Aldariel lets out a sigh of relief as the stone watchtower comes into view, the Blue Palace and Castle Dour rising just beyond, the banners of the High Queen fluttering from the ramparts.
The sun is high overhead, the shadows of mid-afternoon creeping over the path.
He clicks his tongue to Shadowmere who increases her pace, up to the stables.
"Welcome back, thane," the stablemaster calls.
"Good to be back," Aldariel calls with a smile, dismounting. He leads Shadowmere to a stall, unsaddling and storing her tack. "Be nice, dear," he says, patting her head.
Shadowmere snorts, nosing his shoulder. Aldariel quietly resigns himself to the inevitable bill the stablemaster will send him for Shadowmere's obstinate behavior. Most grooms were used to her antics, but sometimes the younger ones underestimated the dark horse's intelligence.
"Try not to kill anyone," Aldariel whispers in her ear. Shadowmere huffs, nickering.
Aldariel chuckles, kissing her forehead. "Good girl."
Aldariel crosses the stable yard to begin the walk up to the city, his pack slung over his shoulder.
It feels strange to not wear his armor, the familiar weight across his back and the comfort of a blade at his hip. But his robes were more fitting for court, if he was entirely honest.
He feels lighter, the weight of a world not resting on his shoulders, the very destruction of Nirn itself averted. He has fulfilled his duty to the Blades, and now he could devote more attention to other matters.
The world did not need a Dovahkiin now. His Lady still needed him, as did his wife and daughter, and he would not falter in that dedication.
He wonders briefly how successful Paarthurnaax would be in converting the remaining Dovah to his philosophy but pushes the thought away. If the Dovah became a threat again, he would deal with it when it came.
Now, though…
"Welcome back, thane," a guardsman says, "Safe travels?"
"Safe as they can be," Aldariel replies. "Anything of note whilst I was away?"
"Mistress Uma wed the fletcher last week, had the whole city in an uproar," the guard says, "Other than that, nothing."
Aldariel nods. "I see. Good day to you."
"And you, thane."
Solitude was bustling with people, not unusual for the time of year, given that one of the harvest festivals was only weeks away and Aldariel weaves through the traffic easily.
He's lived in the city for almost twelve years now and is well aware of the shortcuts and passages through the high stone walls. There's even a few that lead under Castle Dour, into the dungeons there.
He doesn't see his wife at her market stall, noting the closed sign hung above the counter. He turns and heads towards the manor.
There is a sudden shriek, high and girlish. Aldariel winces.
His little girl may have grown, but she could still out scream a gyrfalcon if she tried.
"ATA!" his daughter yells, barreling down the street towards him. Aldariel has found that it is best to wait for her to come to him. Still, she almost topples him over with her hug.
"It's good to see you too, Neria," Aldariel says warmly, hugging her back. It's been months since he's seen her. Her hair is shorter and lightened by time spent outside in the sun, so it is a few shades paler than he remembers.
"How was your trip?" Neria asks, her bright eyes wide in her dark face, "did you fight any monsters? Did you kill vampires?"
"No vampires," Aldariel says. "The trip was…interesting. I'll back for a long while. I just had some business to wrap up."
"Yay!" Neria cheers.
"Aldariel," a soft and much missed voice says behind him. Ilymnari.
He turns.
She looks the same, her red hair loose and flowing about her shoulders, the sharp gold of her tattoos standing out against her collarbone, her dusky hands reaching out to him.
Aldariel embraces his wife, sighing happily. "Ilymnari," he breathes. "I have returned as I said I would."
"And no injuries," Ilymnari says, pleased. "I think that might be a record, love."
"Maybe," Aldariel says and pulls her into a kiss.
"Gods, it is good to have you home," she says as they part.
Aldariel chuckles, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. "Yes. Home for good now."
"Excellent," she says. She looks him over for a moment, leaning in, her voice lowered. "And the matter we discussed?"
"Finished," Aldariel says equally as quiet, knowing she spoke of Alduin and the Dragonborn.
"Good," Ilymnari says, taking his hand and tugging him towards home. Aldariel goes easily, letting her guide him back along familiar streets and well-worn cobblestones.
Neria walks beside them, smiling all the while. It eases something in his heart to see his daughter happy, some battle-wounded scar in his chest.
"My thane," Jordis says as they approach the manor, leaving her guard position beside the gate. The tall Nord bows. "I am glad to see you are well."
"Jordis," Aldariel says warmly. "How have things been?"
"Quiet, for the most part," Jordis says. "Though Mistress Uma's wedding had the city in an uproar for a while."
"So I've heard. And the High Queen?" Aldariel asks.
"Her Majesty has been less stressed as of late, what with the war ending and her husband avenged."
Aldariel nods. "Well, less bloodshed does tend to make people happy. Her Majesty is more inclined towards peace than war anyway."
"Shall I send word to Her Majesty that you have returned?" Jordis asks.
"Please do," Aldariel says, "Though my report can wait. I intend to spend the day with my family. It has been far too long since I was home."
"Of course, my thane," Jordis says, bowing and leaving.
"Ata?" Neria asks, tugging at Aldariel's sleeve.
"Yes, my little snow flower?" Aldariel asks, smiling at her grimace at the nickname. "What is it?"
"Could you teach me to fight with a sword?"
Aldariel considers the request carefully. "I will teach you to use a knife first, Neria, then a sword. How does that sound?"
"Awesome!" Neria says, gleeful. "Can we start now?"
"Tomorrow," Ilymnari cuts in. "Ata is probably tired from the road, Neria. He can teach you in the morning."
"Alma is right," Aldariel says, apologetic. "We will start your lessons in the morn."
"Okay," Neria says, deflating a little.
There is the sound of footsteps and Aldariel glances back to find the Thane of Swords by the gate. Her pale brown hair is pulled into a severe bun, grey eyes sharp and piercing.
The woman bows. "Welcome back, Aldariel," she says.
Aldariel smiles and returns the bow. "Good afternoon, Rielle," he replies. "How are you?"
"Well enough," she replies. "We should speak later, when you've rested."
"Of course," Aldariel says. His fellow thane no doubt had more information on the current court situation and would be able to bring him up to date on the latest news.
She nods and continues on her way, calling over her shoulder, "Until later."
"How you two are friends," Ilymnari says at his side, "I will never understand. You hated her when we first moved here."
"Situations change," Aldariel says as they enter the manor. "So do people. We've settled our disagreements and moved on."
He sets his pack beside the stars, rolling his shoulders. "I feel like I could sleep for a week," he says, sighing. "Though I'd rather not."
"We could sit in the courtyard, under the aurum tree," Ilymnari says. "It's just starting to bloom again."
"Sounds perfect," Aldariel says.
"Neria," Ilymnari says. "Could you get that pitcher of water from the table and bring a few glasses with you, please?"
"Yes, Alma," Neria says and ducks into the kitchen as her parents pass through the dining room and then back outside to the courtyard where the golden aurum tree blooms with silvery blossoms.
Aldariel leans against the broad trunk and sighs. If he closes his eyes, he might almost think himself back in the Isles, in the ancestral orchard with his family about him, and hear the distant ringing of the bells in the temple.
But, he remembers the Isles are not safe any longer, ruled by the iron fist of the Thalmor, the sacred temples desecrated by spilled innocent blood. And he remembers the night the monarchy fell all too well still.
"Septim for your thoughts, my love?" Ilymnari asks.
"Perhaps we should invite my sister to Solitude for the festival," Aldariel says. "It's been far too long since we last spoke."
"I'm sure Taralin would love to visit," Ilymnari says. "She does so adore Neria."
"Aunt Taralin is coming to visit?" Neria asks, setting the pitcher of water and glasses down on the mossy stones. She pours water into each glass and hands them out.
"Hopefully," Aldariel says, accepting a glass with murmured thanks. "I'll need to send her a letter. She was in High Rock last I heard with plans to head south after the equinox."
"So, she's probably getting close to the border by now," Ilymnari muses. "One of your birds could easily make the journey in a few days. Less if it was a mage summons."
Aldariel calls up a shimmering golden hawk that hops from his arm to peck at the fallen blossoms. Then it looks at him and screes loudly, impatient.
Ilymnari passes a quill, inkpot, a small piece of parchment, and a clay tablet to her husband. He's not surprised. She's a merchant's daughter and always has such materials close at hand even though she's left the trade caravans.
"Thank you, dear," he says, dipping the quill and beginning to write in sharp, elegant lines. He writes in Altmeri, remaining formal even in letters to dearest family and friends.
The letter is quickly dried and tucked into a message pouch and sent northwards on the hawk's leg to wherever Aldariel's wandering twin sister might be.
Aldariel recaps the inkwell, dries the quill and returns the writing implements to his wife's keeping.
"So where exactly did you go?" Neria asks. "Alma said that you went out on 'classified' work."
Aldariel snorts, looking to his wife. "Is that what you told her?"
Ilymnari shrugs. "You have a better word for it?"
"Not particularly, no," Aldariel concedes. "I went south, Neria, around Ivarstead and spoke with the Greybeards, then went into the mountains."
"There are a lot of mountains, Ata," Neria says. "And why did you want to speak with the Greybeards?"
"A friend asked me to speak with them on his behalf, as he was busy with other work and needed their input on something," Aldariel says. "The Greybeards were actually somewhat helpful and we used that knowledge to our advantage in the Velothi ranges."
"Why would that be classified though?" Neria asks. "What's up in the mountains?"
"I cannot say," Aldariel says, smiling. "Oath-bound to silence."
"Urgh!" Neria cries. "That's so unhelpful!"
"It is my nature to be such," Aldariel says cheerfully.
"It is your nature, husband," Ilymnari says, "To be suspicious of everything until proven otherwise."
"True, true," Aldariel says, resting his head against hers as she leaned on him.
"I'm glad you're back," she murmurs.
"As am I," he replies. He's looking forward to the years that will come. What will yet unfold in the histories of Tamriel…
