Author's Playlist: Azura's Coast by Brad Derrick
Anya passed away at dawn on the 27th of Morningstar, 4E 201. Her funeral was planned by Gwynileth, who had become little more than a sad silver shadow presiding around the estate.
The ceremony took place in the gardens: Anya's favorite place to read a book, with a cup of lavender tea. There were not a lot of attendees, but in truth, Gwynileth preferred it that way. In all, the guests comprised of herself, Anya's brother, her nephews, and her sister-in-law. Together, they said a few words of love and affection; Gwynileth gave them the knuckle-bone in a small pouch so they might put it within the pillars to guard their house… and then they opened Anya's final will and testament.
Most of the money was left to Anya's brother, to use for the family. The rest was given to Gwynileth. A note was written as a postscript for her: Use this money to get that boat ticket to Skyrim. Good luck, Gwyn. I love you.
Over the following days, Gwynileth led a careful double life. By day, she would accompany her mother around the premier market-stands, purchasing silks and suffering through fittings for the seamstresses that would make her wedding gown. She would attend horribly boring soirees and parties among the nobility, and do everything she could to avert suspicion.
By night, she would disguise herself and begin to visit the flea markets, selling all of her summer gowns and jewelry to accumulate enough money to start a new life in Skyrim. Most of her possessions sold for quite the amount of gold—but there was one amulet that she could not bring herself to sell; a gift from Lady Unara of House Redoran, the only member of the Great Houses who seemed to understand the pressure that Gwynileth was under.
"This is a symbol my House has long used to symbolize courage," said Unara, with a meaningful gleam to her eye. "I pray to Azura that it keeps you strong in the coming months."
Gwynileth did not know Lady Unara well, but she would not toss such a sentiment away when she was already giving up everything else.
By the midst of Sun's Dawn, she had amassed a total of one-thousand eight-hundred and twenty-one septims. Although the vast majority of this money would be dedicated towards the ticket upon the Northern Maiden, the vessel that would transport her to Skyrim, Gwynileth was still pleased by the number. With a little luck and frugality, the money should be enough to support herself for at least a couple of weeks in her new life.
The most difficult part of the process was not the sneaking around, or the overwhelming guilt… it was the fact that she knew she would be alone the moment she stepped foot onto the boat. One thing that Gwynileth had never lacked for during her life was company; it would be a strange and daring change to venture off on her own in search of something more.
On the morning of the 16th of Sun's Dawn, Gwynileth visited the grave-marker underneath which some of Anya's ashes were resting. She knelt ahead of the stone and carefully watered the white lilies that had been planted; her black dress was a stark contrast to the cheery flowers.
"Anya," she whispered, her fingertips brushing against the engraved name. "Everything is ready. All of my money… my few possessions are packed… I leave tonight, at the highest hour of the moon."
Of course there was no response, save for the wind passing through Gwynileth's pitch black hair, caressing the grey skin of her arms and face. The lily petals swayed gently.
"Did you really think I could do this? Or… did you just try to give me a semblance of hope again?"
The sun's rays were surprisingly warm considering how far away the spring months yet remained. First Seed would be arriving soon; there was supposed to be a celebration on the seventh day of the month, one that Houses Hlaalu and Nerussa had planned to celebrate together.
Gwynileth's throat grew tight. Her mother and father had not done her a lot of favors in the last few months—nay, few years. Their expectations had multiplied ever since her twentieth date of birth… and just as their daughter had grown, so had their ambitions.
But was there not that tiny part of them that still loved her exactly for who she was, deep inside their souls? Surely they had not become so depraved as to only see her as a vessel for personal power. Surely they at least remembered: she was their only child…
It was that moment that Gwynileth realized tears were trailing down her cheeks; one of them had fallen from her chin and stained the cover of her notebook, the same one that Anya had gifted to her. She swiftly wiped the blot away. It was a last tangible gift—it would not be soiled.
Gwynileth sighed and focused on taking deep breaths. There was no telling whether she would miss her parents once she was gone… but she would miss Anya.
She wanted to remember what this little enclave in the gardens looked like.
She would commit it to memory. Gwynileth opened her notebook and began to draw, even though it was Anya who had harbored the artistic talent—but that didn't mean Gwynileth couldn't try, for her.
Within the next half-hour, the drawing was done. It was not a perfect likeness, but it was enough: Anya's tombstone, surrounded by her favorite flowers.
"It's beautiful," said a voice.
Gwynileth stiffened. Without glancing over her shoulder, she said, "I was unaware that you would be paying our estate a visit today."
Jenithar chuckled behind her; it was likely that he was shrugging, in a casually hopeless manner. "It is Heart's Day, is it not? I brought you these."
He set a bouquet of lilac flowers ahead of the place where Gwynileth was sitting. She blinked and stared at them for a long while—she was startled and pleased despite herself. Lilac flowers such as these were a rare gift in an ash-ridden place such as Morrowind… her fingers reached out to caress their petals, which flowed along the currents of the wind just as the lilies surrounding Anya's gravestone did.
"And… we never concluded our conversation from the last time that we spoke together."
Jenithar's voice brought Gwynileth back to reality. Her hand quickly returned to her side, though her eyes remained locked on the purple flowers. "I do not know what else there is to say."
The shifting of leaves and dirt told Gwynileth that her unwanted fiancé was kneeling down beside her—it was hard not to smile, if only because had Anya known that Jenithar Hlaalu was ahead of her grave, she would've sworn at him like a Nord sailor.
"I will tell you every day of my life, if I must: I am sorry." Jenithar took a deep breath; his exhale was shaky. "You are a woman of great worth, Gwynileth. I am not a man of the same quality. If I truly were a great man, I would have heard your pleas the first moment they were uttered. I… am a monster. You have every right to push me away, to ask never to speak to me again. But there is no avoiding what we must do now, for the sake of our people, our families, and our country. And so I must ask you: is there any point in the future where you might be able to forgive me? Is there anything I can do?"
His voice cracked with this last sentence; his hands had extended in a feeble gesture of pleading. The normally sharp lines of his jaw were clenched, as though he were trying to prevent his lips from trembling. For the first time in what felt like years, for the first time since they were but children, Gwynileth was able to see Jenithar Hlaalu at his most vulnerable.
They had been friends for a long time indeed. It would be nice to be able to go back to how things had been.
But that was not possible, and Gwynileth knew it.
She also knew that within the next twenty-four hours, she would be gone. Whatever she chose next to say would likely be her last words to him: they needed to be powerful and cathartic not for his sake, but for her own.
Gwynileth took a deep breath and, though she shook as she did so, reached out to take one of his hands. "Jenithar… I appreciate you saying these things. I truly do. You are either incredibly genuine, or an incredible liar—and having known you for longer than most others can guess, I do believe that it is the former."
His eyes widened, sparking in hope: but Gwynileth was not yet done speaking. She locked eyes with him, her gaze stern, but not unkind. "I believe that you are sorry. But… my appreciation for your words does not mean I am obligated to forgive you. I told you at the New Years' Ball that some lines should never be crossed. Our relationship can never truly be mended; but that does not mean everything is beyond hope."
She squeezed his hand, encouraged by his silence, by the bittersweet yet understanding acceptance in his face. "Use this as a tool for your future, Jenithar. Do not break trust of the others in your life who love you. I cannot grant you the forgiveness you seek, but perhaps someday… for my own sake, I can find peace with what happened."
The changes in his face were miniscule: the lines around his mouth softened, and there was a light of understanding and sorrow in his gaze. Jenithar squeezed her hand in return before letting it go. "I will accept this. Thank you, Gwynileth. And again: I am sorry."
He turned away from her, allowing his eyes to rest upon the gravestone that sat ahead of them both. Upon reading the name engraved on its plaque, he sighed softly. "Ah… Anya. Your handmaiden, was she not?"
A lump appeared in her throat, and so Gwynileth nodded in lieu of speaking.
"I'm glad you were able to have her in your life, even if it was not for as long as either of you deserved," said Jenithar. He placed a hand upon her shoulder for only the briefest of moments before rising again. "I will leave you to mourn. I did not mean to intrude."
Gwynileth did not turn to watch him go; her crimson eyes were locked upon the name sitting plainly ahead. "I appreciate that. Good afternoon, Jenithar."
The sound of retreating footsteps revealed that once again, Gwynileth was alone. Even though it was mid-winter, and there had never been many birds in Morrowind… she was delighted to hear a sparrow-song from somewhere not too far away. It could've been a sign: something from Anya, to say that she was proud of her mistress for standing up for herself for once.
"I made you a promise, Anya," she murmured, her voice cracking. She sighed and folded the little notebook, now complete with a sketch of the tombstone and its flowers within its front pages, against her chest. "It will be hard, but… I will see it through."
The night was cold and dry, and Gwynileth was grateful that she had brought her snow-bear pelt to keep her warm as she waited at the docks for the Northern Maiden.
Stars were visible overhead, as it was thankfully a cloudless sky. Gwynileth decided to pass the time by studying the constellations; she had never paid much attention to the histories painted in the pictures of the sky during her childhood studies. Now, as an adult, she regretted her restless nature.
Just as she was grateful for something to do in her wait, she was also grateful for the relative emptiness of the pier. She had only ever seen the sea-side docks during the day, when it was a-hustle with townsfolk.
Over the edge of the horizon, Gwynileth spotted it: the dark silhouette of a ship. She took a deep breath—everything was so surreal. She had but a small pack of belongings alongside her with sparse possessions: what gold still remained, a few unperishable meals, a few sets of traveling clothes… and her own courage.
"Ahoy!" exclaimed a male voice. He was waving from the helm of the ship, navigating its way into the docks. "You must be our passenger?"
Gwynileth waved in response and pulled her hood further over her face. She did not dare to speak until she was onboard; she did not know much about Skyrim's people or their culture, and would not risk being rejected passage on the base that she was a woman.
"Come aboard, then!" said the man. He leapt off of the boat and started walking towards some of the boxes that Gwynileth had been standing beside. "You've already paid in advance, so you won't have any trouble from me."
She had indeed paid in advance: a hefty sum of one thousand and five-hundred septims. Gwynileth nodded once at the man and grasped the handles of her bag before boarding the vessel.
The boat was wobbly—something she had not expected. Gwynileth inhaled sharply through her teeth and lunged out to grab one of the masts nearby.
Upon hearing her mild distress, the sailor chuckled good-naturedly. "First time aboard a ship? No worries. You'll get your bearings eventually! And if you happen to get seasick, just let me or one o' the boys know. We've got a few remedies to help you out."
Before Gwynileth could even think of what to reply, the man hauled a box onto the ship with a grunt. She began to move forward to help, but the sailor held out a hand in protest. "Don't concern yourself over me. Go ahead and get situated wherever you like. Feel free to look underneath decks if you wish."
These last sentences did not make sense to her at all. Figuring there was nothing better to do, Gwynileth set her small knapsack beside one of the well-guarded railings and stood, overlooking the ocean spread out ahead of her.
It was only another few minutes before the man had finished transporting what goods he was supposed to pick up. He sauntered back behind the wheel and prepared to steer the boat…
Gwynileth's heartbeat crashed against her skull as each second passed. The man was hauling an anchor from where it had been cast… the ship continued swaying underneath her feet, exasperating what nausea she felt from her own anxiety. While she struggled to keep her breathing calm because she was actually doing it, she was actually leaving, the happy sailor was whistling a jaunty tune, none the wiser to her predicament.
It was hard to tell whether the rocking of the boat was comforting like an infant's cradle, or terrifying like an earthquake. All Gwynileth knew was that her homeland was growing further and further away until its shoreline was little more than a sliver over the far horizon, and then it was just… gone.
She exhaled sharply and placed both of her hands upon the railings. Her knuckles turned silver from how hard she was grasping them.
"So, eh—you don't seem to be the chatty type," said the sailor, who had paused in his whistling. "Would it be all right if I got your name? If you don't mind me asking, o' course."
There would be no hiding the fact that she was a woman forever. Figuring that it would be best to be honest, Gwynileth turned around to face the man and lowered her hood. "You may call me Nerussa."
The man's jaw dropped slightly upon seeing her face—Gwynileth was just as surprised by his appearance as he was by hers. His face was pale, and his hair the color of a dark brown, much like the hot cocoa she would drink with Anya alongside the fireplace of the lounge. Even more surprising than that was the color of his eyes… blue, like the everlasting sky that reigned above them in daytime.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Nerussa," said the man with a smile. "I go by Captain Wayfinder. It'll be my pleasure to escort you to the city of Windhelm."
His friendly demeanor provided a sense of calm to Gywnileth, but she remembered that he had mentioned others earlier in their voyage. Trying not to sound too concerned, she asked, "My presence will not be a problem to the other hands upon your ship, will it?"
Captain Wayfinder shook his head. "Never, milady. We've escorted plenty of Dunmer back and forth between Morrowind and Skyrim in the past: men and women alike."
Gwynileth nodded and faced over the sea again. The water reflected the dim lights of the stars and moon; an inky blackness so complete she could not see anything underneath its surface.
"Where are you headed? If again, you don't mind me asking."
She bit the inside of her lip and spared a look over her shoulder to Captain Wayfinder. He did not seem overly invested in her answer, at least, as his eyes were locked upon a compass in his hands. Hoping she was not being overly honest, Gwynileth answered, "I do not know. Away from here."
The Captain's eyes locked with hers. Despite the frivolity that he'd exhibited previously, there was a seriousness to his gaze now that she found unnerving. It was as though he could stare directly into her thoughts and see why she was afraid. "Let me offer you a piece of advice, then, Nerussa. Get out of Windhelm as soon as you can. That city's corrupt, and there are plenty of folks who don't take kindly to foreigners, if you catch my meaning. Take a carriage to the southern city of Falkreath instead."
Gwynileth nodded—a gust of wind transferred over the ship, causing her to shiver and pull her bear-pelt cloak tighter around her shoulders.
"Falkreath is also warmer than most other provinces in the country," added Captain Wayfinder, nodding serenely. "And Windhelm never stops fuckin' snowing."
This last made a small laugh emerge from her mouth; she promptly threw a hand to cover the grin. Never in Morrowind had people cursed in front of simple acquaintances, and even with people they knew well, swears were rare.
As it was, her amusement seemed to transfer to the Captain's. It was with a smile on his face that he asked, "Do you think you'll have enough gold for the journey?"
This last question made her pause. Gwynileth's smile faded; her eyes darted to the floor of the deck. "I am unsure. How much do carriage rides cost in Skyrim?"
"Considering the civil war that just started raging, I'd say anywhere from two hundred to three hundred septims, milady."
Gwynileth did not look up at him again. "Is it possible to walk?"
The ensuing silence from the talkative man lasted long enough for Gwynileth to grow self-conscious. She glanced up at Captain Wayfinder only to see that it was not pity that was in his face, like she had both expected and feared: it was curiosity. "What is it that you're runnin' from exactly?"
Gwynileth smiled wryly. There were so many answers to that question, she could hardly think of where to start. After a few moments of thought, she settled on, "A marriage that would've required me to give up life, love, and liberty… and the people who forced it upon me."
"I see." The Captain's gaze finally strayed from her ashen face back towards the ocean. He chewed the inside of his lip… and then started rummaging in his pockets. "Here."
He tossed something in her direction—Gwynileth surprised herself by catching it. It was a small burlap sack filled with small but heavy metals…
"That sound be enough to cover your carriage ride to Falkreath," said the Captain.
Gwynileth's mouth dropped open; she stared at the man, this man whom she had just met, with utter incredulity. "Captain, are you… are you certain?"
"I have no use for it, and my men have already been paid," he said. He shrugged, and then offered a hesitant smile. "All my crew-hands were bought by me from Altmer slave-traders. I set them free, and offered them a job. They stay with me by choice, not out of obligation or fear. They're free to leave whenever they wish, and do whatever they want to do. Long story short, Nerussa: I don't like seeing people enslaved."
Gwynileth swallowed hard, clutching the tiny purse to her chest. "Thank you."
His smile grew larger—he leaned back against the railings, one hand still upon the steering wheel. "It's no trouble. But you best be ready for the chill of Skyrim. I don't think you'll be thanking me for taking you there once you get a taste of those gales."
"Anywhere, no matter its temperature, is better than where I come from," said Gwynileth. She glanced back out over the ocean waters… they seemed so tranquil. Unable to resist the temptation, she leaned out slightly over the railings and disturbed their surface with a couple dainty fingers. Ripples appeared in the water behind where they trailed. "And I will remember that you helped me, if ever our paths should cross again."
Although she was not looking at him, Gwynileth could feel that the Captain was smiling.
The modded companions Lucien and Kaidan will both be in the following chapter! I appreciate you guys reading the backstory for Gwynileth though; it all came about when I discovered the 'Take Notes' mod for the Dragonborn to have a journal, and I thought to myself, 'Wow, I need to create a reason for my Dovahkiin to have come to Skyrim.' One thing led to another and... here we are! It's officially written out :)
Thank you for reading, all. I appreciate you greatly! Have a good day and take care.