Dusklight/Dawnshade Part 5
Title: Dusklight/Dawnshade
Chapter: 5
Words: 1835
Notes: None
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Chapter 5: Rathsin
It's almost daybreak by the time Rathsin finally stops lingering around the shoreline of the Frozen Sea and actually approaches the castle. For someone who was so pressed to get here fast, he's certainly taking his time actually going inside, and it takes the impetus of the impending sun to finally push his courage forward and slip inside the doors.
Most of the Volkihar clan are already asleep; the dining hall is conspicuously empty of thralls lying on the table or the sounds of drinking, and Rathsin is grateful for that. While it'd be hypocritical of him to begrudge someone of needing to feed, having it out in the open like that is crass at best. One of the Death Hounds lopes up to him as he closes the door, and he stays still until it's done sniffing at his hands.
From the sounds of a hammer against steel, he knows that Hestla must still be up. So he moves from the dining hall and into her workshop, lingering in the door and watching her work. Turning hadn't affected her smithing skills; in fact, with centuries more to perfect her craft, she's gotten even better. Her brow is creased in concentration, and her long auburn hair is tied into a ponytail and slicked back against her head as the hammer comes down in precise swings. Rathsin waits until she plunges the broadsword into the cooling waters before making himself known.
"Good morning, Hestla," He says.
Hestla almost leaps out of her skin; she flies to her feet and has a finished scimitar in her hand before Rathsin can jump in surprise. He holds his hands up as she whirls around, the curved blade pointed straight at his neck.
"Gods! You scared the night right outta me, Rathsin!" Hestla says, loudly. Rathsin winces and looks around. The Death Hound who was sniffing at him looks up, ears perked in attention at the exclamation, but nothing else in the castle stirs.
"Sorry," he says, voice low. "I'm not exactly trying to make a grand entrance."
Perhaps out of habit, she puts a hand over her breast. "If I had a working heart still, it'd be pounding," she says, voice still slightly alarmed but volume considerably lower.
Rathsin apologizes again, and then he falls silent and stares at the ground as she turns back to her work. Of all the people still awake, he's glad that he ran into Hestla. She has never cared for the politics of the castle, the comings and goings of its denizens, or the gossip that floats around. Her aloofness is, ironically, what makes her the most appealing to be around for Rathsin. She lets him sit and watch her work for a while before speaking up again.
"You didn't show up when Harkon summoned all of the clan," she says. It's an accusatory statement, but her voice has no incriminating tone to it, and Rathsin relaxes.
"I know, I should - "
"Let me finish. So why show up now? Did something big happen?"
"There's a group of warriors calling themselves the 'Dawnguard' - self-proclaimed 'vampire hunters' who are said to wield the power of the sun itself."
Hestla rolls her amber eyes, a smile on her lips. "Rathsin, I'd have thought you of all people would know those are just children's stories. Dawnguard? The power of the sun? Next you'll be telling me that you've entered the Soul Cairn."
"The Soul Cairn is real," he mutters, "And the Dawnguard aren't just stories. I'm sure the - the whole -" he waves his hands in a circular motion "sun-wielding, I'm sure that's a story. But I've run into one, and where her armor touched my skin..." he shakes his head. "I'm sure, I'm SURE that it's some kind of special enchantment, some mixture of stones and dust that caused it, but when her armor touched my skin - it was nighttime, and it was as if I'd had a beam of sunlight thrown on me. It /burned/, Hestla, like I hadn't fed in weeks. It sapped my strength."
She raises an eyebrow at him and turns back to the sword that she's working on. "You're being melodramatic, Rathsin," she says. "There's no such thing."
"Hold on, Hestla," says a regal, deep voice. Rathsin snaps to attention in his seat and Hestla places the sword down into the water as Lord Harkon steps into the room.
If there was anyone who physically benefited as much from vampirism as Lord Harkon, Rathsin had never met them. He could imagine how in life, the Lord would have had darker, tanned skin, a full face framed by the thick black beard, and the icy blue eyes common to old Nord families. But while most vampires looked gaunt or haunted from the hollow cheeks and pale skin, Lord Harkon wore it like nobility. Rathsin couldn't be sure what kind of position of power his Lord held before the deal with Malog Bol, but now he believes that Lord Harkon could've been the High King of Skyrim, just based on his regal demeanor and appearance.
"Good morning Lord Harkon," Rathsin greets him. His Lord holds out his hand, and Rathsin bends down and presses his lips against the thick golden ring around his middle finger.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Rathsin," Lord Harkon all but purrs, and Rathsin does his best not to squirm. "We missed you during the summons, and I feared you'd fallen into trouble."
"No trouble, sir," Rathsin says. He drops his gaze to the floor, though a pointer finger under his chin forces him to lift his head and make eye contact again. "I apologize for not answering the summons."
Lord Harkon makes a sound in his throat, and Rathsin can't tell if it's a displeased or not. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were avoiding me."
Hestla grunts and, without looking up from checking for any imperfections in the blade, says, "It's not YOU he's avoiding, Lord."
Rathsin shoots her a glare, but since Lord Harkon still has a finger under his chin, he can't actually turn to look at her. But then his Lord smirks and says, in a considerably lighter tone,
"I'll spare you the question. At least you brought me some news, isn't that right?"
He tries to nod, but only manages a small bob of the head. At his Lord's urging, Rathsin recounts the run-in with the Dawnguard lady in Dawnstar, and he watches as the neutral expression slowly turns to a bemused one.
"I don't think this little band of 'vampire hunters,' really understands what they're getting into," his Lord says. He's got a serpentine smile on his face, and Rathsin knows it's not directed at him but he can't help the chill that runs down his spine.
"Of course they don't, Lord Harkon."
The fingers disappear from under his chin, and Rathsin almost naturally lets his gaze drop back to the floor again.
"You are excused, Rathsin," his Lord says, with a wave of his hand. "Get some sleep. I will have some need for you tomorrow."
With a bow and a murmured word of thanks, Rathsin nearly trips over his own longcoat again as he scrambles out of Hestla's shop and up the spires of the castle to his long-untouched room.
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There's someone on his bed.
Rathsin wouldn't have minded if they'd just given his room to someone else, a new member of the clan who might actually use the room, but the vampire on his bed isn't even sleeping. They're sitting up, one leg swung over the side of the bed, watching the door as if they were expecting him.
By the time Rathsin realizes that the other vampire is even there, he's already far enough into the room that ignoring the other's presence is worse than acknowledging it. With a sigh, he leans against the wall near the door and points into the hallway.
"Out," he says, in as bored and monotone a voice as he can muster.
The figure on the bed tilts his head and feigns a hurt look. "After all this time? Not even a hello, Rathsin?"
"Get out, Silnas."
Silnas's shoulders slump (it's all for show, Rathsin does his best to remind himself, it means nothing) and he slides off the bed. He certainly takes his time slinking towards the door, and looks up at Rathsin in hope as he passes by.
Rathsin stares straight ahead and as soon as Silnas is out the door, the door slams shut behind him. He might have even managed to catch Silnas's back against the wood, and Rathsin revels in that idea with what little vengeance he can. He closes his eyes and leans back against the door, letting most of his weight rest against it.
Through the door, a muffled voice says, "I know you're not happy to see me, but I'm glad you're well, Rathsin."
Rathsin covers his ears, but he's still a Bosmer and he's cursed with having exceptional hearing.
"You scared me, when you didn't respond to the summons. I thought you'd - well, ours is a dangerous business, you know."
"Silnas, go away." Rathsin says through the door, and he feels like a child throwing a tantrum right now with his hands covering his ears.
"Okay. I will. Get some rest, Rathsin, I'm sure you've come a long way."
Thing is, Rathsin would be flat-out lying if he claimed that he wasn't happy to hear those words. He tries to be mad at Silnas again because he's so sure that this is more of his disingenuity, but that's hard to convince himself of when he's just heard the words, earnest and pleading, spoken through the finished fir wood of the door. Silnas had never tried to plead for forgiveness outright because he knew it wasn't ever coming, but hell if that stopped him from attempting to make amends.
Not a minute later he's throwing the damn door open again and Silnas SAID he was going, but he hasn't moved from where he was, and Rathsin pulls him in by the front of his long coat because he's weak and despite the years, despite the fact that HE was the one who broke it off with Silnas in the first place, he's still not over the idea of them. When you spend most of your life travelling the world with someone at your side, and then one day they're gone, it's almost like losing a limb, some vital part of himself; even as recently as a half-night ago, when he was sneaking into the Dark Brotherhood Contract's room, he'd found himself holding open the window for a little too long, as if he was expecting someone to climb in after him. And Rathsin would cut his own tongue out before letting Silnas know this, but for now he just presses his forehead into Silnas's shoulder and pretends that his ex-lover still smells like he used to, before the scent of iron and blood overtook him.















