel her teeth grinding at the thought. No, she didn’t want Ardwen to leave! But that meant putting herself into Ardwen’s hands! Literally! She didn’t want to be treated as a slave of Ardwen! Even though she did things for her that might be considered servile. Shaking her head, she decided that she didn’t know enough about all of this. 

She marched forwards and grabbed Ardwen’s arm and pulled the elf behind the shadow of one of the towers on Solitude’s wall. Ardwen was smirking. “Did you decide?”

“I have questions!” Serana insisted. “What are you going to do with me if I say yes?”

“I’m going to show you what you’ve been missing. If you’re worried about me treating you like a slave, don’t. You already are a slave to something inside of your mind and I don’t think I could ever replace that with how strong your willpower is. But I do think that you’re too reckless and are going to get into a situation where we can’t escape from a lot these days. I can barely fight right now, and you seem hellbent on getting into trouble or dangerous situations. So yes, I feel scared.”

“What would change between us?” Serana’s real question. 

“I would show you what kind of life you’re missing out on. Without you putting all of us at risk, I’ll show you how you can explore that dark side you think you’re doing a good job of hiding. You could say no to most things, and I promise to explain before doing anything to you. Our normal relationship, with more benefits.” Ardwen looked over Serana appreciatively. “I would keep you from falling into the hands of greedy nobles and sleazy thieves.”

“Because you would be holding my leash? Treating me like I’m not as good as other people?”

“We’ve killed people, Serana. I killed more than a few people to escape Shashev. Some of them didn’t deserve it. You’re a vampire. Just by virtue of you living this long you’ve got a body count. We aren’t the kind of people that can just live on a farm and find that satisfying. I’m offering to hold your leash to keep you out of trouble, not treat you differently! I promise I won’t ever lose sight of my friend. Even if you nearly sent me to Oblivion with that crazed laughter yesterday.” 

“I may have been a bit unhinged.” Serana admitted. “But that was where I grew up. Seeing it in ruins is going to be in my nightmares for a long time.” 

“Then you know I only put that leash on you to keep from being pirate bait!” Ardwen folded her arms, her tight dress not even betraying a wrinkle. “Or some pony girl, or toys for daedra, or part of some sex dungeon in Falkreath!” 

Serana winced. “But I didn’t intend any of that!”

“And I didn’t intend to be stuck in some daedric corset that won’t let me relax!” She gave a harder stare. “But some part of you likes being treated like this and the daedra are answering that call. With a damned vengeance! Some part of you wants to be treated like this and I’m in the crossfire. So I’m tired of being dragged into situations that scare me, and you’re about to lead us into a vampire den and my neck isn’t going to be on the menu. Or turned into a thrall! This is all out of control and I don’t like it!”

“Are you saying you think this is mostly my fault?” 

“I think that if we were more careful, we wouldn’t get into as many compromising positions. That chastity belt had us running around for weeks. Another week lost because you got locked into that ponygirl business. Now we owe Karliah and you are investigating one of the most dangerous men in the holds! Can’t you see how the consequences are building up and we don’t have much to show for it? Karliah is going to demand answers from you and I don’t like where things are headed.”

“What would giving you this leash even accomplish?” Serana whispered. Ardwen was making good points. “What would I be giving up?” 

Ardwen gave Serana a longer stare. “One week.” She swallowed, taking a deeper breath. “Give me one week and then you can decide if I’m not what you want.” 

Ardwen wanted control over their lives. Serana hadn’t really shared that since they started adventuring. Ardwen had given good advice, but between Serana and Babette she had hardly been in control of anything. Of course she was afraid. But if it was just a week? Serana could find that less scary for her mind to think about. She had almost grabbed the leash before the rest of her mind caught up to her and she flushed. “You aren’t going to use that wand on me, are you? That thing hurts.” 

“No.” Ardwen shook her head. “But if I’m holding the leash I expect you to listen. This world isn’t the same as the one you were born in and it’s been biting us in the ass because you have the wrong assumptions. Give me a week leading us, and see for yourself how it can be.”

Serana closed her eyes, hating how this made her feel scared or out of control. Her tongue worked, but nothing came out. For an entire minute she looked at anywhere but Ardwen as her mind feverishly tried to come up with questions or concerns. Of concerns there were many, but nothing seemed to come together strongly enough that she could voice it. This was scary! Closing her eyes, she finally organized her thoughts enough to ask something when she realized that Ardwen had just started walking for the gates. “But!” She gasped, hands clenching. She didn’t have enough time for her mind to work it over! 

Just like how she’d been acting for weeks. Or rather, reacting. They had an overall plan, or so she trusted that they had a plan. Ardwen must have felt completely out of control with her decision to just trust in a crew of pirates and go off to Castle Volkihar. With promises of meeting other vampires afterwards. As well as promises of meeting another vampire here in Solitude! 

Sheepishly, she let herself imagine what might happen if she did let her have the leash. It wasn’t like she was going to send Serana into a brothel. Or mistreat her in public. She was already commanded on how to dress and how to live from her collar, so Ardwen couldn’t affect that. It would be just the two of them, with Ardwen in charge. Why did that thought concern her so much! Her lips still tingled from that kiss she gave her. 

Her feet picked up, somehow only able to catch up to Ardwen right in front of the gate guards. Only a few feet in front of the gates. Ardwen said nothing, stopping to face Serana. All of her points had already been made, and it wouldn’t be in good form to argue where gossip-spreading guards could hear. 

“Ardwen.” Serana spoke up, carefully. Her friend only raised one dark red eyebrow. Then she held out her hand. This was it. This was Ardwen’s moment of offering. Or else she would go right inside of those gates and Serana was afraid that their friendship would be less. But as of this moment, it had to change. One way or another. “Please don’t ruin this.” Serana said with the tiniest whisper she could dare. As she placed the end of the leash into her friend’s hands. 

“One week, Serana.” Ardwen moved her face forwards until their cheeks touched. Serana’s icy ones and the warmth of hers met. “Starting small for now.” Apparently starting small meant kissing Serana on her neck, sucking on the skin just above her collar. Skin she herself hadn’t dare touch in a year. Even the guards could clearly hear her gasping. 

Ardwen led the very worried Serana right to the Blue Palace. But nobody even searched their bags! When Serana led them into the city, the guards were meticulous. Yet for Ardwen they let her right in, and didn’t even have a guard tailing them. Or maybe they did and she didn’t notice. All Serana could focus on was the leash, gently guiding her along. Ardwen was keeping her right next to her, at her side. If Serana looked away, she would gently nudge her. 

Once inside the palace they could see how badly the place was filled with refugees over the winter. The marks of torch smoke on walls were thicker, and scrape marks on floors and carpet where furniture had to be moved to accommodate tents and supplies were everywhere. The furnishings were back to normal now, but the once-capitol of Skyrim still showed its willingness to support its people. Large scale repairs were being done to one wing of the palace, with scaffolding covering it. 

The court wizard’s rooms were small, kept behind the throne room. The guards were at least kind enough to show them to the rooms via side passages. It wouldn’t do to have a vampire in the court. The irony made her laugh a little, earning her a shushing from Ardwen. But the chambers were opulent, with keepsakes and knicknacks from cyrodil as well as black marsh. Inside, she saw Sybille waiting for them, her illusion up and hiding the collar around her neck quite effectively. Serana didn’t want to shatter it, and pointedly kept her eyes from meeting the other vampire’s. 

“Welcome! I’m glad you can make it.” Sybille offered a few carafes of drink to them both. “I wasn’t sure what kind of wine you preferred so I had a number of them brought out from storage. With how bad it got over the winter mead was hard to find. Still is, I’m afraid. But I’ve heard that you don’t actually consume the blood of others if you can help it.” 

“I can’t go attacking people, to be sure.” Serana answered, even as Ardwen led her to a chair and sat them both down. “But if a bandit happens to attack me I can do what I want to them.”

Sybille nodded, appreciating that. “I’ve been the court wizard for over a hundred years here. Though it’s become harder to keep the names and faces apart. But during the war with the Volkihar I got collared. Elisef figured it out, somehow. She gave me a choice and I took the collar rather than be associated with the vampires we were at war with.”

“But you’re still as free to act as you were? Move through the city?”

“I’ve never been told I cannot. Or stop feeding the way I did.” She gave a secret smile. “But I don’t want you to feel threatened or callous of me. I’ve only spoken to a few of your clan over the years, most are very capricious. One Vingalmo threatened to kill me.” She did not laugh about that. “Thankfully Harkon is gone.”

“Not dead. Just gone.” Serana spoke. “Banished to Oblivion.”

“How does Elisef treat you when you’re alone with her?” Ardwen interjected. “What is your relationship like?”

“Distant.” Sybille admitted. “She just wanted assurances that I wouldn’t be at her throat. But I’ve been here in court for a lifetime. Only my colleagues Wuunferth and Mirabelle know about my nature at the mage’s college. She probably won’t let me raise her children the way I was able to raise Torygg. He and his sisters were darlings, and I loved working with them. I suppose that I’m as free as I was before. I’ve earned her trust.” 

“Would she be angry about me?” Serana asked. “Some people are saying my family claimed land in three holds.”

“Well we could fix that by just letting some Thane borrow you for a decade as penance in each hold.” Sybille offered. Seriously. “Or a jarl.” 

“No thank you.” Ardwen spoke for the both of them. “Serana doesn’t have to apologize after she did all that work in fighting for these holds to still be here.”

“Will you tell her you met with us?” Serana asked. 

“No, I don’t think I need to. She will find out from the guards when she asks her captain about comings and goings. But you aren’t under watch. No more than I am. We might have more respect for you here than you might guess.”

“More respect?”

“Solitude has more class than the rest of Skyrim. And many of the Volkihar turned out to be longtime customers of ours, even by proxy. The local economy shrank significantly, and a lot of the merchants miss how much the Volkihar would purchase or buy.” 

“They miss the money not the vampires.” Ardwen rolled her eyes. 

“I really don’t care.” Serana interjected. “I won’t be making the same mistakes my father did. But I was curious about a few things. Since I have your ear, could I get some advice?” 

“Only if I get the same.” Sybille looked thrilled. “I want to know about Oblivion, as it seems you have traveled through it so much!”

“Only a few realms of it. Coldharbour and one very bad moment in the Dreadlands.” Of course, whatever Elayne was doing with her book counted. “But I know almost all of the potential daedra on sight. Some I’ve only read about.”

“We’ve been seeing some problems. Last year the Dragonborn solved a problem for the Legion, since they were storing Nord dead in the old temple of Meridia. But when we sent priests of Arkay in to investigate, some of the bodies were taken. Arkay’s blessings have been somewhat interrupted since. Sometimes the spells work and sometimes they don’t.”

“That’s not from me.” She knew of rituals that would interrupt the rituals of Arkay, but all of them required heavy sacrifices and would clearly defile any shrines of arkay nearby. “Clan Volkihar’s magic was more blatant. If we wanted to interrupt something like that, the shrines nearby would be completely corrupted. Or visibly broken.”

“If you’re certain.” Sybille looked at least comforted by that. “It helps to know that isn’t from some vampires that are feeling vengeful. Though we have heard rumors of surviving Thalmor vampires, there have been no sightings this spring. The legion has ben going out after any missing persons as well, trying to find any leftover vampire dens.”

“Can you tell me about the vampire covens left in Skyrim after this war?”

Sybille nodded. “I have mostly hearsay on that. At least one Thalmor vampire survived. We can assume that to be true. But they could be anywhere from Markarth to Dawnstar. Movarth has a longstanding coven near Morthal but we haven’t heard about him in some time. I can mark on a map for you where he lives. We don’t know why, but there are a group of cultists looking for vampires throughout Skyrim right now. They have a camp south of Whiterun, taking advantage of the central location. Warlocks, as far as I can tell. They probably have a base somewhere.” Marks on their maps were updated for both groups. 

“Movarth, the author of Immortal Blood?”

“Supposed author.” Sybille rolled her eyes. “Having spoken with him it seems more likely that he was taken advantage of.”

“I’d like to at least talk to him.” Serana liked hearing about a vampire that had accomplishments the rest of the world could recognize. “What about curses. Are you much familiar with those?”

“It depends.” Sybille looked evasive. “I don’t have a strong history of breaking them.” Serana gave a quick explanation of the items afflicting Ardwen, as well as mentioning the potions that affected her ability to process blood. “For those nasty things I might as well ask at the mage college. As for the blood drinking? I’ve never heard of someone having a reaction as protracted as yours. Perhaps you’ve angered Molag Bal in some way?”

She winced at that. Exiling his champion vampire lord to the realm of Boethiah might have something to do with that. “He doesn’t forgive easily.”

“The corpses would be quite horrific.” Sybille nodded.

“What corpses?” Ardwen spoke up, no longer quiet. 

“To earn his forgiveness we would need to sacrifice a number of souls to him.” Serana put as simply as possible. “In my case it would take a village.”

“But he listened to you at the-” Serana quickly grasped Ardwen’s thigh and held it tightly. Some things couldn’t be shared with Sybille. “Battle.” The elf lamely finished. 

“I haven’t ever met the creature.” Sybille said, even as a musical note could be heard in the distance. “Ah. The Jarl is summoning me.”

“We thank you for your hospitality. It’s very welcome.” Serana was the first to offer, standing up. Ardwen was a second behind her, at more mortal speeds. 

“I don’t have many friends.” Sybille offered her hand, the palm open. “I hope that I can call you both that soon. And I promise to visit that bookstore of yours!”

Finally. A vampire that actually had a working relationship with society. It was the most hopeful thing Serana had seen in a month. When Ardwen led her out of the Blue Palace on the leash, she was at peace. Moreso than she had been before. All of the books Serana had ordered were carefully packaged and moved to their wagon, and a second wagon had to be hired to move them all. A pair of eager young Nords looking for work were hired from the stables. But it would be a full day for all of the supplies to be moved from all of the shops to their wagon. Maybe more. 

Everyone did what they asked without any extra asking. Normally Serana had to work a lot harder to get what she wanted from people. And yet Ardwen could get what they needed with hardly any trouble! But that was just the interactions with others. Just outside the market, Ardwen led them into an alleyway and pulled Serana with the leash, more firmly than the gentle leading she had done throughout the day. 

“Take off your cloak.” Ardwen said, looking up at the looming sun.

Serana hissed at that. “You know that stings, right?” 

“It only makes you weaker, right? It isn’t killing you?”

Serana didn’t like it, but wanted to be fair to Ardwen. “Volkihar vampires have some sun resistance. I’m weaker, and all the strength I got from that potion is just going to drain away faster in the sunlight.”

Ardwen ran a finger along Serana’s chin. “Don’t worry. I think I’ve got your little curse figured out. I just don’t think you do.”

“You couldn’t possibly have figured it out and kept it to yourself.” Serana folded her arms, annoyed. “You would have told me.”

“Would you be willing to test that theory?” Ardwen smirked. “Cloak off, Serana.”

She hissed at the back of her throat, undoing the clasp at her neck and removing the cloak protecting her from the sun. Already she felt more uncomfortable, as she folded the cloak back into her bag. The silken covering had provided some protection, even as Ardwen started dragging Serana through the market for a second round that day. Always in the sun! Every time Serana tried to hide in the shadows of a stall Ardwen would find reason to drag her along or back out of it. When the afternoon fell and the shadows finally looked like they would bring sweet relief, Ardwen led them right along towards Castle Dour. They visited the fletcher and blacksmith, collecting coverings for all of the mountains of books that were going back to Riften. All the while Serana could feel her strength dwindling. Just being next to the temple of the divines was enough that she was starting to get antsy in the shop of the blacksmith. Only a few stones stood between her and enough shrines to make an undead whimper. “We need to go.” She whispered to Ardwen. “We are too close.” 

“I thought you might enjoy being inside. And the bellows are warming up my legs so nicely.” Ardwen took the leash and tied it off against the wall. As if Serana couldn’t just pick it up on her own. Though her hands itched to do so, she reminded herself to wait. To see what Ardwen would do. One week.Ten days to see if Serana liked being treated like this. So far, she didn’t feel terrible. Uncomfortable, perhaps. But a part of her was always wondering what Ardwen was thinking. 

By the time sundown had come, Serna felt weak. She had been dragged through enough sunlight that she felt clammy and nearly as bad as she was when she left Riften. “Ardwen.” She whispered, giving the last vestiges of sunlight a harder glare. “I can’t take much more of this.”

“Good.” The elf coolly said, walking for the tavern. “It makes the next part all the better.”

“Better?!” Serana wanted her cloak back. “How can I meet Modhna tomorrow if I can barely handle a weapon!”

Ardwen just gave a pull on the leash, finding a corner table in the tavern to sit at. She made Serana sit down first, before parting Serana’s hair and kissing the exposed skin at the back of her neck. It was like warmth was spreading throughout her neck, until she felt the tongue tracing the skin to either side of her neck sensuously. “I’m going to explain our arrangement. Right now. Place both of your hands in your lap if you are willing to know what that will be.” 

The warm tongue was still tracing outlines on Serana’s back. She nibbled her lip, her nipples tenting the breastband that secured her. It took her five seconds to place both hands demurely in her lap. Though she could see two off duty legionnaires watching as Ardwen lapped at her bare skin. “There are people watching!”

“Good.” Ardwen whispered, as her tongue went lower until she couldn’t reach more of Serana due to the back of the chair. Both of Ardwen’s hands snaked into the slits in her dress, a tasteful number that exposed mid thigh. In front of both soldiers, Ardwen’s hands went up and in. Serana kept her hands still, starting to understand why she had to keep them in her lap. So she wouldn’t put them in the way. She almost broke that command when she felt Ardwen grab both sides of her panties and pull downwards. “Lift your hips.”

It would be so easy to say no. To keep her dignity. But somewhere inside she was excited at this. So, Serana closed her eyes and lifted her hips off the chair. One smooth flick of Ardwen’s hands and the soldiers could also see the silk around her ankles. “What’s going to happen?”

“I’m going to show you how to break your curse, Princess.” 

“End it?”

“No, more like satisfy it.”

Seran could hear the sounds of a bard nearby. Singing songs of lost loves and found treasures, thankfully. More renditions of songs about Elayne had taken their toll. The noises of humanity swirled around them, their corner table letting them see so many tables full of friends and a couple of tables with more than friendly people at them. Losing her panties to Ardwen’s fingers just made that all the more apparent. 

Two tables away nearer the bar she could see an Imperial sitting in the lap of a large set Nord, her skirts raised so high that Serana could see every aspect of her asscheeks. The woman wasn’t even blushing as she sank herself onto the Nord’s meat, and the only table that could even tell was hers! At the same table another couple were getting handsy with no one the wiser, Serana almost able to make out the shape of the dick being fondled from her position. She was distracted enough by this that it came as a shock when Ardwen’s fingers slipped once again inside of her dress, with nothing between them and her most intimate areas. 

“Aah! Wait!” They were in public! 

“Are you telling me no, Princess?” Ardwen leaned closer until her warm lips were brushing her cheeks once more. “You don’t want me to take care of you?”

“Not here! Not,” She couldn’t even find the words, and she raised her hands to clamp down on the wrist that was moving up her thighs. “I don’t know!” The last was a whisper. 

“Hands back in your lap.” Ardwen’s whisper was insistent. That meant letting go of her wrist. Letting her do as she pleased. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.” 

“But you want to know.” Know what Ardwen would do? Know what she planned? Serana’s mind whirled with possibilities. Ten days. One entire week of this. 

“Yes.” With hesitance she let go of her wrist. Shaking a bit, she put her hands back into her lap, wringing her own wrists in worry. Ardwen’s fingers stroked her inner thigh, teasing her for minutes until Serana’s face was red and she felt like her inner core was warming up. Ardwen seemed to delight in this, not even worried about taking half an hour to tease Serana under the table. The pair of legionnaires looked on, even sending a pair of drinks to their table. People could see her being fondled! 

Serana could see Ardwen drink half of mead, the smell of honey stronger as she breathed out. But then Ardwen moved her other hand below the table, sliding her own skirts aside. Serana felt Ardwen’s wrists twin their actions, gasping as she stopped teasing. Ardwen’s hand was almost grabbed by Serana’s wrists, and it took everything in her power to stay still as someone else touched her. She didn’t even dare touch herself, and Ardwen made it look like she had complete control. 

Serana started to raise her arms and Ardwen nipped at her with teeth. Not that she bit anything, but it was a warning. Ardwen couldn’t bend her back in the slightest. She was wearing a neck corset and should have been unable to control herself much less another person. Yet here Serana was, her hands in her lap as someone else took ruthless advantage of her body. This wasn’t the aggression of Brynjolf or the brutality of Molag Bal. This was soft, tender in a way that squeezed places she had never felt touched before. 

The warmth was building, and it was just all she could do to stay still. To not cry out, as every nerve ending in her body began convulsing. Like a wave, Ardwen’s fingers found something sensitive and twisted. The wave became a flood, as her nerves couldn’t do anything but scream praise. Serana slumped, her hands reaching down to catch her from slamming into the table. The legionnaires laughed at this, even as her legs and hips twitched uncontrollably. Ardwen’s fingers stayed right within her, probably the only reason she didn’t fall out of her chair. 

“You just did that in front of people.” Ardwen whispered. “You’re no better than that Imperial on that Nord’s lap. Well, you might be easier than she is.”

Serana simply turned her head as much as she could to keep anyone from seeing her red she was. Any attempts to speak were weakened by further twistings of fingers. “M’not easy!” She ground out. 

“When you’re feeling humiliated you are totally easy.” Ardwen countered, finally drawing her hands away, even as Serana felt like there was fire magic going on there. The seams of her dress strained from the way she had to hold herself together. “But that’s not a crime. Honestly, it fits you. You’ve spent a thousand years or so eating people and getting a high from draining them. Vanilla handholding isn’t going to satisfy you.” 

“What are you saying?” She whispered. 

“You’re into taboo, Serana.” She blinked, as two of Ardwen’s fingers sat in front of her face. The ones that had been under her skirt moments ago. “Open wide.”

If she complained that would just be opening her mouth! Glancing at the next table didn’t help, as the legionnaires were watching with rapt attention. She gave a minute shake of her head, the embarrassment of having Ardwen’s fingers in her mouth rising. She glanced openly at the men staring at them, eyes wide. “Mmm-mm!” 

“Do it, or else I’ll go ask Taarie and Elodie for ideas.” Those elves would only cause her trouble! Damn her! One week of this was going to be impossible! In front of the people watching, Serana flushed, feeling her stomach doing twirls as she loosened her lips and opened them slightly. Ardwen didn’t hesitate, forcing Serana to taste herself. It was debasing, and in front of others felt cruel.

Yet her nipples seemed ready to cut their way free from her breastband, her lungs kept wanting to be used. Parts of her body more mortal than vampire were reacting to all of this stimuli. It was like blood, almost. The scent of iron was in her mouth, and she closed her eyes trying to ignore the normal reaction of biting. Her hands shook in her lap as Ardwen made her clean all of her fingers. She sagged the moment that they left her mouth, as her body seemed to react. Blinking, she noticed some of her strength returning. But she didn’t drink that potion!

“Wait, this-” She opened her eyes too late, as Ardwen’s other hand slipped into her mouth. Now she was tasting Ardwen! Shaking her head didn’t help at all, as her tongue tasted some kind of nectary taste. Most humiliating of all was how eagerly her tongue leapt at the chance to taste more. Small trickles of her strength were returning, as her eyesight got better and her senses improved. Which did not help her in the slightest as she could taste those fingers more fully. 

“Your curse isn’t affecting your blood drinking. It’s making you crave this.” Ardwen whispered, her lips brushing Serana’s ear. “What do you think, Princess?”

The Imperial woman was watching now as Ardwen released Serana. Her fingers had a few strands of liquid that hung between Serana’s lips and the digits before she could see that more eyes were upon her. Ardwen still had her head buried in Serana’s neck, and she couldn’t guess what kind of state she was in. “Sanguine.” She whispered, wiping her face with a sleeve. She was raised better than to have drool on her face! “It’s a Curse of Sanguine.” 

“Common enough where I came from.” Ardwen reminded. “Shashev loved cursing people with things like this. I’m sorry it took me so long to notice. But don’t worry.” She kissed Serana’s neck, the vampire twitching in response. “I’ll get you back up to full strength after making you be ever so pretty in the marketplace.”

She didn’t feel closer to full strength at all. “What about a cure?”

“I’m not interested in curing you, Princess.” Ardwen said back, gathering her feet and standing up. “This is just too precious.”

“Where are you going?!”

Ardwen took the leash and left it on the table, as if that alone was enough to convince Serana to stay there. The elf walked right over to the table of legionnaires, and Serana felt her heartbeat quicken as Ardwen knelt between the pair of soldiers. Serana couldn’t see what she was doing, but it was clear when one of the soldiers slipped his fauld out of the way. Ardwen was giving those soldiers handjobs! Whatever else she was doing under that table Serana couldn’t see, but Ardwen clearly made both men extremely happy. She came back with clean hands and one of their drinks, leaving Serana’s taken panties on their table as a trade. 

“Those are expensive!” Serana hissed. “Way more than the drink!”

“Colovian brandy during a liquor shortage probably comes out to about the same.” Ardwen winked, setting the large glass in front of Serana. “Now, Princess. Drink up.” 

With a burst of feeling she realized what Ardwen had been doing under the table. The elf was standing behind her chair now, as Serana squirmed. Her hands almost moved when she said that. “That’s sickening, Ardwen!”

The elf’s fingers spun some kind of magic on the back of her minimal dress, as she felt Ardwen unlatch her breastband and pull, four of the watchers clearly noticing her breasts swinging to the right as the fabric was drawn tight. No one said a word as Serana’s breastband was slid off, her breasts swinging as they were freed. The silk dress did a poor job of hiding her nipples. “Then you’ll be a bit of a slut if you drink it, Princess.” Ardwen’s fingers dug into the tender skin of Serana’s back, massaging her. “Keep your hands in your lap.”

Ardwen wanted her to ask for help. Help in drinking that . “I don’t want to.” She hissed, looking up at the other tables around them. Thanks to Ardwen’s maneuver, Serana had their full attention. 

“But you don’t want to be weak.” Ardwen pointed out. The elf had to be a little drunk as she picked up the cup, bringing it to Serana’s lips. She wasn’t going to let her have a choice. Part of Serana wanted to be angry. To be offended. But the parts of her that were already played with screamed that this woman was going to take them interesting places. She knew exactly what was in that wine, and she closed her eyes to let Ardwen guide her. Feeling warm lips on the back of her neck, Ardwen made Serana swallow that entire cup. It was sensuous, intimate and almost felt like she was sinking her teeth into someone. Draining someone. She felt alive, strong and powerful even though she was debasing herself in a tavern instead of drinking from the neck of something. 

Before she knew it, it was over. The entire cup was empty. She felt heady, like she might pass out. But Ardwen caught her, as the emotion of it all made her shiver and slump. Her body was alight with feelings and electric tingles, and the sounds of the tavern filtered into a low buzz around her. “Shhh.” The elf whispered, leading her back to their room. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. That was just your first day.” 

Oh gods. Serana collapsed into their bed and passed out, her first dreamless sleep in what felt like ages. 

Chapter Text

Serana felt like she was floating. Her limbs felt lighter than air, and every part of her body felt strong. Strong enough to take on three storm atronachs and win handily. She wasn’t the only one to feel great, as Ardwen was humming a tune. Humming! The woman looked pleased as can be, and kept giving Serana smirking looks. Modhna had met them exactly where she had promised, leading them across the river next to Dragonbridge on a pair of raised horses. The undead creatures thundered along goat trails and over the river with some form of waterwalking. Expensive undead to maintain, but very useful. Modhna waited for the coast to be clear before she led them into the hills, saying little and casting magic to hide their tracks in the mud. “A transmutation spell your father taught me.” She explained. “He said it works against Hircine’s minions.”

“You’ll have to teach me.” Serana smiled. “You don’t seem like the magic type.”

“I am really not. But I like leaving a trace less than that.” Modhna stopped along a thick copse of trees in a valley that hadn’t looked like anyone had been there since the Snow Elves. There was enough winter runoff still that the valley looked like a system of creeks. But a small little goat trail took them up the side of the mountain single file. Here Modhna erased their tracks at the bottom of the switchbacks, but the hard stone made the rest of the trip unnecessary for that spell’s use. 

They arrived at a cavern entrance, tucked away in the shadow of a crevice that only someone who climbed the mountain could see. Not even a dragon flying would see anyone down here. “What is this place? I’ve never seen it before.”

“The entrance used to be down closer to the road but we sealed it up for safety. It’s called Forebear’s Holdout. Some Volkihar got pinned down and had to hide in here for a few months in some extended siege with Morthal back in the day. It’s not important to anyone and is an old buried ruin.”

“Wait.” Serana remembered this place. “This is where Father tortured some Ayleid wizards into telling him their secrets. They made some devices in here that were meant to affect the weather, but Father took the parts to the castle instead. We called it something else. That name is better, though.”

Modhna nodded. “Before you go in, could I make a request?”

Serana glanced at Ardwen, who was still looking pleased from their travels. The weather was nice, after all. “Sure.”

“We have a portrait of you, and some of your old clothes. Can you enter the way that the others would remember you?” Modhna glanced at the heavy collar around her neck. “Well, besides that.”

“That lets me walk in cities without penalty.” Serana said. She didn’t want to mention the things it made her do. Her thighs rubbed together at the thought of her old dress. It was a form of armor, too. “If you’d like, we can keep it a secret between the court. I happen to like silk more these days.” A lie, as she did miss wearing armor on occasion. 

Modhna grinned and dashed back into the cavern, even as Ardwen reached over and unclipped the leash. “Princess.” She said. “Maybe I should stay out here for this. I don’t have the greatest of trust for vampires.”

“They’ll treat you as my thrall.” Serana whispered. “Since you’re an elf you might get some mocking.”

“Alright.” Ardwen chuckled. “I’ll make sure you appear regal, and you can choose how your thrall will dress.” The elf ran a finger across Serana’s shoulders. “But whatever you do, I’ll find a way to expose you to a debauched form of it later.” 

A challenge. Serana just wanted Ardwen to be alright. Yet her friend was asking her to treat her poorly? Though a dark part of her mind wanted to know how far the response would go. The first clear decision was to make sure she wasn’t paraded naked through a town later. But Serana didn’t mind a bit of the give and take. Ardwen was almost daring her to be dressed like a plaything. But if Serana did that, she really would be paraded naked herself through Riften on a leash. Parts of her thought that might be fun, for all of a moment. Brynjolf would get ideas if she did that. “You’re going to be wearing one of my silk party dresses.” She drew out the red and black silken outfit. Stockings and stays also came out. “Vampires can see right through it, so your daedric touches are going to be on display. Just,” She could hear Modhna running back in the distance. “Don’t get tired or else your breasts are going to rip through my dress. I don’t want you to do that.”

Ardwen gave her a smile that meant something for later. But she looked decadent in the silk, as it did nothing to hide her daedric cursed items. In the light of day you could see right through the slim backless party dress. It made the elf look absolutely slutty, and Serana was satisfied with that. But Modhna brought her old royal armor out. It looked preserved, perfectly ready for her. The only thing sexy about it was the cleavage window, letting her reveal a bit of feminine charms. Otherwise it hung past the knees and guarded every possible organ from harm. 

Ardwen laced her so tightly into her breastband that a mortal would have passed out. For Serana, it made her breasts look two sizes too large for the armor, like two loaves of bread trying to escape through the cleavage window. The jiggle was fantastic, she had to admit. Her father would have scolded her for appearing so wanton. For some reason she approved of that. So her bare legs and heeled shoes were the first things her court saw, coming down the ancient steps into the buried fort that had become their last hideaway. Her trim waist and jiggling cleavage followed, since she didn’t wear anything under the outer layers of armor. 

When she could finally see the faces of what was left of the Volkihar court, it was only a pair of elves left. But both had raised eyebrows. The Dunmer was outright staring, while the Bosmer kept glancing at a large portrait that leaned against a wall to compare her to. Their shock lasted until Modhna cleared her throat. 

“Welcome, my liege.” The Dunmer started, taking a knee and bowing. “I am Feran Sadri, the oldest of your court. This here is Ronthil, a bard who has been with us almost two hundred years, and Modhna who has been with us nearly seventy.” Feran did not differentiate time spent as a vampire or human for Modhna. It spoke well of him. “I have the pleasure of lasting as head librarian for more than two hundred years. But I have spent time within the court for twice that.” The dunmer rose from his bow, looking a bit ragged. His robes were showing signs of concealed injuries or battle. Times had not been kind to him.

But all around them, the entire cavern was full of bookshelves. Storage for all of the combined knowledge of clan Volkihar. “Blessed by Bal.” She whispered. This was what she was missing. The scent of all of these old books and scrolls made her feel more at home than the decrepit castle did. Knowledge was what her family created over their years of immortality. Now they were saved. “You all protected this.”

“We knew you had survived, Lady Serana. It meant that someone would come to collect it. But the Companions and others came first.”

The mythical Companions. “I was with Elayne for a long time. The Dragonborn protected me from the aggressive vampire purging that occurred after the battles. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you on my own.”

“We tried to reach you once. But the person who tried was a fool. We didn’t have many options with how depleted we have become. But we do not sever loyalty lightly. With the defeat of Harkon, we serve you now instead.” Feran really couldn’t help but stare at the cleavage that was trying its best to escape. “What do you command of us, Lady Serana?”

“Command?!” The Bosmer immediately had a problem. “Her father sent us to die without a thought and you offer yourself at her feet without so much as a thank you?” Ronthil was frowning. “That family already led us to ruin once!”

Serana didn’t have to show violence to command her court. She really could just use a bit of power and show Ronthil what it meant to be in charge. But that stank as exactly what her father would do. For his sake, for their sakes she would be different. “I’m not the monster my father was.” She started by saying. “My father was also not the source of our bloodline. Simply the first convert.” 

Ronthil went still. Clearly Harkon didn’t want everyone knowing that his blood was diluted at all. “All of our books claim that he was.” Feran spoke clearly. “What can you claim to the contrary?”

“My mother and I were dragged to Coldharbour almost a thousand years ago, after we sacrificed hundreds of captured Direnni Nedes and Elves in a single night. We fed their blood to the shrine of Molag Bal in a parade of gore. Their bones still rest in that shrine, a monument to the power of our family. Back then, we were nobles who controlled that small island and its environs. We were the western bulwark for all of Skyrim against the Direnni threat. So we were Nord mages who dedicated ourselves to the hatred of all things elven or foreign. Father came from a long line who swore themselves to the kingdom of Solitude. But he wanted more. Always more. Molag Bal whispered to him, and he married a brilliant mage and cultist of Hermaeus Mora. She converted and I was born, raised to believe that pure truth.”

Everyone blinked at the sound of penmanship, as both Feran and Ronthil were writing this down. “Sorry.” Ronthil excused. “I’ve never dared ask your father a question such as this.”