Dragonborn Saga

Chapter 770: Dawnguard Down

The tension between Lamae and Jon had grown into a twisted bond. They looked at each other, and their intentions became clear:

Power!

It was a common interest, and neither truly cared how they secured it. For Lamae, it was power over the other entities in the Aurbis; for Jon, it was to assert his superiority over any threat.

"So, the kiss?" Lamae asked.

"Nothing special about it," Jon replied.

"Hmph! I’ve got to say, Jon Dare, you live up to your reputation," she said as she returned to the tub.

"And you to yours, Blood Matron," he said as he watched her.

"So, does this mean we are in agreement?" she asked as she submerged herself in his blood.

"Of course. The price for our alliance is that my child belongs to me."

"That wasn’t the deal, though."

"That is the only thing I am willing to bargain with. Serana may have wanted you to draw a line, but let’s not tempt fate. If Serana wants to keep the child, then I will keep Serana and the child. If that wasn’t to your liking and Serana’s safety was a concern, know that I would never harm her; the only one who would is her father, Harkon. Getting rid of him means getting rid of all threats Serana may face. So, this will alleviate all her fears. I won’t force her to hand over the child, and she won’t keep the child away from me. Everyone benefits, everyone’s happy, and you and I get to strike an alliance for the next Kalpa."

Lamae heard what Jon said and blinked a few times before replying:

"You had it all figured out."

"It wasn’t that hard."

"Alright. I’ll consider these the terms of our agreement," Lamae said, and with a cunning smile, began to sink into the blood tub. "Let’s share another kiss when we meet again. I promise you I’ll practice until then."

As she was completely submerged in blood, Jon made a disgusted face and looked away, but as she emerged from the blood tub again, Serana seemed to have regained control of her body.

She met Jon’s lingering cold gaze, disgust still evident in his expression. He walked to the door without a word, but as he was halfway outside, he turned sideways to glance at her and left her with a snort:

"Not getting used to it, huh?"

These words pierced Serana’s heart because Jon had seen the extent of Lamae’s hold over her.

She is ungrateful for what he did for her, and now she is bearing the consequences of her decisions.

Alone all night, Jon stood atop his tower, watching over the entire hold. A gentle wind caressed his face and fluttered his hair as he took a deep breath.

"Kyne!"

He called softly and felt a presence surrounding him, something familiar yet new all at once. He was standing on the threshold of the Gate of Heaven, and if he passed through, only the Gate of Death would separate him from CHIM. ʀÀΝǑBË𝐬

But at this threshold, Jon could feel its owner. He was afraid of stepping too fast, but Kynareth’s gentleness filled his heart with joy and warmth.

"I am becoming a father… at last."

While she remained unresponsive, she conveyed her joy to him with a warm breeze from such a high place.

"Alina is angry, though… can you put in a good word for me?" Jon said, chuckling.

Almost as if she found it amusing, the wind around him moved softly as if laughing with him.

"I know she’ll come around. I’ll just have to talk to her before the sun rises. If she is not pacified by then, she’ll be angry with me for at least a week."

As he spoke, he was about to rest from his vigil, but as he looked down, he saw someone roaming the street alone.

"Wulfur," Jon called.

Spooked, Wulfur looked to his left and right while carrying a warhammer over his shoulder and couldn’t see where Jon was.

That wasn’t telepathy; rather, it felt like Jon was speaking over his shoulder.

"No late-night pranks; that was the deal, man," Wulfur said.

"Up there!" Jon replied.

Wulfur looked up, his eyes narrowing as he finally realized that Jon was high atop the tower.

"Fuck! You’re just speaking so easily from up there?" Wulfur asked.

"It’s easier than it looks. It is you who are being lax with the Thu’um," Jon said, crossing his arms.

"Give me a break! I just don’t do things I know I lack talent for."

"I can respect that. Where are you going now?" Jon asked.

"Home. I’ve got to check on my wife and kid. You’ll soon know what that’s like, I heard."

"Since you brought that up, I want you to go to Markarth. You still have friends over there, right?"

"And you still hate it over there, it seems," Wulfur laughed. "Can we do it tomorrow?"

"The sooner the better, but tomorrow works as well," Jon replied.

"Who do you want me to meet?" Wulfur asked.

"Master Calcelmo in Understone Keep."

"I know the old elf."

"Tell him that you want to borrow the hammer."

"What hammer?"

"One you will greatly appreciate. Also, I didn’t know you questioned borrowing a hammer."

"I love hammers."

"Then you may even find your perfect match. Just don’t let Bjora find out when you’re having a private moment with that hammer."

"Don’t worry about my wife; yours is quite scary at the moment."

"Now that you mention it, that Golden Dragon from this morning didn’t make me this nervous."

"I’m rooting for you, brother."

Far from Winterhold and on the southeastern border of Skyrim, Fort Dawnguard stood as a testament to defiance against the encroaching darkness.

The place was riddled with vampire corpses, undead remains, and dying, bloodied humans.

The fort was engulfed in flames that could be seen from the city of Riften, and the smoke spread over the Velothi Mountains. Two sides fought each other relentlessly: on one side, Isran, the leader of Fort Dawnguard, home of Skyrim’s vampire hunters; and on the other side were two elder vampires, a Dark Elf man known as Garan Marethi, and a Nord woman, Fura Bloodmouth.

"A hundred Septims if that human says a cliché," Garan Marethi said.

"Why would I participate in such a wager?!" Fura Bloodmouth replied.

"Filthy vampires, Skyrim will be purged of your filth!" Isran shouted as he bolstered himself with an aura of light, burning three vampires around him and stomping on their heads as he marched ahead in defense of his fortress.

"So cliché!" Fura felt goosebumps crawling over her skin from the sheer banality.

"You owe me a hundred Septims," Garan commented with a satisfied smile.

"I didn’t agree to participate!" Fura said as she charged Isran with her twin axes, engaging with him in melee.

"You! I have heard of you!" Isran met Fura’s bloodshot eyes as their weapons clashed fiercely.

Her body began to burn from the holy aura that was engulfing his surroundings, but she gave a maniacal smile and braved through it.

"And I’ve never heard of the likes of you! DIE!" Fura dropped her axes and charged Isran at even closer range, attempting to slash him with her claws, but his heavy armor rendered her attack useless.

Isran immediately pommeled her with the end of his warhammer and sent her to the ground. He then tried to stomp her head to death, but Garan immediately cast telekinesis and pulled Fura away from under Isran’s feet.

"Gaaaah!"

Fura’s skin was charred, and her claws were damaged. Her injuries were severe; she no longer posed a threat to Isran, who had almost trampled her, as she sat on one knee, regenerating.

"Warriors and their idiocy. Watch how it is done." Garan looked down at Fura’s actions and faced Isran on his own.

Garan took the initiative as he slowly approached in his bulky armor. As a mage, Garan’s first choice was a frost spell to begin draining Isran’s stamina, but as soon as Isran felt threatened, his aura became increasingly brighter, almost halving the power of Garan’s spells before they shattered against his armor.

Garan wasn’t surprised and made sure to remain mobile and avoid melee with a beast like Isran. He switched between flame, frost, and shock spells to create openings in Isran’s aura, but he wasn’t able to stop the marching vampire hunter. In the end, it seemed that this type of attrition would soon consume one of them, but Garan was gravely mistaken.

Isran was a hunter; hunters were patient and tactical, and once Garan teleported, Isran immediately figured out where he would appear and aimed a crossbow mounted on his back with one hand.

Click!

Swoosh!

The crossbow bolt flew in an instant and found its way to Garan’s chest. Since it was just a bolt, Garan would soon recover from it, but unexpectedly, he felt something tearing through him and latching onto his flesh.

Looking down, the bolt seemed to have an unusual mechanism and was connected to Isran by a fine wire. The next second, Garan found himself flying and colliding face-first with Isran’s hammer at point-blank range.

Desperately using all his power to pull the bolt from his flesh, Garan was flung directly to Fura’s location. As he opened his eyes, he saw her looking down at him with a wide smile full of gloating.

"Eat shit!" she said, still smiling.

"Fuck off!" he said and stood up, regenerating the wound he had inflicted upon himself to escape that crafty vampire hunter.

The two of them stood up to face Isran and prepared for another round, this time as a tag team. On the other hand, Isran didn’t pay them any heed as he looked around for his comrades, who had been slaughtered.

"I told those fools not to use light armor! There’s no use in being faster than a vampire."

Saddened by their deaths, the battle-hardened Isran felt disheartened by the fate of his crew, but little could be done for the dead in a situation like this except to avenge them.

But before he could do anything, his body completely froze, and he looked down.

"Heavy armor won’t cut it either."

That cold line came from behind him.

Isran dropped his hammer as a hand seemed to go through his back and emerge from his chest, holding his still-beating heart, which it then froze and crushed in an instant.

Isran fell to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief as everything he had trained for proved futile, and as his corpse hit the ground, he took one last look at his fallen comrades before passing into oblivion.

As for the one who killed him, Harkon Volkihar stepped over Isran’s dead body, looking at Garan and Fura, who knelt with him, along with the army of vampires that had just overtaken Fort Dawnguard.

"It is a glorious night, my kin. Feast and relish the blood of the unworthy." Harkon spoke to his subjects as he walked among them like a spirit of darkness and death, his hair swept back and his eyes hollow with darkness.

"My Lord!"

Behind him, a vampire emerged like a ghost. It was Feran Sadri, the Steward of the Volkihar Clan, and he immediately knelt before Harkon.

"…"

Harkon didn’t reply and barely even glanced at him, yet he reported anyway.

"Lady Serana has appeared in Winterhold; the raiding party we left there was annihilated. Retrieving her amidst the chaos doesn’t seem like an option anymore."

"What of the Dragons?" Harkon asked.

"They were defeated! Jon Dare had a decisive victory."

"Then we can wait no more."

Harkon said and hastily walked among his troops.

"Take thralls from the survivors, raise those who died. We must continue the search for the Forgotten Vale."

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