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Chapter Text

5th of Sun’s Dawn, 4E 180  

Our mission thus far has proven scant in terms of useful research material. We’ve scoured the entirety of the Alftand ruin and there are still no signs of life. Perhaps it is a good thing. Perhaps the Divines are shielding us from the beasts that roam the darkened depths of these Dwemer ruins. If nothing else, I’m gathering a rather sizable collection of soul gems. And scrap metal. 

I’m beginning to crave daylight, and my company feels similarly. We’ve been in this ruin for nearly three days. The passage of time has become nebulous. We sleep when we tire and eat when we hunger. 

The hiss of the hot pipes and sheen of the oil slicks play tricks on my mind. I keep thinking that I hear them. See them. 

6th(?) of Sun’s Dawn, 4E 180

At last! We’ve found a break in one of the walls that opens up into a large cavern. I believe I might be the first mer alive to jump for joy at the sound of a Falmer’s feral screech. My archer, Telvie, was the first to spot them stalking the precarious pathways that spiraled down into misty darkness. Bestial creatures. It’s hard to believe they were once our ancestral kin. 

Despite my expert muffle enchantments, we were detected by two of the things, and we, unfortunately, had to kill them. My hired muscle, Thorvar, is proving to be the most difficult to keep quiet. Nords are effortlessly loud in a way that seems to defy magic. 

We are making camp in the last leg of the Dwemer ruins tonight. Tomorrow, we delve into the caverns that the Falmer have come to inhabit. It is not outside the realm of possibility that this mission shall see my death. But should I succeed? My name shall go down in history. 

?? Sun’s Dawn, 4E 180

Much has happened. There was no time for me to record any of it. I shall try my best to summarize.

After what felt like days of slinking through the pitch-black caverns, we found one of their larger settlements. Telvie was able to make a full sweep of the perimeter and reported not one, but two newborns. I couldn’t believe our luck!

The process of extracting one of the young was the most challenging part, and we knew this going into the expedition. The Falmer keep their young as close to them as possible, oftentimes bound to their chests or back. Also, because there is no day-night cycle, the members of the clan rest in shifts, so there is never a chance to catch one off-guard. I truly did not wish to kill a mother in order to steal her offspring, but we were given little choice. The Falmer know only the language of violence. I cannot say I was unaffected. The mother’s screams will haunt me for days to come. 

Once we had the child, we knew that we would not be able to stop or rest until we were safely out of their territory. I do not know how long we traveled, but it had to be a full day, if not more. I felt dizzy with exhaustion, my legs threatening to collapse if I stopped. We ate and drank as we walked, pausing only for the basal demands of bodily function. The squirming infant in my arms stopped crying after three hours, but I nearly smothered the thing trying to quiet its cries. Telvie helped bind it to my chest, the way a mother Falmer might, and it settled down significantly after that. Not to mention it freed my arms and allowed me to move unhindered.

It remains bound to my chest even now, sleeping. I fed it a pre-made paste of crushed chaurus eggs and boiled saltrice, which it spat up once before swallowing. It reeks in a way I was unprepared for— like chaurus mounds and wet earth. I don’t dare try to bathe it until we’re safely back at the college, lest I run the risk of freezing the thing to death. It is hairless and hideous, but seemingly docile. 

We’ve made camp near the entrance of Alftand, just inside the frozen ruins. It is dusk out, and my eyes can barely believe the sight of daylight, even as it slowly begins to fade.

I will not call our mission a success until we have made it back to Winterhold, but I cannot deny that I am giddy with how far we’ve come. My company may be the first to escape a Falmer encounter of that magnitude with our lives intact. Auri El shines his blessings down upon my research. Perhaps there is hope for his lost race of children yet. 

15th of Sun’s Dawn, 4E 180

A week has passed since our successful return to the college. The babe drew more attention than I would have preferred, including an unnecessary amount of cooing and coddling from some of the older female members of the staff. I will admit that once the child was bathed and dressed in proper clothing, it could certainly be considered ‘cute’. The dissonance of its warped, bat-like face and sealed vestigial eyes peering up from Breton children’s garments was comical. 

It is a male child, though it is hard to say if Falmer align themselves with any gender conventions outside of purely biological roles. Nevertheless, he shall be referred to as male unless he somehow manages to express he prefers otherwise, which is unlikely. 

He will be given another week to acclimate to his new environment (as well as for me to continue to adjust to the tiring schedule of a newborn) before our studies truly begin.    

22nd of Suns Dawn, 4E 180

Things have not gone according to plan. 

The child must be close to me at all hours of the day lest it devolve into fits of shrieking. It makes basic tasks like bathing, relieving myself, and sleeping difficult. Luckily, he seems to have bonded with Colette, who can manage to distract him for long enough for me to perform some basic functions and tasks. 

Generally speaking, it is too early in his development for any cognitive tests. He responds to my voice and recognizes Colette’s as well. He does not seem to like Drevis in particular, which I find very curious (and a little ironic). The mer who can disappear, disliked by a child that could never see him to begin with. However, I have noticed that the child is able to track Drevis, even when he is invisible. His hearing must be astounding and will certainly be the subject of future studies.

Colette chided me today for continuing to call the child “the child”, so I have decided to name him ‘Sarel’. It is easy to remember and to pronounce. Perhaps, if all my efforts come to fruition, he will be able to say his own name one day.

I have been talking to myself incessantly, hoping that the child Sarel might pick up on a few things. If he is capable of normal speech, I have to wonder what his first word might be. Or how he might address me. I do not wish for him to call me ‘father’. We’ll have to pick a different word… 

10th of Rain’s Hand, 4E 180

I’ve elected to keep this journal separate from my other studies. Going forward, it will serve for more personal reflection. Something that requires less precision and meticulousness. And also, perhaps it is best if my earlier records of Sarel’s adoption remain apocryphal. 

Sarel is progressing quickly. He is curious about the world around him, though lacking sight makes things difficult in ways I scarcely anticipated, (for which I now feel foolish). He spends the majority of his time in my personal quarters and becomes quiet and anxious whenever we need to leave. The only other room he seems to feel comfortable in is Colette’s, and I believe it is because it is so small. He is beginning to crawl, but is still hesitant and demands to be held as much as possible. It’s exhausting. 

Most of my days are spent with him— talking to him, feeding him, and attempting to give him a reasonable amount of stimulus. He is very tactile and wants to experience everything with either his hands or his mouth, which makes me incredibly nervous. My room is now devoid of sharp edges, my bed has been lowered to the floor, and my desk is now a low, rounded table surrounded by cushions. 

Sarel is beginning to make his “I’m hungry” noises, so I must keep this entry brief, though there is much more I wish to record. He’s beginning to grow small wisps of snow-white hair on his head, making me wonder if a good diet alone could cure the Falmer of their hairlessness. 

Oh, his hungry noises just got louder. 

14th of Hearthfire, 4E 180

Five full months at the college and Sarel is now crawling at a tremendous speed... and he is getting into everything. I’ve had to install high shelves in order to hide the belongings I don’t want him to reach. I have procured him a set of blocks that are different basic shapes. He is still far too young to speak, if he is even capable of speaking, that is, but I still place the circle in his hands and speak the name, then the square, then the triangle. I have now truly realized how very, very unprepared I was to rear a child, much less a blind one. How could I have been so arrogant? I’m thankful for the support I’ve received from my colleagues. 

Savos Aren, on the other hand, hasn’t lifted a damn finger. He seems to still regard Sarel as some kind of pet, which peeves me to no end. But, as long as I keep delivering reports, and as long as Sarel keeps progressing at the speed he is, then I will continue to have a roof over my head.

.... 

Sarel just tried to grab the pen from my hand, and I had to scold him. He has come to understand the different tones of my voice— he smiles when I am speaking kindly or laughing, he cowers and cries when I speak sternly. I find it difficult to be stern with him some days, but I know it must be done. He needs to learn boundaries.

It is curious to see him smile. He cannot see my expressions to mimic them, so how does he know how to smile? Is the expression of emotions so innate? Despite his bestial little face, I find his smiles to be quite beautiful.

3rd of Morning Star, 4E 181

Sarel spoke. 

His first word was ‘Den’. He was reaching for me as he said it. I believe it was an attempt of my name: Aiden. 

I wish I could properly express how the moment made me feel, but I find I haven’t the words.

22nd of Sun’s Dawn, 4E 183

Sarel is three years old today. 

Well, approximately. I’m unsure of his actual birthday. But I wanted to start celebrating his birthday, so I picked a day around the time we…

I know it is foolish to be writing this down, but I have no one that I feel I can confide in. I need to get these thoughts out of my head, even if it means I must one day destroy this journal.

Sarel is growing rapidly. His development is on par with the average elven child. His blindness is the biggest obstacle we’ve faced, especially as he attempts to become more independent. He is speaking in half-sentences, asking questions, making demands. They’re all very basic, of course, but… 

I’m having a difficult time coming to terms with it all. I expected so many things that never happened, and anticipated nothing that has come to pass. I look at Sarel and I see this brilliant little child that I… stole. I murdered others like him just to have him. And I can’t help but wonder: is he an exception? Did I happen to steal the most gifted Falmer of them all? Is he a fluke? Or do we really know so little of their society? Did I steal a child from his home, surrounded by others with the ability to express emotions, learn languages…? 

I cannot deny that the Falmer are barbarous. There is proof of their violence across Skyrim. They poison and torture and kill without mercy. 

I suppose that my guilt weighs most heavily on the lie that I told when we returned to the college three years ago. I said that we found Sarel. That he had been orphaned. 

I do not know if I can ever tell them the truth. 

21st of Mid Year, 4E 186

Summer in Winterhold means slightly less snow. Sarel likes to go out into the courtyard and stick his feet in the wet grass. I’ve brought my journal along today to record some thoughts as he sits in the sun. He cannot tolerate direct sunlight for long, but he seems to enjoy it immensely for a short while.

He prefers to be barefoot whenever he can. His feet grew thick calluses by the time he was four and a half. I’m always astounded by his ability to determine which room we’re in by the floors. He says each room feels slightly different. He knows areas by the number of steps he’s climbed, by the edges of carpets, by errant cracks in the floor…  

We’ve taught him a limited layout of the college, namely how to get from my quarters to Colette’s, as well as to the Arcanaeum, much to Urag’s chagrin. Still, he does not go anywhere unassisted. I worry for his independence, but that is for future concerns. He is learning to use a guiding staff when he walks and hates it. He prefers to crouch on all fours and feel his way around walls, running his hands across the floor. The action makes him look animalistic, and I’m quick to scold him when he gets lazy and reverts to this. 

He swings wildly between being incredibly chatty and completely silent. Usually, his silence means he’s overwhelmed. Loud noises can and will ruin his mood, so I’ve draped the walls of our room with rugs to dampen the echo as much as possible. 

I am talking to him constantly: explaining objects, describing things around us… I will not lie and say that it is easy, or that it isn’t exhausting, but whenever Sarel properly identifies something, I feel absolutely fit to burst with pride. 

He craves more knowledge than I could ever satisfy. I wish to teach him the Sightless alphabet so that perhaps he can learn to read, but I have no resources at my disposal. I cannot leave the college, either, as I trust no one to look after him properly. I’ve been putting in requests with Urag to have books delivered, but to no avail. It’s incredibly frustrating. 

He’s calling for me, so I must cut this entry short— 

30th of Evening Star, 4E 189

One grows accustomed to the darkness when living in Winterhold. Its name truly suits it— winter feels as though it has an eternal grasp on the far north of Skyrim. The darkest months stretch on for an age. The sun rises long after the morning has passed and sets before the dinner bell has rung. And yet, even after all these years, I find myself turning inwards and becoming contemplative during the final days of Evening Star, in the darkest hours of the year. Midnight has long passed. Sarel is fast asleep in his bed; I can see his little sides rising and falling as he breathes. 

I can scarcely believe that nearly ten years have passed so quickly. I am astounded and humbled by the boy that Sarel has grown into, and once again I am troubled in my moments of solitude. 

Have I cursed this child? Brought him into a world that will never fully accept him? I cannot keep him hidden away at the College forever. He is already asking question after question. He wants to play with other children. He wants to know why he is blind. He wants to know where I found him, (for, yes, I have been as honest as I possibly can about his adoption, though I have yet to bring myself to tell him the specifics… I do not know if I ever can).

He knows he is Falmer, though does not yet know the full history of his people. And he knows he is… different. He runs his small hands across my face, down my nose, then over his own questioningly. I have not been able to protect him from cruel remarks from some of the college students, and will admit that I’ve never desired bodily harm to befall any student other than in those moments. The day he asked me if he was a monster was the day my heart shattered into one thousand pieces. 

I want to keep him little— keep him small enough to scoop into my arms, to hold against my chest. Small enough to protect. As he grows, so does my fear. This college cannot house him forever, or else it is little more than a prison. Sarel deserves the world, and more. He deserves to live a normal life, independent and free. I want everything for him. Everything. But, oh… What have I done to this poor child? 

What have I done to my son?

Chapter Text

“Dad.”

Sarel waited a moment, then prodded his father’s shoulder with one finger.

“Daaaad,” he tried again. “It’s time to get up.” 

Aiden shifted and rolled away, pulling the covers with him. “Sarel, go back to sleep,” he murmured. 

“It’s morning!” He grabbed Aiden’s shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

“Barely,” Aiden replied through a yawn. “It’s not time to get up.”

“But I’ve been up! Come on. Up, up! It’s my birthday!”

“I’m well aware of what day it is.” Aiden sat up slowly with a sigh. Sarel could feel the vibrations of his morning stretches through the mattress, then a loud groan followed. “If you can dress yourself, I’ll get up.” 

“Alright!” Sarel crawled off the bed and scampered across the room, feeling his way along the edge of the large carpet in the center. 

The chest of drawers that held his clothing was categorized in three tiers: the top drawer was smallclothes and socks, the former on the left, the latter on the right. He kept his socks balled up in pairs and was never quite sure if he was putting them on the correct foot. He always pressed them across his thighs first so he could feel where the heel was, otherwise they’d end up all twisted. Sarel didn’t like wearing socks, much less shoes, but the College of Winterhold was so cold that sometimes he didn’t have much of a choice.  

The second drawer held his shirts. He had once been told that he looked ‘very handsome’ in the color blue, so he requested most of his clothes be in that color. Blue was also the color of the sky, and the color of water, but not the water beneath the college— that water was black and very dangerous. The color black scared him, which was silly, since he didn’t even know what it looked like, but sometimes these types of things didn’t make sense. 

The third, bottom-most drawer housed his trousers. Sarel had three pairs: one pair that was a harsh, stiff fabric that he wore during the coldest months, one pair that was softer and had small ridges running the length of the fabric, and a third pair that was a little itchy with small balls that formed on the surface. Sarel chose the pair with the ridges, even though he knew it was very cold out today. 

It was always cold on his birthday. 

He stripped out of his bedclothes and oriented his shirt before pulling it over his head. He then stepped into his trousers backwards and laughed at himself—  it had been a while since he’d done that— before he turned them around so that the buttons were in front. He decided he’d rather not wear socks, even though his feet were cold, and put back in the drawer the pair he’d grabbed. His father had said there was a surprise for him today, and Sarel wanted to be able to feel exactly where they were going. Hopefully, it wasn’t outside. 

“I’m dressed!” Sarel declared before bounding back over to the bed.

“Alright, alright. Let me have a look at you.” 

Sarel stood stock-still, straightening his back until it hurt, lifting his chin. 

“Very good job.” Aiden fixed one of the buttons on his shirt. “But are you going to be warm enough?” 

“Are we going outside?” Sarel asked, his anxiety spiking. 

“Just across the courtyard to the Hall of the Elements.” 

“Oh! That’s not too bad.” 

“You’ll still need shoes.” 

Sarel heaved a long-suffering sigh before trudging back over to his wardrobe to grab the pair of socks once more. “I can’t feel anything when I wear shoes.” 

“That’s why you have your guiding staff.”

“I know…”   

The guiding staff was a pain in the you-know-what . It had a rounded, hollow nub on the end that was supposed to make feelings things easier, but it still felt like a barrier between him and the world. His father kept saying that he ‘simply had to practice’. 

With socks and shoes secured, Sarel sprawled petulantly in the middle of the floor until Aiden was finished dressing.

“How about some breakfast, hmm?” 

“What about my present?” 

Aiden let out a sigh. “I think we should eat first. You’ll need your energy for the day.” Then he mumbled, “I should have never given you that hint…”

“It’s alright! We can eat first. I can wait.” Sarel smiled up atf his father’s voice, laughing softly when he received a gentle pat on the head. 

“I know what you’re doing.” 

Sarel grinned as he pushed to his feet. “I don’t know what you mean, father.” 

“You’re being very agreeable.” 

“I’m always agreeable!” He slid his hands along the wall, feeling for where his guiding staff hung on a hook. “Almost always,” he amended. 

“Especially when you’re trying to get your way.” 

Sarel just smiled, tapping his way along the wall with his staff until it struck the door with a hollow thunk, then tapped twice more expectantly. 

“Alright, alright,” Aiden said. “Let’s go.” 

No matter how much he mentally prepared, the first blast of icy wind always made Sarel flinch. He felt like a baby every time he did. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to flinch at. He adjusted the hood of his cloak and dutifully tapped his staff along the inside wall. Even with all the talk of the guiding staff, Aiden always reached for Sarel’s hand whenever they’d go outside. He gripped it tightly as they walked.

When his staff swung into open air, the signal to turn right, Sarel felt the tell-tale full-body shiver that always occurred when he reached this juncture.

That yawning archway, where the college ended and the world outside began, filled him with a sense of awe and dread. The distant sounds of crashing waves and the sharp cut of wind were the only sounds beyond that perilous void. His father had frantically warned Sarel against ever attempting to leave the college grounds without assistance. The bridge, he’d said, and Sarel didn’t need him to say more. 

But as always, they were turning away from the open archway with its crashing waves and biting wind. Sarel swung his staff out in front of him in wide, sweeping arcs. He hit the central fountain and tapped his way along the right side, the sound of the magicka font humming faintly in his left ear. Aiden didn’t correct him or tell him where to go anymore. He was a silent guardian, forever testing Sarel’s ability to navigate the world around him. Yet still he held his hand. 

At last, they reached the front door of the Hall of the Elements, and Sarel reached out to fumble for the door handle. He pulled it open and offered his father the chance to go inside first. 

“Thank you, dear,” he said in response, placing a warm hand against Sarel’s head as he passed.

Closing the door behind them, Sarel breathed a sigh of relief and pushed his hood back. The smell of the hall was familiar and comforting— a mix of electricity and dust and stone. He found his father’s hand again and dutifully tapped his way towards the hallway to the right. 

The dining hall was one of the easier places to find on his own since it was a straight shot down one single hallway. The room was large and cavernous, every little sound echoing off the high walls and ceilings. Sarel felt small and exposed in the massive space, and his grip on his father’s hand tightened. His father always made sure that they took their meals either before or after the rush of students, since the noise in the hall became utterly unbearable when it was crowded.

They ate a small breakfast of porridge with dried fruit. Sarel was too excited to be hungry, but he forced the food down anyway. It was still difficult for him to use utensils, especially if he had to cut things up or gather anything onto a spoon. He usually cheated and requested food that could be eaten with his fingers, but his father had become more stern about it recently. You’re not a little child anymore, Sarel, you have to learn to use a fork and knife. He wasn’t sure if his father really understood how difficult the task was. 

At last, Aiden finished eating, which seemed to take longer than usual this morning. A few students had begun to trickle into the dining hall, the noise level steadily beginning to rise. Sarel tugged nervously on the sleeve of his father’s robe. 

“Alright, yes. Let’s head on out.” 

Sarel half-heartedly tapped his way down the hall, but his father seemed content to lead him around now. 

“First step,” he said when they reached the staircase that led to the Arcanaeum. Sarel knew the path by heart and didn’t need to be told. To prove this point, he pulled his hand from his father’s and scampered up the steps ahead of him, clutching his guide staff tightly in his fist. 

The smell of the Arcanaeum was his favorite. It reminded him of when he was little— nestled in Colette’s warm lap as she read to him in a quiet corner, pestering Urag with questions until he barked at Sarel to go away. Sometimes the students would read to him as well. The nicer ones, at least. He liked hearing about their studies. 

His own grasp on magic was… flimsy. Slippery, like a wet bar of soap. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do magic. In fact, he’d once managed to turn himself invisible (after being frightened), and it took nearly a whole minute before he realized nobody could see him. After that, his father was determined to teach him more. The simplest spell to learn, or so he’d been told, was Magelight, which didn’t serve him one bit. Eventually, his father seemed at a loss as to how to teach him more complex spells. So much of it relied on sight and reading… 

Sarel bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet, waiting for his father to catch up. The Arcanaeum was dead-silent at this time of morning. Not even the most dedicated students were up and about just yet. Sarel wondered if Urag was even awake.

“Yes, you made your point,” Aiden said a little breathlessly as he approached. Sarel beamed in his direction, holding out his hand. Aiden took it with an amused sound before saying: “Now let’s find Urag.” 

To Sarel’s surprise, the grumpy orc was already awake and at his desk, loudly stacking book after book. 

“You’re both up early,” he grumbled as they approached. 

“Sarel was very excited about his birthday.” 

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Urag stopped his stacking. “And how old is the little terror today?” 

“Eleven!” Sarel replied with a laugh. 

“Your pa must have told you about your gifts then.” 

“Gifts!?” Sarel reached forward to grab onto the edge of the desk. “More than one gift?” He bounced excitedly. “I thought it was just one!” 

“Keep your voice down,” Urag growled, and Sarel sucked his lips around his teeth, unable to suppress a giggle. “I’ve got them right here.” 

Sarel heard something being placed in front of him and quickly reached out to feel. His enthusiasm deflated. “Books!” He said, trying to sound excited. “Thank you.” 

“Not just any books,” his father interjected, placing his hand over Sarel’s and guiding him to open the cover. “Feel the page.” 

Sarel ran his fingertips across the smooth paper, finding an odd series of bumps and ridges in neat little rows. “What are they?” 

His father leaned in and whispered into his ear, “it’s the Sightless alphabet.” 

Sarel’s heart slammed against his ribcage. He continued to run his fingers reverently over the bumps, his mind whirring with possibilities. What kind of story was in this book? Maybe it could teach him magic! Maybe it was about the Falmer— long lost tales of the Snow Elves, Skyrim’s proudest and most beautiful race of elves, driven out by the vicious Atmorans and left scattered to the four corners of Nirn. 

“There are two more,” Urag said, and Sarel excitedly ran his hands over the spines of other books. “ The Children’s Anuad , and... Pension of the Ancestor Moth , which probably isn’t the most kid-friendly read. But there aren’t a lot of options when it comes to books written in the Sightless script.”

“What color is this one?” Sarel asked, closing the cover of the fist book and running his fingers across it. 

“That one is Pension of the Ancestor Moth, and it’s a dark green,” Aiden said. 

Dark green. It felt soft, like extra-worn leather, but with small imperfections— nicks and tears, especially around the edges and corners. 

“And this one?” 

“That one is The Children’s Anuad , and it’s black.” 

“And this one?” 

“Hmm… almost a faded gold. That one is the one that will explain the alphabet to you. And will give you practice sentences.”

The black one felt stiff, like it hadn’t ever been read before. The cover was slick and hard. The faded gold one was the thinnest of the three and flexible. Sarel opened it to the first page, running his fingers over the ridges. He was suddenly overwhelmed with doubt. 

“How will I be able to tell them apart?” he whined as panic began to set in. “It all feels the same!” 

“It’ll take practice,” his father assured. “You just have to be diligent. Just like the other students here at the college.” 

Sarel relaxed marginally. Did this mean he was a real student now? Or maybe he could be once he learned to read! Maybe one day he’d be able to attend the College and learn magic just like everyone else! 

“I wanna start learning now!” He clutched the faded gold book to his chest. 

“I figured you would,” his father said with a laugh. “I have an hour and a half before my first lecture, so let’s find a table, shall we?” 

Sarel’s excitement dimmed to muted frustration once they began reviewing the alphabet. It was so difficult to tell the little bumps and ridges apart, and his father didn’t quite seem to understand that Sarel couldn’t see what he was explaining. 

“There’s a pattern, see?” Aiden guided Sarel’s finger over the line of letters. “Once you get past the first ten letters, the pattern repeats, but with one extra dot added at the bottom here.” 

“I can’t feel a difference though,” Sarel whined. His enthusiasm was quickly being replaced with crushing despair. “It all just feels the same.”

“Your fingers will become more sensitive with time,” his father said. “But hmm… stay here for a moment. I’ll be right back.” 

Sarel sighed, slumping against the table. He continued to stubbornly run his fingers over the line of bumps, repeating a, b, c, d … until he inevitably lost his place and had to start over. A, b, c, d, e… a, b, c… a, b…  

“Here we are,” Aiden’s voice declared. He set something heavy down on the table in front of Sarel. Multiple heavy things, by the sound of it. They clacked together like massive marbles. 

“What is it?” Sarel asked, reaching out to feel. They felt like smooth glass balls, but half-flat so they wouldn’t roll away. 

“They’re paperweights,” Aiden explained. “Here, what we’ll do is arrange them just so—” He arranged the paperweights in two lines of three. “And this is your template. So now arrange them into the letter ‘a’.”

Sarel pouted for a moment, still feeling dejected, but then reached forward to take all the paperweights away except for one. 

“Good! Now ‘b’.” 

Sarel did. Then ‘c’, then ‘d’, and by the time he reached ‘j’ he thought he understood the exercise quite well and was feeling a bit more confident. His father placed a quick kiss on the top of his head before getting to his feet.

“It’s time for my class, but do you think you’ll be alright to sit in here and practice for a bit? Urag will be over at the desk if you need anything. I’ll only be gone an hour.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Sarel said, arranging the paperweights to start back at ‘a’ again. “And you’ll teach me the rest once class is over?” 

“Well, you can get a head start. Because the pattern repeats, remember? You just go through the first ten letters again, but this time you keep this one here.” He placed Sarel’s hand over the bottom-most left paperweight. “You know your alphabet. Just say it in your head as you go.” He brushed Sarel’s hair back. “You’re already picking it up so quickly. I’m so proud of you.”

Sarel ducked his head and smiled to himself. As his father’s footsteps faded he diligently began the exercise over again, feeling more and more confident with each pass. Soon he was lost in the work, feeling the letter on the page with his fingers then mimicking the form with the paperweights. He breezed through the first ten letters, then the next ten… That still left six to go, but at this rate he’d have twenty memorized by the time his father finished with his lectures. His father would be even more proud of him. Sarel swung his feet back and forth excitedly, scooting to the edge of the chair as he began the exercise over again.  

“Hello there,” came an unfamiliar voice. 

Sarel jumped, jerking his head in the direction of the voice and sucking in a breath. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The voice was deep and pleasant, almost soothing, but something about it made Sarel’s hair stand on end. His mind told him to run , but he remained perfectly still in his seat. 

“What’s your name?” the voice asked sweetly. 

Sarel curled in on himself, clutching his hands to his chest. He didn’t know if he should answer. He didn’t know if he could answer. His throat felt tight and tingly. 

“Can you speak?” the stranger asked. “Can you understand me?” 

Sarel decided to give the barest hint of a nod and immediately regretted it. 

“Who looks after you, little one?”

“Excuse me!” came a much more familiar voice. “Excuse me, who are you? Why are you talking to him?” Colette was fast approaching and Sarel let out a long sigh of relief, pushing out of his chair and stumbling backwards in the direction of her voice. He felt her slender hands on his shoulders and he turned to bury his face against her chest.

“I mean no harm, I promise,” the stranger said. “I’d heard about a young Falmer living at the College. I wanted to come see for myself. Are you his caretaker?” 

“That’s none of your business,” Colette snapped. “Where’d you hear about him?” 

The stranger let out a soft sigh, remaining silent for a moment. “Are you his caretaker?” they asked again. 

“One of them,” Colette said, running a hand over Sarel’s hair in slow, soothing strokes. It made him feel safer. 

“Can he speak?” 

“Of course he can.” Colette sniffed loudly. “He’s wary of strangers, as he very well should be.” 

The stranger laughed a little at that. Their laugh was even deeper and more velvety than their speaking voice. “Yes, that’s a good practice to have.”  

“Who are you?” Colette asked. Sarel heard her voice waver. She was afraid of the stranger, too. It made his insides turn to ice. 

“My name is Harukar. I’m a member of the Dawnguard.”

“Vampire hunters!?” Colette squawked. 

“Exactly so.” 

“And why would a vampire hunter be interested in a child?” 

The stranger was silent for a moment, and Sarel pulled away from Colette just a bit— enough to turn around. “I would rather explain in private,” they finally said. 

“My dad is teaching a class,” Sarel said, and Colette shushed him.

“By the ancestors,” the stranger murmured. 

Colette let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes, Aiden will probably want to speak with you.”

“When would Aiden be available?” asked the stranger. 

“His lecture was only going to be an hour,” Sarel said, feeling less afraid of talking. “I’m supposed to sit here and study until he’s done.” 

“What are you studying?”

Sarel lit up, unable to keep himself from smiling. “The Sightless Alphabet! Here, I can show you…” 

“Not right now, Sarel,” Colette whispered. “Go ahead and sit back down, but I’m going to show Mister…” 

“Harukar,” the stranger repeated. 

“Mister Harukar to the Arch-Mage’s quarters. Urag will look after you until we get back.” 

“Alright,” Sarel said dejectedly, feeling his way along the desk until he found his chair. “I’m doing really well,” he added. 

“I have no doubt.” Colette laughed a little, but it sounded nervous. “Just stay right there, alright?” 

Sarel had already begun to rearrange the paperweights. “I know.”

He pretended not to pay attention as her and the stranger left, but he listened to their footsteps until they disappeared. The stranger said: Truly, I mean no harm; Colette replied: But others might.  

Sarel’s imagination stirred with possibilities. Where did the stranger come from? Why did he want to meet Sarel? Was he really a vampire hunter? Did he think Sarel was a vampire!? 

He swallowed, turning one of the paperweights round and round in his hand. He thought back to the yawning void of the archway— howling wind, crashing waves— and wondered how many more strangers might live beyond the college walls.

Chapter Text

Aiden rushed up the stairs to the Arch-Mage’s quarters, pulse pounding in his ears. When Colette had relayed the news of a stranger asking after Sarel, Aiden had bolted from the classroom, leaving behind confused and concerned students. His paranoia had been at an all-time high recently, and someone outside of the College knowing of Sarel’s existence was a manifestation of his deepest fears. 

He paused on the middle landing and took a moment to collect himself, pushing his hair out of his face and wiping his glasses on his robe. Straightening his shoulders, he ascended the final few steps as the picture of composure.

Savos Aren and the stranger were standing in front of the alchemy garden, the murmur of their voices echoing off the high ceiling. They both turned towards him as he approached, and Aiden had to fight the urge to stop in his tracks. 

The stranger was a Redguard man— fiercely beautiful— dressed in dark leather armor. His uncannily bright eyes tracked Aiden’s movements the way a predator’s might, giving Aiden the impression of walking into a lion’s den. Savos was wearing one of his oblivious smiles that said ‘I’ve only been half-listening”.

“Aiden,” Savos greeted. “This is Harukar. He’s with the Dawnguard.”

“How do you do,” Aiden replied coldly. “May I ask what business you have inquiring after Sarel?” He stopped a reasonable distance away. “And I’d also like to ask for your source of the information.”

“Your concern is understandable,” Harukar said, splaying his hands in a gesture of placation as he took a step forward. “But I assure you I mean no harm.”

Aiden took a step backwards. “Forgive me if I cannot find it in myself to trust you.” 

Harukar smiled. “Good instinct, then. But let me explain.” He didn’t try moving any closer. “You might have noticed a rise in vampiric activity over the past few years.” 

Aiden shifted awkwardly. “Well… I don’t really leave the college,” he admitted. “But I had heard of such things, yes. What does this have to do with Sarel?”

“The vampires have nothing to do with the young Falmer, don’t worry. I’m simply giving some context.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks to the Dawnguard, the main threat has been neutralized. Now we’re simply taking out fringe groups and scattered vampire nests. But I am here because of a man I met while attempting to cleanse Skyrim of the vampire threat. He’s someone I think might be of great interest to you. And I believe he would have a great interest in Sarel, as well.” 

“Many would have a great interest in Sarel,” Aiden snapped. “Many with ill intent.” 

“His name is Gelebor,” Harukar continued. “He’s a Knight-Paladin of Auriel.” He paused. “He is also an unchanged Falmer.” 

Aiden’s pulse quickened, but he refused to appear ruffled. It was obviously some kind of disturbed joke. “That’s impossible.”

“I would have thought so as well had I not met him and seen with my own eyes.”

“That would make him… thousands of years old!” Savos said. 

“Over four thousand years old,” Aiden murmured to himself. 

Harukar simply nodded. He took another cautious step towards Aiden. “He wants so badly to believe that the Falmer are not irredeemable. That there is still goodness and light left within them.” He stopped only a few feet away, his eyes burning like stoked embers. “Sarel would prove this to him.”  

Aiden felt faint. “And why on Nirn should I believe you?” he demanded. “And even if I did believe you, what would you propose I even do about it?” 

“You have no reason to trust me, and I understand this. And I’m not proposing you do anything. I’m simply presenting you with this information— it’s up to you to do with it what you will. But what is your goal here? What is Sarel’s life to be?” Harukar drew his brows together. “Are you just going to keep him at the college like a pet?” 

“He’s my son!”  

Aiden hadn’t meant to yell. His voice echoed faintly through the large room in the silence after his outburst. Harukar had the decency to look abashed, at least. Savos cleared his throat. 

“Aiden, I know you have the boy’s best interest at heart. But perhaps he would be better suited living with someone… of his own kind?” The Arch-Mage clasped his hands together at his waist. “Not to say you haven’t done a fine job—” 

“Are you honestly suggesting,” Aiden began, his face and hands growing hot, “that I give up my child that I’ve raised near-single-handedly for eleven years… ”

“But he’s not your child , Aiden,” Savos said, looking confused. “He was simply an experiment.”

“How can you possibly still think that!?” Aiden began to edge his way back towards the door. 

“Well, he’s a very successful experiment.” 

Harukar gave the Arch-Mage a concerned look. “I feel like you’ve misunderstood me. I’m not suggesting any of that.” 

“No, I think it’s a perfectly reasonable conclusion to the study,” Savos continued .“It would only be reasonable to pass Sarel on to someone who would be able to elevate him to the next level. He’ll just stagnate here at the College.” 

Aiden shook his head, feeling as though he were suffocating. His entire body burned with raw panic. “I won’t let you do this. I won’t—” 

“Come now, Aiden, be reasonable,” Savos implored. “How did you think this was all going to end?”

Aiden sucked in a breath, tears springing to his eyes. It was a good question. What had he thought would happen? Had he really been so foolish as to think that Savos Aren would simply allow him to continue to raise Sarel as his own child at the College? 

The panic settled into shock— a deep disbelief that any of this could even be possible. The morning had been so normal. It was Sarel’s birthday. He’d planned to spend the evening working with him on the sightless alphabet. He’d had one of the cooks prepare a batch of honey nut treats because they were Sarel’s favorite. 

“Please, let me… just…” Aiden didn’t have words. “Please.” He felt pitiful for begging. He didn’t even know what he was begging for. 

“Don’t look so wounded! I’m not forcing you to send him away tonight. You can take a week to prepare, of course.” 

“ A week ?” 

Harukar stepped back towards Savos. “Arch-Mage, I really must—” 

“Yes, we’ll need any and all information you have on this Knight-Paladin,” Savos interrupted. “Aiden, you’re dismissed. I’ll speak to you again tomorrow with a more formal plan.” He flapped his fingers in a ‘shoo’-ing motion before turning back to Harukar. “Please, have a seat. I’ll put on some tea…” 

Aiden left the Arch-Mage’s office numb from head to toe. Everything around him seemed unreal, as if the walls were made of paper and plaster. He replayed the conversation over and over in his mind, trying to imagine what he could have done differently, said differently. 

How could he have let this happen? 

He slumped against the door of the Arcanaeum, one hand resting on the handle, the other clutching his mouth as withheld tears blurred his vision. Pull it together. He couldn’t let Sarel sense him like this. It would only scare him. 

Aiden straightened up and took a deep breath. He pushed into the Arcanaeum and ascended the stairs, shoulders squared, expression neutral. Sarel was exactly where he’d left him, still arranging the paper weights with intense focus. He perked up when Aiden approached, his ears shifting minutely as he listened. 

“Dad?” he asked cautiously.

Bitter pain exploded in the center of Aiden’s chest, and it took every ounce of his strength to not collapse into a heap on the floor. “Yes, it’s me,” he said, voice quavering. “How are your studies progressing?” 

“What’s wrong?” Sarel asked, turning to face him, expression drawn. 

There was no hiding his upset. Sarel was too perceptive. “Nothing!” He forced out a little laugh. “I’m just a little tired from class.”

Sarel didn’t look convinced. “Did you meet the stranger?” he asked. 

A hard lump settled in the pit of Aiden’s stomach. The Stranger. Harukar of the Dawnguard. A man who single-handedly managed to uproot their entire life in the span of an hour. 

“Yes,” Aiden said. “I did.”

— 

Aiden was resolutely determined to celebrate Sarel’s birthday as he had originally planned. 

They read together in the Arcanaeum, took a walk through the upper halls, ate dinner with Colette, and very much saved room in their stomachs for honey nut treats. Aiden smiled and laughed at Sarel’s jokes, answered his questions, praised him for how quickly he was already learning the alphabet, and all the while felt as though he was dying inside. 

“Will my studies continue tomorrow?” Sarel asked as Aiden helped him prepare for bed. 

“Yes, most certainly,” he assured, helping pull a shirt over Sarel’s head. He should have made the boy dress himself. He’d need to stop coddling him so much. How would Sarel even begin to survive on his own? With a foreign caretaker? Someone who didn’t know anything about him?

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Sarel asked again, a nervous whine edging into his voice. 

Aiden paused, weighing the benefits of easing him into the truth. “I have a lot on my mind. But we can talk about it tomorrow. Today is your birthday. And that’s all that matters.”

Sarel sighed in frustration, but climbed onto the bed regardless. “Which book are we reading tonight?” 

“Hmm…” Aiden thumbed over the spines of the worn books on the shelf near Sarel’s bed. “What about Feyfolken?”  

“Yeah!” Sarel agreed excitedly, his frustration instantly abated. He bounced up and down on the mattress. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

“Alright, steady there. You’re supposed to be getting ready for sleep.” 

Sarel giggled and slid further beneath the covers.

Aiden knew the story by heart at this point; it was one of Sarel’s favorites. He only had to make it to the halfway point before Sarel was fast asleep, his breath whistling through his flat nose like an off-key panflute. Aiden silently slid the book back onto the shelf, then dipped to press a lingering kiss to the top of Sarel’s head. He stepped softly out of the room, and the full reality of the day finally settled onto his shoulders.

He silently shut the door and pressed his head against the cold wood as tears spilled from his eyes, his body shuddering with silent sobs. It was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He’d wake up at any second. He must .

You deserve this, a small voice reminded him. You deserve every moment of this.

But Sarel doesn’t, he argued with himself.

Aiden pushed his spectacles up his forehead to wipe at his eyes. He felt pathetic and useless. All his years at the college and this was how Savos saw fit to treat him? To treat Sarel? Bubbling rage began to replace the sadness, roiling in the pit of his stomach. He pushed away from the door. No. He wouldn’t stand for it. He wouldn’t let some Daedra-worshiping Telvanni take his son—

Aiden nearly yelped when he turned around, slapping a hand over his own mouth to stifle his surprise. 

Harukar was standing near the center font in the hall, silent as the grave. He wore an expression of deep remorse illuminated by the dull blue light.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He gestured vaguely behind him. “One of the other scholars let me in. I wanted to speak with you.”

“Why in Oblivion would I give you a single moment more of my time?” Aiden hissed. He strode past Harukar, letting their shoulders collide to prove a point. Harukar’s armor was stiff, and the collision hurt more than Aiden had anticipated. 

“Please,” Harukar implored, following after him. “I spoke at length to the Arch-Mage after you were dismissed. He is stubborn, but I managed to convince him that, at the very least, I was not qualified to take the boy under my care for an extended journey like that.”

Aiden’s heart stuttered, and he paused. “So what does that mean?”

“It means I impressed upon the Arch-Mage that you should be the one to see Sarel there safely.” 

Hopes dashed, Aiden’s heart dropped into his stomach. He spun on his heel and continued towards the stairwell. 

Harukar jogged forward and stood directly in Aiden’s way. His expression was still plaintive, his fierce amber eyes nearly glowing in the faint light of the hall. “I tried to convince him to redact the plan altogether. He refused to consider any other option regarding the boy. Please, you have to believe me when I say, I did not come here with this intention.”

“Once again, why did you come here? Why should I believe anything you say?” Aiden spat.

Harukar’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as he let out a soft sigh. “I have given you no reason to believe me. You are correct in your mistrust. But please allow me to prove that you can. I am horrified with myself, that I have brought this upon you and your… son.”  

Aiden narrowed his eyes, but the fight within him was dying. He sighed and rubbed beneath his glasses at his still-swollen eyes. “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else. Possibly something worse,” he admitted bitterly. “My time with Sarel has always been like sand in an hourglass.” And it’s only fitting that he would be stolen back by his own kind. “So…” He attempted to soften his scowl. “Tell me about this unchanged Falmer, at least.”

Knight-Paladin Gelebor sounded like a myth, not a living, breathing mer. Then again, Harukar’s own story of their meeting sounded mythical in its own right. Auriel’s bow, vampiric cults, blotting out the sun… Aiden’s head swam at the immensity of it all. The two of them sat at one of the small, round tables in the Hall of Countenance’s galley. Aiden indulged in a modest cup of wine to settle his nerves, promising himself that he wouldn’t drink to impairment in case Sarel needed him. Harukar had politely declined any food or drink. 

“The Forgotten Vale is near Markarth. At least two weeks’ worth of travel, and that’s if the weather remains fair,” Harukar said. His gaze lingered on the fire and Aiden studied the slope of his nose over the brim of the cup. “If you agree to the journey, I would propose we stop at Fort Dawnguard before embarking.” 

“Of course I agree to the journey,” Aiden scoffed. He felt a headache beginning to form, like a too-tight band wrapping around his forehead. 

“It would extend our travels by at least a week,” Harukar continued, with no regard for Aiden’s snippiness. He turned back to the table and leaned in, catching Aiden’s eye. “There is a Moth Priest at the Fort. His name is Dexion.” 

Aiden sputtered into his drink. “A Moth Priest!? In Skyrim?” He blinked hard. What were the odds? Maybe the Divines really did have a hand in all this. An unchanged Falmer, a Moth Priest… What was next? 

“Yes!” Harukar nodded enthusiastically with a wide smile. His golden jewelry caught the firelight whenever he moved. “He could help Sarel with his study of the sightless alphabet.” To his credit, he seemed genuinely excited at the prospect, and for a brief moment Aiden wondered if he really had judged the man’s character too harshly. 

“Sarel has never left the college grounds. I also have not left Winterhold in over eleven years.” He sighed, leaning an elbow against the table. “I’m woefully unprepared to make a journey like this. Not to mention, I have absolutely no idea who would take over my lectures.”

“What do you teach?”

“Mostly basic spellcrafting, intermediate Mysticism, and advanced Enchantment theory.” Aiden swirled his cup. “Sarel was my biggest project. Originally, he was part of a college-funded experiment on the development of the Falmer. That was before…” He paused, then tipped his cup up to his lips. Best not get into all that. “I know Savos is interested in Falmer magics, but so far Sarel hasn’t been an easy participant. He’s most certainly magically inclined, but I’m unsure of how to teach him spellcraft due to his lack of sight. I think Savos expected him to… I don’t know… have intrinsic access to some primitive form of never-before-seen magic. He’s just a child!” He sighed into his cup, getting off track. “Maybe your Moth Priest will be able to help.” 

“Very possibly,” Harukar agreed. He wore a curious look on his face. It was difficult for Aiden to hold his gaze for long. Those eyes…

“I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around it all,” Aiden confessed. “It just… It feels wrong . What if the Knight-Paladin doesn’t even want Sarel? It’s like Savos doesn’t think of these possibilities!” The anger returned. “He just orders us about, and once something is out of his sight, he’s onto the next experiment.”

“I think it’s an incredibly unfair situation,” Harukar said. “And, once more, I am sorry to have been the catalyst.” 

Aiden sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Are you a devout man? Pray to any of the Divines in particular?” 

Harukar seemed taken aback by the comment. “Er… not particularly. I’ll wish the blessings of Tu’whacca if someone sneezes, but…” He laughed, and it sounded almost sad. “I do not feel I can call upon the Gods the same way I might have in my youth.”

Tu’whacca… “Ah, I’m relatively unfamiliar with the Redguard pantheon,” Aiden admitted sheepishly. “I just… I suppose I can only hope that Auri-El has a plan. That all these seemingly-unrelated events are falling into place for a reason.”

Harukar hummed softly in agreement. “That is worth hoping for.”

— 

Aiden offered Harukar one of the empty rooms for the evening, but he declined, electing to head back into town. They said their goodbyes and Harukar promised to return to the college tomorrow and assist Aiden in whatever way necessary. It was a kind gesture, but it left Aiden feeling nervous. Trapped. It was a reminder that all of this was really happening. 

Sarel was fast asleep in his bed when Aiden crept into the room, facing away from the door. 

Aiden stepped out of his shoes and shed his thick outer robe before changing into a set of soft cotton pants and shirt. He looked at his own bed, then to Sarel’s, and opted for the latter. It was dreadfully small, and he’d broken Sarel of the habit of co-sleeping long ago. But just for tonight… 

He slid beneath the covers and wrapped an arm around Sarel’s waist, pulling him close. He was so small. So fragile. He squirmed a bit in Aiden’s arms and made a cranky noise, but quickly settled back into sleep. 

Aiden lay awake for a long while, staring at the dark stone wall, terrified of the sunrise.

Chapter Text

The day arrived sooner than Sarel thought possible: the day of their adventure. 

At first, when his father had told him all about the adventure, time seemed to slow to an unbearable glacial creep. He’d packed and repacked, fussing over what to bring and what to leave. Of course, his new books would be coming with them, but he couldn’t bring the paperweights to practice with. Too heavy; very impractical. 

He spent the first few days in the Arcanaeum, asking Urag to read him books about traveling in Skyrim. To his surprise, the usually-cranky old orc agreed. He even let Sarel rest his head on his knee while he read. He smelled like old books and was very warm. 

Urag wasn’t the only one who was being particularly nice to Sarel, either. Almost all the teachers and students who usually dismissed or ignored him were acting strange: patiently answering his questions, sneaking him treats, helping him find things… It was all so nice, and it kind of made Sarel sad that they’d be leaving.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d be gone— Aiden hadn’t told him— but it seemed like it would be long enough to make Colette very sad. She spent most of her free time with Sarel the week leading up to their departure, helping him practice the sightless alphabet, taking him on walks, telling him stories about the other cities. She’d said that Solitude was one of her favorite places in all of Skyrim, and that Sarel would have a fun time if they went there. He’d asked if she could come with them, but she’d said ‘no’ and given him little kisses on his head. He’d also asked if she’d be here when they got back. She’d promised that she would be, but cried while saying so.  

Now, the day had arrived, and Sarel wasn’t sure if he was ready. 

He stood quietly in the corner of the room, clutching his guide staff to his chest as Aiden packed the last of their belongings.

“I don’t wanna go,” he said softly. 

Aiden stopped what he was doing. Sarel heard him take a deep breath. “Be brave for me,” he said, his tone stern. 

“Do we have to go?” Sarel whined. His panic seemed to swell suddenly, crashing over him like a wave. What if they were eaten by wolves? Robbed by bandits? Frozen in the snow? What if he wandered off the path and couldn’t find his way back? 

“Yes,” Aiden said, and there was no room for argument. “It’s going to be exciting. And I’ll look after you.” He approached and Sarel felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Aiden knelt so that they were speaking face to face. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“What if Knight-Paladin Gelebor is mean?” Sarel asked, feeling his nose begin to run. “What if he thinks I’m ugly and doesn’t want to talk to me?”  

“He absolutely will not think those things,” Aiden assured. “And if he’s mean to you... then we’ll run away together.” He threaded his fingers through Sarel’s hair. “We’ll go somewhere warm for a while.”

“I don’t mind the cold,” Sarel murmured. 

Aiden laughed, but it sounded strained. “Of course you don’t, Little Snow Prince.” He ruffled Sarel’s hair before standing up. “Are you all packed up?” 

“Yeah…” Sarel wiped at his nose and groped for the bag on his bed. “It’s heavy.” 

“You’ll have to work on becoming stronger, building some muscle.” 

“I thought you said mages have no need for muscle, and that’s what you hire the big, dumb Nords for.” 

Aiden’s laugh was a little more genuine than before. “Well, a little bit of strength is never a bad thing. You can’t always rely on other people to do everything for you.” 

Colette was the last to see them off. This time she wept openly into Sarel’s hair and it made his heart feel funny, like his chest was too tight. 

“You be brave, alright?” she said. 

“I will,” Sarel promised. He didn’t understand why she was this upset. Aiden exchanged stern words with her. Told her to ‘pull herself together’ and not to ‘cause a scene’, which Sarel didn’t understand either. Why was his father being mean about it? 

Then it was time to leave. 

Aiden took Sarel by the hand as they left the Hall of Countenance. It almost felt like a normal day, walking the same route they always did. But this time when they reached the juncture, instead of turning right, towards safety and warmth and familiarity, they turned towards that gaping void— that hole cut into the world. Sarel swallowed, the saliva in his throat turning thick, his stomach churning with fear.

“Don’t let go of my hand, alright?” Aiden said. “The bridge is narrow.” 

Sarel nodded, moving closer to his father. 

Aiden walked slower than usual, each step methodical and intentional. Sarel held his breath as the walls around him fell away, to be replaced by strong, sharp wind. He muffled a whimper, using his free hand to clutch onto Aiden’s cloak. 

“There’s a slight decline. Next step.”

The ground sloped downwards suddenly and Sarel nearly slipped. 

“Easy there,” Aiden said, though his voice was weak beneath the howl of the wind. “Nice and easy.” His grip on Sarel’s hand was almost painful.

Sarel inched his feet along the bridge. He released Aiden’s cloak and reached out to feel his way along the low wall to his right. The stability of the rough stone beneath his fingers made him feel a little less exposed. More than anything, he wished he wasn’t wearing shoes. 

And then, all of a sudden, the wall to his right was gone, and Sarel felt the full force of the wind against his body. He let out a frightened noise and froze, his legs refusing to move any further. 

“Sarel,” Aiden barked, sounding fearful. “We can’t stop right here. It’s not safe.” He tugged gently. “Please… take a step forward.”

Sarel shook his head. He didn’t know why he couldn’t move forward, but his feet were rooted to the spot, as if they weighed a hundred pounds. The wind clawed at his body, howled into his ears, dampened every other sensation he could possibly experience into a dull buzz. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. He’d been blind his entire life, but this was the first instance in which he truly felt it. The walls were gone, leaving nothing but air and endless nothingness and sure death. He was paralyzed. 

“One step!” Aiden shouted over the howl.

One step. Sarel screwed up his face, locking his jaw tight. With new-found determination, one hand still clasping Aiden’s tightly, he reached down and tugged at the laces of his boots.

“What are you doing?!” Aiden demanded, shrill with panic, but Sarel ignored him, tugging at the sides of his boots to loosen them, then used his opposite foot to slide them off. He felt one shoe disappear off the bridge; the other he kicked off behind them.

“Sarel, what— You need your shoes!”

“No I don’t!” His bare feet touched the cold stone and he exhaled. He inched one foot forward, sliding it across the stone, then swept it outwards.

It was a ledge.

A full-body shiver ran along every extremity, prickling his scalp.

He took a step forward.  

“Alright, yes, good,” Aiden said. “Keep going!” 

The praise bolstered him with confidence, and he slid his other foot forward. One step, he repeated in his mind. One step, one step.

The low wall to his right returned, the cut of the wind blocked from the waist down, and Sarel quickly reached out to grab it. 

“You’re doing wonderful, Sarel,” Aiden encouraged, his voice still faint beneath the wind. “There’s another decline up ahead, alright?” 

One step, one step. Sarel lost himself in the mantra, inching his way along the wall, scooting down the ramp. The low wall didn’t fall away again, and the wind slowly tapered off from a howling roar into a stiff yet tolerable pressure at his side. One step, one step. They made a sharp left and Sarel felt a structure spring up around them, dampening the sound enough for him to finally relax. 

His entire body ached, his legs shaking from the exertion. He was exhausted and their adventure had barely begun. The idea that they had to keep going made him want to cry. His room seemed impossibly far away now, guarded by a massive monster that howled and pushed and clawed and wanted him dead. His nose started to run and he wiped it vigorously against his arm, determined not to be a baby. 

“You did so wonderfully,” Aiden said, panting as if out of breath. “But we’ll have to get you some new shoes.” 

Sarel let out a shuddering exhale. “I don’t need shoes,” he insisted weakly.

— 

Sarel had to wear a mask while in the town of Winterhold. Aiden said it was for his protection— that the mask had special enchantments that would keep him safe. Sarel was pretty sure it was because he was ugly. He was blind, not stupid. Or deaf, for that matter. Most of the students at the college were kind to him, but there were a few who didn’t even try to hide what they really thought. Bat boy, hobgoblin, little freak…  

Sarel wondered so badly what he looked like compared to everyone else. Mostly, he knew he had a flat nose. But was that really such a bad thing? He couldn’t imagine being so mean to someone just because of the way they looked. “Judging a book by its cover,” or however the phrase went… 

The mask wasn’t too bad. At the very least, it kept his face warm. 

Snow crunched softly beneath Sarel’s bare feet as they made their way through the town. His ears strained to pick up every last detail of what was happening around him. There was a sharp, metallic ping in the distance that sounded like someone hitting a metal pole over and over. The sound of heavy boots on wooden planks, doors opening and closing, voices distorted by the distant howls of the wind. Someone nearby laughed loudly and it made Sarel jump. 

“Almost there,” Aiden said. He’d been unusually quiet.

“What does it look like?” Sarel asked, possibly too quietly. The mask muffled his voice. 

“What does what look like?” 

“The town,” Sarel said a little louder. “What does it look like?” 

“Oh.” Aiden shifted his grip on Sarel’s hand. Both their palms were clammy from gripping so tightly. He cleared his throat. “It’s… Well, there are buildings on either side of us. They’re all made of wood, and, ah…” He let out a tremendous sigh. “Winterhold is not an interesting place. It’s… sad.”

“Why is it sad?” 

“Because so much of it fell into the sea. It never really recovered after that.” 

Sarel felt suddenly unsteady. The ground beneath him felt false. What if they fell into the sea just then? What if the earth slipped from beneath them and they went plummeting into the icy black waters, never to recover? 

He regretted asking questions. 

They finally came to a stop somewhere that smelled far different— earthy and warm, a bit like the straw bales in the College’s store room. There were strange, not-quite-elven noises coming from within the structure. Animals of some kind?

“Sarel,” said a deep, rich voice. It was the Stranger. Harukar was his name. “It’s good to see you again.” 

Sarel took a step back, ducking his head and grabbing onto Aiden’s cloak.

“We had a little trouble on the bridge,” Aiden said.

“Perfectly understandable,” Harukar replied. “That bridge is treacherous on a clear day. I’m sure it was frightening.” His voice angled towards Sarel. “It will probably be one of the most difficult parts of the journey. And it’s already behind you.” 

Sarel let out a soft huff of disbelief, but then thought about it. “Really?” he asked. 

“Truly,” Harukar assured warmly. “Now, there’s someone I want you to meet.” 

“Who?” 

“If you step a little closer, I’ll introduce you. You can take my hand.” 

Sarel felt Aiden’s grip tighten momentarily, then loosen, releasing his hand and giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. With a gulp, Sarel reached out. Harukar’s hand was large, the skin of his palm dry and cold. He pulled Sarel forward, but with a gentleness that quieted the nervous stirrings in his stomach. They were moving towards the strange noises. 

“This is Morwha,” Harukar said, holding Sarel’s hand up and placing it on something very warm and soft. 

The warm-soft moved and hot hair billowed across Sarel’s knuckles. It was alive! He snatched his hand away with a yelp. “What is that!?” 

“She’s my horse,” Harukar said with a soft laugh. “She’s very gentle, I promise. She won’t hurt you.”

“We’ve read about horses, haven’t we, Sarel?” Aiden prompted, standing somewhere behind him.

“Yeah,” Sarel replied, voice quivering. The horses that existed in his mind were formless, fantastical creatures— multi-legged and massive— born to pull carts and wage war. He never imagined they’d be so warm. He reached forward again, pawing at the empty air to try to find the horse. Harukar’s hand returned to guide him. Now that he knew what he was feeling, it wasn’t as scary. “Is this her nose?” 

“It is indeed,” Harukar said. 

Sarel hazarded a smile. “It feels like velvet.” He rubbed his palm reverently over Morwha’s warm nose. She pressed against him with a hot exhale.

“Aiden,” Harukar said, and Sarel heard him turn towards his father. “Do you have much experience on horseback?” 

“Er… no, not at all. I mean… some. Enough. I’m not a very strong rider.” He paused. “You don’t expect me to ride her, do you?” 

“I was hoping you might.” 

“Why?” His father sounded frightened, and Sarel found that to be funny. Why be scared of such a soft, warm thing? He laughed a little, continuing to rub Morwha’s nose.

“The Night Gate Inn is our halfway point between here and Windhelm. It will be far too tedious for Sarel to try to walk it. So, I was planning for the two of you to ride double on Morwha until we can catch a carriage at the Windhelm stables.”

Ride? Sarel sucked in a breath and spun towards them. “Ride the horse!?” A great swell of conflicting emotions arose in his chest: fear, excitement, nervousness, delight… 

“It’ll be much easier to travel that way,” Harukar explained. “The road will be unfamiliar to you. You’ll be safe on Morwha. And in case anything happens, she can run faster than any of us.”

Sarel wasn’t entirely convinced, but drew himself up straight. He could be braver than his dad. He tried to imagine himself as a war general atop a massive steed, commanding armies— like the elf-killer, Tiber Septim— galloping across Skyrim, heeding neither foe nor death. Yet, instead of a blood-thirsty human, Skyrim would find a kind, heroic mer behind the reins.

It was decided then.

“Let’s ride the horse,” he said.

Sarel immediately regretted riding the horse. 

Aiden had mounted the massive creature first, then Harukar lifted Sarel beneath his armpits and they struggled to navigate his long legs around the horse’s withers. It went on for so long that the skin beneath Sarel’s arms began to feel pinched and sore. Finally, once he was settled in the saddle in front of his dad, the horse shifted and Sarel panicked. 

“Be still, Sarel,” Aiden said sternly. “It’ll just take a moment to get used to.”

“I want down!” Sarel demanded, heart racing loudly in his ears. The horse had stopped moving but his panic didn’t go away. 

“We haven’t even gone anywhere yet,” Aiden argued. “Let us at least walk down the road a ways first before you decide you don’t like it.”

Sarel wanted to cry again. Their adventure had barely started and he’d already nearly cried three times. This didn’t bode well. 

A firm grip wrapped around his calf and he jumped.

“It’s just me,” came Harukar’s voice from beside them. “I promise you, Morwha is a very good horse. She’ll keep you safe. But if you still decide you don’t like it after a little bit, then you don’t have to ride. Alright?” 

Sarel whined and tucked his head against his chest, but gave a quiet affirmation. He leaned back, hoping his father would put an arm around him, but Aiden continued to rigidly hold the horse’s reins.  

Then they began to move.

Sarel held himself as still as possible, grasping the horn of the saddle with stiff fingers. He felt knocked about, swaying unsteadily from side-to-side. How was anyone supposed to do anything atop a horse other than hold on for dear life?

“Relax your hips, Sarel,” Aiden said. “You have to pretend you’re walking with the horse.”

Sarel let out a shaky breath and tried to do as his father said. He imagined taking a step, then another, loosening his spine and keeping his head steady. His hips swayed in sync with Morwha’s steps, and he thought he understood. Everything became a little less scary then. He sagged against Aiden’s chest, and his father finally put an arm around him. 

The muted clamor of Winterhold fell away as they passed through what sounded like an archway. Then, it was nothing but wind— a yawning nothingness that stretched in every direction around them. The creeping fear returned, tingling up his legs and along his arms, but Sarel was determined not to let it overtake him.

“It’s really beautiful,” Aiden said against the crown of Sarel’s head, his breath warm. 

Sarel’s heart fluttered nervously at the idea. “What’s it like? What do you see?”

“Well, there’s a mountain face to our right. And to our left…” Aiden took a deep breath. “It’s… It looks endless. Mountains and hills, all covered in snow. The sea is dappled with ice sheets, gleaming in the afternoon sun. I can even see some ruins jutting out of one of the far hills.”

Sarel could feel the vastness all around them, but his mind could barely fathom such a thing. What did it mean to be ‘endless’? How could something exist with no walls? The last remnants of tingling fear gave way to excitement and curiosity, and he continued to prod Aiden for more and more descriptions. He needed it. Even the air around him rippled with possibility. Endless… Soon Harukar chimed in, his voice drifting up from the left. He and his father took turns volleying descriptions back and forth. 

Hear that? We just passed a mine. That’s the smelter hissing… 

Oh the birds are swooping quite low! Looking for material for their nests. I’m sure you can hear them chirping. Do you like birds, Sarel?

They’re barely dots from here, but I think I can see horkers way off in the distance. Down near the shore. Remember reading about—?

Ah! A white fox! Quick little things, they are. Nearly invisible against the snow… 

Harukar didn’t explain things as well as Aiden did. It seemed like he didn’t quite understand that Sarel had never been able to see, and he would sometimes describe things as if Sarel had simply forgotten what they looked like. But his descriptions were colorful and rich, impressing alien shapes and designs into Sarel’s imagenings. He’d become so used to the way Aiden described the world. It was fun to hear it from the perspective of someone else.

As the hours passed uneventfully and their chatter died down, exhaustion slowly seeped through Sarel’s aching body. His muscles began to loosen, his limbs becoming heavier. He let his head fall back against Aiden’s chest, no longer able to hold himself upright. The rocking of Morwha’s gait lulled him into an uneasy trance. Eventually, his consciousness dipped beneath the surface of the waking world and into the realm of sleep.

Chapter Text

“Where exactly is this place?” Aiden craned his neck backwards, gazing through the spindly birch treetops to peer up the steep mountainsides on either side of them. “I feel like we’re in the middle of nowhere.” 

“Fort Dawnguard was not built to be easily found,” Harukar said. “But we’re almost to Dayspring Canyon. Not far now.” 

A high-pitched laugh cut through the air and Aiden pursed his lips in annoyance. Sarel currently clung to Harukar’s back like a little monkey, giggling every time the man shifted his weight. 

After boarding Harukar’s horse at the Riften stables, they’d headed east into the golden woods of the Rift. Sarel’s little feet had soon become tired, as he staunchly refused to wear the shoes Aiden had purchased for him in Windhelm despite Aiden's pleading. He bit his tongue against any ‘I told you so’s when Sarel began to trip over the cobbles in the road and sheepishly requested to be carried. He was too heavy for Aiden to hold for any prolonged period, but Harukar spiritedly volunteered. 

Sarel had grown oddly attached to Harukar in a very short period of time. Surely two days wasn’t enough to trust someone the way Sarel seemed to trust this strange man; a man who’d uprooted their life and was the very reason for their inevitable separation. But Harukar told stories and sang songs in a strange tongue. He spoke to Sarel easily, listened intently, and seemed to have endless patience for his questions. Aiden wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it, aside from uneasiness.

“Ah!” Harukar exclaimed. “Just up ahead there to the left. See those stacked rocks?” 

“Nope!” Sarel said with another giggle. 

Harukar laughed like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. “I know you can’t, little one.”

“I see it,” Aiden said, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “Are you expecting us to crawl through that crack in the hillside?”

“It isn’t a crawl, I promise.”

Harukar set Sarel down at the cave’s entrance and readjusted his belongings. Aiden picked at a loose thread on his sleeve and watched Sarel stretch out his legs. 

“The cave is very short,” Harukar said. “Only a couple hundred feet. But it’s very narrow.”

“Hold onto my hand, Sarel.” Aiden nudged his son’s arm with the back of his hand.

“Can I hold Harukar’s hand?” 

A hot flair of anger burst to life behind Aiden’s sternum. He almost snapped ‘no’ , but managed to catch himself. He took a slow breath through his nose. “If he doesn’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” Harukar answered. He reached for Sarel’s thin hand and grasped it tightly. 

“Make sure to point out any rocks or dips he needs to avoid,” Aiden said. “And when he needs to step up or down. Also, make sure he doesn’t hit his head—”

“Dad,” Sarel groaned. “It’s fine.”

Aiden bit the inside of his cheeks. He made brief eye contact with Harukar and gave a curt nod. “Lead the way, you two.” 

The cave appeared to be a dead end only a few yards in but snaked abruptly to the right, then back to the left. Being the tallest of the three of them, Aiden had to stoop considerably in order to avoid scraping his head against the jagged ceiling. Before long, however, pale light bled across the cold, damp stone and the three of them emerged into a canyon. Aiden couldn’t suppress his gasp.

“What is it?” Sarel asked. He clung to Harukar with both hands, his guide staff slung across his back. 

“It’s beautiful,” Aiden murmured reverently.  

A gentle wind swept through the canyon, causing the tall grasses and wildflowers to bend and sway. The glacial mountains on either side seemed to melt into a verdant, green valley. A distant waterfall cascaded into a spring-fed lake, the spray causing the very air to sparkle and glimmer in the late-day sun. Steam curled from the water’s surface, an overturned fishing boat pulled onto the bank. In every direction Aiden looked it seemed like something out of a painting. 

“Just a little bit further,” Harukar said. “Then we can rest.”

Sarel had less difficulty walking along the soft dirt path, his little nostrils flaring as he sniffed the cool, crisp air. He reached out with his right hand and pawed at the air. Aiden rushed up to take it, his chest swelling with affection and triumph as Sarel released Harukar’s hand and opted for Aiden’s instead. They walked in silence; the only sound other than the crunch of their feet against the dirt was the distant crash of the waterfall.  

“It’s like it isn’t even winter down here,” Aiden said absently.

“Oh it very much is,” Harukar replied. “In the spring this valley is bursting with birdsong and plant life. We have to cut back the trail daily. It’s also far too cold to be anything other than winter.”

“It’s not cold!” Sarel interjected. “It’s not cold at all.”

“Not compared to Winterhold,” Aiden said, smoothing his hand across Sarel’s hair. “I’m sure your feet are finally thawing, hmm?”

Sarel paused to lift one of his feet out in front of him and wiggle his toes. “They feel pretty good. They hurt a little bit, but I bet I’ll get calluses soon.” 

“They’re filthy,” Aiden said, scrunching up his nose.

“The feet of a true adventurer,” Harukar added. Aiden gave him a flat look as Sarel laughed with delight. Don’t encourage him, he hoped his expression said.

Soon, the sounds of civilization cut through the ambience of nature, and they came upon a large wooden barricade. An armored figure stood at the top of the gate looking down at them.

“Lo, Harukar,” she called out. “New friends?”

“Indeed! My party is traveling to the Reach and we needed to first gather supplies and rest.”

“Are they living?” she asked. Aiden blinked hard at the question, head snapping to look at Harukar with a raised brow.

“Very much so,” he responded with an easy laugh. 

The wooden gate creaked open, scraping across the raw dirt, only wide enough for them to pass through single-file. Harukar stepped forward first and beckoned Aiden to follow.

“We have to walk through a gate, Sarel,” Aiden explained. “So keep your arms tucked in. Do you want to try to use your staff the rest of the way?”

“No… Should I put my mask on?” Sarel asked with a quivering voice. He stepped closer and grabbed onto Aiden’s cloak with his free hand.

Aiden’s heart jolted at the question. How could he have forgotten the mask? The guard woman had probably already seen them! Is that why she asked if they were alive? Would Sarel be mistaken for something undead? 

“Maybe just to be safe,” he said, slinging his pack from his shoulders and retrieving the decorative mask. Sarel grabbed it and put it on with a sigh of relief. Only then did they step together through the gate.

An encampment of makeshift shelters and shoddy tents lined the pathway, bustling with people. The low chattering voices stilled as they passed. Aiden swallowed his nervousness.

The fort loomed over them, massive and severe. Aiden attempted to judge the architecture and found he wasn’t quite sure what race or nation could have possibly built it. Or when it was built, for that matter. Second era, perhaps? The design seemed more Breton than Nord: austere, angular, and formal. But so close to the Velothi mountains, it could have been Imperial. 

“Where are we?” Sarel asked, his voice muffled by the mask.

“We’re at Fort Dawnguard,” Aiden said, leaning down to speak quietly to him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been giving you a lot of descriptions. I’m a little overwhelmed, myself.”

“Is it big?”

“Yes, it’s very big.”

“I can feel it,” Sarel said. “I can feel its shadow.”

The ascent up the winding path was difficult, but Sarel finally opted to use his guide staff to Aiden's great relief and pride. At last, they reached the fort’s enormous doors. They were made of thick wood and heavy metal and required another Dawnguard member to help Harukar heave them open. Door duty, Aiden thought as they passed the man. Door duty among vampire hunters.

The inside of the fort was as chilled as a deep cave, and Aiden shivered as the doors closed behind them. The College of Winterhold was magically heated; he  had grown accustom to the castle's uncanny warmth. Harukar pushed his hood from his head and stepped into the large central foyer. Aiden and Sarel tentatively followed. 

“Isran?” Harukar called out. “I’ve returned.” 

All of a sudden, the portcullises around the room dropped one by one, metal shrieking as they fell. Sarel let out a scream, his hands flying to cover his ears. Aiden curled around him, pulling him against his chest protectively. They’d walked into a trap!

“This is unnecessary!” Harukar yelled over the din, sounding more annoyed than frightened. 

Finally, in the settling silence as the echo began to fade, a deep, growling voice rang out from somewhere above them. “You know the protocol.”

“I told Tilde at the gate. They’re living .”

“We can’t take any chances.” The speaker was an older Redguard man. He stood on the second level balcony, looking down at them. His attention turned to Aiden, eyes cold. “State your name. And your business here.”

“Isran,” Harukar growled.

“It’s alright,” Aiden said. He could feel Sarel shaking in his arms. “It’s alright,” he repeated softly, to calm himself as much as his son. “I can answer.” He placed a kiss against the top of Sarel’s head before standing up to his full height. He looked up in the direction of Isran, straightening his back and lifting his chin. “I’ll spare you my full Altmeri name. You may address me as Aiden. I hail from the College of Winterhold, along with my son, Sarel. He is blind from birth. Harukar mentioned that there is a Moth Priest here who might be able to help him learn to read the Sightless Alphabet.”

“And neither of you are vampires,” Isran pressed.

“No. We are both very much of the living. But my son is…” Aiden’s mouth caught on the word. Falmer, just say it. Falmer. Isran’s eyes bore into him. He had to say something. “D-deformed. It’s why he wears his mask.” He felt Sarel shrink against him and his stomach turned to stone. He soothed a hand over Sarel’s hair. He would never forgive himself for that lie. 

“Tell your son to remove his mask,” Isran said. 

“Why?” Frustration and fear bubbled into Aiden’s throat. 

“Protocol.” 

“This is cruel, Isran,” Harukar said, stepping in front of Aiden and Sarel. “The boy has been through enough.” 

“You’re the one that insists on bringing other bloodsuckers into our fold, Harukar,” Isran bellowed back. “We follow my rules or else we suffer grave consequences. Show me the boy’s face!”

Sarel sniffed loudly against Aiden’s chest, but slowly pulled away, still shaking. He turned and faced Isran, untying the string of the mask with shaking hands and pulling it away from his face. 

“Hmm…” Isran seemed thoughtful. He strode across the balcony towards a large lever and heaved it backwards. Suddenly, the entire chamber flooded with sunlight, causing Aiden to blink rapidly and hold his hand over his eyes. Harukar let out a pained shout and quickly pulled his hood over his head with a curse. Something finally clicked into place in Aiden’s mind. 

“You’re a vampire?” he snapped, whirling to look at Harukar. “This whole time you’ve been a blasted vampire?!”   

Harukar was shuffling to the side of the room, just out of the reach of the powerful sunbeam. “I was going to tell you,” he said, “at the opportune moment. But none of the moments thus far felt opportune.”

Sarel stood stock-still in the center of the sun beam, his skin as white as fresh snow, nearly glowing. Aiden had a difficult time looking directly at him. 

“That’s that, then,” Isran said, and threw the lever back in the other direction. The room was dark once more, and Aiden was momentarily blinded. One by one, the portcullises raised and Isran disappeared from the balcony.

Aiden glared at Harukar, moving to put himself between the vampire and Sarel. “I knew there was something off about you! I can’t believe I even let you get near Sarel! We-we even slept around you!” 

“Neither you nor Sarel have been in any danger.” Harukar slowly lowered his hood. The uncanny brightness of his eyes now made sense and Aiden felt like a fool. “I’m happy to explain myself and answer any questions. But, in short, I do not feed from the unwilling. And I do my best to convince other vampires to adopt this path.” 

“It’s not been very successful,” came Isran’s voice. He strode over to them and Aiden shifted to put an arm around Sarel’s shoulder. Isran was tall for a human. Commanding. His light green eyes seemed to cut to Aiden’s very core, as if he could see every weakness and every lie Aiden had ever told. 

“May I put my mask back on?” Sarel asked softly. 

Isran regarded him with a cool gaze. “If you wish,” he said. “But you're hardly the strangest thing my men have seen. It won’t be necessary.”

Sarel fiddled with the mask, running his thumbs along the ridge, as if trying to decide. 

“Are the new arrivals thoroughly traumatized?” came a new voice. A woman in strange armor walked into the room, her demeanor calm and collected. “I told him not to do that, you know.”

“Serana,” Harukar said fondly, his demeanor completely shifting. He walked to her in a few long strides and embraced her in a crushing hug. “I’m so glad you made it back safely.” 

“She took out an entire nest,” Isran said. “More than you’ve done in the last month.” 

“Knock it off, Isran,” Serana said after pulling back from the hug. “Can we all pretend to get along for the newcomers?” Her eyes fell to Aiden, glowing bright amber. She was also a vampire. 

“This is Aiden,” Harukar said, gesturing to Aiden as if they were old friends. “He’s a scholar at the College of Winterhold. And this is his son, Sarel.”  

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Serana said. She stepped over and stooped to address Sarel. “I’ve heard about you, Sarel. Harukar was very excited to meet you. How was the journey?” 

Sarel shrunk backwards, bumping up against Aiden. He scrambled to cover his face with the mask.

“That’s a very pretty mask, but you don’t need to wear it if you don’t want to. We’re all friends here.” 

“But I’m deformed.”  

“You’re not deformed!” Serana said. “You’re just one of the Falmer. They all look like you.”

Sarel perked up and Aiden’s blood turned to ice. 

“You’ve met other Falmer?” Sarel asked, slowly lowering the mask.

Harukar cleared his throat. “Maybe,” he interrupted, “we can talk about it over dinner? I’m going to show them to the sleeping quarters. It’s been a long journey.” 

“Yes, thank you,” Aiden said, his throat tight and dry. He took Sarel’s hand in his own. “Use your staff, Sarel. This is a new place.”

Sarel didn’t move at first, his expression clouded by an emotion Aiden didn’t recognize. “Alright,” he said at last, giving Aiden’s hand a squeeze.  

Chapter Text

Sarel sat next to his father on a long bench at a stone table. His feet didn’t reach the floor, leaving him feeling ungrounded and even more disoriented than he already was. 

After they’d dropped their things off in a cold room, they’d gone back to a slightly-less-cold room to have dinner. All the adults were talking about things Sarel didn’t understand. Civil unrest, the Great War, and an Old Merry Dominion. A guy named Stormcloak, a place called Markarth. Names and nouns and places that didn’t make sense. 

Sarel found that he didn’t have much of an appetite, either. His stomach was all twisted into knots, shrunken down to the size of a walnut. He wouldn’t be surprised if he never felt hungry ever again. It was as though every step he took since leaving the college, the rug was being pulled from beneath him and he would never find his footing.

Firstly, his brand new friend was a monster. 

Vampires were cruel, soulless creatures. They devoured and hypnotized and snuffed out life wherever they were found. Or so Sarel had been taught. Harukar was… nice. His hands were always cold, but they were gentle. He hadn’t caused Sarel or his father any harm. Maybe Harukar had been hypnotizing them this entire time. Maybe they’d both been under his spell and he’d been secretly feeding off of them in the night.

Sarel reached up to inconspicuously touch his neck. The skin felt smooth and unbroken, but maybe it had already healed? 

Then again, Harukar was kind to him. He told Sarel stories and didn’t treat him like a baby or a freak. He didn’t assume Sarel couldn’t do things just because he was blind. 

And then there was the other lady. Serana. Sarel wanted to talk to her again very badly. Was she also a vampire? When had she met other Falmer? Did they really all look like him? Why hadn’t his father told him that? 

Sarel had been raised to believe that the Falmer were incredibly rare, driven into near-extinction by the vicious ancient Nords. Sarel had been orphaned as a baby, and Aiden had saved him and raised him as his own. For all of his life, Sarel had wondered why he had been orphaned, and a part of him thought it was possibly because he was so ugly. Deformed. But if all the Falmer looked like him, then why would he be abandoned? 

“Sarel, eat your food before it gets cold,” his father said. He reached over and tried to place a utensil in Sarel’s hand, but Sarel clenched his fist tight and jerked his hands into his lap.

“I’m not hungry.”

His father let out a sigh. “You need to eat. You’ll feel weak if you don’t.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” Sarel protested, tucking his hands beneath his arms and hunching forward. “I wanna go lie down.” 

“Sarel.” His father’s voice held a note of warning, but Sarel didn’t care. 

“Let the boy rest,” came an unfamiliar voice. It was deep and loud with an accent Sarel had only heard from a few of the Nord students. “He must be bored to death with our talk of politics.” 

“Yeah,” Sarel agreed, sitting up straighter. “I’m bored to death!” 

This resulted in a round of laughter around the table. Sarel smiled to himself while Aiden sighed. 

“Alright, well… Come along then.” 

His father led them through the halls of Fort Dawnguard. All the while Sarel counted his steps: fifteen from the table, turn left, follow the wall to the next doorway, turn left, twenty steps down the hall, turn right… 

“Alright,” Aiden said, sounding tired. He led Sarel further into a room until his shins bumped against a small cot. He could hear a fire crackling nearby, feel the subtle waves of heat and smell the sweet smoke, but otherwise the room was cold and large. And empty. The cot was lined with coarse fur. Sarel set his guide staff down on the floor beside it and ran his fingers across the pelts.

“Get some rest. I’m going to return to the dinner table for just a little bit.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that other Falmer look like me?” 

His father went very quiet, barely breathing. Sarel’s ears strained against the silence as he held himself very still, waiting.

“You’re tired,” he said at last. “We should talk about this later. Lie down.”

Sarel deflated, shoulders sagging. He crawled petulantly onto the cot and flopped onto his side, facing away from his father. He curled his arms tightly against his chest and tucked his chin against his fists. His father’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he leaned down to press a kiss to the side of Sarel’s head. 

“I love you,” Aiden said. 

Sarel sighed loudly through his nose, clenching his jaw tight. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t asking anything that couldn’t be easily answered. He remained silent until his father left, his footsteps fading down the adjoining hall. Immediately, Sarel felt guilty for not saying ‘I love you’ back. 

He pushed upright and tucked his legs beneath him so that he was sitting in the center of the cot. The fire crackled and popped, but the room was otherwise silent. Sarel reached a hand out and snapped his fingers a few times, sweeping his arm in an arc, listening. There was a wall behind him and a wide, open emptiness to the front. The doorway from which they’d entered the room loomed somewhere to the right, the fire to his left. Sarel pulled his knees to his chest with a sigh. He wasn’t actually tired, he just didn’t want to be around people anymore. 

Now that he was alone, restlessness clawed at his muscles like tiny mice. He felt vulnerable and exposed. 

Tentatively, he lowered his feet off the bed and let the pads of his toes glide across the cold stone floor in a shallow semi-circle. He reached down and grabbed his guide staff, wrapping the leather hoop around his wrist before doing the same motion with his staff. The staff’s extra length hit something close to the floor, and with a few more taps and slowly sliding from the bed to feel with his hands, Sarel determined there was another cot next to his own. Maybe the one his father would use.

Emboldened, Sarel began to feel his way around the room, moving away from the fire. He kept one hand on the wall and swept his guide staff in long arcs towards the center of the space. He encountered a third cot, what felt to be a trunk, some shape he didn’t recognize, but was cold, rigid, and pointed on the top, and eventually made his way over to the doorway. Or a doorway. He couldn’t be certain that this was the door they’d entered through. 

Sarel poked his head through the archway and listened. The echoes of voices carried along the stone: deep chattering interspersed with laughter. It was difficult to tell which direction the noise was coming from. Chewing on his bottom lip, he weighed his next move. Did he continue to explore the room? Or did he take a chance and explore the hall. 

I’ll count my steps, Sarel told himself. I won’t go more than thirty steps. And I’ll stick to the wall. And once I get to thirty, I’ll turn right back around.

Feeling his way around the doorway, Sarel turned to the right. With one hand on the wall and his staff swinging in arcs, he began to count as he walked.

One, two, three…     

When he got to seven steps, he had to navigate his way around a barrel that smelled of earthy vegetation. With his hand back on the wall, he continued to count. 

Eight, nine, ten…

At twelve steps, the wall disappeared. Sarel tapped his way around the emptiness to determine that it was another doorway. The room beyond the doorway was cold and silent, so Sarel skittered quickly past it and continued his counting. 

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…  

At twenty-seven steps, there was another room. This time, however, Sarel could hear movement inside. He hovered in the doorway, leaning slightly in as he clung to the wall, ears straining. There was the sound of a chair creaking, fabric rustling, and then someone clearing their throat. 

“I heard you walk up,” said the voice, making Sarel jump. The person sounded old, like Master Tolfdir, the gravel of age scratching at their throat. “Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” 

Sarel said nothing, debating whether or not he should run away. His room was only twenty-seven steps behind him. His father had warned him time and time again not to approach strangers. They were dangerous. They could hurt him. 

“Don’t play games with a poor blind man,” the voice barked. 

Blind?

“You’re blind?” Sarel asked. 

“Who’s there? Who are you?”

Sarel second-guessed himself, wishing he hadn’t spoken. 

“It’s quite alright,” the voice said again. “You can come in.”

Slowly, nervously, Sarel stepped into the room. With the stability of the wall gone, he felt completely exposed. He straightened his arm, holding one hand in front of him as he swept his staff outwards. It skittered across the stone floor.

“What’s that sound?” the person asked. 

“It’s my guide staff,” Sarel said. “I’m blind, too.” 

“Gracious,” they said. “You sound like a child. Who are you? Where did you come from?” 

Sarel followed the sound of their voice, and his staff eventually clipped across something. He groped in front of him until his hand came to rest on what felt like the back of a chair.  

“I just got here. Harukar brought me and my dad to visit. Are you Dexion?” He was feeling bolder now. The person didn’t seem so scary anymore. 

“I am.” There was a smile in their voice. Dexion’s voice. Sarel felt hope swelling tightly behind his chest. 

“You can teach me to read the Sightless Alphabet!” he exclaimed. “My dad has been teaching me a little bit, but it’s really hard.” Sarel felt his way around the chair, smoothing his hand across the seat before sitting down. “Harukar said you can teach me!” 

“Did he, now?” Dexion made a humming noise. “How nice of him to volunteer my services. When did you start learning?” 

“A few weeks ago, I think. Sometimes I have a hard time remembering what day it is or when I did this or that.” Sarel sat back farther in the chair and swung his feet back and forth. “But we left the college three nights ago. Have you ever been to the College of Winterhold? You have to cross this really scary bridge, so I don’t blame you if you don’t want to visit.”  

“I have not,” Dexion said. “I haven’t been in Skyrim for very long. Just as I haven’t been blind for very long. How long have you been blind?” 

“Oh, my whole life,” Sarel said with a sigh. “I wanna learn magic, but my dad doesn’t know how to teach it to me unless I can read. So for my birthday he and Master Urag got me books to learn the Sightless Alphabet!”

“How old are you?” 

“Eleven! I just turned eleven. I don’t feel any different yet, but I have had to do a lot of new things recently. I’d never even left the college up until now. I thought it would be impossible, but I crossed the bridge and everything! And I rode a horse. Harukar’s horse. Her name is Morwha. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

Dexion laughed. “Yes, I’ve ridden a horse.” 

“Sarel?” came his father’s startled voice, echoing down the hallway. “Sarel!?” 

“Uh oh,” Sarel whispered, drawing his knees up to his chest. 

“In here!” Dexion called out, and Sarel heard frantic footfall quickly approaching. 

“Sarel!” His father burst into the room, rushing over and kneeling in front of him. “What were you thinking!? You can’t just go wandering off like that! It’s dangerous!”

“‘m sorry…” Sarel mumbled against his knee. “I counted my steps.”

“You must be the father,” said Dexion, and Sarel heard Aiden shift.

“... Yes. My name is Aiden. You’re… the Moth Priest, I presume?” 

“Correct.” The smile was back in his voice. “Your child and I were just having a chat.” 

“Oh…” Aiden stood, keeping one hand firmly on Sarel’s shoulder. 

“A very intelligent conversationalist you have there.”

“Thank you,” Aiden said. He was still breathing heavily. “I’m very proud of him.” He squeezed Sarel’s shoulder once, then loosened his grip. Sarel uncurled his knees.

“I counted my steps,” Sarel repeated. “I knew how to get back.”

“That’s very impressive,” Dexion said before Aiden finished drawing a breath. “While I trained for many years knowing that I might eventually go blind, I can’t say it’s been easy adapting. Theory and practice are two very different things. I could learn a lot from you too… Sarel.”

“How’d you go blind?” 

Dexion seemed to ponder the question for a moment, before saying: “Hmm, how about I tell you tomorrow? We can have our first lesson and get to know each other then. But it’s late and I am a tired old man.”

Aiden squeezed Sarel’s shoulder. “Yes, we should let Master… um…” 

“Dexion.” 

“... Master Dexion get some rest.” 

“Alright,” Sarel agreed despondently. He slid from the chair onto his feet, adjusting his grip on his guide stadd. “Well, thank you for talking to me. It was nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise, my boy.” The smile in his voice was back. It made Sarel feel good. “Find me after breakfast tomorrow.” 

At the mention of food, Sarel’s stomach growled loudly. 

“Are we finally hungry?” Aiden asked as he led Sarel from the room. 

“Yeah,” Sarel sighed. “Starving.” 

“You want to keep both hands on the page,” Dexion instructed, reaching out to maneuver Sarel’s hands into the correct position. “Left hand stays here at the beginning of the sentence so you can track which line you’re on, and then your right hand reads the line.” He tapped Sarel’s pointer finger. “This will be the finger you read with, but you want to keep all four fingers on the line of text. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah, I think so…” 

“Once you’re getting to the edge of the page, your left hand moves down to the next sentence so your right knows where to begin.” 

“Alright, yeah, that makes a lot of sense.” 

“Alright.” Dexion stepped away. “You’ve proven that you know your alphabet well, so see if you can read that first line.”

Sarel licked his lips, furrowing his brow in concentration. His fingers felt like lead weights against the page, thick and lifeless. Slowly, he tracked the line with all four fingers, just like Dexion said, and couldn’t read a single thing. 

“I don’t know,” he whined. 

“Start with the first word. Don’t try to read beyond it.”

Sarel took a deep breath, straightening up. He went back to the beginning of the line, running his fingers back and forth over the small ridges in the page. 

“I think… the first letter is a ‘t’?” he said. Dexion hummed in response, so Sarel kept going. “Um… ‘t’...” He repeated the process, running his finger over the second letter over and over. “I think it’s an… ‘h’?” The process felt painfully slow. How would he ever learn to read at this rate? 

“That’s good! One more letter and you’ll have the first word.”

Sarel sucked in another deep breath, holding it as he felt the final letter. 

“‘E’?”

“Very well done.”

“You mean I was right?” Sarel ran his fingers over the word a few more times. T, h, e… t, h, e…  

“Yes indeed.”

“It says ‘the’!” Sarel exclaimed as the letters finally formed a word in his mind. The rush of understanding made his stomach squirm, a tickle of satisfaction spreading along his spine. All those years of spelling drills, of memorization, of painful exercises, it all felt worth it. He could do this! It wasn’t so bad! It would take a while, yes, but he could do it! He continued to run his fingers over the word until the shape became familiar. 

“Now see if you can read the next one.” 

It took a while, but Sarel slowly picked his way through the first, eight-word sentence, and Dexion only had to help him identify three of the letters. He didn’t recognize two of the words, but apparently they were names of ancient spirits, so Sarel didn’t berate himself for not knowing them. All in all, it read: The first ones were brothers: Anu and Padomay.  

“Onto the next sentence?” Dexion asked. 

Sarel sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Can we take a break? My brain hurts.” 

Dexion laughed and Sarel managed a small chuckle as well. He was being serious, but it was alright if Dexion thought he was making a good joke. 

“How goes the learning?” came Harukar’s voice from across the room. 

Sarel flinched involuntarily. He hunched his shoulders forward and held himself very still. 

“Remarkably well,” Dexion responded. “He’s a quick learner.”

“I knew he would be.” Harukar’s voice was closer now, and Sarel wasn’t sure what to say or do. He held his breath, listening extra hard for where Harukar’s footsteps landed. He walked so quietly. It was frightening. 

“We’re taking a break now. So his brain doesn’t turn into soup and trickle from his ears. Isn’t that right, Sarel?” Dexion’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and Sarel flinched again. 

“Y-yeah,” he managed, though his voice cracked nervously. 

Harukar said nothing for a long moment, lapsing into an invisible silence somewhere in the room. “Well…” When he finally spoke up, he was farther away again. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

“Is everything alright, Sarel?” Dexion asked after a beat. 

“Yeah,” Sarel said again. He let out a long exhale. “I mean… I don’t know.” He slumped forward against the table, pillowing his head against his arms. “I didn’t know Harukar was a vampire until yesterday, and now… I don’t know. I feel weird. I’m afraid of him, even if I don’t want to be. He’s been nothing but nice to me.”

Dexion made a humming noise of understanding, and Sarel felt the bench shift as Dexion sat down next to him. “That’s understandable. I’ve only known Harukar for a few months. He is a gentle man and has given me no reason to fear him. In fact, he saved my life. And yet, I do fear him. I don’t think it’s anything we can help. It’s simply a primitive reaction, not to who he is, but to what he is.”

“A vampire,” Sarel whispered. It still didn’t seem real or even possible.

“Yes,” Dexion said. “A vampire with a good heart.” He chuckled. “I would have never believed such a thing could exist. But I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for his efforts. Serana, however, I still cannot speak to…”

“Yeah, I wanna talk to Serana,” Sarel said. “She said she’d met some Falmer!” 

“I do not envy that,” Dexion said, a sudden hollowness in his voice. “The Falmer are a violent and ruthless race of degenerative elves. It is a miracle that Serana and Harukar made it back from their mission alive.” 

Sarel’s face went cold, his stomach hardening into a solid knot. “R-really?” he asked quietly. 

“Oh, don’t worry about them, my dear boy. I doubt you’ll ever have to encounter one. They live deep beneath the ground, driven there by an ancient, bloody battle with the Nords. And there they have remained, made blind by their pact with Dwemer. I never gave them much thought living in Cyrodiil, but made sure to revisit the histories before embarking for Skyrim. I honestly would have thought them purely beings of folklore had it not been for eye-witness accounts.” 

Sarel felt sick and cold, saliva pooling in his cheeks as his stomach threatened to empty its contents onto his book. “They… they aren’t all like that, though. Right?” 

“None have lived to say otherwise, I’m afraid.” 

Sarel doubled over in his seat, clutching his stomach as his pulse pounded in his ears. “I don’t feel good.”

Dexion sniffed loudly. “Such a grim topic. I’m sorry, Sarel. I know you’ve been sheltered.”

“I want my dad…” 

“Yes, alright.” Dexion sounded nervous, but gently patted Sarel’s shoulder a few times. “Let’s go find him.”

Chapter Text

The first day at Fort Dawnguard had proven to be, not only physically uncomfortable, but exceedingly tedious. Every interaction, no matter how pleasant, left Aiden feeling jumpy and on edge. He’d barely slept a wink, kept awake by the howling wind and foreign creaks and groans that seemed to echo continuously through the massive fort. Then, once he’d finally relaxed enough to drift into a shallow slumber, he’d been promptly awoken by a remarkably spirited Sarel jumping onto his cot exclaiming that he could hear the morning birds chirping outside.

They had a meager breakfast in the long hall, and then it was time for Sarel’s first lesson with Dexion. Sarel hadn’t wanted Aiden to attend, which had wounded him more than he let on. Blow to his ego aside, it was an impractical request. Who, then, would teach Sarel once they left the fort? They couldn’t very well drag a blind Moth Priest around with them as a personal tutor. Dexion had assured him that their lesson would be short, and that he’d review everything with Aiden afterwards. Begrudgingly, Aiden had accepted the deal, if only to give Sarel a sense of freedom and choice.  

To pass the time, Harukar had invited Aiden to join him and Serana in the dining hall. They, of course, were not eating. Currently, Aiden clutched a cup of warmed mead between his palms, though hesitated to drink it. It wasn’t even noon, but Serana had poured it for him with a pitying look as soon as she saw him. He’d have much rather had a warm cup of purple mountain flower tea with a spoonful of honey. That would have at least made the situation tolerable.

“You never did tell me how you heard about Sarel, you know,” Aiden said. His right leg bounced wildly and without his permission, the jitters of being away from his son running through his body like an electrical current. 

Harukar shifted to lean against the table, propping his chin against his hand. “My apologies.” He smiled playfully and it irritated Aiden to no end. “Truly, I didn’t mean to hold that over your head. It was Septimus Signus who mentioned the boy.” 

“Septimus?” Aiden sputtered, sloshing mead out of his cup. “That madman? Where on Nirn did you stumble across that poor fool?” 

“In an outpost northeast of the College,” Harukar said. 

Serana let out a huff. “I wouldn’t call it an outpost. It was a hovel cut out of a glacier. Pretty sad, if you ask me. What happened to him?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. 

Aiden found it difficult to look her in the eyes. She was frighteningly beautiful, just as Harukar was. Why couldn’t they be ugly vampires, he wondered bitterly. Why couldn’t they look more like the feral beasts from Aiden’s nightmares and not handsome humans with soulful eyes that burned like embers?

Aiden cleared his throat.

“He met the same fate as many an obsessive scholar: driven into madness by his inability to separate his theories from reality. His fixation on the disappearance of the Dwemer and the effects of Elder Scrolls became unhealthy. He’d lock himself away in his room for days at a time. We’d hear him talking to himself— carrying on full conversations as though someone else were in the room with him. Poor sod.” Aiden sighed. “I can’t believe he even remembered Sarel. He barely interacted with him, and I think Sarel was only six when Septimus finally fled the college, rambling about his manuscript all the way out the gate.”  

“Well, his mention of Sarel wasn’t the most…” Serana began, but Harukar silenced her with a glare. 

“What?” Aiden asked. He sat up straighter. “What did he say?” 

“He’s obviously been driven deeper into madness,” Harukar said. “He was trying to open some sort of Dwemer contraption and wanted us to gather the blood of different kinds of elves in order to mimic Dwemer blood.” 

“What?”  

“We declined to help. I think he misjudged our intentions, as vampires.” 

“So he suggested you steal some of Sarel’s blood?” Aiden sat the cup of mead down to rub at his eyes. “I’m going to go put that man out of his misery…” 

“He’s not in his right mind,” Harukar continued. “And it’s safe to say nobody is really making a great effort to seek him out. It took us days of scouring the ice drifts to even stumble across his outpost. Sarel’s existence is still widely unknown.” 

“Not that it matters anymore,” Aiden mumbled miserably. “I should go check on him. See how the lessons are progressing.” 

“It’s barely been twenty minutes,” Serana pointed out. 

“How about I go?” Harukar said, pushing to his feet. “That way Sarel doesn’t feel pressured to have made significant progress.”

Aiden pursed his lips, ready to reject the offer, but sighed loudly through his nose. “Sure. Go.” He watched Harukar leave the room with a bitter taste in his mouth. When he dragged his gaze back to the table, Serana was watching him with a curious look. 

“Um…” Aiden drummed his fingers against the table. “So… how old are you?” 

Serana let out a small, tittering laugh and leaned back in her seat. “You haven’t been around many vampires, have you?” 

“I try not to make a habit of it, no.” 

This earned him a smirk. “I don’t know how old I am, exactly. I was asleep for a very long time.” 

“Oh, er… well, how did you become a vampire?” 

Serana straightened up, furrowing her brow. “That’s… not really a question I’m comfortable answering. And I doubt you want the answer, anyways.” 

Aiden felt his ears grow hot. “My apologies,” he said reflexively. “Uh…” Subject change, quickly. “How did you meet Harukar then?” 

“He woke me up. Helped me kill my father. Thwarted an ancient prophecy.”

“Oh…” Aiden hated this conversation. Serana was looking at him as though he were a very amusing little kid. He tucked his lips around his teeth and tugged a small cloth from his pocket to clean his glasses. He was done attempting to make small-talk. 

Harukar came back into the room then, much to Aiden’s relief. Serana rose to her feet as he sat back down. 

“Leaving?” he asked. 

“I gotta go find Isran,” she said. “He mentioned having a new lead.” Even Aiden could tell it was a bullshit excuse, but he didn’t blame her. He made for awful company. They exchanged polite farewells and she sauntered out of the room, her hips swaying like a snake.

“How was Sarel?” Aiden asked. 

Harukar gave a small shrug. “It sounded like his lesson was going very well. Dexion said as much.” He sighed. “But I think Sarel is afraid of me now.” 

“Well, you are a vampire. And elected to keep that information from us. Not the behavior of someone safe or trustworthy, if you ask me.”

Another sigh. “I must simply do my best to regain his trust, then.”

“Why do you care?” Aiden snapped. “Why does his trust mean that much to you?” 

Harukar looked up, his expression devoid of mirth. He held Aiden’s gaze for a long moment until the silence between them grew uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I keep wondering that myself. But I find that it is very important to me. I want to feel worthy of his trust.” 

He will never trust you again, Aiden thought. Not fully. Smug satisfaction curled like a contented cat in his mind. Sarel had trusted Harukar so quickly, then he was immediately taught a hard lesson: trust should not be so easily given. It was difficult, as a parent, to see Sarel go through such things, but this was life outside of the College’s walls. Unkindness was all that Sarel would be shown, and Aiden resolved to do his best to shield him from it for as long as possible.  

“Well, we have a long journey ahead of us,” Aiden said. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to redeem yourself. If you’re as righteous as you claim to be.”

Harukar gave him a strange look— an expression falling somewhere between insulted and amused— and he let out a small laugh. “You are peculiar,” he said. “Sarel, I understand. You, I do not. And, no offense of course, but I find it odd that someone with your disposition managed to raise such a thoughtful and sweet child.” 

Aiden’s nostrils flared as anger ripped through his body, heat flooding into his hands as they clenched around the cup of mead. No offense? So this is how it would be between them? Trading insults thinly disguised as conversation, chipping away at the other’s armor. Finally, Aiden lifted the cup of mead to his mouth and took a long drink. It was disgusting, tepid and flat. He grimaced as he swallowed the sickly-sweet alcohol, coughing once into the crook of his arm. “Well,” he croaked. “I did manage it, didn’t I?”  

“Hello,” came a voice in the doorway. 

Dexion had shuffled around the corner, holding Sarel by the hand. 

“What’s wrong?” Aiden asked, springing to his feet, because something was very wrong. “What did you do?”

“He asked for his father, and I’m bringing him to you,” Dexion replied calmly. “He got a little upset over our conversation. I apologize. It probably wasn’t the most appropriate topic of discussion.” 

Aiden rushed over to them, stooping to kneel before Sarel. “What did you talk about?” 

“He mentioned the Falmer, and—” 

“What did you say!?” Aiden barked, pulling Sarel against his chest and glaring furiously up at Dexion. Sarel let out a low whine and a sniff, his shoulders shuddering. 

“Aiden,” Harukar said in a low, calm tone. “Take Sarel to his room.” 

“What did you say to him?” Aiden demanded, his thoughts clouded with panic.

“Aiden!” Harukar barked, and Aiden jerked to look up at him, immediately transfixed by those glowing amber eyes. “Take him to his room. Please.” 

With a swallow and a nod, Aiden got to his feet. “Come along, Sarel,” he said with a quiver in his voice and tugged Sarel along.

They walked in silence back to the room, the only sounds were Sarel half-heartedly tapping his staff along the wall as they went, punctuated with little sniffs. Once they finally turned into the room and Aiden led Sarel to the bed, Sarel threw his staff down and fell onto his stomach clutching the under-stuffed pillow to his chest and heaving out a great sob. 

“You lied to me!” he cried. “You lied, you lied, you lied!” 

“Sarel, please,” Aiden tried to reason, though he felt cold from head to toe. “Just tell me what he said.” He ran a hand across Sarel’s shoulder, but Sarel jerked away from his touch. 

“Don’t!” he snapped, and Aiden recoiled in shock.

Upset replaced by frustration, Aiden straightened up with a huff. “Where is my sweet son?” he lamented. “Who is this that’s replaced him?”

“Maybe this is what I’m really like,” Sarel whined into his pillow. “Just a monster…”

“Sarel, please,” Aiden leaned over him again. “Please tell me what he said to you so that I can help. Please.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sarel asked. 

“Tell you what, my love?”

“That the Falmer aren’t rare… that they live underground? That they’re violent… and d-degenerate?”

“Is that what he said?” Aiden asked, forcing a laugh as panic pulsed through his veins. “Sarel, Dexion isn’t from Skyrim. He’s from Cyrodiil.” He ran a hand through Sarel’s hair. “He doesn’t know anything about this land or its inhabitants.”

“He said he’d read about them in books!” Sarel protested. “Why would people write books about things that aren’t true?” 

Aiden sighed, folding his hands in his lap. The situation was delicate. He couldn’t very well take everything Dexion said back. Sarel would have to learn eventually. “It is true that some people have had particularly nasty encounters with Falmer,” Aiden said quietly. How much truth should he tell? “They are rare, though. And live separately from modern society.” He licked his lips. “Communicating with them is not an option.” 

“And they’re all blind? I’m blind because the Dwemer made me blind?” Sarel pressed. His weeping had stopped, but the stress in his voice remained. 

“That is only a theory,” Aiden corrected, and it was technically the truth. 

“Why didn’t you try to give me back?” Sarel asked. “When you found me, why didn’t you try harder to find my parents and give me back?”

“Sarel, enough,” Aiden snapped. “I could not give you back. Life does not work that way.” He softened his voice with a sigh. “But you are my son. I didn’t know who you would grow into, but I was prepared to love you from the very beginning.” It was another lie, but it didn’t feel like a lie, at least. Perhaps there was more truth to it than even Aiden knew— that it was written in the stars that he was to love Sarel as his own. 

“You came into my life and changed my world forever,” he continued, gently stroking Sarel’s hair. “I never knew I could love something so much before you.”

Sarel curled in on himself a little more, burying his face against the pillow. “Alright,” he said softly, voice muffled by the fabric.

Aiden dipped to plant a kiss against Sarel’s temple, feeling satisfied with ending the conversation there. “Just rest here for a moment and regain yourself. I’m going to go speak to Dexion.” 

“How in bloody Oblivion was I supposed to know he was Falmer!?” Dexion’s milk-white eyes stared into the middle distance. Aiden stood next to Harukar with his arms crossed as the man continued to rave. “He’s just a boy-shaped blob to me! Just as you’re an elf-shaped idiot !” He jabbed a finger in Aiden’s direction. 

“Dexion, please,” Harukar said. 

“How, pray tell, am I an idiot, exactly?” Aiden asked, keeping his tone as cool as possible. 

“Raising a young Falmer without even telling him what he really is!” 

“He’s not a monster,” Aiden protested, uncrossing his arms and curling his hands into fists.

Dexion let out a bark of humorless laughter. “Obviously not! He’s a miracle! Entire books could be written about him! But the boy doesn’t even know…?” He let out a tremendous sigh. “The poor child is walking through life without an identity! How on Nirn have you managed to raise him without once giving him a proper lesson on the Falmer?” 

“I’ve taught him plenty of the Falmer! We’ve spoken of the ancient wars, the Snow Prince, the fact that the Nords practically drove their entire race into extinction—” 

“Oh, wonderful, so you’re teaching him to resent and fear the native population as well. Just like an Altmer to—” 

“Gentlemen, please,” Harukar interrupted. “Enough hostility. Sarel is a unique case. The situation is unprecedented. Surely, Aiden has done his best.” 

Aiden drew himself up to his full height, lifting his chin. “I have certainly tried, though I am not perfect.” 

“All I’m saying is, you best be careful what more you keep from that boy,” Dexion growled. He pointed a gnarled finger at Aiden once more. “The more lies you tell, the more secrets you keep, the more he’ll resent you for it. If you love him even half as much as you claim to, you’ll tell him the truth.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about the truth,” Aiden snarled, and Harukar placed a hand on his shoulder.

With a frustrated noise, Dexion left the room, muttering something about Elder Scrolls and ‘not being able to read minds’ as he went. 

Aiden shrugged out from beneath Harukar’s grip and began to stalk off in the opposite direction. 

“Aiden,” Harukar called after him, halting him in his tracks.

He spun around. “What?! Do you have something pertinent to add?”

Harukar sighed, looking defeated. “The truth,” he began, “will always seem more difficult. But it is worth telling. In the end.”

With a curl of his lip, Aiden turned on his heel and left the room without a reply.

Chapter Text

Lessons with Dexion continued the next day. Sarel shuffled sheepishly into his tutor’s quarters, feeling foolish and sick but determined to pick up where they’d left off. Dexion was immediately extra nice. He apologized for everything he’d said yesterday and that he would never have said any of those things if he’d known Sarel was Falmer— that he had spoken out of ignorance. 

“You’re a wonderful ambassador,” he said. “I’m very lucky that the first Falmer I’ve managed to meet is you.”

Sarel straightened up a little at that. “Really?” 

“Absolutely.” The warmth in Dexion’s voice felt genuine, and it made Sarel feel warm in turn. “Now, let’s pick up where we left off.” 

The lesson was slow-going, just as it was the first day, but at the end of an hour Sarel had managed to read two full sentences. His brain felt tired, but satisfaction chased away any lingering gloom, buffeted by Dexion’s praise and encouragement. They broke for lunch and met with Aiden in the dining room. The layout of the fort was still very confusing in Sarel’s head. Just when he thought he knew where they were going, they’d take twenty more steps than he was anticipating, their footfall echoing off the bare walls and leaving him disoriented. The only path he knew for certain was the short distance between his and his father’s room and Dexion’s. 

Seated at the dining table, his father asked sterile, mechanical questions about the lessons that Sarel didn’t know how to answer, so he let Dexion do most of the talking. Something between him and his father had shifted. Everything felt tense and stretched too thin. Sarel wanted the feeling to go away but wasn’t sure what exactly was causing it. Maybe he should apologize for calling his father a liar… 

He opened his mouth to say something, but then Dexion asked Aiden a question, so Sarel tucked his chin to his chest and returned to eating his food in silence. He’d apologize later.

— 

Fort Dawnguard was full of interesting people who were always coming and going. Sarel had settled into a comfortable routine over the first few days they were there: breakfast in the long hall, lessons with Dexion, lunch, lessons with his father, dinner, exploring the fort with Harukar. He’d met so many new people that it was difficult to remember everyone’s names, but Harukar made sure everyone knew Sarel’s. He never felt alone in the fort. It was almost like a second College of Winterhold in some ways. He was afraid to mention it to his father, but he missed Colette fiercely and wished (on some of the colder nights) that she would have made the journey with them. Meeting new people distracted him enough most of the time, but it wasn’t quite the same.

Of all the new people he met, however, Sarel liked the dogs the most. Bran was his favorite. He’d never met a dog before, but he was immediately smitten. 

“He’s a war dog,” Isran had said. “Born and bred for killing.” But Sarel didn’t care. Warriors could be kind and gentle, too. 

He currently sat cross-legged on the dirt floor, Bran’s massive head resting in his lap as he ran his fingers through the dog’s soft, thick coat. Gunmar was smithing nearby. The loud ping of hammer on metal hurt Sarel’s ears at first, but now it was just part of the ambience of the fort. Ping, ping, shushhh as the hot metal was dunked into water. Gunmar had explained the process to Sarel with great enthusiasm.

Gunmar was a Nord, but he was nice. He spoke to Sarel very slowly, as if he might not be able to understand him. It was funny, but also a little annoying. Sarel never appreciated when people treated him like a baby. Then there was Sorine, who was one of Isran and Gunmar’s friends. She was also very nice and reminded him a little bit of Master Faralda— no nonsense, practical, but kind. She’d made a joke about training Sarel to be an archer that made Gunmar laugh so loud that Sarel had to cover his ears. He’d miss them once they left.

“You’re going to spoil that dog,” came another familiar voice.

“Nuh uh,” Sarel said, smiling as he continued to pet Bran. “He’s worked so hard. He deserves to have a nap.”

He felt Serana sit down beside him. She didn’t give off warmth the way other people did, but she did give off… something. Sarel wasn’t sure what it was, but Harukar had the same aura— like a rippling current that made his hair stand on end. It put Sarel on edge, made him feel like there was a big animal nearby that wanted to eat him. Maybe it was just part of being a vampire, and they couldn’t really help it, like Dexion had said. 

“Harukar mentioned that you guys will be leaving soon,” Serana said. 

Sarel sighed, resting his hand against Bran’s neck. “Yeah. We gotta go to the Forgotten Vale next. That’s where Gelebor is.” He inclined his head towards her. “Are you gonna come with us?”

“Probably not.” 

“Oh.” Sarel began to pet Bran again, mulling over his thoughts. “You got to meet Gelebor, too, right?” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“What’s he like?”   

“Hmm…” He heard her shift. “Well, he’s kind of stuffy.” 

Sarel laughed at that. 

“He’s a knight-paladin, so he’s completely devoted himself to the service of Auriel. Most priest-types are stuffy, I find.” 

“Florentius isn’t!” Sarel pointed out. The priest of Arkay was one of his favorite people at the fort. He was jovial and brash, and he was a Restoration mage! Sarel wanted to learn Restoration more than any other school of magic. 

“Yeah, well, Florentius isn’t your average priest.” Serana chuckled. “But Gelebor…” She paused and let out a soft sigh through her nose. “I think he’ll like you, but I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high.” 

“What do you mean?” Sarel asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice. 

“He’s… sad. Lost a lot of people in his life. He’s the only one of his kind left.” 

“But I thought you said there were lots of Falmer,” Sarel pointed out. 

“There are lots of Falmer like you, but not like him.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He heard Serana shift again, felt her reach over and pet Bran’s head. The dog let out a contented huff, his hot breath blowing against Sarel’s knee. 

“Well, he isn’t blind,” she said. “And he looks different. He looks more like your dad.” 

“You mean he isn’t ugly,” Sarel corrected with a pout. 

“I didn’t say that. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” 

Sarel had heard the phrase before. It meant nothing to him. “What happened to the others like him?” he asked instead.

“They were killed.” She sighed again. “Including his brother.” 

“Oh no…” Sarel felt a crushing sadness on behalf of Gelebor. He’d always wanted a brother or a sister. In fact, occasionally he imagined he had one— invisible and silent— following him everywhere. Sometimes he’d explain things to them out loud, just in case they were really there and he wasn’t just imagining them. He couldn’t fathom having a real sibling only for them to die.

“Harukar killed him.” 

“What!?” Sarel squeaked. Bran raised his head with a whuff and Sarel wrapped his arms around the dog’s thick neck. “Why? Why would he do that?” 

“Gelebor’s brother was a vampire. An evil vampire,” Serana continued. “Harukar tried to—” She made a thoughtful noise. “He tried to convince him to adopt our path: to forsake his murderous nature and use his vampiric powers for good. But… he was too far gone. Too corrupted.” She reached over to pet Bran again. “He left us no choice.” 

Sarel ran his tongue across the back of his teeth, his heart heavy with sorrow. “Was Gelebor sad?” 

“I think Gelebor had considered his brother dead for a long time already. Harukar took it harder than Gelebor did.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he wanted to save him. He hated being the reason for one less Falmer in the world.” Serana placed a hand on top of Sarel’s head. “It’s why you mean so much to him. You give him hope.”

“Why me? I’m not even like Gelebor. I’m one of the ugly Falmer.” 

“You’re not ugly, Sarel,” Serana said warmly, ruffling his hair. “You prove that the Falmer aren’t lost. That they can be saved.”  

Sarel furrowed his brow further. “Saved from what?” 

Serana removed her hand and remained quiet for a long moment. “Just… saved.” 

—

Sarel wasn’t sure why they had to leave Fort Dawnguard so soon, but didn’t want to seem like a fussy baby when the day came for them to pack their things. He put on a brave face, as his father instructed, and made his rounds to say goodbye to everyone. 

“You’re going to be a formidable scholar some day,” Dexion said, taking one of Sarel’s hands into his own for a firm shake. “It’s been an honor to be your teacher.” 

“Really?” Sarel asked in disbelief. 

“It’s the honest truth. You picked up the Alphabet quicker than any of my peers. Damn impressive.” 

Sarel felt his father’s warm hand come to rest on his shoulder. “He’s a brilliant boy. Thank you for taking the time to teach him.” 

“My pleasure. And Sarel, keep up with your practice. I don’t know when I’ll be returning to the Imperial City, but hopefully our paths will cross again in the future.”

“Maybe I can write you letters in the Alphabet!” 

“How wonderful that would be,” Dexion said with a warm laugh. 

After all the goodbyes had been said, and Sarel gave Bran a particularly long hug, he found himself alone in the room he and his father had shared over the past week. It was cold without the fire burning in the hearth. His father had instructed him to wait there as he went to gather extra supplies. Sarel had a pack of his own now and would have to help carry things. The next leg of their journey would be much longer. He ran his hands over the front of the pack where it lay in his lap, memorizing the orientation of the snaps and strings and buttons. 

“Sarel,” came Harukar’s voice from behind him. As silent as ever, Sarel hadn’t heard him enter. 

“Yeah? I’m ready,” he said, beginning to stand. 

“It’s alright, we’re not leaving just yet.” Harukar came closer, the swishing of fabric the only sign of his approach. “I wanted to speak with you.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“Not at all.” Harukar laughed, and Sarel could feel the deepness of his voice vibrating in his own chest. He sat down on the little cot, his thigh bumping against Sarel’s, devoid of warmth. “I just… wanted to apologize to you. I hadn’t yet gotten the chance.”

“For what?” Sarel asked, searching his brain for anything that would be worth apologizing for. 

“For having not been forthright with you. About what I am.” Harukar sighed. “It… I’m still learning, each and every day, how to live with my condition. It doesn’t get easier, no matter how many years pass. Have I ever told you how old I am?” 

“I don’t think so,” Sarel said. He had wondered, but felt it would be impolite to ask. 

“Three hundred and thirty-eight years old.” 

“Whoa! Really? That’s so old! That’s older than any elf I know!”

“It’s a long time for anyone to live. I was infected with vampirism when I was thirty-six. Middle-aged for humans. I thought I knew so much about the world, then. But, of course, with age comes wisdom.” 

“Yeah,” Sarel agreed. He was eleven now, after all. “Well, it’s alright that you didn’t tell me. I probably would have been afraid of you. My dad probably wouldn’t have even let us leave the college.”

Harukar was silent for a moment, and Sarel worried he’d said something wrong. Then, he placed a large hand on Sarel’s back. “I honor your trust. I will do my best to be nothing but honest with you going forward.” 

“Thanks! I’ll do the same with you.” 

“Sarel,” came his father’s voice from the doorway. “Is everything alright in here?”

“Just having a small chat,” said Harukar. 

“About what?” 

“Harukar was just saying sorry for not telling me he was a vampire sooner,” Sarel explained. “But it’s alright. It’s like how Dexion didn’t know I was a Falmer, so he said some mean things. But it was just because he didn’t know.” 

“Right,” Aiden said after a short hesitation. “Well, it’s time to go. Let’s get your pack fitted.” 

It was a pleasantly warm day outside, at least to Sarel. His father still complained and shivered, but the ground was thawing. Sarel could practically feel Spring trying to escape the frozen crust of the earth. He used his guide staff as they made their way down the path, the clamor of Fort Dawnguard’s encampment fading behind them as they passed beneath its massive shadow. 

As sad as he was to be leaving, he was also excited. He was starting to get the hang of this “adventuring” thing. It was still scary, but each time got a little easier. 

He let go of his father’s hand for a moment, letting his staff swing wide, feeling it scrape across the dirt and catch on the longer blades of grass, bumping over pebbles. It wasn’t so bad.

“Very good, Sarel,” his father encouraged.

Sarel smiled.

Briefly his mind wandered to Gelebor and all the things Serana had said. He still didn’t quite understand how he himself proved that the Falmer weren’t “lost”. Was it because they were so rare and nobody had seen one before him? And what could they possibly need saving from? Maybe the Dwemer were still controlling them… or perhaps the Nords were still trying to kill them. But the Nords that Sarel had met so far had seemed fine. And as far as anyone knew, the Dwemer were long gone. It was all very confusing. 

Gelebor might know the answer, at least.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure just the one bed will be enough for yeh?” the innkeeper asked.

“We’re just here for a night. Passing through,” said Aiden. “My companion is a light sleeper, and my son is small. We’ll be fine.” He sure in Oblivion wasn’t going to be upsold for an unnecessary bed just to keep up appearances. 

“Well, let me know if you need anything else.” The Nord slid a large metal key across the counter. “The room is all yours for the night. Just drop the key in the box if you leave before dawn.”

“Is there a bathing facility, by chance?” 

“Er…” The innkeeper scratched at his beard. “There’s a spring-fed well out back. And a basin in your room. That’s all we’ve got, I’m afraid. You can heat the water in one of the pots on the hearth.”

Aiden forced a smile. “Thank you.” 

It had been over a decade since he’d left Winterhold. He’d apparently grown far too accustomed to the College’s magically heated baths and sophisticated plumbing system. It was easy to forget that the rest of Skyrim lived without the modern luxuries that many of the more metropolitan provinces took for granted. Poor sods. 

He turned to retrieve Sarel from where he sat with Harukar by the center hearth. He had one foot raised to the flames, flexing and bending his toes. 

“Sarel, please. Must you announce to the inn that you’re a shoeless miscreant?” 

“I was just warming my feet!” The painted eyes of Sarel’s mask stared up at Aiden, emotionless.

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t have to warm your feet if you agreed to wear some proper shoes.”

“Daaaad…” 

“I’m just reminding you of your options.” 

Harukar watched Aiden from where he reclined in one of the old wooden chairs, his eyes glittering in the flickering light of the fire. He wore a smarmy look on his face, as if everything Aiden said and did were amusing to him. 

“I chose the room with one bed, since you don’t sleep,” Aiden said, showing the room key in demonstration. 

Harukar smirked. “Very frugal of you.” 

“What’s frugal?” Sarel asked, reaching out and placing a hand against Harukar’s knee.

“It means to be very sensible with your money. Your father saved us coin by opting for the cheaper room with only one bed. Thus, he was frugal.”

Aiden bristled. When he put it like that it made him sound like a miser. “A nice vocabulary lesson,” he said through another forced smile. “Come along, Sarel. Let’s get washed up before dinner. Harukar, would you be able to fetch us some water from the well?”  

“Of course.” Harukar got to his feet, ruffling Sarel’s hair affectionately. “It would be my pleasure.” 

The room was small and dimly lit, the high windows letting in only a sliver of light from the fading sun. Sarel tapped his way around the room as Aiden unpacked their necessities for the night. Harukar joined them shortly with a full pitcher of ice cold water. Aiden shuddered as he dipped the tips of his fingers in. 

“We’ll get frostbite if we try to wash up with that. I swear, this town is about as rural as it gets. What’s its name again?” 

“Helgen,” Harukar replied. 

Right. Helgen. It had taken them three full days by carriage to get there, costing them more money than Aiden would have liked. His coin purse was growing lighter by the minute from the meager allotment Savos Aren had given him for the journey, and he had half the mind to stay an extra day in one of these backwater villages just to see if he could find an odd-job and make a few extra septims. Harukar seemed unconcerned, assuring Aiden that he was more than happy to help with the expenses, but, of course, it was easy for him to get by when he didn’t need to pay for things like food . For Harukar, there was a veritable buffett just beyond their bedroom door. 

But that did bring to light a fact that had been bugging Aiden for the past day at least: he’d had yet to see Harukar feed.

“Would you be able to fetch one of the metal pots from the hearth?” Aiden asked. The look Harukar gave him caused his ears to turn hot. “Sorry. Not to treat you like the errand boy…”

“It’s no problem,” Harukar assured with a small laugh. “Just giving you a hard time. I can heat the water at the hearth, too, if you’d like.”

“No, no. I’ll use magic for that. I just don’t want to crack the… lovely clay pitcher they’ve provided.”

“Artisanal craftsmanship,” Harukar agreed. “It has a rustic charm.” 

A bubbling laugh took Aiden by surprise. He coughed and turned his back to Harukar, heat creeping beneath his collar. “Thank you,” he added as an afterthought, but Harukar had already stepped out of the room.

“How long are we staying here?” Sarel asked as he tested the springiness of the bed. 

“Just for the night,” Aiden replied. 

This resulted in a great, heaving sigh. “Really?” Sarel whined, falling dramatically back against the thin mattress. “I’m so tired of riding in a carriage. It makes my stomach hurt. And my butt.” 

“Sarel, don’t say that,” Aiden scolded through a smirk.

“It does! My butt feels flat! Like the bottom of a paperweight.” He squirmed around until he was lying with his head hanging off the edge of the bed. “Can we please stay here longer than that?” 

“We can’t afford to.”

“Why not?” 

“Well, we’re running out of money. And we need enough for the return trip—” Aiden’s heart stuttered in his chest at the reminder. He’d be making the return trip alone. 

“Aiden, please,” Harukar said as he walked back into the room. He set the metal pot down and closed the door behind him. “I don’t want you to fret so much over expenses. Here.” He pulled his thick, dreaded locks over his shoulder and tugged at one of the decorative metal rings, sliding one off and offering it up. “Have this.” 

Aiden hesitated, holding his hands to his chest. “I don’t think it’ll look quite as good in my hair…”

“It’s solid gold,” Harukar explained. “Worth at least seventy-five septims. It’s an old form of banking,” he said with a laugh. 

Aiden’s eyes went wide, his gaze snapping up to count the rings in Harukar’s hair. There were at least six that he saw. No wonder the man didn’t worry for coin… “I… couldn’t possibly accept that.”

“It would put my mind at ease for you to take it. Please. At the very least, let us rest here for two nights. After Falkreath, the journey from here to Markarth is our longest stretch yet.” He reached forward and gently took one of Aiden’s hands into his own, pressing the golden ring into the center of his palm. “Rest. Regain your strength.” 

Aiden shuddered at the touch. Harukar was cold, like a corpse. It was… disturbing. He closed his fingers around the ring and pulled his hand away. “Thank you,” he murmured, unable to bring himself to look up. He didn’t like handouts, and he liked them even less when they were given to him by the undead. But, slowly, realization dawned… 

He’s giving me more time with Sarel.

A small, sad smile crossed Aiden’s face and he forced himself to meet Harukar’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said again, this time no more than a whisper. 

Harukar smiled in return and took a step back. 

“So…” Sarel said from the bed. “We’re staying more than just one night?” 

“It appears so,” Aiden said with a small laugh. 

“Yay!” Sarel kicked his feet in the air, then twisted around to lie on his stomach. “Can I have a new lesson? Please, dad? I’ve wanted another lesson so bad and we haven’t gotten a chance at all!” 

“Alright,” Aiden agreed, still a little stunned. “After we clean up and have dinner.”

Sarel let out another cheer and Aiden’s heart managed to feel full for the first time in weeks. They washed their arms up to their elbows and around their necks, sighing at the delightful, magical heat of the water. Sarel even washed his feet by his own volition and Aiden refrained from making any comments. 

They settled around the lone desk in the corner and Aiden let Sarel take the lead for the lesson: reviewing everything he’d learned so far, showing his father how to keep track of the lines, reading the first few sentences of the Anuad (which he’d most certainly memorized). Aiden put him to the task of reading another full sentence, then stood back to watch him puzzle it out, full to the brim with pride. He caught Harukar’s eye from across the room and offered a half-smile. The man sat reclined in one of the shoddy armchairs in the corner, reading a book of his own. He simply nodded with a smile, then went back to reading. 

It was a moment of peace—a ceasefire. Though, as Aiden watched Sarel work his small fingers across the page, he realized that perhaps he’d been far too unkind over the duration of the journey thus far. He’d been so focused on the idea of losing Sarel that he’d neglected to take into consideration that he should enjoy this journey with his son. He’d also neglected to recognize the effort on Harukar’s part to give him as much time with Sarel as they could excuse. The detour at Fort Dawnguard hadn’t just been for Sarel’s benefit. 

And perhaps… Perhaps he could reason with Gelebor. Appeal to his better senses. Surely you couldn’t take a child from his home? And Gelebor would agree, because what mer with a heart wouldn’t? And then they’d be able to make the return trip to Winterhold together. Savos Aren wouldn’t be pleased, but he couldn’t turn them out a second time. Aiden did what was asked of them, and the great Telvanni’s plan failed, because of course it did. How could he have possibly expected a complete stranger to adopt a child with such special needs like Sarel? 

Aiden smiled to himself as hope and excitement blossomed behind his sternum, warming him to his toes. He had a plan. At long last, he felt in control. 

“Can I sit on the front porch and read?” Sarel asked, clutching his book to his chest. “I promise I won’t leave the porch, and I’ll just sit in the corner and be real quiet.”

“I don’t know, Sarel,” his father replied. The tone of his voice told Sarel that the answer was ‘no’, but he wanted to make it seem like it was up for debate. “The front porch has a lot of foot traffic. Lots of people coming and going. I don’t want you to get scooped up and carried away.”

“I won’t!” Sarel argued. “I’m just so bored in here.” 

Their bedroom had been nice for the evening. The warm bed was a hundred times better than sleeping in the back of a drafty, rickety cart, and it was nice to not feel like a wolf was going to jump out and eat them at a moment’s notice. But after a good night’s sleep and a yummy breakfast, Sarel was feeling restless. 

“Well, I can come sit with you for a while, I suppose…”

“You don’t have to!” Sarel insisted. “I got to sit by myself at Fort Dawnguard all the time. I was fine then.”

“Yes, but this isn’t Fort Dawnguard. This is a town with lots of strangers and people we don’t know.” 

“I promise I’ll stay in one spot and not go anywhere. And then if someone tries to scoop me up I’ll scream really loud.”

“Why do you want to sit by yourself so badly, hmm?” Aiden asked, and Sarel had really hoped he wouldn’t ask that question. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know…” It was a truthful answer. Sarel really didn’t know why he wanted it. “I just want to.” 

“It’s important to know your own wants and motivations. To put a name to them.” It sounded like the beginning of a lecture, and Sarel deflated. 

“Aiden,” came Harukar’s voice from across the room. “Let the boy. He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah! Let the boy!” Sarel echoed.

To his surprise, his father laughed, but then said: “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I’ll keep my mask on and I won’t talk to anyone. Even if they try to talk to me first,” Sarel bargained as a last-ditch effort.  

Aiden let out a long sigh. “You certainly are determined…”

Sarel heard Harukar laugh a little. There was a beat of silence, then his father sighed again. 

“Alright,” he said, sounding utterly exasperated. “But I’ll be checking on you every five or ten minutes. A fair deal?” 

“Fair deal!” Sarel exclaimed, jumping up and feeling for his guide staff. He then grabbed his mask where it hung on the bedpost, securing its strings around the backs of his ears, and finally tapped his way over to the door. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Aiden helped lead Sarel through the main room. The rising chatter of voices and soft thump of footsteps caused Sarel to feel a twinge of nervousness tickling his stomach. He tightened his grip on his father’s hand involuntarily.   

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Aiden asked.

“Yeah. I do.” 

The air outside was much colder than inside, but Sarel didn’t flinch when they opened the front door. He took a deep breath and smiled to himself behind the mask. The sounds of the village were both foreign and familiar—the metallic ping and shush that he now knew meant there was a blacksmith nearby, the clucking of chickens, the murmur of distant voices, and… the laughter of children.

Sarel’s heart thudded hard against his rib cage.

“Alright, how about right over here in this corner?” his father was saying. “There’s a bench here and I can look out the window to check on you.”

“Alright,” Sarel said, almost too softly.

“Is everything alright, Sarel?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Want me to stay out here with you?” 

“No.” Sarel was determined. He’d asked for this. He needed it, even if he wasn’t sure why. 

He let go of Aiden’s hand and felt his way over to the bench, running his fingers across the smooth, warped wood. There was a dip in the center of the bench, and Sarel made himself laugh thinking about all the butts that had to have sat down here to make the bench warp like that. He readjusted the grip on his seeing staff, then gingerly sat down on. It wasn’t as comfortable as the bed. 

“Here’s your book.”

Sarel took the Anuad and ran the pad of his thumb over the stiff corners, one by one, enjoying the sensation. He opened the first page and ran his fingers across the now-familiar first sentence and sighed. “Alright, you can go now.” 

His father let out another small chuckle. It was the most Sarel had heard his dad laugh in weeks. It made him smile, too. 

“I’ll be just inside,” said Aiden. “You can call for me if you need anything.” 

“Alright.” 

“Stay on the bench.”

“Alright.” 

He felt Aiden’s large hand grasp one of his shoulders, then his warm lips pressed against the top of Sarel’s head. 

“I love you,” his father said. 

“I love you, too.” 

Sarel listened carefully as his father stepped away. The sound of the front door opening, then closing. He stayed still for a moment longer, listening intently, making sure that his father wasn’t just pretending to have gone inside. Then, with another smile, Sarel pulled his feet up onto the bench to sit cross-legged and began to read in earnest. It took him quite a while, but he managed to puzzle out the next two sentences: 

Nir became pregnant, but before she gave birth, Padomay returned, professing his love for Nir. She told him that she loved only Anu, and Padomay beat her in rage.

Sarel frowned, his fingers tracing over the words multiple times to make sure he’d read that right. He knew “pregnant”, as Colette had gently explained to him last year that, sometimes, when two people fall in love they decide to have a baby. She hadn’t told him how they made a baby, (probably through magic, because the baby somehow ended up in the mother’s tummy), but she’d spoken about it with a kind of sad reverence. “It’s life’s most profound form of alchemy,” she’d said. So why would Padomay beat Nir over such a beautiful thing? 

Sarel hastily moved onto the next sentence:

Anu returned, fought Padomay, and cast him outside Time. Nir gave birth to Creation, but died from her injuries soon after. Anu, grieving, hid himself in the sun and slept.  

The same crushing sadness returned that Sarel felt when Serana had told him Gelebor’s brother had been killed. Poor Nir. Poor Anu… 

“How can you read through that mask?” 

Sarel let out a startled yelp, closing his book and pressing himself flat against the wall behind him.

“Sorry!” the voice said. It was a high-pitched voice. Another kid? “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sarel wasn’t sure what to do or say. He’d told his father that he wouldn’t talk to anyone, even if they started talking to him first. But… this sounded like someone his age. He’d never gotten to talk to other children before… 

“It’s fine,” Sarel said quietly, hesitantly. 

“So,” the voice continued. “How can you read through that mask?”

“Oh…” Sarel reached up to run his fingers over the front of the mask. “I’m blind. So I can’t see anything anyways. The mask doesn’t really matter.”

“How can you read if you’re blind?” 

“It’s the Sightless Alphabet!” Sarel explained, suddenly excited. He opened the book in his lap and ran his fingers along the page. “I can feel what the words say.”

“Whoa…” He felt the person move closer, lean into his space. They smelled sweet, like flowers. “I’m just now learning to read, but it’s really hard. My parents moved here from Bruma before I was born. They said everyone in Cyrodiil can read, and that I need to learn, too, but I think they’re lying. How can everyone know how to read?”

“Uh,” Sarel said, his own pulse thumping in his ears like a pounding drum. 

“My name’s Camilla, by the way. My family lives in Riverwood, but my pa comes to Helgen once a week to trade and get supplies for our store. Me and my brother come along sometimes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. Are you new?” Camilla let out a small gasp. “Are you an elf?”  

“Um…” Sarel shrunk away, closing his book again. “Yeah?” 

“I’ve never seen a kid elf before!” Camilla exclaimed. Sarel felt her sit down beside him on the bench. “Where are you from?”

“The College of Winterhold.”

“No, I mean, what kind of elf are you? Are you an Altmer or a Bosmer? I know all the different kinds of elves.” 

“I’m… an… Altmer,” Sarel lied. He felt bad for lying, but what if everyone thought what Dexion did? He didn’t want to scare away his brand new friend. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Oh, sorry. Um, my name is Sarel.” 

“Nice to meet you, Sarel,” Camilla said with a giggle in her voice. “Do you live in Helgen now?” 

“No, we’re just passing through.” 

“Aww…”

“Yeah, I wish we could stay longer. My butt hurts from the carriage rides—it’s been flattened down like a paperweight from all the sitting.”

Camilla laughed heartily, and Sarel laughed with her. He knew she’d appreciate his joke more than his father had.

“Where are you going?” 

“Um… I don’t actually know. I just know we’re going to meet another elf named Gelebor. He’s—” Sarel cut himself off, suddenly realizing that, not only had he completely broken his promise to his father, but that he was about to share secrets with a complete stranger. 

“He’s what?” Camilla pressed. 

“... very old.” 

“Aren’t all elves?” 

“I’m not!” Sarel said with a laugh. “I’m only eleven.”

“I’m ten! So you’re still older than me.” 

“Camilla!” came a new voice. It wasn’t that of an older person, but it didn’t sound quite so young either. “What are you doing? Who’s the weirdo in the mask?” 

“Shut up, Lucan!” Camilla called back. “This is Sarel. He’s an elf and he knows how to read an invisible alphabet.” 

“Um…” Sarel wanted to correct her, that it wasn’t invisible , but his voice suddenly felt very small.

“You shouldn’t be talking to knife-ears and you know it,” said Lucan. “Not after what they did to Uncle Livius.”

Sarel felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. Knife-ears? His stomach squirmed with unnamed dread.

“Stop it,” Camilla protested weakly. “I’ll tell pa…”

“I’ll tell pa you’re talking to weirdo knife-ears in masks.” 

“Stop saying that!” 

Sarel wanted to go back inside. He grasped for his seeing staff and tucked  his book beneath his other arm, then got to his feet. 

“Is that a weapon?” asked Lucan. “Are you gonna hit me?” 

“N-no! I-I need it to help me see,” Sarel tried to explain, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He felt the vibrations of Lucan stepping up onto the porch, striding towards him. He was too paralyzed with fear to move. 

“Lucan STOP!” Camilla screamed as Lucan ripped the staff from Sarel’s hand.

“And take off that stupid mask!” 

A burst of pain and a blast of cold air hit Sarel’s face as the mask was knocked from his head with a firm whack, leaving a ringing in his right ear. He heard Camilla gasp.

“Ew! What the—!?” Lucan sputtered. “It’s not an elf!” He let out a nervous laugh. “It’s some kind of… goblin or something.” 

“He said he was an Altmer!” Camilla said, though her voice was fainter. She’d moved away. 

“Leave me alone!” Sarel demanded. His entire body trembled with fear. 

“Or what?” Lucan pressed, stepping closer again. “Or what, freak?” He pushed one of Sarel’s shoulders hard, nearly causing him to trip backwards. He dropped his book.

At the sound of his precious book hitting the hard wood, his timidity recoiled like a spring. The fear morphed into something primitive—an instinct to survive—and Sarel let out a wet snarl, a sound he didn’t even know he could make. A hot and tingly feeling roiled to life just behind his belly button and ripped through his arms and into his fingers. He lunged forward to push Lucan backwards, only to get him to go away, but the hot-tingly surged outwards and there was a loud crackling noise. Lucan screamed. 

The door to the inn burst open to Sarel’s left.

“Sarel!” came his father’s voice, and Sarel immediately retreated, scampering away from Lucan and bumping into the wall behind him. 

“What the hell is that thing!?” said a different voice—an adult—and Sarel let out a sob, curling into a ball and hiding his face in his arms. 

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, I’m here.” His father was in front of him, shielding him. “It’s okay, Sarel, it’s alright.”

“It attacked the Valerius boy!” 

“Is it a goblin?”

“What’s that elf doing with it?” 

“Enough.”

Sarel recognized the final voice as Harukar’s, just audible over the thumping of his own heartbeat. His father had gone very still in front of him, barely breathing. The noise around them had settled into an eerie silence. 

“We’re all civilized here, aren’t we?” Harukar asked, and his voice sounded strange. There was something else there, like a low droning hum, pulsing in a hypnotic beat. It made Sarel feel calm. “This was simply a misunderstanding.” 

“A misunderstanding…” One of the other voices agreed. 

“We’re heading out of town shortly,” Harukar continued. “So there’s no need for alarm.” 

“No need for alarm,” another voice repeated. 

Sarel felt his father’s arms wrap around his waist, scooping him up into his arms. Sarel clung to him with all his might, burying his face against his father’s neck and twisting his robes between his fists. The sounds of the outside disappeared as Aiden rushed them back into the inn, past the crackling hearthfire, and into their room. It was only after he heard the heavy door clicking shut that Sarel let himself cry. 

Chapter Text

It began to rain as they made their way out of Helgen, darkening the landscape of Falkreath hold and filling the air with the smell of petrichor. The carriage driver had raised the cover before they’d left, and while Aiden was thankful for the protection from the elements, nothing could prevent him from still feeling a bit soggy as the moisture worked its way into the wooden carriage seats. 

Sarel had been curled up by his side for the last half hour, silent. His knees were tucked beneath his cloak, chin resting against them. He’d put his mask back on and refused to take it off, even when Aiden had assured him that it was safe. The silence between the three of them was starting to grow oppressive and Aiden let out a loud exhale as he stretched. 

“The forests through here are really beautiful, Sarel,” he said. “The trees are nearly as tall as the highest tower at the College. And the woods are thick and dark. Hear how quiet everything is?” 

Sarel didn’t respond. 

“I saw a family of foxes just off the road. A mother and her two cubs. Remember the story Colette used to read to you about Lorkhan taking the shape of a fox?” 

Sarel simply shifted his weight and let out a sniff as the rain continued to gently patter against the canvas roof. 

Aiden finally broke. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He pulled Sarel against him. “I should never have left you out there by yourself.”

“I was making a friend…” Sarel whispered. 

Aiden’s heart stuttered in his chest. Damn this world and all its unkindness. He’s just a child…  

“I’m sure it would have worked out alright if you had been able to explain who you were and what you looked like on your own terms,” Harukar said. He reclined on the carriage seat across from them, long legs outstretched. The hood of his thick cloak was pulled down over his eyes, shielding him from what little sun might have made it through the thick, gray cloud cover. “That young boy took the option away from you. It was unfair of him.” 

Aiden fixed him with a flat stare, but Sarel lifted his head.

“Do you think so?”

“I know so. I’m very familiar with that kind of situation. When I’ve been unable to explain my condition in the past before someone figures it out, people have often reacted out of fear. Usually that involves violence. But sometimes—not every time, mind you—when I’m able to calmly explain things, then the situation tends to be settled with much more civility. All it takes is genuine honesty and a little bit of vulnerability.”

Sarel uncurled his legs and let out a sigh. “But… there’s always a chance that people will react badly?” 

Harukar was silent for a moment as he made brief eye contact with Aiden. He looked weary, his dark, ashen complexion appearing even more colorless than usual. “Yes. There is always a chance.”  

Sarel let out a tremendous groan, but reached up to remove his mask. “It was making my face feel sticky,” he explained, wiping a hand across his mouth and nose. 

“The best thing you can do is be prepared,” Harukar continued, leaning forward against his knees to speak more directly to Sarel. “You cannot control the actions of others, but you can control how you react.” 

“I hurt Lucan,” Sarel whispered. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“You performed magic,” Aiden said. “How did you manage that?”

“I dunno,” Sarel said, rubbing at the sealed creases where his eyes might have once opened.

“Well, what did it feel like?” 

“Um… it was like a hot and tingly feeling. It started in my belly. Right here.” He pointed just above his navel. “And then it went down my arms and out my fingers. But I was madder than I’ve ever been before in my life. If that’s what it takes to use magic, then I don’t know if I wanna…” He pulled his feet back up on the bench, wrapping his arms around his shins and tucking his chin over his knees. “I wanna heal people, I don’t wanna hurt them.” 

Aiden hummed thoughtfully, running a hand over Sarel’s back. “Well, what if I try to teach you a Restoration spell tonight? Once we get settled in Falkreath.”

“Colette has tried teaching me Restoration spells before,” Sarel lamented. “It never works.” 

“Yes, well…. maybe we can try something different this time?” He slid his fingers between Sarel’s chin and his knees and tapped lightly. “Chin up.”

Sarel offered the barest hint of a smile.

It was dark by the time the carriage came to a halt at the Falkreath stables. The rain had stopped, but mist hung heavy in the air, drifting through the trees that towered over them on either side. The sound of nighttime insects whirled through the treetops and underbrush in a great symphony. Sarel clutched Aiden’s hand tightly as they made their way towards the city gate, his shoulders trembling and bare feet squishing in the mud. 

“State your business,” the waterlogged guard demanded, though his voice was edged with exhaustion.  

“Travelers on our way to Markarth,” Harukar said. “We seek shelter for the evening. We’ll be leaving in the morning.”

The guard offered a curt nod to them before nodding to another guard across the way. Together they pushed open the massive wooden gates and allowed the three to pass through. 

The city of Falkreath, while certainly bigger than Helgen, still felt small and rural. An hour past sunset, and nearly every shop on the main road was closed and shuttered. It was a beautiful town even in the gloom of the dark, rainy night, though Aiden couldn’t help but feel spooked by the deep shadows that slithered in the corners of his vision. Falkreath was creepy. It didn’t help that the first tavern they managed to come across was called Dead Man’s Drink.  

Inside, the tavern was about as lively as its name suggested. A lone barkeep stood watch at the far end of the room, while a man with a lute played to exactly one person sitting near the center hearthfire. 

“I’ll secure us a room,” Harukar said, placing a firm hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Warm yourselves by the fire.”

Sarel’s trembling had not yet subsided, so Aiden pulled him into his lap as they sat down near the hearth. He mumbled assurances into Sarel’s ear along with brief descriptions of the room around them. There’s hardly anyone here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.

Harukar returned shortly and they all shuffled into their room for the evening without a word between them. Sarel tapped his way half-heartedly around the room to orient himself before collapsing onto the bed, his mask still on.

“Did you want to try to learn some spells, my love?” Aiden asked, taking a seat beside him and running a hand up and down his back. 

“No,” came Sarel’s muffled reply. “Too tired.” 

Aiden gently plucked at the ties of the mask and slid it from Sarel’s face, smoothing his soft white hair down affectionately. “Well, let’s get you out of those damp clothes and into something more comfortable, hmm? And let’s clean those muddy feet.”

Once Sarel was clean, in dry clothes, and beneath the covers, Aiden selected a book for them to read for the evening. Again, the options in the inn were limited, but he eventually settled on Azura and the Box:

“Nchylbar had enjoyed an adventurous youth, but had grown to be a very wise, very old Dwemer who spent his life searching for the truth and dispelling superstitions. He invented much and created many theorems and logic structures that bore his name. But much of the world still puzzled him, and—Where are you going?” Aiden asked when Harukar suddenly got to his feet and moved towards the door. 

“I have an acquaintance here that I’d like to visit.” He offered a tired smile. “I won’t be gone long. An hour at the most.”

“An acquaintance? Here?” 

“Indeed. My work with the Dawnguard has taken me all over Skyrim. Due to the nature of my condition, I try to make as many friends along the way as I can manage.” 

Aiden chewed at the insides of his cheeks, but gave a nod before returning his attention to the book. He certainly wasn’t the man’s keeper. It was none of his business whatever… business Harukar might have in this gloomy town. And with whom. 

Aiden cleared his throat and continued: “But much of the world still puzzled him, and nothing was a greater enigma to him than the nature of the Aedra and Daedra. Over the course of his research, he came to the conclusion that many of the Gods were entirely fabricated by man and mer.”

Aiden continued to read aloud until the very end, lost in the pages of the story. Sarel had curled himself into a little ball beneath the thick quilt, his face half hidden. His breathing was even enough for Aiden to suspect he’d drifted off. Quietly, he set the book down on the bedside table, pushed out of the chair, and padded from the room. 

The lone lute player was still going at it, and Aiden would have spared him a septim if he’d had a septim to spare. Instead, he wandered over to the bar and ordered the largest cup of their cheapest ale before tucking himself away at the table nearest to their room. 

The first sip of ale tasted like a slap to the face and Aiden shuddered. It was so bitter his cheeks puckered in protest, but he forced another swig, and by the third, he’d acclimated to the bitterness enough to allow his mind to wander. Namely to Sarel. The distressing encounter in Helgen from that morning was still a fresh wound. Sarel was a resilient boy, but Aiden was beginning to wonder how many wounds like that one child could endure. Harukar’s little speech about ‘being prepared’ had felt too harsh for someone so young. But, then again, it was becoming more and more difficult to shield Sarel from the ever-encroaching reality of his situation. Sure enough, it was beginning to feel like a disservice to continue to keep the truth from him. But how could Aiden even begin to untangle the thick web of lies and half-truths he’d woven around Sarel like a cocoon? 

‘The truth will always seem more difficult. But it is worth telling.’

Yes, alright, Harukar , Aiden thought bitterly, taking another long pull of his ale. The man seemed to be an endless font of anecdotes and advice. It was getting tiring. But for all his noble intentions, he’d shown some of his true colors that morning. His little mind trick had allowed them to leave Helgen without fuss, but it didn’t make it any less disturbing to witness. It was dark magic to control another being’s mind like that. Truly the tactic of a vampire. Aiden would have thought Harukar might’ve been above using such methods. Regardless, he continued to prove his care for Sarel, and Aiden could not bear him a grudge for that. 

He lifted his head as the front door opened, and immediately his heart thudded against his ribs as Harukar strode back into the inn. Surely it hadn’t been an hour already? He looked different somehow—renewed—as if he’d gotten a full night’s sleep or had a good….

Meal.  

Aiden’s stomach dropped, wriggling squeamishly against the revelation. Of course… There was no “acquaintance”. Harukar had excused himself to go feed. Those bright eyes landed on Aiden and he swallowed the lump in his throat as Harukar strode over to the table. 

“Is Sarel asleep?” he asked with a soft smile. Aiden checked for any signs of blood clinging to his teeth. 

“Yes.” 

Harukar sat down on the bench with a sigh. “Good. He deserves the rest.”  

“Mhmm,” Aiden agreed wordlessly, taking a sip of his ale. Should he bring it up? Or should he act like he didn’t notice? He hazarded a look out of the corner of his eye, mortified to see Harukar staring at him. His expression had shifted. 

“Ah… you figured it out,” he said after a moment. 

Aiden coughed into his fist and straightened up. “You left the inn looking haggard and world-weary, and you returned looking as fresh as a schoolboy. It’s not subtle.” He knocked back the last of the ale then dabbed his mouth with the corner of his sleeve, head spinning. “I can only hope whatever poor sod you chose had a good run, at least.” 

To his surprise, Harukar blanched, eyes going wide. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before he let out a heavy sigh. “I… thought that I’d made my stance and my practices more clear to you. My apologies. Let me attempt to better explain.” He took a deep breath through his nose, and Aiden couldn’t help but wonder if Harukar needed to breathe at all, or if it was simply force of habit. 

“For those with my condition, there are certain… realities that one must accept. And one of those realities is the necessity of feeding. However, I made a pact with myself long ago that I only work with consenting individuals and avoid taking anything by force.”

Aiden quirked a brow. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any more noble,” he muttered. The buzz of the ale had his tongue loose. “That seems complicated.”

“I assure you, it isn’t,” Harukar said with an almost sad smile. “It just takes patience. Persistence.” 

“So your ‘acquaintance’?” 

“A young woman here in town by the name of Narri. I met her when Serana and I were traveling through the hold this past fall. We had been staking out a vampire nest nearby. Once it had been dealt with, we stayed in Falkreath for the night.” He laughed to himself. “Narri spotted us from across the inn and kept offering to buy me a drink. By the fourth time I’d declined, I felt that I had to give her an explanation.”

Aiden felt unwanted heat creep along the back of his neck. “And how did she take the news?” 

“She was rightfully frightened at first, but more so fascinated. She spent most of the evening asking Serana and I question after question. Lovely, inquisitive spirit.” 

“So how does it work?” Aiden blurted out, and he couldn’t help but feel the question was terribly inappropriate. 

“Feeding?” Harukar clarified. 

“Yes. Do you just…?” He made a biting motion, clacking his teeth together.

To his surprise Harukar laughed a little. “No, no… well. Yes. Sort of. It’s ah—” 

“Why not just have them bleed into a cup for you?” Aiden looked around the inn, suddenly self-conscious. Should they be discussing this in public? Nobody seemed to be paying them any mind. 

“It is an option, but a poor one. And a bit of a last-resort. It is best if blood comes directly from the person. That, and I prefer not to…” Harukar swirled his hand in the air, as if searching for the word. “Depersonalize the situation. It requires a tremendous amount of trust, and I value that. It’s an exchange of life force. I consider it a tremendous honor to be allowed to feed from another being. I want to treat it as such.”

Once again, Aiden’s cheeks burned for no reason. “How do you make sure they don’t also turn into vampires?”

As if prepared for that exact question, Harukar dipped his thumbs beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out an ornate pendant. “I give them this to wear. It’s enchanted to protect the wearer from contracting any magical afflictions—vampirism as well as lycanthropy. Otherwise, a basic potion to stop the disease before it spreads works fine.”

Aiden’s head swam with the influx of new information. Or maybe it was the ale. “Why didn’t you ask me?” he asked, and when his brain finally caught up with his mouth, he flushed hot with shame all the way down to his toes. 

Harukar was giving him a very serious look, completely devoid of mirth.    

“How’d you become a vampire, anyway?” Aiden hastily added, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “You go through so much trouble to make sure you’re… the opposite of what a vampire usually is. So how’d—?” He let out a small burp and covered his mouth. “Oh, sorry. Divines, I’m—” He looked down into his empty ale mug with a scowl. “That ale was stronger than I thought it would be.” To his great relief Harukar laughed.   

“It’s a long story,” he said. 

“Well, I’ve nowhere else to be.” 

Harukar tugged at his beard with a hum. “Are you familiar with the Ash’abah warriors?” 

Aiden shook his head. 

“In my culture, it is incredibly taboo to desecrate the dead. This includes taking up arms against the undead. But, as you know, the undead must be dealt with, taboo or no. The Ash’abah fulfill this role. However, because of this, we— they were considered outcasts from society. When you join the Ash’abah, you elect to remove yourself from all familial ties, so that you do not bring the curse of Tu’whacca upon your house.”  

Aiden nodded, even though he didn’t quite understand. It felt ridiculous to refuse to fight the undead. They were not sacred; they were abominations. Or… most of them were. 

“Sparing you the details of my youth, I was very passionate when it came to eliminating the undead. I had no qualms joining the Ash’abah. I saw it as not only a necessity for the health and wellness of our people, but as a great honor. To the rest of Hammerfell, however, we were considered blasphemous. Unclean.”

“A thankless job,” Aiden agreed. It got Harukar to laugh again and heat returned to Aiden’s ears.

“Truly. As you might imagine, it put me in close proximity with the undead quite often. I was very careful, and very lucky, for the first seven years of fighting with the warriors. And I enjoyed the work, despite it all. We were, in a way, our own kind of family. I loved my tribe so dearly.” He looked wistfully down at the table. “I’m sure you can infer what happened, but suffice to say, I slipped up. I was careless. Foolish. So very foolish… When I was bitten, I didn’t take the time to properly cleanse myself. Mostly because I was in denial. I wanted to believe I was stronger than I was, against something I, quite honestly, had no control over. It is no moral failing to contract a disease, which was something I did not understand at the time…” He looked up to meet Aiden’s eyes. “But the onset of vampirism is not so different from a particularly nasty cold. Headaches, fever, sensitivity to light. Easy to brush off in the beginning. But the difference is… the dreams. ” 

Aiden swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. He wished he had more ale to drink. 

“I saw many disturbing things during my time with the Ash’abah. Nightmares were not uncommon among us. But… the nightmares of vampirism are—” He cut himself off and averted his gaze, his jaw locking tight. “They still come. Fortunately, I do not need to sleep often. But when I do…” He dissolved into silence, and Aiden was left to imagine what possible horrors would leave a vampire speechless.

He continued: “By the time I’d accepted what was happening to me, it was already too late. I was expelled by my fellow warriors. Or, I should say, they attempted to cleanse me. So I ran. Even sick with vampirism, my instinct to survive was as strong as ever. I fought the curse at first, though it was torturous. I even considered starving myself, to rid the world of another vampire. But the hunger… It was too strong. I succumbed. And I fed. ” Harukar’s long dreads hid his expression as he slouched over the table. “The first time, I had no control. It was like I’d lost all sense of myself, everything I’d ever fought for… I—” When he looked over briefly, there was a glisten to his eyes, possibly a trick of the light, Aiden wasn’t sure. “I made a pact, after that first time. That if I was to live like this, it would be on my terms—by my own code.” 

They descended into silence. Even the lute player had gone to bed, leaving nothing but the crackling pops of the hearthfire to fill the quiet. 

“Why not seek a cure?” Aiden asked after a moment. “There have been mages at the College, even, who were searching for such a thing. Surely a cure must exist.”

Harukar nodded though his gaze remained glued to the table. “Yes.” He straightened, ran a hand across his mouth, along his jaw. “There is a man here in Skyrim who claims to have the cure. I visited him. He is also a Redguard, though not Hammerfell born.”

“Falion,” Aiden said. When Harukar gave him a surprised look, he continued: “He was the Conjuration master at the College until fairly recently. Left to pursue his studies elsewhere. He and Savos Aren, ah… butted heads, to say the very least.” Aiden adjusted his glasses. “So, he’s finally managed to find a cure. Why didn’t you accept it?” 

“I couldn’t go through with it,” Harukar said. His shoulders sagged as he slouched against the table once more. “Not when I discovered the cost.” 

Aiden waited a beat before pressing. “Which was…?” 

Harukar looked at him with wet eyes, a profound sadness etched into the lines of his face, as if he’d truly wished Aiden hadn’t asked. 

“A soul for a soul.”

Chapter Text

It was six grueling days on the road before they finally reached Markarth. Sarel hadn’t slept well for any of those nights, except for the one night they stayed at a place called the Old Hroldan Inn. It smelled like a barn, and he had to keep his mask on the entire time, biting his tongue when the humans were talking about “Forsworn and Falmer attacks”. Apparently people also believed that Falmer were snatching babies out of cradles and killing livestock! It was so frustrating. Each new revelation of what people really thought about the Falmer made Sarel want to curl into a ball and hide. And the worst of it was, they didn’t even know that he was Falmer because his father wouldn’t let him take off his mask. He could prove them wrong! But instead, he was forced to sit in silence. 

He couldn’t help but replay what had happened in Helgen over and over again in his mind, how he could have reacted differently, what he could have said differently. In his imaginings he’d been braver, cleverer, more cunning. He hadn’t lied about being an Altmer. He’d been confident and taken off his mask first. The choice was taken away from you. I’m sure it would have worked out alright if you’d been able to explain… Sarel wanted to believe Harukar’s words were true, but his resolve was faltering. How was he supposed to live in a world that hated him before even knowing him? And even if he was given the chance to explain himself, people still might want to hurt him. It seemed impossible and unfair. He just wanted to go home. 

Now, approaching the city of Markarth, dread squirmed in Sarel’s stomach like a knot of worms. His senses had been dulled by the constant drone of rushing water from the nearby river, giving him the jitters and leaving him disoriented and tired. After passing through the city gates, the droning only got worse. 

The air was damp. Misty droplets clung to his hair and skin, causing the mask to rub against his flat nose in uncomfortable new ways. His father’s hand crushed his own as he pulled Sarel along. The ground was uneven, and the chatter of people surrounded him on all sides—more people than he’d ever heard in one place—their voices mingling with the crashing falls and folding into an all-encompassing cacophony of gibberish. It was a small relief when Sarel was finally pulled through a doorway and out of the constant barrage of noise.

The relief was short-lived, however, as the noise inside the building was just as loud. The sound of laughter, an off-key flute, the scrape of chairs and the stomp of feet, the slurp of mouths, wet coughs and sneezes and snorts. He pressed the side of his face against his father’s stomach with a low whine and covered his other ear with his hand, pressing his palm tight to make a seal. Aiden’s hand covered his own, pulling him more firmly against him, and he felt the vibrations of his father’s voice as he instructed Harukar to request a room. Sarel continued to whine softly, the hum of his own voice overpowering the constant buzz around him, morphing it into something manageable.

After a moment he was pulled along again. It forced him to remove his hand from his ear, and the noise returned in full force, swelling into something so massive inside Sarel’s head that he couldn’t help but start sobbing. Finally, after tripping up a short set of steps, the noise faded as he was pulled into another room and a heavy door was closed behind them. He pulled away from his father and ripped the mask from his face as he collapsed onto the floor, his sides heaving with great sobs. 

“Sarel, please,” his father implored, trying to pull him up off the floor. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

It was an impossible question to answer. What wasn’t wrong? “I wanna go home,” Sarel managed to gasp before dissolving into more frantic weeping. 

“He’s overstimulated,” his father said quietly. “He just needs to be left alone for a moment.” 

Suddenly, large, strong arms surrounded Sarel, scooping him up as if he weighed nothing. It was so startling that he immediately stopped crying. Harukar smelled like oiled leather and earth, and Sarel clung to him instinctually, wrapping his arms around Harukar’s shoulders and burying his face against his neck. His hair scratched at Sarel’s face, stiff and foreign, but still soft. His skin was cold. He carried Sarel for a few steps before sitting down and adjusting his grip, pulling Sarel into a more comfortable position in his lap. 

Sarel sniffed loudly as his pulse began to slow. Once he’d turned nine, his father had said he was too big to be held like this anymore. Colette had still tried every now and then, but she was small even for a human, and Sarel’s arms and legs always felt unruly and too-long. But Harukar was broad and firm. What he lacked in warmth he made up for in strength, and despite the chill of his touch, the skin of Harukar’s neck began to grow warm beneath the press of Sarel’s overheated face. The strange vampiric aura that he usually found unsettling washed over Sarel in slow, pulsing waves. Soon, his breathing evening out and his arms relaxed. He slid them from Harukar’s shoulders and tucked them against his own chest, shifting to get more comfortable.

“Would you like to take a nap?” Harukar asked quietly, the rumble of his voice like the purr of a large cat. 

Sarel could only hum his affirmation, the mere idea of sleep already relaxing his exhausted body. He heard movement in the room—his father shuffling their belongings around. It was soothing in a mundane sort of way, and for a moment Sarel pretended that they were back at the College of Winterhold, back in his and his father’s room. 

Harukar’s arms shifted around him, and Sarel’s head slid down to rest against his chest. A slow, steady rhythm nearly lulled him to sleep until realization sparked, waking him enough to say:

“You have a heartbeat.” It came out as a whisper. 

“I do,” Harukar said. A large hand brushed the hair away from Sarel’s face. “I always have.” 

“Oh,” was the only response Sarel could give. He swallowed and tucked his chin against his chest. Heaving one great sigh, the last of the tension left his body and sleep followed soon after.

Chapter Text

Aiden’s hands were shaking.

He had attempted to unpack their necessities for the night, but quickly excused himself from the room shortly after giving up. Any time he’d looked over to see Sarel sleeping peacefully in Harukar’s lap, rage exploded in his chest.

Why?

Once out of the room, he made a direct line for the large bar in the center of the tavern, sliding onto one of the hard metal seats and pulling a few coins from his pocket. He felt guilty for spending their precious little coin on booze, but the feeling was overruled by the nameless anger and his desperate desire to drown it out. It was most likely the strain of travel wearing him thin; the mental strain of being uprooted, thrown from his routine, forced from safety and comfort into the wild unknown. The looming possibility of losing his son…

He just needed to take the edge off. 

“Whatever’s strongest,” he mumbled in the direction of the barkeep, placing his money on the bar.  

The man was a grizzled, bulging Nord who looked at Aiden with undisguised distaste. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the coins on the bar before looking back up at Aiden. The expression on his face was as if the coins smelled sour. “I don’t need you causing trouble in my inn, gold-skin.”

Aiden jolted upright, shocked out of his own internal drama as his pulse spiked. “I’m… It’s just been a long journey,” he said with a slight quiver in his voice. He glanced quickly around the room, realizing with a lurch in his gut that he was the only elf in the entire inn. “I’m renting a room here with my traveling companion. The Redguard you spoke to earlier.” 

“You Thalmor?” 

“N-no, no. Not at all. I’m with the—I’m a scholar. From Winterhold.” 

“A mage.” 

Aiden swallowed. “A scholar,” he said again. Tentatively he reached for his coins, deciding that this was a signal from the Divines not to give in to temptation, but the barkeep snatched the money away first. A reasonably large bottle of… something was placed in front of him, along with a small glass. Then the Nord turned away, clearly determining that Aiden posed no threat.

With shaking hands, Aiden poured himself a finger of the mystery drink. It was a clear liquid that smelled of juniper and pine. He held the glass at his chin, taking a moment to steady his nerves before closing his eyes and knocking it back. It burned the back of his throat, making him sputter and cough. A couple of patrons down the bar laughed at his expense and he felt his ears grow hot. He quickly poured another shot, cleared his throat, and knocked the second back more successfully. 

After pouring a third, he took a moment to observe his surroundings—counting the number of people, taking note of the exit, sizing up the largest of them. He could probably hold his own enough to keep himself alive, but he had never considered himself a formidable battle mage. If he was even more honest with himself, he would not consider himself a formidable mage at all. A scholar, yes, but he knew better than to boast his spellcasting abilities, especially under duress. He could only hope his wit and his diplomacy would be enough should the necessity arise. 

Someone sat down next to him, startling Aiden out of his thoughts. 

It was Harukar. He looked grim, his brow creased as he glanced quickly between Aiden’s face, the glass in his hand, and the bottle. “Is that a good idea?” he asked. 

“How’s Sarel?” Aiden asked instead. 

“Asleep.” 

“Good. I intend to turn in early as well.” 

“You’re keeping something from me,” Harukar said, brow still furrowed. “Have I done something wrong? Overstepped?”

“No, not at all. Thank you for calming Sarel down.” Aiden’s response was automatic. Years of training to say what was expected of him, carefully avoiding what he actually felt. 

“You’re upset and it’s obvious. There’s no use in trying to hide it.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Aiden insisted. He pushed the glass away from himself and towards Harukar. “Finish this for me. I poured too much.” 

“I can’t.”  

Aiden blinked once before realization dawned. “Ah…” He slowly pulled the glass back towards himself, smirking. “Right. Nearly forgot there for a second.” He circled the rim of the glass with a fingertip before he brought it to his lips. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the booze down. When he opened them, Harukar was staring at him. “What?”

“I don’t understand why you act like this. I keep trying to understand, keep trying to make peace with you. Sometimes I feel like I’m almost there, but then—”

“What actually happens if you eat or drink regular food?” Aiden asked as the idea occurred to him.

Harukar let out a long sigh through his nose. “It makes me feel very ill.” He rose from his seat. “You should step outside for a moment. Get some fresh air.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You reek of alcohol,” Harukar argued. “Step outside and air out or Sarel will smell it on you.”

“I thought you said he was asleep.”

“Yes, and I want him to stay asleep.” 

“Ah, of course, you simply want what’s best for him.” Aiden pushed to his feet, gripping the edge of the bar with white knuckles. “You’d make such a good father. Ever considered it?” 

Aiden saw fury, true fury, flash brightly behind Harukar’s eyes, the bridge of his nose wrinkling like the snarl of a wolf. Fear shot through Aiden’s body, immediately sobering him. 

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “I—” 

“You should step outside,” Harukar repeated. His cool demeanor returned almost immediately, making Aiden wonder if he’d imagined the reaction. Then, without another word, Harukar walked away.

Aiden watched him go, feeling light-headed, his pulse pounding loudly in his own ears. Keep it up and one day you’re going to push him too far, he reminded himself. Then he’ll sink his fangs into your neck and be done with you.  

Without thinking, Aiden grabbed the bottle and knocked back what was left in two gulps. It was an unwise decision that he immediately regretted. His stomach lurched at the alcohol, his body threatening momentarily to spew everything up and out. But he managed to gulp it down with a gasp, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as his head spun and the room swam. He locked eyes with the barkeep, who gave him an appraising look, before Aiden stepped away from the bar and made his way to the front door.

On unsteady legs he pushed out into the street. The sun had only just begun to set, painting the stone streets in hues of gold. The brass fixtures that ornamented the jagged rooflines glinted in the dying rays. Without knowing where exactly he was going, Aiden stepped off the front porch and picked a direction. The bustling center market was closing down, vendors shuttering their stalls, covering their wares. They called back and forth to each other loudly; familiar, amicable. Aiden felt eyes on his back as he passed, leaving whispers and laughs in his wake.

His drunkenness felt inappropriate and shameful in the broad light of day. The uneven, winding pathways were disorienting, and when Aiden tried to look up he immediately felt ill. The city towered before him, immense and uncaring, the massive heads of long-dead Dwemer carved into the very face of the mountain. He couldn’t look at them. Cruel, godless testaments to the hubris of absolute power.

Gingerly, his stomach squirming, he ascended a curving bridge that led him to one of the upper neighborhoods. It was quieter up there, the chatter of the market distant beneath the rush of the water. He followed the outermost path, passing rows of identical-looking dwellings that were sculpted so seamlessly from the rock it was as if they’d sprung from the ground fully-formed. He came to rest in a small alcove that overlooked the industrial district. The sound of a blacksmith hammering away drifted on the wind as the minute forms of fishermen filed along the docks, pulling up their nets and traps from the choppy mountain-fed river. 

Aiden sighed and leaned against the low wall. A pulsing headache had begun to form in his right eye socket as the initial buzz from the booze devolved fully into nausea and dizziness. His nameless agitation from earlier remained. It was exhausting and frustrating. 

Why was he so angry? Specifically, why was he so angry at Harukar? It was good for Sarel to make connections with others, forge new relationships, and meet new people. He should be encouraging this. And yet, Harukar being able to swoop in and so easily calm Sarel in the midst of a fit had made Aiden burn. He felt acutely self-aware of his hypocrisy, but also stubbornly refused to dig into it further. There was something there just beneath the surface—dark and slick and writhing—something he’d spent the last decade intentionally burying that was now worming its way out. 

He had a plan.  

He and Sarel would be returning to Winterhold within a week, Auri-El willing, and they’d be able to put this whole endeavor behind them. Perhaps he could open up a line of communication with this Knight-Paladin, conduct a study, prove to himself that this entire journey wasn’t a massive waste of time and needlessly stressful for both him and his son…

Aiden slumped forward against the stone wall with a groan. Who was he kidding? Savos would simply turn him away again. This entire situation was one humiliation after another—reminder after reminder that he was a disgraced Summerset scholar pressed firmly beneath the thumb of a manipulative, two-faced Telvanni. Savos had barely accepted him after his expulsion from the College of Sapiarchs, and while he’d tolerated his research, it had always felt conditional. 

And Sarel was never meant to become Aiden’s son.

Sarel.

Aiden pressed his forehead against the cold stone with a sigh. Sarel was probably fast asleep. And Aiden had left Harukar to look after him. Or, more appropriately, Harukar had shamed him away, and rightfully so. What a miserable mess he was becoming. He groaned and slumped forward against his arms. This entire journey had him fraying at the edges. He wasn’t sure if there’d be anything left by the time it was all said and done.    

He pulled his glasses from his face, the thin metal chain that connected the temple tips pressing into the back of his neck as he inspected the lenses. They had small scratches etched across the surface. Microscopic imperfections. He sighed and looked out across the stone city, all of its shapes blurring and blending together into an unrecognizable abstract painting. 

Aiden was the second youngest of five children. Unremarkable, genetically defective. “He’s practically blind,” he could hear his father say. What a disappointment. They’d wasted the good Direnni name on him.   

Aiden put his glasses back on then straightened up and pushed off the wall. That was quite enough self-pity for one night. He remembered now, beyond the physical discomfort, why he’d quit drinking: he was a particularly pathetic drunk. 

-

The inn was louder when he returned, causing his headache to spike painfully. The crowd from the market had moved in around the bar, laughing and chatting. Aiden was able to slip from the main room unnoticed, striding swiftly down the long hall towards their rented room. The noise faded into a distant clamor as he rounded the bend. He heard high-pitched laughter from within one of the rooms he passed. There was only silence behind the door of their room, and Aiden hesitated for a moment. He’d cast a simple restoration spell on himself before returning, which had negated some of his queasiness, but the headache remained. He feared Harukar’s judgment more than he wanted to admit. 

Solidifying his resolve, he pushed open the heavy metal door and leaned through. Almost immediately he caught Harukar’s eye where he sat in one of the metal chairs by a stone desk. Sarel lay curled up on one of the beds, a thick quilt draped over his small frame.

Aiden dropped his eyes to the floor and shuffled into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He changed out of his traveling clothes and took a long, desperate drink from his waterskin. For the umpteenth time in his life he swore not to drink anymore. The bed upon which Sarel slept was made of stone, padded with a thinly stuffed mattress. Sarel groaned and shifted as Aiden lay down next to him. 

“Dad?” he asked, twisting around to try to face Aiden. 

“Yes, it’s just me.”

“You smell weird,” Sarel said with a yawn. He looped an arm around Aiden’s waist and buried his head against his chest. “I’ll go back to my own bed in a minute,” he murmured. 

“You don’t have to,” Aiden said. Sarel was back at the College in his mind. No need to wake him from that dream. “It’s okay for tonight.” 

“Thanks.” It was little more than an exhale. 

Aiden turned to lie on his back, pulling Sarel up until he was lying against Aiden’s chest. Sarel fussed and shifted until he was comfortable before seemingly falling immediately back asleep. Harukar’s eyes glowed in the deep shadows from across the room, and Aiden looked to him one last time before removing his glasses and setting them on the bedside table. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sarel’s head then settled back against the pillows with a sigh. Shame curled in his stomach, churning alongside the alcohol, leaving him restless. 

Eventually, Harukar left the room, as silent as a shadow. Aiden continued to stare at the darkened ceiling for a long time, debating the merits of apologizing for his actions in the morning. Eventually, sleep took him, but not before one strange little memory managed to push through to the front of his mind:

“You have a heartbeat.” Sarel whispered.

“I do,” Harukar replied. “I always have.”

Chapter Text

They set out from Markarth just after dawn the following day. The sun was still tucked behind the mountains to the east as they passed through the city gates, a rolling mist blanketing the ground and drifting between the craggy rocks. Harukar stabled Morwha in Markarth, claiming that she’d be too much of a hazard to bring along. They’d have to make the rest of the journey on foot.

Sarel was in higher spirits than when they’d arrived. While the constant sound of running water still seemed to agitate him, he dutifully swung his guide staff out in front as they made their way down the cobbled road, past the Khajiit caravans, and along the river heading west. His grip on Aiden’s hand was confident and self-assured. The change in attitude might have had something to do with the short pep-talk Harukar had given before they’d set out: 

“Only two more days, three at the most, before we reach Gelebor.”

“Really!?” 

“Truly. It will be difficult, but you’ve traveled so far. You should be very proud.”

Sarel hummed tunelessly to himself, keeping time with the clack of his staff over the smooth cobbles. Aiden attempted to distract his mind with daydreams as they walked. Anything to stave away the yawning anxiety that bore a hole into his stomach. Perhaps he and Sarel could settle in Solitude after all was said and done. It was one of the more civilized cities Skyrim had to offer. He’d find a job, rent a small, cozy flat. He’d introduce Sarel to all the neighbors and make sure everyone knew about the little Falmer boy. Sarel could make friends— real friends —and not have to be hidden away and treated like something shameful. 

It was a beautiful day, at least—a good omen for things to come. The Karth river gouged its way through the unforgiving landscape as the roughly-cobbled road slowly wound its way up the mountain and the highlands stretched before them. The Reach felt untamed, as much of Skyrim did, with a fierce, jagged majesty that filled Aiden with both awe and fear. 

Soon they were cutting off the main path and wobbling down one of the steep hills. Aiden let go of Sarel’s hand and took his staff, allowing Sarel to crouch down on all fours and feel his way down the hillside. He looked like a feral little thing, but moved with more confidence than Aiden had seen since leaving Winterhold. He waited for Aiden at the bottom of the hill, plucking at the grass and curling his toes into the dirt.

Aiden stumbled less gracefully down the final slope of the hill. He would have face-planted into the rocks if it weren’t for Harukar stepping over to steady him. Aiden tried to brush him off, embarrassed by his own lack of finesse, but Harukar pushed closer into his personal space. 

“I need to speak to you for a moment,” he said softly. Then, nodding to Sarel, added, “Somewhere he can’t hear.”

Aiden’s pulse quickened. He had yet to apologize for his behavior the night before. Perhaps Harukar wasn’t going to let the lingering tension between them go unaddressed. He looked over to where Sarel was sitting, still tugging at the long blades of grass and tying them into little knots.

“Sarel, stay there for a moment please,” he called out. 

Sarel raised his head. “Where else would I go?” 

“Cheeky,” Aiden said with a forced laugh. He followed Harukar several paces away out of earshot. 

Harukar still spoke in a whisper, leaning in close. “I need you to be aware—the next leg of our journey is going to be the most dangerous yet.”

Aiden swallowed as a sudden light-headedness overcame him. “How so?” he whispered back. 

“In order to reach Gelebor, we’ll have to travel through a system of caves known as Darkfall Passage. I know the route that will guide us through safely, but it will put us in close proximity with a large Falmer settlement.” 

“Is it the only way?” Aiden’s whisper was shrill.

Harukar nodded. “It’ll be alright.” He placed a hand on Aiden’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll do everything in my power to get us there safely. I promise.”

An apology teetered on the edge of Aiden’s tongue, precarious and half-formed. He swallowed it down, then tucked his lips around his teeth and gave a curt nod. “Thank you.” 

The entrance to the cave was nearly invisible, cut into the jagged hillside like a knife wound. The sun had already slipped behind the mountains to the front of them, casting the valley into a cold, shadowy twilight. Aiden shivered as he watched Harukar slip between the rocks, beckoning them to follow. A curling sense of dread prickled at the back of his neck and churned in his stomach. He glanced behind them, one final look at the golden light of the setting sun reflecting off the snow-covered peaks of the Druadach mountains, before taking Sarel’s hand and guiding them into the darkness.

The blackness of the narrow cave felt all-consuming, and Aiden pushed down the rising panic by clearing his throat. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Me neither,” said Sarel, and, despite everything, Aiden let out a snorting laugh.

A torch flared to life and Aiden shielded his eyes. 

“My apologies,” Harukar said. The flickering light of the flame hollowed his features, giving his face a skull-like appearance, though his amber eyes burned through the darkness like stoked embers. “There’s an area a bit further in where we can set up camp and rest for the night.”

“Are we close?” Sarel asked, tugging on Aiden’s hand. 

“We have to make it through Darkfall Passage,” said Harukar. “It can be treacherous, but I know the way that will keep us from harm.” He stepped over and placed a hand on Sarel’s shoulder. “We’ve been walking all day, though. I’m sure you and your father are tired. So we’ll rest first and regain our strength.” 

“I’m not tired!” 

“Sarel,” Aiden warned. “We need to listen to Harukar.” 

Sarel deflated, slouching his shoulders and muttering something to himself. 

“Don’t mumble,” Aiden scolded. He made brief eye contact with Harukar, who gave him a sympathetic half-smirk and a wink. Something behind Aiden’s sternum fluttered nervously. He cleared his throat again. “Lead the way.”

The initial claustrophobic squeeze widened into a roomy passage as they descended further into the cavern. One final waterfall roared through the center of one of the rooms, letting in the last light of the fading sun. The dark, wet stone glistened like starlight, the air filled with mist and spray. Sarel’s guide staff tapped an echoing staccato beat against the wall as he held one hand over his ear, shielding it from the sound of the falls. They curved around the waterfall and pressed deeper, the natural light fading at their backs until they were once again plunged into an all-consuming darkness. 

Harukar paused, turning to face them, still holding the torch aloft. “We’re going to need to be quiet from here on out.”

“Why?” Sarel asked at full volume. 

“We don’t want to alert anything living here to our presence.” 

“Like what?” 

Aiden swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Giant spiders, mostly,” replied Harukar, but he once again caught Aiden’s eye, and a different kind of nervousness squirmed its way deeper into his chest, turning his face cold. 

Sarel let out a frightened squeak, clutching his staff to his chest. “Giant spiders!?” 

“Shh,” Aiden admonished, smoothing a hand over Sarel’s hair. “We’ll keep you safe.” 

They pressed forward, albeit slower, as Sarel decided that his guide staff made too much noise. He ran a hand along the rough cave wall, sweeping his bare feet out in front of him in place of the staff. At last, they came to the alcove that Harukar had mentioned. It had been a campsite in the past—a shoddy lean-to had been constructed against the back wall, and a small fire pit carved into the rocky dirt floor, tamped down by feet. 

“We can rest for as long or as little as we need,” Harukar said, jamming the torch into a crevice on the wall. “No point in sleeping until morning since daylight won’t matter for a while.”

“Right,” Aiden agreed wearily, reminded too vividly of his trek into that deep, endless darkness eleven years ago. “Are you hungry, Sarel?” 

“Yeah, a little.”

They made a small fire for warmth, but elected not to cook to avoid drawing any hungry creatures towards the smells. Aiden fed Sarel sliced cheese and cured meats on warmed bread, but could only bring himself to nibble. His stomach was still knotted with dread and ill from the booze. They were on the final stretch, barreling headfirst into an uncertain future. 

“So how long are we gonna stay with Gelebor?” Sarel asked, his high-pitched voice slightly too loud in the quiet of the cave. 

“Um…” The question caught Aiden off-guard. “However long we feel like. However long you’d like.”

“I wish we could just teleport back to the College,” Sarel sighed. He took another bite of bread. “It’s gonna be such a long journey back. I miss Colette. And Master Urag. But don’t tell him I said that.” He chewed thoughtfully. “I think… maybe if I can figure out how to make my magicka come out, and not just when I’m angry, I’ll be able to be a proper student there by the time I’m sixteen. Maybe Gelebor can teach me how!”

“Sarel,” Aiden began, but his words stuck in his throat. 

“...Yeah?” 

“We might not be able to go back to the College. Not right away.”

“Why not?”

Aiden swallowed. Now is not the time, he told himself, but when will the time be? What will the ‘right’ time look like? What lie could he tell in place of the truth? 

“The Arch-Mage isn’t allowing… or, more so… Well, what I mean is…” He swallowed. “You know how there are no other children at the college?”

“Yeah,” Sarel agreed, his voice watery with nervousness.

“Well, the Arch-Mage doesn’t think it’s good for… a child to be raised all alone at a college like that.” Another lie, Aiden. How many more lies?  

Harukar was staring at him with an expression that was hard to parse. Aiden couldn’t meet his eye. Refused.   

“But I’m not alone at the college!” Sarel protested, sounding panicked. “There are so many people around! Some of the students are only six or seven years older than me. Maybe if I can find how to use my magic—”

“Sarel…”

“—and if I’m polite and I practice all my Summerset manners. I know sometimes I ask a lot of questions, but—” 

“Sarel—”

“—maybe I could talk to the Arch-Mage myself? I’ve learned a lot on this journey and—” 

“Sarel, it’s because you’re Falmer!” Aiden blurted, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. 

Why, Aiden? Why now?   

He had no answer for himself.

Sarel was silent for a long, pregnant moment, his food half-eaten and forgotten on a small tin plate at his feet. “So… this whole time,” he began, his words slow and soft. “The Arch-Mage thinks what everyone else thinks. About the Falmer.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. An unwilling acceptance. “For my whole life?” His little face twisted in anger, nose wrinkling along the bridge, making him look feral. “I’m just a monster to him?! Even though he knows me? How many of the others at the college think that?” he demanded. 

“It’s complicated, Sarel,” Aiden tried.

“How is it complicated? I’m me! They all know me! How could they think that!?” His voice was shrill, echoing down the passage. 

“Sarel,” Harukar said softly. “We need to be quiet.” 

“So is anyone going to trust me? Ever? All the strangers we met, I know they don’t… because they didn’t know me, but even the people who do—?” He sucked in a wet inhale. “What about Dexion? What about Serana?” His head swiveled in Harukar’s direction. “What about you?”  

“Sarel,” Harukar said, as soft as a sigh.

“Is everyone just lying to me!? All the time?” He pushed to his feet, taking a stumbling step away from the fire. 

Aiden felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck begin to rise, prickling with electricity. 

“What about Gelebor?” Sparks crackled along Sarel’s knuckles, illuminating his veins—blue, like ice. “Will I just be a monster to him, too?!”  

“Sarel enough!” Aiden demanded, getting to his feet as well. He towered over his son. “You’re losing control. You need to sit down and remember yourself.” He took a steadying breath. “Gelebor won’t think that.”

“You’re a liar!” Sarel yelled, and Aiden couldn’t help but flinch, stepping backwards, putting distance between himself and the accusation and the small boy that he’d raised for eleven years.  

His child. His son.

Why, Aiden? 

Harukar had gotten to his feet. “Please,” he pleaded in a loud whisper. “Both of you, stop—” His words cut off abruptly, and Aiden saw his eyes go wide, focused somewhere over Aiden’s shoulder.

There was a raspy, rattling intake of breath at his back and Aiden’s blood ran cold.   

Pain erupted down his side, and he collapsed with a strangled yell. 

Sarel screamed and Harukar lunged across the fire. The flames beneath his boots smothered and died, plunging them into darkness. 

Scrabbling blindly along the rocky floor, Aiden called Sarel’s name, trying to pull himself along the ground. There was a loud snarl above him, and a blunt object collided with the back of his head. He saw stars, the ache traveling all the way down into his toes. How many were there? A clawed hand dug into his shoulder, breaking the skin through his robes. Another hit to the back of his head. He heard something crack deep in his ears. His nerve endings were on fire. He rolled onto his back, pulled magicka into his hands, and released a blast of fire, but it licked into empty air. 

By the light of his spellfire he could see a Falmer standing beside him, weapon raised. In a blink it was knocked off its feet by a blur of mist and smoke. Aiden’s spell sputtered out and the darkness returned. 

He tried to push to his feet, but pain shot up his right leg, making him cry out and stumble. The vicious sounds of the Falmer were retreating, growing fainter as they echoed off the cavern walls. Aiden channeled what was left of his shallow magicka reserves to cast the most basic healing spell he could muster. The pain in his leg faded, but the sharp, throbbing ache from the blow to his head remained. 

A light flared to life to his left. Harukar had re-lit the torch. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, seemingly uninjured. 

Aiden nodded with a grimace. “Sarel? Are you—?” His entire body jolted as he peered around their destroyed campsite. The pain disappeared, replaced by fear. 

Sarel was gone. 

“Sarel?!” Aiden staggered to stand, turning in a circle, his eyes straining against the darkness. Maybe he was hiding in the shadows. Aiden would see his little face peer out from behind a rock, or hear his voice, or— “SAREL?” 

He spun to look at Harukar, whose expression of dawning horror made Aiden’s stomach drop. He jerked to look down the tunnel, gauging in which direction he thought he’d heard the Falmer retreat. Without a second thought, he cast a candlelight spell and took off in a sprint.

“Aiden, WAIT!” Harukar yelled after him.

Aiden’s world narrowed. The dizzying light of his spell cast odd shadows along the rough cave wall as he ran. He could hear something up ahead. He ran faster, feet thumping against the hard cave floor. There was an opening in the tunnel; the sound of rushing water.

He stopped short at the beginning of a rope bridge, gazing out across the chasm, trying to see to the other side. 

“SAREL!?” His voice was lost over the rush of water. Slowly, he inched his way out across the unsteady bridge, grasping at the roughspun rope as he attempted to maintain balance. Halfway across, he heard his name and paused to look over his shoulder. Harukar was standing in the tunnel entrance: glowing amber eyes in a silhouette of darkness. Then Aiden heard a crack. A snap. 

The bridge fell from beneath him, and he screamed.  

The ice cold water nearly shocked him unconscious, the fast current dragging him along without a moment to recover. He fought against the waves, trying to orient himself, trying to find the surface. His lungs burned, his last breath wasted on a scream. Finally, his head breached the surface, and he managed to take one gasping inhale, only for him to be pushed over a rapid and plunged back beneath the icy current. He tumbled underwater for what felt like an eternity, his ankles and shins bashing against the rocks. Was this how he’d die? 

With a burst of determination, Aiden kicked off the bottom of the river and breached the surface with a panicked gasp, sputtering and coughing. He twisted, trying to put his feet in front of him, digging his heels into the gravel floor to slow the current’s hold on him. 

Suddenly, strong hands grabbed him by his robes, and he jerked to a stop in the rushing current. He blinked up to see the darkened outline of Harukar crouched on a rocky overhang that jutted out over the river. With a shocking amount of strength, he hauled Aiden out of the water and onto the rock, dragging him until they were both a safe distance away from the rapids.

Aiden lay on his back, panting up at the dark ceiling. His entire body throbbed like an open wound, but his heart ached the most—a pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He was dreaming. This was a nightmare. A very vivid nightmare. He had to wake up. 

Harukar was silent beside him. 

“I’ve got to find him,” Aiden finally managed to croak. His throat felt scraped raw. Hot tears pushed their way out of the corners of his eyes. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t brought up the college… if he had just been honest with Sarel from the start… If… How many if’s?

Why, Aiden?  

“We’ll find him,” Harukar finally said. He sounded exhausted.  

All at once, Aiden realized that his glasses had been knocked from his face. Already panicked, his hands immediately flew to his chest, exhaling with relief when he felt them dangling from the chain around his neck. He sat up slowly as he put them on. One of the lenses was cracked down the center, splitting the vision of his right eye into two.

The cavern around them was dimly illuminated by glowing mushrooms, the air wet from the spray of the river. Aiden shivered violently, suddenly feeling naked and exposed. He’d run off without any of their things, like a panicked idiot.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed against his knees. “This is all my fault.”

Harukar said nothing for a long moment as Aiden cried quietly. 

“We need to move,” Harukar said at last. “We can’t go back for our things. Time is working against us.”

“How’d you get ahead of me?” Aiden asked, wiping at his nose.

Harukar’s eyes shone in the dark. “I can move very fast, when necessary.” He let out a long exhale through his nose. “Though not fast enough.” 

“Do you think—?” Aiden began, but stopped himself. Do you think he’s alive? Do you think they killed him? He didn’t want to voice any of his questions aloud.   

“I don’t know,” Harukar answered the half-question. “But we need to move. Can you heal yourself? You’re bleeding.”

Aiden blinked hard, pushing his wet mess of hair from his eyes. He wasn’t sure where he might be bleeding, but after a quick pat-down determined he had multiple wounds—the back of his head, his left knee and shin, the back of his right thigh, his elbows. Harukar could probably smell his blood soaking into his clothes. With a flare of golden light, Aiden channeled enough magicka to at least scab the wounds. He was afraid to use more than that. He needed to be prepared for anything. 

“Do you know where we are?” he asked, pushing to stand on shaking legs. 

“Approximately,” was Harukar’s curt reply. “I was more focused on getting you out of the river than keeping track of landmarks, but I know there’s a path that branches off from the river at some point. I just don’t know if it’s behind us or in front of us.” He stepped out to the edge of the overhang. “Stay put. I’ll only be a second.” 

In an instant, Harukar dissolved into a cloud of mist that shot out over the river and disappeared out of sight. Before Aiden even had a chance to blink, he was back, rematerializing and striding over. 

“It’s downriver,” he said. “We can travel along the bank. Just watch your footing.” 

“Right,” Aiden agreed, utterly dazed. “Alright.” One thousand questions rose and fell inside his head—doubts and worries and contradictions—what if they hadn’t taken Sarel; what if he was still hidden back in their campsite; what if he’d run the opposite way and was now lost in the cave, alone and abandoned? 

“Are we sure they took him?” Aiden asked, his voice quivering.

“All signs indicate that they did.” Harukar beckoned him to follow, his expression grim. “Come.” 

Aiden pushed unsteadily to his feet and limped after Harukar like a thrall. 

What else could he do?

Why, Aiden?

Why?

Chapter Text

“What is it?” Sarel asked.

“It was a rabbit,” his father replied softly. “It’s dead now, the poor thing.”

Sarel had been playing in the fresh snowfall in the courtyard when he’d felt the little creature nestled beneath the brush and covered by a layer of frost. Its small body was hard and cold, frozen solid, curled tightly into a ball as if it had attempted to stave off death by making itself as small as possible. 

“Why’d it die?” Sarel asked as sadness welled inside his chest.

“It probably got too cold.”

Sarel sniffed. “Can we bring it back?” 

“No, Sarel. Not in the way that it once was.”

He pulled the rabbit from the snow and cradled it to his chest, imagining that he could pour some of his energy into the little creature if he tried hard enough. Was life really so fragile that it could be snatched away by something as simple as being ‘too cold’? He let out another sniff, crying softly for the dead rabbit. “The poor thing,” he said, repeating his father’s words. He felt his father’s warm hand squeeze his shoulder.

“We can give it a burial,” Aiden suggested. 

“Yeah.” Sarel continued to sit in the snow. “Will I die some day?” 

His father didn’t answer immediately, but the hand on his shoulder tightened its grip ever so slightly. “Not for a very long time, hopefully. But yes, we all die eventually. Life cannot go on forever. Immortality is only for the divines.”

“So, it’s not a bad thing?” 

“Not necessarily. It doesn’t mean that it’s easy. It’s the nature of living things to want to survive.”

Sarel gave the rabbit’s small, cold head a gentle pet with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “I want to survive.”    

Sarel wanted to scream, but his throat wouldn’t move. His entire body was as limp as a wet rag. The person carrying him had thrown him over their shoulder like a sack of grain. He wasn’t sure what had happened, and when he tried to replay the series of events in his mind, he was left confused and even more disoriented. All he knew was fear and pain and the desperate need to scream. 

His gelatinous muscles slowly began to regain their feeling, twitching and jumping erratically, and he tried to make sounds against his captor’s shoulder, flexing against their iron grip. He finally managed to force enough air out of his tightened throat to let out a strangled wail, hoping someone might be able to hear him and come running. The person carrying him immediately stopped. There was a sudden, sharp stab in Sarel’s thigh and he let out another half-scream before his muscles went slack again. Then they kept going. 

He felt like a prisoner in his unresponsive body, trapped inside his own mind, his thoughts racing as he desperately tried to orient himself—what had happened, what was the last thing he remembered? 

He’d called his father a liar. 

Was this his punishment? 

The people around him spoke to each other in a language he’d never heard before. It was a rasping, throaty language with strange clicks and trills woven through the words. How many were there? What did they want with him? 

Master Enthir had told him horror stories of little kids getting snatched up by bandits, sold into slavery, forced to work against their will. Maybe these were a roaming group of bandits that had stumbled upon their campsite. They must have heard Sarel yelling and decided to steal him. “I don’t want you getting scooped up and carried away.” His father’s warnings in Helgen had seemed so comical, like something that happened in a storybook, and yet… 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but Sarel felt his muscles beginning to twitch to life again. He didn’t struggle this time for fear of getting stabbed again, so he remained limp against his captor’s shoulder. He wondered how much further they’d go, if they’d take him out of the cave or deeper into it. The air around them still felt cold and damp, smelling of earth and clay and minerals. Maybe once they stopped he could tell them that he was blind and he’d make a terrible slave, and that they’d be better off giving him back. Also, he was ugly. Nobody would want to buy him. 

The party slowed down and Sarel felt himself being lifted off the person’s shoulder and set onto the ground. His captor said something to him, grabbed him by the chin, and ran a hand over his face. Their fingers were thick and calloused, with hard, blunt nails and a sour smell. They tugged at his hair, twisted his head to the side, pulled at the collar of his shirt. 

“P-please,” Sarel managed. His mouth and throat still felt swollen, like he was squeezing his words out into a paste. “I’m b-blind. Please—” 

The person said something again, louder, and Sarel cringed away. 

“I d-don’t… I can’t understand…you…” 

He felt them move away and say something to someone else, who responded with a trilling click and another string of foreign words. Then, without warning, Sarel was being hoisted back up onto their shoulder. He let out an involuntary squeak, which earned him a one-word response that he was sure meant “quiet!”. So Sarel clenched his jaw and tried to stay as limp as possible. 

They traveled for a long time, long enough for Sarel to begin to feel sick from the pressure of his captor’s shoulder pushing into his stomach. The sickness swelled into something unmanageable. Hot bile pushed its way up his throat and he was sick down their back. They let out a loud string of words and dropped him onto the ground. He landed hard on his back and it knocked the air from his lungs. He wheezed and rolled onto his side, tried to crawl away, but his body hurt too much. His arms and legs shook uncontrollably, his face cold and clammy, the acidic tang of his sick clinging to the roof of his mouth. 

His captors seemed to argue amongst each other then, their hushed tones growing louder until one seemed to have the final say. Hands grabbed him by the shoulders, and he didn’t even try to fight as they turned him around and pulled him into a seated position. He just started sobbing—desperate gulps of air wheezing through his too-tight lungs and burning throat. 

“Ple-ease,” he pleaded. “Ple-ease let me-e go.”

Something was pushed to his lips as a hand—a different hand, more slender and gentle—cupped the back of his head. It was a waterskin. He brought his own hands up to clasp it and drank greedily between breaths. It soothed his throat a little. They let him have several sips before pulling it away. 

“Thank you,” he said softly between sniffles. Maybe if he was polite and gentle they’d have mercy on him. 

The new pair of hands scooped him up, but held him differently: one arm beneath his knees, the other at his back. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around their neck, finding many strings of beaded necklaces there. They smelled different, too. Like clay and something almost pleasant. Crushed herbs. He let his head rest against their collar bone as they continued onward.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked softly, but received no reply.

After what seemed like hours, Sarel felt the walls around them begin to recede as the distant crash of water reached his ears. He didn’t think they were outside—the smell of the cave was still strong all around him—but they were definitely in a new location. Somewhere big. He could hear the echo of voices and movement off the high ceilings. The person carrying him was breathing hard, their arms trembling as they carried Sarel up an incline, and then the noise around them dropped away. 

Sarel perked up, lifting his head to better hear his surroundings as the person set him down. His legs wobbled, and he collapsed onto the ground. There were walls around them. Close walls. A small room. He steadied himself on all fours for a long moment, his body acclimating to the sudden stillness as he strained to listen. There was movement outside the room—more talking in that strange language, whispers and clicks. In the background, the crash of the water seemed to take on an odd, humming drone the longer Sarel’s ears strained to hear as much as he could.

The person with the gentle hands was tugging on his shoulders, trying to get him to sit or stand, Sarel wasn’t sure which.

“I’m tired,” he tried to explain. 

They said something in a low tone and guided Sarel to sit back on his knees. The waterskin was placed back in his hands and he drank without question. The liquid inside was not water, but a thick medicinal-tasting drink and Sarel gagged, spitting the stuff out. Gentle-Hands said a string of words and tipped the bottle to Sarel’s mouth insistently. 

“It’s gross!” Sarel protested hoarsely, but felt too weak to put up a proper fight and feared the possibility of pain if he refused. He managed a few grimacing sips of the liquid, gagging after the last swallow. After a moment, his body started to tingle pleasantly, warmth returning to his fingers and toes, and the nausea from the travel began to fade. He sighed and slumped off the side of his knees to sit more comfortably. The ground beneath him was soft. Mossy. 

Gentle-Hands was speaking to him again. He felt a soft wind on his face and he jerked back reflexively. Then, fingers snapping, to the right of his face, then to the left. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. It just felt silly not to say anything. 

A hand came to rest on the top of his head, then Gentle-Hands said something before pulling away and leaving the room entirely. The sound of a flap being pulled closed muffled what little sound there was and Sarel was left alone. He ran a hand absently over the place on his thigh where he’d been stabbed earlier. His pants were torn and crusted with dried blood, but there was no sting of an open wound. They must have fed him a healing potion. Maybe they weren’t all bad, at least. Even if they did steal him. 

The dull, droning roar of the distant waterfall persisted. 

For a long moment of silence, straining to listen for what might be happening outside the room, Sarel sat so still that his muscles ached. After it seemed like nobody was immediately returning, he decided to explore the room. Crouching low, he spread his arms out around him, feeling along the velvety floor. He didn’t have to move far before he reached the wall, or what he assumed was the wall. It felt leathery and pliable, not sturdy at all. He brushed his hands to the right, following the wall until he found a small structure. It was low to the ground and seemed like it could possibly be a bed—it was soft enough and about the right size—but all the textures and materials felt foreign. Everything also felt mildly damp and cold to the touch. While Sarel had always prided himself on his ability to resist the cold, at least compared to everyone around him, something about this place chilled him to the bone. 

The flap was pulled back, letting noise into the room once more. Sarel froze and pressed himself up against the wall. 

“I was just—” he began to explain, then caught himself. They couldn’t understand him, anyways. What was the point? “I’m sorry,” he said compulsively.

He recognized the voice of Gentle-Hands by now, but a new voice had joined them—an old-sounding voice that responded in low, gravely tones. They let out a tremendous sigh and moved towards Sarel. They tinkled and clacked as they moved, as if covered in glass beads. 

“Name,” they said in thickly-accented common and Sarel gasped. 

“You know Cyrodilic!” he exclaimed. 

“Ehh,” the person responded, sounding unsure. “Yes. Some. But no… eh…” There was a pause, their clothing clacked as they shifted. “No others here.”

“You don’t have anyone to talk to?” 

“Yes. For long time.” They moved closer to Sarel, tapping in the center of his chest. “Your name.”

“My name is Sarel. What’s—” He paused, swallowing. Was it appropriate to ask his kidnappers’ for their names? “What’s your name?”  

“Zah-rel,” the person repeated, turning the ‘s’ sound into a ‘z’. “Strange. I am called Irhkmaghi.” 

The name sounded almost like a gurgle and Sarel laughed nervously. “Urk Maggie?”

“ Ee -rhk- mah- ghi,” they insisted. Sarel tried again. The sounds felt thick on his tongue, sticking to the back of his throat.

“I am…” Another long pause, as if Irhkmaghi were gathering the words from forgotten, dusty shelves. “Mother. Old mother.” 

“Grandmother?” Sarel offered. Grandmothers weren’t scary. He didn’t think grandmothers were even capable of kidnapping. Maybe she could help him. 

“Ehh,” said Irhkmaghi again—her sound of uncertainty. “Big mother.”

“You’re… important.” Sarel knew there was probably a better word, but he could only think of Arch-Mage, which was most definitely incorrect.

“Yes.” He heard Irhkmaghi shift, walking around the room, clacking and tinkling. The sounds made his brain tickle.

“I’m blind,” Sarel blurted, lifting a hand up and waving it in front of his face. He might as well start bargaining if someone here could understand him. “So, I’m really kind of useless.”

“Not useless!” Irhkmaghi snapped.  

Sarel let out a frightened squeak, curling his knees to his chest.

“Not useless,” she said more softly. “Speak to me. I am remembering more words. Tell me of you.”

Sarel’s heart hammered against his sternum. What could he say? “I… um. I’m eleven years old. Uh… I’m adopted. I grew up at the College of Winterhold. I wanna be a-a mage one day and um… I’m… a Falmer.” He said the last bit quietly. “But you could probably already tell that.” 

“Falmer,” Irhkmaghi repeated. “This is what they name us, yes.” 

“Us?” 

“We are Thuamer . We are those who remain. But those who dwell above call us Falmer.” 

It was like the air had been sucked from his lungs, making him light-headed. He felt ill all over again. “You’re…? Are you all…?” He swallowed around the rising sickness. His reality raged against everything he’d ever thought possible. “The people who stole me. Are they…?”  

“You were saved,” Irhkmaghi said.

“No! I was stolen!” Sarel couldn’t help but begin to cry as anger and despair warred inside his head. “I wasn’t saved! They took me!” He sobbed louder. “I want my dad.” 

“Shh, child.” Irhkmaghi moved closer, clacking and jingling. “You are safe.”

“I don’t feel safe!”

She said something in the language Sarel didn’t understand, and Gentle-Hands responded. Sarel had forgotten they were in the room. The two of them spoke back and forth while Sarel’s mind raced. These were Falmer. Like him, and yet nothing like him. They’d stolen him. Scooped him up and carried him away. And now he was stuck with them in this cold, forgotten cave where he couldn’t understand what anyone was saying and there was no possible way for him to escape. No warm hearths, no smell of old books, no soft bed. No father. How could anyone possibly hope to live like this? 

“I just wanna go home,” he whimpered, hugging his knees to his chest.

Gentle-Hands said something, then, moving closer, placed a hand on his head. 

“She says you have been… eh… withheld. Deprived.” Irhkmaghi translated. “I agree. You were kept by strangers. Those who dwell above. You even smell of them. But you are safe now.” 

“I just want to go home,” Sarel said again with a sniff. “I want my father.” 

“You are safe,” Irhkmaghi repeated. She made a thoughtful noise, then Sarel felt her take his hands into her own. Her skin was wrinkled and soft. She pushed his sleeves up, traced a line down his forearm. Flicked the center of his chest before pressing her palm over his heart. All the while her strange outfit tinkled like a windchime. 

“You are young,” she said finally. “More young than most who receive the gifts of the Old Masters. But you carry the fire.” She tapped his chest again. “Come. We will help you.”     

“Old Masters?”

“The histories are too long. For now, you come.”

Sarel allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by Gentle-Hands. She led him out of the room, Irhkmaghi jingling and clacking somewhere ahead of them. A crowd had gathered outside, all speaking to each other in that strange language. Someone reached out and touched Sarel’s arm and he flinched away, causing him to trip over a protruding rock in the dirt floor. Gentle-Hands shouted short, harsh words into the crowd, then scooped Sarel into her arms to carry him. He sniffed and wrapped his arms around her neck again. She was strong. Her muscles were lean and sinewy beneath his hands, her skin damp with cooled sweat. She said something quietly against the side of his head, and though he couldn’t understand the words, he felt comforted by them. 

Could she have been his mother had his life been different? 

The roar of the water grew louder as they walked, pulsing in his brain like the whir of the magicka fonts back at the College. Irhkmaghi had said something about gifts, but all Sarel could think about was his father and Harukar. 

He hoped they were alright. 

He hoped they were looking for him.

Chapter Text

The passage of time was nebulous. Minutes could have passed. Or hours. There was no way to tell. Aiden stumbled after Harukar on numb legs, shivering uncontrollably, the blackness around him pressing in on all sides like an oppressive beast attempting to swallow him whole. 

He clutched one arm to his chest as the other held onto the back of Harukar’s cloak. The tunnel was filled with bioluminescent mushrooms and fungal pods, dimly lighting their path. Whenever they would draw too close to one of the clusters, the pods would shrink away like a prodded slug, extinguishing what little light they offered. As the darkness slithered and pulsed in his periphery, Aiden’s mind churned.

‘This is what you get.’ 

‘This is what you deserve.’

‘You failed the only person in your life that has ever loved you.’

‘Weak. Sniveling. Pathetic.’

Aiden sniffed, swallowing around the tightness of his throat.

Yes, he was pathetic. His entire life he’d been nothing but a pathetic waste of space. With a shallow magicka pool and an even shallower constitution. Unattractive. Unremarkable. Unworthy.  

“There’s a noise trap up ahead.” Harukar’s whisper jarred him from his spiraling thoughts. Even speaking softly, the words sounded too loud in the quiet of the cavern. “Try to step where I step.”

Aiden cleared his throat. “All right.” It was little more than a croak. 

Harukar moved like a beast of prey: calculated, efficient. Every step was intentional. Centuries of practice living in the shadows. He was twice the man Aiden could ever hope to be, even as a cursed abomination of Molag Bal. Aiden had deluded himself for this entire journey, convincing himself that he was somehow the superior one. He wasn’t even worthy enough to be used for food.

Strings of various bones were suspended throughout the tunnel ahead, one of which looked suspiciously like a merish pelvis. Harukar stepped to the right in a diagonal. Aiden mimicked him, tightening his grip on Harukar’s cloak. Then to the left; Aiden followed. Once more to the right. 

Suddenly, Aiden’s foot caught on a root and he bumped against the hanging bones. They rattled and clacked like chattering teeth. 

In a flurry, Aiden found himself hauled around by his wrist. His yelp of surprise was muffled as one of Harukar’s wide hands pressed against his mouth, roughly shoving him into a crevice in the rocky cavern wall. Harukar pressed his own body in tight, and Aiden went as limp as a kitten.   

When the clatter of bones faded, the only sound that remained was the huff of Aiden’s too-loud breath against Harukar’s hand. Then, from down the tunnel, there came the soft shuffle of footsteps and low, rasping growls. 

Harukar pressed in, his forehead resting against Aiden’s shoulder. He wasn’t even breathing.

The shuffling drew closer. Aiden held his breath. If they were silent, they were invisible.

The shuffling stopped.

Suddenly, the Falmer let out a hoarse, rattling cry and Harukar pushed away. Aiden gasped and conjured a pale blue ward, but Harukar was faster. His spell pulsed crimson, drawing the Falmer’s attention. Aiden watched by the light of Harukar’s spell and his own glistening ward as the thing swung at Harukar with a chitinous sword, then stumbled as if fighting a strong current. As it reared back again, gathering strength, Harukar lunged forward, dropping his spell and clamping his mouth around the creature’s neck. 

Aiden gagged as he fumbled his spell, flattening himself against the cavern wall. Without the dim light of his magicka, he could only hear the struggle—the wet sucking, the Falmer’s desperate gurgles, feet sliding against dirt and rock. Then, there was a loud crack, and all struggle ceased with a muffled thump hitting the floor. 

Aiden’s own breath was deafening in the silence that followed. A hand grabbed his forearm, and he let out a strangled yelp. 

“It’s just me,” said Harukar. 

“Why did you do that!?” Aiden’s voice was shaking. “Why would you do that? Why—” 

“I need my strength for what is to come.” 

Disgust roiled through Aiden’s body, threatening to expel what little food he had left in his stomach. “And what is to come?” he whispered shrilly. 

Harukar was silent for a moment. His grip on Aiden’s forearm softened, though he didn’t release him. “You do understand that we might not make it out of here alive, yes?”  

“Of course I understand that,” Aiden snapped. “I’m intimately familiar with what it means to go up against a colony of Falmer. But you’re acting like… these ones are somehow different.”

“They are different,” Harukar growled. “They have your son.”  

Aiden’s chest lurched, his throat constricting around his next words. “So, you’re saying we rescue Sarel, or we die trying.” 

“That’s—yes.”

“I refuse to accept that ultimatum.” 

“We don’t have much of a choice, Aiden.”

“If we die then he’s stranded with them! One of us has to make it out of here, no matter what!” Aiden yanked his forearm free to blindly grasp for Harukar’s shoulders. The fronts of his robes were wet with cooling blood. “Promise me—” He stopped short to swallow down the rising bile and panic. “Promise me you’ll get him out. I don’t care what happens to me, just please…”

“We’re going to try our best, but I can’t—”

“Promise me!” Aiden curled his fingers into the rough fabric. “Whatever happens. Just… get him out of here. Give him a good chance at life…”  

Harukar let out a long sigh. “Aiden.” He sounded defeated. His hands came to rest against Aiden’s shoulders, grasping them firmly. “I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll do everything in my power. But right now, I’m concerned with how that Falmer detected us.”

“What do you mean?” Aiden retracted his hand, wiping his palm across the front of his own robes. “I bumped into the noise trap. It was my fault.” 

“No, afterwards. We were perfectly still. I even extended my aura to muffle your lifeforce. But it still detected us.” 

Aiden sucked at his cheeks, trying to recall the moments before the attack and failing. He could still feel the phantom press of Harukar’s hand over his mouth. “Maybe I was thinking too loudly.”

To his surprise, Harukar chuckled wearily. “Maybe so. Try to avoid that going forward.” 

“Easy enough,” Aiden quipped, his voice quivering. Only after a moment did the implications of Harukar’s words really settle. “So, you think they might be able to detect us using something other than echolocation?”

“It’s possible,” Harukar said after a brief silence. He guided Aiden’s hand, wordlessly instructing him to grab the back of his belt. They attempted to make their way through the noise trap once more. Aiden did not bump against the bones this time. 

“Sarel is not the only Falmer I have seen use magic,” Harukar said. “Perhaps their abilities extend far beyond what we can imagine.” A beat of silence passed between them. “And the Falmer here… They are truly different. Even Gelebor agreed. He’d noticed changes in their behavior over the millennia.”

“How do you mean?” 

“When we get to their settlement, you’ll see. It’s incredibly complex. And they move around unhindered. Unlike Sarel, it doesn’t appear that they’re fully restricted by their blindness.”   

“They’re most likely accustomed to their environment,” Aiden reasoned with growing nervousness. “You should have seen Sarel at the college. When he’s familiar with his surroundings, he rarely even needs to use his guide staff.”

“Maybe so…” Harukar didn’t sound convinced. “We should be silent now. We’re fully in their territory.”

Aiden wasn’t sure how much time passed as they walked, but their harrowing encounter with the lone Falmer had at least succeeded in snapping his mind out of its destructive spiral. The nagging voice in his brain was silent. And stay that way, he thought. I have more important things to focus on.  

Several hours passed of tedious walking with nothing but the sound of their boots against wet rock and earth. Bioluminescent flora continued to light their path from a distance, their strange pods shunting away as they drew closer. Abnormal, distant noises would filter through the tunnel now and again, some merish in nature, some completely foreign, stirring up nameless horrors in Aiden’s imagination. Still, his cruel internal voice remained quiet. Then, right as he felt at his wit’s end from the endless silence, the tunnel opened into a large cavern. 

Aiden’s eyes widened, trying to take it all in. The walls and ceiling of the chamber were covered in glowing mushrooms, illuminating the modest Falmer settlement as if it were a moonlit night. The sound of a distant waterfall filled the chamber with a droning noise that made Aiden’s ears tingle unpleasantly. 

The settlement appeared to be an outpost of sorts. A few Falmer patrolled the perimeter, but the pathway extended through a line of huts and disappeared into another darkened tunnel several yards away. 

“What do we do now?” Aiden whispered. “Do you think he’s in one of those huts?” 

Harukar was silent, his glowing eyes scanning the settlement. “I do not know,” he answered after a long pause. “We can’t afford not to check, but we need to stay out of their line of sight.” 

“They’re blind.”  

Harukar shook his head, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “I’m really not so sure that they are. Not completely. They have archers, Aiden.”

“This is getting ridiculous.” A cold knot was forming in Aiden’s stomach, a looming sense of dread swelling into something grotesque, and he had to do something . 

“One Falmer stumbling upon us after I set off a noise trap shouldn’t mean we lose all sense of logic. It’s basic echolocation.” He moved closer to Harukar to speak into his ear. “We have the upper hand here so long as we remain calm and quiet. We need to do a sweep of the perimeter, find the gaps in their patrols, and work from there. I can muffle my movements magically, and you’re already as silent as the grave…” The knot in his stomach hardened with resolve. “They move in basic patterns. We just need to observe for long enough to figure them out. I’ve infiltrated settlements like this before, and—” 

He cut himself off and jerked back as the reality of his words jolted him out of his own head. 

Harukar turned to him with a darkening expression, brows furrowed. Aiden could see the pieces clicking into place; what little resolve he’d managed to cultivate extinguished like a candle in the wind. 

“Sarel was never an orphan, was he?”   

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. In the span of seven words he had been tried, judged, and found guilty. The cold knot of dread ripped open, splitting him down the middle and leaving a yawning chasm inside his chest, numb from head to toe.

Aiden swallowed and said: “He’s my son.”

“How long will you avoid this!?” Harukar hissed, the bridge of his nose wrinkling into a snarl. “How many more times will you deny what you’ve done? Lie to me? Lie to yourself?”   

“What do you want me to say?” Aiden spat back. “You want me to confess my sins while my son is being strung up and tortured!? Right here? Right now?”

“I asked you a question that you could answer with ‘yes’ or ‘no’, and you chose neither.”

“This is ridiculous. I don’t have time for this. Sarel doesn’t have time for this.” Aiden scrambled to his feet and cast a muffle spell before attempting to slink down the slick embankment towards the settlement. 

“What are you doing?” Harukar whispered after him, sounding panicked, but Aiden didn’t turn around. He narrowed his focus to the pulse of his own spell as he slid to a halt. 

First, a perimeter sweep.

The settlement had a winding center pathway that was dimly illuminated by dapplings of bioluminescent fungi. It weaved through the huts like a headless snake. An earthen bridge stretched across the path near the far exit of the cavern. Aiden could see two Falmer standing atop it, looking out across the settlement in his direction. 

Not looking, Aiden corrected himself. They’re blind. 

He ducked behind the nearest hut regardless, pressing his back against the hard, leathery material. His muffle spell had the unfortunate side-effect of warping his own senses. The lack of noise from his movements left him disoriented and second-guessing his every move. He pressed an ear to the wall of the hut, listening for movement inside and hearing nothing. 

Detect life, the voice in his head reminded him . Yes he could cast that spell, but at what cost? Even if it did help him locate Sarel, his magicka reserves would be utterly depleted. He’d be a sitting duck. 

Harukar would help him. Or, at the very least, he’d help Sarel. Perhaps it was worth the risk. If nothing else, the spell would illuminate the areas where the Falmer might be patrolling. 

Taking a deep breath, Aiden stilled his mind as much as possible. His magicka pulsed through his arms and gathered in his palms, forming into a swirling blue mist. Taking a step back from the hut to face the settlement, he released the spell with an exhale. The waves of magicka rippled through the settlement, and one by one, small blue figures appeared scattered among the huts.

Then, there was a sharp cry from one of the Falmer on the far bridge, and several of the blue figures began to move towards Aiden with alarming speed. 

Panicked, Aiden stumbled away from the hut, turning back the way he’d come. Shit. How? How had that spell alerted them? 

An arrow whistled through the air and struck a rock nearby. Aiden gasped and kicked off the ground, sprinting back towards the embankment. Another arrow whistled through the air and a Falmer cried out behind him, alarmingly close. Aiden ran as hard and fast as he could. 

Pain exploded in his right calf; he screamed, falling to his hands and knees. He scrambled across the ground, glancing back to see an arrow embedded in his calf. No. No, no no… Animalistic terror flooded his body as he tried to rise to his feet. The pain in his calf was excruciating, but he limped forward. 

“Harukar!” he yelled, voice ragged with desperation. “Help, please, hel—” Another explosion of pain, this time in his left shoulder, and he went down hard. His wrist crumpled in the wrong direction as he attempted to catch himself. 

Aiden lay on the cool ground, panting like a captured rabbit in a hunter’s trap. There was an arrow in his shoulder, an arrow in his calf. Even if he managed to escape, his magicka was depleted and he was losing blood. 

He was dead. This was how he died. 

A fist buried itself in his hair, yanking his head back, and he felt the jagged edge of a knife pressed to his neck. There was a knee pressing into his low back, forcing his spine to bend painfully.

“Please,” he wheezed, grabbing the assailant’s wrist with his uninjured arm. It was pure instinct. There was nothing he could do to stop them from killing him. 

There was a harsh, guttural sound from somewhere nearby—it could have been words, though it was unlike any language Aiden had ever heard. One of the Falmer walked around him and into his line of sight, slowly, like a beast stalking its prey. Up close like this, it was just as hideous as he remembered: filthy abominations, a perversion of Auri-El’s chosen children. It knelt in front of him, tilting its head to the side like a curious dog. Its eyes were sealed shut, like Sarel’s, but Aiden couldn’t help but feel as though it were looking directly at him—not listening, not smelling, but looking.

It barked some kind of command to its comrades, and the knife was removed from Aiden’s throat. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, there was a sharp stab of pain in the side of his neck. He screamed, but it turned into a desperate gurgle as his mouth went slack and the world spun dizzily. 

Then blackness clouded his vision and consciousness left him.

Chapter Text

To his great dismay, Sarel found himself being carried towards the sound of the crashing water as opposed to away from it. His head continued to ache in a fierce, pulsing rhythm, and the roar of the falls made it worse. It was as if a tight band had been wrapped around his temples and was being twisted tighter and tighter. He whimpered against Gentle-Hands’ neck, curling his fingers around her many necklaces. She cooed in response and shifted his weight in her arms, but did not stop moving forward. Soon they were so near the crashing falls that Sarel could feel the mist spraying against his arms and face and dampening his dirty pants. The noise was everywhere, pushing into his brain and rattling around. He brought one hand to cover his ear, pressing the other against Gentle-Hands’ bare shoulder as hard as he could manage.

The thunderous crashing of water dampened to a distant roar as they passed through an archway, and Sarel let out a tremendous, whimpering sigh. The smell in the air changed, too; the earthiness of the cave faded, replaced by a harsh, metallic smell and the cloying odor of grease. They continued onwards, the sounds of whirring and clanking all around them, sometimes punctuated by a long hiss. Sarel knew that snakes hissed, though he’d never encountered one. His imagination was left to run wild in the silence, and he couldn’t help but feel as if they were spiraling down, down, down into the belly of a giant snake. 

The sounds around him fell away as they passed through a door and into an enclosed room. Gentle-Hands carried him a few more paces before setting him down on his feet, her arms shaking from carrying him for so long. 

“Where am I?” he asked. His voice echoed sharply off the walls. The chamber seemed to be no bigger than his and his father’s room back at the College.

Instead of answering his question, Irhkmaghi rasped something in the Falmer language to Gentle-Hands, who then guided Sarel to sit on a hard chair. It was startlingly cold, dense and unmoving.

“Stay,” Irhkmaghi said. “And do not be afraid.” 

“I’ve been afraid this whole time!” Sarel exclaimed. “Just tell me what’s going on! I’m blind! You have to tell me what’s around me!” 

“Stay,” Irhkmaghi repeated.

Sarel felt around the cold chair, grasping rigidly at the arm rests and swallowing back the fear as best he could. He felt light-headed. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. The sounds of the clanking and hissing faded, as if a door had been shut, and Sarel knew that he’d been left alone. He whimpered pitifully, unable to hold it in. What kind of gifts could possibly involve being left alone in a strange room? Maybe he’d been tricked. Maybe this was the part when the giant snake would appear and swallow him whole.

There was a shifting noise—the whine of metal sliding over metal—and a loud hissing began to filter into the room. Sarel yelped and pulled his feet up onto the chair, hugging his knees to his chest. He imagined dozens of snakes flooding the room, angry and heading straight for him. The hissing grew louder and deeper, until it didn’t sound like hissing at all, but more like the roar of the waterfalls. 

Then, something strange happened. A new noise joined the low roar, like a whistle or a hum. It was so soft and gradual that Sarel wondered if it had actually been playing the entire time. The hum tickled his brain a little, and he scratched at the side of his head. It was hard to tell if he was imagining it or not, but the hum sounded like it was growing louder.

Another shriek of metal against metal, then a second hum joined the first, louder and a different note, like a discordant harmony. The tickling sensation in his brain increased and Sarel pulled at the lobes of his ears. A nervous flutter of energy sprang to life in his chest. Something was happening.  

Without warning, an immense noise flooded the chamber like the deep, vibrating blast of a pipe organ, and Sarel screamed. 

He curled around his bent knees, clamping his hands over his ears, but the noise only grew louder . It trumpeted right through his hands as if they weren’t even there. The noise felt like a physical force digging into his skull. The vibrations traveled down his body, lighting up every nerve, filling every possible cavity with pressure and sound and white-hot electricity. Sarel wailed and thrashed in his seat, trying to press himself back into the chair, to dissolve into it, to disappear. Anything to make it stop. The noise only grew louder and louder, and he was sure he was dying. This was what dying felt like. It was agony. Every fiber of Sarel’s body hummed like a plucked harp string, ready to snap.    

Then, inexplicably, the noise began to turn into… spirals? It pulsed and whirred in Sarel’s mind, circling like wheels turning around each other, into each other, coming together then separating, exploding into fractal patterns that spiraled into infinity. For a split second it felt like he understood why , but then the fractals buzzed and shivered and he didn’t understand anything. The pain of knowing and then unknowing… How was this a gift? This was torture! Sarel looked down at his feet where they pulsed and spiraled against the cold stone of the— 

He could see his own feet.

His head snapped up and he looked around the room. He looked.  

The noise was beginning to fade, trailing off into a low, tolerable hum. The spiraling circles had begun to form shapes, shimmering and lapping around him like waves before settling into solid outlines of objects. The room was not carved from the cave, as Sarel had previously thought, but appeared to be made of something else entirely. Metal? There were strange pockets all around the walls, like the holes in a flute, and Sarel had the sudden and strange thought that he was sitting in the inner chamber of a massive musical instrument.

The door directly in front of him opened, splitting down the middle and swinging outwards, and Irhkmaghi and Gentle-Hands returned. Sarel couldn’t help but gasp. He could see them. It was nothing like what he imagined seeing would be like, and not at all the way his father had described things to him in the past. It was all swirling light and vibration. It was difficult to understand exactly what he was looking at. He had no proper words to describe it.

“The Old Masters were cruel,” Irhkmaghi said as she stepped into the room. She was hunched over, leaning heavily on a decorated staff as she walked.  “In our histories, they used our people to find this magic. Many minds were ruined in the process. Turned to frightened animals. And then the Old Masters vanished. Thuamer had to learn on their own.” Irhkmaghi tapped the metal wall with the point of her walking staff. The bones and bits of shell rattled and clinked together, sparkling and swirling like stars, and the metal rippled like a great pond. “But my ancestors found their chambers and worked to understand.”

“Did… Can you all see like this?” Sarel asked.

“Most.” Irhkmaghi swirled the tip of her staff in the air causing fractal patterns to spin off in the wake of the movement. “But not all. Some cannot receive the gifts. They are not ready to See. They must wait until their next life, until they have learned the lessons of the ancestors.”

“So… I learned the lessons?” 

“I cannot say. You received the Gifts, so you were judged worthy.”

“By who? I don’t understand.” Sarel’s brain hurt, and not just from the lingering headache. “What does all this mean?”

Irhkmaghi's swirling face of light and ripples settled into a warm and comforting expression, and Sarel was sure that was what a smile must look like. “In time, child. For now, be glad. Be here with the Gifts.” She placed a hand over her chest. “Be here.” 

Sarel sat back in the cold metal chair, letting his gaze trail around the room. The walls buzzed and vibrated with each metallic clank or hiss. He looked down at his own hands, curling and uncurling his fingers, tracing the protrusion of his knuckle bones with his index finger. They looked so small and fragile, but they pulsed with energy. Life, he thought, and he wasn’t sure where the thought came from. It was amazing and frightening and beautiful. 

All at once he felt an immense and indescribable melancholy well up within his chest. He wanted to share this experience with his father. More than anything in the world he wanted to describe what he was seeing to someone who cared and could understand him. He could imagine his father’s reaction: joy, curiosity, encouragement. For a moment, he could even hear his father’s voice: “That’s amazing, Sarel! I’m so proud of you.”  

What if he never got to hear his voice ever again? 

A hiccup bubbled its way out of Sarel’s chest, then another, then the hiccup turned into a sob and he wrapped his arms around his knees, curling forward and letting himself cry. He felt so alone. More alone than he’d ever felt in his entire life. 

Ripples of movement lapped at his legs, and in an instant Gentle-Hands was kneeling in front of him. She ran her dry, calloused hands along the outside of his arms, cooing something in that strange language that Sarel thought he’d never be able to understand. When he looked up at her, sniffing back his sobs, his sadness was momentarily forgotten. Her entire being shimmered and danced with life: minute channels of energy that meshed like delicate spiderwebs, forming arms and legs and—

Her heart. 

He could see it! Right there in her chest. It was like a core of pure energy and magic, beating out a steady rhythm that pulsed through her body in quick waves. How amazing! To think every living being held such beauty inside of them like a little jewel—so sacred and mysterious. Sarel was once again on the verge of crying, his sadness replaced by awe and wonder, and only belatedly realized that Gentle-Hands had been speaking to him.

“What?” he asked through a sniffle, knowing she couldn’t answer in a language he understood.

“Zahk’ma says you are… ehh, blessed,” Irhkmaghi translated from across the room. “Few of our children can handle the Gifts, but you can. She knew. You are special.” 

“I’m not… I’m not blessed. Or special.” 

“All are special,” Irhkmaghi said. “In their own time. And yours is now.” 

“Oh…” Sarel didn’t know how to respond. He continued to gaze at Gentle-Hands’ heart, then looked up at her face. The details of what Sarel was seeing were difficult to understand, but he could tell that she was also smiling. “Zahk’ma,” he repeated. “Is that her name?” 

“Yes,” said Irhkmaghi. 

“Yes,” Zahk’ma echoed. “Zah-rel,” she said with such open affection that Sarel couldn’t help but tip forward to throw his arms around her neck and weep against her shoulder. She shushed him and hoisted him back into her arms, standing up. 

“We return now. Come.” Irhkmaghi gestured with her noise-staff sending ripples of energy through the air. “You are now ready to meet the others.”       

On the walk back to the settlement, Sarel felt like he might twist his head right off his neck with all the turning and looking he was doing. He wanted to see everything he possibly could. 

They made their way back through elaborately carved halls, (and fortunately there wasn’t a single snake to be found). The halls opened up along the cliffside, pillar after pillar lining the cliff overlooking the waterfall. The crash of the falls bathed his surroundings in noise-light, illuminating the intricately constructed archways and strange, carved faces that seemed to push out of the walls like curious giants. Eventually, the carvings fell away, replaced by the natural shapes of the cave. He could see the pulse of plantlife clinging to the cliffs, connected to each other by a delicate network of channels. Then he began to see more figures emerging from the cavern around him—peering out of tunnels, crawling forth from small huts high up on the cave walls to gaze down at them. 

Irhkmaghi led them across a bridge that spanned the chasm from which they’d just ascended, the spray of the falls spiraling through the air like snowflakes. Sarel twisted in Zahk’ma’s arms to look at the gathering of figures on the other side of the bridge. Irhkmaghi said something to them in the Falmer language that seemed to excite the crowd, a few of them letting out whoops and laughs. 

Once across the bridge, Sarel found himself being set down on his own two feet. He held his arms tightly against his body as he gazed up at the surrounding figures. None of them were very large, at least not compared to his father or Harukar. Most of them were smaller than Colette, even, and she was small for a human. 

Then two even smaller figures pushed through from between the others’ legs and cautiously approached Sarel, feeling along the ground on all fours. He let out a distressed whimper and stumbled backwards as one of them brushed their hands across his feet. He collided with Zahk’ma, who simply put her hands on his shoulder and said something soft and quiet near his ear before giving him a little shove forward. 

“Some of our children,” Irhkmaghi said. “They want to meet you, though they are too young to receive the Gifts.”   

“Children?” Sarel looked down at the small figures crouched in front of him. “You mean they can’t see yet?” 

“Not with the Gifts. They see in other ways.”

Sarel crouched down to their level, and the two children scuttled backwards momentarily before cautiously inching forward again.

“Hello,” Sarel said, reaching a hand out. “My name is Sarel.” 

One of the children swept their hand along the ground, finding Sarel’s foot again, and then felt their way along his shin, over his knee, then down his outstretched arm until they grasped his hand. Their hand was so small, even compared to his own. He smiled and let out a nervous laugh, then gasped when the child moved even closer to run their hands up his arms and along his face. It was so familiar—something he’d done countless times as a child, though his father had said it would be rude to do it to strangers—and Sarel couldn’t help but smile even wider. They see in other ways. Yes, the way he had first learned, too!  

The child felt their way along the line of Sarel’s lips, their life energy thrumming vibrantly through the channels of their tiny body, and he saw them smile in return. 

—

Sarel was led to a hut further away from the waterfall. The dampened noise meant that the surroundings were not nearly as stark as the areas close to the falls, though the constant low hum carried through the entirety of the cavern. 

He was exhausted but thrilled. So many people had come forward to meet him. Irhkmaghi had attempted to translate what they were saying, but even she seemed to grow weary after so many interactions. Most everyone seemed to be welcoming him. Some commented on the strangeness of his clothes. Others asked where he’d come from, but seemed confused at his answer. Irhkmaghi admitted that she didn’t know how to translate some of his words. There were some who had seemed wary of Sarel, even angry, refusing to get close to him and grumbling things that Irhkmaghi didn’t translate, but she rasped sharp words at them in the Falmer language until they went away. Sarel couldn’t wait to learn the Falmer language so he could know what they were saying.

Zahk’ma fussed around the hut as Sarel ate a bowl of warm porridge-like food that he’d been handed. It was salty and tasted a bit like eggs. He watched her move things around and gather what appeared to be moss into a corner. She took the bowl from Sarel’s hands once he had finished eating and gently steered him towards the moss pile. 

“Sleep?” Sarel asked with no definitive response. Zahk’ma simply pushed his hair out of his face with a smile, patted the moss, and said something he didn’t understand.

“I want to understand you,” Sarel lamented, climbing onto the moss bed and settling down. “But I don’t even know where to begin or how to learn. None of your words sound Cyrodilic or Altmeris, and that’s all I know how to speak.” 

She said something soft and low then moved towards the door of the hut. 

“I wish you could be my mom,” Sarel sighed into the moss. “But I wish you could just come live at the College with me and my father. I don’t want to live here…” He felt despair well up inside his chest again, and he tried to swallow it down. Where was his father? Was it useless to hold out hope? At least people here were being nice to him. But everything was so strange. He wanted to go home.

Zahk’ma was gone and Sarel was alone again. He shuffled around in the soft moss until he felt comfortable enough to sleep, but lay awake for what felt like hours, letting his newfound gaze roam around the inside of the hut. It was amazing. He couldn’t wait to see the outside world. If… 

The despair returned and he let out a small, helpless sob as he curled into a tight ball on his side. He was trapped here and he should just accept it. He was deep underground with no way of knowing how to get back out. His father was probably dead or lost and never coming for him. Sarel let himself cry into the soft bed of moss, his ethereal vision blurring and darkening until he faded off into an uneasy sleep. His dreams were filled with swirling fractals and never-ending tunnels. He desperately scrambled through this dreamscape, calling out to anyone who might answer, but nobody was there. It was only himself in the vast emptiness of an endless cavern, alone with the strange spirals and patterns. 

Then, he heard his name. 

Sarel…  

He climbed through a hole in the ceiling of the cave, digging upwards. 

Sarel…  

His hands turned into claws like a dragon’s, pulling and scraping at the earth. Dig, dig, dig. He had to get to the surface. 

Sarel, please wake up.  

There was pressure on his chest and Sarel gasped as he was ripped from his dream.

“Shhh,” whispered the familiar voice. “Shh, we have to stay quiet.”   

“Harukar?” Sarel whimpered as his vision returned. Was he still dreaming? 

“Yes,” Harukar croaked, sounding like he might cry. “Ruptga’s stars, I’m so glad you’re safe. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” He rubbed at his face. The blurry shapes around the room began to take a more solid form, and he perked up. “Actually, I’m more than fine! I can s—” Then, his vision fully returned and he saw Harukar for the first time. An involuntary gasp escaped him and he couldn’t help but recoil in horror. 

What should have been a delicate network of beautiful, swirling life energy was instead a malevolent pulsing darkness. At the center of Harukar’s chest was his heart, or what used to be his heart. It almost looked like it was being squeezed between tight claws, or a cage of black iron, still beating despite all odds.   

“Haru—” Sarel choked back a sob. “H-how do you…?” He cautiously leaned forward, pressing his hand to the center of Harukar’s chest. “It’s so… evil.” Sarel whispered. 

Harukar held himself perfectly still, the dark pulse of his energy speeding up at Sarel’s touch.

“You live with this inside you?” Sarel asked. “Every day?”

He heard Harukar take a long, shuddering inhale. “Yes,” he whispered.

Sarel tore his gaze away from Harukar’s heart to look up at his face. He was so frightening. The unsettling, eerie nature that haunted his every step laid bare for Sarel to witness. And yet…

“You’re so strong,” Sarel said, bringing his other hand to Harukar’s chest. “For fighting this. For being good, and—” He sucked in a gasp with the sudden realization. “Where’s my dad!?” 

Harukar shushed him. He pulled Sarel into his lap to hold him in a tight hug, and the tension of his caged heart and dark energy evaporated. 

“Sarel, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Your father has been captured by the Falmer. I do not know if he is alive.” 

Sarel stared numbly over Harukar’s shoulder for a beat before squirming in his grip, trying to pull away. “We have to save him! Please!”  

“Shh, child. Quiet.” Harukar glanced over his shoulder at the door of the hut. “If he is living, I will do everything within my power to save him. But…” He turned back, taking Sarel’s shoulders into his large, cold hands. “Sarel, do you want to stay here?” 

“...What?”

“These people… they are your people. This place. This was where you were meant to learn and grow.” Harukar squeezed his shoulders gently. “I will rescue Aiden and I will get him out of here safely if I can, but I want you to have a choice. Do you want to stay here?” 

“No!” Sarel answered immediately. “I can’t understand anyone! Everything is strange and I’m scared. I wanna come back here someday, maybe, but I don’t want to stay here forever!” He began to cry. “I want my dad. I can see now. I wanna tell him about what I see.”

Harukar held him silently for a moment. “How did they help you to see?” he asked.

Sarel shrugged in his arms. “Magic, I think. I dunno… Some people called The Old Masters taught them how.”

Harukar hummed. “You’ll have to tell me more soon, but we need to move quickly.” 

Excitement thrummed through Sarel’s body and he wriggled out of Harukar’s grip, getting to his feet. “Tell me what to do. I wanna help.” He balled his hands into fists, creasing his brow in determination. “I wanna help save my dad.”

Chapter Text

Aiden awoke in darkness and pain. 

His hands and feet were bound and he had been stripped completely bare, left without even the dignity of his smallclothes. His arrow wounds throbbed with the beginnings of infection—a hot, searing pain that kept time with his rapid pulse—and the right side of his neck was as stiff as a board, radiating a dull ache into his eye sockets. Poison, he managed to think through the agonizing haze. He let out a dry sob.

Divines save me, he silently pleaded. Anyone…  

He lay in the darkness for an untold amount of time, shivering against the cold ground in  agony. Even as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, it did little to help. Without his glasses, the world around him was an alien blur of shadow and light. He attempted to access his magicka, but was only able to pull the smallest wisp of flame into the tips of his fingers. He was too weak and his magicka pool was already disgracefully shallow. 

After forestalling the feeling for as long as possible, Aiden began to weep. His weeping devolved into deep, groaning sobs as he twisted in his bonds and writhed against the ground, consumed by hopelessness and self-pity. Reduced to a frightened prey creature, he curled into a ball as his entire body shook with the force of his despair. The many failures of his life flitted through his mind like a nightmare, mapping a pitiful trail that led him to this current moment: naked, injured, alone. Terribly alone.

‘And you’ll die here,’ said the nasty voice in his mind. The voice that had plagued him throughout his entire life—his own personal daedroth that he’d sought to banish by any means necessary, yet failed at every turn.

‘It’s just the two of us now, Aiden,’ it said. ‘ Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.’

Go away, Aiden thought, biting the insides of his cheeks as he continued to sob. 

‘I go where you go, Aiden.’  

“Leave me alone,” he croaked, and the sound of his own voice startled him. Arguing with the voice in his mind, he’d sounded as he did when he was a child.

‘Oh, Aiden…’ it cooed, sickly sweet. 

Distant noise shocked him back into the present, his useless eyes going wide as he struggled against his bonds. The sound of shuffling and clacking echoed off the walls around him, giving shape to his environment: he was in a dead-end chamber with a single opening, most likely connecting to a tunnel of some kind. The shuffling drew closer and Aiden held his breath, going completely still. The source of the noise—either animal or mer—stopped at the entrance of the chamber, and Aiden said his final prayers. 

“You… are here for the boy, yes?” 

Aiden blinked into the darkness. The Cyrodilic was unexpected, and his mind reeled at the strangeness. “Wh-who are you?” he whimpered, squinting into the darkness to no avail. “Show yourself.”

“I am here,” said the voice. They sounded old, the gravel of their words rough with age.

“Show yourself!” Aiden demanded again, panicked. 

“You are blind,” the voice said. “I am standing before you.”

“Where’s Sarel?” Aiden blurted out. If these people understood Cyrodilic, then maybe they’d been able to communicate with Sarel. Maybe—

“Zah-rel is in our care.” 

His son’s name on this stranger’s tongue ripped an unwanted sob from Aiden’s throat. He pressed his head into the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. He was alive. Sarel was alive. Thank the Divines. “Please, let me—” 

“He is ours now,” the voice said. 

Aiden sobbed, helpless and pitiful. “What do you want with him? Who are you?”

There was the sound of shuffling, the same strange clacking, and voices speaking a barbarous language. The same language as… No.  

“We are Thuamer,” the voice said. “You say Falmer.”

Aiden stared wide-eyed into the darkness. His body, which had been pulsing with pain not moments before, felt completely numb. Surely, it couldn’t be… It was impossible. 

“How—?” Aiden shuddered against the ground. “How do you know Cyrodilic?” 

“This matters not.” There was an odd insect-like sound that tittered in the distance, further down the tunnel. “You took Zah-rel, yes? From his first home?”

Another pitiful whimper escaped Aiden’s lips. “Yes,” he whispered into the dirt. What was the use in lying? “I stole him.” 

“For what purpose you did this?” 

Aiden squeezed the tears from his eyes, shaking his head, smearing dirt across his damp cheek. “I don’t know. I was a monster. I’m… sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The Falmer spoke among themselves for a moment, grunting like animals. 

“Though Zah-rel is not one of our own, you stole from Thuamer. This is unacceptable. You shall be put to death,” the Falmer said at last. 

It was so matter-of-fact, so emotionless. Aiden lay on the cold dirt floor, his mind slowly drifting outside of his body until he couldn’t feel anything, just cold numbness. So this… this really would be where he died. 

In a way, it was a relief. 

“So be it,” he murmured, but the Falmer were already walking away. Their clacking and shuffling receded as the strange insectoid noise drew closer. Chaurus, Aiden realized with dawning horror. Divines, they’re going to feed me to the damn chaurus!  

Suddenly and viciously, Aiden was overcome with white-hot hatred. Fear and fury churned in his gut like black bile. They had his son, and they were feeding Aiden to their fucking bugs. He wanted to rage. He wanted to fight! He brought his bound hands up to his mouth, gnawing at the thick leather straps until his teeth felt like they were going to be ripped from his gums. It was no use. Not that way at least. 

He pushed to sit upright, ignoring the pain in his swollen wrist and scooting himself across the dirt floor until he’d managed to push himself up against the cave’s wall. His bound hands sunk into something wet and viscous and he let out an involuntary gag. What in the—? A brief flair of bioluminescence and a faint waft of ichor triggered his memory. Eggs. Chaurus eggs. He was in one of their nests.

The sounds were drawing closer: the scratch of legs against stone, the click of mandibles, the trilling chatter… 

Once more Aiden attempted to pull magicka into his hands. Perhaps if he could summon enough flame to burn through the leather—

Wisps of arcane flame danced along his fingertips followed by the feeling of tremendous light-headdedness. Shit. Aiden leaned back against the chaurus egg nest, feeling them crack and squelch beneath his weight. It was humiliating more than anything. That his death would be so incredibly undignified. 

‘But befitting a disgrace such as yourself,’ assured the voice. 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aiden said out loud, strangely calm. Then, to himself: Then it is my only hope Sarel knows how much I loved him. More than anything in the world… 

If only he could say it one last time. 

When Aiden began to weep this time, it felt cleaner, refined. Tears streaked their way silently out of his eyes, rolling along his jaw. He wept not out of basal, animalistic fear, but for the life that would be robbed of him. He wept for the dishonor he’d brought upon his family, for never seeing the faces of his brothers and sisters ever again, or hearing his mother’s laugh, or feeling his father’s warm hands on his shoulders. He wept for Colette and their confusing, messy relationship that he never seemed to be able to understand. He wept for Harukar and all of the questions and apologies that were left unspoken between them. 

But above all else, he wept for Sarel. Sarel, who was alone amongst strangers, abandoned and frightened. Sarel, whose spirit shone brighter and fiercer than anyone Aiden had ever met, who held a world of potential in his little hands. 

Sarel…  

As the sounds of the chaurus arrived at the entrance of the chamber, as he sat covered in dirt and slime, Aiden wept, but not for his own death. 

The chaurus reared up, its massive bioluminescent body blocking the entrance. Its mandibles clicked together loudly as it let out a raspy trilling cry—perhaps delight at the meal laid before it, perhaps despair over its crushed eggs. Aiden simply prayed for a swift death. 

Then, there was a loud crunch followed by squelching and the chaurus squealed. Aiden recoiled against the wall with a gasp, bringing his bound hands up to shield his face from whatever might be occurring. The chaurus continued to screech before the sound abruptly stopped with another wet crunch. 

Aiden slowly lowered his arms, panting. He saw the vague shape of the chaurus being hauled out of the way of the entrance, then the outline of a small figure appeared.   

“Dad!”     

It couldn’t be… “Sarel!?” Aiden gasped. He attempted to push out of the egg nest, losing his balance and tipping onto his side. He grunted as he tried to right himself. “Sarel is that you?” 

“Dad, you’re hurt…” came Sarel’s voice. He was at Aiden’t side in an instant, and Aiden felt his small hands pressing against his shoulders in the darkness. “You’re really hurt.” He began to whimper. “Are you gonna die?” 

“Sarel,” Aiden sighed, leaning to rest his head against Sarel’s shoulder. “You’re alright. You’re alive. Thank Auri-El. Thank—” His throat tightened and he let out a choked-off sob. 

Sarel wrapped his thin arms around Aiden’s bare shoulders, cooing and shushing Aiden through his own distressed sniffles, the way Aiden used to comfort him as a small child. In over eleven years, Aiden had never once let Sarel see him cry, but as he lay there in his son’s arms, their roles reversed, he let go. And Sarel held him. 

“I’m sorry I called you a liar,” Sarel said so softly. 

Aiden couldn’t help but laugh through his tears. “It’s quite alright, Sarel. You had every right to.” He hissed as his injured shoulder throbbed when Sarel pulled away. 

“Let me…” Sarel said, sniffing loudly. He ran a hand over Aiden’s neck, over his left shoulder. He prodded delicately at Aiden’s wrist, then shifted to gently touch his calf.

“How…?” Aiden began to ask, but Sarel cut him off.

“I think… I think I see how I can help. I just have to—yeah, hold on. Let me try…” Icy blue light swirled to life in Sarel’s hands, whistling like a flute, chiming like bells. This close, Aiden could make out Sarel’s features, his brow furrowed in concentration as he moved his spell over Aiden’s body. It wasn’t remotely close to a healing spell that Aiden recognized, but his wounds began to ease regardless, the swelling in his wrist receding, the stiffness of his neck relaxing. It wasn’t a skillful job by any means, but Aiden was left dumbfounded.

“Sarel…” he breathed, awestruck. 

“I can see now!” Sarel explained in a loud whisper. “Everything is so much more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”

“Oh.” 

What could Aiden possibly say to such a revelation? How much time had passed while he’d been unconscious? His head swam and he felt faint all over again. 

“Aiden,” came Harukar’s voice. He stepped over the dead chaurus and stooped to cut the bindings on Aiden’s wrists and ankles with a quick jerk of a dagger. “We need to move swiftly. Do you know where they put your belongings?”

“No idea,” Aiden said, getting shakily to his feet, still favoring his injured calf. “If I have to run through these caves stark naked, then so be it.”

“Far too dangerous,” Harukar said. 

“Yeah,” Sarel agreed. “Far too dangerous. But maybe I can go back to the huts and get you something to wear.” 

“No, Sarel,” Harukar said. He bent down and took Sarel by the shoulders. “We can’t go back to the settlement. They’ll try to kill me and your father.” 

“...No. I’m friends with them now. It’ll be alright.” 

“You’re friends with them, yes. But they do not trust me or Aiden. We’re going to have to sneak our way out, alright?” 

“If I just explain to Irhkmaghi—” 

“Sarel,” Aiden cut in. “I’m sorry, but he’s right. They… they expressed their dislike of me quite plainly.” 

Sarel was silent for a long moment, then mumbled: “I just wish we all spoke the same language.” 

“I as well, little one,” Harukar agreed. “Perhaps we will someday. But for now, we need to make our escape.” 

Sarel let out a small, defeated sigh. “Alright…” 

“One problem,” Aiden said. “I… I’m afraid I can’t see. My glasses—”

“I’ll help you!” Sarel chirped slightly too loud, earning a shush from both Aiden and Harukar. “I’ll help,” he whispered.

Aiden’s head still swam at the strangeness of it all, questions upon questions piling high in his mind. He pushed them down, filing them away for later, and reached out to let Sarel take him by the hand. “Thank you, my love.”

“You’re welcome!” Sarel smiled and tugged Aiden towards the entrance. “There’s a big dead bug you have to step over.” 

“I can see that much, thank you.”

As they emerged from the alcove, Aiden squinted into the darkness around him. Even with his blurred vision, he could tell they weren’t in a naturally carved cave. The smooth stone beneath his feet, the distant hiss of steam… They were in a Dwemer ruin. 

“We have to retrace our steps,” Harukar said. “I’m unfamiliar with this area. But I believe we passed a store room on our way down to find you.”

“Alright,” Aiden agreed, limping along as Sarel led him by the hand.

They couldn’t afford to cast a magelight, as apparently the Falmer could see magic. Or, as Sarel explained, some of them could.  

“Not everyone gets the gifts of the old masters right away,” he spoke-whispered. “But apparently I’m special and they knew I’d be able to accept the gifts. It was really scary though, Dad. I had to sit alone in this stone room and it was like they put me inside a big musical instrument and blasted me with sound. And then the sound turned into spirals and I could see my own feet! And then—”

“Sarel, this is absolutely astounding and I want to know all about it, but we have to be quiet right now,” Aiden whispered.

“Sorry…”

“I love you so much,” Aiden assured him. 

“I love you, too,” Sarel replied. Then, after a beat, added: “Sorry I couldn’t heal you better.”

“Hush. You did an amazing job. Thank you.”

Aiden marveled at his own composure. It felt like a miracle, or perhaps he was still in shock. It was as if an entirely different person had phased into his body and inhabited his skin. His arrow wounds burned like fire with each step, and his head spun dizzily, both from his blurred vision and dehydration. Yet somehow, against all odds, he was calmly walking—naked as a newborn—through a Dwemer ruin, all within shouting distance of one of the largest Falmer settlements he’d ever encountered. His past self would have been flabbergasted. In fact, the nasty little voice in his head seemed to be giving off that exact impression. It remained silent, almost petulantly so. For this, too, Aiden was thankful. 

At long last, after winding through the humid halls of the Dwemer underground, they stumbled upon the store room, which, upon closer inspection, was more of a torture chamber . Aiden swallowed around the nervous lump in his throat, squinting into the dimness. He couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the Falmer had considered strapping him to one of these Dwarven contraptions before deciding upon Death by Chaurus instead. He shuddered and banished the thought. 

Harukar kept Sarel by the door as Aiden picked through the various belongings. Trinkets, jewelry, and various bits of travel gear were littered across a long stone table. A pile of clothes had been thrown haphazardly into a small chaurus-leather pin. He stifled a gag at the blood-soaked rags and ruined articles of clothing, quickly tossing them aside as he searched for anything even remotely wearable.        

“Weapons of any kind will be useful,” Harukar said. 

“We’re not gonna have to hurt anyone, are we?” came Sarel’s voice. 

“I certainly hope not,” replied Harukar. “But we must plan for anything.” 

Aiden dug through the pile until he found a set that was close enough to his size and relatively undamaged: a long linen shirt, a wool gambeson, an alarmingly large pair of pants, and an old pair of leather boots. 

“What poor sod might these have belonged to,” Aiden wondered aloud, running the worn fabric of the shirt between his fingers. 

“Best not to dwell on it,” Harukar replied. “Dress quickly now. And pack any extra clothing you can salvage. For warmth. It is cold where we are headed.”  

Aiden tugged the dirty linen shirt over his head, followed by the padded gambeson, then the loose pants and the worn brown boots. A bit of rope became an improvised belt, and he tucked the massive pant legs into the tops of the boots. He felt like a Maomer pirate. 

There were no real weapons to be found, aside from a few nasty looking, blood-caked tools. Aiden managed to stuff a few torn coats and a remarkably intact Colovian hat into a tattered napsack. Lastly, he found an old canteen that might have even been a Dwemer artifact, and a few strips of charred skeever roasting over a hot vent. He wrapped them in some of the cleaner strips of cloth, praying they were edible. The presence of freshly cooked food made him even more nervous. The Falmer could stumble upon them at any moment, if the used state of the room was anything to go by.

“Alright, I think that’s all the useful things we’re getting out of here.”

“Quickly, then,” Harukar urged. “We’ve still much ground to cover.”

Sarel reached out for Aiden’s hand expectantly, smiling up at him as they continued on their way, as if they were simply taking a stroll.  

They spiraled up and out of the Dwemer ruins, Aiden clutching to Sarel’s hand with increasing desperation as the pathways narrowed, a sheer drop on either side of them. Aiden jolted so severely when he nearly stepped off the side of the ramp that he had to take a moment to catch his breath and calm his nerves. 

“Just really feel where you step,” Sarel offered, patting Aiden’s back. “It might help to take off those shoes, you know.”

Aiden couldn’t help but let out a breathy, frightened laugh. “I think I see the appeal now, yes. Thank you.” He elected to keep his newfound boots on, regardless. 

At long last, they made their way out of the ruin and back into the natural cave system, though this brought little relief. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, Aiden thought. Even Sarel seemed to sense the tension. He led Aiden along in silence, his little palms growing damp with sweat. Harukar re-routed them a few times, stopping for long stretches to simply stand and listen.

“What are you listening for?” Aiden dared to ask after they began moving again. 

Harukar didn’t respond right away, but eventually said: “I’m not sure.” His bright eyes flashed in the darkness ahead of them. “Something doesn’t feel right.” 

They continued on, turning down tunnel after tunnel. Aiden was positive that he’d be lost in these caverns forever if it were up to him to navigate. 

Harukar’s arm shot out abruptly to halt them.

Then, Sarel let out a gasp, jerking Aiden backwards as he tugged on his hand. “Harukar!” he yelped. “Look out!” 

Aiden’s heart leapt into his throat as he stumbled, attempting to squint into the darkness. Harukar stepped forward, pulled crackling red magicka into his palms. But the tunnel was empty.

With a grunt, he jerked sideways, as if dodging an invisible attack, and a figure shimmered into existence in the passageway: a Falmer wielding a spear.

Invisibility!? Aiden thought, and put himself between Sarel and the fight, casting a weak ward. 

The Falmer snarled, lunging at Harukar with the spear. He dodged it effortlessly, then faded into a cloud of mist, only to reappear behind the Falmer. The vampiric magic pulsed red in his palms, erupting forth and engulfing the Falmer. The magicka latched to its body like a swarm of leeches, and the creature stumbled. 

Panic rose in Aiden’s chest, but not for fear of the fight. He wouldn’t feed off this one, too, would he? Not in front of Sarel. 

The Falmer let out a pained sound and Aiden heard Sarel gasp.

“Wait!” he cried. “Don’t hurt her!”

Harukar faltered, looking sharply in Sarel’s direction, his eyes burning through the dimness of the cave as his spell fell away. 

In an instant the Falmer regained its footing, lunged forward, and drove its spear into Harukar’s stomach.

Chapter Text

Sarel’s screams reverberated down the tunnel. 

“Sarel, wait!” Aiden tried to hold on as his son thrashed in his grip like a fish on a line. 

With a hard jerk, Sarel twisted free and ran towards Harukar and the Falmer. “No, no, please no!”

The Falmer let go of the spear and moved to scoop Sarel into its arms, but he resisted, elbowing it off of him. 

“STOP!” he shrieked.

There was something frightening and ancient in his voice. It made Aiden’s ears ring. The hairs of his arm stood on end. The Falmer obeyed as if stunned, stumbling away only to stand off to the side, its arms limp and brow furrowed. 

Sarel inspected Harukar’s wound and made a distressed noise, his hands hovering around the head of the spear where it was still embedded in Harukar’s stomach.

“I… I can’t…?” He sucked in a breath. “I don’t know how to heal you. It’s all… wrong.” He went to touch the spear but Harukar grabbed Sarel’s hand. 

“Don’t—” he sputtered. “Don’t remove the tip.” His glowing eyes flashed to Aiden. “We have to…” He shuddered and grit his teeth. “Leave it in.”

Aiden swallowed nervously as he stepped up beside Sarel to inspect the spear. It was made from chaurus parts: a chitinous shaft, the tip buried in Harukar’s stomach and hidden from view.

“I don’t know if I can break the head off without injuring you further,” Aiden said, his voice shaking.

“Can you use magic?” asked Sarel. 

Aiden bit the inside of his cheeks, calculating the risks of attempting a close-quarters destruction spell . “Maybe. Possibly.”

“My dagger,” Harukar said. “Check my boot.”

Aiden dropped to his knees, sliding his fingers around the top edge of Harukar’s boots before finding the hilt of a dagger and pulling it free.

“I’m going to freeze just a small part of it,” he said with feigned confidence, wrapping his palm around the shaft. “To make it brittle.”

With a small push of his poison-weakened magicka, he managed to conjure frost into his palm. Harukar hissed in pain as the icy spell traveled up the shaft while Aiden mumbled apologies.

“Alright, hold it steady.” 

Harukar grasped the spear where it protruded from his stomach, giving a nod. Aiden lifted the dagger with a trembling hand, then knocked it hard against the brittle part of the shaft. It cleaved off with a crack.  

Aiden let out an exhale. He returned the dagger to Harukar’s boot, then stood and placed a steadying arm around his waist. “Lean on me.”

“Aiden—” Harukar began, his voice ragged. 

“Lean on me,” Aiden repeated, with more venom. “We have to keep moving forward, remember? Like you said. Sarel, can you—” 

Sarel had turned to face the strange Falmer. Aiden had momentarily forgotten that it was still here. It had just watched them. 

“Why?” Sarel asked softly. “He’s my friend.” 

“Zah-rel…” it said, and Aiden sucked in a breath. It knew…?

It said something in its strange language, bending and taking Sarel’s face in its hands. In the dim light of the bioluminescent mushrooms and the blur of his vision, Aiden could pick out some details. It appeared to be female, her breasts exposed beneath many strings of beads of all sizes and shapes. Her hair was long and as white as Sarel’s, pulled back into a complex twisting braid along the crest of her head and trailing down her back. 

“Zahk’ma… please let us go.” Sarel took the Falmer’s face in his hands, mirroring her. “Please. I’ll come back someday. I promise.”

She said something impassioned in response; Aiden didn’t have to understand the words to feel the emotion behind them. They were sorrowful, pleading, like a mother seeing her child leave for war.

“Tell Irhkmaghi: I’ll come back,” Sarel said. 

“Alkuhm…” she repeated through choked emotion. 

“I’ll come back.”

“Alkuhm bak.” 

Sarel tipped forward, throwing his arms around the Falmer’s neck for a hug, whispering I’ll come back.  

Aiden was paralyzed. Old, unwanted feelings threatened to seal his throat tight, but he swallowed them down, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth. 

“Which way?” Sarel asked once he’d pulled away from the Falmer. He turned to Harukar. “Which way to get out of here? I’ll lead us.” 

“Straight ahead,” Harukar managed through clenched teeth. “There’s a passage to… the First Chapel of Auriel.”

“Alright.” 

“Zah-rel,” the Falmer said. She looked back at Aiden, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle once more. Her expression held undisguised malice, but it passed quickly, softening as she turned back to Sarel. She bent a knee and removed one of her many strings of necklaces. Gesturing Sarel forward, she placed the beads around his neck, saying something softly in that strange language.

Sarel rolled the beads between his fingers, his expression slack. “Thank you,” he said finally.

The Falmer—Zahk’ma—placed a hand atop Sarel’s head, then turned to leave. Without sparing Aiden or Harukar a second glance, she retreated back down the earthen tunnel, as silent as her arrival. Aiden let out a long breath, shifting his grip around Harukar’s waist.  

“Lean on me more, please. I can hold your weight, I promise.” 

Harukar only grunted in response, but complied, one hand gripping Aiden’s shoulder as the other clutched the remainder of the spear protruding from his stomach. 

They walked on, slower now. Harukar directed Sarel in short, breathless commands. Aiden could feel the shake of his hand where it clutched his shoulder. He was a solid man. If Aiden didn’t have the advantage of height on his side, he would have struggled to hold Harukar’s weight. He focused on putting one foot after the other, keeping his weak eyes trained on the brightness of Sarel’s soft white hair ahead of him. 

In what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, the tunnel ended at a break in the wall. The passage opened into a massive cavern. Aiden ducked below the low arch of the break and steadied Harukar as he climbed through after him. He took a moment to squint out across the unknown, his eyes straining to make out the blur of shapes and light. The sound of running water reached his ears, the air heavy with mist and petrichor. There were massive spindly objects throughout the cave. Trees, perhaps? Whatever they were, they seemed to be giving off light, for which Aiden was thankful.  

“Wow…” Sarel whispered, pausing on the edge of the overlook. “This… I could have never imagined the world looked this beautiful.”

“What does it look like?” Aiden asked, shifting his arm around Harukar’s waist. 

“Everything is… connected. Everything.”

“The trail is steep,” Harukar rasped. “We must be careful. Sarel, lead us down to the water. There is—” He ground his teeth against the pain. “—a land bridge. It will lead us up to the chapel.” 

Aiden did his best to steady Harukar as they made their descent. His legs shook with strain and exertion. 

“There are things moving down there!” Sarel exclaimed. “On four legs. They don’t look like Falmer.”

“Veil deer,” Harukar said. “Harmless. Skittish.” 

“Deer…” Sarel said in wonder. He glanced over his shoulder to smile at Aiden. “I can see the deer!” 

Aiden smiled weakly in return, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. 

They paused at the bottom of the trail, and Aiden took a moment to fill the Dwarven canteen with water. Sarel worried over Harukar, who assured him that he was going to be fine. Everything is fine.   

Finally, they began to ascend the land bridge towards the chapel. Now that he was closer, Aiden realized that the large spindly things he’d mistaken for trees were actually massive mushrooms. He gawked up at them as they passed, resisting the urge to reach out and touch one of their glowing stalks. He wanted to return to this magical place, fates permitted.

The First Chapel of Auri-El was just ahead of them, carved into the very side of the cavern. Its architecture was austere and foreign, unlike anything Aiden had ever seen. Geometric arches with long, precise lines. Above the main entrance was a seven-pointed star on a stylized plinth, its points gently curving to the left. There was a mathematical certainty to the facade——perfectionism——an attempt to capture the true nature of the Divine, juxtaposed by the jagged, imperfect cavern out of which it was carved.

“This was where I first met him,” said Harukar, his voice little more than a wheeze. “Gelebor.” 

“Hush,” said Aiden. “Reserve your strength.”

“Is Gelebor here?” Sarel asked nervously. 

“No. He resides in the main chantry. Let us go inside and I will… explain…” 

Sarel tugged open one of the massive stone doors, throwing all of his weight backwards with a grunt. The door ground open—stone against stone. Together, the three of them stepped over the threshold. 

As Sarel heaved the door closed behind them, sconces around the room flared to life with blue magicka. The main chamber was as large as a lecture hall back at the college: enough to house a small congregation, at least. There was a small font near the door, its basin filled almost to the brim with dark water, and beyond it, rows and rows of pews, all facing what Aiden could only assume was a statue of Auri-El, though his vision did not permit him to see that far.  

Harukar pulled away from Aiden’s grip, stumbling and catching himself against the nearest wall with a groan. Sarel let out a distressed whimper, shuffling closer but keeping his hands tucked tightly against his chest.

“I need…” Harukar gasped in pain, holding the protruding spear with shaking hands. “I need it out.” He looked to Aiden with desperation. “When we remove it, you have to seal the wound.”

“How!?” 

“Fire.”

Aiden swallowed. “Harukar, my skills in Destruction are not that precise. I could—”

“Kill me?” Harukar grimaced with a humorless huff. “I’m willing to take the risk. Quickly, now.”     

Aiden swung their pack to the floor and dug through their ramshackle belongings. He pulled out one of the thick coats before helping Harukar to the ground, then pillowed the coat beneath his head.

“Sarel,” Harukar rasped, and Sarel was at his side in an instant.

“What can I do?” 

Harukar attempted a smile. “Just hold my hand, little one. I’m going to need the support of a friend.”

Sarel took one of Harukar’s large hands into both of his own, his brow furrowed with determination. “Squeeze as hard as you want.”

Aiden began to unbuckle Harukar’s leather cuirass in preparation. “Alright,” he said, voice shaking. “I’m going to remove the head, then I’ll need to get your clothes out of the way to seal the wound.”

Harukar nodded. “I’m ready.”

Aiden looked up to meet Harukar’s eyes, nodded once in return, then pulled the spear from his stomach. 

Harukar let out a long groan through clenched teeth as Aiden tossed the spearhead aside, quickly pulled open the cuirass, and untucked Harukar’s undershirt. Blood as black as ink was oozing steadily from the jagged wound; the smell of iron filled Aiden’s nostrils. He placed the flat of his hand against Harukar’s cold stomach. With another shuddering inhale, he pulled fire into his palm.

Harukar screamed, arching his back and kicking his feet against the floor as Aiden pressed his burning hand harder against the wound, trying to hold him in place. Sarel held onto Harukar’s hand, grasping it to his chest, his own expression pained as his breath came in quick puffs. The stench of burning flesh replaced iron, and tears pricked the corners of Aiden’s eyes as Harukar continued to thrash. After another few seconds he jerked his hand away, breathing hard. 

The blister across Harukar’s stomach was in the shape of Aiden’s hand. It made him ill to look at it. But the wound had been sealed.     

Harukar was panting raggedly, his eyes wide and wet as he stared unseeing at the ceiling. 

“He’s gonna die,” Sarel whimpered, still holding Harukar’s hand. “And I can’t heal him. His body won’t let me… Dad, we have to do something!”  

Aiden’s mind whirred, remembering necromantic healing spells that he’d only read about in theory. Never once would he have thought he’d have a practical application for such depraved work, and now he cursed himself for having never given it more consideration.

How does one perform a blessing upon that which is unholy? How does one heal the undead?  

In the low light of the cold chantry, something caught his eye: the pendant Harukar wore around his neck—visible beneath the folds of his shirt, shimmering against his dark skin. In a flash of inspiration and fear, Aiden knew what needed to be done. 

“Sarel, I need you to let me be alone with Harukar, alright?” Aiden placed his hands on Sarel’s shoulders. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Where do I go?” he asked, his voice watery. He clutched Harukar’s now limp hand to his chest.

“Here, take my hand. We’ll find a place for you to sit.” 

“I don’t need to hold your hand!” Sarel jerked away, his voice cracking with stress. “I don’t wanna leave Harukar!”

“Please trust me. I’m going to help him, alright? I just… need you to give us some privacy. Can you trust me?” He felt the irony in the question, but reached out to give Sarel’s shoulder a squeeze. 

“Yeah,” Sarel said, after a pause. He gently released Harukar’s hand and got to his feet. “Where should I go?”

“Let’s go look together, alright? It looks like there’s an adjoining room just over here.” He went to take Sarel’s hand, but stopped himself. “Follow me.” 

Their footsteps echoed off the bare walls of the abandoned chapel, ill-defined shapes lining the walls in Aiden’s blurry vision. The shadows cast by the blue sconces jumped and danced as they passed, confusing his eyes even further. They walked through an archway into a smaller chamber—possibly a dressing room for acolytes. 

“It’s so quiet in here,” Sarel whispered. “And dead. Long dead. It makes it hard to see.” 

Questions burned in Aiden’s mind, but he pushed them down. “Well, you’ll just have to make a little noise then, right? Maybe hum a song?” 

“Alright,” Sarel agreed, cautiously, his shoulders hunched and head down. 

“No matter what you hear outside this room, I need you to stay in here until I tell you to come out. Alright, Sarel?”

Sarel shuffled into a corner, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground. 

“Alright?” Aiden pressed. 

“Yeah, alright,” Sarel agreed, barely above a whisper. 

He wanted to linger, to explain further, but he was running out of time. Harukar was running out of time.

Aiden turned and jogged out of the room and back to where Harukar still lay on the floor. He dropped to his knees beside him, reaching forward and unhooking the pendant that hung around his neck.  

“You’re going to feed from me.”

Chapter Text

“You’re going to feed from me,” Aiden said, more confidently than he felt.

Harukar shook his head, his eyes dull and glassy. “Too dangerous…”

“Quiet,” Aiden snapped as he fastened the pendant around his own neck. “I won't be letting Molag Bal have you so easily.” The necklace’s enchantment pulsed through his body in rolling waves as he tucked the pendant beneath his shirt. 

“…could kill you,” Harukar slurred. “Aiden. I’m… weak.”

Aiden ignored him, his own heartbeat hammering loudly in his ears. He braced his hands against the floor on either side of Harukar’s shoulders, turning his head to the side to bare his neck. Through clenched teeth, he said: “Do it.”

“Aiden…” Harukar’s expression was that of fear and despair, but it slowly shifted, slackened. There was something else… something Aiden had yet to see. 

Hunger.  

The edge of Harukar’s mouth twitched as his eyes regained some focus, his pupils blown wide. He reached up with a shaking, blood-covered hand to turn Aiden’s face back towards his own. 

When Aiden looked into his eyes, an odd sense of calm flooded his body, followed by a muffled silence. The room seemed to fall away around him, his senses narrowing to the thrum of his own pulse, slowing to a rhythmic beat.

The sound of his own breath. The glow of Harukar’s eyes. The touch of his fingers along Aiden’s jaw. Stillness. 

Silence.  

Harukar lunged upwards and sank his teeth into Aiden’s shoulder. 

He couldn’t help the strangled scream that tore from his throat as he found himself being wrestled onto his back, the full weight of Harukar’s body pressing him into the floor, surrounding him, suffocating him. His shoulder throbbed and his hands scrambled to hold on, twisting the fabric of Harukar’s blood-soaked shirt between his fists.

He stared wide-eyed at the pale ceiling, jaw clenched tight, taking quick, shuddering breaths through his nose, attempting to breathe through the pain and the fear as Harukar fed. And fed. And fed.

How long would he feed?

It was beyond that of his worst nightmares—his own lifeforce being sucked from his body in great, heaving gulps. He felt like a prisoner all over again, utterly powerless. Aiden opened his mouth to speak, to beg for it to stop, but his throat was dry and tacky.

Blackness pooled at the edges of his vision. Stars burst before his eyes as he tried to blink them away. He made a rattling, choked noise as his face grew cold. His grip on Harukar’s shirt weakened and his arms fell away, hitting the tiled floor with a muted thunk. 

The world spun. His fingers were ice. He swallowed, blinking sluggishly. 

How ironic, the cruel voice said, self-satisfied and smug. For your savior to also be your murderer.

Aiden swallowed again. His eyes slid closed. 

And how embarrassing, the voice continued, mockingly. You’ve been hiding these perverted feelings, denying them. Now he turns out to be the monster you’d convinced yourself he wasn’t.

“Haru—” Aiden managed to whisper. “Please—”

Harukar pulled away with a heaving gasp. He placed Aiden’s cold, shaking hand against the wound on his shoulder. “Heal.” 

Aiden conjured a weak Restoration spell, enough to scab the wound, before letting his hand fall away, now slick with his own blood as well as Harukar’s.

He stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily as warmth slowly began to trickle back into his face, then down his arms and legs; his hands and feet tingled painfully as they regained sensation. Harukar had scrambled away from him, pressing himself against the far wall. One hand covered his mouth as his shoulders shook. 

Finally, Aiden pushed off the floor to sit upright, still light-headed. He sat still for a long moment, eyes unfocused, before he pulled himself across the floor towards Harukar. “Are you healing?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Harukar didn’t respond. His hand was still pressed across his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut. As Aiden slid closer, he managed to make out the gleam of tears streaking across Harukar’s dark cheeks.

“Harukar,” Aiden said softly, his voice still shaking. “It’s alright.”

Harukar shook his head. He pulled his hand away from his mouth, and Aiden saw his own blood still clinging to his lips and chin. “I’m so sorry, Aiden.” 

“Everything is alright,” Aiden repeated, but Harukar shook his head again. 

“I let them take you. I could have helped you, but I let them take you.” He sucked in a wet inhale. “I was going to let them kill you. I was—” He cut himself off, turning his face away as his shoulders shook. “Stars forgive me…” 

Aiden let his head rest against the wall as his heart rate slowly returned to normal, his face flushing with heat. “Ah,” was all he could manage. The confession wasn’t nearly as shocking as it should have been. If anything, he felt a creeping sense of shame. “Well, I can’t say I blame you.” 

Harukar’s shoulders slowly stilled. He turned his face back to Aiden, staring silently at him for a long moment. His expression morphed from confusion to pity to something almost placid as he leaned back to rest his head against the cold wall, mirroring Aiden’s posture.

“Thank you,” he said finally. He still looked ragged. Exhausted. His eyes were sunken with darkened circles beneath them, but they shone brightly once more. “Please forgive me.”   

Aiden nodded with a weak smile. “I will. I do.” The forgiveness came easily. He gestured with his chin. “How’s the wound?” 

Harukar looked down and ran a hand over his stomach. “Not good, but no longer life-threatening.” He traced the raw, puffy outline of Aiden’s handprint, letting out a tremendous exhale that turned into a breathy laugh. “You’ve certainly left your mark on me.”

Aiden mustered a small laugh as well, reaching up to touch his neck. “You returned the favor.” The bite mark was beyond two small puncture wounds. He could feel the imprint of each of Harukar’s teeth, scabbed over by his quick healing spell.

Harukar’s expression turned troubled. “I owe you a great debt.”

“You do not,” Aiden said, tiredly. “Not after everything. If anything, we’ll call it even.” He paused. “Unless you need to feed again, then I’ll concede to a small debt.”

Harukar let out a more genuine laugh. “I am so deeply sorry. I’m usually much more restrained. I… I try to make it a tolerable experience, at the very least.” He took a deep breath. “I have not been that close to death in a very long time. It… I was frightened and desperate. I didn’t have my usual wits about me.”

“Understandably, yes.” Aiden rubbed at his eyes, then gently trailed his fingers over his neck again. His heart fluttered nervously. “I did not want you to die,” he confessed quietly. “I very much did not want that.” 

Harukar stared at him silently again, though his expression had shifted into something hard to parse. Then, opening his mouth to speak—

“Can I come back in now?” came Sarel’s voice from the doorway across the room. 

“Yes!” Aiden said, scooting away from Harukar. “I’m sorry, my love. You can come out now.”

“Is Harukar alright?” Sarel asked. 

“Yes, little one,” Harukar responded. “I just need to rest.” 

Sarel scampered over to them, sitting down next to Harukar and gently pressing a hand over his stomach. “It’s still not good inside,” he said with a creased brow. 

“I just need rest. Will you and your father protect me while I sleep? I’ll be very vulnerable.”

“Yeah! Of course!” Sarel squeaked. “How long do you need to sleep?” 

Harukar made an unsure noise. “A few hours, at least. I think we could all use the rest.” 

“We can make a little camp here in the chapel,” Aiden suggested. “While Harukar sleeps. How about that Sarel? Make ourselves at home.”

Sarel nodded, his smile weary, but cautiously hopeful. “Alright.” 

The chapel was much larger than Aiden had first realized. Its adjoining rooms stretched deep into the cut of the mountain. After each taking long drinks of water from their freshly filled canteen, he and Sarel set out to explore the ruin.

They wandered hand-in-hand past the large sculpture of Auri-El, illuminated by the cold blue light of the magical sconces. Aiden squinted up at the statue. The face had been chipped away, almost intentionally: the nose flattened, chin eroded, and deep hollow gouges where his eyes must have been. He shuddered. Surely the Falmer hadn’t done that.

The following chamber appeared to be a series of small rooms on each side of the wide hallway. He and Sarel cautiously peered into each, finding remnants of bedrooms, a primitive kitchen, and a storeroom.

“Perhaps these were for the priests who once tended the chantry,” he mused aloud to Sarel. 

“You think they lived down here?”

“Maybe. I assume they took turns in their tending.”

“I hope they weren’t too lonely…”

The chantry came to an end past the living quarters. The room opened up into a vaulted chamber lined with various shrines, most likely to the Snow Elf pantheon. As Aiden and Sarel took a turn around the room, the churning nausea returned to Aiden’s gut. Every single shrine had been destroyed or desecrated. 

“This place feels funny,” Sarel said, stepping closer to Aiden. “Like… it’s empty, when it shouldn’t be.”

“Yes,” Aiden agreed as he urged Sarel back the way they’d come, his eyes lingering on the large, gazebo-like structure in the center of the room. There was a basin on a pillar in the center of it, similar to the one at the front of the chapel. Regardless of his curiosity, he didn’t want to stay in the room any longer.

“Now what?” Sarel asked as they left the eerie shrines behind them. 

“Let’s see if we can find anything useful for a camp.”

They began to pick through the ancient living quarters, starting with the kitchen. Aiden wasn’t sure how much they’d find that was useful to them, given the age of the ruin and the unfathomable amount of time it must have sat empty. Nevertheless, it was something to do while Harukar slept. If nothing else, it distracted him from the gnawing hunger that threatened to rupture his stomach. 

As they searched, Sarel picked up where he’d left off explaining how he’d received his magical sight:

“…they took me deep down into these huge halls where there was a lot of hissing and steam and then locked me in a chamber. Then they played the loudest sounds I’ve ever heard in my life. It was really scary.” 

“The Dwemer had a type of magic called ‘Tonal Architecture’. Do you remember me mentioning that at all in our studies?” 

“Mmm, no, I don’t think so. But that would make sense, right? Since the Dwemer enslaved the Falmer and made them blind, like Dexion said. And Irhkmaghi called them ‘the Old Masters’, so maybe—” 

“How did she know Cyrodilic?” Aiden interrupted. “The woman whose name you just said.”

“Irhkmaghi?”   

“Yes, her. She spoke to me briefly, but only to—” Aiden cut himself off. Sarel didn’t need to know that they’d condemned him to death. “But wouldn’t answer my questions.”

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me either. She just said that it had been a long time since she’d had anyone to practice speaking to, so she said things funny sometimes.” Sarel let out a little sigh. “Zahk’ma couldn’t speak any of the common languages, and I wanted to talk to her the most. She reminded me of Colette a little. Like she could have been my real mom.” 

Aiden’s heart stuttered so fiercely in his chest that he had to steady himself against the wall. It’s time, said a voice in his head, and for once he agreed. He cleared his throat.

“Sarel, I think… I think I need to be honest with you. About the nature of your adoption.” His voice trembled as he spoke. “I’ve kept you in the dark for far too long. It’s… simply difficult for me to recount.”

“Alright,” Sarel agreed, easily. “What else is there to say?” 

Aiden took a deep breath through his nose. “Perhaps we should return to the main room so we can be near Harukar. Maybe have a seat? Then I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But please…” He took a knee, placing his hands on Sarel’s little shoulders. “Please—” He didn’t know what he was begging for.

“Please what?” Sarel asked with a creased brow.

Please forgive me.

But Aiden wasn’t sure if forgiveness was possible.

Chapter Text

As they made their way back to the front of the chapel, Sarel couldn’t help but notice the shift in his father’s demeanor. His life-pulse had quickened, his posture becoming stiff. He watched curiously as Aiden walked over to check on Harukar. He knelt beside him, fussing with the coat beneath his head and placing a hand over his chest.

“He’s alive,” Sarel supplied when his father seemed to hover with uncertainty. “Or, uh… you know what I mean. He’s healing.”

Aiden let out a breath and got to his feet. He paused while walking back over to Sarel, looked over his shoulder, then asked: “What does he look like? To you, I mean.” 

Sarel hummed thoughtfully, taking a long look at Harukar as he lay unmoving against the floor. 

“Frightening,” he settled on. “Nothing like anyone else. He’s full of power, but his heart-energy is… dark. I don’t know how else I could describe it. I told him that he must be really strong to fight it and be a good person.” He scooted over to make room  on the broken pew as his father sat down next to him. 

There was another pause before Aiden’s next question. “What do I look like?”  

Sarel twisted to look at his father— really look at him. He reached out to run his hand down Aiden’s nose, then cupped his jaw. His skin was prickly; unshaven. 

“I don’t know how to describe it, either. But it’s like there are… grooves.” He traced the lines going down Aiden’s neck and across his shoulder. “It’s like the lines in the stone walls back at the college. And all your energy runs through them. And they gather in different places, like little pools of water.” He tapped the center of his father’s chest.

“So you can’t see my hair? Or the color of my eyes?” 

“I don’t think so…  I mean, I can see your hair, but only when, um… It kind of shivers whenever you talk. But, even if I could see your eyes I’m not sure if I’d know what color they were. I think everything is the same color. Or it’s every color all at once.”

“Astounding,” Aiden breathed. He took Sarel’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks. “You’re absolutely astounding.” He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, and Sarel imagined their little energy pools swirling together. “I’ve deprived you of so much, Sarel. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” 

His father pulled away and let his hands drop back into his lap. He let out a tremendous sigh; his heart began to beat faster, the energy pulsing nervously through its channels in quick flickers of motion. “I have not been honest with you… about how I came to be your father. About your adoption.” 

Sarel waited nervously for him to continue. He began to wring the edge of his shirt while crossing and uncrossing his toes. 

“You weren’t abandoned. That was a lie. A lie to protect myself and m–my…” Aiden took a shaky breath. “Truth is—I—I stole you, Sarel. I stole you.” 

Sarel swallowed around the growing thickness in his throat, letting his father’s words roll through his mind.

Stole.  

Stealing was what people did to possessions—gold pieces and jewelry and horses. Not children. 

I don’t want you getting scooped up and carried away.  

Sarel felt numb. He continued to twist the hem of his shirt as he asked: “Why?”

His father tipped forward to bury his face in his hands. His energy vibrated and shivered. “You were… an experiment. I wanted to—I thought I could—I was a monster, Sarel . And I’m so sorry. Auri-El, I’m sorry.”  

The ‘sorry’ came out in a whimper, like a wounded wolf lost among the ice drifts. Sarel’s immediate instinct was to lay a hand on his father’s back to comfort him, but he continued to wring his shirt and cross-uncross his toes. Experiment? His stomach felt twisted into knots all over again.

“So, my real mother might still be looking for me?” 

Aiden curled forward over his knees and pressed his face ever further into his hands, as if he were trying to disappear between his own fingers. His following words were barely above a whisper, but clear regardless: “She’s dead.”     

Dead.

Sarel’s hand stilled in his lap. Oh… He immediately thought about the dead rabbit he’d found in the snow. 

Poor thing. 

(“Can we bring it back?”) 

(“No, Sarel. Not in the way that it once was.”)

He pulled his feet up onto the pew, hugging his knees to his chest as he let the information settle into something he could parse. His real mother was dead. His father had stolen him from her. 

“Did you kill her?” Sarel asked without quite knowing why. 

Aiden was crying softly into his hands, but managed to say: “Yes.” 

Sarel could only sigh. It was too much. He knew he should feel sad, but he didn’t. Just confused and nervous. More than anything, he wanted his dad to stop crying. It felt like he was sitting next to a stranger that he’d never met before. 

“Please forgive me, Sarel. I—” Aiden’s words were scattered between his soft sobs. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I beg for it. I’ll do anything t-to…” He trailed off.

Sarel traced the lines of energy in his own feet thoughtfully, remaining silent as his father continued to cry. Everything felt disoriented—knocked sideways. They should be happy to be back together again. But…

His father had killed his mother. His real mother. So that he could steal Sarel. He still wasn’t sure why he was stolen. Sarel was an experiment. What kind of experiment? It was all so confusing.

“I… don’t think I can forgive you for that,” Sarel said carefully. 

His father’s crying tapered off into silence. His hands fell from his face as he looked out silently across the pews, elbows propped against his knees. The energy in his body shifted again. 

“Because I don’t think it’s something I can forgive,” Sarel continued. “Taking a life is unforgivable. Because the only person able to forgive you is the one who’s dead, right?” 

To his surprise, his father let out a bitter huff of a laugh. “You sound like Colette,” he said. 

Sarel smiled at the mention of her name. “Yeah… but you taught me that. Remember?” 

His father straightened up slightly, turning to look at him. “I did?” 

“Yeah, when I found the poor dead rabbit, remember?” 

His father was very still. Even the pulses of his heart-energy had slowed, so Sarel asked again: 

“Remember?” 

—

His father’s cold hands guided Sarel’s to push dirt over the rabbit’s shallow grave. They patted it down together and then Aiden said a few words in Altmeris over the body. 

“May the ancestors bless you?” Sarel translated with slight uncertainty. Their language studies had fallen to the wayside as of late. 

“Correct,” his father said, his tone warm with pride. “The rabbit ancestors. May they guide its soul, hopping all the way into Aetherius.”

Sarel giggled softly and placed a hand over the dirt, repeating the blessing in his father’s tongue. He stood up, brushing off his knees before letting his father take one of his hands to lead them out of the courtyard.

“So, the rabbit died from being too cold?” Sarel asked once they were back in the warmth of the Hall of Countenance.

“Most likely, yes.”

Sarel still couldn’t believe it. Something could die from being too cold. “How else can things die?” 

He heard Aiden take a deep breath. “That’s a rather grim topic of conversation. Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Sarel insisted. He was about to turn seven. He needed to know these things if he was to grow up.

Aiden led Sarel up the stairs and to their room as he began to explain. “Well… most living beings die from old age. Sickness, disease, injury. But things are also killed. We kill for meat so that we have food and can survive.” 

Once in the safety of their room, Sarel pulled his hand free as his father closed the door behind them. He felt his way over to his own bed, climbing onto it and pulling off his shoes. “So things that we eat for food are killed? They didn’t die naturally?”   

“Correct.” 

“So we kill them because otherwise we’d starve.” 

“Yes, unless you elect to only eat vegetables. Though, to a Bosmer that might also be considered killing.” His father laughed as though he’d told a joke. Sarel didn’t understand, but laughed along anyway. Then his father sobered, and added: “Although… killing can also be senseless.”

“Senseless?” 

“Yes. People kill for many reasons. Not just for food. Not just animals. Sometimes they kill each other.”

Sarel gasped. “Why?” 

“It depends, I think. Sometimes it’s to keep themselves alive, or to protect those that they love. Sometimes people kill each other because they’re fighting for a cause they believe in. Or sometimes they simply kill because they have no respect for life.”

“I don’t think I could ever kill someone,” Sarel insisted. 

“I certainly hope you never have to.” His father drew closer and placed a hand on Sarel’s head. “Taking a life senselessly is an unforgivable act…” His hand retreated and silence followed, stretching on long enough for Sarel to feel nervous. Then, softly, he added: “Because the only one capable of providing forgiveness is already dead.”

—

Aiden was still facing away from Sarel, slumped over his knees. He cleared his throat and straightened up, rubbing his hands vigorously over his eyes. “I… I suppose I did teach you that.” The father he knew seemed to return then, chasing away the crying and bitter versions that had replaced him earlier.

“Were you thinking about my mother?” Sarel asked. “When you told me that?” 

His father let out a shuddering exhale. “I’m not sure. Perhaps I was.” He sniffed loudly and cleared his throat. “You’re taking this… remarkably well, Sarel.”

Sarel went back to wringing the hem of his shirt. “I’m not really sure how I should react. I’m—it’s a little… It’s like you’re just telling me a story. Like I don’t really believe you.”

Aiden nodded his head. “It’s rather unbelievable, isn’t it?”   

“Yeah,” Sarel agreed. “But… You’ve changed, right? You wouldn’t do it again?” 

His father shook his head from side to side. “No. I would never do it again. Ever.” He inhaled, running a hand through his own hair—it shimmered and swirled with the vibrations of his movement. “As selfishly as I love you, I do wish that I’d left everything well enough alone. I wish you could have been raised by your own kind. With your own mother…” 

“I can’t imagine having a different life,” Sarel admitted, feeling a little guilty. 

Even Harukar had seemed to think he’d want to stay with ‘his people’. But he felt more like an outsider there than he ever had at the College. Even in Helgen he could at least understand what people were saying. 

“Like, if I’d grown up with other Falmer… I don’t know! I just can’t imagine it.” He let his legs relax, unfolding them to sit properly on the bench. “So, no, I guess I can’t… I can’t forgive you for what you did, because it’s not my place to forgive that. But I forgive you for stealing me, I think. Because I’m glad that I got to grow up at the College. And I’m glad that you’re my father. I can’t imagine if you weren’t.” 

His father was still for a long moment, his breath coming out in shallow puffs through his nose. Then he abruptly slid from the pew to kneel in front of him, taking Sarel’s hands into his own. Sarel just stared at him, watching the shifting energy lines, memorizing all the unique things that made his father who he was. Aiden’s face contorted into a strange expression—his brow upturned, his mouth stretched into a thin smile. He trembled as he spoke. 

“You may not always feel that way,” he said, his voice tight and watery. “And it’s alright if you change your mind in the future—once you’re older. It’ll be alright.” He squeezed Sarel’s hands. “But I am so glad that you are my son. I am so blessed to have you in my life. You are an astounding person, Sarel.” He reached up to run a hand over Sarel’s head, tucking a stray curl of hair behind his ear. “It is an honor to be your father, and I promise to do my best, always. I swear on the stars, by my ancestors, that I will do right by you , so long as I have breath within me.” 

Sarel smiled back. “Good! I’ll do right by you, too.” He tipped forward off the pew and threw his arms around Aiden’s neck. He pulled Sarel into his lap, clutching him tightly. 

“You’re growing so fast,” he said into Sarel’s hair. “I have to hold you like this while I still can.”

“I’m not growing that fast…”

“You are! You’re like a little bean sprout. Look at your legs!” 

Sarel pulled away to look down at his legs where they were splayed out across the floor. “Hmm… I guess now that I can see them, they do look pretty long.” 

Aiden laughed into his hair, holding him tighter still. Sarel could feel the wetness of his tears hot against the crown of his head. He hadn’t thought his father was capable of crying so much. It made Sarel feel silly for thinking of himself as a crybaby for so many years. He hoped his father cried more often. 

From across the chamber behind them, Harukar let out a long, low groan causing both of them to start. Sarel squirmed out of his father’s lap and got to his feet, jogging over to kneel at Harukar’s side. He kept his hands in his lap as he watched Harukar’s dark energy pulse and jump. His arms twitched, his expression contorting. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Sarel asked.

“I… I think he’s having a bad dream,” Aiden replied, getting to his feet and walking over. 

“Should we wake him?” 

“I’m not sure, actually.” 

Sarel wanted to help—to ease his friend’s suffering—but something stopped him. 

It was the darkness. 

The claws gripping Harukar’s heart looked like they were preventing it from beating fully. Sarel imagined those claws lashing out at him if he tried to intervene.  

“There’s a cage around his heart,” Sarel whispered. “I wish we could help free him.” 

He heard his father take a deep breath. “I do, too.”

With a loud gasp, Harukar’s eyes snapped open. “Sarel!” 

Icy fear shot through Sarel’s body. “What? I’m right here!” 

Harukar rolled onto his side, pressing his face against Sarel’s stomach and wrapping his long arms around him as he shuddered with unrestrained sobs. Sarel glanced nervously up at his father before gently placing his hands on Harukar’s shoulders, shushing him the same way he had shushed Aiden back in the chaurus nest. 

He was starting to think that the adults in his life needed to cry more often. They had so many tears inside of them. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Harukar whispered.

“Yeah, I’m safe,” Sarel assured. “You’re safe, too.”

Harukar pulled away and rolled onto his back, wincing as he shifted. He glanced down and ran a hand over the wound in his stomach. 

“I don’t— I’m not sure if I can sleep again.”

“You haven’t healed enough, though,” Sarel said, one hand still on Harukar’s shoulder. “You need to try.”

“We found some sleeping quarters farther back in the chapel. Perhaps we could all move in there?” his father suggested, wringing his hands together as he hovered over the two of them.

“I don’t think it matters where I sleep. The nightmares—” 

Aiden knelt down, placing a hand on Harukar’s other shoulder with a smile. “We won’t leave your side this time.” 

He and Harukar stared at each other for a long moment, as if they were having some sort of silent conversation. Then, Harukar gave a single nod.

They helped Harukar to his feet and slowly moved towards the back of the chapel, situating themselves in the modest sleeping quarters. What remained of the beds amounted to nothing more than slabs of stone. Sarel kept an arm around Harukar as they watched Aiden fuss with the spare coats and shirts, attempting to turn the stone bed into something slightly more comfortable. Then, his father helped ease Harukar onto the bed.

“Comfortable?”

“Enough, yes. Thank you.”

Aiden turned back to their pack, digging inside of it for a moment before turning back around. 

“Sarel, here. Eat,” he said, holding out something thin and leathery. 

“No… You need it more. I’m alright for now.” 

“You have to keep up your strength.”

“Zahk’ma fed me.” He stepped over and put a hand over Aiden’s heart. His father’s life-energy was weaker than it should be. “Really, please eat it, Dad. I’m not hungry yet.”

His father was quiet as Sarel climbed onto the stone bed and settled down next to Harukar, who wrapped an arm around him. He rested his head against Harukar’s chest and listened to the soft beat of his heart. Sarel didn’t feel tired, but he was certainly exhausted. 

His father sat down on the other side of Harukar on the edge of the bed. He reached over and brushed Sarel’s hair out of his face, then his hand lingered, hovering with uncertainty over Harukar. Harukar reached up and took Aiden’s hand and pulled it against his chest, squeezing it. Sarel let out a sigh. 

He was thankful that they were all back together again, but more than anything he was ready for this adventure to be over.

Chapter Text

The splash of the water echoed off the gazebo’s vaulted ceiling as Harukar tipped the ritual ewer into the font. The theory behind the magicka used in the “pilgrim’s ritual” had Aiden’s mind spinning with questions. He blinked in surprise as a shimmering, silvery portal opened up in the center archway behind the basin. 

“Whoa,” said Sarel. 

“Ancient Falmer magics,” Harukar explained. “Perhaps you’ll come to know them soon enough, little one?”

“Maybe…” 

Sarel clung to Aiden’s arm with trembling hands, his breath coming in shallow puffs through his flat nose. 

Aiden placed his free hand on Sarel’s head, pushing his hair away from his face. “Don’t be nervous, Sarel. We’re right here with you.” 

Sarel stepped closer and pressed his cheek to Aiden’s arm, but otherwise remained silent. 

“I’ll go first. All you have to do is step through behind me,” said Harukar. “The easiest part of our journey yet, I think.” 

Aiden couldn’t help but let out a strained laugh, looking down at Sarel in hopes that he might laugh as well. His son’s expression remained tense and focused. Aiden glanced back up to lock eyes with Harukar, who offered an encouraging smile and a single nod before turning to step through the portal. 

His sudden absence felt jarring—a void where a comforting and familiar presence had once been. Sarel sighed shakily into the silence. Kneeling in front of him, Aiden took Sarel’s face into his hands. 

“No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together, alright?”

Sarel nodded mutely. 

“Want me to carry you?” 

Sarel nodded again and looped his arms around Aiden’s neck. 

Sarel was small for an eleven year old mer, but far heavier than anything Aiden managed to carry around with any regularity. He grunted as he hefted his son into his arms, feeling the wounds in his leg and shoulder pulse angrily. Shifting his weight until Sarel sat comfortably in his arms, he turned to face the portal. Its surface rippled like disturbed water, reflective but translucent. He could see vague shapes and light just beyond its liminal veil. With a final kiss to the side of Sarel’s head, Aiden stepped forward and through the archway. 

The sudden, blinding light of the late afternoon sun assaulted his cave-adapted eyes, and he blinked hard, squinting into the harshness of it. A cold wind battered against his side, and he shivered. Sarel had buried his face against Aiden’s neck, his little heart beating so hard that Aiden could feel it against his own sternum. Finally, his eyes adjusted enough to take in their surroundings, and he couldn’t help but gasp in awe.

They stood on a great balcony surrounded by massive glaciers and jagged, snow-capped mountains. As he stepped out of the gazebo, Aiden tipped his head back to gaze up at the cathedral before him. The entire structure seemed to be carved into the side of a glacier. The architecture was similar to the First Chapel in its symmetrical precision, though this building lay in partial ruin.

“I was beginning to worry,” came Harukar’s voice from across the balcony. He stood concealed in the shadows of large archways and crumbling pillars. 

“Had to gather our strength,” Aiden said, beginning to carry Sarel over to him. “Sarel, you should look around. It’s so beautiful here.”

Sarel’s face was pressed tightly against the crook of Aiden’s shoulder. “Is Gelebor here?” 

“I don’t see him, no.” 

As Sarel turned his head to peer out from beneath Aiden’s chin, his entire body jerked as if he’d been struck, and he let out a yelp of pain. He twisted back around and pressed his face harder against Aiden’s shoulder and neck, gripping the oversized shirt in his fists. “It hurts!”

Fear pulsed through Aiden’s body like poison. He tried to keep his voice calm. “What hurts, my love?”  

“Everything! I can’t look! It hurts!” 

Aiden looked around, spinning in a small circle. Across the balcony, Harukar’s distressed expression matched his own. 

“Where are we?” Sarel whined.

“We’re–” Aiden blinked, swallowing. “We’re at the Chantry of Auri-El. On the balcony.” Gods, is he cursed? Does Auri-El not see him as worthy?

“Get him out of the sun!” Harukar called.

Aiden took a step towards him, then hesitated. What if going into the chapel made it worse? Sarel was whining against his neck, covering his head with his thin little arms, pressing against him so hard it was as if he was attempting to burrow into Aiden’s skin. 

“Dad, make it stop–” 

Aiden broke into a run.

The main chamber adjoined to the balcony was only partially standing. The front half was completely gone, the ceiling destroyed. It appeared as though the room had exploded from the inside out. Massive chunks of stonework and broken columns littered the ground around them as Aiden ran. He didn’t slow down until he reached the very back of the chapel, as far away from the sun as he could manage. Sarel was quietly weeping.

“What did they do to him?” Aiden wheezed, arms shaking with the strain of Sarel’s weight. “What did they–?”

“Sarel,” Harukar interrupted, stepping close and placing a hand on Sarel’s back. “Does it hurt less now?” 

Slowly, cautiously, Sarel swiveled his head, tucked as tightly against Aiden’s chest as he could manage, still shivering. He seemed to glance around for a moment. “Less…” he repeated. He shifted to look towards the opening of the destroyed chapel. “But it’s still–” He jerked his head away and winced. “It’s so… much. It’s just… I can’t see anything when I look over there. It’s like everything has been swallowed up by light.” He shook his head against Aiden’s neck. “It’s like too much noise without noise.”

Aiden’s arms burned. “Sarel, I have to set you down, I’m so sorry–”

“It’s ok,” Sarel said quietly, relaxing his arms and letting himself slide to the floor to stand. He turned and pressed his face against Harukar’s chest. Harukar looked to Aiden as he wrapped his arms around Sarel’s shoulders, silent questions behind his eyes. 

“Whatever they did to make him see—it must have something to do with that,” Aiden said as he shook his arms out. “If he can see magicka or energy then–”

“The sun,” Harukar said. “It must be completely overwhelming.”

“So I can’t go outside ever again?” Sarel asked, voice muffled. He began to weep again, his shoulders shuddering, hands tightening their grip on Harukar’s cloak.

“Surely there must be a way to–to control it?” Aiden said, attempting to hide his own panic. “Like the equivalent of closing your eyes or–” He ran a shaking hand through his hair, looking out across the broken room and the bright, sunlit balcony. Sarel loved sitting in the sun.    

“We don’t know for sure,” Harukar reasoned. “It’s just a theory.” 

Sarel sniffed loudly and let out a whimper. 

“Let’s head into the chantry, little one,” Harukar suggested, his voice soft and gentle. “Maybe Gelebor will have answers for us.”

Aiden worried his lower lip and very much doubted that would be the case, but nodded and placed his hand on Sarel’s head. “We’re right here, Sarel. Let us know how we can help.”

“I’m okay,” Sarel said again, pulling away from Harukar and turning to look back out at the balcony. “I’m okay,” he said again and took a great heaving breath. “It’s not… as bad, now. Not from here, at least.”

“Good, that’s good,” Aiden said, brushing Sarel’s hair away from his face. He looked back at Harukar and attempted to school his expression into something pleasant. “Lead on, then.”

Harukar nodded, then reached out to briefly squeeze one of Aiden’s shoulders with a small smile. 

They made their way through the wreckage of the chapel and down a narrow passage that seemed to have once been a hallway, now overtaken by the creeping glacial ice.

“Gelebor?” Harukar called, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls. 

Silence followed. 

“Maybe he left,” Sarel suggested miserably. 

“I very much doubt that. He’s sworn an oath to protect this chantry. This is his home.”

“Not much of a home,” Aiden said, craning his neck and squinting at the ruins around them.

“It actually looks much better than when I last saw it. He’s clearly making attempts to rebuild.”

“How long has it been since you thwarted that evil plan and saved the world from eternal darkness?” 

Harukar managed a strained laugh. “Almost four months.”

“Ah, then I can’t exactly blame him for the slow progress.” The small talk felt normal, and Aiden relaxed marginally. 

Now that they were a ways away from the sun-lit balcony, surrounded by thick walls of stone and ice, Sarel’s usual demeanor began to return. He peered around curiously, still clutching one of Aiden’s hands, but his trembling had subsided. “What happened to this place?” he asked. 

“It was abandoned for many, many years. Gelebor had been exiled and wasn’t able to take care of it.”

“Oh. Alright.” A pause. “What does ‘exiled’ mean?” 

“It means—” Harukar paused, his back to them as he continued to walk forward. Aiden heard him clear his throat. The hazy memory of the night they’d spent in Falkreath drifted into his mind’s eye, and he felt a pang in his heart on Harukar’s behalf. 

“It means you’ve been sent away and told not to come back,” Aiden said. “Usually without you agreeing to it.”

“Oh…” Sarel was silent for a moment as they walked. “Was I exiled from the College? Because I’m Falmer?”

Aiden grimaced. Too smart, he thought. “Not necessarily. Savos Aren didn’t say anything about you not being allowed to come back. Just that you couldn’t live there forever.” 

“Hmm. Alright.” 

Ahead of them the hallway stopped abruptly, dead-ending into a massive glacial wall. A set of rough stairs had been carved into the ice, leading up into a frozen cavern. 

“Ice, ice everywhere…” muttered Aiden. “The whole Chantry is overrun with it.”  

“It’s a lot of work for one man to do all by himself,” Harukar said. 

“Maybe we can help him fix things up,” Sarel offered cautiously. 

Harukar laughed, but it sounded forced to Aiden’s ears. “Maybe we can, little one.”

The frozen cavern extended for only a short distance before they were stepping through a broken wall and back into one of the vaulted chambers. The structures in this area were more intact. Any fallen pillars and shattered stonework had been pushed to the sides and arranged into piles. This room, at least, appeared to be slightly more lived-in. Several long tables lined the wall opposite from them, covered in a variety of salvaged supplies and scrolls of parchment. 

 It felt unsafe for anyone to be living in such conditions, especially alone. Between the crumbling infrastructure and creeping ice, Aiden couldn’t imagine one person subsisting in such an unwelcome and frigid environment.

“We’re getting closer,” said Harukar. “Gelebor?” he called out again. 

This time, a distant voice responded, reverberating from just beyond the room’s open doorway: “Hello?”     

Harukar’s face split into a wide smile, and he beckoned Aiden and Sarel to follow.

Another long hall stretched before them. A few paces down, an archway to their left cast sunlight across the stonework—a stripe of gold against the pale blue of the ice and shadow. As they approached the shock of light, the arch opened into a small courtyard. It was a garden. Splashes of greens and yellows, plump vegetables, climbing vines, and curling flower blooms. The sudden vibrancy was disorienting amidst the ruin and ice. In the center stood a tall, pale figure with snow-white hair. 

Sarel had stepped behind Aiden’s back with a grimace, shielding himself from light. Aiden felt his small hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, bunching the excess between his fists into a tight knot at Aiden’s low back. 

“Ah, Harukar,” said Knight-Paladin Gelebor. “What a pleasant surprise. Have you come to me for more blessed arrows?” He shaded his eyes with his hand, squinting as he peered at Aiden. “You’ve come with a new companion. Where’s Serana?” 

In his dirty smock and muddy shoes, he seemed startlingly normal. Not at all like a being thousands of years old. He stood in a patch of pea vines that tangled their way up a crudely constructed ladder.    

“Serana did not accompany me this time, and no, I do not need arrows. I come with something of much greater importance. There is someone I want you to meet.”

Gelebor’s eyes fell to Aiden, then glanced down to where Sarel stood hidden behind his back before looking back to Harukar. “Meet?” he repeated curiously.

“I’ll have to ask you to come out of the sun,” Harukar said. 

“Oh, of course. My apologies.”

He stepped lightly out of the vegetable bed, dusting his hands off against his smock, and in a few long strides he was out of the courtyard. As he drew closer, Aiden couldn’t help but stare. He was… ethereal. His skin was as pale as Sarel’s, but with features more familiar, though broader than that of most Altmer—his cheek bones prominent yet wide, the corners of his eyes sloping upwards beneath a monolid—and, as he turned to look at Aiden, his sclera was as dark as the Sea of Ghosts, his irises the color of sunlit ice. 

“Welcome to the Chantry of Auriel, pilgrim,” he said with a slight bow. His gaze once again slid to the second pair of feet just behind Aiden’s. “And who might be hiding behind your back?” 

“M-my son,” Aiden said, his voice quavering. He cleared his throat, attempted to steady his nerves. “Though he’s not my son by–by blood or birth. But I–we’ve traveled a great distance to meet you.” He jerked his gaze away from Gelebor’s ancient eyes, focusing instead on the smear of mud on the toe of his boot. “So please, I beg of you.” His voice hitched, his words turned hoarse. “Please…”

“Look upon him with kindness.”

Chapter Text

Sarel’s entire body felt prickly and too-light as he slowly stepped out from behind his father. The sunbeams that shone through the archway pulsed like a wound, shivering and jumping and buzzing like angry bees. He couldn’t help but wince as he tried to look. Gelebor was standing in the middle of the sun patch, completely obscured by the light. Sarel grimaced and looked away. He wasn’t sure if he’d want to see Gelebor’s face, even if it was possible.

“Hello,” he managed, ringing his hands nervously, crossing his feet together to interlock his toes. “M–my name is Sarel.”

Gelebor said nothing, and Sarel felt his father’s hands come to rest on his shoulders. He was trembling, too. 

The silence stretched on, and Sarel’s insides slowly turned to black sludge, his gut hardening with sick nervousness and dread. It was already worse than his worst nightmares. Gelebor would send them away. Sarel would have to crawl back through the caves, and maybe he wouldn’t ever be able to leave again. 

“Hello,” came Gelebor’s reply then. His voice was soft and low; quiet, maybe a little unsure, but he sounded… kind.  

Sarel let out a tremendous breath and his father patted his shoulders reassuringly. He looked up and winced again. “I’m sorry, could–” He stepped back until he bumped against his father’s stomach, holding a hand up to partially shield his vision from the white-hot light. “Could you step out of the light, please? It makes it–uh…”  

Gelebor stepped forward without waiting for the explanation, and Sarel’s expression went slack as his vision adjusted. 

“Oh,” he said, staring up at the mer. “You’re tall.” 

Gelebor looked similar to his father, as far as Sarel could tell. Their energy lines converged in the same places, the pattern of their bodies a similar build. Come to think of it, he was relatively similar to all the Falmer Sarel had met, too, in a broad sense. Yet there was something slightly different about his energy that Sarel couldn’t quite place. Or maybe he just didn’t have the words to describe it yet—a shimmer, or a vibration—something shone through Gelebor that felt like it wasn’t entirely his own. Like he was sharing his body with someone else. 

“How… can you see me?” Gelebor asked.

Sarel shrugged, crossing his arms self-consciously. “Magic, I think. I still don’t know. I was hoping you might know. Or, maybe you could help me figure out why the sun hurts.”

Gelebor looked from Sarel to his father, then to Harukar, then back to Sarel. “I’m–forgive me. You’re…” He cupped a hand over his mouth and stared for a long moment, then looked back to Harukar again. “He’s…?”

“Perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable,” Harukar suggested. “It’s… a rather long story.”

“And it just keeps getting longer,” Sarel added with a sigh. His father laughed behind him, and he felt him dip to press a kiss to the top of his head. 

Gelebor nodded, then lowered his hand and cleared his throat. “Alright. I… I admit I don’t find myself playing host very often these days, but please. You must be exhausted from your journey. Let me make you something to eat.” He went to step away, then faltered as he looked down at Sarel once more.

Sarel stared up at him, trying to understand the strange light that seemed to hide just behind his heart.  

“Follow me,” Gelebor said with a soft, nervous smile.

—

“Repairs seem to be coming along nicely,” Harukar commented as they walked. He and Gelebor walked ahead of Sarel and Aiden, side by side like old friends. 

“Yes, though it is slow-going, I’m afraid. I am only one mer, and my magical abilities can only do so much.”

“What happened here?” Sarel asked. He clutched his father’s hand tightly, more for comfort than guidance.

“The Chantry was overrun by the—” Gelebor cut himself off with a hitch in his breath. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “—by people who did not know how to take care of it.” 

“Ooh,” Sarel said in understanding. “So now you’re fixing it up?” 

“I’m attempting to, yes.”

“Maybe we can help!” he offered more confidently than he had earlier.  

Gelebor made a thoughtful noise, smiling ever so slightly. “If that is what you wish. I would gladly accept help.”

He led them through long hallway after long hallway. Sarel wondered if this is what Fort Dawnguard might have looked like had he been able to see it. The echo of their footsteps rebounded off the stone walls and high ceilings, leaving ripples and spirals in their wake. Any silent rooms they passed shifted like shadowy voids in Sarel’s periphery. He got the same feeling that he’d had back in the first chapel: that the chantry was only half-alive, meant to pulse with its own heartbeat, but lay too still with only one person roaming its halls.

At last, they turned into a room that felt a bit more like a home. Sarel noticed the warmth first, his shoulders relaxing. There was a fireplace on the far end of the room, crackling with a magically lit fire. On the wall beside the hearth was a long stone table that was lined with various objects, probably for cooking. Herbs and drying vegetables hung from suspended racks, and something delicious-smelling was in the midst of cooking.  

“Quite the operation,” his father said after Sarel heard his stomach growl.

“Yes,” Gelebor agreed as he untied a piece of his clothing and hung it up on the wall. “I could not have anticipated how difficult it would be to subsist by myself in the chantry. Auriel provides, but even His grace can only extend so far. Many of my days are occupied with hunting, fishing, and preserving my food, though these winter months are the most challenging. The Vale thaws beautifully in the springtime, but for now, I am reliant on my small garden.”

“I’m Aiden, by the way,” his father continued. “I apologize for not having introduced myself sooner.”

Gelebor turned to face him, offering a warm smile. He crossed an arm over his chest and bowed formally. “I am Gelebor. Knight-Paladin of Auriel and the steward of this sacred chapel.”

Aiden laughed nervously. “I’ve been made aware, yes. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“And… Sarel, is it?” Gelebor asked.

“Yes!” Sarel said, perking up. 

“You traveled all this way just to meet me?”

“Yeah, we did! It was—well, I didn’t know it at the time, but—uh…” Sarel furrowed his brow, tucking his chin to his chest. “I think I was exiled.” 

“...exiled?”

“It’s a long story,” said Aiden, echoing what Harukar had said earlier. 

Gelebor nodded through his confused expression. “Of course. Yes, I’m sure it is. Well, please, let me fix you some food and you can recount as much as you wish. I’m eager to hear it.”

It was strange to hear his own life recounted to a stranger like he was a figure in a storybook, especially the parts that his father had left unsaid for so long: how he’d stolen Sarel from a Falmer settlement, determined to either prove that the Falmer were fully devolved or that they were able to be taught to live a ‘civilized life’. Sarel quietly ate the food he’d been given as his father talked. He didn’t have much to add. 

“So he–he simply developed normally?” Gelebor asked.

“As far as I could tell,” Aiden replied. “Given, I only had myself and my siblings as a reference for lived experience. I wasn’t very familiar with raising children. I’d read several books about the various developmental milestones I was supposed to be seeing. But even according to those, he kept pace perfectly fine.”

Gelebor was silent for a moment. He sat hunched forward, one elbow against his knee, his other hand running absently over his mouth and along his jaw. “All this time…?” He sniffed and raised his head, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Forgive me.”

“It’s hard to say,” his father said. “I’ve grappled with similar questions over the years. I still don’t know the answers.” 

Sarel felt like he was missing a part of the conversation.  

“The other Falmer can talk, too,” he interjected. “They just speak a different language.”

Gelebor looked at him. “They can? I’ve never heard them speak. Not once. Not even in a different language.”

“Well, did you ever try talking to them?” 

This earned him silence, and Gelebor slouched back over again, elbows on his knees, staring into the fire. 

“They don’t talk a lot,” Sarel added, feeling mildly guilty for Gelebor’s distress. “But I wasn’t around them for very long. And I was really scared, so I wasn’t paying close attention.”

“When were you around them?” Gelebor asked.

Now it was Sarel’s turn to tell his story. He recounted getting scooped up and carried away, the way he’d thought they had just been bandits or slave traders. He talked about Zahk’ma and Ihrkmaghi, and then his encounter with the Great Noise and the Gifts of the Old Masters, the spirals and fractals and how everything was made of pure energy and life. He recalled what it was like to meet the other Falmer children, and how they couldn’t see using the Gifts yet but they got around perfectly fine, and how some of the Falmer couldn’t receive the Gifts at all, apparently.

“And I think maybe I understand why some of them don’t. Because the moment we left the caves it was unbearable. It’s like being in the room with the Great Noise all over again, except there’s no noise. It’s just light and pressure—so much that it feels like my head will explode—and I can’t see anything all over again.” Sarel scraped his spoon around in his empty bowl. “But, maybe it just means I’ll have to go back to using my guide staff whenever I have to be outside. If I can stand the sun, that is.”

“Perhaps we can… find you a helmet to wear?” his father suggested. 

Sarel shrugged, beginning to feel a little miserable. “Maybe.”

“If I may,” Harukar spoke up at last. He’d been so quiet through their conversations that Sarel had nearly forgotten he was there. His dark energy blended into the shadows of silence, partially obscuring him from Sarel’s vision. “We should see if the night has the same effect. Otherwise… traveling under the cloak of darkness is not the worst thing, though I am biased in that respect.” 

Aiden let out a nervous, tittering laugh, then cleared his throat. “Pragmatic.” 

“What I mean, Sarel,” Harukar said, stepping closer and taking a knee beside him, “is that there are options out there. No condition is perfect. We simply learn to work with the hand we’ve been dealt.” 

“Yeah,” Sarel agreed. “And… I think that even if I knew that this would happen, I’d still accept the Gifts.” He stared down at his own hands, his channels pulsing with life-energy. “Yeah, I would.”  

They faded into a brief silence before Gelebor spoke again. 

“Would any of you like to take a bath?”

“A bath?” Aiden repeated. “As in a Bath? How!?” 

“The temple has a cistern that collects ice and snowmelt. We–or, I magically heat the water once it’s in the bathing tubs. All in all, it’s a very pleasant experience.” He smiled. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe I have much by way of spare clothing, but we can wash the clothes you have for now.”

“That’s more than generous of you. Divines, a bath.” His father let out a long sigh, which made Harukar chuckle.

Gelebor continued to smile placidly, glancing at Sarel then back to Aiden. “If you’re finished eating, you can follow me.”

–

Sarel watched Gelebor weave healing light into his father’s shoulder, utterly entranced. The burble of the water filling the tub echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the bathing room, causing the walls to shimmer and shiver in Sarel’s periphery, but his focus was entirely devoted to Gelebor’s magic. 

“So, how do you know what to do?” he asked, inching closer. “Colette said I needed to learn anatomy to be a good healer.”

“Colette is the, ah, Restoration master at the college,” his father said, letting out a pleased groan as Gelebor’s magic shifted. He sat in a stone chair; Gelebor stood just behind him.

“Well, Colette is right, in a sense,” said Gelebor. “The more complex a wound, the more that knowledge of the body becomes useful. However, you don’t need to know the name of every muscle, vessel, and bone to understand the flow of the body’s energy.” He traced a line across Aiden’s shoulder with his magic, then gestured down his arm. “There are important channels through here–”

“Yeah! I can see them,” Sarel interjected, stepping over to trace the lines as well. “And it’s like you merged them back together with your spell.” 

Gelebor let out a small breathy laugh through his nose. “That’s certainly the basics of it, yes. Healing is a symbiosis. We are all crafted in the image of the Divines, and in this way our bodies know how to heal themselves. I am not forcing anything that would not otherwise occur naturally. I’m simply helping it along. Here…” He kneeled beside his father’s wounded leg. “See how the healing has already begun here?” 

“Sarel did that,” his father said, sounding proud. “It was the first time I’ve ever seen him cast a controlled spell.”

“Did you, now?” Gelebor smiled at him. “You’re a born healer, then.” 

Sarel returned the smile, mouth stretched so wide his cheeks hurt. “Thanks! But–” His smile faltered and he looked back at his father's injury. “I didn’t heal it all the way.”

“Well, try again,” Gelebor said, moving out of the way. “It’s a nasty wound, but not terribly complex. Fortunately for Aiden.”

“Indeed,” his father agreed with a watery laugh. 

Sarel sat cross-legged on the ground in front of his father’s leg, preparing to concentrate. Gelebor stepped across the room and turned off the spigot that was filling the tub with water, and the room settled in the ensuing silence, smooth and cool like the surface of a mirror. The wound in Aiden’s calf still pulsed angrily, the channels around the place where the arrow had pierced him were frayed like a ripped up rug. Sarel reached his hands out and wrapped them around the area. 

“His skin is so hot,” he remarked. “But I can feel– Yeah, it’s trying to heal itself.”

“Help it along,” said Gelebor from the tub. He was casting magic into the water, the air in the small chamber turning warm and steamy. 

Sarel let his desire flow through his hands and into the hot, angry little wound. Go on, he said to the channels. I’m just here to help.  

The puffy heat began to recede as the channels of energy knit themselves into a more cohesive shape, matching up with the other lines that were already there. His father let out a sigh above him. 

“Wonderful, Sarel,” he said, then let out a little laugh. “You’re absolutely amazing.” 

Sarel beamed at his work, then turned to look up at his father. “How does it feel?” 

“Just like new. Maybe even better than before.”

Sarel rolled out of the way to give his father room to flex his foot, gingerly putting weight on the leg. 

“Remarkable,” he said under his breath, then laughed. “Colette will have an absolute fit.”

Sarel felt his heart suddenly sink at the thought of Colette. “I’ll never see her again, will I? Is that why she was crying so hard when we left?”

His father paused in his movements, then gingerly sat down on the floor next to Sarel. He reached over to run a hand along Sarel’s shoulders. “Our future is uncertain right now, my love. I don’t know what awaits us next. But know that Colette loves you. So dearly. If you want to see her again, we’ll find a way to make it happen.”

“Really?” Sarel sniffed and rubbed his nose along the back of his arm.

“Really. I promise.” 

Sarel leaned sideways to throw his arms around his father’s shoulders, squirming until he was situated in his lap and tucked against his chest.  

“The water is ready,” said Gelebor. “I’ll give you both some privacy.”

As Gelebor left the room, Aiden helped Sarel to his feet. “Gracious, your clothes are absolutely filthy,” he said. He then looked down at himself. “I suppose mine are, too.”

Sarel laughed through his tightened throat. “I can’t believe we get to take a bath.”

“Me neither, if I’m honest. But come. Out of those filthy clothes. You can go first.” 

The water was so beautifully warm that Sarel very nearly started crying as soon as he was submerged. He was handed a washcloth and dutifully began to scrub away the dirt and grime. His father sorted through his dirty clothes as Sarel washed, peeling out of his own garments and creating a pile. He held up one of the strange robes that Gelebor had provided for them. 

“Acolyte robes,” Aiden said. “Can you imagine how old these are, Sarel? Thousands of years, at least. You’d think they would have crumbled into dust by now.”

“They probably have the same magic in them as the Chantry does.”

“Does the Chantry have magic in it?” His father turned to face him. “What does it look like to you?”

Sarel leaned back against the slope of the tub, watching the ripple of noise across the ceiling. “Hmm, well it’s more of a feeling, I suppose. It feels like it should be alive, but it’s sleeping. Or half-awake. But there is… something. I don’t know what.”

“It is a holy place,” Aiden said. “Perhaps it is Auri-El you are sensing. Though…” He trailed off and didn’t seem to intend to finish his thought. 

“Though, what?” Sarel prompted.

“Never mind. It wasn’t a kind thing to say. And probably not true. So best not to say it at all, right?”

Sarel sighed through his nose, feeling the tension seeping from his body into the hot water. “I think I’m all done washing.” 

“Enjoy it for a little longer,” his father said. “You’ve earned it.”

Sarel lay in the water until the skin of his fingers began to pucker like raisins. His father wrapped him in a towel as soon as he stepped out, and he sat in one of the stone chairs, woozy from heat and on the verge of sleep while his father bathed. The acolyte robes were stiff and cold when Aiden helped slide it over Sarel’s head, their smell strange but not unpleasant. It felt like wearing multiple oversized blankets and made it difficult to move, but his father tied the longer portions around Sarel’s waist, allowing him to walk without tripping. 

Gelebor was waiting outside the bathing chamber and led them down several long halls to a room lined with slender beds with cold, stiff mattresses that crunched when Sarel lay down on one. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed he’d encountered in his travels, but his exhaustion outweighed any discomfort he might have felt. His father pressed a kiss to the side of his head with a murmured I love you before pulling a thick quilt up around his shoulders and moving away to his own bed. 

Uncertainty battered at the edges of his mind, his final waking thoughts of Colette and the College, of Dexion, of the children he’d met in Helgen, of Gelebor and the strange light around his heart. As he heard his father shifting and rustling around in the bed beside him, his mind quieted, comforted by the presence of someone who, despite all other ills, loved him very much.     

–

“Sarel.”

Sarel sniffed awake, his ephemeral vision swirling into solid shapes as he regained himself. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

Harukar knelt beside his bed, one hand resting against Sarel’s knee. “Nothing is wrong, little one. The sun has set. Would you like to see how the night feels?”

Sarel sat up, rubbing at his face where the pillow had left itchy imprints. “Okay,” he agreed, unsure of what he was agreeing to exactly. The deep sleep caused by the heat of the bath had him feeling sluggish and disoriented. Right. They were in the Chantry of Auriel. Gelebor’s home. 

“Here. Let me carry you.” Harukar stretched his arms out, and Sarel’s gaze was once again drawn to the cage around his heart. He hesitated only momentarily before leaning off the bed to wrap his arms around Harukar’s shoulders and allow himself to be lifted into his arms, one arm beneath his knees, the other wrapped around his waist. 

“Is my dad still asleep?”

“He is,” Harukar said. “We can wake him, if you’d like.”

“Mm, no, it’s okay.” Sarel pillowed his head against Harukar’s shoulder. “He needs to rest.”  

Harukar carried him silently through the chantry. If the halls had felt still and lifeless during the daytime, they felt doubly so at night. Silence lurked around every corner, dark and still; the only thing Sarel could see was the soft echo of Harukar’s boots off the stone floor. 

Soon Sarel felt the chilly draft of the outside air sweeping through the passage. He turned his face towards Harukar’s neck, just in case the light was still unbearable. The soft, stiff locs of his hair tickled Sarel’s forehead and smelled of scented oils. Then, the walls around them fell away in favor of cold, crisp air, and Sarel could hear the sound of crashing water far in the distance. 

“We’re here,” said Harukar, making no move to set him down. “Take your time.”

Sarel shivered, though not from the cold. Slowly, cautiously, he turned to look. 

There was light, but it wasn’t unbearable. Brighter than the caverns, but nowhere near as overwhelming as the light of day. He straightened up, bracing a forearm against Harukar’s shoulder as he looked around more fully. 

Then he looked up. 

“Oh…” He sucked in a breath. “Oh my goodness.”

Harukar’s grip around his waist tightened. “What does it look like, little one?” 

Sarel had no words to describe it. He could only gaze mutely up at the heavens. It was a swirling dance of glimmering lights and explosions, spiraling out into glittering fractal constellations, connected like a network of veins, like the channels of energy in his own body. The sky pulsed with that same ineffable, indescribable essence.  

“It’s alive,” he whispered, unable to look away.

“Does it hurt?” 

“No, it’s… Can you see it?” 

“The stars?” Harukar asked. 

“Is that what stars look like?” Sarel sighed in wonder, tipping his head back and swiveling to look over his shoulder. “Lemme–”

Harukar was already setting him down. The stone was shockingly cold beneath his feet, but Sarel trotted across the large porch and up one of the staircases that led to the balcony. He let out a surprised gasp as he reached the edge, grasping the balcony and hoisting himself up to look over the edge. Harukar was at his side in an instant, hands wrapping around Sarel’s hips to pull him back. 

“Easy there, Sarel,” he warned. “It’s a long drop.” 

“Are those mountains?” Sarel asked with a breathless laugh, tracing the shapes in the air with his hand, mapping the shivering edges of the jagged peaks and valleys. “And the waterfall! It must be huge to be making all that noise.” 

“It is indeed,” Harukar said with a smile in his voice. “I’m so relieved that the night does not harm you.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Sarel said. He pointed at the largest shape in the sky that he could see. “What is that?” 

“That’s Masser,” Harukar explained. “The largest moon. Secunda is the smaller one, but it hasn’t quite made it over the mountains yet.” 

“Masser,” Sarel repeated. He was familiar with the moons from stories. To see one of them at last, hanging in the sky amidst the spiral dance of stars—he could have never fathomed its immensity. “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a little hard to look at for too long.”

“The moons reflect the light of the sun. So perhaps even the reflection would be too much for you.” 

“Why do you think the sun hurts so much?” Sarel asked, turning to look up at Harukar. “Why does it hurt you?” 

He seemed to pause thoughtfully, then placed a hand atop Sarel’s head as he spoke. “I can only speculate why it might hurt you. Perhaps the gifts of your sight rely on magic, and the sun is said to be made of pure magicka. But I cannot say for sure. As for myself, it is simply part of the curse of vampirism. Due to the… bloodline from which I was infected, I do not burn in the sunlight, but I am severely weakened.”

“Oh,” Sarel said. “Well, at least you don’t burn. But, um…” 

“Don’t let it trouble you.”

“Alright… You and I can just travel at night from now on.”

Harukar smiled down at him. “That’ll be an adjustment for your father, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I wanna go tell him about the stars!” Sarel started to jog back towards the Chantry, but stopped short when he reached the bottom of the steps and gazed up at the half-destroyed edifice of the great chapel. The ruins filled him with an inexplicable sadness. 

“What’s wrong, little one?” Harukar asked as he joined Sarel at his side. 

“It’s just… I keep getting this feeling. I felt it in the First Chapel, too. Like the Chantry used to have a soul, but it was sucked out, or it left. Everything just feels… empty.” He looked up at Harukar. “Why does Gelebor stay here?” 

Harukar didn’t answer immediately. He stood silently for a long moment, gazing across the great porch at the ruins of the chapel before them. “I cannot say,” he finally said. Sarel could see where the wound in Harukar’s stomach was still twisted and frayed at the edges, healing far too slowly, as if his body wanted him to suffer.

“You’re still really hurt,” Sarel said, placing his hand against Harukar’s stomach. “I know what my dad did. To help you.” He looked up with a smile. “You can feed from me, too, if you–”

“ No. ”

The response was so sudden and so harsh that Sarel jerked his hand away, startled. “I’m sorry, I just meant–”

“It’s alright,” Harukar interjected, his voice softer. “It’s– I just don’t think you realize–” He knelt in front of Sarel, taking both his shoulders in his hands. “I’ll be alright. It’ll just take time.”

Sarel felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said again.

“You’re a kind soul, Sarel. But a child should never–” He stopped short, expression twisted into something Sarel couldn’t recognize. “This is not a burden you have to bear.”

“What about Gelebor? Can he help you?” 

“Gelebor has taken an oath. As a Paladin, he serves Auriel, and cannot allow an unholy abomination to feed from him.” 

“Don’t call yourself that,” Sarel said with a scowl.

Harukar let out a breathy laugh. “Let’s go back inside, little one. You need rest just as much as Aiden.”

Sarel sighed, looking up one final time at the swirling explosions in the sky, before taking Harukar’s cold hand into his own and walking back towards the ruined chantry.

Chapter Text

When morning finally broke, the cold twilight barely reached the innermost chambers of the Chantry. Aiden had found little rest of his own in the strange room, plagued by nightmares of chaurus pincers, poisoned arrows, and endless tunnels. Finally, weary of forcing himself back to sleep after lurching awake for the fourth time, he pulled himself from his nest of covers and rose to meet the day. He aimed for the door but didn’t make it past Sarel’s bedside. His son was sleeping peacefully, his breathing slow and deep, expression slack. He looked small and frail in the oversized acolyte robes. Aiden knelt in the quiet dark beside the bed, softly running a hand along Sarel's back as he continued to sleep.

With a sigh, Aiden got to his feet. He leaned down one final time to place a kiss atop Sarel’s head before silently stepping from the room. It was a short walk down a dimly lit hall from the sleeping chambers to what he’d come to think of as the kitchen. The smell of cooking tickled his nose before he’d even reached the open archway—some kind of meat, savory and herbaceous.   

“Ah, good morning,” came Gelebor’s voice from near the hearth as Aiden entered the room. He was tending to a pot, most likely the source of the delicious smells. It sizzled and popped as he added more ingredients to the mix, scraping them from his cutting board with the edge of a dagger.   

“Good morning,” Aiden replied automatically. The surrealness of the scene had him feeling as though he’d stepped into a dream. 

“I’ve made tea if you’d like. I’d managed to propagate some purple mountain flowers for the garden, but they’re on their last legs, I’m afraid. My snowberry bush is resilliant, at least.” 

“That’s very kind, thank you.” 

“Harukar went hunting last night and brought in three rabbits for us,” he continued, chattier than Aiden was prepared for. “Breakfast should be ready here shortly.”

Aiden let out a soft, tired laugh. “Treatment fit for a prince.” 

“As I mentioned, I don’t find myself playing host often,” Gelebor said with a reserved smile. “So I would like to do my very best, given the opportunity. Please, there’s a cup on the table. Help yourself.”

The dazed feeling remained as Aiden went through the motions of fixing his tea—the steam curling from the earthenware cup, tinged a light pink. Snowberry and purple mountain flower. It was one of his winter-time favorites; a perfect way to stave off the cold. He shuffled over to one of the chairs near the hearthfire and sat down, staring unfocused into the embers for a long moment before taking the first sip. Warmth curled in his chest as he swallowed, and he sighed. 

“Where is Harukar?” he asked after a long moment of comfortable silence. 

“Resting.” 

Aiden hummed in understanding, staring down into his cup. “I worry he’s still quite injured. More than he’s letting on.”

Gelebor said nothing, merely glancing up once before returning his focus to the cooking pot. 

With dawning realization, Aiden shifted abruptly, tugging at the collar of the acolyte robe so that it covered the puffy imprint of teeth on his shoulder. He couldn’t help the hot flush of shame that followed. His ears and cheeks burned. Might as well chase the feeling, he thought glumly.  

“There is… Well, that is to say, I neglected to mention an important detail yesterday, when recounting our story of what brought us here.” He let out a soft, mirthless laugh, his brow drawing tight. “Something I’m known to do, if I’m honest.” 

“You are under no obligation to share every detail of your life with me, Aiden,” said Gelebor as he stirred the cooking pot. “It is more than alright to keep some things for yourself.”

“Oh  no, it’s not like that,” Aiden continued. “It’s… the reason we left at all. Yes, I’m so glad that we’re here and that you and Sarel have been brought together, but…” He swallowed. “The Arch-Mage was of the mind that I should leave him with you. That he’d be better off with, in his words, ‘someone of his own kind’.” 

Gelebor paused in his movements and looked up with a grave expression, but Aiden continued before he could speak. 

“I want you to know that I won’t be doing that.” 

“Good,” Gelebor said immediately. “The very idea is absurd. You are his father.” 

Aiden let out a tremendous exhale. “I have no idea why I went along with it. Looking back, I just–” Another bitter laugh. “I’d convinced myself that I had no say in the matter. Perhaps I saw it as a fitting punishment for everything I’d done. For I have done… irreparable damage.” He tightened his grip on his tea cup. “I robbed Sarel of a future free of alienation. Of abilities that were his birthright. Of a family that could have loved him. And I don’t even know if he understands that he didn’t have to forgive me. That I hardly deserve forgiveness...” 

Gelebor tapped the wooden ladle against the cooking pot, the sound echoing through the room like a struck bell, before covering it with a lid. He then stepped over to gingerly sit down next to Aiden, moving slowly, as if he thought Aiden might startle. “You are a devotee of Auriel, are you not?” 

Aiden looked up, forcing himself to meet Gelebor’s keen, icy eyes. “Yes. As much as any proper son of Summerset should be.”

Gelebor’s smile was a disarming thing. “By all accounts I am thousands of years old, but I have hardly felt a single year passing. Life outside of the Vale might as well be a realm of Oblivion compared to the world that I once knew. But Auriel has blessed me in this way—removed me from the flow of time as it continues to ravage the world around me. I would have surely gone mad otherwise.”

Aiden could only nod, his gaze sliding to focus on the crease of Gelebor’s knuckles where his hands rested against his knees. He supposed he hadn’t considered the implications of what living for so long, especially in isolation, might do to one’s mind.  

“And so, in removing me from the flow of time, Auriel has shown me the truth in such things. Your anxieties, these ‘what ifs’ that haunt you… they are rooted in an understanding of time as something that has a ‘correct’ path. There is no future that you have robbed Sarel of, nor is there any past that could be different from what it has already been. There is only what exists here. Now. Past and future—these things do not exist in the way that we think they do. By languishing over that which is unchangeable, you rob only yourself of the present moment, which is the most precious gift Auriel has given us.”

Aiden swallowed around the knot in his throat and straightened his back. “So… you’re saying I should—?”

“I am not saying you should do anything, Aiden.” 

“What smells so good?” came Sarel’s sleep-raspy voice from the doorway. 

“Breakfast,” replied Gelebor, pushing off his knees to rise to his feet once more. “Come join your father. How did you sleep, Sarel?”

“Alright,” Sarel said with a yawn, padding over to the fire. The acolyte robe trailed behind him, one side sliding from his shoulders. He pulled it back up as he spoke. “Harukar woke me up to look at the stars.”

“Did he?” Aiden asked, unable to hide his surprise nor snuff the feeling of resentment that managed to stir to life. “Why didn’t you wake me?” 

“I knew you needed sleep,” Sarel said as he climbed into the chair beside him. “But I can’t wait to go look at them again tonight!” 

“What was it like?” Aiden pressed. “Did it hurt?”

“Not at all! It was like–” Sarel made an explosion noise, falling back against the chair and wiggling his fingers at the ceiling. “Dancing and spiraling, and it was all connected like how our bodies have channels! It was amazing, dad. I hope you don’t mind if we travel by night now.”

Aiden let out a laugh. “It’ll be easier once I’m able to replace my lost glasses. Until then, I’ll need you to be patient with me. And help me watch where I’m going.”

“Yeah, I can do that! Maybe we can make you your own guide staff…” 

“Breakfast,” said Gelebor for the third time that morning, presenting them with two wooden bowls of steaming rabbit stew. “I hope it tastes alright.”

“It smells great,” assured Sarel, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Aiden echoed as he accepted the food.

Gelebor gave Sarel’s shoulder a light squeeze before he returned to the hearth, and a burning sweetness bloomed in Aiden’s chest. Something akin to fondness—perhaps pride. Or maybe it was hope. 

He and Sarel ate their meal in silence, warmth trickling through Aiden’s body and curling all the way into his fingers and toes. After scraping the last of the stew into his mouth, he sat back in his chair with a sigh and a stifled burp, feeling as close to normal as he thought possible for the first time in a long while. 

Inevitably, frustratingly, his mind returned to Harukar. The man’s absence gnawed at him. It felt improper to share a meal that he’d helped to provide without him there. 

He got to his feet, placing his bowl on the seat of his chair. “Where is Harukar? I’d like to go check in on him.” 

“In the pilgrims chambers, in the south wing,” Gelebor said, pointing to the dark archway in the right corner of the room. “Make a right and walk down the hall. He should be in one of the adjoining rooms.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you gonna let him feed from you again?” Sarel asked. 

Aiden’s blood turned to ice in his veins, and he whirled around, unable to keep the panic from his voice. “Did he tell you that?”

“No,” Sarel said, shrinking back in his chair. “But… I know how vampires work. And also–” He tapped his own neck on the same side that Aiden bore the imprint. Of course. Sarel could see the wound, in whatever strange way his vision allowed. 

“Ah,” was all Aiden could manage, eyes darting back and forth between Sarel and Gelebor, trying to will his heart rate into something manageable. 

“You’re not going to turn into a vampire, too, are you?” Sarel asked with a nervous quaver in his voice. 

“No, no, absolutely not,” Aiden hurriedly assured. “He has–Harukar made sure–um…” Very good, Aiden. How about you go ahead and show Gelebor the lovely little mark he left on you. Make it known to the world that you’re a vampire’s whore. His stomach did a somersault at his daedroth’s biting words. “No,” he said again. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Harukar is very fortunate to gain such trusting allies,” Gelebor said at last from across the room, tone neutral, his focus on cleaning the cooking station.  

A sudden feeling of protectiveness seemed to bubble forth, heat tingling into his hands and face. “He’s a good man,” Aiden blurted, surprised by his own ardor. 

Gelebor let out a soft, deep laugh. He glanced over his shoulder to meet Aiden’s eye, a twinkle of amusement in his own. “I’m very aware. I would not have allowed him to touch a holy artifact of Auriel had he not convinced me of that.”

Aiden was speechless for a moment, then let out a startled, breathy chuckle. “That’s… a fair point.” It was as though a massive knot had finally been tugged loose, uncoiling like a great snake and leaving a sense of lightness in its absence. He cleared his throat. “Sarel, stay here with Gelebor, please.” 

“Alright,” he agreed easily before turning to Gelebor. “Can I help with anything?”  

“Can you bring me the empty bowls? We can begin to wash dishes.”

“Sure!” Sarel scrambled into action. “I’ve never washed dishes before!” 

Aiden smothered his amusement as he stepped from the room, his heart still pounding harder than was comfortable. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to watch the two of them interact. With their backs to him, white hair reflecting the colors of the fire, Sarel looked like Gelebor in miniature. And perhaps the Falmer hadn’t changed so much after all… 

The southern wing was darker than the northern wing. Being the innermost part of the chantry, there were no windows to the outside, save a beam of light at the far end of the hall that led to Gelebor’s garden. Aiden peered into the first room, finding it empty, then moved to the next. 

“Harukar?” he called softly by way of announcing his presence. “It’s just me. I-I wanted to check on you.”

The room was near black, the scant light from the hall casting a slender shaft of vertical light down the center of the chamber. Harukar was reclined on a bed pushed against the far wall. He lifted his head as Aiden entered, managing a small, pained smile. “Aiden,” he rasped. “Were you and Sarel able to eat the rabbits?” 

“Divines,” Aiden whispered, striding swiftly to his side. Harukar’s complexion was waxy and even more colorless than usual, the glow of his eyes alarmingly dull. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“It’ll just take time–”

“No, you need to feed. Stop pretending that you don’t.”

Harukar sighed, closing his eyes and lowering his head back down. “I can’t ask that of you again.”

“You don’t have to. I’m offering.” 

“Aiden–”

“Enough,” he snapped, already reaching for the pendant around Harukar’s neck. “Gracious, Harukar. I thought I’d made my stance on this clear.”

“I will be in your debt this time,” Harukar reminded him.

Aiden waved a hand in dismissal. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll be able to think of something.” Pulse quickening, he secured the pendant around his own neck. “How would you like to…?” 

“Help me sit up. As I said, I do try to make the experience tolerable, if I can help it.”

“Maybe light some candles?” Aiden joked to ease the squirming nervousness in his own belly. He supported Harukar’s head as he struggled into a sitting position, wincing at his deep groan of pain. “Perhaps hire a bard to play in the corner?” he added.

Harukar managed to laugh, though it was more of a wheeze. “I save that for special occasions. Here, sit with your back to me. On the edge of the bed.”

Aiden sat ramrod straight as Harukar maneuvered himself to kneel behind him, his knees on either side of Aiden’s hips. With cold hands, he drew back the open collar of the acolyte robe, tugging until it fell from Aiden’s right shoulder. The cool air on his skin caused gooseflesh to prickle along his arms, raising the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Lean back against me, like this.” Harukar looped an arm over Aiden’s left shoulder and across his chest. “Rest your head into the crook of my arm. Just like that. Perfect.” 

The soft praise sent a different kind of shiver down Aiden’s spine. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. 

“You can hold onto me. Tap my arm if you want me to stop.”

Aiden reached up to grab onto Harukar’s forearm, swallowing around the growing thickness in his throat. It was happening again. They were actually doing this, again. He’d not only agreed to it, but suggested it. Had he gone mad? Harukar’s breath was moist against the skin of his shoulder as he spoke. 

“It’ll be a bit of a pinch, but nothing like the first time.”

Get on with it, Aiden thought.

Harukar’s mouth was wet and slightly warm. It almost felt like a kiss at first, and Aiden’s lips parted with a sigh as his face relaxed. Then he jumped, hissing at the sudden pulse of pain as teeth broke through his skin. Harukar smoothed his other hand across Aiden’s stomach, holding him in a caricature of an embrace. Aiden let out a shuddering exhale as he heard Harukar take his first swallow.

He was right. It wasn’t like the first time at all. It was slow and gentle and startlingly intimate. Aiden found he still couldn’t relax. It was strange and frightening to have his blood pulled from him by the swallow-full, no matter how much assurance he was given that he could stop it at any time. Harukar’s fingers flexed against his side and Aiden counted his breaths, willing his knees to stop trembling. There was a buzzing beneath his skin, the corners of the room beginning to blacken, and so he closed his eyes and breathed through the light-headedness. 

He brushed his hand along Harukar’s forearm to distract himself—the one that crossed his chest—his other hand slid tentatively along the arm wrapped around his waist. The added touch was indulgent and unnecessary, but he craved it for reasons he couldn’t entirely parse. The feel of Harukar’s bare forearms beneath his hands was strangely thrilling. The man was almost always covered head to toe in leather armor. It made him seem vulnerable somehow, attainable, softer than Aiden thought possible. Harukar’s grip tightened then, though his feeding slowed. 

Not yet, Aiden thought, his internal voice pathetic and watery. Keep going. Please. Not yet. 

But Harukar was pulling away. His final draw once more felt like a kiss against his shoulder—a wet suction.

“Heal,” Harukar said quietly against Aiden’s neck, and Aiden raised a hand to cast a flare of restoration. This time, the small wounds sealed with ease.

Then, neither of them moved. Harukar’s arms remained firmly in place. Aiden’s own hand returned to grip his forearms as he attempted to steady his breathing. His heart thudded against his sternum—he was sure Harukar could feel it. The silence stretched on, not entirely uncomfortable.

“You showed Sarel the stars without me,” Aiden finally said with no real ill will, his tone huskier than he’d intended.

Harukar let out a soft laugh, close enough to Aiden’s ear to cause his scalp to prickle pleasantly. “I’m so sorry. I should have awoken you. But I left the decision up to Sarel.”

Aiden sighed with feigned exasperation, shifting in Harukar’s arms and using the movement as an excuse to run his thumb across the back of Harukar’s wrist. “Of course, blame my son. You’re guiltless in all this.” He waited only a beat before adding. “It was probably… good. That it was you there with him.”  

“Why do you say that?”

“He looks up to you. Admires you. It drove me mad the first few weeks of our journey.” 

Another deep, rumbling chuckle. “I know. You weren’t subtle about that.” 

“Apologies,” Aiden said compulsively, his ears growing hot. “What I mean is, you’re able to relate to him in ways I never will. I think I’m–well, I suppose I’ve grown weary of feeling…”

“Territorial?” Harukar suggested.

Aiden let out a bitter huff. “Is that how it comes off?”

Harukar hummed and Aiden felt his nose brush the side of his neck. “Yes, but I was able to rationalize it—see it for what it was. And I certainly didn’t hold it against you.”

“And what was that you saw, exactly?” 

The arm around his waist tightened. “You were terrified of losing him.” 

Aiden had no immediate response. He rolled his head to rest against the side of Harukar’s, temple to temple, closing his eyes and allowing the silence to linger as the observation settled into his skin. Harukar’s thumb traced a line along Aiden’s exposed clavicle. 

“I told Gelebor about Savos Aren and his decree,” Aiden said. “And that I wouldn’t be leaving Sarel here with him.”

“I’m sure he agreed.” Harukar’s tone held a note of amusement. 

“Quite immediately, actually.” Aiden chuckled, but the smile quickly fell from his face. “But now I find myself at a loss. I can’t return to the College. So, effectively, I have no job, no income, no home. I have a child who relies on me for a great many things—a tremendous pressure that I previously had the support of an entire community to help relieve. Above all else, bringing Sarel into the wider world is a risk to his safety and mine…” Aiden sucked in a breath through his rapidly tightening throat as the list continued, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “I put one terror behind me only for a new terror to spring forth, and, Harukar, I… I simply don’t know what to do.”  

The confession lingered in the silence, unyielding, metallic and sharp. Or perhaps Aiden was simply smelling the scent of his own freshly clotted blood. But in speaking it aloud, he felt as though he’d given his terror form—a looming beast lying in wait around the next bend, hiding in the accumulating mists of uncertainty.

Harukar’s beard was strangely soft against Aiden’s cheek when he finally spoke. “I was not planning on abandoning either of you at this juncture. For whatever solace that might bring.”  

“Not simply because I’m a walking buffet, I hope,” Aiden joked, instantly regretting tainting the sentiment. It sounded too cruel. He felt Harukar begin to loosen his grip so he clung on harder. “Please,” he said, shocked by the desperation in his voice. “I’m sorry, it was a–I didn’t mean that. I know…” He relaxed when Harukar didn’t try to pull away further. “I–I just…” He took a deep breath, then let out a slow, measured exhale. “Thank you,” he said at last, barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how much it means to me. Thank you.” 

Silence stretched between them again. Aiden cursed himself over and over—his inability to be earnest, his compulsion to ruin any and every moment of sincerity.

“I’m sorry, Aiden,” Harukar finally whispered, causing Aiden’s pulse to spike with nervousness. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“What do you mean? For the feeding?”

“For letting you get injured. Captured. For–” Aiden heard him swallow. “For disrupting your life so completely. You… are a good man. Perhaps I should have said as much far sooner in our journey.” 

Aiden let out a dry laugh, made too loud in the quiet room by his mounting unease. “No, I gave you no reason to say such a thing.” 

“You did,” Harukar insisted, his thumb rubbing small, slow arcs along Aiden’s side. “I was just unable to see it until now.” 

“And what have you seen?”

There was a pause, and Aiden could hear the smile in Harukar’s voice as he said: “Sarel.”

Aiden opened his mouth, then closed it, the implication slowly sinking in and spreading warmth through his chest. It was an unexpected answer. “Ah…” was all he could manage. 

“A child like him does not simply spring out of the Gray Maybe fully formed. I once questioned how someone like you could raise a child like him, but it was an ignorant observation.  The most striking thing about Sarel is his ability to love. And he learned that through being loved, so wholly and completely.” 

“Sarel was very well-loved at the college—”

“You, Aiden. You loved him. Regardless of whatever your original intentions might have been, you love him.” Harukar rested his chin against Aiden’s shoulder. “And I’m beginning to see you in him. In so many little ways, now. It’s…” He trailed off with a soft exhale, his grip around Aiden’s waist tightening ever so slightly. “And so, I am sorry.”

Aiden stared across the dark room with unfocused eyes. His throat was tight and itchy. The observation left him raw, stinging like a torn scab. Harukar’s arms suddenly felt like the bars of a cage, like a vise, forcing him to confront the strange and vulnerable feeling while being held with more tenderness than he’d experienced in years.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’d already forgiven you. So I don’t think you need to apologize anymore. Are you… healing?”

“Yes. Much more already.” At last, Harukar loosened his arms and sat back. “Apologies for holding onto you for so long. I partially wanted to make sure you didn’t get up too quickly.”

“And the other part?” Aiden asked before he could stop himself.

Harukar let out a breathy chuckle that quavered with rare uncertainty. “Personal indulgence, I suppose.” 

Aiden forced a laugh as well, though his pulse fluttered, stomach squirming wildly at the implications. He got to his feet and began to resituate his robe, pulling the shoulder back up and attempting to look as though he hadn’t just been thoroughly disheveled by a vampire. “Well, I appreciate you not letting me spring to my feet. I probably would have blacked out. And…” He turned to face Harukar, though it took more willpower than he would have liked to meet his gaze. “Thank you. For listening to me. For everything, really.”

“I should be the one thanking you.”

“Please, enough.” Aiden scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll be stuck here all day, thanking each other endlessly.” 

“There are worse ways to spend a day,” Harukar said with a smirk. His eyes were glowing in the dim light, their brilliance restored. 

“Did you want to–?” Aiden gestured over his shoulder, swallowing around his dry throat and the half-spoken question. 

“I’ll join you shortly,” Harukar said, resituating to lie back on the bed once more. “I’m going to take another moment to allow everything to settle.” 

“As you wish.” Aiden began to leave, then paused. “Oh, and, yes, the rabbit was very considerate. And filling. Thank you.”

Harukar smiled as he closed his eyes with a great exhale. “So glad to hear it.”

Aiden left the room quickly and made his way back to the kitchen, but paused before rejoining the other two. He leaned his back against the wall just outside the doorway, placing a hand over his still-racing heart. Personal indulgence. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling—what he should be feeling. Or if he should even dwell on any of it. But… 

“I was not planning on abandoning either of you at this juncture. For whatever solace that might bring.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that twitched at the corners of his lips, then laughed and covered his mouth as it grew into a shameless grin. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling strangely giddy. Personal indulgence. What on Nirn had just transpired between them? It was more intimate than anything Aiden had experienced in at least a decade. Maybe more. The more he replayed the events and the conversation, the more surreal the entire thing felt. Had Harukar meant… ?  

“No,” Aiden said aloud, too softly to carry beyond the doorway. But he needed the word spoken aloud. It had been simple kindness. Gratitude. Nothing more. Aiden pushed his hair from his face and stepped away from the wall, satisfied with his conclusion, though the feeling in his chest remained, light and fluttery, like the soft beat of a moth’s wing.   

Chapter Text

“What do I look like to you?”

Sarel glanced up at the question, pausing in his task. Gelebor had given him a bucket of water that had a layer of silty sand at the bottom, then he’d taught him how to swirl the sand around in the dirty bowls, scrub-and-dunk, until the food residue was gone. The water was icy cold. Gelebor had offered to warm it, but Sarel didn’t really mind.  

“My dad asked me the same question,” Sarel said, handing one of the washed bowls to Gelebor for drying. “I’m still not really sure how to answer. I don’t know how to describe things very well. I’ve grown up hearing so many stories and descriptions of the world and what people are supposed to look like. But now that I can see it, I have no idea how to use all those words to describe what I’m seeing. Does…does that make sense at all?”

“It does,” Gelebor said with a nod of his head. Sarel was beginning to notice that Gelebor and Harukar and his father nodded and shook their heads a lot when talking, like they were dancing along with their words. “I was simply curious,” he continued. “It is…peculiar, this magical sight you’ve been gifted. I want to know all about it.” He set the bowl down and gave Sarel a soft smile. “But I do recognize that you only have so many answers to give.”

“I wanna know about it, too,” Sarel agreed. “Maybe once I’m older I can study it. After I learn more magic.” 

“A noble endeavor, certainly. You’re in quite a unique position. You could be the first cultural ambassador of the Betr–of the Falmer.”

“You’re not the first to say that. That I’d be a good ambassador.” Sarel swirled the sand through the cooking pot now, enjoying the coarse feeling of the grit beneath his finger pads. “I have to learn their language first. And it sounded really confusing. And they would make this clicky noise in their throat, too.” He tried to make the noise and it sounded like a drowning horker to his ear. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that.” 

Gelebor laughed softly. “I’m sure it’ll simply take practice.”

“You sound a lot like my dad,” Sarel lamented with a sigh. “Everything takes practice. All the time.” 

“I’m afraid that’s simply the way of things.” 

“So, you still have to practice, too?” 

“I do.”

Sarel hummed thoughtfully as he rinsed the cooking pot and handed it over. “Alright,” he said at last. He flung the water from his fingers with a few flicks of his wrist, then wiped his hands on the front of his robe. “Why do you stay here in the Chantry by yourself?”

The mood between them shifted at his question, and unease curled in Sarel’s stomach. Gelebor’s expression had hardened into something terse. He seemed wholly focused on drying the cooking pot and remained silent for a long moment. 

“I have sworn an oath,” he said at last.

“To Auriel?” 

Gelebor nodded by way of answering. Sarel took it to mean ‘yes’. 

“But why does that mean you have to stay here by yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to go out and make new friends?”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Are you… trapped here?” Sarel hazarded to ask, cold despair welling in his chest.  

“Trapped? No, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s simply…” 

Sarel didn’t push him to finish his sentence. 

“Maybe you can come with us when we leave!” Sarel offered instead. “I don’t know when we will, and I don’t know where we’re going to go. But, um…” He forced himself to smile. “I’m sure you’re welcome to join us.”

Gelebor returned his smile, the flicker of his channels quickening momentarily. “That’s very kind of you to offer. But I’m not sure if I could accept.”

“Oh…” Sarel deflated, feeling awkward. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have–”

“It’s alright, Sarel,” Gelebor assured, placing a hand on his back. “It’s…complicated. But you’ve given me something to think about.”

“Apologies for leaving you two to clean up,” came Aiden’s voice from the doorway behind them. 

Sarel couldn’t help but beam as he spun around, bounding over to give his father a hug. It was good timing. The tension in the room came loose like an unraveling knot.

“Is Harukar alright?” Sarel asked as he stepped back. 

“He is,” Aiden said, brushing a hand over Sarel’s head. “He’s healing a little faster.”

“Good! Is he going to come out soon?”

“Possibly. But we shouldn’t bother him for right now.” He looked across the room. “Is there anything I can do to help, Gelebor? Apologies, again–”

“Not at all,” Gelebor replied, beginning to stack the bowls and hang up the cooking pots. “Sarel was a great help. We’re all cleaned up here.”

“Are we going to help you fix up the Chantry today?” Sarel asked.

“How about I give you both a full tour first? So you can get to know my home a little better.”

“Alright!” Sarel agreed with deliberate, spirited enthusiasm. He’d felt a tug of guilt at how he’d asked Gelebor to leave. Especially if he considered this his home.

“I bet our clothes are dry, Sarel,” his father said. “Let’s check on them and maybe get dressed, hmm?” 

Their clothes were indeed dry, but stiff and cold. Sarel grimaced as he pulled the shirt over his head. He found it easier to dress himself now that he could see enough to orient his clothing. He took a moment to watch his father dress himself, curious how other people might go about it. Aiden had a quiet perfunctory rhythm to his actions, practiced, easy—going through the motions of something he’d done a hundred times or more. Sarel knew his father was fifty-two, and, despite being young for an Altmer, that was a lot of years for anyone to live. Sarel couldn’t help but wonder how many times someone dressed themselves in fifty-two years. Maybe he’d be as efficient one day, especially now that he didn’t have to take so much time laying his clothes down and feeling along their edges before putting them on. He could see if his pants were backwards. It was very useful.

His father caught him watching and gave a little smile as he pulled on his boots. “You dressed quickly.”

“Yeah,” Sarel gave a little twist, swinging his arms around in a circle. “Now I just need the shirt to loosen up. And warm up.” He rubbed the outsides of his arms with an exaggerated shudder.

“And here I thought my little Snow Prince didn’t mind the cold,” Aiden said with a laugh as he got to his feet. 

“I don’t mind the cold when I have a warm shirt!” Sarel argued, compulsively reaching out to take his father’s hand, then stopped himself. “Oh, um, I guess I don’t have to hold your hand anymore.”  

Aiden let out a dramatic sigh. “I knew the day would come,” he said. “But just because you don’t have to hold my hand doesn’t mean you can’t when you want to. Right?” 

“Yeah.” Sarel nodded his head, the way he’d seen everyone else do. “That makes sense. Also,” he pointed at his own head and continued to nod. “This means ‘yes’ right?”

Aiden laughed louder than Sarel expected. “It does. And this means ‘no’.” He shook his head from side to side. 

“You and Harukar and Gelebor speak with your bodies a lot,” Sarel grumbled, taking his father’s hand after all. “It’s like I’m going to have to learn a whole second language. Or, third language, I guess. Fourth, if I start learning the Falmer’s. Fifth, if I count the Sightless Alphabet.”

“You’re shaping into quite the scholar,” Aiden said as they stepped into the hall. “Following in my footsteps. Only, you’ll be a far better scholar than I. But I believe that is the goal with children. To be better than their parents.”

“Hmm.” Sarel didn’t know what to say to that.     

They met Gelebor back outside of the kitchen. He began the tour with a soft smile and a brief history lesson. 

“The Great Chantry of Auriel was built in the Merethic era, as it has come to be known, when the Snow Elves were the predominant population here in Skyrim. I would like to say we were a peaceful society, but we were not. War and unrest plagued my people as much as it has plagued any great civilization. I saw too much violence in my younger years. It is one of the many reasons I turned to a monastic life. Auriel granted me refuge from the turmoil of mortal foibles and helped me to see the temporality of it all.” 

Sarel wanted to ask what ‘temporality’ meant, but didn’t want to interrupt. 

“The Chantry was a refuge for many—lay and monastic alike. Here, follow me.”   

He led them to the frontmost room where the pilgrims had once gathered. It was littered with broken statues and ice and dust. Slender beams of light shone through the long windows and erased parts of the room from Sarel’s vision, dissolving them into patches of white nothingness. Apparently, pilgrims used to perform a whole ritual to get here that involved traveling all over the Vale, visiting wayshrines and carrying water back and forth. It didn’t make sense to Sarel, but aside from the most basic tenets of the Altmeri pantheon, his father hadn’t raised him to understand the more tedious aspects of religious practices.

The chantry also had a whole second story, but Gelebor could only show them half of it. A large portion had been taken over by the creep of the glacier and lost to crumbling disuse. It seemed to be mostly more sleeping chambers. A lot of people had lived here at one point. 

Sarel held fast to his father’s hand as they walked the halls. The light that filtered through the windows of the upper story pulsed white hot. He flinched away as they passed through one of the sunbeams, turning his face towards his father’s arm. 

“The light hurts him,” Aiden said, his voice wavering with distress. “Must we walk this way?” 

“It’s alright,” Sarel said, wincing as he forced himself to turn his head forward. “I need to get used to it.”

Gelebor paused ahead of them, then turned around. He stared down at Sarel for a silent moment, then stepped forward to gently take a knee in front of him. “What if we go sit in the garden?” 

“What!?” Aiden squawked. “Didn’t I just–?” 

“If Sarel doesn’t want to, then we won’t,” Gelebor assured, looking up at Aiden. “But…” He turned his gaze back to Sarel, offering the barest hint of a smile. “If you’d like to learn how to tolerate the sun, I can think of no more beautiful place.”

“Alright,” Sarel cautiously agreed. “What if I can’t stand it?” 

“Then we stop,” Gelebor said, as if it were obvious. 

 Sarel tugged at his earlobes, chewing at his lip and debating. He hazarded a look at the streak of buzzing light only to jerk his gaze away. Frustration warred with fear. He wanted to be able to sit in the sun. 

“Alright,” Sarel said, trying to sound confident, though his kneecaps had begun to tremble. “Yeah, let’s try.”

–

The light of the garden flooded through the open archway, swallowing everything in its path. Sarel put his hands over his face, which dimmed the light, but didn’t block it out completely. 

“We can sit in the doorway for a moment,” Gelebor suggested. “No need to go any further.” He stepped into the beam of light and disappeared. Sarel could still hear him, shuffling around, sitting down, the soft swish of his pants against the stone floor. 

Sarel stepped cautiously forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. He half expected his skin to burn as he edged a toe into the buzzing nothingness. When no pain came, he inched in a little further, bit by bit. The world around him fell away, dissolved into the white void of the sun’s rays. 

“Very good, Sarel,” Gelebor said, and his voice was so soft and comforting that Sarel poured all his focus into the sound. “Have a seat.” 

The stone floor was cold beneath his rump. He crossed his legs and let out a shuddering exhale. 

“Does it cause you pain?” Gelebor asked.

“I…actually don’t know,” Sarel replied, brow furrowing. “It’s–I don’t think so? It’s just… a lot.” He took another slow breath. “But, no, now that I’m sitting in it, it doesn’t actually hurt. It’s just uncomfortable.” 

Gelebor hummed in understanding. “There is an exercise that young acolytes are taught when first joining the order. We were made to face a wall and sit as still as we could. First, only for a few minutes, but eventually for hours.” 

“That sounds awful,” came his father’s voice from just behind Sarel. 

Gelebor laughed. “It was. It was absolutely awful. But it taught me an important lesson about discomfort. It’s temporary. And sometimes it’s not nearly as terrible as our minds make it out to be. So, what I learned was to become curious about my discomfort. If my nose was itching, instead of scratching it without thinking, I questioned the feeling. What did an itch really feel like? Where did the sensation originate? How might I describe it? And soon, through my curiosity, I found the uncomfortable sensations would lose their immediacy, and eventually they would fade. Until another one arose, that is.”

“Ooh,” Sarel said, only half-understanding. “So… I just sit with the sun and…get curious about it?” 

“Essentially, yes. Where do you feel the discomfort?”

Sarel hummed and pursed his lips, scooting on the ground to turn towards the fresh air of the garden. “I guess I don’t actually feel a lot of discomfort, it’s just…overwhelming. Like a bunch of people yelling in my face.”

“But you don’t have to listen,” Gelebor said. “The yelling. You can let the noise wash over you. Rolling off, like rain on polished stone.”

Sarel took a deep breath, relaxing his face and shoulders. He let his ethereal vision go unfocused. The hot, buzzing void soon began to lose its edge. It became… nothing. Then, as realization hit, Sarel gasped. 

“It’s just… It’s like being blind again!” With a burst of energy, he scrambled onto his hands and knees. “I know I said that when we got here. And I think I was just really excited about the Gifts. But–” He shuffled forward, sweeping his hands out in front of him the way he always had. “It’s not so bad when I think of it like that. I know how to be blind.” He smiled as he felt the cool, moist dirt beneath his fingers, the prickle of plant life, the rich, earthy aroma of soil accompanied by the gentle fragrance of flower petals. So long as he didn’t focus on trying to see, the light was tolerable. “I’ll need a new guide staff,” he said. 

“You were growing out of your old one, little bean sprout,” said his father with a watery laugh. “It was time to find you a new one anyways, I think.”

Sarel got to his feet and stretched his hands out in front of him, swinging them in an arc until he made contact with the cold stone of the archway, then he edged his way along the garden wall. 

“Don’t let me step on any plants and crush them!” he said over his shoulder. “But I wanna try to walk around the outside.” 

“There’s nothing you need to avoid if you walk the perimeter,” said Gelebor from the archway. “Take your time. I’ll come help you if you need it.”

Sarel inched his way along the wall, sweeping his foot out in front of him. Slowly, he made it all the way around the garden to another archway. 

“There’s a stone path down the center,” came Gelebor’s distant voice from across the way. “Use it to come back to us.”

Sarel dropped to all fours, feeling his way along the smooth stones. Halfway across, by his estimate at least, he paused and sat back on his heels. Turning his face upwards, he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Which spell do you use to keep the garden temperate?” he heard his father ask Gelebor. 

Sarel let himself roll onto his back, stretching his arms and legs out against the cool stones. One of his hands brushed up against a bush of crisp, dewy leaves.

“It is a weave of spells,” came Gelebor’s reply. “Three, to be exact. One to alter the temperature of the air, one to keep the ground warm, and one to provide rainfall. I could have added a fourth that would help with fruiting growth, but I was taught to weave spells in groups of three, five, or nine to provide the most stability.”

“Weave?” repeated his father. “I’m not familiar with that technique.”

“Ah, I can only assume spellcraft has changed over the many years. It was standard when I was first taught to harness my magic.”

“I would love to hear about your method. Spellcrafting was one of the subjects I taught at the college.”

“Well, if that is the case, I know where we should end our tour. After Sarel has finished enjoying the sun, of course.”

Sarel smiled, taking a deep breath. “I’m almost done. It’s just… It’s kind of nice to not see again.” 

–

Gelebor seemed very excited about the final stop of the tour, spiriting them through the rest of the Chantry with haste. They passed the room where Sarel and his father had bathed the night before. (Gelebor referred to it as the ‘ablutions chamber’, and Sarel was having a difficult time keeping up with all the new words). Now, they stood before a great archway that was sealed shut by a thick wall of ice. Sarel watched Gelebor and his father use their magic to melt the ice away, slowly revealing a massive room just beyond it. 

“What is this place?” Aiden asked as they took a break, poking his head through the hole they’d created and craning his neck through the archway.

“This was the Great Library,” said Gelebor. He gently ushered Aiden to the side before giving the ice sheet a few forceful kicks. The upper half that had been made thin by their fire spells sheared off, falling into the adjoining room with a series of loud crashes. “We can clear the rest at a later time,” he said, already stepping over the low wall. “I would like to see how much of the collection remains, if any at all.”

“Here, Sarel,” Aiden said, holding out his hand. “Carefully, now. The ice is slippery.”

Sarel used his father’ hand to steady himself as he climbed over the wet ice. He wiped his hands on his pants once he was on the other side, then gazed upwards. 

“Oh, wow…” 

The Great Library was massive. The sun leaking through the many windows made it difficult to fully see, but the room stretched up and up and up. The ceiling far above them was a half-destroyed dome with white-hot light bursting through. Sarel held his hand up to dim the light and get a better look. The room itself was a giant circle with multiple stories above them—balconies—overlooking the main floor. Some of the balconies had crumbled and were only half-standing. He wondered if this was how big the Arcanaeum was. Just by the feel of it, this place felt bigger. But emptier.  

“By the Divines,” came his father’s voice behind him. “What I wouldn’t give to have seen all this in its original glory. It must have been…absolutely magnificent.”

“Some tomes still survive!” declared Gelebor from across the room, his voice echoing off the stone and ice. Sarel watched his dad sprint past, trotting to stand at Gelebor’s side as they began to speak to each other in hushed, excited tones. With quiet reticence, Sarel decided to wander over to one of the darker corners of the library. 

His footsteps echoed off the balcony above him as he made his way towards the far wall. There were rows upon rows of shelves inlaid into the stonework, packed with books. It was amazing that they had survived for thousands of years, but upon closer inspection Sarel discovered why. A delicate latticework of magicka thrummed faintly along the shelves, encasing the books in a protective net.  He ran his fingers along their cold spines, a crackle of spells beneath his fingertips. He wondered if…   

He let his desire flow through his channels and out of his hands. Open, he thought. Let me in. There was a tingling in response, then a sharp shock, and he jerked his hand back. 

“Ow!”

“Sarel,” said a deep voice from behind him. 

He spun around, pressing his back up against the books. “I’m sorry! I didn’t–! Oh…” Sarel couldn’t stop his own grin. “Harukar!” He pushed off the shelves and was next to him in two long strides, throwing his arms around the man’s waist for a tight hug. “Are you rested?” He pulled back, inspecting the stomach wound. “It looks a lot better. Does this mean you’ll heal now?”

“I’m doing much better, yes. And healing faster.” He looked out across the library, in the direction of Aiden and Gelebor. Sarel saw his caged heart straining against its bars, its pace quickening, though only for a moment. 

“A scholar in a room full of never-before seen tomes. I feel we’re going to have a difficult time prying your father out of this room.” 

Sarel laughed, but it came out as a nervous squeak. “I tried to get the magicka around the books to let me in, but I don’t think I used the right spell.”

Harukar took a seat on one of the nearby stone benches, his movements still careful and slow, one hand bracing his wound. “Is your magic getting stronger?” 

“I’m not sure… I think it just makes more sense to me now. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but there are certain things that just feel natural. Like healing. If you asked me to make fire, though, I don’t think I could.”

Harukar smiled, his visage both kindly and frightful in a warring juxtaposition. “I think we’ll need to find you a special teacher,” he said. “Someone who might understand your approach better. Intuitive magic.”

“I guess the best teachers would probably be other Falmer, right?” Sarel said, wringing his hands nervously.

Harukar tilted his head and then nodded in the way that meant ‘yes’. “That’s probably right, yes.” 

“But I can’t understand them.” 

“For the time being, then, we will have to find someone you can understand.” 

Sarel looked out across the room, where his father was gesturing wildly to Gelebor over a book. Aiden’s laugh echoed off the walls and Sarel smiled at his father’s excitement. 

“I think Gelebor could teach me, but he said he can’t leave the Chantry. And I don’t want to stay here forever, either.”

“He said he can’t leave?” Harukar asked. 

Sarel shook his head ‘no’, if only to practice, but then stopped himself. “Well, actually, he said it’s complicated, but that I gave him ‘something to think about’. So maybe he just needs to think about it a little more.” Sarel stepped closer to Harukar, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Do you think we can convince him to come with us when we leave?” He craned his neck to make sure Gelebor wasn’t on his way over, then added. “I think he’s really sad here by himself.” 

Harukar smiled again, but it felt like a sad smile somehow. “In my experience, one can only convince another through their own actions, not through words or bargaining. If Gelebor is determined to remain here, then he shall remain here. But…” He placed a hand on Sarel’s shoulder. “I believe he may have been given a few new reasons to embrace change.”

Sarel returned Harukar’s sad smile. He glanced across the room once more.  

“I sure hope so.”

Chapter Text

After painstaking deliberation, Aiden chose one of the books from the Chantry’s vast library and carried it reverently to a stone table in the far corner. A thin metal plate in the shape of Auriel’s star had been pressed into the stiff leather cover. He ran his fingers reverently over the ancient symbol. With the utmost gentleness, he turned to the first page. The book was inscribed in Aldmeris, hand-written. Gelebor had explained that the lorekeepers of the Chantry had been versed in the now-ancient tongues—Falmeris, Aldmeris, Dwemeris, and even rudimentary Dovahzul—and had attempted to translate much of the collection into each language. Aiden muttered a soft prayer of thanks that he’d maintained his working knowledge of Aldmeris, despite the fact that it had mostly served to avoid pestering Urag for translations. Now, with this ancient Falmer tome translated before him, it felt predestined. 

Touching the Sky, the title read.    

Urag would pay a small fortune to have this in his collection. Aiden entertained the idea before he could stop himself. Selling off the rare books would feel like a betrayal to both Gelebor and whatever shreds of his academic integrity still remained. 

Yet the idea lingered. He would have to consider it if he and Sarel were to live on their own. Could they even return to the college? Would the Arch-Mage allow him on the grounds if Sarel was still with him? Even if Aiden were to seek employment elsewhere, many of his possessions and his pitiful savings remained locked away in his quarters. He’d at least need to… 

He interrupted his own train of thought with a sigh, gently closing the book and setting it to the side. It was no use. He couldn’t focus on reading with all the unfathomable what-ifs haunting his every thought. Sarel, at least, had had his spirits significantly lifted. Sitting in the garden had rejuvenated him with palpable confidence. It was infectious so long as Aiden didn’t allow himself to think too much about the uncertainty that stretched before them. 

Perhaps they could move to High Rock. Aiden could apply to the Synod. He’d heard they asked fewer questions than most, so long as you had the means to get the knowledge they sought. Better yet, Cyrodiil. The University of Gwilym was known for its more text-driven and theoretical approach… 

Oh, but what of Sarel’s appearance? Anywhere they went, he would be an oddity. His safety would be perpetually compromised. 

Aiden groaned and leaned forward onto the desk, pillowing his head against his arms. 

What would their life even look like?

He closed his eyes and imagined a sunny little flat in some unnamed city. Sarel sat at the kitchen table, diligently studying the sightless alphabet as Aiden reclined in a padded armchair, a book in his lap and a warm cup of tea at his side. Maybe they had a cat that would curl up in the sunspots near the window. Sarel would go to a school where other children would treat him kindly, perhaps a school for the blind. Aiden could work a simple job. Bookkeeping. Yes. Practical, uncomplicated work—a far cry from the stressors of academia. He’d pick up Sarel after his school day had ended and they’d stop at the market before the stalls closed, picking out their dinner. They’d arrive back at the flat to find Harukar waiting for them, visiting between whatever grand adventures he usually found himself on. 

Aiden would make dinner as he told them tales from his journey. Harukar would help Sarel with his homework, then put him to bed, giving Aiden some time to himself. Then the two of them would be alone. Aiden would have a glass of wine and wonder if vampires got drunk if they drank the blood of someone intoxicated. Perhaps they’d retreat to Aiden’s room. Harukar would look at him with those soulful, burning eyes, and Aiden would ask if he was hungry. Then he’d press Aiden back against the bed and–

Aiden jerked upright, rocketed from his daydream as a hot flush of shame and arousal flooded his body. Reflexively, he pressed his hand against the puffy scars on his neck. Was this a side effect of the feeding? Was he now Harukar’s thrall? How else could he explain the lewd fantasies that seemed to wriggle into his brain whenever he found himself alone with his thoughts for too long? 

Be honest with yourself, came a voice in his own mind, far gentler than his usual biting daedroth. Easier said than done, of course. Honesty required shamelessness. And Aiden felt a good deal of shame for a great many things. 

“I was not planning on abandoning either of you at this juncture. For whatever solace that might bring.”

What exactly had Harukar meant by that? How much optimistic extrapolation could Aiden allow himself before his daydreams turned into self-flagellation? Above all else it begged the question: when would he abandon them? And why would it feel like abandonment at all? He was a stranger to them—a man with his own life and loyalties, his own bonds and goals and motivations. He owed them nothing and yet acted as though he owed them everything.  

“Personal indulgence…”

“Are you alright?” came Gelebor’s voice from behind him.

“Yes!” Aiden answered immediately, turning around to offer a wide smile. He laughed if only to make noise. “I’m afraid I got a little distracted while trying to read.”  

Gelebor smiled and sat down in a nearby chair, the very picture of patience. “What troubles you, Aiden?”

Perverted fantasies of being ravaged by a vampire, answered his daedroth, and Aiden’s face and ears flooded with heat. 

“I’m… I think it’s the uncertainty of the future,” Aiden said.

“That is fair,” Gelebor said with a nod. “Is there anything I can do to help alleviate your worries?” 

“No, not at all. It’s not a burden for you to bear. And I’m sure I’ll figure something out. I just–” He let out a loud sigh, running a hand across his eyes. 

The weight of his predicament seemed to bear down on him all at once, his throat constricting. 

“I don’t even have my glasses!” he blurted. “I can barely see five feet past my own nose, and I can’t afford a new pair even if we do manage to make it out of those blasted caves and into a city that has a competent glassmith. Besides, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to return to the college in one piece, much less keep Sarel safe, only to most likely be turned away at the door.” Aiden’s hands had begun to tremble as regret bubbled in his stomach, yet he found he couldn’t stop now that he’d begun. “But before we can even begin to plan our trip back to Winterhold, I’ll need to find a way to make money. If I do manage to secure a job in whatever city might house us, then we’ll have to find a place to stay, which would cost even more money. I’m just… Nothing I plan seems feasible, no matter which way I shape it, and I’m finding it difficult not to feel like–” Aiden finally looked up to meet Gelebor’s eye with a renewed flush of shame. “I’m so sorry.” 

“What is it you’re apologizing for?” 

“I think a better question might be: what shouldn’t I be apologizing for?”  

Gelebor let out a soft sigh through his nose, shifting in his seat until he was facing Aiden. “I understand the shame you feel. Perhaps more than you will ever know. And I…am not sure if I have the proper words of comfort to offer you in this respect. I am a knight. The very title is one imbued with violence. I considered ridding myself of it, but I find that violence has followed me through my life regardless.” He continued to hold Aiden’s gaze, unwavering. “I have killed many of the Betrayed. Sarel’s people. My people. And I, too, did so under the assumption that they had fundamentally changed into something lesser. Something…” At last, he looked away, his throat rippling as he swallowed. “So, I understand. And I do not know how to forgive myself, either.”

Aiden blinked back at him in silence. When he finally cleared his throat and pulled the words from the hollow pit that had formed in his chest, he said: “I was just worried about getting new glasses.”  

To his surprise, Gelebor laughed, and Aiden let out a nervous chuckle as well.  

“Forgive me,” Gelebor said. “I was projecting.” 

“No,” Aiden replied soberly. “You weren’t. It’s just…much easier to worry about my glasses.” 

“You should speak with Harukar. I believe he’ll be a better aid than myself on that matter. I’ve lived away from the world for so long. I have no knowledge of these things.” 

“Would you–?” Aiden cut himself off as he realized the question might be inappropriate, but it was too late to take the words back. Gelebor was looking at him expectantly. 

“Yes?”

“Would you like to come with us? When we leave, that is. You must be… terribly lonely here.”

Gelebor’s posture stiffened. His mouth curled into a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then said, “Your son offered me the same.”

“I have no doubt,” Aiden said with a fond laugh. “He’s always thinking of others. Though, forgive me if I’m misreading, but you don’t seem too keen on the idea.”

“It’s…complicated.” Gelebor curled his hands into fists where they rested against his thighs. “I am bound by oath to protect this chantry. An oath which…” He looked despondently towards the doorway. “I’m afraid I broke it a millennium ago.”

“What ties you here, then?”

Gelebor shrugged, and it was one of the more casual gestures Aiden had seen him perform. “I have asked myself that question every morning since my return. My desire to restore the chantry to its former glory is genuine, but for whom shall it be restored? The world I knew is lost to the ages. My people are–” He paused, as if the words were swelling inside his throat, then he let out a long, loud sigh. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, brow furrowed. “My people are foreign to me. They have no use for sunlit rooms, nor books, nor…” He trained off, gaze falling to the floor.

Aiden didn’t know how to comfort him. It was tragic in a way he could hardly comprehend, much less put into words. 

“Well, there are books for the blind,” he found himself saying, then bit his tongue. Like putting plaster on a gaping wound in hopes of healing it. Such a trivial remark amidst this man confessing his fears and insecurities. But Gelebor looked up with interest. 

“Such a thing exists?”

Aiden nodded. “I was teaching Sarel before we… Oh, I do hope the books are still there. We left our belongings behind when Sarel was abducted. Or, I should say, when I ran off like a mad fool and Harukar had no choice but to run after me. But it’s called the Sightless Alphabet. Sarel was making truly amazing progress in learning it. And it took me ages to get those books sent to the college.” 

“Perhaps they will still be there upon your return.”  

“Yes, perhaps, but…” Aiden shuddered and hugged his arms to his chest. “I’m dreading going back through those caves. I’m terrified of-of… all of it. Happening again. I could barely sleep last night. I was still down there in my nightmares. But I think beyond that, I’m somehow more afraid of the life that awaits me once we leave.”

“The unknown is always more frightening, paradoxically,” Gelebor said with a nod. “My only comfort is to encourage you to simply be here, now. We operate under the illusion of control, but chaos can strike without notice. So enjoy these moments of peace.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll cease troubling you so that you can read.” 

“Thank you!” Aiden said before Gelebor could fully walk away. “Thank you for trying to calm me. You’ve counseled me twice today. I just wanted to say that it’s appreciated. And…thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, also.”

Gelebor’s smile finally reached his eyes. “You’re very welcome, Aiden.”

–

The stars looked the same as they always had. They winked down at Nirn from their distant seats in the heavens, a reminder of those ancestors who had fled the world’s creation. Aiden had grabbed a thin blanket on their way out of the chantry, intending to keep himself and Sarel warm, but his son seemed unbothered by the cold, as per usual. Aiden shivered and drew the blanket higher around his shoulders as Sarel pointed emphatically from constellation to constellation. 

“And that one kind of swirls and wiggles. And it was a little over there last night, but it moved.” 

“That’s the Serpent,” Harukar said. Sarel was leaning against his chest, using him for support as he gazed up at the sky. “That’s my birthsign.” 

“Really?” said Aiden. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone born under the Serpent before.”

Harukar smiled sheepishly. “I would say its reputation has proven accurate thus far. What is your sign?” 

“The Atronach,” Aiden said with a sigh. “Deep reserves of magicka my arse. I can’t say I believe in all the supposed birth attributes and whatnot.”

“It’s to be taken with a grain of salt,” said Harukar. “But in Hammerfell it’s not uncommon for wealthy families to pay good money to have their children’s birth charts calculated before they’re even born.” 

“I’m in the wrong field, then,” Aiden grumbled.   

“What’s my sign?” Sarel asked, and Aiden should have expected him to ask. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know, my love. We celebrate your birthday in Sun’s Dawn, but you were likely born before then. If I had to guess, I’d say Frostfall, which would be the Tower.” 

“Ooh,” Sarel said with wonder, turning his face back to the night sky. “What does the Tower look like?” 

“Five stars in a line,” said Aiden. “It’s one of the easiest ones to spot, though you’ll have to wait a while for it to come back into view.”

“They all look like they form lines. How could I tell the Tower apart?”

“We’ll just have to point it out to you this Frostfall, I suppose.”

“There is an ancient Dwemer observatory in Stros M’Kai,” said Harukar. “I believe it houses records of their star charts. It seems that even the Deep Elves were drawn to the surface by the allure of the stars.”

Aiden hummed thoughtfully, shifting to allow his shoulder to brush against Harukar’s as he craned his neck backwards and squinted up at the dome of twinkling lights. Without his glasses everything looked diffuse, each light blending into the next, refracting and doubling. A frigid burst of wind swept across the great porch and he stepped closer to Harukar, using him as a shield.   

“What’s your birthsign, Gelebor?” Sarel asked. 

Gelebor stood apart from them, his expression distant as he gazed out across the valley. Sarel’s question seemed to jar him, and he blinked owlishly at them. “My birthsign?” 

“Yeah! I’m the Tower, maybe. And my dad is the Atronach. And Harukar is the Serpent. What’s yours?”

Gelebor turned his gaze to the sky as he answered. “I’m…not sure. Our calendar was different from what you’re describing, as were our names for the stars. Gandra-alata, was my starname. Which I believe is what you refer to as birthsign. I was born in the ninth month of the year. It was thought to be an auspicious month for Snow Elves, as the fires of the earth began to cool, heralding the long winter that was to come. And the number nine holds great significance in my culture.”

“Ah, likely Hearthfire, then?” Aiden offered. “That would be The Lady.” 

“Gelebor is a lady?” Sarel asked. 

This caused Gelebor to let out a startled laugh, lightening the air around them. “Is there also a ‘man’ birthsign?”

“The Lord,” Aiden replied. Harukar glanced over his shoulder with an amused smile and a wink, and Aiden quickly looked away. Another gust of wind. He shivered and rubbed the outside of his arms beneath the blanket. “It’s all very silly.”

“I think it’s fun,” argued Sarel.

“Yes, well, I believe that’s quite enough fun for tonight. We need to get you to bed.”

“Aw, come on. Just a little bit longer?”

“Sarel, I’m nearly frozen half to death.” 

“You don’t have to stand out here if you don’t want to! But I wanna look at the stars a bit longer.” 

“I’ll stay with him, Aiden,” offered Harukar. He turned and placed a hand on Aiden’s hip, causing an eruption of fluttering in Aiden’s stomach. “Go warm up.” 

“...Not too much longer, though?”  

“We’ll name the visible constellations and then turn in. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen or so minutes.” He cocked his head to the side, hand still resting against Aiden’s hip. “Seem fair?” 

“That’s fair!” said Sarel. 

Aiden smiled reluctantly, then let out a huff. “Sure. I suppose that’s fair.” 

“I’ll join you, Aiden,” said Gelebor. 

As Aiden turned, Harukar’s hand slid to the small of his back and rested there. “Oh… Alright.” He quickly dipped to press a kiss to the top of Sarel’s head, then silently mouthed ‘thank you’ to Harukar before turning towards the stairs, feeling the phantom press of Harukar’s hand lingering against his back. 

The shattered chantry loomed over them as they made their way back inside. Beneath the cover of night, the usual shadows warped into menacing shapes—jagged black fingers that swallowed the edges of the great room, giving the impression of an endless void just beyond the broken pillars and piles of rubble. A creeping unease buzzed beneath Aiden’s skin as he glanced over his shoulder, Harukar and Sarel little more than blurred silhouettes on the balcony. 

As they passed through the icy tunnel, the silence grew so oppressive that Aiden couldn’t help but attempt to fill it. 

“Once Harukar is fully recovered, I think we’ll make for Markarth.” Though he tried to speak softly, the sound of his own voice was jarring. “The city is a bit rough for my liking, but it’s large enough that I might be able to find work.” 

“I’m unfamiliar with the city,” replied Gelebor. Of course he was. 

“Ah, right. It’s… Well, I’m not sure what it would have been called in your time. But it was one of the great Dwemer cities. The majority of it is underground, of course, but a good deal was also built above ground. Which is unusual. I think.” Aiden fluttered a hand. “I’ve never considered myself much of a Dwemer scholar.”

Gelebor hummed wordlessly in response, and Aiden bit his tongue. Right, Aiden, why don’t you prattle on a bit longer about the society that enslaved Gelebor’s people? I’m sure he loves discussing the Dwemer.

They reached the kitchen and Gelebor bade Aiden a curt but polite ‘goodnight’ before disappearing down one of the darkened halls. 

Aiden let out a breath and went to sit by the dying hearthfire. He tossed a log across the coals and shot a quick burst of flame from his palm to help it catch, then sat back in the rickety chair, the blanket still tightly wrapped around his shoulders.

The log hissed and popped in the silence. 

Is this how he would spend his nights? Aiden thought. Utterly alone? In endless silence?

It was a terrifying prospect. As he focused on the flicker of flame lapping against the wood. The chantry felt impossibly massive around him, stretching deep into the mountain, cutting through rock and the ice. An empty labyrinth with not even a minotaur for company. 

There had to be some way to convince Gelebor to leave this wretched prison.

The echo of approaching footfall pulled Aiden from his trance. Shortly thereafter Harukar appeared in the doorway with a smiling Sarel clinging to his back. 

“I’m gonna memorize all the constellations!” Sarel declared as Harukar set him down. “And I want to learn how to make star charts! But I’ll have to figure out how to write first.” 

Aiden mustered as much enthusiasm as he could and said, “That’s wonderful Sarel.”

Sarel’s expression immediately dropped. “Are you alright?”

“Simply tired, my love.” Aiden pushed to his feet with a groan. “And cold. But I’ve been perpetually cold since the moment I moved to Skyrim. One would think I should have gotten used to it by now.”

“Sorry you’re so cold,” Sarel offered.

“It’s alright, dear. Are you ready to go to bed?”

“Yeah, I guess…” He pouted, crossing his arms dejectedly. “I just can’t do anything outside in the daytime without being able to see so…I think I’d like to start staying up later. If that’s alright.”

“Once we… Well, once we get to where we’re going, I…think that’s an acceptable request,” Aiden conceded, looking to Harukar for sympathy. 

“But for now, sleep,” said Harukar. “Come, Sarel, I’ll help you get ready for bed so your father can continue to warm himself.”

“Oh.” Aiden shook his head. “It’s fine, you don’t have to–”

“Warm yourself!” Sarel repeated, pointing at the fire with a scowl. 

Aiden paused then let out a surprised laugh. “Fine. Fair enough.” Then added another soft thank you to Harukar before sitting back down in the chair by the fire.

Fundamentally, Sarel was still the bright, inquisitive child that Aiden loved so dearly, but the confidence with which he now moved through the world left Aiden feeling both immeasurably proud and strangely hollow. He’d come to terms with the fate that he’d created for himself—that he would forever be Sarel’s caretaker—made peace with this divergent purpose in his life. Not once, however, could he have imagined a life in which Sarel would truly outgrow his need for Aiden. In the spaces between, where he should feel joy and relief, there was only sadness and a lonely, miserable feeling beginning to form. How could any life purpose compare to Sarel?

Aiden leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms against his knees as he gazed mutely into the fire. All of his fears and anxieties hinged on making it out of the caves alive. One step at a time, Aiden, said the gentler voice in his mind. Just one foot in front of the other.        

“You should get some rest, Aiden,” came Harukar’s voice from behind him. 

Aiden glanced over from beneath his unruly fringe, eyes heavy. “You’re probably right.” He looked back to the fire and didn’t move. 

“You wear weariness like a cloak. Tell me how I can help.” 

A bubbling, hysterical laugh escaped before Aiden could stop himself and he covered his mouth with a hand. “Divines. I think I’m going mad.” 

Harukar stepped over silently, pulling up one of the other chairs to sit next to him. It creaked beneath his weight, and he leaned forward to mirror Aiden’s posture—arms resting on his knees. “May I ease your mind?”

Aiden laughed again, but this time it came out as a tired huff. “How might you do that?” 

“I have a proposal for you. For our next step. There is a Dawnguard safehouse in Solitude. It’s rarely occupied and has room enough for all of us.”

Aiden looked up. Some of the tension eased from his jaw. “A safehouse?”  

Harukar nodded with a small smile. “In truth, it is simply a house. But our missions often lead us all across Skyrim. With our base of operation so far from the western border, it only made sense.” He paused, straightening up. “And Durak no longer had use for his house…”

“Ah,” was all Aiden could say. He stared unseeing into the fire as he attempted to temper the small flicker of hope that lapped at the inside of his chest. Harukar’s hand came to rest on his back between his shoulder blades. 

“We can discuss more in the morning. And this does not have to be our only option. Simply…consider it.”

After a long moment, Aiden finally said, “Thank you,” the words little more than a whisper. 

Harukar rubbed small, slow circles between Aiden’s shoulder blades as they sat in silence. Then, ever so gently, he trailed his hand upwards to cup the back of Aiden’s neck, leaning in to press their foreheads together. Aiden’s breathing was too loud as he squeezed his eyes shut, heart thudding against his ribcage. Before he could overthink it, he reached out to place a hand against Harukar’s knee. It was quickly covered by Harukar’s other hand—cool dry finger curling around his palm. Aiden held himself perfectly still. His pulse thudded in his ear. He swallowed with an audible click. Harukar’s thumb brushed along the ridge of his knuckles. 

“Get some rest,” Harukar said again, hand sliding from Aiden’s neck to grip his shoulder. “I’m going to hunt. With any luck, we’ll have rabbit again in the morning.” 

“Be safe,” Aiden replied. 

Harukar smiled, eyes matching the glow of the fire. “I shall.” 

Aiden watched him leave with a growing sense of lightness in his chest. He gripped his own forearms tightly and curled his lips around his teeth to stifle his own smile. A safehouse seemed too good to be true. And even still, Solitude was so terribly far away…

One step at a time, Aiden, said the kinder voice. 

One step at a time.

Chapter Text

Sarel waited until the sound of his father's breath slowed to a soft, measured rhythm and the pulse of his heart evened into a steady flicker of energy before he slid silently from his own bed. 

The Chantry stretched outward into unmoving voids around him. The soft pap-pap-pap of his bare feet against the cool stone created ripples of light as he walked, though only enough to light his path forward. It was a short walk, made shorter as Sarel quickened his pace, hastened by his own excitement. The walls and floor shimmered in his wake. He turned the final corner and passed through the archway into the garden. 

His breath caught in his chest. 

Life energy illuminated the scene, no different than what flowed through his own body. Vibrant currents of magicka pulsed through the lush vegetation like flickering heartbeats, causing the entire courtyard to dance and shimmer. Sarel grinned and trotted down the center path, stooping to examine one of the larger plants in the center. Its foliage had spilled out across the uneven stones, leaves and stems covered in short, prickly hairs. He ran his fingers over the leaves, unsure if he enjoyed the texture or not. 

Another plant caught his eye—a bush of some kind—where the endpoints of the plant’s channels terminated in little globes of idling magicka. He stepped over and took one of the small globes between his fingers. It had smooth, firm skin, plump with juice. Feeling brave, he plucked the fruit from the plant and popped it into his mouth. The berry squished between his teeth, sweet, slightly tart, and he felt the grit of small seeds as he chewed. 

It was a snowberry! He’d had them before—the taste was immediately recognizable—but eating this single berry felt fresh and precious, like he was performing a secret ritual. Maybe it was because he’d never plucked one from the plant before. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to the bush. Then he plucked another. 

“Having a late night snack?”

Sarel whirled around to face the far archway where the shimmering figure of Gelebor loomed.

“I’m sorry,” Sarel said instinctively, tucking his hands behind his back. “I was just–” He swallowed. “Sorry if I’m not–” He cut himself off again, and a small distressed whine escaped his throat. 

To his surprise, Gelebor let out a soft laugh. “You’re not in trouble, Sarel. The food in this garden is meant to be eaten. Though, it’s probably best if you refrain from eating berries from strange bushes out in the wilds.”

Sarel smiled, shoulders dropping with relief. “These are snowberries, right?”

“They are, yes.” He stepped into the garden and over to Sarel’s side. “They’re one of the first plants I was able to grow here. Before I could perfect the magical stasis.”

“You must be a really powerful mage,” Sarel wondered aloud. 

“I have had plenty of time to practice.”

Sarel let out a heavy sigh. “Practice is all any adult ever seems to talk about.”

Gelebor chuckled warmly, stooping to pick a snowberry from the bush. “It’s rather boring, isn’t it?” He ate the berry with a hum. 

“It is. But I guess I have to get used to it, huh?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Gelebor. “Would you like me to teach you what the other plants are?” 

“Yes!” 

Sarel listened intently as Gelebor pointed out each individual plant. Cabbages, wild lettuce, spring onions, and dark greens. All things he was able to find growing naturally in the Forgotten Vale and propagate himself. He’d even grafted a small apple tree, but it had yet to bear any fruit, and he wasn’t sure if it ever would. There was also an old log sporting plump little mushrooms. Their roots stretched like a woven net across the rotting wood, spreading through the ground and touching the surrounding plants. Sarel decided that he liked the mushrooms the most.

“Back at the college, we had honey nut treats. Have you ever had those?” Sarel asked after the plant tour concluded.

“No, I don’t believe I have. I really only have what you see here.” 

“Oh.” Sarel pursed his lips. “That’s not very much.” 

“Well, I also hunt game.” 

“What’s game?” 

“Animals. Like the vale deer, rabbits. I also fish from time to time, but it requires cutting into the ice.”

Sarel let out a long sigh. “That sounds like a lot of work just to eat food.”

Gelebor laughed. “That’s just the way of things, I’m afraid.” His smile faded as he straightened and looked towards the archway that led out of the garden. 

“Do I need to go to bed now?” Sarel asked. 

“That would be responsible, yes.”

“I like the night time, though. I can see everything so clearly.” He took another forlorn look around the garden. “It’s so beautiful, the way it’s all connected.”

“I wish I could see it the way you do,” Gelebor said. “But it’s beautiful to me as well.”

Sarel smiled up at him. “Have you decided if you’ll come with us or not? When we leave.”

Gelebor was silent. Pensive. “I have made a decision.”

Sarel wrung his hands together, digging his toes into the soft dirt. “And…?” he prompted when Gelebor remained silent. 

Gelebor let out a soft laugh then took a knee in front of Sarel, placing a hand on one of his shoulders. “I will join you, Sarel.”

It took a moment for his words to register. Somewhere inside of him, Sarel had prepared to hear a rejection or a refusal. When the meaning of the words finally caught up to the whirring of Sarel’s mind, elation exploded in his chest, and he let out a triumphant whoop, springing forward to throw his arms around Gelebor’s neck, knocking him off balance. “Yes, yes, yes! I’m so glad!”  

Gelebor laughed a little louder, wobbling a bit as he attempted to keep them both upright. “I’m excited, too.” He rebalanced, scooping Sarel into his arms and standing up in one fluid motion. “But it would be prudent of us to get some sleep, don’t you think? We have a long journey yet ahead of us.” 

“I’m starting to think these journeys are never gonna end,” Sarel said against Gelebor’s shoulder, pillowing his head against one of his arms wrapped around Gelebor’s neck.

Gelebor hummed his agreement. “Life is one continuous journey with fleeting moments of rest along the way.” 

Sarel dreamt of roots—long, twining spindles of light that snaked through the darkness and blossomed into fractalling globes. When he looked down, his own feet extended into the earth for miles beneath him, tangled with the other roots until he couldn’t tell where he ended and they began. The phantom echo of Gelebor’s voice said something to him, but he couldn’t make out the words as he was pulled from his sleep. He groaned awake, rolling to shield his eyes from the painful slice of sunlight that cut through the room’s high windows. 

Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he sat upright as the memory of the night prior jolted him into full wakefulness. He threw back the covers, hopping to his feet. 

His father still slept soundly in the bed next to him, the thrum of his life energy slow and measured. Sarel hesitated at his side, wringing his hands and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He knew how little sleep his father had found two nights ago, and how long it had taken him to fall asleep last night, but his own excitement won out.

“Dad,” he whispered as he gave Aiden’s shoulder a gentle prod. 

His father shifted, but did not awaken. 

“Dad,” Sarel tried again, reaching out to grasp Aiden’s shoulder and give it a firm shake. 

“Hmm?” Aiden lifted his head, bleary and sleep-rumpled. “Sarel? Is everything alright, love?” 

“Sorry to wake you up, but I have really good news, so I figured you wouldn’t be too mad at me.” 

“Is that so?” Aiden asked with a yawn, pushing to sit upright with his back against the headboard. “First thing in the morning, too, so it must be important.” 

“Yeah, it is!”

“Well,” Aiden yawned again. “Let’s hear it.”

“Gelebor is gonna come with us!” 

Aiden sighed and nodded, then paused, his heart flickering with a sudden flutter of movement. “He what?”

“He’s gonna leave the Chantry and travel with us!” 

Another pause as his father rubbed at his own jaw, staring off into a far corner of the room. “When did he tell you this?” 

“Last night. I…couldn’t sleep,” Sarel confessed sheepishly. “So I decided to go visit the garden because I wanted to see it. And he was there, and when we talked I asked him again if he’d decided whether or not he wanted to come with us, and he said yes!” 

Aiden leaned his head back against the headboard, ran a hand across his eyes, and let out a tremendous sigh. “That…is quite a relief, I’ll admit.”

“You didn’t wanna leave him here either.” 

“...I did not.” 

Sarel climbed onto the bed to sit at his father’s feet, bouncing with eagerness. “Do you think he’ll wanna come back to the college with us?” 

“Ah…” Aiden hesitated, drawing his knees up and curling his arms around them. “I’m not sure, my love. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to go back to the college.”

“Oh…” Sarel stopped bouncing as his heart sank. “Um, then, where are we going after we leave here?” 

“Harukar has a house in Solitude. He said we can stay there a while.”

“Solitude!” Sarel exclaimed. “Colette said that’s her favorite city in Skyrim!”

“Yes, it’s one of the more civilized cities in this blasted province. Besides, it’s much closer to us than Winterhold is now, but we’ll have to return to the college eventually. Many of my possessions are still there. And–” He let out a quiet, amused huff. “It would be rather satisfying to see Savos Aren’s face should Gelebor be the one to tell him off.”

“Tell him off?” Sarel asked, cocking his head to the side in confusion. 

“Never you mind that,” his father said, waving the comment away. “Let’s go have breakfast and speak to Gelebor. It appears we have quite a bit of planning to do.” 

“Yes! Let’s!”   

Gelebor and Harukar were both sitting by the hearthfire when Sarel and Aiden entered the kitchen, the contrast of their life energies side-by-side an odd juxtaposition amidst an otherwise cozy scene. They looked up in tandem.

“Good morning,” greeted Gelebor, getting to his feet. “You’re both up early. Breakfast isn’t quite prepared.”

“Did you tell Harukar?” Sarel asked, unable to help himself. 

Both Gelebor and Harukar laughed at this. 

“Yes,” Gelebor said. “We were just discussing the journey ahead and what needs to be done.”

“So my son didn’t dream it, then,” said Aiden. “You really plan to journey with us?” 

“I do,” Gelebor said with a nod of affirmation. “I spent the evening in prayer and reflection and determined it was time for me to see what’s become of the world beyond the Chantry.” He seemed sad when he said it, so Sarel stepped over to wrap his arms around Gelebor’s waist and pressed an ear to his stomach. 

“I’m so glad,” Sarel said as he felt Gelebor place a hand on his head. 

“And I would very much like to see this college of yours, Sarel.”

“Yes!” Sarel pulled away with a little hop. “Yes, yes! And you can meet Colette! And Master Urag! He’ll be so excited to talk to you about all the Falmer books. Plus, the Arcanaeum doesn’t have holes in the ceiling, so it’s nice and warm.” 

“It may take us a while to make our way back to Winterhold,” said Aiden as he sat down next to Harukar beside the fire. “But we would certainly appreciate your company for the journey. Especially given the fact that–” He gestured to the air around them. “Things didn’t quite go as planned.” 

“Indeed,” said Harukar with a low, rumbling laugh. 

“So we’re going to Solitude first?” asked Sarel. 

“Yes, I think that would be most logical,” answered Harukar. “There is a house there we can stay in to rest and recover. The journey to get there is no small feat. And first, it will involve returning through Darkfall passage.” 

Sarel’s pulse quickened. “Back through the caves?” 

Gelebor placed a hand on Sarel’s shoulder. “I’m afraid that’s the only way in and out of the Forgotten Vale.” He gave a small squeeze. “But we know the path. And you can see in the darkness far better than the three of us, even. So you’ll be able to help quite a lot.”

“Alright…” Sarel agreed cautiously, then with more confidence, added, “Yeah. I’ll help.” 

The First Chapel was just as they had left it: cold and haunted by nameless ghosts of pilgrims past. Sarel clung to his father’s cloak as they made their way towards the front doors. 

The prior two days had passed in a blur of gathering supplies, drying and storing food, and preparing for the journey through Darkfall and the countryside beyond. The adults had consulted a map of Gelebor’s and spoken in hushed tones, though Sarel had managed to catch some key words: Falmer, encampment, and hostile. He dreaded another violent encounter, and even more, he was terrified of being scooped up and carried away again—maybe instead of nice Falmer, he’d be kidnapped by mean ones this time—but he didn’t want his father to worry, so he’d dampened his nervousness with enthusiasm and helpfulness.

The preparation that had taken the longest, and the part that had fascinated Sarel most, was a magical circle Gelebor created in the center of the library. He had used a long staff, similar to Sarel’s seeing staff, to trace a glowing pattern of pure magicka on the floor—liquid gashes that arced across the stone like rivers of light.

"It's like a door," Gelebor explained as he worked, not looking up from where he knelt in the center of the pattern. "Once I establish the second circle, we'll be able to travel between them instantly."

Sarel traced the air above one of the glowing lines with his finger. "Where will you put the other one?"

Gelebor's hands stilled. "I'm... not certain yet." His heart flickered, and the light within him pulsed in response. "But having a way back feels important."

The doors of the First Chapel loomed before them. Sarel glanced anxiously at the spot where Harukar had fallen to the ground and almost died, then swallowed hard to loosen the lump in his throat. He reached up to fiddle with the necklace that Zahk’ma had given him, twirling the beads between his fingers. 

“How long will it take this time?” Sarel asked.

“Hopefully less time than our last attempt,” Harukar said, and Sarel could tell he was trying to be humorous about it, but his dark heart energy belied his levity, thrumming with apparent nervousness. “Just remember to move quietly.”

Aiden took Sarel’s hand into his own, squeezing tight. “Be my eyes, love,” his father whispered with a quiver to his voice. “Help me see.”

Sarel drew himself up straighter, lifting his chin. Gelebor stepped forward and pressed his hands against the doors of the First Chapel. They swung open with the sound of stone grinding against stone, and beyond, the waiting dark greeted them.