The Soul Cairn was a lonely place. The condemned sil would scatter at his approach, and the diil were mindless, acting only to attack the living that found their way here. Valerica had long since left the Soul Cairn, leaving Durnehviir the only sentient being in the plane of existence. The undead dovah was thankful that he had met Qahnaarin, the Dovahkiin, and that Qahnaarin often called him to Tamriel. Being able to fly the skies of Keizaal away from the Soul Cairn's influence had restored some of the undead dovah's body. No longer was he a mess of slime and bones held together by the cruelty of the Ideal Masters. His scales were a stark bone-white (the irony was not missed by Durnehviir - he would always be bound to the undead) and his eyes, once a sickly green, now shone like emeralds. His wings were still tattered, but they were fuller than they had been before meeting Qahnaarin, while his horns gleamed black as ebony.

Still, it had been some time since Durnehviir had been called by Qahnaarin, and to a Daedra's plane of Oblivion no less. Durnehviir found himself wanting once more for the open skies of Keizaal…

"DUR NEH VIIR!"

...and as the purple fires consumed his body, it seemed he would get his wish.

Line Break

Luna watched as Mikal Shouted at the ground, and her mouth fell open as purple flames encircled an area of the land, and formed the body of a dragon.

"Hail, Qahnaarin! To what do I owe the pleasure?" it asked. Mikal was right; the dragon was not the best to look at. Its body, at first glance, seemed normal, but if one looked closer, they would see how unreal the body was; everything from the wings to the scales were gaunt and tight, as though the dragon was wearing armor a few sizes too small.

Mikal bowed his head in greeting and responded "Durnehviir, you look better everytime I see you. Perhaps one day we can release you from the Soul Cairn permanently."

The dragon - Durnehviir, Luna thought to herself - chuckled, though it was empty. "You know as well as I that it is an impossible feat, Qahnaarin." Durnehviir turned his head to look at Luna and Discord. "Who are these joore?"

Discord opened his mouth to speak, but Luna, who remembered how well the last conversation with a dragon had gone, kept him from saying a word with a quick elbow to the ribs.

"My friend Luna and her...companion, Discord. Luna has lost her memories, and Discord claims to know her from before she gained amnesia."

"Hmm…." The undead dragon lumbered over to the two offworlders. It wasn't until he was an arm length away that Luna noticed the smell. It was rancid, like something had died and the body had been left out in the open for weeks on end. "Zii do Tahrovin, ahrk...faal Vulonkrein?"

Mikal raised an eyeridge at Durnehviir's questioning tone. "Is there something wrong, fahdon?"

"Geh," he replied, confusion showing clearly on the undead dragon's face. "I did not know that either of the Vulonkreinne could take the form of a joor."

Mikal frowned. "They can't. Masser and Secunda are nothing but moons. Nocturnal uses phases of the moons to represent her three Agents and their respective powers, but nothing more. On top of that, both of the moons are still in the sky."

"Mikal, what is Durnehviir talking about?" Luna asked. She was hopelessly lost. Why were they talking about the moons?

"He called you Night Sun in Dovahzul, meaning the Moon. For whatever reason, you've caused him to believe you are one of the moons in human form."

A vision flashed through Luna's head right then. Two horses with wings and horns fought, clashing against each other in a bid to strike the other down. One was pure white, with a mane that flowed with power and color. The other was black as the night, and only visible due to the blue armor it wore and the mane that was reminiscent of a starry sky. It was as though she were watching the sun and moon battle for dominance.

"Luna? Luna! Oh, Laurfausta help us, she's remembering!" Discord's panicked voice did nothing to bring Luna out of the vision, as she barely heard him.

"Krosis, Vodrem, nuz pruzah? Is this not good, that Vulonkrein is regaining her memories?"

"No, it's not!" Discord turned on the dragon, eyes filled with fear. "The more Luna remembers, the easier it will be for Hermaeus Mora to find her and attack!" The draconequus was frantic, looking crazier than he normally did.

Shadowmere let out a neigh of warning and charged at a mass of shadows in the corner of a stall. A guttural growl sounded from the shadows, the being irritated at being discovered, and shot forward, dodging the animal assassin. It was a strange being, and seemed to be a floating mass of green rags and hair with three arms. The creature continued its charge, heading straight for Luna, who was still out of it. Discord hurriedly moved to shield Luna with his body, bracing himself for the impact.

It never came.

"RII!"

A purple shockwave, pulsing malevolently, collided with the creature who screeched in pain before dissolving into a pile of rags. Discord could only stare in astonishment before turning his head to look at Mikal, who was glaring at the rags as though they had offended him. Feeling Discord's gaze on him, the Argonian turned to meet his inquisitive look.

"Soul Rend," he explained. "Instant death or close to it with the first Word, though the last two Words don't generally work on Daedra. But we need to move, now."

"Why?"

Mikal all but snarled his response. "That Daedra was a Seeker, a servant of Hermaeus Mora." He looked at the undead dragon, whose face had twisted in confusion. "Durnehviir, I know I ask much, but I must ask you to carry the three of us to Volkihar Castle."

"Vodrem truly worries for Vulonkrien, and you trust her. That is enough for me to carry them, Qahnaarin."

"Thank you, fahdon." Mikal looked to Discord. "Pick up Luna, and hold on to her during the flight. Durnehviir will make it as steady as possible."

Serana was used to weird. Aside from being a vampire, and Daughter of Coldharbour at that, she had ventured into the Soul Cairn, faced an undead dragon, met the last of the Snow Elves, and found Auriel's Bow.

Weird was normal.

After her adventure with the Dragonborn, she told her friend that she wished to stay at the castle and make up for lost time with her mother. Mikal understood, and went on his way back to the Dawnguard, to throw them off the trail of Clan Volkihar. He had only been back a few times since then, and when he wasn't there Serana relied on rumors to know how he was doing. The most recent had been a group of Dark Brotherhood assassins disguised as members of the Dawnguard attacking the Thane of Markarth, the Dragonborn. Apparently they had done so to claim vampirism on the target. However, a few things didn't add up to Serana.

First, she knew Mikal was the Listener for the Dark Brotherhood. Unless someone had put out a contract for Mikal as Dragonborn, there was no way the Dark Brotherhood would attack him.

Second, as much as Isran despised vampires, Serena knew he hated the Dark Brotherhood just as much. More than once the assassins had attempted an attack on him, though all had failed. No, Isran would not let the Dark Brotherhood acquire Dawnguard armor and weapons.

But Serana had little time to worry about that. Though Mikal was rightful Lord of Volkihar Castle, he was out and about constantly, and thus not always around to corral and lead the clan. So the duty fell to her, as the one that turned Mikal. In vampire laws, they were mates, though Serana never acted on it. Mikal had a wife, had a family, and even though a small part of her hurt, she would not interfere in that. That didn't mean she couldn't look forward to seeing Mikal again.

So when a thrall rushed in and caused a panic by announcing an undead dragon was flying over the castle, Serana couldn't have been more thrilled.

Yes, her unlife was weird, but she wouldn't trade it for anything.

Mikal grimaced as he felt panic wash over him. It appeared that the clan had been alerted to Durnehviir's presence, and were readying for battle. Growling softly to himself, the Vampire Lord sent a wave of command through his clan's empathic link, restoring order with a thought.

::Lord Mikal! You have returned!:: Fura Bloodmouth's voice echoed within Mikal's head.

::Call off the others, Fura. I ride on the dragon they would attack, the fools.:: Mikal's response was tired. He wished it were the first time he had to use it.

::Yes, Lord Mikal. I shall have the thrall that caused the panic severely punished.::

::Leave it to one of the others. Find Valerica; I have urgent need of her.::

::Yes, my lord.::

With the problem taken care of, Durnehviir approached the castle unhindered. He landed next to the watchtower, shaking the ground with his weight.

Mikal leapt off first, then turned and reached up for Luna. Discord handed her off to him, then slid off of Durnehviir's back.

"Thank you, fahdon," said Mikal, bowing his head to the undead dragon. "Feel free to fly the skies of Skyrim until I call you again."

"It was my pleasure, Qahnaarin." And with that, Durnehviir took off, soaring through the air with a sense of pleasure few others would reach.

Serana met them at the bridge. Happy as she was to see her friend, she knew that the Argonian wasn't here for a social visit when the vampiress saw the woman Mikal carried.

"Hello again, Mikal. Getting into more trouble, I see."

"Always a pleasure, Serana," he retorted. "This one is in danger. Hermaeus Mora hunts her."

To Serana's credit, she didn't so much as blink. Instead, she turned and entered Volkihar Castle, gesturing for Mikal and Discord to follow. Once inside, the group was greeted by the Clan of Volkihar, all staring at Mikal. The Argonian handed Luna off to Discord and strode forward. As he passed by them, each vampire would bow their heads in deference and submission. Serana followed behind him, head held high and carrying herself regally. Discord, unsure of what to do, simply trailed behind Serana, casting wary looks at the vampires around him.

Mikal reached the throne at the end of the Grand Hall. He sat, and every vampire took a place at the tables filling the Hall. Not one made a sound.

"Sadri." Mikal's voice echoed out, marred only by the sound of the deathhounds prowling the castle. A Dunmer vampire stood from his seat and bowed.

"My lord."

"Take Discord and direct him to the guest room. Luna, the Breton, may require aid upon waking up," he said, waving a hand in Discord's direction.

"Yes, my lord." The Dunmer left the room, motioning for Discord to come with him. The disguised draconequus once again gave the assembled vampires a cautious look, before going after Sadri.

"Clan Volkihar." Every vampire focused their attention on Mikal, not letting a single thing distract them. "Luna and Discord are being hunted by the Daedric Prince, Hermaeus Mora. He seeks knowledge that Luna has apparently guarded from others. Currently she has amnesia, keeping her safe...for now. She remembers a little more each day, enough that Herma-Mora can send his creatures after her now. Be ready to fight.

"While she and Discord are here, they are under my protection. To go against them is to go against me. To allow one of Mora's servants to attack them is to betray me, and we all know how well I take betrayal.

"Now...are there any matters that you wish to be brought before me?" For a heartbeat, there was no sound or movement. Mikal sat, patiently waiting. Harkon had not exactly cared for the well-being of his clan, so for the Argonian to be open towards suggestions was something the Clan still had to get used to. Eventually, Hestla, the Clan's blacksmith, stood up.

"My lord," she began. "I am running low on smithing supplies. I require more leather and malachite and ebony ore for weapons and armor."

"Very well. Does anyone else need more supplies?" As Hestla returned to her seat. Ronthil, apprentice to Sadri, rose.

"Master Sadri's stock is depleted from Mistress Valerica's experiments, my lord. Specifically, Daedric hearts and void salts, along with taproots and nightshade." He took his seat, and Rargal, the Thrallmaster rose.

"Healing potions for the thralls and cattle, my lord." He sat, and Mikal waited for more requests. When none came, he nodded.

"If there are no more supply requests, then Namasur shall venture out and retrieve them. Take the septims necessary for what you can't find." A Redguard vampire stood and bowed, then left the room to prepare for his supply run.

"Any other matters?" For a while, no one spoke. Vingalmo and Orthjolf shared a look from across the hall, and the Altmer vampire nodded to the Nord vampire. Orthjolf stood, and steeled himself before speaking.

"Lord Mikal of Clan Volkihar, I formally challenge you for your position on the throne!"

Hushed murmurs broke out among the assembled vampires, who had been caught by surprise. In vampire clans, when the leader died, their mate or a previously selected vampire would take control. However, should one feel that they were stronger and deserving of leadership, a challenge could be issued, so long as the challenger had someone to back them.

"And who is your second, Orthjolf?" Mikal questioned.

"I am his second." The statement came from Vingalmo, who stood to join Orthjolf in the center of the Grand Hall. Even more murmuring occurred, as none had expected the two biggest rivals for the throne to team up.

"So, you two have put aside your rivalry?" asked Mikal. "Or are you hoping that Orthjolf weakens me enough that you can finish me off once I kill him?"

"Orthjolf has promised to make me his second in command should he win," Vingalmo explained. "If he falls, then yes, I shall finish you off and claim the throne for myself."

"Hm...the second has been confirmed. As is tradition, I will give you one last chance to back out of your challenge. It would be a shame to lose such powerful and ancient vampires such as yourselves."

"Never!" Orthjolf snarled.

"Then so be it! As the challenger, list the restrictions you would put in place." Mikal exclaimed.

"You cannot use your Shouts, and are also unable to use sun spells," said the Nord. "Both sides are unallowed the use of fire spells."

Mikal nodded. "I accept your restrictions. You have two minutes to prepare. To the rest of you, should you choose to watch, retreat to the upper balconies. No sense in collateral damage."

"Mikal...be careful," said Serana. "I don't want to lose a good friend."

"Well, I don't exactly plan on losing. Here," Mikal replied. "Take these. I won't be needing them." He unstrapped the Daedric sword and dagger from their place on his belt. Serana nodded, and took the weapons, quickly retreating to the upper balconies.

By this point, the vampires that had chosen to watch had also gone upstairs. Orthjolf sneered, believing the Argonian to be incredibly overconfident. "You should have kept those swords, lizard. You'll need them."

All had gone quiet, and a shadow fell over Mikal's eyes.

"Had you challenged me as the Thieves' Guildmaster, I would be using my swords. As the Listener, I would be using my swords. As the Dragonborn, as the Harbinger, as a Thane, even as the Archmage, I would be using my swords.

"You did not challenge any of those. You challenged me as the Vampire Lord of Clan Volkihar, and so, as did my predecessor, I shall fight as a Vampire Lord!"

With that final exclamation, the shadows deepened, the temperature dropped, and the two challengers felt a shiver born of fear race up their spines. A low, guttural growl echoed through the Grand Hall, and a menacing figure emerged from the darkness.

Orthjolf and Vingalmo took a minute to gather their courage at the sight of the Vampire Lord. Dark power billowed from its form, and a deep red flowed from its feet as Blood Magic kept it aloft. Fleeting thoughts and emotions flashed across the empathetic link the Clan shared.

::Weak:: ::Useless:: ::Powerless::

Above them, vampires snarled in agreement. For too long Vingalmo and Orthjolf had split the Clan in two with their rivalry. For too long they had squabbled over a throne that had never been theirs in the first place.

With a screech, the Vampire Lord summoned a gargoyle and readied a spell, while smaller bats flocked from the rafters and swarmed around it.

::Prey::

Orthjolf and Vingalmo stiffened, and their eyes both narrowed in anger. The Nord drew his sword while the High Elf readied spells. For one vampire to call another prey was considered the worst insult. Roaring, Orthjolf rushed the Vampire Lord, sword raised to strike.

The gargoyle reached Orthjolf first. Its claws tore open the Nord vampire's chest, stolen blood spilling from his slashed stomach. Orthjolf gagged on blood, both his own and blood regurgitated. Vingalmo, taking advantage of Orthjolf's attack, built up his magicka, channeling arcane lightning for a Lightning Storm spell. The Vampire Lord unleashed its Drain Life spell to distract the Altmer, but to Vingalmo's credit, he didn't flinch, even as his life force drained away. As the spell drew closer to being unleashed, the gargoyle turned from Orthjolf and charged towards Vingalmo, claws bared and ready to tear open a superfluous orifice in the undead elf.

Right before the stone behemoth struck, Vingalmo released the spell, and the arcane lightning tore through the gargoyle. It screamed in pain and slumped onto the floor, body disintegrating away. The spell continued onwards, on towards the Vampire Lord, faster than the eye could track. For the briefest of moments, Vingalmo dared believe that the spell would strike and deal a massive blow.

The Vampire Lord dissolved away into a blood red mist, yet still the spell raged on, its caster pouring every ounce of magicka into the arcane lightning. Finally, magicka spent and drained, the Lightning Storm ended, and Vingalmo fell to his knees, panting with exhaustion. Above him, the watching vampires stood in a terrible silence. Though he had not been around often, Mikal had done his best to be benevolent towards the clan while maintaining control when he was in the castle. Now it seemed that he had overestimated his abilities, and fallen to a more powerful vampire.

Serana did nothing but clutch Mikal's weapons a little tighter.

Vingalmo, having caught his breath and regenerated some magicka, forced himself up to a standing position. He saw Orthjolf on the floor, dying but not dead, the pile of ash that was a gargoyle, and the red mist floating in the air. He grinned, and shouted in triumph, "I have succeeded! Behold, for I, Vingalmo, have defeated the Dark Lord of Volkihar, and by right have taken his throne!"

::Fool::

Vingalmo froze, and focused his eyes on the still-floating mist. Slowly, it began to reform back into the demonic visage of the Vampire Lord, which glared balefully at the Altmer. It raised one twisted hand that began to glow a sickly orange, and Vingalmo found himself being lifted by that same sickly orange energy.

::Weakling::

The Vampire Lord threw its hand to the side, Vingalmo following its path and slamming painfully into a pillar. This repeated for some time, and Vingalmo became visibly bruised and battered. With each impact against floor, pillar or ceiling, an insulting word would flash across the empathetic link.

::Whelp:: ::Bastard:: ::Halfling:: ::MORTAL::

Finally, the elf was released onto the floor next to Orthjolf, who had managed to keep himself from dying and pushed himself into a sitting position. The Vampire Lord, who hadn't even moved an inch, triggered its Blood Magic and returned to the guise of an Argonian.

"You have lost the challenge. By the law of the challenge, I now decide your fates. However," Mikal said, looking up at the watching vampires. "I am curious as to how the clan sees you. Let us hear their decisions!"

For a while, there was silence. No one spoke, surprised that they were allowed a word in their lord's decision. Eventually, one of the vampires called out an answer.

"Blood!"

Slowly, other vampires began calling out as well, some calling for death, others for blood, and still others for banishment. Finally, Mikal held up a hand, and the clan fell silent. Both Orthjolf and Vingalmo were incredibly shaken, astounded that the allies and cronies they had slowly accrued over the years would so suddenly turn their backs to them.

"You both believed that yourself would be able to take the throne from Harkon, that he would appoint one of you as his successor. Then Serana returned, brought back by me, and suddenly, you had even more competition. She has told me of your humorous and pathetic attempts to kowtow to her.

"But in a surprising move, Serana leaves her father to help the mortal that rescued her, and in turn, help the Dawnguard. She has basically betrayed her father, betrayed all vampires, and all the two of you see is one less obstacle in your way.

"And just when you think the way is clear, just when you've forgotten about Serana, she returns a second time, once again with me. Except this time, I am not a mortal. I am a Vampire Lord, one that has mastered my powers far faster than even Harkon could have expected, thanks to Serana guiding me. I challenged Harkon for his throne with Serana as my second, and I won.

"All of your hard work, all of your progress, little and insignificant though it was, gone, just like that. It frustrates you, nags at you, tears you apart from the inside. The clan," he stated, gesturing to the enraptured audience. "Wants your blood. Wants your death. But some called for banishment, and I like that idea the most. But I am going to take it a step further."

Vingalmo and Orthjolf's eyes widened with fear and apprehension. How could one worsen banishment? To be cast out among the feral, snarling wretches that pretended to be vampires - that was punishment enough!

Mikal stepped forward, moving to stand directly in front of the duo, and knelt down so as to stare them directly in the eyes.

"You will be made...mortal."

I never did like Orthjolf or Vingalmo. Orthjolf for being a racist prick if your characther wasn't a Nord, and Vingalmo for being the stuck-up prick you'd find with the Thalmor. Originally, this wasn't even going to come up, just straight to Valerica, but as I was writing, my brain decided we needed to make this happen. Hopefully, this shows you, the reader, how Mikal rules and leads Clan Volkihar. He's not been around too often, leaving Serana to rule for the periods of time he was absent. This lead Vingalmo to convince Orthjolf to challenge Mikal, making Orthjolf think Mikal didn't stick around because he was weak.

The empathetic link: My reasoning behind this is that proper vampire clans have an empathetic link, allowing the lead vampire to relay commands without having to actually be there. This allows Mikal to reign in the clan with a single thought, which he only does when Serana calls for him over the link.

The challenge: With vampires being effectively immortal, old age isn't exactly going be the cause for new leadership. When a vampire does die in battle that is not the challenge, either their mate or a successor of their choosing gains control of the clan. Should the lead vampire lose the challenge, the challenger gains control of the clan. Should the lead vampire win, the fate of the challenger is then decided by that lead vampire. It is usually death.

Mikal being Serana's mate: This is a bit tricky to explain, but here goes. Most of the time, when a vampire turns a mortal, the vampire sees the mortal as beneath them. This is why when you choose to join Clan Volkihar, Harkon is effectively your master. When a vampire turns a mortal and sees them as their equal or higher, they are bound by ancient vampire blood magic as mates. This basically means that neither of the pair can select another vampire as their mate. I believe that Serana, upon turning you at the entrance to the Soul Cairn, if you chose the options to reach that specific decision, views you as her equal.

Next chapter should see us dealing with Luna's memories and what their return means.