Epilogue: Laid to Rest

"That traitorous bitch."

Indrathel raised an amused eyebrow hearing the Jarl use such language. The old woman's eyes flashed fire.

"We welcomed her to our town. I sold her a house for cheap even though I don't usually sell to outsiders. She put poor Hroggar under her spell. He was distraught when he confessed to killing his family."

"She had everybody fooled," Indrathel sighed wearily. Her body was rested but her mind was still tired. Healing was apparently an exhausting endeavor. "Even she herself was fooled by her infatuation with that Mo...Movaris? Mo--"

"Movarth Piquine," the Jarl scowled. "Vampire master who doesn't seem to know when to die."

"He knew this time," Indrathel assured her. "Your guards can bring you his charred remains if you like."

"And they will," the Ravencrone nodded grimly. "I will have every dead vampire brought back here for to inspect personally." She turned to her husband. "Aslfur, present the reward."

"Reward?" Indrathel frowned slightly.

"We respect vampire hunters in Morthal," Aslfur told her, approaching with a coin purse. "A thousand septims for your service, Commander."

"You could've died in that cave," the Jarl said. "Many more could have died after that. I never expected to owe the Thalmor a debt, but I will never forget what you've done for us."

Indrathel was genuinely touched. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"One last gift," Aslfur added. "The key to Alva's house."

Now Indrathel was confused.

"If you are willing," the Jarl suggested, "I would like to ask your superior officer to let you remain in Hjaalmarch. We have clearly grown lax since the last vampire attack. My guards could stand to learn from you."

Indrathel remained composed, but inside was screaming with joy. "It would be an honor, Your Grace."


Alva's house, now Indrathel's, was the typical Skyrim home.

Wooden floors, walls, and thatched roof. Aged chests and wardrobes. Worn out rugs. Candles set in goat horns. A spit over the hearth.

The beds were just like the beds at the inn: flat, dirty pillows with smelly straw. Tables and chairs so old they looked ready to collapse.

I'm in love.

A house. She had a house. Her own house in Skyrim, of all places. For some reason, it felt like she'd achieved a lifelong dream. As the boards creaked beneath her feet, she turned and turned, not knowing where to even begin.

I'm going to replace everything in here. After all, a thousand septims went a long way in a town like Morthal, especially when added to her Thalmor salary.

Indrathel was giddy as she gleefully sifted through Alva's old things, breaking locks and rummaging through her personal belongings. The vampire had some coin left over from her mission, some jewelry and some clothes. She even had some perfume oils for her hair.

She was about to say more space would've been nice, but then she noticed a door leading downstairs and into the cellar.

Of course this bitch had a cellar.

Alva had probably waited until this specific house was available in Morthal. No vampire posing as human would want to sleep above ground and risk catching morning rays through windows or cracks in the wall.

Indrathel slowly headed downstairs, armed with her dagger in case Alva had left any friends behind. She opened the door, already knowing what lay beyond it without actually knowing.

Of course this bitch slept in a coffin.

Indrathel recalled reading that while vampires could sleep in beds (and she had seen some in the cave), coffins were apparently magical to vampires and helped to reinvigorate them faster.

I'm keeping it.

It was same thing with that black gown she'd stripped off a vampire at Northwatch Keep. She didn't want to forget. And after she stocked this cellar full of mead and fine wine, she didn't want her guests to forget either.

Forgetting was what had gotten Morthal into this mess in the first place.

Indrathel returned upstairs, heated herself a bath, stripped down, and took her time scrubbing away the entire ordeal, from her arrival in Skyrim to her victory at the cave.

I'll need to ward this house against vampires. She highly doubted Alva could survive long in the wild without her coven to back her, but if she did live long enough to tell other vampires about the massacre at Movarth's Lair, it was likely some bloodsucker would come looking for revenge.

It wouldn't be smart, but it was still likely.

She rose from her bath when the water went cold, dried off and oiled herself down before changing into a simple dress. It was one she'd purchased in Solitude on a whim long ago, before she'd had any idea where or when she could wear it.

With her Redguard skin and eyes, she now looked less like a Thalmor agent and more like a simple girl from the wilds of Skyrim. The kind of girl who picked mushrooms, went fishing, and drank mead at the tavern with the local sellsword.

The kind of girl she never knew she always wanted to be.

Alva really was an idiot. And an ingrate.

Indeed, there was wealth and prestige to be gained in this world, but to Indrathel, nothing in life was so grand as the rare sunny day in Morthal.

~ FIN ~


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