Chapter 5: Love and Light

Previously: The Volkihar Imperative

Alva stared at her. "Are you crazy? I can't go back."

 

Leila remained perfectly calm as she stated her case. "You've been a vampire less than a year. Your father, who loves you, is still alive. Your community, your home... it's all still there. You could go back?"

 

"And tell them what?" Alva exclaimed.

 

"The truth," the older vampire insisted. "You were taken by vampires. You were cured by a mage."

 

Alva seemed to struggle to think, much less speak. Her ignorance didn't surprise Leila. Covens deliberately kept fledglings in the dark for as long as possible.

 

"Do you know how rare this moment is?" Leila asked, leaning in. "Usually, when mortals are first sired, they're lone survivors of a massacre. Family, friends, entire camps and caravans are wiped out. They don't even learn about the cure for years. But the time they do, everyone they ever knew and loved is gone. You've got this one chance, Alva, and trust me... once the people you care about start dropping, there's no going back."

 

Alva gritted her teeth. "Even if I were to say yes, fucking Indrathel is in Morthal, remember? She took out my entire coven. She took out Morvarth fucking Piquine!"

 

Leila nodded somberly. "I'm not keen on facing no Demon of Northwatch Keep. Unlike most vampires, I know better than to underestimate a hunter. Now, the mage we need is called Falion. We can send a message via courier and have him meet us somewhere neutral, like Windhelm or even Heljarchen. We'll need more coin though. Mages like him don't come cheap."

 

"I haven't said yes, Leila!" Alva protested. "Why don't you ask one of the others? Aurelian? Colette? And what about you?"

 

Leila briefly looked pained. "Didn't you hear a word I said? Aurelian, Colette, and I are all lone survivors. By the time we crawled from our graves, everyone we ever knew was gone. If we become mortal... there's nothing waiting for us. There's no one waiting for us."

 

"You want me to give up my immortality so I can go home to daddy?" Alva spat. "Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?"

 

"You're clinging to a world of shadows and blood when you could return to a life of love and light," Leila countered. "Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? You could've died in that cave with the rest of your coven, Alva. Worse, you could've spent centuries serving a vampire lord who didn't give a fuck about you. You think you'll find love in our world? Our world, with all its liars, killers, and shameless opportunists? Other than the fleeting joy of the hunt, what exactly do you have to look forward to for the next thousand years?"

Alva opened her mouth, but no sound came out. As a vampire, she was only a hunter, seeking blood and refuge from the sun.

 

As mortal, she could be anything. She could farm, fish, run a shop or an inn, and spend endless hours in daylight. She could fall in love, get married, have children.

 

"If you like being a vampire so much," Leila nodded towards her hand, "why is it so important to pass as human? You think a real vampire cares about passing? If they did, would Movarth have given you that ring?"

 

Alva had no answers, not now. She couldn't deny the older vampire's logic. And she did miss her father.

 

More importantly, she missed being loved.

 

***

 

"You really think she'll accept the cure?" Colette asked the next day, when they were back at the den. Another patron had died, and Aurelian was digging a grave for him under the trees while Leila and Colette watched. It was an hour before dawn, and the crisp, cool air of the Rift rustled through the grass.

 

"I hope so," Leila said moodily. "If she doesn't, she'll regret it forever. Fucking Bosmers," she suddenly hissed. "Too many patrons are dying too fast. I thought Thervain was supposed to fix the fucking formula."

 

"He did," Aurelian said over his shoulder, still digging. "This one simply consumed too much."

 

"It's a skooma den, Leila," Colette reminded her. "There are gonna be deaths, no matter how hard we try to avoid it. Besides, I'm starting to get bored with Redwater. All we do is go back and forth between here and Riften. When Alva is cured, we should head north. I hear the sun rarely shines up there."

 

Leila shook her head, irritable. "Windhelm is overrun with bigots who won't turn a blind eye. And Winterhold is full of mages who won't just burn us. They'll fucking dissect us."

 

"We could join the Dark Brotherhood."

 

Leila whirled on the younger vampire, bewildered. "Are you fucked?"

 

Colette shrugged. "I'm just saying... they don't judge. And they keep the same hours we do."

 

"Our first rule is no bodies," Leila impatiently reminded her. "Their first rule...is bodies. Lots and lots of fucking bodies. What do you think is the average tenure of an assassin? They die on assignment all the time."

 

"Even the vampires?" Colette asked.

 

"Especially the vampires!" Leila growled. "In case you haven't noticed, we tend to stick out. We need a place with lots of people who aren't paying close attention."

 

"Like a big city."

 

"Exactly," Leila said, nodding briskly.

 

"But there are other big cities besides Riften," Colette pressed.

 

"And we'd draw attention in all of them," Aurelian said, pushing the corpse into the grave, then covering it up. "Except maybe Markarth."

 

"The cannibals would sniff us out and report us at once," Leila objected, scowling. "They don't want the competition. And that's assuming the Forsworn don't get to us first. My dears, I know you're bored. You're also young and flush with the thought of being immortal. I, however, am old... old enough to know that vampires die all the time. I wasn't the only fledgling in my coven. Those who were sired around the same time are long dead. Most of them didn't even last the first year. Half were burned by hunters, the other half ripped apart by elders they offended or simply annoyed.

 

"Lesson the first, children, even if you are undead, the Skyrim rule still applies: something or someone is always trying to kill you."

 

"We could leave Skyrim," Aurelian said, dropping the shovel and turning around. "I haven't seen my homeland in over ten years."

 

"And I've never been to mine," Colette added.

 

Leila nodded. "It's settled then. When Alva is cured, we will leave Skyrim altogether." 

 

***

 

 The most striking thing about the ring was that a vampire was offering it to her...in a cave.

 

Caves were dirt, winding roots, moss, and moldy broken furniture. Caves were glassy-eyed thralls in rags or jaded vampires dusty armor or faded robes.

 

And yet here, he was offering her this thing, this shiny flawless thing that glinted in the candlelight. 

 

Alva's red eyes lit up. She recognized the ring as gold; when she worked at Nightgate Inn she occasionally saw a traveler dressed in finery and adorned with pretty trinkets. But she didn't know the name of the bright red stone; Alva had never learned her jewels.

 

"For me?" she gasped.

 

"When you wear this ring," Movarth told her, "all people will see is a pretty girl. Your eyes will change. Your skin will look warm and rosy. Even hunters will not think you a vampire."

 

Alva was surprised. "Does everyone in the coven get a ring like this?"

 

The elder vampire shook his head. "The others are not so pretty as you. If I sent one of them to Morthal with this ring, they wouldn't attract as much attention. You, on the other hand, I think will serve me best."

 

Alva opened her eyes and sat up. 

 

"You, on the other hand, I think will serve me best."   

 

So he had said, and so she had missed it back then. When they'd first met, he'd praised her beauty and plucked her a flower. But once she was turned and moved into his cave, suddenly it was "do this" and "do that."

 

Everything was a lie, she realized, and she hated to admit it. She hated to admit Leila was right.

 

If it hadn't been for Indrathel, I'd still be there in Morthal, doing his bidding. Alva shuddered at the thought. And felt sick at being grateful for that crazed elf hunter.

 

She gave me a second chance. This was the worst admission of all. If Indrathel hadn't spared her, she'd be just another dead fledgling rotting in a cave.

 

I may not survive the year, Alva realized. And it would've been all for nothing. She'd always wanted to travel, to see the world and be somebody.

 

Leila got a taste of that. Alva adjusted herself, sitting up straight against the wall. Leila could, on a whim, speak with a proper accent. Her body language could seamlessly switch to prim and refined. She was old, had seen things, been places. She had no doubt outlived vampires, learned to survive. She had perfected the art of hunting without drawing attention.

 

Or I could go home, Alva thought. I could go back to scrubbing the floors of the Nightgate Inn. Emptying chamber pots and drawing baths for strangers. If I'm lucky, the owner's son will marry me, inherit the inn, and then we and our children could spent the rest of our lives cleaning up after strangers in the tiny village of Heljarchen. 

  

As much as she missed her father's love, the very notion made her cringe.

 

When the others returned, Alva finally gave Leila her answer.

 

"We'll go to Heljarchen."

 

Next: Covens