The pointed rooftops of the castle’s towers seemed to hover above the fog-enshrouded land beneath. Thus had they always done. That was one of the reasons Lord Harkon had chosen Volkihar Island in days so far past that they seemed the stuff of legend. Remote as it was, the near-constant banks of fog off the ocean sometimes made the castle look like just another icy mass off Skyrim’s ruined coastline. And that was just the way Harkon had liked it to be, he’d told Edwyn: remote, uninviting, away from the prying eyes of mortals.
And now my lord is gone, and it is left to me to achieve his dream.
Edwyn frowned as he climbed into the boat.
The one that it is still possible to achieve, at any rate. Damn the man for getting himself killed after all the ages of planning.
He rowed himself across the gap between the mainland and the island. He could easily have flown, and had thought about doing so; but the proximity of Northwatch Keep made him err on the side of caution. Some mortals could sniff out a vampire – especially an ancient one – no matter how expertly cast his illusion spell might be. Even the Archmage of the College of Winterhold might be less than perfect at something that was not in his primary school of study, and Edwyn Wickham was first and foremost a conjuration specialist.
He walked slowly up the path toward the gates, remembering as vividly as though it had not been hundreds of years before a particular day when he’d made the same trip at Harkon’s behest. It had been cold that day, and snowing; and the watchman had given him a hard time.
“Took you long enough,” he told me. As if one could merely teleport from Anvil to the northernmost reaches of Skyrim on a whim. I certainly would have done, had it been possible. I was that anxious to learn what Harkon wanted of me.
On this day there was no watchman, and the outer gate stood open. Edwyn frowned at that. It seemed lax, somehow an invitation to trouble. He would see to it that the situation was amended as soon as possible.
He pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
“How dare you simply enter the castle without… wait. Do my eyes deceive me?”
Edwyn smiled at the exquisitely tall and elegant figure before him.
“No, Vingalmo, your eyes function as well as ever. It is I. I am happy to see that someone is guarding the entry, although I must say I would never have pictured you as a doorman.”
“Lord Wickham!” Vingalmo exclaimed, bowing deeply. “It has been so very long! I was utterly caught by surprise. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
Edwyn studied Vingalmo’s face, weighing his possibilities. Vingalmo has wanted the throne as long as I’ve known him. He must have been simply beside himself with the potential when Harkon died, and again when the usurper vanished. And now here am I, with a claim to the throne that is so very superior to his own. I must tread carefully.
“It is no more than my duty to be here, Vingalmo. I would have preferred to be here sooner, especially when our late Lord Harkon needed me. Sadly, I was and have been utterly fettered by events at the College of Winterhold, of which I am now Archmage. I take some small degree of comfort in knowing that I was doing just exactly as Harkon had directed when he left us.”
He’ll pay attention to that. Magic is as important to him as anything else in this existence. His research on the elves of the Merethic Era was even included in the treatise “Night of Tears,” which has proven to be… Hmm. Perhaps I can reinforce his support of me.
“You may find this interesting. The primary reason I was unable to leave Winterhold is that we did in fact locate the Eye of Magnus buried deep in the ruins of Saarthal. It rivals or exceeds any single artifact I’ve ever encountered for sheer power, although none of us, not even the Thalmor operative Ancano, had enough time to study it to learn exactly what it might be capable of. I do wish I could have taken you to see it for yourself but the Psijic Order has removed it to some location unknown to me. Still – it would seem that your theories on the advanced powers of the early Merethic elves were correct.”
Vingalmo’s golden eyes widened for just a moment. Edwyn smiled as he watched the mer consider all the implications of what he had just heard, and recognized the moment Vingalmo realized that yet again he would have to be contented with serving as a high-ranking lieutenant. Vingalmo nodded and smiled.
“Congratulations, Archmage,” he murmured, “and thank you for that information. The Psijics, no less! I am impressed. Well, then. You should go in and greet the rest. I’m certain that Orthjolf in particular will be … pleased that you have returned.”
Edwyn nodded and started moving toward the great staircases, but stopped when Vingalmo reached out to touch his arm. He turned back in surprise.
“You might also be interested to know that both Serana and her mother are back. The upstart who ended Lord Harkon was responsible for both of those things.”
Edwyn fought to keep his expression composed.
Oh, my. Serana. Well, well.
This is going to be much more complicated than I ever would have expected.
“Thank you, Vingalmo. I did suspect that Auriel’s Bow had been located when we had that period of the sun going dark. Only the Bow could accomplish such a feat; and therefore I assumed that meant that Lord Harkon’s theories had been borne out. Interesting that the two primary researchers here on Volkihar Island were proven correct at the same time, eh? At any rate, I very much appreciate the advance notice.”
“I thought you might, sir,” Vingalmo said in his smooth way.
Edwyn descended into the main hall, smiling to himself. It was good of him. He might have just left me to run into her face-first without expecting to find her. I suppose that finding some concrete proof that he was right for the entirety of a very, very long life must be very special. Just like him, though, to start trying to curry favor the moment I return.
The place looked largely the same as it ever had. There was something different about it, something subtle enough that he couldn’t put a finger on it; but by and large it was just as he had expected it to be.
He was struck by a sudden vivid memory of meeting Harkon on the floor, that snowy day when he’d come at Harkon’s call. Vingalmo and Orthjolf had been seated at the high table, and as always busy insulting each other and paying little attention to Harkon. Edwyn had always believed that Harkon’s bright eyes had gotten a bit brighter when he’d approached.
“Ah, Lord Wickham. There you are. I believe that the time has come,” Harkon had told him. “Follow me. There are some things we need to discuss.”
Oh and there were indeed. Things to be discussed, lessons to be had, confidences to share, plans to be made. He chose me, not them, for a reason.
“Welcome back,” a low, gruff voice said, shaking him from his reverie. Edwyn turned to the right to greet the source of the voice. Orthjolf was a large man, a Nord vampire with the appearance of the robust middle age he’d been when he first joined the ranks of Harkon’s court. Their early interactions had been a surprise to Orthjolf, who hadn’t expected a Breton to be his equal in terms of physical strength; and he was forced to give Edwyn a grudging respect as a result.
He was sipping from a goblet of blood, and the look he gave Edwyn was hardly welcoming. Edwyn smiled at him, regardless.
“Hello, Orthjolf. I hope you are well. It was a pity I could not join you all sooner. I would have preferred it had been possible to do so while our lord Harkon was still with us, but as you know he had other plans for me at the time.”
“That is what I heard, yes,” Orthjolf nodded, never one for ceremony.
“What can you tell me about what happened?” Edwyn asked quietly. He didn’t particularly care for Orthjolf, but he trusted the man’s brutal honesty to give an accurate report of events moreso than he would give any weight to Vingalmo’s obsequious account.
“It was a young man who took him out. A young vampire, too, but very strong. Imperial. Called himself Andante. I doubt that was his real name. He’s the one who found Serana, and found Auriel’s Bow. Lord Harkon seemed quite taken with him at first. Ended up being taken by him, instead.”
Edwyn shook his head. “All the planning. All the researching. All the ages of effort on our parts and somebody from outside…”
Orthjolf sneered. “Well he wasn’t an outsider for long. Harkon gave him the gift almost the moment he walked in because he had found Serana and the Scroll. None of us were consulted. I actually agreed with the elf about him, if you can believe that. Vingalmo and I tried to take him out ourselves. It didn’t work.”
Edwyn inclined his head. “Thank you Orthjolf. We’ll speak again later, I’m certain.” Orthjolf nodded and raised his cup as Edwyn walked farther into the hall.
Up the stairs he went, and into the hallway. He paused, staring in surprise at the shrine to Molag Bal that had been placed in a corner. To his best recollection the shrine had always been in the cathedral. He frowned, and pushed the doors open.
The cathedral was still intact, dark and foreboding as it had always been. The massive raised apse still held the enormous blood fountain that had always been there, lit by the heavily filtered, slanting rays of dim light reaching in from the narrow windows far above.
The memory hit him full on. This was where Harkon had given him the Gift, all that time ago. He remembered every moment of it as though no time had passed at all. He’d been a vampire for a long time already, but the day Harkon made him a vampire lord was the day he stepped fully into his true power. He’d listened to Harkon’s instructions, made his first transformation, raised a skeleton or two from the ample piles of bones that lined the nave, and lobbed a few practice spells at them to get a sense of what he could do now.
Edwyn blinked, and looked down the expanse of the cathedral.
That’s what has changed. It’s been cleaned.
The piles of bones were gone. Rubble that had fallen and accumulated over the centuries had been carried away. The place was neat, and tidy, and clean. He sniffed the air. It even smells better. They’ve had doors and windows open to the outside air for the first time in, well, who knows how long it had been?
I approve. Well done, upstart.
He walked toward the blood altar, examining the great cathedral as he went. This place had always felt like home to him. Harkon had felt as close to a father as he could recall, his mortal Breton father having been a cold and distant man, a minor dignitary at the court in Wayrest who had passed so long ago that Edwyn could scarcely remember his face. He frowned, though, as he neared the altar, for there was something on the floor in front of it.
There, glittering in a single ray of light slanting in from the high windows behind the altar was a pile of deep crimson ashes. Edwyn stared at them, both horrified to realize they must be Harkon’s ashes and outraged that they were simply left out on the floor.
“My Lord. What has become of you? We were so close to achieving all you hoped for,” he murmured. He closed his eyes and knitted his brows.
“Come with me, Edwyn,” he heard in his mind as vividly as if it hadn’t been hundreds of years. “Now that you have come into your full power, let us discuss what we need to do next.”
He followed Harkon down the steps and into his private chambers, where they sat before the fire and discussed the future. Or at least Harkon sat; Edwyn was far too excited by the new feelings coursing through his body to sit long. He rose and paced back and forth, trying to listen to what Harkon was telling him. He didn’t care that it would now be easier to feed; the blood was not what interested him. But the power he had felt in his changed form, that was new and he could scarcely wait to use it to his advantage.
He’d heard Harkon talking about Auriel’s Bow, and how he intended to find it and use it. Edwyn had shrugged that off as a passing fancy. Harkon shared his love of research and history, and the obscure references that had him intrigued about this bow were just the sort of thing Edwyn would have expected him to be interested in. It was the rest of it, the part that was more personal to him, that had Edwyn intrigued.
“What is it that you need me to do, sire?” he’d asked.
“You are to go to Cyrodiil. Establish yourself there. Begin to develop a branch of our clan. You’re accomplished in the arts of magic; infiltrate the various colleges of magic and do what you can to sow discontent between them.”
“But… sir. Move to Cyrodiil?”
“You left High Rock to come here, did you not? Yes. Go to Cyrodiil. Put down roots. Create a presence for us there, close to the center.”
“If I may ask… what is our purpose in this?”
Harkon had given him that small, almost sneering smile and had nodded. “I’m glad to see that my instincts about you were correct. You don’t simply follow orders blindly, and you don’t tell me what I want to hear simply to gain my favor. That is good. Now then. At some point in the future – at a time I cannot yet foresee – events will leave a great vacuum of power just waiting to be filled. You and I, my dear Lord Wickham, are going to carefully position ourselves to step into that void and seize the power. We will do this by virtue of our superiority and our immortality, and we will do it in such a way that no man will be able to raise any valid objection to our actions. Help me accomplish this, Edwyn, and I shall name you my heir.”
That statement had gotten his full attention. Not even the excitement of suddenly being able to fly could surpass the sensation of complete shock he’d felt at that moment.
“Your… heir, my lord? But what of Serana? Is she not your rightful heir?”
“What of Serana, indeed?” Harkon had nodded. “Serana and her mother will be vitally important to us once we retrieve the Bow of Auriel. That means that she must always be protected and cared for. Powerful and independent though she may be, Serana will be a target for those seeking to thwart us, Edwyn. You can never take her place as the child of my flesh, but there is one very simple way to create you as the official heir to my throne.”
He had felt utterly stupid at that moment. “I… don’t understand, sir.”
“Perform your duties as required and I shall wed you to my daughter. And at that point no man, nor mer, nor vampire will be able to say anything other than that you are the heir to the throne of Volkihar. And eventually, perhaps, the throne of Tamriel itself.”
Edwyn had been struck dumb by that statement.
Marry Serana? Me?
He’d never been one to put a great deal of time or energy into romantic endeavors. They simply weren’t as interesting to him as studying the various schools of magic. And while he’d enjoyed any number of brief entanglements over his lifetime he’d not met anyone worthy of sustained effort. It hadn’t ever occurred to him that he might marry, ever.
Marry Harkon’s daughter?
“The prospect does not please you, Lord Wickham?”
Edwyn shook his head, embarrassed to have been rendered speechless.
“Oh it’s not that, sire, not at all. Serana is lovely and would be a wonderful match for anyone, I’m certain. I’m just surprised that you would even briefly consider me. In that capacity. My lord,” he stammered, feeling like an idiot.
Harkon chuckled.
“You have performed in exemplary fashion for a very long time, Edwyn. You did my bidding in High Rock, and expanded our sphere of influence there. You have never questioned my orders, nor taken part in the petty political squabbles that we seem to endure here in the castle day after day. You’ve never given any indication that your goal is to usurp my throne, unlike some of my other lieutenants. I certainly would never wed my daughter to an Altmer, superior mage though he may be; and the notion of Serana submitting to a marriage with Orthjolf is simply too hideous to contemplate. No. You would be my choice, my faithful servant. You are talented, and ambitious, and I believe that Serana finds you pleasing as well.” He waved at the chair. “Now do sit down once more and I will explain our course of action at greater length. It will be a very long-term project.”
And Edwyn had taken that chair, and listened with awe at the depth and breadth of the plan Harkon had devised, a plan worthy of their deity Molag Bal, the King of schemes and strife. One piece of that plan would require Edwyn to involve himself with the various magical organizations and to take the reins of at least one, no matter what composition that would hold in the long term. Another would involve keeping close watch on the political power in Tamriel, watching its ebb and flow over time, and waiting for that moment when it was at its most uncertain to make their move.
So Edwyn had gone to Cyrodiil, and studied at various times with the Arcane University, with the group that became the Synod, and with what became the College of Whispers, and had watched the Mage’s College at Winterhold grow and its prestige ebb and flow. He had learned as much as he could about the Psijic Order, and had not been entirely surprised at their sudden appearance when matters involving the Eye of Magnus at Saarthal had gotten slightly out of hand in recent days.
He had created a large number of other vampires, including his right-hand man Agryn Gernic, and had watched, and waited; and he had taken instruction from Harkon by way of frequent messages and occasional visits to the Castle. As time had passed, he and Harkon had watched eras and Emperors come and go. Harkon had been most specifically excited by the end of the Septim dynasty two hundred years previous.
“Tradition has it that only a Dragonborn can claim to be a true Emperor by divine right,” he had exclaimed once in the deepest part of the night as they sipped blood-filled goblets before a roaring blaze. “Only a Dragonborn can light the dragon fires using the Amulet of Kings, or so they say. And now that Amulet has been lost, and Martin Septim is dead. There is no true Emperor, Edwyn. Not an Emperor by divine right. We must wait, and watch, and the time will come when we can claim that throne through the guidance of Molag Bal and the power of the vampire, not the power of the Dragonborn. We will know when that time has arrived. Either I shall rule Tamriel, or you will, as my surrogate,” he had exclaimed, pacing the room.
Edwyn had thought his eyes perhaps a bit too bright that evening, his enthusiasm bordering a bit on hysteria. For it had not been simply the pursuit of rule that fueled Lord Harkon. He’d become increasingly obsessed with the notion of retrieving Auriel’s Bow, spending weeks at a time in study of the most obscure tomes in search of anything that might give a hint of its location. He’d spent far too much time talking aloud of the importance of the Daughters of Coldharbour, and their blood, and the end of the Tyranny of the Sun. Edwyn had heard through messages that Harkon’s marriage was increasingly strained, and his brief visits to the castle had shown him a Serana who was beautiful as ever but tense, almost afraid. Eventually they had simply vanished, both Serana and her mother Valerica, and that had enraged Lord Harkon and sent him into an ever deeper and darker obsession with finding the Bow.
“But Harkon,” Edwyn said one evening, growing impatient with Harkon’s almost single-minded fixation, “think about this. What sense does it make for us to darken the skies permanently? We will slowly starve ourselves out of existence.”
“How so?” Harkon answered, barely looking up from his book.
“Mortal humans need animals. Animals need plants. Plants need sun. If we cut off the sunlight, the plants will slowly cease to be, and then the animals, and then the humans! And then, what of the plans we have spent so long putting in place, sir? All for naught, as mortal humans do not live forever by their very definition. Once they are gone, then what? We who are the most powerful may feed on each other for a time, until the weaker of us are gone and then? This is madness, Lord Harkon! If we blot out the sun, we will… ALL… die.”
Harkon had looked up, then, slowly, and fixed him with a look that he would never forget. He was nearly Harkon’s equal in strength, but at that moment he felt as helpless as he had as a fledgling vampire. He had been certain right then that Harkon had lost full control of his considerable faculties, and he cringed at the realization.
“Edwyn. You have risen to great status under my tutelage and through my assistance and planning. We have done great things together. You shall still be my second in command, regardless of whether we find my daughter, provided that the rest of our plans bear fruit. But you will not question my judgment, or I shall name Garan Marethi my heir in your stead.”
“The Dunmer?” Edwyn hadn’t meant to explode quite so loudly, or in such a sarcastic tone of voice, nor had he intended to take such a clearly exasperated stance standing just a few paces in front of Harkon; but he had done so.
“Yes, Lord Wickham. Hear this. This Civil War has created just the confusion and uncertainty in Skyrim that we needed. Breaking the Tyranny of the Sun will only enhance this uncertainty. You are rising rapidly through the ranks at the College of Winterhold, and as I suggested to you in my letter there is an opportunity to ingratiate yourself in Solitude as well. The next High King of Skyrim will have a seat at the Elder Council and from there it is a mere step to becoming Emperor. And that has been our goal all along, has it not?”
“Yes but… wait. You’re saying you want me to… what, marry Elisif?”
Harkon sneered. “I certainly cannot, my dear friend, being married myself, assuming that Valerica yet lives. Nor would the Lady Elisif have me. You, on the other hand…”
Edwyn gulped. “But I thought you wanted me to marry Serana.”
“And is she here? She is not. It is time for us to move, Lord Edwyn. Someone has done us the great service of removing the latest puppet Emperor from his life and the throne and while there is an Elder Council, there is that vacancy at the top which we have awaited for so very long. You will become the Archmage of Winterhold. You will marry the Lady Elisif of Solitude and become the Jarl of Haafingar. We will see to it that the rebel Ulfric Stormcloak is defeated and you become High King of Skyrim. Then it will be only a matter of time.” His eyes glittered, with avarice, Edwyn thought, and perhaps with madness. “But you will not defy me or my orders. Do we understand each other?”
Edwyn stared at this man, this supremely powerful vampire, the one he had admired and helped and held in the highest regard for so very long, knowing that he was no longer completely sane. And he had sighed, and bowed his head, and said, “Yes, my lord. You are of course correct. I will do everything in my power to see that this plan comes to fruition.”
And here you are, a pile of ash on the floor. Well, I am Archmage, my friend. We’ve accomplished at least that much. Elisif is…
Edwyn smiled to himself, even as he mourned the loss of his mentor.
Elisif is delightful. And willing. And energetic. I feel it is quite likely that if I were to broach the subject she might well be willing to marry me. Marriages of convenience do work out, on occasion; and as long as I do my duty and keep Elisif content few will argue with my taking over the arduous duties of Jarl. And from there…
He rose from his spot beside Harkon’s ashes. It was time to make things official.
Garan Marethi met him at the door of the Cathedral, and their exchange went as expected. Garan was, after so many centuries, more interested in a leisurely existence in the comfort of the castle than in anything else, and had always seemed perfectly content to act as an unofficial steward for Harkon.
“May I ask why the ashes are still on the floor before the altar, Garan?”
“Yes, of course. The late Lord Andante gave specific orders that they be left there. As a warning.”
“Well he is not here any longer. Have them removed and placed in a more appropriate vessel. I’m certain we have something suitable about.”
“Oh yes, sir,” Garan nodded. “Especially since the rest of the castle was cleaned and renovated. It was quite astonishing what we found buried under the years of rubble. Perhaps you’ll wish to claim the North Tower for yourself?”
“Perhaps, although I’m more inclined to use Harkon’s quarters as I am very comfortable in them. I will be splitting my time between them, Solitude, and Winterhold. Thank you, Garan. And oh, by the way, please let it be known that I am Lord of the clan now? As per Lord Harkon’s wishes, of course.”
Marethi gave him the smallest of smiles. “Of course, sir.”
“And now I must make the rounds, and see what else has changed in my absence. I need to be certain everyone is aware that I am back.”
“If I might make a suggestion, sir? One of the things that Andante accomplished in his short time with us was to refill the Bloodstone Chalice. He and his – partner? Lieutenant? I hardly know what to call him – also retrieved materials to increase its power, before his untimely demise. The Chalice is quite invigorating, these days. It’s kept in the same spot it has always been.”
“Thank you, Garan.” Edwyn started toward the stairs but paused as a thought occurred to him. “About this lieutenant. Who was this person?”
“Oh, just another big, brutish, red-headed Nord, my lord. He never said much to any of us but I sensed that he was also a very powerful vampire in his own right.”
A red-haired Nord?
“And his name?”
“I believe I heard Lord Andante call him Brynjolf, sir. Andante did nearly all the talking whenever they were here but they were almost never apart.”
Edwyn was sure that his mouth was hanging open for a moment. It can’t possibly be a coincidence.
“Brynjolf? Are you certain?”
“Yes, I do believe so. As certain as I can be.”
“Well, well. As it happens, I believe I’ve met this man. I don’t know where he is now, but my Second, Agryn, is looking for him at the moment. Thank you again, Garan.”
There. Subtly done, if I do say so myself. I’ve established that I am in charge and that no one need attempt to become my second in command. I’ll be more than interested to hear what Agryn and Vyctyna are able to learn.
Edwyn made his way to the side chamber where the Chalice had always been kept, stopping to pat the castle’s death hounds on the way through. A small taste of the Old Blood would be just the thing. He was just about to reach for a cup when a familiar voice startled him.
“Hello, Eddie. I was beginning to wonder whether you’d ever stop to say hello.”
He caught himself just before jumping, and shifted his gaze to the side of the room. In spite of himself, a smile broke across his face.
She’s just as breathtaking as she has ever been.
“Serana. It has been so very long. So very, very long.”
“Yeah, it sure has.”
“You look…” What do I say now? That you are still the most exquisite thing I have ever seen in a very long lifetime?
“I look what? Well preserved? It’s amazing what a few hundred years’ worth of good sleep will do for a person.” She smiled just a bit. “But thank you. It’s good to see you, too. Not surprisingly, you haven’t changed either.”
Edwyn found himself grinning in a most undignified way. “No, I suppose I haven’t. It’s had its advantages.”
“I’m sure.” She rose and scooped a goblet of blood out of the Chalice. “Come on. Get yourself a drink and let’s go to my quarters. We can talk without quite so many prying ears hanging around.”
Edwyn followed her around the corner of the main hall and up the short flight of stairs to her living space. This had always been the best-kept area of the castle, for as long as he’d been associated with it, and to his eye nothing had changed. Serana placed her goblet on her private dining table and leaned up against the wall.
“So let me guess. You’re here to tell everyone you’re the new Lord, right, Eddie?”
“Well…” Edwyn put his own goblet down and moved closer to her. Damn the girl. She’s still mesmerizing. Those eyes. And damn Harkon for ever suggesting that we could be a couple. “That was what your father planned, yes.”
“What if I were to tell you,” she said, crossing her arms and looking slightly defiant, “that I’m the owner of the castle now? What if I were to tell you that Andante sent word that the castle was mine? It was his decision to make, Eddie. My father was dead. Even though he didn’t care for me much, Andante knew enough to safeguard the castle when his end was approaching.”
“And did this Andante send this word in writing? Some sort of legal document? You know that this court would never accept a woman as their leader, not even Valerica. They are far too ancient and hidebound for that to even register as a notion.”
Serana’s shoulders slumped a bit, and she sighed, looking defeated. “You’re right, of course. They simply ignored the letter Brynjolf sent and have acted as though Garan’s in charge for the time being. Everyone assumed you’d show up eventually.”
“And so I have,” Edwyn murmured. “You do realize, my dear, that Harkon’s will of hundreds of years’ standing could hardly be superseded by a note supposedly transmitting the wishes of the one who murdered him.”
“Yes, I know. And now I suppose that I’m to be married off like a prize because that was his will as well? It was bad enough being threatened into spilling some of my blood for those cursed arrows, after all we went through to get the Bow.”
Edwyn’s eyebrows rose. Best tread carefully. There is a great deal to work around, here.
“I wouldn’t presume, my darling girl. Not after so many years have passed.”
Serana’s eyes softened. “So you do remember.”
“Of course I do.” Of course I do, Serana. I couldn’t possibly forget.
The one thing Harkon hadn’t known, and would not have been able to foresee, was that his daughter and his right hand had been drawn together even before he had revealed his plan. They’d had eyes for each other from the moment they’d met, and they’d had much more than that before Serana’s sudden disappearance. It was the closest thing to being in love that Edwyn had ever experienced. He’d been quietly gutted when she and her mother had vanished, but over the very long time since then he’d grown used to life as it was, once more.
And here she was, again, and it could not possibly be more complicated. He couldn’t quite begin to wrestle with all the implications. So, instead, he changed the subject.
“And what of the Bow, Serana? Where is it now? I know you found it; I saw the sky turn dark.”
Serana snorted. “Yes, the great savior completely turned on me once we had my father taken care of. It was actually the first time I ever remember being truly afraid. And then I was just angry. Oh he was nice enough. I would always have a home here, he said. So long as I gave him blood-cursed arrows. And if I wouldn’t do it willingly, he would simply… take my blood. That’s all they ever wanted me for – a means to an end. I’ve never been so disillusioned with a person before. At least I knew my father was crazy.”
“So you saw that as well,” Edwyn murmured.
“Yes I did. As to where the Bow is now, I don’t know. Brynjolf didn’t tell me what Andante’s wishes were with respect to that. As far as I know, he got rid of it. And just as well. You saw what it was like. We were going to be hunted and we were going to run out of food.”
Edwyn watched Serana’s eyes as she spoke, took note of the way they shifted slightly.
She’s lying. She knows exactly where the Bow is. And I’d be willing to bet that my red-haired rival does, as well.
“I see. It’s just as well, I suppose. I never thought it was a good idea, using the Bow that way. That was the only real argument I ever had with your father.” He took one step closer to her, a confusing tangle of feelings rising up from within him. “Well, I certainly would never think of forcing you from your home. But how shall we proceed?”
Serana smiled and reached out to touch his face.
“Well, Eddie, it’s been a very long dry spell for me. An Elder Scroll is an interesting thing to have in bed with you for hundreds of years, but there are some things it’s just not any good for. Would you be interested in… perhaps…”
Edwyn’s mind screamed at him. This is a very bad idea, Lord Wickham. You should not do this thing.
“I do believe I would be. I would be very interested,” he found himself saying. The next moment he found Serana’s arms around his neck and her still-supple lips engaged with his own; and he shut down the part of his mind that told him this was a very, very bad idea.