Written in Flesh

Another sleepless night. To think, a few weeks ago I preferred the extra room in the bed for myself. Now it only felt empty, lonely, and cold. I had forgotten how dark this basement was, before one lit the candles. I couldn't even make out the ceiling above me—it was all black.

My lantern was close by. It took me a while to light it, not because it was difficult, but because I didn't feel any need to rush. As the warm light touched the walls of my room, I grabbed a candle and lit it in the flame of the lantern for use to light the rest.

There was breakfast on my table. Tilma had been doing that lately. I hadn't noticed her entering my room. Guess I had gotten some dreamless sleep after all. Dreamless… I don't know how I felt about that: Relief that for the last few weeks, my wolf didn't torture me with nightmares; Or hurt that even in my dreams he'd refuse to let me see her.

I didn't care if it'd be in horror, I only wanted to see her.

I took my time getting dressed, I should at least try to start the day, but I didn't feel like donning my armor—fursuit of black would do, for the same reason as Skjor's funeral and… their funeral—companions don't wear armor during grief.

I tried to eat, but the bread tasted like paper in my mouth—rough and dry—so I left it as is. Water went down easier though. One wet sip after the other helped time pass while my mind set itself to focus on nothing.

The basement hallway was empty. Nor did I hear any sound from any of the rooms. The candles were lit, but the others were probably out doing their morning training already.

I heard talking as I walked up the stairs, recognized their voices: Vilkas and Tilma.

"Good morning," Tilma greeted. A part of me appreciated that there was no pity in her voice, nor her eyes.

"Aye," Vilkas said before I could greet them back. He always grabbed his wolf-head shaped belt buckle when he tried to stand with composure. Or by habit. "Why don't you join me for training? Been a long time since we sparred," he continued as I approached them by the fire. First time he was the one to ask for a match. "Or is your shoulder still sore?"

¨Been a long time since we sparred.¨ Right. We hadn't sparred since before Skjor died, that was only a couple of months ago—yet it felt longer.

Don't know if he asked, to avoid the mammoth in the room, or if he wished to provide comfort through distraction. Both would have been welcome. But I wanted to be alone.

"No, it's fine. But I… I think I'll go for a walk today."

"Aye," he answered without moving a muscle. Unlike Tilma, his silver-blue eyes held a hint of compassion, but also comprehension. "You do that. We'll be here if you change your mind."

321

Leafless branches stretched above me, a snowy skeleton of the Gildergleam against a white sky. Snowflakes evaded the branches like flies as they wriggled their way towards me, melting to drips as they settled on my face. The bench was cold against my buttocks and back, I didn't mind—it'd get warmer soon.

Heimskr was shouting his prayers to Talos as usual. But his voice felt muted, distant. I wasn't listening anyway—my ears were set on another sound entirely; joyous laughter.

There had always been children in the city. But I had never paid them any attention—until now. They looked happy, playing in the snow, building snowmen and throwing snowballs at one another, wearing fur-clothes so thick they could hardly run—still, they tried. And as they fell, face down in the snow, they would struggle clumsily for a while before getting back on their feet, laughing with frostbitten cheeks and snow covered faces. There was innocence in their eyes. Safety. They had no worries.

Jida.

I don't know why I chose a girl's name, there had been no way of knowing if it had been a boy or a girl. But, somehow, in my heart, I felt it was a girl. Ysolda would've like that. A daughter. Our daughter. For some reason, it made me think of my sister. I can't recall the last time I thought of her, she died before I even had memories.

This must be how my parents had felt, losing her.

Ysolda and I had never spoken of children. Some part of me had always thought it'd happen when it happens—guess it had. We married last summer. That too felt like an eternity ago... almost a different life. A life without worries for the future, when we simply lived one day before the next.

Krev had changed all of that. She had changed all of that the moment she had taken Skjor. She had changed all of that the moment Aela and I failed to avenge him. And again, she had changed all of that the moment she set her eyes on my ring, and on me…

I knew all the blame was on her. It was all because of her. Still, I couldn't help but feel the gnawing guilt within me. The guilt that kept me up at night. The guilt that gripped me, and squeezed so hard I could barely take it for the pain in my chest. Was it truly all her fault? Could I truly place all the blame on her?

There should have been three of us.

Had I not been late that morning, Skjor would never had gone alone. And the three of us would easily have defeated her. But he had gone alone… And when I had the chance to avenge him, I had failed. I had hesitated and failed because I had been afraid. I could have taken her, had I not been afraid of her. And because I failed, she set her eyes on me—filled with glee—as she went after the one I love. Defeating me from outside of my reach. Even denying me a fighting chance. It had all been part of her plan. How had I not seen it coming?

The chained ring gave little comfort as I held it in my palm, slowly caressing it with my thumb—if anything, it only enhanced my pain. Round, round, and round my thumb felt the golden ring. Ysolda had always been the one to comfort me when I got thoughts such as these: guilt, shame, and remorse.

Who could possibly comfort me now?

Why had I even become a companion in the first place, if not to protect the ones I love? Because of my brother? He died because I was too weak and afraid to help him. And, like a coward, I had fled. I no longer knew if him telling me to run had anything to do with it. At the time, it hadn't mattered, no matter how many times I try to tell myself otherwise… I would've run either way.

My father had told me not to blame myself—that I should be proud and honored that he had given his life to protect me, and died a true Nord. But I had never felt as such. Truth be told, even now, I've only ever felt guilt for his death. He died because I had been weak.

But I'm not weak anymore—no one would argue that. And still, I had failed. Still, I couldn't protect them.

What's the use of being strong if you can't protect those you love?

"You look lost, Companion," an old voice interrupted my thoughts of self judgement.

"What?" I blurted as I took my eyes off Ysolda's ring and lifted my head.

It was an old woman—all snowy fur-coat and hood. She looked familiar somehow, but I couldn't place where I had seen her before. She had a kind face—wrinkles enhancing her soft smile—and a clear look in her eyes. But her eyes were muddy and white. A rare eye color. I wondered if they once had been blue.

"Lost your way, have you?" She continued.

"No—I… I live in Jorrvaskr," I answered, gesturing down the street toward Jorrvaskr before I returned the chained ring to my neck, tucking it inside my shirt.

"That's not what I meant, dear," she said, looking down the street before she turned her attention to the basket in her arm. I could smell the bread, potatoes, and herbs. "Say, you wouldn't mind helping an old lady carry her groceries home, would you?"

"I…" I hesitated. But what else would I do? Remain on this bench, wallowing in self-pity? Besides, what companion would turn down an old woman? "…sure."

She was holding out her basket for me before I even had gotten the time to rise. It didn't look heavy as she smilingly pushed it in my hands. It wasn't.

321

"It's a nice weather we have today…" she said as we walked through the marketplace. Were we really about to discuss the weather? I'd rather walk in silence. "…But I always preferred the summers. All this white is too hard on these old eyes of mine."

"Just point me where to go." I was not going to talk about weather and poor eyesight.

I ignored her look as we walked through the crowd—narrow streets approaching.

"It's just a bit down the streets here," she finally said, pointing towards one of the many alleyways.

I knew this street. It's the same street Ysolda's and my house is on. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling.

"We all lose our ways sometimes," she started as we began walking the narrow streets of stone. "Some because of chance, others because of hardship. And some lose their way simply because they dally in life."

I gave her a sideways look as she spoke. I had a feeling I knew where this was going. Why do old people always insist on giving wisdom?

"But no matter how lost we sometimes are, there's always a road in front of us. And one only needs to remember, that someone put that road there for a reason. And few realize that those roads are always tailored for us specifically—not for anyone else."

Roads? Tailored? "You're… talking about faith?"

Her smile grew wider. "And here people say you warriors are all brawn, no brain."

"You really believe in that sort of thing?"

"When you're my age, dear, you tend to not believe in things. One knows, or one doesn't."

Kodiak would like her—they're both the all-cryptic-wisdom sort. In other words, the annoying sort.

I didn't like this street, and now my pace began to lag as my house came into view. I hadn't set my eyes on it since the day I found Krev's letter. My letter. And after that day, I've not yet been able to bring myself home. There's simply… too many memories. Memories that now tore at me as I stared at the dark, cold windows.

"This way, dear," The old lady said, pulling me from my mind. I hadn't realized she had walked past me, gotten a head start toward the house she was signaling at.

That's how I had recognized her. She was our neighbor, I must have met her on the streets many a time without realizing it.

Like most buildings in Whiterun, it was an old wooden house made of heavy logs and planks, with a strong stone chimney sticking out of its roof, softly coughing smoke. But it was smaller than most, more like a log cabin than an actual house.

She was smiling kindly as I approached her by the door. "Thank you," She said as I gave her the basket. "Say would you like to come in for a cup of tea? It'd be awfully unkind of me not to offer thanks."

"I…" My house was still on my mind, and I didn't feel like spending any more time with her—or with anyone for that matter. "Thanks, but I think I'll head back." Thankfully, she didn't look offended.

"Well, that is your choice," she said as she unlocked her door. "But I do think I have something that might be of help to you. To find your way, that is."

To find my way, I thought as she went in the door. Right. But the way she'd said it sounded as if she had something specific in mind. As if she knew something I didn't. It did grab my attention, even if in an uncomfortable and questionable way.

She had left the door open, and for a moment, I stood outside. Looking around as I couldn't decide if I'd head back to Jorrvaskr or take her up on her offer.

Eh–what the heck…

321

The inside looked older than the outside: dirt floor, poorly made furniture, low ceiling, windows with moth-bitten curtains. The ceiling was covered in spices and herbs—hung to dry—cinnamon, mint, earthy mushrooms, honey, tree sap, and more—giving the place a pungent aroma. Admittedly, it was hard to pinpoint all the smells. I could see alchemist-tools on the shelves—mortars and the like—but also trinkets and small tools I didn't recognize a use for.

"I hope you like Canis root-tea," she said as she stood by the warming oven, placing an old rusted kettle on the fire. She had taken off her outer layers and wore a yellow dress now. Her hair was white and long, but surprisingly clean and cared for, for an old woman. "Do you take honey?"

"No…" I never did like sweet things. I couldn't help but notice the small bed in the corner and the overall lonely read of the room as I walked over to the old table. "…Do you live alone?"

"Oh, my husband died years ago," she answered softly, reaching for a pair of wooden mugs. "Died in the Great War he did."

The Great War. That was before even my time. "I'm sorry." Felt like the right thing to say.

"No need. He was old already then, I knew he wouldn't return."

Knew he wouldn't return. That's a cruel way of thinking. But surely someone must care for her? "Children?" I asked, looking at her back as she worked the kitchen.

"We tried many times, but I could never bear children. Knew that, too." Odd how she still had a glad voice, even while wielding a sentence like that.

Again, I felt like apologizing. But the subject of children struck too close to home, so I didn't. "Then, how do you come by? I don't mean to offend, but aren't you too old for work?"

The water was boiling, giving off a steamy, bitter smell as she took the kettle with a pot-holder and poured two cups. "Why don't you take a seat, dear," she said as she approached the table with the cups.

The chair groaned as I sat down and for a second I questioned whether it would hold my weight or not, but I felt relieved as it seemed to hold.

"I get along just fine…" she began as she passed me one of the cups over the table. The window next to us offered plenty of light, and unlike when she had been by the stove, I could see her clearly now. Her white hair made whiter by the light, her muddy eyes were somehow clearer than they had been outside, and her wrinkles added to any and all smiling expressions she made. She must have been beautiful in her youth. "…I offer advice to those in need. Those who have lost their way. And my customers pay more than well for my advice—though you won't find any of them in this city."

"People… pay you for advice?" Never heard of such a profession. The closest thing I could think of was the steward, but he does so much more than offer the Jarl advice. "What sort of advice?"

"The type I'm offering you," she said with a smile.

To help you find your way. Tailored roads. Faith. Did she really believe in that crap?

Her eyes wouldn't break from mine as she seemed to wait with a smile on her lips.

"You help people get back on their path?" I asked in disbelief.

"Almost. People always get back on their path, there's no avoiding that. No… I help people know their path." She lifted her cup after she had finished and took a sip.

Know their path, I thought as I, too, lifted my cup. The tea was bitter, but warming.

"So now…" she began as she lowered her cup. "…let me take a look at what's in store for yours." She held out one hand towards me, resting it on the table as she asked for mine.

Really? I thought as I realized her intent. "You read hands?" I asked. To say I was skeptical about these kinds of things would be an understatement. There's no such thing as faith. Things happen and that's it. There's no reason behind it, only chance.

"It's a hobby of mine, yes," she said, still her eyes were locked on me as she awaited my hand.

With a sigh, I reluctantly leaned forward and offered her my hand. This better be good.

"Now let's see what these old eyes of mine can find," she said as she took my hand, turning her attention to my palm. "A warrior's hand. Good, bigger hands hold more to read."

"And what do you read?" As I asked, I realized my voice no longer hid my disbelief.

"All kinds of things," she said softly, still looking into my palm. "Small things like you're in grief, you don't like sweets, and childhood friends are good to have," she began, drawing her old finger over my palm. "But there's also the bigger things, like when wearing red, beware of tusks in the forest and bears in storms, mind the eyes of eagles, and don't trust steel to lizards."

Really? A quack. Why was I not surprised? The short amount of time we'd spent together was more than enough for her to figure most of that out. Kodlak always claimed to be good at reading people's eyes, but I knew he picked up on the smaller things. It's all about being observant, and this old hag was no different. As for the rest—

"And it seems you'll experience death more than once," she interrupted my thoughts. More than once? As if I hadn't already. Most of Whiterun knew that. Hag—using my rumors against me. "How romantic… That it is love that'll save you."

"That's a load of nonsense," I interrupted. Yes, I no longer attempted to hide my disbelief. The woman's a fraud, only a fool would be impressed. I can't believe people pay for this.

"Of course it is—"she lifted her eyes to meet mine"—child of Hircine."

What?!

I pulled back my hand, surprise and shock on my face as I hastily leaned back in my chair, backrest hindering my retreat. Her smile wasn't soft anymore, it was more teasing, joyous, pleased—as if she had more than confirmed a suspicion. My disbelief had instantly turned into dubious distrust.

"Oh–don't worry," she said, smiling to the point of a grin, "We know I carry far darker secrets than yours." Again, she reached out her hands toward me. "Now, give me both hands so I can continue."

¨Child of Hircine.¨ How had she known? Who is this woman? "Who are you?" I asked, more than suspicion in my voice.

"I'm just a feeble old woman, dear," she answered, still awaiting my hands.

"Are you a witch?" It was a longshot. I've only heard rumors of women studying the occult, read a few of Kodlak's books. This woman might not live secluded in a forest, reading fortunes from intestines, but the inside of her house spoke differently. There were far too many herbs and trinkets here for a normal old woman.

"A witch?" she almost laughed. "Those old crones can call their guesswork visions all they want, pretending to see beyond as the play in their ignorance. No. There's no magic or rituals in my work—and I'm certainly no Deadra-worshipper. I'm a seer, and my sights aren't given from some immortal lord given form, but from the shapeless void between the worlds themselves."

She sounded insane. But I had to admit, my disbelief had turned into skepticism as I leaned forward, slowly giving away my hands as I watched her.

"Now let's see here," she said as she again started studying my palms. "Interesting…" she mumbled. "…seems your path is since long written in more than flesh—it's written in stone."

Again with the cryptic talk. Why was I doing this? ¨Child of Hircine,¨ she must have made a lucky guess. Heard hidden rumors. Something. There had to be a logical explanation. Still, a part of me was curious.

"To think even my death is written here…" she continued in a low voice. "…as-the-heavens-fall-on-the-hill-of-the-dragons."

And, by Ysmir, back to fancy-sounding nonsense. But still, I watched her with curiosity as she took her time ¨reading¨ my hands—gently poking at my fingers as her eyes went from one to another.

"Okey," she suddenly said, letting go of my hands as she turned her white muddy eyes on me. She wasn't smiling anymore. "I think I have what I need. Now listen closely, dear, for I'm only going to tell you once."

I was surprised as I leaned forward on the table—she actually had my attention.

She began speaking in a normal voice, not that I know how a seer's supposed to talk but except for the cryptic sentences she sounded more like a spokesman—telling it how it is—rather than giving her voice melodrama to sound ¨mysterious.¨

"Dead heart beats, old tale told, wounded wolf, for aid she'll fold.
Eternal steel, toward ground fall, silver breaks skin, bone and all.
Vengeance served, do take heed, or accursed rage, be your steed.
Time will pass, wounds shall heal, but the bleeding crown, your aid will need.
Glorified messenger, torn lands walk, till the request for dragon, are made by Jarl.
Dragon lay dead, torn asunder, awakened by soul, you'll no longer slumber.
Heed the call, the mountain-shout, seven thousand steps, will be your route.
Met by old, your voice be heard, through boredom alone, words be learned.
Through heaven you fall, nothing be learned, carried by wind, till ground be returned.
Wolfpack assembles, yellow glowing eyes, chained loyalty, unhonorable yet wise.
In the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, red faces blue, till Ysmir stops all.
Wrath of Kyne, friend will fall, the wolf and bear battle, till winter be called.
Biggest of crime, mass murderer born, eagle eyes set, locked behind thorn.
Justice be served, the headsman's axe fall, time no more matters, four feet outruns all.
A test she asks, death will call, not to fail, still you'll fall.
Circle of glass, gold as you fell, ¨enchanted by emotion,¨ the explanation they'll tell.
Time of the essence, travel by sea, dead waters under, winds shall wood lead.
The eagle nest yearns, eagles unbound, the last of your blood, they'll burn as it's found.
Vengeance and wrath, still you move on, the City of Thieves, loremaster will hold.
Red moon arises, calling your hunt, true master summoned, till by voice you're unbound.
Heaven a temple, the wall will be found, ¨written in stone,¨ ancient lore all around.
The powerful rises, meeting adjourned, forced peace suffices, the mages are learned.
Hidden by ice, your knowledge unfound, in the City of Kings, by old friends you're found.
Lured toward dragon, still one is around, last Harbinger falls, she-wolf unbound.
Darkest of time, the lowest you'll fall, peace be forgotten, again there'll be war.
Still don't despair, by half-elf you're found, strands of fire, joy all around.
Written in stone, knowledge be forced, fight it you will, yet upon you it's brought.
Unwanted companion, the one who conjures, thoughts of fatherhood, again you'll ponder.
Allies before, but allies no more, a caravan of sinners, all of them shall fall.
Steel you will seek, split tongue of lies, the lizard is sleek, Shadowscale in disguise.
Atmoran mind hold, blue eyes of such, weep while you can, before in hatred's clutch.
Dragon and wolf, fighting on chest, Companion restored, time must unrest.
Time shall rip, past recalled, dragon made mortal, the black scaled one stalled.
Old allies summoned, they'll heed your call, crimson scaled dragon, his name was his fall.
Carried by wings, Fatherland under, temple of old, through a portal of wonder.
Mist of the dead, World Eater hunger, he'll have his fill, to Shor's hall you'll wander.
Heroes of old, commoners too, the one who first died, he'll greet you there too.
Prophecy ended, destiny fulfilled, rest while you can, die if you will.
Ages go by, your time be forgotten, all dragons rise, lands already rotten.
Lost in time, no -one is born, at the throat of the world, like the black one before.
Way of the voice, a battle of wills, far away lands, across seas that chills.
Minds are forced, memories stolen, against dragon of old, will still unbroken.
Girl into woman, travels by stone, mushrooms on ash, made to a home.
Books of black shadow, sea of black ink, top tower battle, Deadra unhinged.
Knowledge learned, wisdom got, cruelty by words, no-one willingly forgot.
Mind be set, the lake freezes over, ironclad will, a full-on do-over.
Named by dragon, work must be done, unlikely alliances, injustice undone.
Trades will be made, both seeking powers, dragons for high seats, the one-armed desires.
Betrayed woman grieves, surrounded by death, an offer agrees, alliance beset.
Rise King of Draugr, dead hands to work, dragon cult rises, forced piece is yearned.
Blood will run, heavens fall, Hill-of-the-Dragons, stone city stands tall.
Questions asked, reason boils over, answers unmasked, done for the poorer.
Wings will travel, rot everywhere, nobles don't starve, the common despair.
Reason recalled, mind always set, named by dragon, never regret.
White finger of gold, reaching so high, request will be told, all cast aside.
Crowned throat threatened, words spoken to all, last day of an Era, Dragon ate all.
Reptilian allies, old trees foretold, no need to argue, convincing heed sold.
Peace by force, Cyrodiil asunder, rebels and dead, nobles lay under.
End after end, betrayal of all, death was the word, killed from afar.
Youngest of dragons, stands atop tall, ironclad still, set to end it all."

It took me a while to realise she had finished, but as she lifted her tea cup to her lips and stared out the window, I figured she was done.

A prophecy? I thought as I leaned back in the chair. Claiming I was confused would be an understatement, her reading had given me more questions than answers. And honestly, I didn't know where to begin.

"There's no way I'll remember all of that."

"I know you won't, dear," she said, putting down her cup and returning her eyes on me. "But at least you've heard it."

"What does it mean?"

"Now, now. There's no fun in spoiling what will come, I've already given you more than enough." She was smiling that soft smile again as she gave a dismissive wave. "Now scurry off, I have dinner to prepare and I prefer eating alone," she said as she rose from the table, heading for the stove.

"What?" Is she kicking me out? "But, I don't understand. I still have questions," I said, rising from the table.

"I'm sure you do, dear. They'll all be answered in time." again she gave a dismissive wave, this time toward the door.

"But—"

"Scurry off," she repeated, ignoring me as she began taking out pots and pans from her cabinets.

For a moment I stood in baffled confusion, dumbstruck, looking at her back. Seriously? With a sigh, I surrendered and turned, even more confused, as I could hardly open the door for my thoughts. Dragons? Knowledge? By Ysmir, what am I to believe? I shook my head as the door gave way and the cold air met my face. I had so much on my mind; questions, confusion, more questions. Nothing made sense… except for one thing:

Kodlak would like her.