ESO fan fiction - Anora & Fennorian

LadyLethalla

There was no denying it any longer: Anora was in love with a vampire.

Not just any vampire, though – there were but a handful that wouldn’t kill a mortal as soon as look at them, except perhaps to explain their evil plans for domination before trying to kill them.
The object of her ardour was Fennorian: the newest member of Ravenwatch, all of whom could appear almost mortal. He was also a gentleman and a scholar – and, even better, he had none of that insufferable superciliousness so common to High Elves. His skin was a little paler than her own Breton colouring, and not at all yellowish like every other Altmer. The only other sign that Fenn was not mortal were his reddish eyes. And as a vampire, he could never grow a beard. No stubble. Anora had always preferred clean-shaven men.

Years ago, on reaching Rivenspire, Anora had been surprised to learn Count Verandis Ravenwatch was not only a vampire, but one who was also working actively for mortals rather than against them. A vampire with a conscience – who’d have thought? Together with his protégés Gwendis and, to a lesser extent, Adusa-daro, they had worked to end the Montclair threat, and once that was done Anora had departed for Stormhaven.

Over the years she had visited Rivenspire, but had never had any reason to return to the Castle. The Count was no longer there anyway, having gone to Coldharbour at the conclusion of the Montclair business. Once, Anora had found Gwendis out in the field, doing goodness knew what, but that had been the extent of her interaction with Ravenwatch up until she travelled to Skyrim.
There, while running an errand for the always-grumpy half-giantess Lyris Titanborn, she’d met Fennorian.

Over the days they had worked together to investigate the Icereach Coven, she had become ever more attracted to him. If he’d seen her longing glances he’d given no sign. Anora had had a few flings during her travels through Tamriel, though none since Darien. Her affair with him had ended after his transgression in the farmhouse while they had been trying to liberate Northpoint for Verandis. While that had been an age ago, she hadn’t had time for a relationship. So she kept telling herself, anyway.

Although he was now Meridia’s Champion, Darien couldn’t hold a candle to Fennorian.

She was hopeless at flirting; her conversations with Fenn had been no different than with any of the inhabitants of Tamriel who sent her hither and thither on mostly trivial errands. She’d often become exasperated at the things people had paid her to do over the years, but as her adopted siblings always reminded her, this was what mercenaries did. They saved people. They killed or fetched things that the lazy sods couldn’t be bothered doing for themselves. The so-called Saviour of Nirn still had to put food on the table, not just for herself but for her indolent siblings. They only worked when they could be bothered. That wasn’t often.

Anora sneaked another glance at Fenn. He sat across the inn table from her, palming his flask. At his full lips. What would they taste like, pressed to hers? He was always cold to the touch. The ache to kiss him, and more, deepened every day. Could vampires do ‘more’? Her face heated just thinking about it.

“Anora?” Fenn’s voice, mellow as rich caramel, broke into her thoughts. “Everything alright?”

“Privy,” Anora blurted, almost toppling her chair as she bolted upright. “Excuse me!” She fled outside, sure that he, Lyris and “don’t call me princess!” Svana were exchanging bemused looks. Gods! She couldn’t go on like this. But how to let him know she liked him? For that matter, and here was the kicker, could there be any relationship when he was immortal and she was not? She shook her head. This was a moot point anyway, unless he gave her some sign of reciprocation. Sudden despair washed through her: she’d finish up this business and go on her way, never to see him again.

No point waiting around in the cold night for a miracle. Anora took several deep breaths to compose herself and returned to the inn to stand in front of the fire. Fenn’s back was to her, but she observed Lyris’s still-suspicious stares at him as the three of them conversed. Lyris would probably never trust him completely, but that was her nature. Svana shot Anora occasional glances; by her slight but amused smile she knew what was going on. It was clear she didn’t think it odd that Anora was attracted to him.

“… return to Old Mjolen,” Fenn was saying as Anora rejoined them at the table. “Better?” he asked her, satisfied when she nodded.
Anora motioned to the barkeep to refill her mead mug. “Who’s going to the clever woman?” At great effort she remained impassive as Fennorian outlined his plan to return alone to Old Mjolen’s hut near Morthal to do more investigative work.

There were more important things afoot than trying to garner affection from a vampire, Anora decided, and nodded acquiescence to Svana’s request to meet her at the Blue Palace. She would have to try to give him a few hints, and if he did not react, it was never meant to be.
That was just what mercenaries did.

LadyLethalla

Over the following week, busy investigating holds and harrowstorms with Svana, Anora managed to keep her mind off Fennorian. The princess had showed some real backbone after the loss of her mother, then her father’s refusal to acknowledge her concerns regarding what was happening in Skyrim. Despite the tragic loss of the Jarl and most of the town of Karthald, Svana had remained focussed on the task at hand rather than give in to her grief. She would indeed make a fine ruler one day, if given the opportunity, as Lyris had remarked.

At Svana’s request, Anora had now returned to the Blue Palace. She nodded at the guards and knocked on Svana’s door. Without offering a greeting, the princess held up a note. “It’s from Fenn,” she explained. “He says he’s made an important discovery in Dusktown – in the Blackreach Caverns. You and Lyris should go see what he found.”

It seemed to take forever to find Lyris and prepare for their descent to Dusktown – probably no longer than usual, but Anora’s longing for Fenn had resurfaced, constant and unrelenting. When at last they reached his door, Lyris’s knock went unanswered. She pushed into his room. Anora was horrified to see the state of it – furniture overturned; his alchemical flasks smashed; his notes spread over the floor. The bed furs were ripped off the straw mattress. No blood, but no Fenn either.

“He’s been taken.” Anora tried, and failed, to keep her voice even. “Look – his flask. He wouldn’t have left that behind.” She picked it up and levered out the stopper. It smelt of herbs and alcohol, with the overwhelming tang of blood. Not pleasant. Best bring that along, she thought. Worry for him ate at her. Was his disappearance connected to the Gray Host or had the villagers discovered him, the vampire in their midst? She followed Lyris outside, and they soon found the trail that led to Edjar, a werewolf. He knew something about Fennorian, but he wouldn’t tell unless they rescued his pack. Of course. No alternative but to deliver on Fenn’s promise of aid.

It was a simple matter for Anora to find and free Edjar’s packmates, but then she was well used to such work. Fenn, Edjar revealed, was being held in a Dwemer ruin. When he mentioned the experiments being conducted on vampires and werewolves, it was all Anora could do not to run off alone. She needed Lyris as backup; they didn’t know what they would be facing in there.

Inside the ruin they came to a halt: the door to the next chamber was sealed by dwarven locks. Anora was trembling, so it took a few tries to activate each gear, but at last the door swung open and they were able to move forward. A laboratory. And notes, confirming Anora’s worst fears. The Gray Host were torturing their victims. Frantic, she ran ahead of Lyris. Please, please, let Fenn be alright.

The next room was a strange garden, with a horrible red mist coming from valves in the ceiling. Simple enough to disengage them, and even simpler to sneak past the strange, moving stone husk, and into the passage beyond. There they found and despatched more of the Host’s minions.

And then Fenn screamed.

Anora would have run straight in, heedless of the need for stealth, if Lyris hadn’t caught her arm in a death grip.
The woman’s voice was like iron. “Wait, Anora. I know you want to save Fenn, and we will, I promise, but let’s see if his captors give anything away first.” She didn’t let go as they crept into the chamber where Fennorian hung limp within a dwarven apparatus powered by strange red lightning. Two men, one an aristocratic Redguard, and the other they recognised as Exarch Tzinghalis, were conversing while Fenn writhed and moaned in his restraints. Anora couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying. Lyris gave her arm a shake. “We kill them first,” she grated, “then rescue Fenn. Got it? It’s too risky to do it the other way around.” Anora nodded weakly. Rage competed with anxiety. She watched him, her hand pressed to her mouth to keep herself silent. Although, as a vampire, Fenn couldn’t die, he could still feel pain, but letting Lyris despatch their foes alone wasn’t worth Titanborn’s bad mood afterward.

The Redguard vanished. No sooner did Lyris relinquish her grip than Anora shot off like an arrow. It wasn’t a difficult fight; as soon as the Exarch fell Anora dashed over to turn off the valve powering Fenn’s torture device, then watched dismayed as he dropped heavily to the floor. She tried to pull him to his feet, but in his debilitated state all he could do was huddle with his arms around his knees. He looked terrible, and not just because he was barefoot and dressed in rags.

“Don’t touch me, please.” He glanced up at her, his reddish eyes filled with pain. “I feel like… when I was a child, I was stung by a bee. It’s like that, but all over. Like a thousand bee stings.”

“Oh, Fenn…” Anora knelt beside him. “I want… is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, unless you have my flask.” Gratitude lit his haggard face as she produced it. “Perhaps you could find my leathers?

Anora found them in a chest. She took them back, wondering if she dared kiss him.

She did not.



After a couple long hours’ anxious wait back at the Blue Palace, Anora was relieved to see Fenn hobble into Svana’s chamber behind Lyris. From his brief smile – more of a grimace, really – it was clear he was still in pain. He sat off by himself as the others pored over the map they’d found after his rescue, only rousing when asked a direct question.

“I need rest,” he responded to Anora’s soft enquiry. “I can’t see myself getting any, though. The Gray Host poses an ever-larger threat, and we still don’t know what exactly they’re planning.”

“Not even an hour’s recuperation?” she pressed, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. “I’ll help you back to the Inn; you can have my room.”

“Thank you, but no.” He took a long pull from his flask. “I can rest when this is all over.” When Svana suggested he go to the Gray Host’s coastal camp to see if he could discover anything, he readily agreed.

“Meet him there,” the princess said to Anora, tipping her a wink. “Anora, you’ll then go to meet Lyris. Once you have the netherroot brew, come meet me in Blackreach. After we’ve investigated there, let’s regroup at the Blue Palace to confront my father with our findings.”

Fenn struggled to his feet. “See you at the coastal camp, Anora. Wear something warmer, yes? It’ll be much colder on the coast, for you.”

Anora nodded and trudged off alone toward the Lonely Troll, despondent. He didn’t want her company, until it was absolutely necessary. Forget him, she told herself.

She could not.

LadyLethalla

Fenn was right – the wind that blew off the sea speared her bare hands and face with knives. A little further north, Skyrim was colder than Eastmarch. Nonetheless, seeing him waiting for her warmed her heart. “Are you feeling better now?” she enquired as she reached him.

He nodded, flashing her a smile. “The fresh air revived me a bit, I think.”

“Good.” She offered her hand to help him off the boulder he’d been perched on, pleased when he accepted. Gods, he was cold! She squeezed his hand a little before she relinquished it, noting his eyes widen a little in surprise.

If I had more courage I’d kiss him. But she didn’t, of course.

Together they sneaked down to the camp and into the nearby cemetery. It was easy to avoid the witches that were guarding the area; they were too busy complaining to one another about “all the extra work”. Anora was too distracted by Fenn’s closeness to pay attention to much else they said, but she knew Fenn was. Bless him.

It took far less time than she’d hoped to solve the puzzle in the graveyard. They sneaked back out, and he accompanied her to where they’d part ways for Anora to join Lyris while he returned to Solitude. As he was bidding her farewell, Anora – her heart beating like a wardrum – pulled him close into a brief embrace, then added a light kiss on his cold cheek. She let go and turned away quickly as her face flamed red, but not before she caught his odd expression. Several strides away, she stopped to offer a wave. He was standing in the same spot, as if studying her.

She was a little further up the hill when she heard him call. “Anora?”

Turning, she discovered Fenn was closing the distance between them. Anora’s heart leapt. When he reached her he took her hand, enclosing it in both of his.

“Look,” he said, softly. “This… can’t be. Not now; not ever. It’s not possible. I’m sorry.”

As he turned to leave her, she managed a ragged breath. “Why?”

“You’re mortal.” It hung in the air like an accusation, before he added, “You’re a fine woman, Anora. But I’m afraid we have to stay friends.” As she went to protest, he put a cold, cold finger on her lips. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and with a squeeze of her hand he was gone.

A single tear was all Anora would permit herself.

Well, time to get back to business.



Lyris was waiting impatiently near the midland camp, She wasn’t at all happy at Anora’s suggestion that they avoid battle unless absolutely necessary, but she agreed that it was better to get it done as fast as possible. To that end they sneaked in and searched the carts, eventually locating the flask. North of the camp, Anora put her hand on Lyris’s arm. “I have a bounty to complete,” she told the half-giantess. When Titanborn scowled, Anora added, “I’m running a bit short on gold –”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Lyris interrupted, reaching for her coin purse.

“No, Lyris.” She fixed the woman with a gimlet stare. “I won’t take charity, unless it’s in the form of your assistance to take down my quarry. An Orc. Skreg the Undefeatable, he calls himself, but the word is, he has no honour.”

“In that case, it would be my pleasure.” Lyris pulled her double bladed axe from its holster on her back and tested the edges with her thumb. “Let’s go.”

LadyLethalla

They found Skreg at his broken tower. Barrels oozing a noxious greenish substance that could only be poison dotted his arena; this truly was a dishonourable Orc.

The fight went without a hitch until Skreg let out a battlecry, at which a dozen or so archers and swordsmen poured out of the broken tower to join in. While dodging away from a bowman Anora fell backward over a barrel, which ruptured. Skreg threw a poison bomb at her. It shattered in her face and she began coughing and vomiting. And blacked out.



When she regained consciousness, everything hurt. Her eyes wouldn’t open. Unable to move, she lay there in agony beneath a pile of furs that were almost too heavy for her to breathe. From the cold blasts of air, scent of woodsmoke and the calls of night birds, it was clear they were in a camp somewhere. She heard the river, and the rustle of leaves.

A thin moan escaped as an icy hand touched her, then withdrew. Fenn spoke softly. “Anora? You need water, but I daren’t move you. I’ll drip some water in your mouth.”

She heard a swish of cloth in a filled basin, gently squeezed, then a few merciful drops hit her tongue. It was difficult to swallow. Once done he draped the cloth over her forehead and with the creak of his leathers, rose and walked away.

“She’s getting weaker,” Anora heard him say. “The bomb held a paralysis poison. The other… it soaked her through. Her skin must have absorbed some of it.”

“We can’t lose her,” growled Lyris. “And we can’t afford this delay either –“

“What would you have me do? I’ve tried everything but she’s not responding. And I will not leave her like this.”

“Then I will go find Svana in Blackreach,” Lyris told him. “Better than waiting around for…” Heavy footfalls faded, and Anora knew what Lyris had been loath to say: better than waiting around for her to die.

Darkness fell once more.



When she awoke again, little remained of her world. A cold hand held hers, and she gave it as much of a squeeze as she could.

“Anora…” Fenn drew her name out in a sad sigh. “Can you hear me? Squeeze for yes.”

She did.

“I fear you’re dying,” he said. “This poison… it’s beyond my skill as a healer. I’m sorry. Really, I am.” He stroked her hair with his other hand. “We… we don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you. But you’re fading. There’s only one way to save you. If you’re willing.”

Wishing she could speak, Anora squeezed his hand again.

Fenn took a deep breath. “Your choice is this… either I do nothing and you pass away… or I can turn you. I must warn you, though… the change from mortal into vampire is… not pleasant.” He paused a moment to drop a kiss on her hand, smoothing it with his thumb. “If you want me to save you… tell me now, before it’s too late. Squeeze. Or not.”

She did.

“Understand that this is of your own free will and without coercion.”

She squeezed.

“Understand that this will cause you to die before you change, and that the change will be the worst pain you ever experience.”

She squeezed.

“Understand that I do not do this lightly, Anora… and that I would not have offered it under any other circumstance whatsoever. But, as I said… as Lyris said, we don’t want to lose you.”

She squeezed.

“Shall we begin?”

She squeezed.

LadyLethalla

After stoking the fire, more for light than warmth, Fenn eased his arm beneath Anora’s shoulders, slow and gentle. Then he gathered her up like a lover and kissed her full on the lips. Raising his head, he could see her carotid pulsing too slowly. The hunger rose in him again. He pushed it down fiercely: this was a delicate operation, not a banquet. He would sicken from the poison in her blood, but it was nothing compared to what she would go through this night.

What he had told her was true: she was a fine woman, and he didn’t want to lose her, but that was not why he had offered this.

Well, maybe a little.

They needed her. Nirn needed her. She had never bragged, but he knew from Gwendis and Adusa-daro what Anora had done for Rivenspire, and more. Bards sang tales about her.

I need her.

Fennorian bit into Anora’s throat carefully, ignoring her involuntary flinch, then raised his head to observe. The blood only seeped from the artery; it did not gush as it should have. Best to get this done as fast as possible: she would not last much longer. He didn’t want to do this and find she’d passed beyond the point where he could revive her.

The sour taint of the poison spread through his being, enfeebling him to the point where it became difficult to continue the exsanguination. Fenn roused himself with difficulty. The fire snapped and popped as he lowered his mouth to her throat again.

Huge hands grasped his collar and hauled him backward, startling him out of his wits. A voice as rough as gravel came from above him. “And we thought you were our friend.”

Lyris.

It hadn’t been the fire: it had been her footsteps, creeping up on them. “My departure was the perfect opportunity, huh? Lucky for Anora, I forgot something.” She dropped him and he heard her unstrap her axe. “Shame. You’ve been of some use, but no more. Could you not let her die in peace?”

“’Lucky’?!” Fennorian raised an arm, which was an utterly useless defence against any weapon. “Lyris, wait! Please!’ A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

Her scowl deepened at the sight of it. “No more of your lies, fiend!”

“Anora will die, Lyris! I do this for a reason –”

“Yes, because you were hungry!”

He clenched his eyes shut. “Her blood is poisoned, Lyris. If I wanted to feed I’d have chosen something – or someone – that wouldn’t leave me helpless.”

The thump as Lyris let her axe head drop to the ground made him recoil. Her knees popped as she squatted beside him. “Then why?”

“To save her. I gave her the choice, since death was inevitable. Die… or become a vampire.” He dropped his arm and stared up at her; her expression was still thunderous. “I’m too weak to stand, now. Really.” When she made no move to help him, he snapped, “I’m a healer, Lyris! Do you think I’d do this for any other reason? Yes, I’m a vampire, but I’m on your side – haven’t I proven that? She’ll die, shortly, if I don’t complete this.”

The woman might as well have been a statue.

“Please,” Fenn added, “just help me back to her to finish this. When she’s… changed… ask her if she consented. If she didn’t, you can end me.”

“What if she’s like every other vampire other than you?” Lyris demanded. “I might have to destroy her anyway.”

“Not all of us are monsters,” Fennorian told her. “I learned to suppress the hunger, as did my maker, Count Verandis. And my blood-sisters, Adusa and Gwendis. Anora can, too.” He hoped, anyway. If she did not… it didn’t bear thinking about. “The brew in my flask is an adequate substitute.”

At last Lyris moved. She stood, then stooped and pulled him upright, supporting him when his knees buckled. “I’m not convinced I should believe you, but since I don’t have time to wait around I’ll take it on faith.” She lowered him next to Anora’s prone body and retrieved her axe. “Just know that if you’re lying, I will hunt you down – and make you wish I’d beheaded you tonight.” Without another word she rummaged around in the tent for whatever she’d returned to get, then strode off into the darkness once more.

Fenn took a shaky breath, thankful she’d listened. He put his ear to Anora’s chest, fearful. Her heart was still beating, faint, but slow. Too slow. Her shudder as he resumed was barely noticeable. “Hang in there, dearest,” he whispered, hoping she could hear him.

At last, it was done: he dared not take more from her. It was a struggle to pull the stopper from his flask. A long draught gave him a bit of energy; he could feel the effects of the poison mitigating a little. He reached up and nicked his carotid with his dagger, then dropped it and pulled her upright to press her mouth against his neck. He had to prise her jaw open. “Drink, Anora. Drink!” He trickled a little magicka into his voice, hoping it would be enough. If it wasn’t… if she couldn’t… Lyris would end his existence, though maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “Please, Anora. For me?”

What seemed like an eternity dragged by, but just as the weight of despair dragged at him he felt her move. Her mouth fastened on his throat and he felt the flow begin.



Weaker than a newborn, it took all of Anora’s remaining strength to swallow that first mouthful, then she let go and cried out as Fennorian’s cold blood froze the warmth from her little by little.

“More,” he murmured, nudging her back to his throat. She heard him take a long pull from his flask. When she didn’t comply he added, “You need more, else you’ll be nothing more than a thrall. That’s not why we’re doing this.”

After a few more swallows, physically revolted, Anora could no longer maintain her contact. She convulsed, once. Twice. Darkness took her.

The change was beginning.

LadyLethalla

His strength returning, Fenn lowered Anora to the ground and stroked her long, dark hair. He lifted her head and pillowed it on her folded cape, so she wouldn’t injure herself during her convulsions, then tied a rag bandage around his neck. That done, he rose and built up the fire again before fetching the shovel to start digging a depression in the half-frozen ground next to her. This was the unpleasant part: the purging. Her body would expel all waste as it changed, including the toxins that would have otherwise taken her life.

No help for it. This what what Verandis had done for him, during his change.

Digging completed, he manoeuvred her over the depression. She was naked, since her clothes were still covered with whatever foul substance Skreg had had in the ruptured barrel. Fenn covered Anora with a fur, fetched more rags and refilled the basin from the nearby river, then settled upwind beside her to keep vigil, whispering encouragement.

Long stretches of unconsciousness were punctuated by periods of thrashing, tormented moans and, a few times, shrieks that split the night. Fenn was glad they weren’t at the Lonely Troll; a mob would have broken the door down after her first scream. The poison still roiled about inside him, making him queasy. What remained in the flask would have helped, but he was saving that for Anora.

And, once this was over… what then? They would go on to meet the Gray Host; of that he was certain, but what of Anora? She had made her choice, yes, but after this night’s harrowing, would she hate him for it?

He was more than fond of her. Much more than he’d admitted to, only hours before when they’d parted near the graveyard. He’d known she was interested, of course, but had ignored it until she’d forced his hand, so to speak. He could not have watched her grow old and die – it would have been too much, just as if she’d rejected his offer this night. Parting would not have been sweet sorrow, it would likely have meant he couldn’t go on. He didn’t have Svana’s fortitude.

As the first glimmer of dawn lightened the eastern sky, Anora opened her eyes. They were now reddish, like his, rather than her familiar hazel.

“Fenn?” she croaked. “Is this over now, or is there more? And if there is –“

“I believe it’s done,” he told her, letting her hand go at last. “You’ve not had any convulsions for a while.” Wrinkling his nose, he helped her sit upright then handed over his opened flask. “You should clean up and dress before Lyris and Svana return.” He passed his flask and his spare leathers, the only available clothing that would more or less fit her, as well as the rags and the basin of water he’d had warming by the fire. She wouldn’t feel warmth any more, but it was better for ablutions than cold water. Then he went to gather more firewood.

When he came back with an armful of fallen branches, Anora was sitting by the fire, reclothed, arms around her knees, staring into the flames. Fenn threw some wood into the blaze, then sat nearby. Close enough to be companionable; not so close as to impose. He glanced at her a couple times but she didn’t look at him.

So be it, he thought. She didn’t want him, and he couldn’t blame her. He stared at his feet, trying to will away his disappointment.

“Fenn?”

He looked up.

“Thank you. I think.” A wan smile ghosted across Anora’s now-pale face. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone except my worst enemy.” Her gaze dropped away. “I think I dreamed that Lyris –“

“She came close to ending me,” Fenn interrupted, “which, at least… would have spared you the night’s torment.”
Anora held a hand to him and he took it, moving closer when she tugged his arm.

“I’ll never do anything to cause you pain again, I promise,” he told her.

Anora said nothing, only let go of his hand and pushed him flat. In a flash she was on him, kissing him breathlessly.
“No,” she said, at last. “No, you won’t.”

And they stayed that way, each recovering their strength, until Svana and Lyris appeared out of the rising sun.

AcadianPaladin

A touching story. And well-written.

LadyLethalla

AcadianPaladin wrote: »

A touching story. And well-written.

Thank you!
First writing I've done in ages and it was really enjoyable to write.