#dawnguardxd

@dawnguardxd​ / @dragxnsfire​: ❛ How would you know ? ❜

          “It’s not your fault he’s a fetcher,” he grumbles, resting his chin in his hand. He sat comfortably by the vampire, having grown used to him. If he could befriend Leondas, who had willingly chosen vampirism, why couldn’t he do the same for Solurion, who hadn’t chosen it?

The fisherman’s hut was one she’d taken refuge in before, often to hide away from the occasional storm or when she couldn’t quite make it to Riften before dawn & her body ached for sleep.  This was neither of those occasions.  A new sort of storm was brewing within & she aches anew.  Her water does not satisfy.  Nor the found fruits tucked away in a parcel down below in the hut’s cellar.  This is where she lurks -- hidden away from the rotation of night & day & all those who would surely worry.  The events leading to this moment are a blur ; the attack, the wound, the fevered infection.

Solurion growled at the suggestion that he would not help an innocent traveler fallen victim to some strange misfortune. What nerve this man had, questioning the integrity of a mer who had served Auri-El for centuries.  As he finished his final prayer, the old elf sat up, faded eyes scanning the undead aura before him. “I took vows when I became a healer in the Temple of Auri-El: to aid all as well as I am able, and to serve our greatest ancestor faithfully,” he said, his voice as frigid as the snow drifting down from the hazy winter sky. “Though I was never as… zealous as my brothers and sisters, I take those promises very seriously.”

The light from the vampire’s hands faded, leaving them burning and uncomfortable; still, it was a small price to pay to protect these people from necromancers who would have taken advantage of their misfortune. He winced as he pulled a pair of gloves from his satchel and slipped them on before turning back to the stranger. “Sound and magic, actually,” he said simply. “I have never had the most keen sense of smell, though my affliction has helped.” There was no reason to admit that his Ayleid heritage helped with his vision— not to a total stranger, certainly. “What brings you this way, then, if not hunting?”

-

The vampire lord knelt still, clad adversely in his dark kilt and armor before his stark white surroundings, but just as frozen - however wary of any new vampires to cross his path, Rowan couldn't deny a budding trace of respect for this mer, whether that managed to come across in his terrible red gaze, or no.

All he knew of the Temple of Auri-El, its Knights, and its Prelates, had come from Gelebor decades ago. Maybe there was something to learn from this new acquaintance.

"If that is true, then our priorities have something in common," he muttered.

The question posed of him wrought reluctance. The smell of blood wasn't consistent with his professions of good deeds, but it wasn't his main calling at the moment. He'd strayed course to make sure no one in the cavern had died. Unfortunately he was too late.

"Magic," he reiterated with some surprise, rising up to his feet. "I've never heard of such a thing being useful for direction. Probably because I'm shite with it."

A steady breath, and then the truth.

For a moment, the Thalmor Ambassador thought she had misheard the mer. Laughing at him? Elenwen was not even remotely in the mood to be laughing at anyone or anything. Especially not a fairly unremarkable stranger.

“No.” She retorted in a soft growl as a scowl formed upon her face. “Even if I were laughing, it is rather arrogant of you to assume you would be the subject of such laughter.”

Janus wasn’t a healer yet he wasn’t a completely fool. For every moment that he laid on the streets soaked in carnage and sea water, he found himself counting the rhythm that each pulse of pain brought. He was practically a painting, smeared in mixture of his own blood and the maormer admiral’s. 

Turning his head to the side, he closed his eyes at the sight before him. In all honesty, Janus wasn’t even sure that he made the killing blow but what he did know was that the admiral managed to jab a sharp blade just under his ribs. Nonetheless, he couldn’t bare the sight of another corpse, even his enemy’s, any longer. 

First his fingers tried to dig into slick tile for purchase then his legs. His heels, despite all his strength, simply slipped from the damp. This little dance continued on until the last failure became too much and he gasped from the sharp agony radiating from his stomach. 

“... Sol...” 

He expected such a reaction, though he was quite glad that his gift had been received, even if the other tried to appear reluctant about consuming it. He smirked softly, knowing well that his hunger was roiling within him. He could see it in his eyes, a look he recognized all too well. Leondas never understood vampires who subdued and caged their natural urges. What was the purpose of punishing oneself?

He laughed, as if finding the very idea absurd. Though there was a slight sense of regret planted by the inquiry. He no longer had the favor of Y’ffre, he’d given that up centuries ago. Despite the pride and glory he took in his unholy blood, there was a part of him that longed to return to simpler times..

❝ Not at all, ❞ he confessed, not any less gleefully than before, ❝ I just see no reason in us feuding over petty differences. ❞