It wasn’t as though the trip from Solitude to the boat jetty opposite Volkihar Castle was that long. It certainly wasn’t that arduous. There was the usual complement of wolves, but there were three of them and even he, at this point the weakest of them, was able to take out a wolf with a single swing of his axe. The day was overcast, to begin with, with that sharp scent in the air that hinted of impending snow. And then it did begin to snow, and the world became hushed, close, and even colder.
It’s a fine day to be a vampire. Too bad I’m not one.
No, the problem wasn’t the travel.
The problem was that Serana wouldn’t stop talking. He was feverish, he was anxious to get through this, and every time she opened her mouth he wanted to turn around and rip out her throat.
Except that I don’t have the fangs, and she does. And I suspect hers are stronger than mine would be, regardless. This one is a pure-blood. I can feel it. It’s the only explanation for her strength, after being locked away for… how long, after all, if she didn’t even know about the Empire. At any rate, all I can do is grin and bear it.
Andante was garrulous enough, even showy, around Brynjolf and his other friends in both the Guild and the Dark Brotherhood, but only in fits and starts. He was by nature a quiet man, a loner, secretive. It was one of his most important defenses, being quiet, and non-stop chatter grated on him in the most irritating of all possible ways.
But he kept thinking about the castle. He wanted that castle, and it was clear that Serana was very likely the key to the front gates.
Once I’m inside, all bets are off.
He tried to be sociable. Serana carried an object on her back that looked to him like a scroll. The problem was that it was so much larger than any scroll he’d ever run across before. As they walked along, as he tried to block out her chatter, his mind cast back on everything he’d ever read about the wisdom of scrolls. Slowly, an idea dawned on him.
“Serana, that object you’re carrying. Is that, by any stretch of the imagination, an Elder Scroll?”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him.
“Yes it is. And it’s mine, thank you.”
He stood, clenching his teeth, his hands balled into fists.
“Did I, in any way whatsoever, even suggest a hint of a desire to take it from you? I do not believe that I did, thank you. I’ve merely been attempting to gain some understanding of our situation.”
“Lad,” Brynjolf said, quietly.
“No, Bryn, I’m serious. We need to know what we’re going to be facing. I can’t imagine why someone would confine Serana in a puzzle-locked stone sarcophagus, underground, for what is clearly almost an eternity, unless there was a truly important reason to do so. And that thing on her back, if it is an Elder Scroll, might be just that important reason.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him.
“I told you that I would fill you in once we get to my home, and that’s what I meant.”
Andante seethed. I’m sure I need her to be alive, for some reason. That doesn’t mean I have to like her. He turned on his heel and continued on his way. Serana followed, but at a fairly good distance.
“Andante,” Brynjolf murmured as he caught up. “Really, lad. There’s no reason to antagonize her.”
“No, there isn’t. And that’s why I intend to keep my distance. Her incessant chatter and whining is making me want you to turn me right now so that I can rip out her throat.”
Brynjolf chuckled. “And do you really think you could, even if I did that? I don’t. Can’t you sense it?”
Andante snorted. “Yes, I can. I’m certain that she’s a pure blood. And that makes it all the worse. Let’s… just get there, shall we?”
Brynjolf leaned closer. “Are you feeling all right?”
Andante laughed, a quick burst of bitter laughter without humor. “Are you mad? No, of course I’m not. Not at all. I’m feverish and there’s the other thing.”
“Well,” Brynjolf shook his head and sighed. “I hate to suggest it, but you can do something about the other thing.”
Not after what happened with Falion.
“Not a good idea. That last batch was entirely too strong.”
Brynjolf stopped cold and seized Andante’s arm, turning him around.
“Wait just a moment. What do you mean by ‘that last batch?’”
“I mean, my dear, just what I said. The last batch I made was just far too potent for me to handle, at least as a human. You saw what happened in Morthal.”
Brynjolf shook his head. “You made it?”
Andante sighed. “Yes, Brynjolf. I made it. I cooked it myself. How in the name of all the gods do you suppose I have been able to support what you yourself called a powerful habit all this time on the kind of money I make from doing small errands for Jarls and minor contracts for the Listener? There’s only so much of it floating around out there to steal. How do you think I got that many bottles of it into Honeyside? And where do you imagine I came by the wealth you saw in my home in the span of just a couple of years? I woke up with nothing. People will pay a great deal of money for decent skooma. I found a way to not only supplement my income but support the habit as well. It didn’t take me an awfully long time for that to rear its ugly head after I … woke up.”
Brynjolf was staring at him, mouth half-open. “So you’ve really known what was going on with your body all this time.”
Andante looked away. “Well not really. Not… well… I suppose so, although I swear to you I did not realize how bad it was. I’ve always known I had the habit but as far as being truly addicted, well, no, either I didn’t realize or couldn’t realize it, and after I was a vampire it didn’t much matter. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds but I promise you it’s the truth.” Then he turned to smile at Brynjolf again. “And I am telling you that that last batch was strong enough to shake the food and the dishes holding it off the table and into the air. I didn’t realize it until it was too late. I couldn’t see a damned thing and I couldn’t think straight and that’s what happened to Falion.”
His mind cast back for a moment to the batch that truly had shaken the food from the dishes, back when he’d first owned the Proudspire mansion. It had been so incredibly strong that the world had turned purple, he’d heard odd sounds, and the room had spun in circles around him. I suppose it had to have been me, truly, rushing about like a madman, tossing things onto the floor, and I don’t remember any of it. But it certainly felt like it was the room moving and not just me. All he had known for certain, at the end, as he stood gaping at the floor of the kitchen with a broom in his hand and every utensil, dish, and food item he owned scattered to the four corners, was that his Housecarl Jordis was, without a doubt, going to kill him.
He chuckled under his breath.
“What’s so funny?”
“I, uh… was remembering the worst batch I ever made. It wasn’t pretty. It’s a good thing Jordis is forgiving but it did take the two of us a long time to clean up.” He smiled and started walking again. “I suppose that if we live through all of this we could talk about setting up a bit of a side business if you like. Give it a brand name. ‘Thane of Solitude.’ Better than Balmora Blue. We could make a great deal of money.”
Brynjolf gave him a startled glance, and then sighed.
“Well, lad, it’s an interesting thought. A great deal of money is always an interesting idea. Let me consider it. Of course, if we ever find Dagnell it will be out of the question.”
Andante nodded, but pouted, internally. If we ever find Dagnell I’ll be out of the question. So the question will be moot.
At last they stood at the jetty, readying themselves to row the small boat there across to the island on which perched Volkihar Castle. Andante found himself both eager to learn what was inside and anxious that things might not go the way he hoped, and he stood staring across the water for some time before settling himself onto one of the wooden seats. Brynjolf offered to row; he was possessed not only of the strongest muscles at the moment but also of the best health.
They made their way across the gap of ocean, tied the boat up at the dock, and began making their way toward the castle.
Serana was still talking.
This was a huge place, she hadn’t told Andante before now because she didn’t want him to think she was one of those – the kind of woman who sat around in her castle all day. It just wasn’t her.
By the gods why is she going on about this? Why would she think I care? Is she – he stopped cold for a moment as the thought struck him – is she by some sick chance of fate attracted to me and thinks I might be harboring the same kinds of thoughts? He shuddered and began trotting up the long arched ramp leading to the castle. Just before the gates Serana’s voice stopped him again.
“Ok, so, before we go in there,” she began.
“What is it now?” he snapped, and then immediately regretted having done so. That really wasn’t required of me, was it?
“Fine. Don’t worry about it,” she replied behind him. “When we get in, you won’t have to babysit me anymore.” He could hear that he’d at least offended her, if not downright hurt her, and found himself feeling a bit bad about that. But he couldn’t think of any appropriate response. He sighed, and continued toward the door.
Serana was, in fact, the key to the door. Not only did the gate guard not stop them once he saw Serana, but the welcome inside was remarkable. A white-haired vampire snarled at Andante.
“How dare you trespass here?” he began, until Serana stepped up beside Andante. “Wait. Serana? Is that truly you? I cannot believe my eyes!” He turned and strode to a balcony, at the top of twin staircases leading down into an enormous, almost sinister great room. The ceiling was supported by long, gracefully-curved pillars and each opening from the room was set into a pointed, elegant archway of the type they’d seen in Dimhollow Crypt. Below them were long tables, covered with silver dishes and ewers holding what were clearly human remains and blood. There were a number of vampires seated around the tables; and the sounds of plates clinking and teeth crunching on bone echoed through the great vaulted space.
Hmm. Mealtime, it would seem. The part of him that remembered being a vampire was impressed by the lavish spread even while his currently-human stomach turned at the sight.
“My lord! Everyone!” the vampire cried, his voice rebounding through the great stone hall. “Serana has returned!”
Serana muttered, a sarcastic edge to her tone. “I guess I’m expected.”
Andante found his mouth curling up into a smile in spite of himself. That was amusing.
A voice sounded from the room below; and Andante exchanged a glance with Brynjolf. It was a deeply cultured voice, one that spoke of being accustomed to deference, to obedience. It spoke of long ages past. And it carried overtones of great power.
“That must be him,” Brynjolf murmured.
Andante couldn’t see the man, so he simply followed Serana down the stairs.
“My long-lost daughter returns at last,” the elegant voice said. “I trust that you have my Elder Scroll?”
Andante looked at Brynjolf again, and Brynjolf nodded. We were right. That’s what they were after.
“After all these years, that’s the first thing you ask me?” Serana replied. “Yes, I have the scroll.”
The assembled vampires started buzzing amongst themselves. “She’s back! She has the Scroll!”
That was harsh of him. Even I can imagine a more appropriate greeting to a long-lost family member, and as far as I know I have no family.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and moved forward, looking at the figure from which the harsh words had come. And smiled, even as the man continued to issue platitudes and greetings that were anything but what one might expect from a loving father.
Andante had been able to sense Serana’s power, and so had Brynjolf. Harkon – for it was clear that the man in the lush, pristine black-and-red vampire robes with beige pauldrons could be none other than Harkon – simply radiated power. Andante glanced at Brynjolf and saw his eyes round; he nodded almost imperceptibly at Andante.
He feels it too. This one is immeasurably strong. And ancient. He was also elegant, with impeccably-groomed coal-black hair and beard and high cheekbones, striking in every way. By the Eight what a handsome man. I’d almost think him my type, if not for Brynjolf. A heartbeat or two went by. No, that’s not quite right. He is my type. In spite of Brynjolf. He was startled for a moment, realizing that he’d had that thought, and fought to keep himself from frowning. Where did that come from? How ridiculous.
As Harkon continued to talk it became all the more obvious how little he was concerned for anyone aside from himself. And Andante found himself more and more excited. He’s just like me. But stronger. So much stronger. I want him to be the one who turns me, not whichever of the weak vampires in Dimhollow Crypt gave me this virus. He glanced at Brynjolf. I love you, Bryn, but this has to be the one who does it. I hope you will understand.
Harkon turned to him. “Now tell me,” he said loudly, “who is this – stranger – you have brought into our hall?”
“This is my savior,” Serana replied. “The one who freed me.”
Savior? Really? Andante shuddered. She just doesn’t understand that she’s simply a means to an end. I would happily have left her there if there’d been another way to get into this greatroom.
Harkon spoke to him, asked his name, determined that yes, he knew they were vampires. Andante hoped his eyes weren’t glimmering too much, that he wasn’t looking too eager, but he knew his heart was pounding and that Harkon could hear it.
“Not just vampires,” Harkon purred. “We are among the oldest and most powerful vampires in Skyrim.”
Yes, and I’m among the youngest and most powerful, if you’ll just turn me again.
“For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world. All that ended when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most.”
Andante looked into Harkon’s eyes and fought back the urge to sneer. And that was not Serana, was it. It was the Scroll she carries on her back. You’re a cold man, Harkon. I like you. I really like you.
He realized what he was thinking and an involuntary shudder ran up his spine. Where did that come from? That was raw even for me.
He finally managed to speak. He thought carefully about what he’d learned from Babette, knowing that if her argument had been compelling enough to convince him to become human again, it might also carry some weight with Harkon.
“Yes, I know of your clan. I also have reason to believe that the Dawnguard is planning to target it, first, before any other groups of vampires. Perhaps it is that you are the strongest, and thus pose the greatest challenge to them. I do not know for certain.” He stopped for a moment and smiled, knowing that Harkon had to be able to read his face, to see how alike they were at some deep level. “Should I not receive some sort of – reward – for rescuing your… daughter?”
Goodness, Andante, tone it down. He can tell what you are without laying it on so thick.
Harkon smiled knowingly. Andante fought down the urge to sigh at the gorgeous smile. What am I thinking? What am I doing?
“Yes, you have done me a great service, and now you must be rewarded. There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll. And my daughter. I offer you my blood….”
YES.
“Take it and you will walk as a lion among sheep…”
YES.
“Men will tremble at your approach and you will never fear death again.”
YES.
Suddenly, unbidden, almost as though it was someone else’s, a thought arose in his mind. But I’m going to play with you first.
“And if I refuse this gift?”
What am I saying?
“Then you will be prey, like all mortals. I will spare your life this once but you will be banished from this hall.”
Oh no, Harkon. This hall is mine. You just don’t know it yet. Just wait.
“Perhaps you still need convincing. Behold the power!” Harkon bellowed.
Then he changed. His body contorted; he grabbed his chest and turned red and smoky. He flung his head up and arched backward, and with a resounding snap his body changed into something completely different.
He looked like a gargoyle – greenish-grey like the stones of a gargoyle’s appearance while still – with bat-like wings, long, sweeping pointed ears, and truly wicked claws at the tips of long, elegant fingers and toes. He wore armor, of a sort, but it barely covered his hugely muscled torso. And his face was sublimely and beautifully hideous, with its terrifying fangs visible.
Andante was transfixed. Part of him, the part that liked pretty men and pretty outfits, was horrified by the ugly creature that stood before him. A part of him, however – a part he was unfamiliar with and more than a little unsettled by — was shrieking at him. Yes! This is the one! Yes!
“This is the power that I offer,” Harkon said, his voice filling the hall. “Now make your choice!”
Andante struggled to clear his throat and then spoke.
“I will accept your gift, Lord Harkon. Most gratefully. I will become a vampire.”
Again. You have no idea.
“Very well. Be still.”
Andante was dimly aware of Brynjolf standing to one side of him and Serana to the other, but they faded away as the huge figure loomed over him and pushed his head to the side, surprisingly gently. Andante gasped with pain and pleasure as the enormous fangs pierced his neck.
And everything went dark.
When his eyes fluttered open, he found himself at the end of a darkened room, just in front of a raised platform on which Harkon stood, back in his human form. Andante stood and took stock of himself.
He felt alive.
Or rather, he felt undead, once more, the great power he’d enjoyed until being cured by Falion returned but multiplied by something much greater. Harkon’s blood. Pure-blooded vampire courses through my veins as well, now. I’m going to be unstoppable. He practically vibrated with power. He could barely wait to hunt.
“Awake at last,” Harkon said. “Good. The power is growing within you, and now you must learn to wield it.”
Damn but he is gorgeous. And he has no idea what I am. Oh yes, I need to learn the business of being a Vampire Lord but that is simple enough. This is glorious. This is beyond all expectations.
Harkon instructed him to transform. He focused, for a moment, not quite certain what he was doing; but then something clicked in his mind. He thought of that moment when Brynjolf had found the illusion spell within him, how that moment of recognition had been practically visible. He smiled, and transformed.
He had thought it would be painful, watching Harkon do it, but it was only painful visually. He looked down at himself, saw green-gray skin and wonderfully horrid claws, realized that he was floating just above the floor, and smiled. I’ll bet I’m awfully pretty right now.
Harkon went on at some length, giving him basic instructions about using his new power. Few would be able to stand against him, Harkon said. Ah but I can feel it without your telling me, Harkon. Few could stand against me before. You might stand against me now, but few other than you could.
What a pity that I’m going to have to take you down. We could do great things together. But this castle is mine.
“I keep a stable of thralls about the castle in case you need to feed like the baser vampires, to stave off the sun,” Harkon sneered, his tone superior.
Like Babette, you mean? Like Brynjolf? Don’t ever call him “baser.” He’s not nearly as strong as either of us but he’s your better in so many other ways, Harkon.
“Thank you. I believe I have the basics now. I’m looking forward to using these abilities.”
“Good. I have a task that I believe will test your new powers.”
“Very well, what is it that I can do for you?”
“Go and speak to Garan Marethi. Tell him it is time. He will understand.”
Harkon turned and strode away, out of the chamber, raising the gate at the end and descending a flight of stairs. Andante smiled after him. He tossed a few spells about at the walls, for practice, and then assumed his human form. He stood quietly, looking around the room. Eventually he smiled; then he left and went in search of Garan Marethi.
__
Brynjolf was smiling at him. It was just the tiniest hint of a smile, but it was accompanied by a devilish light dancing in his yellow eyes. He’d had his fill while he was waiting for Andante’s return; he’d looked around the accessible areas of the castle and had spoken to members of Harkon’s court, and made the acquaintance of the two resident Death Hounds. And Andante could see the desire welling up in him.
“So what do you think?”
“I can feel it, lad. You’re stronger than you were before.”
“Yes, I am. I can hardly wait to show you. It’s… astonishing.” He stepped closer and whispered in Brynjolf’s ear. “And what do you think about… all of this? Shall we take it?”
Brynjolf’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Take it?” he murmured. “What do you mean, take it?”
Andante grinned. “You heard me. This castle. Ours. What do you think of that idea?”
A slow smile broke across Brynjolf’s face.
“I’ll have to think about it, lad.”
Andante laughed. The look on Brynjolf’s face told him all he needed to know.
“Let’s go. We need to make our way back to the Rift. You should probably make an appearance in the Guild. Then, they want me to fetch something from Redwater Den and come back here. Maybe I’ll pick up some cooking supplies while we’re there. I’m sure they won’t have much to say if I just take them.” He smirked.
“All right. That’s probably a good idea, too. I don’t want Maven getting nervous.”
They started for the door, and Andante turned to grin at Brynjolf. “Oh and let me know when you want to stop and… rest. I’m feeling much better now.”
Brynjolf tossed back his head and laughed.