TITLE: Starfire
CHAPTER: Complete
SERIES: Skyrim - Skyrim Adventures
Story 1: To Take a Tree From the Forest
Story 2: What is Hidden in Snow?
Story 3: Starfire, stand-alone
Story 4: Vika, stand-alone
AN: The first several paragraphs were inspired by a book titled "The Crystal Cave" by Mary Stewart. Some of the text is taken from the prologue where Merlin reflects on his life and his memories. It occurred to me this was perfect for Vika. I got all sniffly just writing it. That book was written many years ago. So if you're a Merlin/King Arthur fan don't miss those stories. They're written from Merlin's POV. Ms. Stewart did her research, and the story is filled with fascinating lore and place names of the times. She expertly weaves Roman words into her story along with the local Celtic words. She is a master storyteller.
I am an old woman now, but then I was already past my prime when our grandson was crowned High King. The years since then seem to me now dimmer and faded than the earlier years, as if my life were a growing tree, which burst into flower and leaf with the Dovahkiin legend and now has nothing more to do than yellow to the grave.
Is this true of all old people? That the recent past is misted, while distant scenes of memory are clear and bright colored. Even the scenes of my far childhood home come back to me now sharp and high colored and edged with brightness, like the pattern of light through the stained glass window, in the room where my adoptive father preferred to dole out my punishment, or the dragon's wings beating against a sky of storm. The feel of my first born when they set him on my chest or the smile on my father's face when I laid his first grandchild in his arms.
The colors are brighter than they were. Of that, I am sure. The memories that come back to me here in the dark are seen with the youth of girlhood. They are so far gone from me, with their pain no longer present, that they are like pictures of something that happened not to me, not to the bubble of bone that this memory used to inhabit, but to another Dragonborn, another young girl as light and free of the air and spring winds.
With the later memories, it is different how they came back hot and shadowed these I see in the fire. For this is where I gather them. This is one of the few trivial spells - I cannot call it magic - left to me now that I am old and at last stripped down to a crone, where I live in a small cave and tend the Talos by the Lake Shrine.
I can see still...not clearly or with the call of dragon blood as I once did, but the child's way of dreams and pictures in the fire. I can still make the flames burn and or die; it is the simplest of magics, the most easily learned, the last forgotten.
It is difficult to use my hands now. So many years of wielding weapons left them bent and aching. I move, not with the strength of my youth, but with peace and dignity. My red hair is thin and shot with gray. My once ice blue eyes can no longer pierce the heavens to watch for dragons.
In my dreams or in the fire I can still see my beloved husband laughing and playing with our children. Wielding his wisdom and leadership as the Jarl of Windhelm for the good of all. My father enters and the children pounce on him searching for treats to steal. He taught my children how to pick pockets. I could never say no, after all, he taught me the same skill.
Even as this distance, I can still see the pain of his grief at losing my mother… his Ingun. They had twenty years together. But he leans on my brother's arm sometimes as if he can't bear the weight of it anymore.
My granddaughter has asked to tend the shrine while I'm away. I hear her quiet footsteps on the rocks below. If she imagines she's sneaking up on me, she's mistaken. I'm not deaf yet. She's a quiet spiritual thing who spent most of her childhood in Talos Temple.
Of all my offspring, I could say she seems most like me. But that could be the musings of a proud grandmother. Perhaps someday she will serve at the High King's court. As brother and sister, they are very close. And I want to think of them together, supporting each other. But this is not for me to decide and I am content with that. I withdrew from the world many years ago.
Her blond head appeared on the rise, and I took a last look around. For what I don't know, I have no need of material objects. The memories and dreams are locked safely in my heart.
"Why do you dress that way, Grandmamma?" Looking disdainfully at my coarse wool robe, rope belt, and bare feet. She may be a serious girl, but she loves to wrap her spirit in fine cloth and beautiful colors.
"I go to the Greybeards as a pilgrim, Granddaughter. Now come here and let me hold you."
My last view of her is waving from the crest of the rise just above the shrine. I look up into the morning sun and remember the Blood Dragon I killed there long ago.
~o0o~
Seven thousand steps. With my hands folded in supplication, I begin the journey on the bridge in Ivarstead to the top of the mountain and High Hrothgar. I am an obedient and faithful pilgrim, so I dutifully kneel at each shrine along the path. The prayers come easier to me these days.
An ogre roars a challenge at me and beats his chest.
"I Thu'um'd your great grandfather off the side of this mountain little one. Allow me to pass or you will follow his fate."
He doesn't listen. They never were too bright so he looks down in surprise when his feet leave the ground, and he tumbles over the edge. I'd lost count of how many of those things I killed. By sword or Voice, they met their fate at the hands of the Dragonborn. The Thu'um left me coughing, and I sat down to rest for a moment until I can catch my breath. The frozen air is painful as I breathe it in. There was a time when it invigorated me.
A stranger kneels at my side offering me a sip of water from a simple horn cup. "Go ahead. Those Greybeards at the top won't hold a sip of water against you."
Then he gently helped me to my feet and set me on the path. As he turns to wave, he noticed my feet. "Your feet!" He exclaimed as I took a step, revealing my bare feet.
I shrugged. "It is no matter, child. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. Talos bless you."
"Thank you, old mother. Go carefully."
The offering shrine is in sight now. I wouldn't have minded a couple of wolves to fight off, just for old time's sake, but the ogre will have to suffice. The rest of my walk is uneventful except that I grew more fearful with each step. What if they don't accept me? They never understood my use of the skills they taught me. If I hadn't what a different world we would live in today. The door opened as I approached. They knew of course and awaited my arrival. Two of the younger brothers assisted me up the last few steps. Then they fussed and clucked, as they wrapped me carefully in fire-warmed blankets.
They coerced me into taking a few sips of broth. I'm tired, and the cold and hunger do not disturb the growing sense of peace that surrounded me. My relief is almost overwhelming. It's enough they welcomed me inside. The brothers carry me to a richly appointed room. Someone will stay with me they say to one another. Then softly, under the rustle of their leather robes and murmuring voices, I hear people talking. Turning my attention to the familiar voices is easy.
"Lass? Where are you, daughter? Don't hide from yer Da. A skeever might get you." I'm running to him, my blonde braids flying behind me. I ran into his open arms. With a grin he tossed me high in the air. When I come down, it's into the arms of my husband. He carefully set me on my feet and bent to kiss my protruding stomach. I teased him for my own kiss. He made me beg for it, then held me tenderly.
Another voice called my name and summoned me to his presence in that imperious way he always had. The sleeping brother didn't notice me rise from my bed and slip away. As I make my way to the peak, my tired body feels light and I wondered how the wind didn't sweep me away. I stand on the snowy peak of The Throat of the World, where Paarthurnax waited, settled on his favorite perch above me.
"Are you ready, Dovahkiin?"
Yes, I am ready. My work is done, and I go to the ones I love. To the ones who taught me to survive, to live and love. Perhaps to Sovngarde. Perhaps, not. It is enough that I see my father and husband again. I raised my arms to the sky.
Inside the monastery, a cup of broth fell from limp fingers and rattled to the floor, startling the monk awake.
My red hair billowed into the wind, and my Nordic carved armor glinted in the sun. The familiar weight of my sword and shield is a welcome presence on my back. It's been many years since I carried weapons. The bow in my hand is also Nordic design the heft is good and the pull strong. For the sheer joy of it, I notched an arrow and let it fly across the peak.
Paarthurnax lowered his great wise head so that I may step astride his neck.
Inside the temple, the keening Thu'um of a hundred grieving Greybeards rose in the morning air.
Kicking up a wall of snow, he lifted himself into the air. Higher and higher we go. The sky is so blue above the storm clouds. The ancient dragon circled Skyrim. I saw the towns, the mountain passes, and the lakes shining like jewels. Not too far away I see the seat of the High King in Windhelm. My grandson, the High King, holds court in the old Palace. He is a good man and a fine ruler. Skyrim is free again. Although we fought for many years to rid ourselves of the tyranny, other's sought to impose on us. No one will do so again.
The bards still sing tales of the brave Stormcloaks by the evening fire and occasionally I still hear a call for tales of the Dragonborn.
Voices on the wind. My husband calls out to me. Brynjolf's laughter echoes as he wrestled with his grandchildren. Ingun calls us in the for evening meal. I'll be there soon, Mother. I miss you.
When the last of my ties to this world fell away, I wrapped my arms around his neck. We are both old and gray now. Our memories hold us in a state of grief. It is time to go into them and free ourselves from their tyranny.
"My heart is free, old friend. I am ready."
"As I am, Dovahkiin. We go together, wuth fahdon...old friend."
~o0o~
A young boy with red hair and Nordic blue eyes pointed at the night sky.
"Look Master! I told you. A new star! It shines in the Northern sky to tell all of Tamriel where Skyrim stands. Have you ever seen such a star, Master? It's in the shape of a dragon with a flaming red tail?"
"You are dreaming that up, boy."
"See for yourself." In his excitement, he tugged on his tutor's robes. Something the old priest would never allow. His excitement grew as he followed the direction the boy's arm. And there it was. Stars in the form of a dragon flying majestically across the stars.
"Look, Master! Everyone in Tamriel can look into the sky and know where Skyrim is!"
The old priest placed his arm around the boy's shoulders. "What else might they learn from the star?"
"That we are free, Master." The young boy turned his bright eyes to his tutor to see if his guess was correct.
"Yes, child. It's proclaimed in the sky for all to see that Skyrim and the Nords are free."