Chapter Forty

The main room of the Dead Man’s drink crackled with warm fire. Auroth listened, Runil’s story only half holding his attention. Gaeolin drank from his mug, trying his best to avoid drawing attention to himself as Valga swept her eyes over the crowd. Runil looked to him as he spoke. 

“I came into Arkay’s light after the Great War.” His old eyes, almost white with failing sight, wandered down to his hands. “So many died by my hands, my magics. I’m grateful that Kust and the people of Falkreath have come to see me as one of their own.” 

“You may have had a troubled past,” Inigo whispered, “but you are certainly not a bad fellow in my opinion. You saved my friend, and have done well keeping the shrine for the village.”

Gaeolin swirled his drink. “From what I’ve heard, the war was devastating to all of it’s survivors. Regret is a curse. And it stings worse than most poisons.”

“Maybe so. But I would rather not forget what I have done. It was a lesson, painful to learn, but needed.” The priest turned to Auroth. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, Lirician. I ordered you to do awful things in the name of the Dominion. I just wanted you to know…” He gave a weak smile. “I am so proud of you for standing up for what you believed. It was good to see you again, old friend.”

Auroth turned to stare at his former commander. Thoughts flooded into his head, memories of those following years after his desertion: Being chased from town to town, struggling to survive in the wilderness, sometimes finding a brief salvation in a welcoming town until the townsfolk found out about his role in the war. Word of his parents death, retribution for his actions. Years and years of torment and seclusion. “For all the good it did,” he responded, tears in his eyes as he found his way to an empty table. Gaeolin made to stop him, in turn being stopped by Runil.

“Let him be. I’m sure this meeting has shaken him.” He sat in a chair, his bones cracking in a way that made Inigo cringe. “Now, Gaeolin was it? I believe when I healed you I said I would hold you to a favor someday.”

Gaeolin nodded. “Anything, father.”

Runil nodded. “Could you do an old elf a favor? I misplaced my journal in a cave I was exploring. I’ll pay you for its return.”

“I’ll do it for free.”

“Blessing of Arkay to you for your help. Here, let me show you where I believe it waits.” He marked the place, looking back to his one time subordinate. “Burying the past is much harder than burying remains. I… I shudder to imagine what you all think of me, for what I have done.”

Gaeolin made sure their eyes met. “I could say the same to you, Runil.” He whispered. “You know what I am. And by your oaths, you could have destroyed me the second I walked into the village. If there is one thing both of us have learned, it’s that you can’t take people at face value. We will find your memoirs.” 

Night had fallen on the forest. Secunda’s light was lessened in her waxing state. Masser was new, only visible by the void where one could not see stars. Gaeolin peered through the darkness, his vampiric sight seeming to make the night like the day. Inigo and Auroth followed on horseback. Inigo sang to himself, inspiring Auroth to shake his head.

“Riding, riding, riding. I feel like I am gliding. Soaring high, swooping low. Leave the nest, be the best. Side by side don’t collide. Ow! Sore hide!” 

“You know how to keep yourself entertained, don’t you?”

Inigo grinned. “Yes! I am good company.”

Gaeolin smirked, leading the way on foot. An owl called out in the night as they traveled. “It’s good to know that we aren’t the only ones awake at this hour. I doubt everyone enjoys your midnight tunes, though.”

Auroth looked through the pines. “I’d rather not rouse any bandits tonight. We have a long way to go before dawn. Fighting would only slow us down.” Inigo took the hint, lowering his voice to a hum. Gaeolin thought it a bit harsh, but could not argue the logic. 

The hours passed in silence. Clouds passed over the moons, wrapping around the mountains as the troop journeyed past Whiterun. The stars winked at them like watchful eyes. A guard nodded to Gaeolin as he walked. Auroth passed him a little, going ahead to check the road. Inigo fell in beside him.

“Everything okay?” He asked. 

“I suppose,” Gaeolin looked up to the palace on the hill, “it’s hard to imagine being able to return to a normal life. In truth this is a long shot. What if the cure we’re chasing is only a myth?”

Inigo waved the words away. “Put these thoughts out of your head, my friend.” He shifted in the saddle. “They will do you no good. We will learn something from this man. I can feel it. Maybe not a clear answer, but any insight is beneficial.”

Gaeolin sighed. “You’re right. I’m just tired…”

Inigo frowned. “I thought fatigue was something the undead didn’t feel.”

“It’s not the same, exactly…” He pulled his gloves tighter onto his hands. “It’s… Unnerving, and kind of like fear in ways… The thought of being like this forever…” He shook his head. “Like you said, it doesn’t do any good to dwell on it.”

“We should cut across the tundra, towards the Borgas Cliffs.” Auroth slowed his steed to speak to them. “They have a lot of caves we could take shelter in. I know of a few paths down the falls toward Morthal. We should be able to get there within another night.”

“We can push on a little into the morning as well.” Gaeolin left the road, taking the wizard’s advice. “I just want to get there as soon as we can.”

The sky was lightening as they reached the Harald River. Inigo allowed Beast to drink from the water, her hooves splashing in a playful way afterward. Auroth had gone to look for a cave or crag to camp in. He and Inigo reassured their friend that they were too tired to carry on past daybreak. Gaeolin stood on the shore, looking out toward the peak where they had slain Iizyolviing. He listened to the lapping of the water as the first rays of light rose from the horizon. “Inigo…” Gaeolin felt a strange sting begin on his face. He gasped, tendrils of smoke rising in front of his eyes. The khajiit turned, leaping from his horse at what he saw.

Smoke was rolling out of Gaeolin’s gloves, his boots, and tunic. The elf fell to his knees as the sun crested over the hills. He held his hands out before him, watching as they started to smolder. “Inigo! Help me!” Flames started, winding their way up his form until he was enveloped in their deadly dance. Inigo grabbed his horn, blowing with all his breath before rushing over. Auroth rode over a crag, jumping from his horse with a spell on his fingertips. A wave of ice battered Gaeolin, the flames choking beneath the cold. Inigo scooped up his companion, running after Auroth as he spoke.

“This way! A cave!” His hammer was out, crashing into a bandit’s face as they skidded into the darkness.

The smell of burnt cloth and flesh invaded Gaeolin’s nose as he awoke. He tried to move, but was stopped by Auroth’s hand. The high elf unstoppered a bottle, bringing it to Gaeolin’s lips. “Drink this slowly. Try not to move.” The cold blood poured into his mouth, awakening a hunger in him he could not quiet. He swallowed ravenously, his throat screaming for more. Auroth seemed to understand, opening a second bottle and giving it to him. “After that one, lie still.”

Gaeolin drained the vessel, wincing as he let his arm fall to his side. “What… happened?”

“You were in the light, and hadn’t fed enough to stand it.” Auroth sat against the wall of the cave. “Had I taken a second longer, you would be nothing but ash in the wind.”

Inigo stared into the wall opposite him. He looked scared. “I… I didn’t know what to do. I had never been in that situation before.”

“Water wouldn’t have helped.” Auroth took out his pipe, stuffing a bit of herbs into the bowl. “That was daedric fire. Molag Bal’s twisted sense of fun. The frost cloak kept it out long enough for us to drag you here. You’ll heal quickly in the dark, but will need more blood than you have in your pack.”

Gaeolin propped himself up, looking down at his body. His clothes were scorched. The skin on his arms looked peeled and dry, charing around the edges where it had cracked. He coughed, every movement making the dead flesh split. He fell back. “No moving… Got it…”

“At least until the blood heals you. Then you should be ready to hunt.” Auroth blew a plume of smoke, the scent oddly comforting amid the dampness they sat in. 

“Hunt?”

“You’ll need more blood. All that you had in your body burned away, you almost didn’t survive. Being a Vampire, you need the blood of others to sustain you. I chose this cave because it is a bandit hideout. I knew their leader. He always has several in his band.”

Gaeolin was quiet. He knew it was true. He could feel them, their life forces flared in his senses. He didn’t object. His thirst wouldn’t allow it. He closed his eyes, feeling a power grow in him he had tried to ignore for weeks… 

His skin smoothed, the breaks healing as the pounding of his friend’s hearts flooded his ears. He could smell the blood coursing through them, his hunger panging. He sat up, no longer feeling the stretch of his flesh. Opening his eyes, all one could see was black, a ring of fiery red shining where an iris might be. He could feel the strength fill his limbs as he stepped deeper into the cave. He did not look at them. “Stay here. I don’t want you to see me do this.”

Inigo and Auroth joined him. Inigo looked uncomfortable, but looked him in the face. “No, we stay together. Even you can’t take them all. You will need our help.”

“I’ve got your back.” Auroth added. Gaeolin knew better than to argue, lowering to a crouch before setting off into the hideout. 

The first chamber held a woman. She drug her feet, making no effort to hide her presence. Gaeolin waited until she passed, sneaking behind without a sound. He grabbed her, clamping his hand to her mouth as he sunk his teeth into her neck. His face morphed into a feral snarl as the hot blood gushed from his prey. She began to slack, her eyes glazing over. His skin softened, the lines on his face smoothing with the infusion. He could feel the exhaustion lifting from him as the last drops she had passed his lips. He stood with his eyes closed as her body fell onto the floor. Blood rolled down his chin as the thirst lessened. 

Auroth offered a clean cloth. “Feeling better?”

Gaeolin was pulled from the moment, shame welling within him. He took the cloth, cleaning his face while Inigo took the bandit’s purse. The khajiit watched his friend as he turned away, putting an ear back in sympathy. “Come on, we should deal with her associates before they find us.” 

The three passed through a winding tunnel. The next chamber held no less than six bandits. Auroth led the charge into the hall, his hammer cleaving through two in its first swing. Inigo leapt onto the table onto the table, jabbing his sword into the chest of another as he taunted. “My friend wants your blood!” Gaeolin stood back near the entrance, firing three shots. Two landed, only a khajiit remaining. It hissed, extending it’s claws as it ran at him. Gaeolin tossed his bow, drawing his sword. He slashed the khajiit across the chest. When he staggered, the elf grabbed his mane, pulling his head to the side as he bit his neck. As the last bandit met his end, the cave fell quiet. Gaeolin could feel his hunger fading. He put his bow back in its strap, keeping blade in hand as he continued to creep through the cave. 

At the end of the tunnel, they came to a pool of water. It was fed by a waterfall which covered the mouth of the passage. Beyond its roar, they heard the sound of heavy armor clanking about. Gaeolin waded as silently as possible, his face emerging from the water to see the back of the bandit chief. He rushed up behind him, sinking his blade into his back. The man gurgled, falling face down onto the ramp. 

The three set about making themselves comfortable. Inigo and Auroth drug the leader’s corpse away from the chamber, leaving it in a tunnel should Gaeolin need to drink. The wood elf sat watching the waterfall. The smell of blood didn’t stand out as much now. Whatever ability had surfaced was dormant again. He looked at his hands, blood staining his gloves, a splatter also stretching across his chest. An amulet hung out of the lacing of his shirt, the horn of Stendarr lying cool against his neck. He took off a glove, feeling a scar on his chest where the ornament had seared him during his near burning. 

He had never been religious. He never needed the comfort of the divines. But suddenly, after the past month, he felt himself silently wishing. Could there really be a being merciful enough to forgive him? Could a monster, a killer, ever find redemption? He held the talisman in his palm as he pondered. “I won’t ever forgive myself…”

“Nothing you have done was anything less than survival. You put off feeding, hunt criminals, and even still you regret your needs.” Auroth stood behind him. He eyed the pendant with disdain. “Stendarr… If you base your worthiness on his followers standards, you’ll be found wanting forever. Mercy should have no conditions.” He seemed to think better afterward, adding, “Well, maybe some conditions. But in your case, I see nothing worth condemnation.”

Gaeolin turned. “I just wish all of this were behind me…”

“Regrets don’t fade with time, Gaeolin. Trust me.” Auroth gripped his friend’s shoulder. “But what matters isn’t what your regrets are, it’s how they shape you.”