5E 20, 14 Last Seed
Rowan opened her eyes slowly, her skin stinging and her head throbbing. Someone knelt next to the bed, and she blinked a few times until the figure came into focus. It was Master Lodur.
“Welcome back,” he said warmly.
“Alive. Your mother is fine, but I’m afraid your brother and Blanche’s injuries were severe. They haven’t regained consciousness.”
5E 20, 2 Last Seed
After months of hearing nothing but secondhand information and idle gossip about Rowan and Ben, Vilkas had decided it was time to find out for himself what was going on. He knew Ulfric had passed away and Dolff had taken the throne as Jarl of Windhelm, but he hadn’t received so much as a letter from any of them since it had happened. Rumors were rampant, of course, and when Coranil and Kaaley—whom he’d had suspicions about for quite some time—suddenly disappeared from Whiterun for several weeks, he began to plan a trip to Windhelm. Athis had refused to let him travel alone, so the two of them had set out a few days ago, and they arrived at the Palace of the Kings just after noon.
A/N: Sexual situations. Not appropriate for children.
5E 20, 16 Sun’s Height
Ben came awake slowly, afraid to open his eyes, fearing that the rescue had just been a happy dream. The thirst was still there, but it wasn’t as urgent, and the scents were different. He smelled the stale air of an old castle, seawater, human blood, and her. He was warm, wearing trousers and covered by a soft blanket, and gentle fingers combed through his long hair. A hand to his chest indicated that all the wounds Ergyu had inflicted were gone. There wasn’t even any scarring. Then again, perhaps he was still dreaming. Well, if he was, he was going to embrace this dream for as long as he could. He opened his eyes to see Serana lying next to him, smiling.
Ben didn’t know what day it was; he had lost all track of time. It didn’t really matter, though, because it was looking more and more like they would never go home again. Serana and the others had probably closed the portal by now, figuring he and Rowan were lost. Which, he guessed, they were. There wasn’t much left for them now except for overpowering thirst. At first, he had thought a lot about Serana, missing her, wishing he could hold her again; but as time went by, all he could think about was the dryness in his throat. He hated her a little bit now. She had made him this way, caused his desperate dependence on living blood, a sweet nectar he would likely never taste again. But she had only been trying to make them stronger; he knew that, and as much as he hated her, he loved her even more.
A/N: Nudity, sexual situations. NSFW and inappropriate for children.
5E 20, 30 Midyear
Dolff sat on the throne, leaning on his elbows with his face his hands as Coranil stood before him, relaying the information he had obtained at the College of Winterhold. He cursed himself for thinking for even a moment that his job as Jarl of Windhelm was easy. He had known the hard decisions would come sooner or later, but he hadn’t realized it would be this soon or this hard. Things had gotten worse since Rowan and Ben had left and issues had started piling up. Without them there to set his mind at ease, he’d had a rough time juggling his responsibilities, remaining objective, and even keeping his thoughts organized. In a fortnight he would have his eighteenth birthday, but right now those eighteen years seemed like eighty.
And now Coranil was standing here, telling him he would have to send Rowan and Ben into Coldharbour.