Snow from a hundred years past.

“Oh, I have nothing but faith in Alessandra’s abilities,” Tortulja replied, a small smile forming on her face. “She’s a wonderfully talented healer, especially when it comes to vampires. I imagine she’s had a lot of time to hone her skills.”

At the knock, Tort jumped slightly, not having heard the woman approach. Her nerves returned, but she managed to keep the smile on her face.

“I’d like to see him, even if he’s just resting.”

Alessandra has lead Tortulja through the mansion and taken her up the stairs to the second floor. Even to a human the smell of blood lingered in the hallway, and once they turned the corner it became evident why; white bandages stained and drenched in blood had been piled in a hamper outside one of the doors.

The vampire stopped in front of the door with her hand on the doorknob and turned her head slightly. “I don’t mean to scare you, Tortulja, but Samson does not look well. I’ll give you two some time to catch up, but after that there’s something important we all need to discuss,” she said softly, turning fully now, and laid a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. With a small, sympathetic smile, she opened the door and pushed it open for her.

Samson was propped up with pillows on the bed, a fever sweat glistening on his forehead and making his hair stick to his skin. His breathing was shallow and fast, and occasionally wheezy. At the sound of the door opening he turned his head slightly, but he was having a hard time focusing on the shape in the doorway. If it hadn’t been for the presence of a heartbeat and her smell, he probably wouldn’t have known who it was.

Of course she hadn’t expected him to lie. There would be no point to it. Besides, he didn’t seem the type to sugarcoat things for the benefit of someone’s feelings, stranger or not.

Besides, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t thought already: although somehow the blunt way he put it was nicer than what she had mentally said to herself.

“That was… basically the reason for me coming here,” she agreed, nodding her head, before a frown formed. “But then… well, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to bring anything like that up to Sammy now. At least not until he’s recovered more. I just want him to know I’m here and that I care and that he better perk up soon so I can bombard him with bad jokes.”

“Maybe not right now, no, but he’ll get better,” Croft replied with a small shrug, fingers steepled as he leaned his elbows on the desk. “He’s in good hands with Alessandra taking care of him.”

Just as he was about to continue talking there was a gentle knock on the door. “Speak of the devil,” Croft muttered as Ali popped her head inside, gaze first landing on Croft, and then on Tort. “You can go see him now,” she told her, and the same apologetic look from before formed on her face. “He’s... sleeping, right now, and he might not be able to respond even if he wakes up, but he’s well enough for visitors.”

A warmer smile, more genuine in its nature, spread across her face at his reply. At least he had a sense of humor. Despite her first impression and the nerves that came with it, she relaxed a little more.

“I imagine Zepp and Warden require warm milk before they’ll settle down?” She suggested, trying to keep her smile from growing stupidly wide. Once the conversation became more directed towards her, she felt the nerves return slightly, but she managed to ignore them for the time being.

“Mhm, I ran into him during one of his jobs. I was… unintentional bait? Not that I imagine he did that on purpose. I was just in the… wrong place, right time? Right place, wrong time? One of those.” Tortulja explained, making a face at the uncertainty of her words.

“I was being hunted by something that was also being hunted. Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for them, Samson was there. He saved me, I made a nerve-wracked pun and then he escorted me back to town. We’ve kept in touch since.”

A fond smile had settled on her face as she talked. It was nice, remembering their beginnings, how he had saved her from the first time they met… and how he had saved her in different ways over their friendship.

“We were friends for years… and then one day we were more than friends. He introduced me to his family… and extended family, and then I, uh…” her words faltered, and she focused guiltily on a bottle of whiskey on the desk. “Well, I kind of screwed that up by being an enormous idiot.”

She let the confession hang in the air for a few moments, not wanting to continue and somehow afraid of how the man in front of her would think of her. Somehow it was easier to say this to Croft, though, than to anyone else Samson and she knew together. At least at the moment. She had a good feeling that he would be blunt and truthful in his response. Signy would try to reassure and comfort her, try to be kind to her feelings. Croft had no reason to spare her feelings.

“It’s part of why I came,” she began, clearing her throat and looking up at him again. “To try and… repair any damage I had done, to see if we could salvage our relationship, romantic or not. But also… partly out of concern. The few times I’ve seen him since we split, he hasn’t seemed like Sammy. I didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to discuss much, so I let it go, not wanting to bother him. After….”

Tortulja hesitated, wondering if Warden would want his visit to her to be brought to light. Possibly not.

“After I thought about it enough - I didn’t want to stupidly react on feeling alone like I had before - I decided it would be best to speak with Samson about things face to face. In a better way than we had before. I realized I didn’t express myself or my wants well… not in the way I wanted, not in the way Samson deserved.”

She was beginning to ramble, but it was easing the weight on her chest, and whether or not Croft cared about her reasonings, it still felt good to let out her thoughts. Maybe he would tell her she was being ridiculous, that there was no point to any of this. But she had to try.

“My biggest regret was… not trying hard enough. Getting too scared and letting myself get to me. I didn’t explore all the options, and I want to prove to him… and myself that I can and that I’m willing. At the very least, if there’s no going back, I would like to reach some form of closure… for the both of us.”

Tortulja finally fell quiet again, allowing her words and her heart to settle for a moment, before she let out a short sigh and shook her head.

“I ramble when I’m nervous, I apologize… I probably sound like a fool.”

Croft listened to her talk, recall how she met Samson and how their friendship became what it was - until it wasn’t anymore. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk and interlaced his fingers loosely. He inhaled slowly and let it out as a heavy but quiet sigh. 

“You want my honest opinion?” he asked, but didn’t really wait for her to respond before he continued, “I think you’re both idiots, but not for any of the reasons you just listed.” 

“I’ve never seen you two together, but hearing it from Samson the two of you have something special, and you’re wasting it on being two chicken-shits too scared to do anything about it,” he went on as calmly as ever, a neutral expression on his face. 

“Samson would go to the end of Nirn for you, and I’m taking a chance here by saying you’d do the same for him, yet you’re too caught up in the what-if’s and but’s to realize you’re just fucking yourselves over.” Croft leaned back and let his hands rest in his laps. “You focused so much on not hurting each other, that’s exactly what you wound up doing. Instead you should have leveled with each other, and let the other do what they were willing to do.  You’re too quick to admit defeat and give up.”

The thought of Samson at the mercy of the Vigilants or the Dawnguard made her stomach knot up. She assured herself that he was in the best place he could be: that things would be looking up from here.

Past few hundred years… so he was a vampire himself, then. Tortulja appreciated the honesty, though she assumed it was more because he didn’t see her as a threat and less that he just wanted to be open about things. No reason to hide the truth from someone who clearly had no issue with vampires in general.

The joke brightened her expression slightly, and his smile was contagious. The one she gave in return likely wasn’t as full or nice as Croft’s, but it was something.

“Their nanny, hm? Does that mean you offer bedtime storytelling services too?”

Her response earner her a wider, more genuine smile for about two seconds as he let out an amused snort. While steely blue eyes bored into her, the smirk grew back in full force, and his voice became little more than a low rumble when he replied, “If they ask me nicely.”

They had gotten blood from Alessandra’s clinic? That would make sense… but if that were the case, why did Asher have blood on his person? She shook the thoughts from her head: that wasn’t what was important. What was important was Samson and his well-being.

Tort followed alongside Croft quietly, paying attention to his words, but all the while thinking of Samson in the back of her mind. The description of his injuries was deeply upsetting, and she was somewhat guiltily relieved to have taken Ali’s advice and not witnessed him in such a state.

“Silver weapons?” Tortulja echoed, that sticking out in the list of things. What feral vampire carried around silver weapons? “So… it likely wasn’t just some feral, then. It was something else.”

Her heart ached at being so close to seeing Samson, and yet so far from it. She was overcome with a feeling of guilt, somehow feeling as though this could have been entirely avoided if she had just done something different. If she had arrived earlier, or had not separated from him… maybe this wouldn’t have happened..

Not wanting to be upset in front of the man she had only just met, Tort turned her face from his view and reached up to wipe at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt, sniffling as she did. Trying not to dampen the mood anymore than it already was, she cleared her throat, deciding now was the best time to remember her manners.

“Um… how is it that you know everyone here?” Tort asked quietly, and glanced over at him with a muted look of curiosity. “If it’s not overstepping anything for me to know, at least.”

Croft sat back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. He inclined his head slowly this way and that with slightly pursed lips. “Not just ferals, no, but that was what he was hunting,” he replied evenly in a calm voice. “Without hearing his side of the story, all we can do is speculate, but there are other factions renowned for hunting vampires - the Vigilants of Stendarr and the Dawnguard to mention some.”

He felt her distress, her guilt. As far as he was concerned, it was almost tangible. Given the circumstances he didn’t know of anything that might help. The change of subject was a welcome one, and Croft crossed on ankle over his knee, propping his finger ups against each other as his elbows sat comfortable on the armrests. 

“It’s a long story for another time, but the gist of it is that I’ve been helping solve their problems for the past few hundred years,” he told her honestly, seeing no reason to hide what he was from her. “When they need something done discretely, or need to get their hands on items not easily obtained, they call on me.” 

Asher wasn’t about to argue with Croft, even though the Imperial wanted to not only figure out why Tortulja was here, but stay at her side for as long as he could. With only a moments hesitation, he nodded and offered Tort a warm smile before he departed.

“I’ll see yeh in a bit, love, gonna wash up.”

Tortulja still clutched the bag of animal blood in her hands, completely confused by the entire situation. She was distraught with worry - if so many faces were at the house, things must really not be good for Samson… especially if Alessandra’s warning was anything to go with. The numbness was just starting to give way to that familiar tightness in her chest when the stranger spoke.

“Uh… no we haven’t met… I’m Tortulja, or Tort… also a friend of Samson and some of the others… it’s nice to meet you,” she replied politely, though it was clear that she wasn’t entirely focused on what the man was saying to her. The question got her attention, however, and she finally focused on the Croft’s face.

“Not really, no. Just that Samson is in bad shape, but I don’t know why or how or what that means other than he needed blood and I shouldn’t be here,” she said, and held of the small bag that she had managed to fetch.

“Alessandra sent me to the butcher but I… if I go with how she said things were… I don’t know if this will really help.”

Croft passed the animal blood on to Zepp as he hurried along, then returned his attention to Tortulja. “He is,” he confirmed evenly as he continued to lead Tort through the house. “But with the blood you brought as well as what Asher and myself retrieved from Alessandra’s clinic, he’s stable.” It was a lie, of course, that the blood had come from Ali’s clinic, but Tort didn’t need to know that.

“Nobody knows what really happened to him. He hasn’t been able to tell us yet, so all we know is that Samson came home last night, barely alive,” he went on to tell her. “Collapsed on the front step, with deep lacerations from silver weapons and claws all over his body, and numerous fractures as well as a punctured lung,” Croft paused briefly to look down at Tort again. “Alessandra worked through the night to patch him up, but he wouldn’t be able to heal without the blood you brought to him. She tells me you will be able to see him soon, if you wish, once he’s been fed.”

It felt as though some invisible force had a grip on both her throat and her heart. As if the entirety of Nirn was pressing down on her. It was overwhelming. The panic subsided, and numbness flooded her mind.

Get blood.

That was what she focused on, offering Ali a muted ‘mhm’ and weak nod before she turned away from the house and towards the butcher’s shop. Animal blood wouldn’t be what Samson truly needed, but the thought of gathering blood from a different source caused her stomach to churn.

The butcher, Sully, was a friendly Imperial with a bright smile and a love of puns to match even Tortulja’s. Even his shop’s name - No Misteak - was a rare pun well done. Though Sully noticed something was bothering the Nord, he elected not to ask. Her request, of whatever blood he had leftover as well as meat she would pick up later, was odd enough and he felt it would be rude to delve to deep into one of his favorite customer’s business. Handing over what blood he had from the morning brought the first smile of the day to Tort’s face, and though it was weak as it was, it was still a smile.

Once she got back to the house, something seemed to be happening. The door was slightly open, she could see a hand on the knob, small splotches of blood along the palm and knuckles, and an all-too-familiar voice was pouring from inside. Upon reaching it, the door opened, and Asher was filling the doorway, small streaks of blood along his face, a larger streak of blood across his mouth. In his hand, he held a bloodied rag, which he used to absentmindedly wipe at his face, which seemed to only further smear the blood from his mouth up to his cheek. His shirt was soaked with blood, and yet he seemed to be in a right cheerful mood.

“Well, hello, love!” The Imperial cooed, and that broad, goofy grin of his split across his face. Asher stepped forward to envelop Tort in a hug, but stopped at the look on her face. She was almost horrified.

Oh. Right. Because he looked like a monster.

In truth, it was more horrified concern than genuine fright that was on Tortulja’s face. Her mind was still overwhelmed and numb and couldn’t piece together why Asher would be here, blood on his person, without being injured. She reached up to touch his face, and he stopped her with the cleaner of his two hands.

“Ain’t mine,” he said flatly, and his smile faltered some. Just as things started to fall into place, another form appeared in the doorway, but this one was unfamiliar to her.

It wasn’t long after Tortulja had left for the butcher’s shop that Asher and Croft had returned from their hunt. The two of them had brought back several bottles of fresh blood from somewhere outside the city and unloaded them in Alessandra’s care. Where exactly the blood had come from, and how Croft had managed to stay so clean compared to Asher, but both were mysteries for another time.

Croft had sensed Tort at the door long before he saw or heard her, and that was the main reason he’d chosen to butt in on the situation. As he came up behind Asher, he put a hand on the back of the Imperial’s shoulder with a firm pressure. He leaned in and whispered a quiet “go get washed up,” into his ear, and inclined his head towards one of the rooms. The grip on Asher’s shoulder tightened just enough to make it clear that this was not a matter up for debate.

As the days passed, Tortulja began to grow worried. She knew Samson’s job kept him away, but something seemed… off. She tried, she really did, not to seem too worried or bothersome, but almost anytime she came across Warden, she’d ask about Samson. While it was common for him to reply with a neutral, tight-lipped, polite response… it was not so common for Signy’s bright smile to momentarily lose it’s shine upon Tortulja mentioning her worry.

She went home feeling anxious, and barely slept. Instead, she spent most of her night cleaning the house in Solitude, packing away and separating various things that she no longer felt she needed, and wishing it didn’t feel so cold and empty.

Throughout the night, Warden was outwardly calm, but inside he was full of turmoil. Worry for Samson, the human that he knew Samson cared for, and for the rest of the coven in general. A twinge of guilt tugged at the back of his mind: he had gone to Tortulja. Perhaps he was not the sole reason she had come, but he had certainly influenced her decision. Now she would be here in the morning, expecting Samson… and he might not be the Samson they knew.

During the night, Signy did her best to help where she could, and tried her best not to panic. It was only after, during the early hours of the morning when things seemed to be at it’s most stable, that she managed to tuck herself away for a moment to quietly weep. She regained her composure quickly upon hearing the expected knock, but was beaten to the door by Alessandra.

It didn’t take more than a second for Tort to realize something was wrong. It wasn’t often that the vampires inside the home opened the door with blood on their clothing - regardless of said vampire’s profession. The tired look and empty way in which Ali spoke was enough to set Tort on edge, but the mention of Samson’s condition dropped her heart to her feet.

“What can I do to help? Anything… I can’t… I can’t just leave him… is he… when did he… what happened?”

Too many thoughts and not enough time for her mind to process them all. Instead, they flowed from her mouth in a pleading, near desperate stream. She paused, forcing herself to be quiet, and swallowed, feeling tears well in her eyes.

“I… I have to help somehow. Please.”

“He... I know you only mean well, Tortulja, and that you care about him, but take it from someone who’s been tending to his wounds all night; you don’t want to know what happened, and you don’t want to see him right now.” There was a short pause, and Ali was certain Tort would know what she meant when she added, “don’t do that to yourself.”

Alessandra truly pitied her, and at present all she could do was offer Tortulja an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry, but there’s very little anyone can do for him right now,” she told her, and would have placed a hand on the Nord’s shoulder if hers hadn’t been bloodstained.

It had been on her mind since they last spoke. She had let her emotions overcome her, let them sit for so long they had drowned out everything else in her head, so she and Samson’s last conversation didn’t go as she had hoped…. or as she had planned. Things had been said, decisions made with an unclear head… decisions she had almost immediately regretted as they were spoken aloud. Warden’s visit had only added fuel to the fire.

She just hoped she hadn’t waited too long.

Despite what may come, she needed to talk to him. So she packed a bag, she asked Aaron and Dalamus to watch the animals for her, told Tyr and Bart she would be out of town for a while, and she set off.

Upon arriving in Solitude, the nerves began to crawl around in her stomach. Samson hadn’t visited since they last spoke, for all she knew, he didn’t want to see her at all anymore. The thought pained her, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t brought on upon herself. Swallowing her fears, she approached the house, and knocked.

A familiar, friendly face answered, one of a pale, pink-eyed vampire by the name of Signy. Given that Tortulja was welcomed with a fullblown squeezing hug and a kiss to her cheek, her nerves eased a bit. She doubted Signy wouldn’t know the two had split, but it was a good sign nonetheless. At least one of them didn’t hate her.

“It’s so good to see you again! Are you here for Samson?” Signy asked, a bright grin on her face. It made Tort’s stomach churn, but she nodded in response.

“Uh… aye. I just need to… speak with him, about somethings.” The vampire nodded in understanding, and then pulled an apologetic face.

“He’s not home now… but he should be: soon! Maybe a few days. You can always hang out here, if you want. I can fix up a spare bed and…”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, but I have a place in town, I actually need to go look it over. Make sure it’s still intact and all.” Signy nodded again, and gave Tort’s arm a friendly squeeze.

“Alright… but stop by again, aye? It really is nice seeing you.”

Samson had been gone for nearly a week before anyone had begun to truly worry. Hedy was becoming anxious, and for the most of the time she’d busy herself with vigorous training to stay distracted. It was only in quiet murmurs, partially out of Tort’s earshot whenever she was visiting that she voiced her concerns among the other vampires. They mostly consisted of ‘he should have been back by now’ and ‘at least let me go and look for him’, to which the general response was ‘just give him one more day, he’ll turn up sooner or later’. 

It was on the night of the sixth day that they heard a faint thud at the door. Hedy went to see who or what it was, and just as she opened the door to find Sammy collapsed on the doorstep, she started barking orders at the rest.Warden was to help her move Samson upstairs, and Zepp was sent to fetch Alessandra from her clinic. 

Within minutes, the vampires had gathered around Samson, lying on a bed with numerous broken bones and several deep lacerations. He was mangled beyond recognition, and lucky to have kept all his extremities. While Hedy and Zepp rushed to gather supplies, Alessandra had begun work to stabilize him to the best of her abilities. Samson was drifting in and out of consciousness, gurgling on blood as it pooled in his lungs. Whenever he wasn’t out cold, he was screaming in agony as bones were moved back into place and cuts closed up and sutured shut. 

It took Alessandra working through the night to get him to a stable enough state where she felt comfortable leaving his side. At one point she even had to send Warden to break up a fight between Hedy and Zepp, where the former was (quite loudly) blaming Tortulja for this happening. 

In the early hours of morning, Ali had taske Zepp with guarding Samson and given him strict orders to come find her if there were any changes - good or bad. She heard the knock on the door, and while still wiping blood off her hands, she went to answer it. 

So he didn’t have the answers, or at least he wasn’t sure about them. Tortulja wasn’t upset about that, though her chest ached with uncertainty. The only solution – the one she had been ignoring, denying, the entire time – wasn’t one she wanted to voice aloud.

But it seemed like the only option that might keep them from their worries devouring them inside out. She squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled Sammy closer to her, gripping his shirt tightly.

“Do we… give up… us?” The Nord barely managed to say it before her voice broke. She sucked in a breath, as if she had suddenly lost all the air in her lungs, and tried to will the tears that welled in her eyes away.

“Do we… do we just… try to go back to what we were before? Can we? Is that something… is that something you would want?” Tortulja opened her eyes long enough to blink and wipe at them with her sleeve before she sniffled. “ It hurts to think about not being with you… but it hurts to think about us both being confused and worried as well. I don’t want you to be with me and be upset. I don’t know what’s right. ”

Samson didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. To just give up? It didn’t sit well with him. Giving up indicated that you weren’t willing to fight for something, and that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Perhaps going back to what they were before wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Things hadn’t changed all that much between them from being just friends to being partners, and that way he could still keep her in his life. In theory it seemed like a no-brainer; he had been her friend for much longer than he had been anything else, it was what he knew best, but it still hurt to think about. 

“No, I won’t – I don’t – I don’t think I could even if I wanted too,” she replied with little more than a whisper. She felt terrible, and the fact that she had upset Sammy only made it worse. She pulled him to her tightly, clinging onto him as if he might disappear should she let go.

“No, no, don’t think of it that way,” she said, sniffling and reaching up to wipe at her eyes. She kissed his forehead, and then each of his cheeks. She hesitated, then, but ultimately cupped his cheeks in her hands and looked him in the eyes.

“I love you, Samson, and I – I wish this was easier, I wish I had a solution but I just… I don’t want you to worry and I don’t want to worry and I just want us to both be happy again,” she murmured, before pressing a kiss to his lips. It only lingered slightly, before she pulled away and rested her forehead against his.

“What do we do now? How do… how do we fix this?”

He closed his eyes when he felt Tort’s hands on his face, and squeezed them shut when he felt her lips on his forehead and cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her, cluching at the fabric of her shirt.

When she said the words, he could suddenly not rememeber when they had stopped being just happy. 

His eyes remained closed as she continued to speak, as well as when she rested her forehead against his. At her question he remained quiet for a moment, then swallowed thickly and cleared his throat.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, though as soon as the words had left his mouth he knew they weren’t true. He did know, he just didn’t want to say it - didn’t even want to think about it. No matter what they ended up doing, there would mean a drastic change for one of them.

It didn’t make her feel better. None of it did. There was an ache in her chest again, but not from worry or concern for when she’d next see Samson, instead it was for what the future held for them.

“No, I don’t want you to change, I love you just how you are,” she said, leaning into him and putting her arms around him. It wasn’t fair. They were good together; good for each other. Tort had never felt safer and happier than when she was around him. But that only made it so much harder when he was gone.

Sammy was a vampire and his job was hunting those that were dangerous. It’s who he was, it’s who he would always be. Tortulja didn’t fit in his life the way she wanted, the way he wanted.

“I… I could…” she began, before suddenly choking on a sob. She caught her breath for a minute, feeling worse and worse as time passed. She tried to speak, but it was difficult in between breaths. “I could be… I don’t have to live here, I could move… and I could… I could be… turn… like you…”

But even as she was saying the words, she was shaking her head. Moving would be one thing: it wouldn’t be hard for her to get a job in Solitude and she already had a house that she had been neglecting to sell there. Travel to visit friends would be troublesome, but she had done so before and there was no reason she couldn’t now.

But becoming a vampire was something Tortulja didn’t think she was capable of allowing. At least not by choosing to do so. Which meant she couldn’t be like Samson. She couldn’t live as long as he could and she didn’t feel right having him tied with her as a mortal. It wasn’t fair to him. She wasn’t being fair.

“I’m sorry, I’m so selfish,” she muttered, pulling away from him and covering her face with her hands. Why none of this had been clear from the beginning she didn’t know. Everything had felt so right, though, and now everything felt wrong.

Of course, she had thought about what Samson’s immortality meant in comparison to her mortality, but now that it had been brought up by the both of them it seemed so terribly cruel for her to have even entertained the idea of staying with him. She’d be damning him to a fate of watching her slowly die – as if doing so as a friend wasn’t terrible enough.

“I just want you to be happy.”

He remained quiet while she spoke, at least until she said she could become a vampire for them to remain together, and then he merely shook his head at first. “No. No, no,” he mumbled the word over and over.

“You can’t.... promise me it won’t come to that. Promise me you won’t turn just for my sake. Please. I-I can’t have that on my conscience ” Sammy pleaded, his normally warm, brown eyes now wet with tears as he stared into hers. “Not only would I take you away from your life here, but I’d quite literalle take your life as well, o-or someone else would.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he felt another pang of guilt shoot through his body; guilt and selfishness and hopelessness, and he hated it. Hated how he couldn’t just make the necessary sacrifices to make her happy like she deserved. 

Having finished up the dishes, Tort moved to sit next to the Imperial, her brows furrowed slightly. He had been thinking and worrying as well? She wondered if it had anything to do with her concerns as well, and at his question, she nodded.

“Sure, I’ll be honest,” she replied, offering him a small, albeit uncertain smile. At his next question, however, the smile fell from her face. So it was the same, or at least mostly the same. How funny - that they were so in sync with one another, they even had the same worries. She’d rather they were sharing a happy moment, but perhaps this was for the best.

“I’m…” Tort started, but hesitated. She had promised to be honest, so she should be. It was only fair. “I’m not… unhappy? I’m just…”

The Nord let out a sigh and furrowed her brows, frowning slightly. She didn’t exactly know how to explain how she felt, not without potentially hurting his feelings.

“I do… sometimes wish things were different,” she admitted, feeling guilty at her words. “I’m not saying I want to move in together, but… I mean, we didn’t see each other as frequently before we decided to be in a relationship and now that we are…”

She hesitated again, not being able to explain herself was frustrating, and there was an ache in her chest even though it felt better to say what was on her mind. Though it seemed once she started, she couldn’t stop, even as tears began to well in her eyes.

“I can’t expect you to drop everything and stay here with me. You wouldn’t be happy, and I know that. I understand that. That isn’t what I want,” she said, reaching out to take his hands and looking him in the eyes. “I worry about… about… you. Being so far away, and with your job… one day… one day you might just never come back. And… and one day you might come here and I won’t be here anymore, because… because I’m not – I’m just human. I… I can’t be there for you like you can for me, Sammy. That’s not fair to you.”

Samson listened quietly to her as she spoke, not wanting to interrupt her or otherwise disrupt her. 

It seemed he wasn’t alone with his worries, and while it was somewhat comforting to know he wasn’t the only one who felt this, it was more concerning than anything else. 

As he sat there he felt guilt and concern swirling in his gut like a dangerous cocktail, and for a moment he struggled to meet her eyes. “I’ve... I’ve been feeling a lot of the same, though mostly that.. that I can’t be here for you when you need me, and...” he began, speaking calmly with a low voice, “I think about it every day I’m not here with you, because I know you’re likely here alone, and it’s eating me alive.”

It was then that he noticed the tears in her eyes, and he reached out with a hand to cup her cheek, gently wiping away any stray tears with his thumb. 

“I don’t want you to leave your life here, I couldn’t ask that of you,” he said softly, still caressing her cheek. “It’s... it’s not that I won’t move here, I’d do anything for you and I hope you know that, but I... I can’t. I can’t give up on that part of me, doing what I do, being a vampire. I would if I could, but I don’t know how.” the more he spoke, the more frantic his voice got, and the more his calm speech turned into babbling. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and took her face in both of his hands before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger against her skin before he spoke again. 

It had been weighing on her mind for a while now, but she still hadn’t come to any solutions of her own. Which was frustrating, and stressful, and made her all the more relieved when Samson next visited. Perhaps he would have the answers.

She mulled over her worries as she washed out the dishes from dinner, trying to come up with some way to even approach the situation.  She attempted to keep her expression neutral, though she was almost positive she was being too quiet, and that only stressed her further.

“I’ve been thinking a lot too,” he said calmly and motioned for her to come sit with him again. “Thinking, and wondering, and worrying,” the Imperial added with a light sigh before he went quiet again for a moment.

“Tort? Can I ask you something? And I want you to be entirely honest with me,” he said before he adjusted himself on the chair so he was sitting more forwards and facing her.

The entire trip Tortulja had been torn between eager excitement and nervous anxiety. After all, Samson had known these people for not just years, but centuries in some cases, if not longer. But she trusted him, and she loved him, so she wanted to do her best to make a good impression.

A smile grew on her face the closer they got to Solitude, and once they were inside Samson’s home, it was brighter and friendlier than it was nervous. Still, she forced herself to be more neutral, and balanced on the balls of her feet for a moment before falling back down, unsure of what was to happen now.

A voice caught her off guard, and the Nord turned to find the source, her brows furrowed sightly. The Imperial was handsome, and well-dressed, and Tort suddenly felt more than a little self conscious about her likely bland appearance.

Grandsire? He must have been… gods, there was no telling how old he was. Samson had mentioned his sire was practically ageless at this point, so how long had this man walked Nirn? Attempting to hide her insecurity, Tortulja straightened her posture a bit and faced the Imperial directly.

“Well met, Laz- ah, Mr. Caine, uh, sir, sire?” The Nord fumbled, offering the Imperial a bright and somewhat apologetic smile, attempting to ignore the heat that rose to her cheeks. She moved to offer her hand for him to shake, but thought better of it and gave him a half-bow in greeting instead. “I’m Tortulja. Um, just Tort is fine, though. It’s easier to remember.”

Lazarus returned the half-bow, letting out a chuckle at how formally she was addressing him. “Then you can just call me Lazarus,” he said, a warm smile on his face before his attention returned to Samson who was still standing beside Tortulja. 

“I do not wish to keep you two longer than necessary, as I’m sure there are plenty of things here you want to show her,” Lazarus began, looking between the two, shifting his weight, “I could, however, use your help later on, Samson.”

“Of course,” the younger vampire said with a nod. “I’ll come find you once we are settled in.”

“Aye, was just gettin’ bored’a this chatter anyway,” Dag said, pushing himself up from his chair and heading towards the door himself. Bo looked to Llaara when she said her name, then glanced back at Tort, silently asking for permission.

“You three go on and have fun,” Tort said, smiling at the two left in the house. “Just stay out of trouble.”

“We’ll put forth the effort, but I can’t make any promises,” Bo replied, returning her smile with a grin of his own and then heading out the door behind Llaara, shutting it behind him.

“Go with you?” Tortulja repeated, raising her brows in surprise. She fell silent for a moment, mulling over the request. It would be nice to get out of the house once in a while, but she didn’t want to leave the other three alone. Plus, there was the animals…

“I would love to, but I’d have to talk it over with some people first,” she admitted, offering him a small smile. “I’d have to make sure those at the Hall know where I’d be, as well as the other three people I live with. I’d ask if they could tag along as well, but I don’t think any of them are willing to leave home so soon after coming back.”

Reaching out, Tort grabbed the Imperial’s hands in her own and smiled at him. It felt good to have something exciting to look forward too. Especially when it was the prospect of spending more time with Samson.

“But I’m sure I can go with you, if you’re sure that’s what you’d want.”

Solitude was remarkably quiet when they arrived, most shopkeepers packing up their wares for the day, and the guards mostly minded their own business while on patrol. 

They had stopped by Tortulja’s house to drop off their bags, and was now headed towards Samson’s home. 

The Imperial looked over at Tort, his hand resting on the doorknob for a moment before he turned it and opened the door. “After you,” he said with a warm smile and motioned for her to step inside. He closed the door behind them, and for a moment he was unsure if he should announce their arrival out loud, seek out his siblings one by one, or let them come to them. It didn’t take long before that decision was made for him, however, and Lazarus appeared at the top of the stairs. 

“Home already?” the Lord remarked, smirking, “and with company, too,”  he leaned on the railing with and elbow. 

“Ah, Lazarus,” Samson turned towards the elder, placing a hand at Tort’s back, looking over at her as he motioned to the other Imperial. “This is Lazarus, my.. grandsire I suppose, and head of the house,” Samson explained . Meanwhile, Lazarus had made it to the bottom of the stairs and was now approaching Tortulja with a welcoming smile. 

“She works at a Hall?” Signy gasped, her grin growing wider. “Why didn’t you say so? Perhaps I’ll just go visit her myself. What does she like? Books? Sweets? Animals? Pretty dresses? Mead?”

The Nord seemed to begin fretting over what best to bring to begin building a bridge of friendship with Samson’s lady companion and paused from putting away books to mull it over.

The prospect of Signy visiting Tort without him didn’t scare him as much as he thought it would, or as much as it probably should, but he trusted Signy and he trusted Tort.