Chapter Text
An uneasy truce held in Skyrim after the Dragonborn's Peace. By Midyear 4E 202 the Thalmor had officially abandoned the province. Some few of their spies and agents remained behind, but these kept secrecy, knowing that they were hunted.
High King Balgruuf reigned from Whiterun, the new capital. All respected him. Yet the specter of unrest ever hung over him: for he belonged to neither Elisif's nor Ulfric's faction, and these were unbroken. But so loved was Balgruuf among the common people for his justice and fairness that neither dared defiance.
By the beginning of 4E 203 the Legion had departed from Skyrim, except for a small detachment in Solitude and another guarding the new Imperial embassy at Whiterun. Tullius returned to Cyrodiil and left his second in command, Legate Rikke, in charge. Skyrim was enrolled as an ally of the Cyrodiilic Empire.
Tamriel held its breath. There was skirmishing in High Rock, where the forces of Wayrest, supported by troops from Skyrim, drove back the Thalmor and their allies and confined them within the walls of Daggerfall. But Daggerfall itself could not be taken nor besieged (having command of the sea) without a wider conflict, which neither side yet wished to hazard.
In 4E 205 came the crisis. A Thalmor expeditionary force landed in Hammerfell: less an invasion than a test of the new coalition. After ravaging the countryside and destroying the first troops sent out to arrest its progress, it was crushed beneath the walls of Sentinel by the combined forces of the Empire, Hammerfell, High Rock, and Skyrim, with a contingent from Morrowind arriving after the battle. Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm was by common consent awarded the prize of valor: with his own hand he slew the Thalmor commander. The Aldmeri navy as it retreated was wrecked on the northern shores of the Iliac Bay; the survivors, though harried by the militia of High Rock, won back to Daggerfall overland.
The Dragonborn's coalition had passed its first test. But the Thalmor were not defeated. Alinor watched and waited, and took its lessons from the battle at Sentinel.
In that battle the Dragonborn had not fought. None had seen him since the Peace. Indeed, in all Tamriel his whereabouts were known to no person – save for a Dunmer magister at the College of Winterhold.
8 Last Seed, 4E 205.
Brelyna to Alexien. Greetings.
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate teaching?
That's a lie. I love it. Something about seeing all those bright shining faces smiling up at me, so full of hope, and then crushing the hope out of them. It's delightful.
But I don't think I ever gave you credit for just how much work it is. There are papers to review and projects to guide, apart from the teaching, where it might take me a day to prepare a lesson that I give in an hour. And many of the new students – happy misfortune – are good enough that it's all I can do to stay ahead of them. And it's emotionally exhausting, too. To some of them I might as well be ice or stone; but some of them need kind words and attentive support like plants need water. I think my apprentice – a Winterhold native named Arnvald, you'd like him but pretend you didn't – would literally shrivel up and die if he couldn't chat with me about every little essay he was writing and whether I thought it a good idea. He makes up for it by the fact that his ideas usually are good ones.
Which is all to say that I've been so busy helping my students that I've hardly had time for my own research. Research that I've been trying to pursue for years. Research that I could really use someone's help pursuing. (This is a hint. I am hinting hintily. If you don't get it, ask Serana; she'll be able to explain to you what a hint is.)
To get to the point, I'm trying to find what I can about the thaumaturgic properties of cardiolith, commonly called heartstone. I've hit a stone wall (pun intended) in my research into the Red Year until I know more about this subject. Not even Urag could find much in our library that was relevant. Anyone who knew anything lived in Vvardenfell, and they'd refuse to share knowledge with outlanders on principle (this is before they got exploded by the eruption). The Telvanni are scattered and probably wouldn't consider me one of them anymore anyway.
If you know anything or can find anything on your travels, please let me know at once. If you can find any books or manuscripts, the College will pay any price to have them copied. Urag is almost giddy at the thought of adding to the library.
As an aside, let me state that I can't believe you've got me interested in Alteration, of all subjects.
But enough of that. Tell me how you and Serana are doing! Where are you going next? What's the weather like? Here it's snow, snow, snow, and snow, occasionally interspersed with snow. Farewell.
2 Hearthfire, 4E 205.
Alexien to Brelyna. Greetings.
That's the spirit. It's the curse of teachers that we learn how we afflicted ours only when we assume their place, too late to amend our behavior as students, but just in time to suffer it in our turn. And so the cycle continues.
All jesting aside – [the handwriting changes] That doesn't even qualify as a joke! – [the handwriting changes back] All jesting aside, whether Serana appreciates our humor or not, it brings me no little joy to hear how you're doing. For teachers to learn that our students surpass us is sweet: then we know that our labors were not vain, our efforts not purposeless. Then we know that our careers meant something. You'll know what I mean one day, if you don't already; in the meantime, I thank you.
I thank you also for the news from Winterhold. Every detail, no matter how trivial to you, is a reminder of home to me. I almost miss even the snow. You can reassure Urag that when we eventually return we'll have a lovely little stack of acquisitions for him to catalogue.
And on that subject – don't tell Urag this, but it doesn't surprise me you couldn't find any substantive information on cardiolith in the Arcaneum. The College's library is the best in northern Tamriel, but even it has gaps. A librarian has to get a text before they can have it, and they have to get it from somewhere. I happen to know that not much was ever written on this subject, and almost all of it was kept in Vvardenfell, and as you noted the scholars there were always happier to receive than to give (but none too happy to do either). Vivec City had a fine collection – or so I was told once by an old Altmer mage who had seen it in his youth – but it was of course destroyed.
Thankfully, books have a way of surviving disasters that mean death to mere mortals. The last time I was in the Imperial City – the last time before Serana and I visited last year, I mean – I saw a catalogue of Master Aryon's collection at Tel Vos, made, no doubt surreptitiously, by an ambassador from Cyrodiil who was in Morrowind on diplomatic business. My host at the Arcane University was a fellow bibliophile, and when I lamented the loss of such a collection with so many unique works, he assured me that some at least of the volumes had escaped destruction, for he had himself seen a copy of the Geologica Viva with marginalia in Master Aryon's own hand at the Synod's library in Cheydinhal. It seems that many of the refugees from the Red Year settled there, and their treasures greatly enriched the collectors of that city, who, I regret to say, doubtless did not pay a very fair price when purchasing them from their impoverished possessors.
I remember all this perhaps because Cheydinhal is already on my mind: Serana and I happen to be headed in that direction at this very moment. Yes, we are on our way north again. Our plan had been to turn east from there and go on to Morrowind, but our plans are changeable. Either way I will send you news.
Serana and I are both well. The temperature has been extreme: more than once in Elsweyr did I think fondly of Skyrim's summer snows. Beyond that I have little to tell, unless you would like a tourist's notions of Torval and Senchal. On that subject you may hear more than you want! Farewell.
It rained all that night. Mud spattered Alexien's boots as he trudged over the uneven road, hood pulled low over his face to keep the water out of his eyes. Serana had given up all attempt to stay dry and trod firm ground and puddle with equal abandon. While Alexien stopped now and then to try to get a glimpse of the moon or stars, she wandered over all their surroundings, taking in the details of the alien forest with its unknown trees and strange scents.
"I think we're still in Cyrodiil," said Alexien, stopping to frown again at the sky as if this time he could see through the clouds and the rain.
"Don't care," said Serana happily, all but dancing along the road.
"Granted, this far east of Leyawiin we're close to the border with Black Marsh," Alexien went on, as if Serana hadn't spoken. "But the main road doesn't cross over. As long as we've stayed on the main road…"
"Don't care," Serana called again, stopping to examine a small but vividly blue flower on the roadside.
"But then I'm not sure this is the main road," said Alexien, more to himself than anything. "If it were, we should have long since come to that fork the last innkeep told us about. The roads around this part of Cyrodiil are wretched at the best of times; in the rain we might have mistaken the way. The rain started about four hours ago. If we've been going east rather than north for half that time, then at our pace…"
"Still don't care," said Serana, in a sing-song voice.
Suddenly Alexien shook his head with decision. "Well, we don't know if we're lost or not, but we definitely will be if we start double-guessing ourselves and back-tracking. We're on a road, anyway, whether or not it's the right one. If we keep going it'll eventually lead us somewhere."
"See? Nothing to worry about," said Serana cheerfully. Alexien started walking again and she fell into step beside him.
"I thought you wanted to see Cheydinhal?"
"I do. But I also want to see the Blackwood and Black Marsh, and Morrowind some day, and the Ayleid ruins at Bravil."
"Those are all in different directions."
"They're all in any direction. Wherever we go will be somewhere I want to be."
"Convenient."
"Practical," Serana corrected. "As often as you get us lost, it's very practical not to be too bothered where we end up."
"I do not get us lost that –"
"We're lost now. I thought you were a traveler before you met me?"
"I was, but I've never been to this part of Cyrodiil. Before I met you I had never been down past the City. And last year we came south by way of Skingrad, way on the other side of Elsweyr."
"So we're lost."
"We are not lost. I know exactly where we're not."
"We're lost," Serana said dramatically, "lost in the woods, and it's only a question whether we'll catch cold from the rain and die of illness before we starve."
"We're vampires. We can't starve, and the cold can't hurt us."
"You never let me have any fun."
"Not true. There was that time I took you to see real life pirates."
"You mean two weeks ago when pirates tried to board the ship we were on and I had to throw them over the side?"
"Exactly. That was fun."
Serana grinned. "Okay, you're right, that was fun. Then you dueling with their captain…"
Alexien's lip twitched. Then it turned to a frown. "The fact that we encountered pirates so close to the territorial waters of Cyrodiil proper, though: that doesn't bode well. If –"
"No politics," Serana said firmly, with the tone of having said it a dozen times before.
"Now who's not letting who have any fun?"
"You're the one who swore off politics, I'm just reminding you. Again."
Alexien gave a huff and did not deign to answer. He trudged on, now and then raising an arm to block a gust. Serana continued oblivious to the weather and skipped along as if over a spring meadow.
Then: "There's a light ahead," she said.
"Thank Akatosh."
"We don't know what it is yet."
"Whether it's an inn, a castle, or a bandit camp, it'll at least be dry."
It was an inn. A large timber building stood along the road's edge, with a well thatched roof and a merry chimney. The smell of freshly baked bread came on the wind. But the building had a forlorn look: though solid, it had been ill kept of late, and most of its many windows were dark.
Nonetheless the door opened before they could reach it; warmth and firelight streamed out. A man, evidently the innkeeper, stood beckoning them inside.
"Come in, then, come on in out of the wet," he said. "Come have a seat by the fire. You'll be wanting something hot to eat, I expect, night like this?"
Alexien muttered something in thanks, then gestured After you to Serana. He stepped in after her, shook the rain off his clothes, and lowered his hood.
They found themselves in a decently large common room with a fire crackling in the hearth against the far wall. There were a few other guests scattered here and there, but these mostly kept to themselves. One or two looked up from their tables when the door opened, then, apparently judging Alexien and Serana unremarkable, turned back to their drinks and their whispered conversation.
The innkeeper chattered on, but his cheer seemed somewhat forced. He ushered them to a pair of comfortable chairs in front of the fire, shooing a cat off one so that Serana could sit. The cat promptly curled up on the rug with its chin resting on Serana's foot. It eyed Alexien suspiciously when he took the adjacent seat, then decided he was harmless and went back to sleep.
"Now then, how about a bite?" the innkeep started. "Bread, cheese, olives? There's a good spicy stew, an old recipe from Elsweyr; or a fine bit of fresh fish out of the bay, fried and flavored with lemon. Or –"
"Just wine for now, thank you," said Alexien. "The best you have, if you please."
The man's expression turned suddenly dubious. "The best I have is mighty good," he said, looking over their weathered clothing.
"Je l'espère," said Alexien, passing him one of several gold coins – gold, not silver – jingling in his purse.
Whether because of the gold, or because the Breton accent convinced him that he had a noble under his roof, the innkeeper's manner turned obsequious again at once.
"Of course, of course, as my lord wishes," he said, bowing. "Hot? Mulled with spices?"
"For me, please," said Serana.
"And a private room with a hot bath, if it can be managed," Alexien added.
"Most certainly," said the innkeeper, bowing again. "These days we're practically – that is, we have just the room for you, my lord, my lady. I'll have the maid start heating water at once."
For a time he left them to themselves. Alexien settled into his chair and faced the fire, lost in his own thoughts, or simply absorbing the warm glow. Serana bent down and idly scratched the cat behind its ears. Their backs were to the room. The whispers of the other patrons, the occasional tink of cups, came to them as from far away.
The innkeeper came by and left their wine on a small table between them, said he'd be back after he had seen to their room, and again departed. Wordlessly Alexien poured a cup for Serana, then for himself, and took a drink. He gave a sigh of pleasure, leaned his head back against the chair, closed his eyes. Without opening them he held a hand out sideways for Serana. She took it in her own and gave a gentle squeeze. Then each relapsed into their own thoughts.
By the fire it was cozy and comfortable. They needed no words to be together. Slowly they relaxed from the road; little aches were soothed away; tiredness was replaced by sleepy contentment. Now and then they sipped from their wine. They were at peace.
But they were not alone, and they never forgot it. Often, when they were most relaxed, a snatch of others' conversation, the skidding of a chair, the clatter of a dropped plate, came to them; and suddenly they felt the solitude all the more. Content as they were, something like loneliness pressed upon them: just for a moment they knew that they were utterly cut off from the others. They did not want to join them: but even had they wanted, they could not have done so, not without lies and reserve. They often forgot they were vampires. On nights like these they were reminded; and just for a moment, they felt it.
Underneath all was the hunger, long repressed, never gone. It was not a thing they spoke of. They had not fed for years, and as far as they could tell had suffered no ill effects. But they were never rid of it, and at times like these it reasserted itself, a deep hollow longing they knew could not be filled. The wine lulled it and piqued it at the same time, pleasing but unsatisfying, like sweetmeats on an empty stomach.
Then the moment was gone. Serana stirred; Alexien met her eyes; they shared a smile, and eased back into contentment.
Some time later the innkeeper returned and asked if they needed anything else.
"Possibly directions," said Alexien. "We were on our way north before the storm, and at the last inn we stayed at they said we would come to a fork…"
"Oh, aye, I know the fork," said the innkeeper. "It's south of here, though. You must have passed it in the dark a while back. But by luck, light, or Lorkhan's bless, as we say around here, you picked the right way for Cheydinhal, if that's where you're headed."
"How many days on is it?"
"Well now, that's between you and the road. There's some as make it in a week, but that was when the roads were in better shape, and assuming the bridges aren't out. It rains hard around the Niben this time of year. And you're too like to meet highwaymen before you get out of the valley, traveling on your own. I tell you what, there's a caravan coming up in another few days, if you don't mind waiting, and they'll take you on. It's slow and safe gets there fastest."
"Thank you. We will consider it."
The innkeeper nodded. "And as for my lord's baggage…"
"We have nothing except what you see."
The innkeeper looked doubtful again, suspecting perhaps that he was serving a ruffian rather than a lord after all.
"We lost it fording the river," Serana supplied. "That's one reason we're so eager to make it to Cheydinhal: I have family there."
He bowed. "Of course, my apologies. If there is anything that we can provide, my lady has but to ask."
"Right now, I'd just like to know about that hot bath."
"I can show my lord and my lady to their room whenever they are ready. Shall I have food sent up later? A private meal?"
"Thank you, that would be lovely," said Serana.
If the innkeeper thought there was anything strange in these two travelers not mixing with other company, he never let on. All sorts came through. Many of them liked their solitude. Best not to know why.
The next day his new guests slept in. He was not surprised, as late as they had been out the night before, and in such weather. Around noon he sent one of the maids to see if they were awake and wanted anything. She reported that she had found the lord up and dressed (except for his boots), reading by the light of an oil lamp, and that he had only asked for more wine and whether they had a particular herbal tea that he and his lady had grown fond of in Elsweyr. The innkeeper sent up both the tea and the wine, remarked on the eccentricities of foreigners – nothing like good reliable Nibenese stock – and paid them not another thought until the evening.
But that evening he ran up the stairs two and three at a time, so that he was panting when he came to their door. He knocked. The door was opened by the lady, dressed in a loose robe, her hair wet.
"Yes?" she asked politely.
"Got to… go," the innkeeper gasped out, trying to catch his breath. "Or… hide. Coming."
"What's coming?" came the lord's voice. He appeared suddenly behind the woman, pulling on his boots and buckling on a sword.
"An-Xileel. Maybe. Coming. They'll kill…"
"Is he ill?" asked the man.
"He's terrified," said the woman. "Can't you hear his heart? Come in, then. Have a drink to steady you, then tell us what's happening."
"I… can't. You've got to… go. Or… hide."
"We aren't going anywhere until you tell us what's wrong, and we aren't used to hiding," said Serana. "Come have a seat. Take your time. Alexien?"
Alexien took the man's arm and guided him, gently but irresistibly, to a chair. He waved a hand; the air shimmered before him. The innkeeper felt his stamina returning and his breath steadying.
"Better?"
He nodded. The feeling of being healed by magic was strange: it took him a moment to adjust and remember why he had been panicked before. Then he tried to jump to his feet; Alexien's hand on his shoulder held him seated.
"Easy," said Alexien. "Tell us what's wrong. Who's coming?"
"Bandits."
"Bandits!" scoffed Serana. "Is that all?"
"Is that all – easy enough for you to say; you look like you've met your share. But no, that ain't all. This lot are organized. Some say they're An-Xileel – extremists from Black Marsh, you know. They're mean enough. They and those like 'em have been marauding around the last few years, ever since the Legion pulled back. They know Leyawiin's got its hands full with pirates and all and can't stop 'em. Carving out their own little kingdom, they are, and extorting so as many miss the days they paid taxes to the City away up north."
"Perhaps we can talk to them," said Alexien.
The innkeeper looked panicked. "You can't! Please, you've been kind, and I don't want your blood on my hands. This lot'll kill you just for the fun of it. And if they hear you're noble, they'll kidnap you and torture you until your families pay ransom. Then they might kill you anyway. If you can't pay, they'll kill you for sure. I've heard they feed their victims to –"
"It does sound like we should go have a chat with them," said Serana. She started dressing herself, tying on boots and bracers with a practiced air.
Something in her voice steadied the innkeeper. His eyes fell on the sword at Alexien's waist. "You're… you're not nobles, are you?"
"As a matter of fact, I am a lord and a knight," said Alexien. "But it is more relevant right now that I am a mage."
"A mage-knight!"
"Yes, like in the stories," Alexien said patiently. "And yes, we still do the oaths and everything. So you see, I really can't just hide."
"Is she a knight too?"
"No. She's much more dangerous." Alexien looked to Serana. "Ready?"
"Ready."
"But they'll kill –" the man started.
"They are welcome to try," said Alexien. "I take a good deal of killing. Someone killed me once before, actually, and it didn't take. Now, you wait here. We will be back shortly."
With that they headed downstairs.
Out front were three Argonians. Two were in heavy armor, one carried a bow. Their gear was indeed too fine for bandits, and they carried themselves more like professional soldiers. They were bullying a scared-looking woman who Serana assumed was the innkeeper's wife. She must have said something they didn't like, for one of them back-handed her across the face so hard that she fell down in the mud.
"There will be no more need for that," said Alexien.
Three pairs of eyes locked on him. From the ground the woman looked up and tried to mouth Run. Serana helped her up while Alexien stepped between her and the Argonians.
The nearest of them, a warrior carrying a greatsword, gave a wide smile as Alexien faced him. He was a head taller than Alexien and much broader. "Excellent," he said, with a hissing accent. "Just when I thought today would be boring."
"It still can be, if you walk away," said Alexien. "You don't know the danger you're in."
The Argonian laughed. "Little Breton, I don't think you know who we are."
"I know there aren't enough of you for this. Go. Never come here again."
"We are An-Xileel. We go where we will."
Alexien closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "It would be dramatic to say that I'll only give you one chance," he said. "In reality I'll give you as many chances as you need. I am full of killing. You can leave at any time. Go. Go home and die of old age many years from now. I will not stop you."
"Scared, little Breton?"
"I am. But not of you."
Laughter, the ring of weapons as they were drawn. Then before they could strike there was a gasp of pain and a gargle of blood: Serana had snuck around and stuck her dagger through the other warrior's throat while Alexien distracted them.
The archer had already drawn on Alexien; surprised by Serana he loosed. Alexien twitched a hand and turned the arrow aside with telekinesis. Then supernaturally fast his sword swept out and in one motion bit up under the nearest Argonian's ribs. He went down still trying to parry the blow that had already killed him.
Serana threw a spear of ice at the archer. It melted mid-air and only splashed him with water. She looked around: two more Argonians that had been hiding charged out of the trees, one of them pointing a staff.
She had a moment to curse – Argonians' hearts were so slow she had always had difficulty noticing them, and they had no body heat to sense – before rolling to dodge a sword-stroke. Regaining her feet she tried to rise; something tugged at her and kept one knee stuck in the mud. Thick clinging vines, covered in rose-like thorns, had erupted from the ground and twined around her legs, creeping up over her hips, holding her in place.
Another sword-stroke, and she could not evade it: she caught the blade between her hands. But the vines encircled her arms and pulled them apart. She fought to stand, ripping and tearing at the vines; the woody stems snapped as she broke free by main force, but left long spiny tendrils embedded in her flesh. In the struggle she had left herself open: the sword again swept out towards her in a broad arc, this time from behind.
The Argonian's arms followed through on the swing, but the sword was ripped from his hands: Alexien had seized it in a grip of invisible force. It hovered in the air for a moment as the Argonian stared in confusion. Then Serana landed a kick on his temple and he sprawled backwards.
The archer drew on Serana. Alexien leapt towards him and hewed through bow and hand together. The bow broke in two, the arrow clattered as it spun off, the Argonian screamed and yanked back his bleeding arm; the scream turned to a roar as he snapped at Alexien's throat with wide jaws; Alexien stepped back, then lunging thrust his sword through bone and heart.
That left only the mage. He hesitated a moment between his opponents, debating perhaps which was the bigger threat, then decided to neutralize Alexien so he could focus on Serana. The same clinging vines erupted out of the mud and twined themselves around Alexien's legs. But they found no purchase and drew no blood. Too late the Argonian realized that Alexien had close-woven a shield-spell over his skin: he had seen the same magic used against Serana and had already planned his defense. He stepped out of the vines as easily as a man steps through tall grass.
The mage looked between Alexien and Serana as both closed on him. He ran. Serana gave chase for a moment, just to make sure that he kept running; then she let him go.
"They'll have a camp nearby," she said to Alexien when she came back.
"I know," he said, wiping his sword clean. He sheathed it. "We really need to talk about you taking risks."
"It's just how I fight. It's how I was trained: little injuries don't matter if you're a vampire and can heal afterwards. Nice work distracting them, by the way."
"Thank you. Where did you take the woman?"
"She's indoors. Scared, shaken, and bruised, but nothing dangerous."
"I'll still see her before we go."
"Don't be long," Serana warned. "They'll be back in force if we don't head them off."
Alexien nodded. He went back inside and found the innkeeper and his wife staring at him wide-eyed. Without regarding their surprise he began looking after the woman's injuries.
"Nothing broken," he said brightly, checking her jaw. "And the same number of teeth as before? Excellent. I can give you something for the pain, but rest will be the best thing for it."
They said nothing.
Alexien turned to the innkeeper. "How much do I owe you?"
A confused stare.
"For the room and the wine and the tea," he explained.
"What?"
"I believe it is customary to pay one's bill before leaving."
"You're leaving? But… but they'll come back!"
Alexien gave a grim smile. "We have no intention of allowing them to come back. You've seen the last of them. Our bill?"
Still dazed, the innkeeper named an amount; Alexien handed him the coins without haggling. Then he wrote out a simple recipe on a scrap of paper and handed it to the woman, bowed, and turned to leave.
"Wait!" called the innkeeper. "Who are you? What are your names?"
"I have no name, and we were never here. Farewell."
Serana and Alexien tracked the marauders to their main camp. It was well fortified: much more a small castle than a thieves' hideout. The bandits were given every chance to run rather than fight. They chose fighting. Afterwards Alexien burned the camp. Then he and Serana cut back towards the road and resumed their journey north.
It had been a hard fight, for the bandits were well-armed and many (and Alexien had sworn off using the Voice); only taking them by surprise had ensured victory. One thing about the fight still rankled in Serana's mind when they stopped for the day. Amid the combat one of the enemy captains had cried out "It's them!" Serana took that to mean that the escapee from their earlier fight had made it back and warned them. But if the captain had been expecting them, why had he seemed surprised? No one had recognized who they were since they left Skyrim, so she didn't think it was that. In the end it didn't matter: he was equally dead either way. But all the same, she was glad Alexien hadn't noticed.
They camped overday in a shallow cave shaded by strange trees. Serana made Alexien take off his shirt: he had been wounded by a lucky shot in the back during the melee, and despite insisting that he was fine was clearly in some pain.
"It'll heal," he said. "Vampires, remember?"
"I'm not saying the injury will kill you if you don't let me look at it," Serana answered. "I'm saying I'll kill you if you don't let me look at it."
There was no arguing with that, so Alexien removed his outer robe and let Serana poke and prod the wound.
"How is it?" he asked after a while.
"Hideous," she answered at once. "Just repulsive. No woman but me will ever be able to look at you again."
Alexien gave a bark of laughter. "Can you heal it?"
"I think so," Serana said, still probing gently with her fingers. "You've taught me that much Restoration. And it's a good thing, there's no way you'd be able to see to do this yourself. I need to clean it out first, though, and that's going to be really unpleasant because it's just caked with mud."
"You're enjoying this."
"Why not? You make a good practice dummy. Hold still."
"Make me."
"Mm. I think I will. Later."
They sat in silence while Serana sponged the wound clean with wine and boiled water. Every so often she leaned back to get a better view, clicked her tongue, and went back to work.
"Go on, say it," said Alexien.
"I don't know what you mean," Serana answered innocently.
"Yes you do."
"Oh, you mean how you chided me earlier for taking risks then you're the one who got yourself seriously wounded?"
"Yes."
"Nah."
"You're exasperating."
"Thank you. Hold still."
Alexien gave a sudden hiss of pain: Serana had touched the wound and sent a jolt of healing energy through it. She was still unpracticed with Restoration and used more power than she needed to, and it stung.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Perfectly."
"Good. Then I'll pretend that was intentional and you deserved it. Here's your shirt back. Don't worry, I did a miraculously good job and you won't even have a scar."
"Do we scar?"
"That's not the point. The point is I'm very good at this."
Alexien snorted. "Thank you, Serana."
"You're welcome. Now never do that again."
She lay back on a pile of leaves. After a moment Alexien joined her. He put an arm around her shoulders and she snuggled up against him, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Then she sighed happily and relaxed.
They lay like that for a while. While Alexien played idly with her hair, Serana watched the declining sunlight through the trees above: it was just bright enough to make the rustling leaf-shadows dance. Soon it would be dark, and they could move on – eventually. There was nothing they had to do, and nowhere they had to be. From Cheydinhal maybe they would go on to Morrowind. Or maybe it was time to visit Skyrim again – and from there, maybe Alexien would be ready to take her to High Rock. They could decide later.
"What?" Alexien asked softly, seeing the smile on her face.
"Nothing," Serana answered, smiling wider. "I'm just… happy."