Skyrim Fic (CH2) (Patreon)

Her eyelids fluttered, gradually drifting into wakefulness. She became aware of her own smooth breathing. Her heartbeat was steady, slow; blood pulsing once a minute—perhaps even less. It was normal for her.

She sat up, satin sheets sliding down to reveal her embroidered nightwear. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the dark lace. Her mother had sewn it a long time ago, when she’d come of age. Would the woman even remember? She doubted it.

A sigh escaped her lips. Recalling the past wasn’t a regular thing, but dreams had dredged it up from the dark, dusty cellars of memory. Back when she still had a mother and a father. The latter was dead—very much so—and the former as good as. Not the woman she’d once known.

Tossing the satin sheets aside, she swung her legs out of the bed. Her feet touched the soft carpet. Not that her body needed it, but such comforts weren’t unwelcome this far north. She didn’t much like the cold.

Standing, she took a woolen gown from a peg above her head, draping it across her shoulders. She padded over to her dresser, sitting on the stuffed leather cushion. All the furniture was a dark, polished wood—undoubtedly expensive. Not that she had much appreciation for money.

A flick of her fingers ignited a candle, bathing the room in a warm glow. The hour was still early, and the summer season had passed. It would be a while yet before sunrise.

She dragged a comb through her shoulder-length black hair. It had grown slightly. She considered cutting it when it became a hassle.

When she was done—settling for a simple ponytail—she scrutinized her face in the mirror. Eternal youth had seen to it that she needn’t worry about wrinkles. Her lashes were naturally long and dark, and her pink lips looked best without decoration.

Grabbing a brush, she dusted it in some powdered makeup. She suddenly wanted to add a bit of color to her pale cheeks. She wasn’t in a hurry, so perhaps she’d paint her nails too. And try a spritz of her new perfume for vibrancy…

It didn’t take long to conclude her morning routine. She twirled in the mirror, looking at herself from every angle. The white dress had been adjusted, and seemed to fit well. She was thinking how to spend the day when someone knocked on her door.

Double-checking to make sure she was presentable, she walked over, twisting the embossed handle. She didn’t need to guess who it was, though she wondered why he was stopping by so early.

A hallway was revealed on the other side. It was dark, a gauzy curtain waving eerily on the other end. From where she stood, she could vaguely see the early morning sky, the pinprick stars distorting through a stained-glass window.

Nobody was there.

“I don’t see why you’d persist with this. Was my reaction really that amusing?”

For a moment, nothing happened, but then the shadows in the room shifted. Tendrils of darkness whirled at her feet, congealing into a solid mass. It slowly took the form of a man—or something man-shaped.

From head to toe, the creature was black as night, dressed in a dark robe and with inky skin to match. It might’ve been indistinguishable from its surroundings, were it not for the glowing tattoos covering its face.

It made a half-bow toward her.

“Good morning, mistress Serana. Pardon me for startling you.”

Serana huffed.

“I wasn’t startled. And I’m no-one’s mistress.”

Its lips parted, revealing frightening teeth.

“When we first met you were… unusually frightened for a vampire. I even suspected you’d never seen a dremora.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You suddenly appeared in front of me while I was thinking of something else. Who wouldn’t be startled?”

The dremora nodded, its horns nearly scraping the doorframe.

“Of course, of course. My mistress is of admirable courage-…”

“I told you, don’t call me mistress.”

It chuckled.

“As you wish… mistress.”

Serana stared at it for a moment, feeling surly. She wasn’t its master, so she couldn’t command it. She sighed.

“So, what brings you here so early? I was still sleeping when you woke me up.”

It scoffed.

“As a fine butler of many years, I would never interrupt my mistress’ sleep. I waited until you’d awoken, and your business finished, before knocking.”

“You mean to say you were here the whole time, spying on me?”

“…not at all.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Then explain yourself.”

The dremora coughed into its fist. It was unknown whether the creature was truly uncomfortable, or just pretending.

“I apologize, but there’s something important I wanted to bring to your attention.”

“Is that so…? Then let’s hear it.”

It nodded, patting itself down. It took a piece of paper from its robes.

“Firstly, the master received a letter a few days ago. I made a copy, thinking you might be interested-…”

It was still mid-sentence when Serana snatched the item from its hands, opening and reading it immediately. Her expression changed a few times, but her composure eventually returned.

Thoughtful, she tapped a crimson nail against her cheek.

“A dragonborn. I see… is there anything else?”

The dremora looked at her quietly. Then it laughed.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call you mistress? You’re very interested in the master’s matters.”

Serana narrowed her eyes.

“You agreed to help me investigate his ‘matters’. Why ask such a question?”

It shrugged.

“How could I refuse? It’s clear he trusts and values you greatly. It makes your betrayal even more… delicious.”

Serana clicked her tongue. She mumbled a word, pronouncing it like a slur.

“Dremora.”

It ignored her.

“In any case, there’s still one more thing. The master has emerged from seclusion.”

“…what?”

The dremora smiled.

“It is as I said.”

Serana chewed her lip worriedly.

“You fool. If he’s out, should you be doing this so openly? Be more discreet next time…!”

She sighed.

“Forget it. I should go pay him a visit. It wouldn’t do for him to grow suspicious of me.”

“A wise decision, mistress. He had me bring a few refreshments a while ago. He should still be there—in the tower.”

Having started to rummage around for her belongings, Serana looked over her shoulder.

“He’s there…?”

The dremora shrugged.

“Who can know the master’s mind? He’s never been the most… open person.”

Serana nodded. She straightened, walking past the butler and closing the door behind her.

“Don’t come with me. The last thing I need is you yapping in my ear. Maintaining my composure is already hard enough as it is.”

The creature bowed, its black lips twisting into a familiar smirk.

“As you wish, mistress.”

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Strolling through empty hallways and dark rooms, Serana found herself admiring the mansion—and not for the first time. It was what one’d expect from an ancient vampire, but it wasn’t nearly as garish as castle Volkihar.

Her father had taken certain… liberties with the décor while she and Valerica were away. It hadn’t been to her taste, and she suspected her mother would start making changes, now that she was in charge.

Arriving at an engraved, metal door—sequestered in a remote corner of the manor—Serana uttered an incantation. Runes lit up on the surface, the door sliding back to reveal a spiral stairway. And next to it…

Serana stared at a towering undead, clad in hulking black armor. Through its skull-plated helmet, its ghostly gaze burned into her own, filled with barely suppressed violence. It was one of Vlad’s death knights.

Vlad had many undead servants, but that one and its companion were in their own league. Just being near it gave Serana the creeps. And as a daughter of Coldharbour, that was saying something. Its sheer magical presence, belonging to not only itself, but its enchanted armaments, was a faint pressure at the back of her head.

"May I pass...?" She asked, unconsciously using polite speech. During her and Vlad's journey, investigating the Tyranny of the Sun, she'd seen the death knight in action. The memory of its cursed blade plunging into her father's chest, shedding his blood on the cold stones, was too vivid to forget.

It shifted to one side noiselessly. For its size and mass, it was unsettlingly graceful.
Breathing slowly, Serana passed the undead. She climbed the stairs deliberately, the soles of her boots thudding against the marble. She couldn't quite relax, no matter how much distance she put between them—the master was far more frightening than his servant.

For her own peace of mind, she'd considered separating from Vlad when their journey concluded. She hadn't remained because of his proposal. A younger woman might've been fooled, but she'd seen no affection in his inhuman eyes, standing across from each other on the balcony of Auri-El's ancient chantry. To him, she was a mere curiosity; a primogenitor vampire, clinging uselessly to her humanity. She was a novelty, an item to be kept on a shelf for the occasional viewing.

But she hadn't left. The idea of a demigod-like being living on Volkihar's doorstep—unknown to all but for a select few—gave her goosebumps. What did he want? What was his goal? Whatever he did, it would affect Skyrim at large. No, tempting as it was, she needed to keep an eye on him. Being unaware of his shadowy machinations would affect her sense of security more than anything.

It was a while before she arrived at the top. Bloodchill manor didn't conform to normal sensibilities—it was a lot larger on the inside than it seemed on the outside. She placed her hand on the brass knob of a warmly colored wooden door, turning it slowly. It swung open almost without her assistance, exposing the room on the other side.

The tower lookout was quite cozy, unlike the rest of the mansion. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting the room in a yellow-orange glow. The floor was stone, covered with a rug stitched from animal skins, and a fireplace burned at one end. At the other, a pair of large double glass doors stood, leading to a balcony. Even from here, she could see the view—the ancient woods stretching onward, past the horizon. Dappled in the colors of dyed cloud—filtering the light of the bright moon and stars—it almost took her breath away.

She shook her head inwardly. Something like this shouldn't be affecting her composure, but the long years of seclusion and slumber had taken their toll. Their adventure hadn't satisfied her craving for the outside world. She took a breath, stepping inside.

"You're here." She said, her flitting toward a dark leather chair. A man reclined in it, an open book on his lap.

Vlad was handsome. There was no doubt about that. His features were exquisite, like a statue carved from marble. There was something exotic about him too—the high cheekbones, almond eyes and sharp ears. He looked mostly human, but there was some Mer in him. It was confusing, given one's race was usually determined by their mother. It was mostly impossible to tell a half-breed by appearance alone—or so she'd thought.

Despite her admiration for his looks, she wasn't in any way taken with him. A long life tended to do that. One's emotions weren't easily stirred by superficial things.

His crimson eyes met hers—one of the many unusual things about him. What kind of vampire looked like that? None she'd heard of. But then again, was he even one? He wasn't affected by sunlight, nor did he need to drink blood for sustenance. Was it some feature of his race? Was he... part dremora? Ultimately, she had no answer.

He closed the book, looking her up and down. She noticed how his gaze lingered on her breasts, hips and legs. It was unusual. Most days, he didn't give her more than a perfunctory glance.

"Serana." He said, dragging out the word. His voice was rich and deep, no less appealing than his face. "I've neglected you. I apologize."

She shook her head. "Not at all. I've been enjoying my time in the library. Your collection is extensive."

"...I see. Then I'm glad. As your host, I should've been more attentive, but... other things kept me occupied." He stood slowly, setting the book on a nearby table. Its cover was black and featureless, giving no hint of what it contained. He gestured toward the glass doors. "Care to join me on the balcony? The sun's almost rising. Here, wear my cloak."

She took the item from him, feeling the soft fabric between her fingers. She saw his simple white shirt, form-fitting pants and leather boots. Despite its lack of ostentatiousness, the materials were far too expensive to make him look plain.

"Alright." She said, draping it over her shoulders. "I suppose it's been a while since I went outside."
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