Chapter Text
Eres sleeps for many days and nights.
Sometimes, it is restful. For the first few days, it had been so. Then, she wakes in fits and starts; first only when Auria wakes her to eat, then on her own as she lurches out of unpleasant dreams. She is not quite feverish, at least not in the sense that she runs a temperature, but nor is she quite conscious. When she does wake for precious few minutes at a time, her eyes remain glazed and unfocused, wild and unseeing, and she mumbles nonsense—jumbled phrases and sounds that are not quite words, but close—when she is awake enough to speak at all.
Those are the hardest days. The days when Serana knows that Eres is suffering, somewhere in the dreams that haunt her, and she can do little to help her.
The handmaiden-turned-healer, Auria, is a godsend. Trained in the unusual, but effective, Bosmeri brand of magic, she is able to soothe when Serana cannot. She brings Eres into her arms in the worst of her fits and soothes her with soft words and softer touches. A caress against her cheek, a threading of gentle fingers through her hair, a gentle rocking as she cradles Eres in her arms like a young child, a wistful lullaby upon her lips, sung in a language Serana does not know.
It’s in one of those moments, on the ninth day, that she sees it as Auria takes the fitting Eres into her arms. As she shushes her and soothes her, as has quickly become routine.
Serana looks at them. She looks at Auria as the woman bows her head close to Eres’ own to whisper to her, soft enough that even Serana can just barely hear her , and she sees it. It clicks into place so suddenly that she wonders how she hadn’t noticed it before. How could she not have seen it?
“Oh,” she says, dumbly. Then, a beat later: “Oh.”
Auria looks up at her. She sees the look upon Serana’s face, the way Serana looks between them, and she gives Serana a thin smile. Silently, she presses a finger to her lips.
Serana just stares at her, dumbfounded.
How had she not seen it before? It was no wonder she’d thought the woman looked familiar when she’d first seen her. But she’d been so distracted with Eres that she’d never paid much attention to it, had never actually stepped back and looked at both of them at the same time. She’d had eyes only for Eres.
Auria isn’t just some random handmaiden.
Auria is Eres’ mother.
Eres sleeps more easily when Auria sings to her. Even with so many questions rattling around in her mind, Serana does not interrupt her - if only for Eres’ sake.
But when Auria is finished, and Eres is again sound asleep beneath the duvet, Serana catches Auria’s gaze and tilts her head towards the adjoining door, to the unused servant’s quarters attached to Eres’ bedchamber that, at least for the time being, had been converted to a personal bathroom for Eres to be bathed in without having to haul her downstairs to the basement.
Auria meets her eye, and nods. Her pleasantly polite, practiced expression falls by the wayside as she follows Serana into the next room. Once the door has closed behind them, Auria’s face has become as steel: unreadable, immovable, impassive. The woman clasps her hands in front of her dress and waits.
Serana finds that she struggles to even find the words to say to her. For a moment, she paces, hands braced on her hips, brow furrowed, as her thoughts bounce around inside her skull, each fighting to reach the surface. After a minute, Serana stops, faces her. Stares at her.
Serana looks at this woman’s face, and she still doesn’t know how she hadn’t seen it before. How hadn’t anyone seen it before? Auria’s likeness to Eres is remarkable: they have the same eyes, the same button nose, the same full lips. Auria’s cheekbones are a bit higher, her chin just a touch squarer—but Serana can look at this woman and see so much of Eres within her. Or, perhaps more accurately, she can look at Eres and see so much of Auria within her.
“You’re not just a servant.”
Auria tilts her head a bit. Raises her chin. It’s so very much like when Eres feels she’s being challenged, when she lets her pride show in just the slightest amount. It’s so very like her. It’s almost unsettling, considering that, as far as Serana knows, Eres’ mother had disappeared when she was just a child, too young to even remember her.
And now here she is. Looking like Eres. Acting like her, even, if a bit more regal about it all. How much of Eres is just Auria, distilled and diluted?
“I am not,” Auria answers plainly.
“You’re a mage,” Serana says.
“Something like that.”
Serana nods. She had known that. She doesn’t necessarily like the vague answer, but these aren’t even the questions she actually wants to ask. Somehow, they had just spilled out of her mouth first.
“You’re Eres’ mother.” She does not phrase it as a question.
Auria’s lips press together. “Yes.” Well. At least she’s forthcoming. At least she’s not bothering to lie to her face. Serana might have been insulted if she had.
Serana nods again. Then a second time. She stops when she realizes she’s not actually sure why she’s nodding.
“I should have seen this a long time ago. I don’t know how I didn’t see it—you look just like her.”
Auria averts her eyes, for just a moment. When she looks back, she looks almost a bit apologetic. Almost. “A simple glamor,” she replies. “It doesn’t change my appearance, but it does make it so though people… overlook it.”
Serana raises a brow. “Useful.” She might have to ask about that one sometime. When she’s done interrogating her, maybe. When Auria isn’t using it to deceive everyone around her. Including Eres, probably. Not that Eres would even know, but it’s the principle of it that matters.
“Why are you here?”
Auria sends her a dubious look. “Why would I not be here?”
Serana stares at her. She very nearly laughs in the woman’s face. But she is at least going to attempt to be nice. This one time. Unless Auria gives her a wrong answer, that is.
“Gee, I don’t know. You tell me,” Serana says, not nearly as politely as she had wanted to but much less vicious than she might have been without tempering herself. A happy medium. Sort of. “According to Eres, you haven’t been here since she was, what? Three?”
Auria’s jaw tightens. Her eyes flash with something like anger. Offense. “Four,” she corrects tightly. “And that was not by choice.”
“Oh,” Serana shakes her head. “Do tell. I’m sure this is a great story.”
“It is none of your business.” Auria’s eyes narrow, hardening. “I will explain myself to Eres when she wakes. She is the only one to whom I owe an explanation.”
“I disagree. I’ve seen Eres wonder about you. I saw the look on her face when Mirabelle mentioned you to her, the first time. She’s probably always wondered what happened to you, and she never had an answer. I’m not sure that anything you say would be good enough to explain that. And if your ‘explanation’ just ends up hurting her—I’m not going to be happy about it. So I highly advise that you tell me first. I know her better than you do.”
Auria inhales a controlled breath. “I see that you are protective of her. I cannot fault you for that.” Serana waits. “I will tell you this: know that, had I any other choice, I would never have left her behind. I meant to bring her with me.”
“And you decided twenty years later was when you could make up for it? You didn’t reach out to her even once?”
“I did, actually.” Auria’s expression darkens. “I am certain her father kept her from seeing my letters.”
“Why couldn’t you come see her?”
“Because my return would have meant her death.” Auria tells her, voice carefully even. “Until recently.”
“Her death by whom?”
“That, I cannot say.”
Serana scowls at her. “And I’m supposed to believe you?”
Auria shrugs. “It matters not to me what you choose to believe. I am not here for you. It makes no difference to me. I will remain here all the same, whether you approve of me or not.”
“It’s not my approval you need to worry about.” Serana mutters. “Do you think Eres is just going to welcome you back with open arms? After all this time?”
Auria tilts her head, looking at her searchingly. “Is it Eres you are advocating for, or yourself?”
Serana blinks. “What?”
“This seems a deeply personal matter for you. Perhaps one that is not entirely related to myself and Eres, but… your own mother, I assume?”
“Nice try.”
“I am not ‘trying’ anything. I have a particular sense for these things. You should tell your mother how you feel. You cannot clear the air if you refuse to bring everything in the open. Does she know you harbor such resentment for her?”
“This isn’t about me.” Serana hates this. Hates this woman, a little bit. How the fuck did she manage to turn this around on her? She’s not that obvious, is she? Gods. What a mess.
“This is about Eres. She’s already dealing with enough right now.”
“I am well aware.”
“She doesn’t need her mother suddenly popping in and dropping more problems in her lap.”
“I will not leave her again.” Auria’s brows come together sharply. “No matter what you say.”
“That’s not—” Serana pauses. Thinks. Curses internally. “I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore. But don’t just—just drop this in her lap unexpectedly. I don’t like you being here under false pretenses, but if it helps her recover…”
“Why do you think I have taken this position? For my own entertainment?” Auria gestures at the room around them as if to make a point. “I will remain at her side as her handmaiden until she is well. When that day comes, then I will reveal myself to her.”
Serana crosses her arms. For some reason, she feels like she got swindled somehow. She’d come in here with a plan. Well, sort of a plan. More like the skeleton of a plan, but she had one. Then Auria had turned the tables on her, and now she can’t help but feel like Auria had just steered the conversation back into her favor - by ending on the same note they had started with.
“Eres isn’t going to like this,” is all Serana can manage, in that moment. She shakes her head again, thinking of how terribly this might go over when Eres learns the truth.
“We all must confront the things we dislike,” Auria says sagely. “It builds character.”
At that, Serana rolls her eyes. “Don’t you start mothering me now.”
When Eres wakes, it is to the feeling of someone jostling her body, lifting her from beneath warmth. She is only distantly aware of the distressed sound that escapes her, unhappy to feel cool air against fevered skin.
She’s cold. That is one of the very first things she becomes aware of. She is cold, and someone is taking her from the warmth, and she wants to go back. She wants to burrow beneath the covers and stay there for a while longer. But this person lifts her, settles her against— against more warmth, but a different warmth. Eres hears speech. Or what might have been speech, she assumes. It sounds like she’s hearing it from a great distance rather than right above her, sounds like she’s buried her head in the sand while someone is trying to speak with her, like she has two pillows crammed against her ears, muffling the sound.
One of her hands reaches up, slaps against one of her ears, clumsily. It hurts. It feels like her hand doesn’t belong to her. Another hand grabs her wrist, holds it close to her body so she doesn’t move it again. She protests, a bit, but even she can’t understand what it is that she says. Her mind and her mouth don’t seem to be connected. As foggy as her thoughts feel, the distance between her brain and her mouth feels even foggier, even more mysterious.
She tries again. There is warmth against her lips. A bit too hot. A bit creamy. She turns away from it, irritated. She doesn’t even like soup. She doesn’t want soup.
The warmth she leans against shifts, deflating suddenly. A sigh. Exasperation? Frustration? It is a person, Eres thinks. Maybe they’re annoyed with her.
Serana?
She tries to ask. She finds that she can’t, and so she tries to open her eyes, next.
Her eyelids flutter open, she sees a blur of images and colors and brightness and then her eyes just—roll back against her will, fluttering back beneath her eyelids. She tries to right them again, and again, and each time, it is like even her eyes refuse to listen to her mind’s direction. She can’t manage to make them open, make them focus and stay in one place, and after several attempts, Eres groans, feeling ill and dizzy and a bit lightheaded and wanting very much just to lay back down again.
“Come, child,” the voice says. “You must eat.”
Eres frowns. That doesn’t sound like Serana. She knows that isn’t Serana, because Serana isn’t ever warm, really. Unless she’d taken up sun-bathing while Eres was asleep, which Eres doubts considering how much the woman complains about how bright the daytime is. But. Even though it isn’t Serana, it sounds—this voice sounds familiar. She’s certain she’s heard it before, somewhere. But, different, in a way. There was something off about that voice. Something that didn’t quite add up, that Eres doesn’t quite recognize. It’s familiar, but it’s close to something Eres knows, and she can’t quite pinpoint why it doesn’t sound quite right.
“Nn..soo.” That’s. That’s not even Alessian. Why the fuck isn’t her mouth working? Was she drugged?
Anger fills her, swift and furious as it rises in her veins, and even that feels sluggish, much slower than she’s used to. It feels like everything around her moves as though through molasses, through a thick syrup, through tar. Everything is so much slower than it should be. She’s been drugged. She has to have been drugged. Where the hell was she? Who is touching her?
“Shh,” says the voice. “You will never regain your strength this way. Stubborn girl,” the woman tuts.
It is a woman, Eres knows that much. That much, she can tell. It’s a woman that’s holding her, that’s talking to her this way. It’s a woman whose voice sounds oddly familiar. Where does she know it from?
The spoon is pressed to her lips again. Eres jerks her head away, then her whole body. She struggles, trying to lift herself out of this stranger’s arnms, and finds that she doesn’t have the strength. She can barely even manage to roll herself over, not with the woman trying to set her back in place again, and this woman is so much stronger than she is and she just wants to be let go. Leave her alone.
She calls for Serana.
She tries to, at least. She’s not even going to pretend it actually sounded like Serana’s name, but at least she tried. She knows it sounded nothing like her name, but if anyone could understand her, understand it at all, it would be her. Serana would know. Serana would help her. Serana would—Serana is there, isn’t she?
Eres stills. She stops fighting for a moment, face half-pressed into the covers, trying to convince her eyes to open and focus properly. She starts with them barely slit, and tries only to make them hold position right in front of her without rolling back again before she opens them even a fraction wider. It feels like something is burning right behind her eyes, like the very muscles there are too exhausted to function properly. Is it even possible to, to forget how to use your eyes? What kind of drug could do this to her? Who the hell would give it to her? Why were they allowed?
More importantly, where is she?
If Serana’s not here, then—Eres is so sure. She’s so sure she’d seen Isran there. And Inigo. She thought… She’d thought it hadn’t been in her head, but what if it had? What if she’d made the whole thing up in her head somehow and she’s still in Coldharbour and she never fought Molag Bal and she never got him to leave her alone but she’s just there and having hallucinations and she never sees any of them ever again? What if she’s just lost her entire mind and doesn’t know it yet? What if—
“What the hell, Auria.” Serana.
Eres almost laughs into the bed sheet, but it’s too much effort. She’s too tired to laugh. But she’s happy. She’s happy that it’s Serana. She’s happy that—that she can hear that voice again, even if it’s all just in her imagination. Even if it’s all a ruse. Even if it’s all a hallucination, at least she can have a happy one, right? If she’s stuck in Coldharbour still but she gets to pretend like she isn’t and
Serana is there then maybe it won’t be all bad. Maybe…
“Stop staring and help,” says the mystery woman.
“She’s fighting me.”
“Shouldn’t that be considered—” Serana’s voice pauses. The bed dips. Eres feels hands at her waist, wrapping around her middle. These hands are familiar.
She knows these hands. She doesn’t fight them, even when they lift her off the mattress and make her sit up again. “A good thing?” Serana finishes.
“Hold her arms down.”
There’s still arms around her waist. Is she sitting in Serana’s lap? If she could just see—
Her eyes burn, and she groans, tilting her head back.
“I’m not going to restrain her.”
“She’s going to hurt herself,” the familiar voice says, and Eres feels those hands slap her own down, away from reaching for her own face. Eres scowls. She’s just trying to rub her eyes for fuck’s sake leave her alone. “Stop.” The command actually does make her pause, for a second, with that authoritative, no-nonsense tone.
She knows that tone. That sternness in her voice—it had been too soft before. That’s why she didn’t recognize it. It’s—
“Mara?” Eres actually manages to get a whole word out, and it sounds exactly as expected.
There’s a pause. The hands holding down her wrists loosen, gentling.
“No more draughts.” Serana says, voice firm. Her voice is very close to Eres’ ear. She leans back toward it, just behind her. Ah. Serana is there. She’s very soft. Eres is comfortable.
Serana clears her throat, and Eres can feel her stiffen a bit, but Eres is at least not going to fight anymore. She’s… Well, she’s still not sure if any of this is real, but if it is, surely her near-total lack of awareness can be used as an excuse to—to what? Enjoy it? Savor it? The more logical part of her brain wakens, second guessing herself:
what if Serana doesn’t want her to? What if—
But Serana does relax behind her, after a moment. She seems fine with it. Surely if she minded, she’d have pushed Eres away. Fine. That’s fine. Eres settles. She reaches up to rub at her eyes again, and this time the woman who sounds like Mara doesn’t stop her.
“The draughts have been helping her to sleep without the nightmares…” Says the Mara-like voice. It’s quite strange to hear her without that echo-like sound to it. Weird. She must—it can’t be Mara, right? Maybe she is still asleep. But at least it’s a nice dream.
A confusing one, maybe. But a nice one all the same. Would Serana ever hold her like this in the real world? Strangely, Eres finds it hard to imagine. Serana just doesn’t seem like a person who engages in a lot of physical affection… Then again. They’d hugged before. Maybe she is. She did say that some vampires used to have bedwarmers back at the castle. Maybe vampires like cuddling. She’ll have to ask one day. Maybe not in those words, but somehow. She’ll figure something out. That would be cute. Vampires like warmth. Eres is warm. That works out, right?
“They’re also confusing her. She’s totally out of it.” Eres tries to open her eyes again. The lights are so bright she has to squint, and even then, she only sees a very vague blur of a woman in a reddish dress. A bed. She’s in a bed. There are covers in her lap, tangled around her legs.
Huh.
Serana’s not wearing her leather bracers. Just the soft, muted red of the long-sleeved tunic she wears beneath her armor. Weird, it feels like the first time Eres has even seen her dressed down in the slightest. She wants to turn around, see if Serana is still wearing the cloak and the choker and the corset, but turning around just seems like it would take way too much energy, and she has so little of it to spare.
So Eres just sinks back, and tries to let her eyes adjust to the light. It’s so bright.
The woman-shaped blob that sounds like Mara reaches forward with a hand—and a spoon. Eres pushes herself back into Serana just as Serana lifts a hand to stop her. “If there’s draught in that, she’s not going to eat it.”
The woman lets out an exasperated sigh. She sets the bowl down on the dresser beside the bed with a clatter of porcelain against porcelain. “I am only trying to help. Must you be so disagreeable?”
“Me?” Eres blinks, slowly. She tries to clear her vision, but it is slow going. “You’ve been drugging her for days now. Don’t you think it’s time she recovers on her own?”
“I am not drugging her, I am helping her sleep—”
“By using drugs.”
“It’s a draught not—”
“Shuddup,” Eres mumbles. Both of them freeze.
“Iunwansu.”
A pause.
“…Come again?” Serana asks.
Eres sighs. “No sou…p.” Why the hell is the letter P so hard. Who invented it. Where can she find them. Consonants. Terrible ideas.
“I’d be tired of soup too, if I was you.” Serana murmurs. Into her ear. She is… very close. Eres is starting to come to terms with the fact that sitting half in Serana’s lap also means her mouth is quite close. She should have made that connection before. The sitting is comfortable, at least: Serana is soft, and while not warm, she is still very comfortable and a welcome change from lying in bed, which for some reason Eres feels she has done far too much of. The being-this-close is less comfortable, if only because it makes Eres far too aware of her and it’s like her brain has finally caught up to the idea that she should be nervous.
Damnit. Serana can probably hear her heartbeat, too.
“We can find you something solid,” Serana says, and Eres doesn’t know if she means to pat her stomach as she says it or she does it absently, but for some reason Eres finds this hilarious. She starts to laugh to herself, and then she laughs because it really wasn’t that funny to begin with, and she feels kind of stupid for laughing in the first place. “…Yeah, no more draughts for you,” Serana mutters, and hauls her up in one smooth motion.
In half a second, Eres goes from lounging in the bed to being carried. The shift in position makes her a bit dizzy, but when she manages to focus her eyes again, she sees her. She’s still a bit blurry, but she sees dark hair and pale skin and she knows it’s her even without really being able to see the color of her eyes. It’s fine. She knows Serana is looking at her, anyways, and she smiles all the same. Then she frowns. Her brow furrows. She lifts a hand, and pokes Serana’s very much present cheek. “…Do I want to know why?”
“Just makin’ sure.” She feels real. That is satisfying. Satisfactory. Good. Serana is either real or Eres’ hallucinations are more impressive than she thought possible. Could a person have physical hallucinations?
Was that a thing? “You’re here?”
“I am,” Serana answers. “And I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
Eres spreads her hands wide, forgetting she’s in her arms, and nearly smacks Serana in the face. Serana has to yank her head back to avoid getting swatted.
“Where’m I gonna go?” She can barely see. Imagine her walking. The horror. She’s embarrassed herself enough already, thank you. She hopes she doesn’t remember any of this in the future. If she’s lucky maybe she can have selective amnesia. Forget all her embarrassments.
Especially the fact that she’s allowing Serana to carry her to begin with, which. She shouldn’t be. She wouldn’t be, probably. In any other circumstances. But she can barely sit up on her own and she’s not really that keen on attempting to walk and introducing her face to the floor. She’s quite content where she is, actually.
Serana, however, merely lets out a tired sigh.
“You know,” she says, “considering the last time I left you alone, you ended up in Coldharbour, I think ‘where are you going to go’ is a legitimate concern. You’re going downstairs. You could use some fresh air. And real food, I guess.”
“I do not think that wise,” says the mystery woman, standing. Serana, when she turns to face the woman, also turns Eres, and she looks a bit clearer, now, if only just. She’s got light brown skin and dark hair and her dress is odd. Eres has never seen one like it. Why is she wearing a blanket? “She must rest.”
“She has rested, and she’s actually conscious for once. She deserves some fresh air.”
“Is it worth exhausting her?”
“Auria,” Serana sighs out, and the woman throws up her hands defensively.
“Do what you will,” the woman says at last, sounding very much like she would prefer that Serana did not. “But when it takes her longer to recover while you’re out parading her about the Keep, you will find no sympathy from me.”
“I can’t imagine why Eres wouldn’t like you,” Serana drawls, at her most dry. “You’re just so charming.”
Eres can’t see it, but she’s sure the look Auria gives Serana is a dirty one. This woman’s kind of mean. Serana is right. Eres doesn’t like her. Because she doesn’t like Serana. It’s only fair. “I’m hungry,” she reminds Serana, though, because her brain can only focus on one thing at a time just now and her stomach is growling.
“Okay, okay,” Serana says, but even the exasperation in her voice sounds fond. Like she’s putting on the exasperation as a ruse. Eres is sure of that. Serana’s always offered to carry her anyway. She’s probably enjoying it, knowing her. Hell, Eres will be lucky if she ever lives this down.
Well, in that case. She can at least get a bit of fun out of it.
“Away, noble steed.” She points. At what she hopes is a door.
Serana laughs. “The door’s the other way, idiot.”
“Then that way. Giddy up.”
“If you ever say that again I’m dropping you down the stairs.”