Prologue: False Hope

Lord Harkon strode into his daughter's chambers. Immediate disappointment in his quest for solitude awaited in the form of the lowliest member of his court, sweeping the floor.

"My lord!" The runt dropped his broomstick. "I'm so sorry, I should have known you were coming, I only wish I had been able to do—"

"Ronthil…"

"Yes, my lord." The runt scurried away, leaving his broomstick where it had fallen. Judging by the way his footsteps faltered on the steps down into the hall, Ronthil realised his mistake but did not dare return. Harkon gathered his magic in the palm of his hand and reached for the broom. It leapt into his hand, and he hurled it after the runt.

A yelp was followed by several thuds and the clattering of wood on stone. "Thank you, my lord!" Ronthil croaked, his voice coming from the bottom of the stairs. Only the runt would thank him for inflicting pain.

Another burst of Telekinesis slammed the door shut when Ronthil failed to close it when he crawled out. One day, Harkon promised himself, he would find out which of his court had gifted the runt with the ancient blood, and they would pay dearly for it.

Still, for all of the runt's failings, he was at least more useful than Vingalmo and Orthjolf had been of late. Perhaps he should put them on cleaning duty for a while, but they could not be trusted to keep their hands to themselves. No, Ronthil was the only one of his court who could perform that service for him.

Serana's chamber was out of bounds for anyone else in his court. The last fool to intrude ended up being eaten undead by CuSith and Garmr. Since then, no one else dared enter except for the runt, and he knew better than to continue with his cleaning duties when Harkon arrived.

He idly wondered what his court thought of his yearly disappearances. Those old enough to remember would know that it coincided with the day Valerica betrayed him. Waiting until he slept, then stealing away with his Scrolls and Serana. Did they think his vigil for his lost daughter a weakness? Or did they respect him for it? He cared not, so long as they did not say anything to his face, but only a fool would dare.

Harkon slowly walked over to the bed. In her own way, Serana was as strange a vampire as Ronthil. Persisting with a mortal bed… it was unheard of, but unfortunately a necessity for a vampire with a fear of tightly enclosed spaces, including and especially coffins.

His goal was not the bed itself but the painting mounted on the wooden headboard. The family portrait, painted long before his wife's betrayal. He glanced at the torn canvas where Valerica's head had once been depicted, ripped out so long ago. His teeth clenched, fangs trembling in their sheaths, as he fought back the consuming rage that gripped him whenever he saw a reminder of her.

Perhaps he should have let himself destroy this painting like all the others of Valerica, but it was the only surviving portrait of himself with Serana painted from undeath and not memory. Valerica had possessed a similar painting, but it had been obliterated in his fury after discovering her theft. He had come perilously close to doing the same to this painting. Serana had stopped him. Her painted expression somehow reflected the pain in his own, both then and now.

He had rarely seen her smile; and all too rarely had the opportunity to see her much at all, even after the ritual granting the gift of eternal life in undeath. Valerica had hoarded her all to herself, keeping their daughter away from him whenever she could even before she finally took her from him completely. But not forever, not if it was within his power to find her.

He reached out to his oil-and-canvas daughter, to trace her features as he had countless times over the centuries. The comfort of the bittersweet ritual was worth the occasional work of retouching the painting, as his fingers gradually wore through the pigment with every longing touch.

Like the family portrait displayed to his court, Serana stood beside him. Unlike that painting, here she stood on his left, between his throne and her mother's. The composition of the publicly displayed portrait was far superior, with the only sign of Valerica there in the features their daughter had inherited. Her nose, her lips, even her jawline. If only she had been a son, then she might have favoured him instead.

But her resemblance was not to the vampire who betrayed him, but to the mortal who he fell in love with, the mortal wife who gave him his only child. The mortal who aged with him. The mortal whose life Lord Molag Bal had claimed when bestowing his blessing upon them. Long before she betrayed him it became clear that his beloved wife had died during that ritual, leaving a pale shadow in her place. Serana was the only thing he had left of her.

His beloved daughter. A daughter he would soon reclaim, if Lokil's boasts were to be believed.

'Soon, my darling. Soon. Return to your rightful place at my side. I will convince you of the rightness of my cause, purging your mother's poison. We will bring about the end of the Tyranny of the Sun together.' Harkon caressed her painted cheek. "Come to me, my daughter," he whispered, repeating the pleading command for the umpteenth time.

"My lord!" Vingalmo's voice was muffled by the door and distant, echoing as if from across the great hall.

Harkon closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Could he not have one moment's peace? Whatever his uppity ex-Thalmor advisor wanted, it had better—

"Everyone! Serana has returned!"

His eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply.

Could it be true? Vingalmo had never met Serana, how could he be certain enough of this to risk announcing it? But of course… every single member of his court and their underlings knew her face, thanks to the portrait behind his throne.

A smile spread across Harkon's stern face. His first true smile since Serana had been taken from him. The day long hoped for had finally come. The accursed sun's days were numbered. Eternal night would fall. Soon.

He swept out of Serana's chambers, trying not to move too fast. The lord of the castle was dignified. Not one of his court would run, except maybe the runt.

Now, to greet his prodigal daughter. He regretted the cold formality required in front of his court, but he would make up for it later in private. She would surely understand.

AN: Please review! Tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you think of Harkon, what you think of his thoughts on his wife and daughter… whatever you have to say, I want to hear it.

If you spot any errors, please let me know so I can fix it. I can't catch all of them myself no matter how hard I try.

Vingalmo was once a Thalmor? Apparently so, according to the Prima Official Game Guide. And turned by Harkon some hundred years ago, which must make him all the more annoying to Orthjolf, as it sounds like he was around rather longer than the elf and not turned by Harkon but by an unnamed member of the court.

Coming up next: first meetings in Dimhollow Crypt and the journey home. There will be more from Harkon's POV, and maybe some other villains as they come into the story, but this is largely Serana's tale.