I really wanted to explore the results of what had transpired, and for the canon protagonist to give us her version of the story.
Also thought I should finally come back from a bit of a hiatus, since it's apparently a good idea to practice writing if you'd like to get better at it.
Our magnificent trio (Illia, Ancano and the Dragonborn, Clelia Orsino), having defeated Miraak, remained on Solstheim to evade the wrath of the Thalmor. The following letter addressed to Erandur is, thus, intentionally vague, in case it would happen to fall into the wrong hands. Hence the use of the nickname "Lilly" when referring to Illia, and the "C." at the end.
14th of Mid Year, 4E 202
Dear Friend,
Wherever would I be, if not for you? If I didn't have anyone to address as such? I have to force myself not to write to you every single day (which I would absolutely do, if I could) since I'm afraid the resulting package would be too big and too heavy for our mutual acquaintance to deliver.
"Why, what about Lilly?" you'd ask. "How can you say such things, when she's right there, with you?"
Undoubtedly, I've got in her the most wonderful, selfless companion one could ever ask for. She's the sister I'd always wanted, but never had, and I've thanked the gods for bringing me to her more times than I can count. Yet, as you already know, she is now otherwise preoccupied. With her tall and fair-haired—I'm not even sure what to call him, actually. 'Husband', she would probably say. Oh, well.
I wish I could tell you I don't resent her. I want to only be grateful that the two of them found each other, but I'm not. And I wish more than anything I could speak to you about this face to face, instead of through these damned letters! You always showed me the way—that's what you do, after all, listen to confessions and offer guidance, isn't it? Isn't it what your position entails?
I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be so unfair to you, but my patience is running dangerously thin these days, I fear I might snap at them once—which would be uncalled for, and would terribly upset Lilly.
I hate him. So much, sometimes. I hate him for putting even further strain on this...prolonged stay we've been forced to commit to. I did not ask for this, for him to come barging into our lives determined to follow my sister around like a lovesick dog. Three months I've been sitting in this dusty old place, with nothing to do apart from killing rats and the occasional Spriggan that strays too close to the walls. Away from my home, away from you. The docks are just there, yet I am unable to leave. I am putting us all in danger with this correspondence as is.
I've tried my best to appear amiable and carefree, not to let anything slip, but I believe he knows. Well, sure; a conceited, entitled bastard he may be, but he's not stupid, by any means—a testament to that being the simple fact he was able to comprehend the marvellous treasure this girl is.
And she's so gloriously, astonishingly happy because of him, bless her sweet little soul! This is the hardest thing to witness. I can't help but feel like an intruder, even when I'm aware I shouldn't. What in Oblivion am I saying, you need only see them together, hear them together to realise I have, indeed, become the intruder!
I've half a mind to pay for a new house to be built nearby for me; a small cottage, with the barest of amenities, just so I wouldn't have to be around them anymore. I do not fear for them, Lilly can defend herself just fine, and, failing that, her husband would sooner have himself be torn limb from limb than let anyone disturb a single hair on her head. Still, me and her haven't spent even a day apart since we met, and I'm not truly ready to be on my own. What to do, what to do?
And that's not nearly all of it—oh, how I write only to complain! The dreams I've told you about have not abated in the slightest, to the point where I'm almost afraid of falling asleep. And they're filled with the strangest sort of sensation, too. I can only compare it to going outside on a summer's day, and being suddenly hit by the full force of the most stifling, oppressive heat you can imagine. The kind that makes you sick, settling deep into your skull like a fog and distorting everything around you. However (and this is the most unnerving thing of all), there is nothing intrinsically threatening about it. It just is there, all the time. And I fear it all started with that...criminal I fought all these months ago. Almost as if he poisoned my mind with his gaze even through the mask he wore.
I haven't mentioned it to anyone, because I don't want to worry those two, but you and I have had some experience with unruly nightmares before. So I beseech you, tell me what to do, what this new disturbance might be. I'll anxiously await your reply.
Or, better yet, come visit us? Surely you can have someone else take over your duties at the shrine for a little while? Please. I do miss you so.
Thinking of you, always,
C.
(A complementary glimpse into Illia's version of the story can be found in my new fic, 'Crutch', for those interested.)
