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I told her that Vilja and I would marry. “We all have our price, and a pain threshold,” she stated, still cryptic as ever. I thought she meant the price we are willing to pay, for what we think we want. Followed by the pain of actually getting it, whilst (almost) losing what we really need. I left Whiterun, my mind changed about seeking my erstwhile vampire companion. I was uneasy about it, as though I did not trust her any longer not to try to turn me again. Moreover, a part of me still baulked at seeking her, as if it would be some kind of admission of weakness, having as much as banished her from my company. “You are being stupid.” I stopped saddling my horse, nonplussed that Ingjard would say such a thing, let alone why. Facing her as she prepared her own mount, I demanded to know her reasoning. “You owe Serana much,” the vampire hunter answered, pausing in her own preparations. “More than you know.” “What do you mean?” She told me. I turned toward Fort Dawnguard. I met the vampiress, wandering alone about the near-empty cobwebbed hallways. I no longer felt lust for the undead woman, or love, only something like pity and… regret? “Thank you, Serana.” Ingjard disclosed that I assuredly would have died had Serana not fed me with her own blood during british celeb the long trip back from Solstheim. The vampiress did so again ere we set off to find me the cure, this time enow so that I at last regained consciousness, whilst leading me to believe that Florentius Baenius had ‘healed’ me; of course, he could not. How had I been so willing to British Sister overlook that simple fact? Serana shrugged, said nothing. I told her about my upcoming marriage. “I congratulate ye both,” she responded. Though her expression told me nothing, my own reaction satisfied me more than her answer; I now felt content with her decision not to take the cure and thus be ‘available’ for me. 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