Morthal was not Andante’s favorite place. What it had going for it – namely, not being completely frozen – was offset by the omnipresent odor of rotting vegetation. It sat in the marsh, and in part over mostly stagnant water. Its scent was not the bright salt tang of the docks of Solitude, nor the icy cold nothingness of the sea near Winterhold and Windhelm. Nor did it carry the clean smell of fresh salmon that lingered around Riften, at least on its upper level. No, Morthal smelled of dead and dying things. One would not expect that to be something that would bother one of the undead but Andante’s nose was more refined than most and he disliked it intensely.
Still, Morthal was where Falion was, and Falion, as it turned out, lived in a small house on the east side of town. The Jarl, Idgrod Ravencrone, a strange old bird who had substantial amounts of mystical power and who saw visions, allowed Falion to sell such things as a mage was wont to sell, so long as he did it from his home. And the rest of the town hated her for it. They were generally unpleasant people, as far as Andante was concerned, too hide-bound, traditional, and superstitious for the likes of him. He generally bypassed the place whenever possible. He and Brynjolf clumped down the boardwalk that served as Morthal’s easternmost street and found the house the innkeeper – his sister, as it happened — had pointed out as his.
“Ugh,” Andante muttered. He took a deep breath, frowned, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came a raspy voice from inside.
He hesitated a moment longer, looking sideways at Brynjolf to make sure they both had their illusion spells in place. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow over one of his brilliant green eyes.
“Well? We came all this way, open the damned door.”
“All right, all right,” he grumbled. I still really don’t want to do this.
Falion was seated at a small table next to the fireplace. He was a Redguard, ordinary enough in appearance aside from his being a mage rather than the warrior types Andante was used to associating with Redguards. His house was also quite ordinary, one large room with everything in it, of the type one saw everywhere in Skyrim. A rabbit and several pheasants hung curing next to the fireplace, and a pot of something that smelled good simmered before the fire. A young girl sat atop what was clearly a child’s bed. She was ignoring them, and paying a great deal of attention to a doll.
He looked Andante over, glanced at Brynjolf, and said, “Welcome. There are many things here that cannot be found elsewhere.”
Andante raised an eyebrow and smirked. “That was carefully put.”
“Indeed. In a town where people mistrust magic, it is good practice to put things carefully.”
So we’re to play games, are we? Very well. I can dance with words as well as you.
“Now, what might I do for you?” Falion asked.
Andante hesitated for a moment and then nodded. I suppose it’s time.
“I understand that you are an expert in vampirism.”
One corner of Falion’s mouth rose and he nodded slightly, an “I knew it” sort of expression.
“I know many things.”
Andante inclined his head. “I would assume that one such as yourself, well-versed in magic, would know many things. It is this one in particular I am concerned with at the moment.”
“I have studied things beyond the reach of most humans, traveled the Oblivion planes, seen things one should not see.”
Andante smirked. Yes, I know those things a person shouldn’t see. I am one of those things. Something about that thought poked at the back of his mind, and he frowned, trying to place why it did; but Falion distracted him.
“I have met Daedra and Dwemer and everything in between and I know enough to see a vampire where others would see a man.” He looked pointedly at Brynjolf, who glowered, and then back to Andante.
Andante chuckled. Aren’t you special.
“Yes, the illusion spell is very effective, unless of course you know enough to be looking around it. Well then, you likely can imagine why I am here. I am hoping to be cured. Just me, not my friend here. He prefers to remain as he is.”
Falion nodded.
“Interesting. Well, yes, it is possible. I know of a ritual, though I have never performed it. It requires a filled black soul gem. You will need to kill someone. When you have a gem and have filled it, return to me and I will perform the ritual. I will bring life to your dead body, vampire.”
Brynjolf had retreated to a nearby corner and was watching the exchange. He snickered at Falion’s words.
“Oh I don’t know, the lad’s body is fairly lively as it is if you ask me,” he murmured.
Andante snorted. “Sir. Goodness.” Then he reached into a pouch strapped to his belt. I have to kill someone? Really, that is your concern for me, as a vampire? How amusing.
He carried a Daedric axe. Long before he reached his current strength he had placed a small enchantment on it, to help in combat, and that spell required continual re-charging with the use of soul gems. He collected them whenever he found them, and had two black soul gems among the others on his person at that moment. It had been a simple thing to fill them with the souls of dead men, long since. He passed one to Falion.
“Will this do?”
Falion rose from his chair and nodded.
“Very well. Meet me at the summoning circle in the marsh at dawn. We shall banish the creature you have become.”
Andante performed his habitual slight bow. “Thank you, sir. I don’t think of myself as a creature, so much, but I do wish to be freed of the desire to consume human blood. We will meet you at dawn.”
They stepped outside into the dusk, and Andante shuddered.
“That was difficult. I don’t like this, Brynjolf.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me, lad. I’m still not convinced about why you think it’s necessary but I understand not wanting to do it. It’s hard enough going through this change the first time. And you’re so…”
Yes I am. I’m so powerful. What if something goes wrong and I can’t change back, or I can but I have to start all over? That would be something, wouldn’t it, if Brynjolf ended up being my sire. Gods. I wouldn’t mind that so much but losing all of this...
They walked toward the center of town, along the boardwalks that extended out over the marshland. Andante glanced at Brynjolf, to find him staring intently at him.
“Will you save me, if something goes wrong? Can I ask that of you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will you turn me back? Because I don’t think I can do this – be a human – any more, Bryn. I’m too far beyond it. I like the way I am now and I want this to be only temporary.”
They had taken a few more slow steps before Brynjolf frowned and spoke.
“I don’t think I know how.”
Andante stopped and thought hard for a moment. Then grinned. Yes. This will be delicious.
“I know you can do this, Brynjolf. It’s part of who you are now. Still, it would be good to practice before it turns into a necessity. Tell me something. That special thing you can do. Could you tell a person to go to sleep?”
Brynjolf nodded. “I think so. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Well let’s go find someone, then. One of the guards who patrols just outside the city, perhaps.”
He turned east, down the path that let up out of the swamp, out of Morthal, and scanned the road in both directions. There was no guard in sight but he thought he saw movement, a good way down the road, coming toward them. He gestured to Brynjolf to follow him and crept that way, just off the side of the road, hugging the shadows. As the figure grew closer it became clear that it was one of the Afflicted.
“I don’t know, Bryn. Will it bother you to feed on one of them? You won’t get the disease, but…” He shuddered, involuntarily. “I don’t know what it is about them. They make my skin crawl.”
“I’ll be fine,” Brynjolf whispered. “What do I need to do?”
Fearless. He’s just fearless.
“See if you can get him to lay down, somewhere off the road here, and go to sleep.”
Brynjolf nodded.
As the man approached, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. Andante saw him make the tiniest motion with his hand.
The Afflicted stopped in his tracks and brought his hand up to his mouth, then yawned an enormous yawn. He shook his head and began to walk again.
Brynjolf tsk’d and stared at him again. This time the man stretched, yawned, and muttered “I’d better lay down before I fall down.” He had a rough bedroll strapped to the bottom of his pack, and spread it out on the closest spot that was reasonably flat. He lay down and started snoring, almost instantly.
“Good work!” Andante murmured. “Well done. Now we need to get next to him.”
Brynjolf grumbled. “He was stubborn. I was worried about overdoing it and he fought it. I wanted him to sleep, not attack.”
“But he’s out cold, now. Come on.” They ran to where the man was sleeping, and knelt.
“Ok, Bryn. You need to cut your hand and sprinkle some blood on him. Then feed. You should have made yourself a fresh vampire at that point. You’ll feel what you’re doing when you do it.”
Brynjolf knelt behind the man. He winced as he sliced open his palm, but then smiled grimly and nodded. He leaned over the man’s neck, and fed briefly, then rose.
“I think it worked.”
“Let’s get out of sight and see what he looks like. Can you wake him up again?”
“Easier than putting him to sleep, lad.”
They ducked behind some bushes and Brynjolf focused on the Afflicted again. The man leapt up from his bedding and drew a sword, flailing it about, looking for something to attack.
Ahh the frenzy. I see why he said this was easier. That would be downright terrifying if he used it on, say, trained soldiers.
The man stopped, looked confused, and sheathed his sword. He bent to pick up his bedding, and when he turned, Andante got a good look at his bright, golden eyes. He turned to Brynjolf.
“Nicely done, loverboy. Your first offspring.”
Brynjolf rolled his eyes.
They waited until the man was well down the path toward Morthal before rising to go on their way.
“So will you do that for me, if the time comes?”
Brynjolf gave him a small smile. “Of course I will. Now that I know how, there’s no question. Of course.”
They were almost back to town when they heard the cries.
“Die, foul blood-drinker!”
“Burn it! Burn the vampire!”
Andante grinned at Brynjolf.
“He was dead anyway. And that is exactly why we always keep the illusion spell going, yes?”
“Yes.”
___
There was the barest hint of a lightening in the eastern sky when they approached the ornately carved stone platform north of the town. Andante climbed onto the stone and stepped up onto the raised circle in the center. The platform was surrounded by interrupted stone arches, similar to those found near ancient barrows all over Skyrim, but itself was uniquely carved, with a four-pointed star-like shape in its center.
It was that unearthly quiet that sometimes comes just before the dawn. Only a few quiet murmurs of insects and birds beginning to wake broke the silence. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, realizing that it would be some time before he would be able to hear this clearly again, and frowned. Then he heard the sloshing of human feet through marshlands, and opened his eyes. Brynjolf, having just dispatched a frostbite spider that had followed them through the marsh, approached the circle.
“You almost disappear into the fog, Brynjolf.”
“You say that as though it’s a bad thing. The point of the dark armor is to hide in it.”
“And the point of the heavy bandolier and all the pockets is to carry things. I know. Still, I keep picturing you in something else. A vampire as pretty as you needs to look special.”
“What are you on about? Pretty? The last time anyone called me pretty was…”
Andante grinned and pulled a golden circlet set with emeralds out of his pack. He handed it to Brynjolf, smiling.
“Dynjyl, right? Here. Try it on for me. I want to see what you look like.”
Brynjolf looked down at the circlet and then back up to Andante. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am. Indulge me for just a moment. If it works we can enchant it to protect you from fire.”
Brynjolf put the circlet on and Andante grinned. “It matches your eyes. It’s…” It’s stunning.
“I’m not really the jewelry type, lad.”
Andante snorted. “Of course you are. You wear that great ugly amulet around your neck all the time and you have a ring. I can see it from here.”
Brynjolf looked down at his hand and grimaced. “Well, that…”
Whatever he’d been about to say about the ring didn’t get finished, as Falion materialized out of the fog. He approached the circle, slowly.
“Good, you’re here.”
Andante stared at him, knowing that he must look imposing without the illusion spell in place.
“Yes, of course I am my good fellow. And I’m anxious to get this over with. It has to be done and I may lose my nerve if we don’t move along.”
Brynjolf moved to stand near Andante’s right side. Falion nodded. “As you wish. Please stand in the center of the stone, not at the side of it.”
In spite of himself, Andante gulped. I don’t have a very long lifetime to remember and for most of it I’ve been a vampire. This is – terrifying. He looked at Brynjolf as Falion began to speak; Brynjolf nodded at him, and smiled.
“I call upon Oblivion realms,” Falion intoned, his arms raised in supplication. “The home of those who are not our ancestors. Hear my plea! As in death there is new life, in Oblivion there is a beginning for that which has ended. I call forth that power! Accept the soul that we offer! As the sun ends the night, end the darkness of this soul, return life to the creature you see before you!”
Oblivion, is it? Which one? I’m already sworn to Sithis, and in a way I work for Nocturnal. I carry Mehrunes Dagon’s Razor. And we won’t get into the others I’ve gotten myself involved with. I wonder if I could have approached any of them directly. I wonder who I’m going to owe for this.
As Falion ended his speech the world went dark for Andante.
I can’t see. It reminds me of… something….
Then his vision returned to normal.
“Lad? Are you all right?”
Oh gods. It worked. I’m human.
He felt different in every part of his body. Heavier, slower, but in some ways more attuned to everything, even the sensation of the fog moving past the skin of his face. He smiled a grim smile and turned to look at Brynjolf.
“Well?”
“Those eyes are awfully blue, Andante.”
Falion approached him.
“The ritual is complete. You are human again, like the rest of us.” He looked pointedly at Brynjolf. “Except for him. Step aside with me for a moment. I need to speak with you privately.”
Brynjolf frowned, but Andante waved him off. “I’ll be right back. Just give us a moment.”
Falion spoke to him, gave him some pointers about adjusting to his new condition, and then looked at both of them and headed back toward town. Andante returned to Brynjolf.
“So now what, lad?”
“Now we go home again. And then I go see about joining the Dawnguard. You’re going to need to help me on the way back, Brynjolf. I can still swing a mean axe but I can feel how much less speed I have. And…”
“And?”
“I’m hungry.”
Brynjolf stared at him for a moment and then burst into laughter. “Tables are turned. I’d offer you my neck but I don’t think you could do anything with it right now.”
Andante snickered. “I think I could. It just wouldn’t be feeding. Shall we try?”
Brynjolf’s illusion spell had long since dissipated, and he smiled at Andante with glowing golden eyes. “Maybe not right now. Even an undead thief doesn’t much like mosquitoes on his exposed skin and I know perfectly well how much skin you like to expose.”
Andante giggled. “True. Let’s at least go see if I can find a sweet roll before we head back.”
They started walking back toward Morthal, slowly. I don’t like this, Andante thought. I just don’t like it. I already hate it.
As if he could read his mind, Brynjolf glanced at him, then patted him on the back.
“It’ll be all right, lad. I’ll make certain of it.”