Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

      “I understand why they’re after you."

      Kodlak ran a few, wrinkled fingers down his snowy beard as if to comb it, bruising evident on his knuckles from the night before. Meraxes had almost forgotten about what Avulstein and Thorald had done to him earlier. “When harm comes to the Companions, you children tend to find your own vengeance as well. The Dawnguard likely sees this the way Farkas and Vilkas did when they attacked Serana.”

       “Oh, fuck all."

      Meraxes stared into the bottom of her tankard. To her chagrin, it had been refilled with only water, and—no less—by Delphine. “If there’s one thing I learned about the Dawnguard, it’s that they don’t give a damn about your mettle unless you’re human. And I know hundreds of humans who’ve done more damage to Skyrim than the Circle or a couple of vampires.”

      Meraxes still wasn’t altogether accepting of vampires, as Serana had proven herself more the exception than the rule. Most of her kind, especially if encountered in a cave or ruin, would rather hope to make a meal out of Meraxes than accompany her on a long journey.

     Kodlak caught Meraxes' gaze when she stopped thinking and looked above the brim of her drink. His expression was methodical, though brief, and wrinkled with the wisdom only time could provide. He promptly diverted his attention onto a pouch of gold hanging from his belt, beginning to count out pieces on the table.

     “Right and wrong; good and evil. They are such extremes, but we’ll never have the truth of them. I see a curse where young-bloods grasp what they’d rather name a ‘gift.'" He set the total aside and surveyed Meraxes with a gentle focus. “You children are living proof that a point of view is the difference between living oppressed or free...and so am I.” 

      Still wrapped in bandages where he’d bled the night before, and with bags drooping beneath his eyes from a lack of sufficient sleep, Kodlak rose from his seat. “As always, Meraxes, you have a home in Jorrvaskr. I must return to our family before chaos ensues.”

       Meraxes knew that Farkas and Vilkas were bound to burn Jorrvaskr to the ground if Koldlak ever decided to stray from the Companions for too long. She was surprised he even bothered leaving for a few days, considering the way the lot behaved in his absence. Then again, her being sober and away from the place eliminated several of the risks that he would’ve otherwise faced.

       As Meraxes held Kodlak steadily within her gaze, one hand still resting on her water-filled tankard, Serana approached him. She grasped the old man’s hand—not too tightly—between her own.

       “Thank you for what you’ve done for us,” she said in a low voice, releasing him from her fleeting hold. She couldn’t help but admire him for his assistance. She would have lost Meraxes without him, and that war-torn knight was her only means of seeing the Volkihars again. “I’m in your debt.”

       “If you believe you owe me,” started Kodlak, his smile slight and innocent despite the blood that altered his bandages’ hue, “then you can repay me by ensuring my daughter returns to Jorrvaskr safely.” He turned toward the door and looked over his shoulder to meet Serana's eyes. “Before I depart, I will apologize on behalf of the Companions. Farkas and Vilkas...” the old man’s eyes clouded momentarily, saddening and distant, “after Aela investigated their adoptive father’s death, she discovered it was a vampire who’d killed him, and not the Silver Hand or the Thalmor. They are young, but still, they should have known better than to wish you any harm.”

       Meraxes’ attention flitted back to her beverage as Kodlak informed Serana of the true cause of Jurgen’s untimely demise. It was then that Meraxes wished she’d been drinking strong mead instead of boiled water, as she recalled the days that Farkas and Vilkas returned to Jorrvaskr, exhausted and often sick from searching for the reasons a vampire would have to target their father. Jurgen was merely a soldier and a member of the Circle; useless to a vampire and dead to the Thalmor who fought against him.

       “I..." Serana hesitated, swallowing, "I did not know of the circumstances. I’d have waited somewhere else had I understood." She who broke focus from Kodlak to shoot yet another inquisitive stare at Meraxes, who must’ve known the risks of bringing her to Jorrvaskr when she had.

        Aela tried to tell her, thought Meraxes, shoving away any traces of guilt she felt for dragging Serana into the literal deathtraps they’d encountered. But that conflict wasn’t my fault. The Dawnguard didn’t leave me with much of a choice.

       “I’m not one to question my childrens’ motives unless I locate reason for it,” countered Kodlak, rescuing Meraxes from an attempt at self-defense. Kodlak knew how horrible his daughter was with words and how she tended to exacerbate an already-less-than-ideal situation if she tried to talk her way out of it. “In fact, I’m glad she came to me. There was a time she would refuse my help, believing she could handle anything on her own.”

       “You know, I’m sitting right here,” Meraxes finally rose from the table, standing at Serana’s shoulder. She met Kodlak's eyes and their gentle paleness filled her with memories of Jorrvaskr’s mead hall. There, she’d rest by the fire with cooked meat and fine ale, relishing in relaxation before embarking on her next campaign. The corner of her lips twisted into something of a grin at the memory. Serana swore she had never seen her look so peaceful before. “You and I both know I can look after myself. I’ll return to Jorrvaskr in no time, old man.”

       Kodlak’s smile expanded. “Perhaps that has become true. Farewell, Meraxes.”

       For a fraction of a moment, Kodlal set his hands on either side of Meraxes' shoulders, his eyes carrying within them a glint of fatherly pride.

       Meraxes didn't utter another word.

       Instead, she let Kodlak slip out the door and begin his journey home.

     “He loves you, you know,” Serana commented upon her return to the main hall after she and Meraxes had each packed their belongings. Meraxes observed her, taken slightly aback at the lack of immediate context accompanying her comment.

      “Kodlak?” Meraxes assumed her reply to Serana’s question was somewhat necessary, although she preferred to keep the conversation minimal. She liked to avoid pointless diatribe even in her sobriety. “Well, with how many times that man has come to my rescue, I hope he does.”

       “Have you ever told him that you love him?” Serana asked and fastened her Elder Scroll onto her back. Though days had passed, Serana still appeared just the way Meraxes had found her. Meraxes supposed that was one of the side-effects of eternal life.

       The Scroll. That’s right. If only I could pawn that off for the damn supplies I’m going to need for the next few days...

       Meraxes, catching Serana’s burning glare when she’d found herself distracted, stiffly adjusted her posture.

       “No. I’ve not.”

       “Well.” Serana pointedly folded her arms. “You should. Soren just lost Avulstein, which we’ll have to tell him when he wakes. With how short your lifespan is, as a mortal and a wolf, and how many deaths your kind face in mere years, I’m surprised you’re so terrible with your emotions.”

       Right. Soren. Fuck.

       Meraxes had momentarily forgotten that Serana decided to adopt a child without asking her permission. As much as she hated maintaining responsibility for him, she knew Serana would remain awfully bitter with her if she neglected it and the rest of her journey north of Solitude would become a living hell.

       “Look, if I wanted someone to discuss my fucking feelings with, I think you’d know it by now.” Meraxes pinched the corners of her nose between her fingers, her expression revealing increasing vexation. “Besides, I’m not the one who decided to adopt a pet without consulting the primary party. So we’re waking Soren up now, getting our asses on the road in no less than twenty minutes, and you’re going to tell him what happened to Avulstein while I watch the damn map.”

       Serana remained persistent as usual. Rather than sitting on the bench attached to the main hall’s long table, Serana seated herself on the top, using the chair as a footrest.

       “I’ll tell Soren about Avulstein if you write to Kodlak. You have to let that man know how you feel before you lose your opportunity.”

       If Serana had learned anything about Meraxes in the time they’d spent together, it was that she favored a compromise. There were remnants of a mercenary within her; of someone who preferred to cut deals rather than face direct losses. That was simply how Meraxes was used to surviving. Serana thought it was obvious, too, that Kodlak’s thought of Meraxes as his true daughter and that she saw him as a father in turn.

       Meraxes considered and eyed the wall behind Serana's head. “All right. I’ll tell Soren, then. But you have to wake him up. Let’s get out of this damn inn.”

       Disappointed in her companion, Serana turned her back on Meraxes to rap at Soren’s door. She’d teach that ignorant knight to appreciate those around her eventually, even if it meant she’d have to find another way.

       Soren unlocked his room to face Serana behind her. As Serana spoke with him, she could hear Meraxes’ belligerent tone as she paid Delphine for their stay.

       She sighed, frustrated, and cursed under her breath.

       Kodlak had selected himself a crass family indeed.

     “Ugh, I’m starving.”

       Serana, we’ve been on the road for forty minutes.”

       Serana had truly tested Meraxes’s temper throughout the duration of their brief ride. It was a horrible idea, too, to force Meraxes to become the more reasonable between the two of them. “I’m sure we’ll find you some bandits for dinner. It’s not uncommon for them to come after carriages like this one.”

       “It’s...” Soren’s ashen face sunk following Meraxes’ revelation, his void-like eyes widening apprehensively. “It’s not?”

       Meraxes snorted, amused by his easy startle. “Again, boy, this is why I carry a sword. You should try using that dagger of yours for something.”

       “Don’t worry." Serana offered Soren a half-smile. “If her long hunk of metal fails us, I’ll blast them with ice. I’d be especially useful to the both of you, though...” Serana cocked her head, her amber gaze playfully searing. “If I were fed.”

       “You know that’s not happening,” said Meraxes as a growl rose in her throat, "so hold onto your shit and I’ll figure something out when we get to Rorikstead.”

       While Meraxes hadn’t intended to snap so fiercely, she noticed the way Soren’s blackened eyes shifted—perplexed and fearful—between her and Serana. Meraxes couldn't help but feel intense anger toward those who shared the carriage with her and the way they made her circumstances seem so ill.

       Serana raised an eyebrow, her arms sliding defensively over her chest as Meraxes resorted again to her primal evasiveness. “Oh? I could always eat you. That’s not entirely off the table, right?”

       Meraxes' growl became audible following Serana's remark.

       Her face contorted with rage as she prepared to shout at Serana. Her yelling was dismissed only by a fearful wave of Soren’s hand. Instead, she turned to the the half-Elf, who cowered when he gained her wrathful attention.

       “E- excuse me...” The young boy remembered the ferocity Meraxes displayed when she ripped the shirt, pants, and boots from his hands at the Sleeping Giant Inn. He'd been afraid of her since that moment. Though Soren was better off in Serana’s company, he wouldn’t have much luck speaking to her in solitude while Meraxes was in charge of their travel. “Lady Serana can have some of my blood if she wishes.”

       Meraxes' scowl replaced itself with a grim, realizing frown.

       “You understand she’ll have to bite you, right? You’re okay with holes in your throat?”

       ”Actually,” Serana retorted sharply, leaping to correct Meraxes as soon as she finished her question, “that type of feeding is extraordinarily intimate for vampires. I don’t quite feel comfortable with it. However,"  Serana's voice calmed as she gestured to the dagger on Soren’s belt, “if you don’t mind slicing your hand, that would be more than enough.”

       Soren pulled the blade from his belt and nodded understandingly but hesitantly. “Okay...I can do it.”

       “Doubtful,” Meraxes muttered as Soren grimaced when he spotted his shadowy reflection in the knife’s polished blade.

       “She saved me,” Soren said, still staring at the palm of his hand. Serana’s stomach sank as she wondered whether or not Soren had the guts to make the cut. “Besides, she can heal me. I’ll be okay.”

       While Soren occupied himself with the matter of Serana’s next meal, Meraxes, still vexed with her, cued her to her side of the carriage with a beckoning wave of her hand.

       Serana obeyed. She bore the same burning, inquisitive look she usually carried, accompanied by leftover disappointment in Meraxes’ earlier display of apathy.

       “What is it?” whispered Serana, her voice soft despite her underlying frustration. “Did you not tell him yet?”

       “No,” Meraxes said. Her focus shifted to the subject of their conversation, who—to her astonishment—had managed to slice open his palm. “I didn’t exactly have the time, with how quickly I wanted to erase any evidence that we were in Riverwood.” Meraxes watched as Soren’s blood trickled down his wrist and dropped onto the carraige floor. “You heard Kodlak. The Dawnguard won’t stop tracking us until they think we’re dead.”

       Serana's eyes brightened as Soren's blood spilt and stained the wooden boards. She looked forward to the time it would reach her tongue. “I understand that some things are worth the wait, but you can’t neglect that entirely. You need to tell him at our next stop.”

       When Meraxes thought of the families she’d visited during her time in the Imperial Army; of all the parents she’d informed of the deaths of their sons and daughters; of all of the children to whom she had to explain had become motherless, fatherless, or completely orphaned, her heart—and her lips—sank. “I will,” she promised and her chest grew heavy with dread. “Why don’t you eat? Soren can’t sit there bleeding for much longer. The kid might pass out.”

       “It’s like I said. Some things are worth the wait.” The corner of Serana’s mouth threatened a smile as she met Meraxes’ eyes. “You needed to speak with me. That’s important—“ Serana did not touch her, but came close to it, compromising with only a reassuring gaze. “—but, rest assured, I’ll eat now.”

       The sun began its descent over the farmlands as the carriage continued down the road. Meraxes watched Serana drink from Soren’s open wound. Though she did not particularly like the boy, she was thankful that he’d probably saved her from becoming vampire food.

       Meraxes noticed the faint light of Serana’s restoration spell from her periphery and heard Soren’s grimace which likely accompanied his realization that the vampire’s healing hurt more than he’d initially thought. She’d tried repairing Meraxes’s shoulder, which had begun to feel better after Isran bashed it in with his hammer...

       ...until something sharp pierced it, through her steel plates, from behind the cart.

       Meraxes seethed and a growl rose from her throat.

       She failed to anticipate being shot.

       “Get down!”

       When she lowered herself into the carriage bed, Meraxes noticed the projectile embedded in her armor was not a conventional arrow, but a steel bolt.

       The Dawnguard had found them.

       “Meraxes, you need to come clean on how many people want you dead,” Serana teased. As if an ambush were a prudent time for games. She frowned, though, when she noticed the bolt protruding from Meraxes' armor. “And can you please stop getting shot?”

       Soren’s newly-healed hand shook in petrified fear, his eyes wide at the result of the Dawnguard’s expert strike. They’d seen who was onboard; it was too late for him to do anything that could get the three of them out of enemy crosshairs. What was more, he was the weakest of them. The easiest target.

       “All right, here’s what—“

       Meraxes closed her mouth when the carriage stopped completely. From where she’d ducked beneath the cart bench, she saw the driver retreat, running as fast as his legs could go until a man in the treeline fired a bolt between his lungs:

       Isran.

       Isran wasn’t aiming for a slow pursuit, either. He'd left his horse dismounted meters away and turned back to retrieve it after the driver dropped dead onto the stone and grout.

       Of all the times to have dry canteens... Meraxes scowled, wondering if there was a way in desolate hell she could think herself out of the hole her party had just landed in. If only they weren't traveling with a child—they'd have been able to run through the woods instead!

       She growled under her breath, itching to blame Soren for the dire situation they’d encountered, when the dark whirl of his cloak passed before her eyes:

       He'd leapt out of the cart before she could act at all.

       ”Hey!” barked Meraxes, who flew out behind him without hesitation. Serana followed as the road grew more perilous with each of their steps. Behind them, Isran mounted his armored horse.

       When Meraxes caught Soren by the hood, violently pulling him into a painful armlock, her voice dropped to a low, furious rasp, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

       Meraxes didn’t care how young or fragile Soren was. It wasn’t her job to save his ass. If he continued endangering her, she’d have to give up on making a temporary peace with Serana and drop him on the side of the road for the sake of her survival.

       “Lady Meraxes, we have to get out of here!” His voice was fearful and distressed, like an Imperial recruit’s on his first midnight patrol. “Someone has to get on the horse!”

       The horse...the horse!

       The animal was their way out, if Meraxes could separate it from the weight of the carriage. She'd have to find a way to fit all three of them on its back.

       It wasn't going to be a pleasant ride.

       Meraxes didn’t care. She was going to see another day, and that was all that mattered.

       “I’m no Lady,” Meraxes said stiffly, gripping Soren by his legs and unceremoniously tossing him onto the horses’ back. “Serena, get behind him. I’ll take the end. You know how to ride a horse, right?”

       “Well, I wasn’t exactly born yesterday, Meraxes,” Serana replied and hoisted herself onto the saddle without much of an effort. Perhaps vampires hadn’t much of a need for horses, but Serana had learned the basics in Winterhold.

       Isran gained tremendous ground behind them. Serana witnessed his catching up when he checked her six, as well as the startling news that followed—

       —he wasn’t alone.

       “Meraxes, he brought friends. That means more crossbows. We have to start moving.”

       Meraxes drew her greatsword in response to Serana's remark, her jaw clenching through the shoulder pain as she readied it.

       SNAP!

       With a impressive force, Meraxes swung her weapon to the ground, shattering the wood, iron, and leather that held the horse a prisoner to the carriage. The animal released a clarion cry and reared.

       Then, it charged down the road without Meraxes.

       “Serana, wait!” she hollered, reaching toward the vampire in an effort not to get dragged along the road by one of Skyrim’s quickest animals.

       Meraxes had never felt the need to run so rapidly in her armor, but as her legs left the ground and she struggled onto the horses’ back, she knew that she would have been left behind had she sprinted even a second slower.

        They didn't have time to waste. Meraxes needed to lose Isran and his soldiers if she wanted to keep the three of them alive.

       “If you don’t want to lose the kid,” Meraxes warned after releasing an exasperated breath, her grip on the reigns tightening until her knuckles paled, “Then you’d better hold onto him!"

       CRASH!

       One of the Dawnguard ran her horse into the abandoned carriage, tripping the animal violently onto the road in a flurry of thrashing legs.

       “Well, Meraxes, I don’t think we’re in for that much of a—Molag Bal be damned!” Serana exclaimed as Meraxes turned the horse sharply left. She nearly ran them into a cluster of trees.

       An amused grin crawled onto Meraxes' face when she found an opportunity to tease Serana. “Why, are you—”

       —hhh...fuck...”

       A sharp pain interrupted her joking; the stinging sensation mimicked that of her shoulder.

       She’d been shot in the back.

       “Are you all right?” Seran asked, ensuring Soren didn’t stray from his seat on another one of Meraxes’ wild turns.

       “For now." Meraxes gritted her teeth and fought to remain upright in her seat.

       With her remaining strength, Meraxes squeezed the horses’ ribs between her legs, urging the creature to gallop onward and away from her Dawnguard pursuers. Meraxes thought it better that she sat on the rear. She was the only one who wore armor enough to protect her from the crossbow bolts.

       My armor...

        Meraxes' frosty eyes widened when she came to a stark realization.

       It’s making our horse too slow to escape. That’s why we can’t get away.

       Meraxes’ breath grew rugged as she realized what she'd have to do.

       This time, she didn’t have a choice.

       “Serana, I need you to get back on the road and follow it along the path I drew.”

       “Meraxes, you know how I can’t follow directions,” Serana cajoled, although she wore an expression of pure concern. “What are you doing?”

       If she gets herself killed, my chances of seeing Castle Volkihar are slim to none, Serana thought, slowly realizing their odds against the Dawnguard horde. That, and I’ll have lost one of my only allies...the only person who’s refused to leave me behind.

       “Well...” Meraxes’ head felt light when she made another turn with the reigns. Before she lost anymore blood from her puncture wounds, she had to act. “I’m an idiot, right?”

       Dawnguard bolts soared past the horses’ former trajectory; ones that would have hit Meraxes had she not moved out of the way. Following the turn, she offered Serena the leather straps, relinquishing her control over the animal.

       “You’re one of the dumbest people I know,” Serena confessed and lightly squeezed Meraxes’ hands as they traded the reigns. “But you’re not allowed to die until you take me home." Her voice was filled with a conviction that made Meraxes believe she might see another day. “Do you understand?”

       “I’ve survived a lot, Serana."

       Meraxes grinned, though her eyes clouded with the same uncertainty a soldier carried each time she stepped off for war. “I think I’ll manage.”

       With that, Meraxes shut her eyes, traveling to a place of immense suffering and pain; a state of mind that burned her bones and forced her blood to boil within her veins.

       The transformation was always excruciating.

       Meraxes, though, had never endured it while tumbling off the back of a horse. She supposed there was a first time for everything.

       As she fell, her muscles expanded, wheat-colored fur sprouted from her pores, and her arms and legs increased rapidly in length. Immensely sharp, intimidating claws shot from her fingertips quickly enough to take the nearest Dawnguard horse cleanly off its feet.

       A roar charged itself her throat as she transformed; as the unbearable pain of the wounds she’d suffered met the horrifying transition into Beast Form.

       ”Stendarr preserve us!” screamed one of the Dawnguard as two green recruits retreated into the depths of the woods.

       Take it or leave it, Isran!

       Meraxes swung a mighty paw at the Isran's horse and sent the animal’s head crashing into the dirt. Her lips twisted in a vicious snarl as she decapitated it. Frankly, she'd had enough of the Dawnguard leader and his relentless pursuit. 

       When you see me, you're gazing at a mirror. Serana should have killed you when she had the opportunity.

       Just beyond Isran’s forces, where the carriage horse had stopped, Serana looked onward at Meraxes’ transformation with a glimpse of rare astonishment. Never before had she realized the full extent of Meraxes' power. She’d only begun to realize how much she didn’t know about Meraxes—about what she was capable of.

       There was, however, one thing she knew:

       She wasn’t about to let her have all of the fun.

       Meraxes told me to go...

       Serana halted in her tracks and left Soren on the horse as she dismounted. The contrasting crimson and glacial hues of Vampiric magic spiraled around her nimble fingers. ...but when has she ever left me? I’ve pissed her off so many times, but she’s never abandoned me; not once...

       There’s no way I’m letting her do this alone.

       “Soren—"

       As one of the braver Dawnguard soldiers started towards her, brandishing his silver hand-axe, Serena shot a bolt of ice from her palm and cleanly through his chest. Soren gaped at the scene in horror. He was unable to grasp the horses’ reigns in his moment of dreadful apprehension.

       ”RRRRAAAAARRRRRRGGHH!”

       Meraxes snarled from the front lines as she threw a powerfully charged blow, slapping a massive forelimb across the path of two Dawnguard men. While one merely collapsed straight into the snow—the blanket of precipitation swallowing his chest and face—the other went airborne toward Soren’s horse.

       When the soldier’s sword made contact with the animals legs, it bellowed, rearing and screaming as Soren tumbled off its back and onto the ground. He covered his neck as the creature nearly trampled him. It released a pained gruff, sharply thrashed its head, and galloped away, leaving a trail of burgundy blood in the freshly-fallen snow.

       “You damn fiend! I should have killed you when I had the chance!”

       Torn between Isran’s furious cries as he raised his silver warhammer to strike Meraxes, and Soren, who had just fallen from the horse, the battle froze in thin air for Serana.

       She'd seen blood many a time—so much of it—in fact, that she hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling what then chilled every bone in her body; a sensation so terrifying that she, too, stopped to breathe.

       Perhaps Meraxes hadn’t abandoned Serena like everyone else the she'd become close with. At least, not yet. But, just as she thought she was making a friend; as she hoped she had gained at least one person on her side, Meraxes was—objectively—a nightmare.

       Meraxes’ jaws, longer than the average tree was wide, snapped viscously at Isran as he followed through a hammer’s swing to her muscled abdomen, the blood which flowed from that wound the darkest that Serana had ever seen and the most bitter she'd smelled in all her life.

       Serana turned at the sound of metal scraping against itself. Her nose burned at the scent of a familiar substance:

       Soren’s blood.

       Serana was fortunate she’d left the boy his dagger, as one of the Dawnguard had passed her and Meraxes’ line of influence to reach him. Serana couldn’t see where Soren was bleeding from a distance, but the scene unfolding was significantly more troubling:

       All she noticed was the dagger protruding from his attacker’s throat as Soren himself looked on in desperation. His void-like eyes glazed over in a way that told Serana he couldn’t comprehend what he’d just done.

       The assailant made slow journey to the ground. His fingers searched for his open wound as if it were one he could close and repair, blood draining at a rate that would rapidly fill several buckets. It wasn’t long before he knelt—gazing up at Soren’s empty hand—which held the ghost of the dagger that marked his death. His eyes took in the final scene quickly. Before he even had the chance to pray, he collapsed.

       Serana wasn’t ready for time to return to its fleeting state, but as Soren’s hand began to shake as if the winter had possessed it to freeze, her whole world drowned in red.

       There was blood at every turn: Soren’s. The Dawnguard’s. Isran’s. Meraxes’. Serana even recognized Agmaer’s.

       If she hadn’t fed before the ambush, she would've completely lost herself in the fray.

       Even though she’d eaten and her only friends were each faced with horrors of their own, Serana couldn’t seem to take her mind off the blood.

      SNAP!

      A distraction presented itself.

       Serana turned rapidly towards the sound of an object shattering. She found Isran’s hammer in two pieces, each, broken side falling onto his chest as Meraxes held him down in the snow. Her jaws snapped mere inches from his throat and face.

       “You give me no choice, Stendarr damn you!” Isran growled, his meaty hands barely keeping Meraxes’ teeth at bay. Had he been anything but a werewolf, she would have already ripped him open.

       As the last remaining Dawnguard retreated and Serana deemed Meraxes capable of handling herself against Isran, she sprinted to Soren, who crouched over a dead man’s limp, blood-soaked corpse...a man who's life he'd ended.

       She promptly turned his eyes away from the remains. She held him opposite the growling, tearing sounds of Meraxes and Isran’s fight. Lowering herself to her knees, she offered Soren her hand.

       The roar of battle was loud. Soren would not hear her if she tried to offer him words of sympathy or remorse.

       Over his shoulder—as he'd used Serana's arm to lower himself gradually to the ground—Serana saw not one wolf, but two.

       Isran had transformed.

       He barreled at his highest speed towards Meraxes, who sprung from a crouched position to clasp her teeth into his forearm. Instead, she bit into the wiry meat of his bicep, shredding it to tender pieces before Serana’s eyes.

       They were fast. Their slashes were like strikes of lightning and their roars the thunder in her ears which accompanied the storm-like fury of their movements. Meraxes unleashed the torrent of her teeth, clamping them fast to Isran’s well-muscled upper leg and squeezing as hard as she could muster, to which he responded with a pained roar.

       ”RRRRAAAAARRRRRRGGHH!”

       Soren couldn't seem to hear the squall raging on behind him. Rather, his stare was still empty and unfeeling, his grip loosening on Serana’s.

       Serana's brows knit together with worry.

       She couldn’t spot a single wound on Soren, but swept his body for one, her hands sliding gently down each of his arms to feel for the crimson liquid. Then, outside the lines of her vision, Serana spotted a flash of darkness dash rapidly across the red-stained snow.

       She felt the wind shift where she knelt. Promptly, she checked Soren’s breathing, which grew weaker by the passing second.

       She continued to search him and monitored the rise and fall of air in his torso. The shadow she'd seen revealed itself to be Isran himself, who charged towards Serana and the wounded boy.

       “This won’t end well for you.” Serana opened her fist, a bolt of ice charging in her hand as the werewolf made his final bound. His overwhelming size overpowered her first shard. However, he soon crashed into something else—

       "RAARRHHHGG!”

       Meraxes roared, shielding Serana by absorbing the impact from Isran’s heavy interception. The two tumbled into the fresh powder. They each left streaks of blood on the pieces of ice which remained there from days past.

       Serana couldn’t afford to stare in awe; to express her dumbfoundedness at the ruthless, terrifying beast which leapt to her defense.

       I still think she’s stupid, Serana thought, allowing a relieved exhale to escape her lungs as she continued to search Soren for injuries. But she’s the bravest mortal I’ve come to know.

       Soren, though, had killed a man. He, who seemed incapable of such a feat when Serana had first rescued him, had cut his own flesh to feed her, leapt from the back of a horse-drawn carriage while an arm man charged him on the road, saved her and Meraxes from certain death with his hasty thinking, and defended himself from a Dawnguard soldier.

       “Your father might not have thought much of you, Soren,” whispered Serana as she leaned over the bloodied snow to sweep over his legs. “But you’re a courageous young man.”

       When Serana turned Soren’s body over to examine his back, she found it:

       A puddle of burgundy sleet, dripping with a concoction of Dark Elf and Nord, creating a warm hole which quickly drained onto the ground beneath it.

       The Dawnguard recruit had slashed Soren's inner leg before he got his strike in. He severed one of his most vital points.

       Soren's breaths grew shallow and rugged as Serana held him in her arms, her brimstone eyes glazed over with something like tears.

       If she couldn’t fix him—and fast—he was going to die.

       “You don’t deserve this...” Serana choked up, lamenting, as Soren’s blood soaked the frills of her dress. She slid her arm beneath his knees to embrace him tightly and held on as if she could keep him alive with her touch. “You...”

       Soren's suffering reminded Serana of her own from when she was young.

       A dreadful feeling drowned her senses.

       Serana lost awareness of the thunderous werewolf fight, of the fresh snow which had just begun to fall gently from the evening sky, of the corpses surrounding her, from each of which she could glean an entire meal. Instead, she swallowed hoarsely and contained the pain which threatened to emerge in the form of burning tears. “...You have just begun to live...”

       Before Molag Bal had turned her, the Daedric Lord abandoned her to suffer. He forced her to comply to his will in all the ways a little girl shouldn’t.

       After the ritual had ended, Serana remembered every, single part of it.

       Centuries had passed, and she still couldn’t forget.

       But she was left with a choice. A choice to let a young boy die, or curse him for eternity.

       A decision she’d already made.

       ”I’m sorry...”

       Serana whispered, rocking the dying boy in her arms like a newborn child.

       Then, she unsheathed her fangs, found the fading pulse in the crevice of his throat,

       and bit.

     Meraxes awoke in the midst of her bloodlust.

       As soon as her eyes opened to the moonlight woods once more, her ears lowered, their narrow tips pressing against her head. She felt her entire body ache—a sensation enhanced by the frigid terrain.

       Meraxes rarely felt pain in her Beast Form. But, as soon as she reunited with her consciousness, it was as though something heavy and blunt had swung at her skull, jostling her mind inside.

       She couldn't rise to feed. 

       She was too broken.

       Instead, she inhaled the scent of the air around her, breathing in the blood which coated the snow she’d collapsed in.

       Though she could not move, Meraxes soon realized that she rested on a blanket of red.

       She knew she was not alone, either. Beside her, Isran’s mutilated form was scattered and shredded—hardly recognizable, even as a werewolf—sprays of his blood painting some of the nearby trees.

       “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner."

       Meraxes turned her head slightly towards the sound of a voice. Her vision was too blurry to see. She couldn't tell if her line of sight was blackening or improving, but that didn't matter.

       "You make such a mess without me, Meraxes. I don’t think the Dawnguard is going to want Isran’s body back.”

       Serana.

       Meraxes wanted to hold on—to store her consciousness until she gained her human form again. But she felt herself slipping; giving in to the horrible exhaustion that threatened to consume her.

       You really can’t follow instructions...you should be at the Frostfruit Inn....

       With a final gaze at Serana, though it was blackened and clouded, and Soren, who rested peacefully in her arms, Meraxes let her chin fall back into the crimson-soaked snow.

       ...you stupid vampire.

       Then—for the first time in years—a deep sleep swallowed her whole.

End of Chapter 6

Next: Serana discovers one of Meraxes’ biggest insecurities. Soren learns about what he’s become.

Warning: Chapter 7 contains graphic descriptions of nudity. Reader discretion is advised.

Side Banter: This chapter definitely took a minute because I needed a to take a bit of a hiatus from writing this! I love this story and will be working on it more frequently again, although, if you’re wondering what kept me from updating it until now, I had a lot of schoolwork and some family business to deal with. I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Kindred and that I’ve left you hungry for more! Get it, because there are so many vampires?

Okay, bad joke. Get ready, though, because Harkon and his court will most likely debut in Chapter 9, and within the next few misadventures, our protagonists all have their fair share of surprises. I’m even considering commissioning a cover for this story to release post-Chapter 10 if it continues to get as much attention as it has been. Thank you all again for your endless support, and stay tuned for updates!

Here’s a lovely portrait of Soren, who plays a song for you to thank you for reading this far into the tale. Rest assured, he has written very many tunes about it!