I did it!
I managed to scrape the next one out before new-years.
This chapter actually ends where I had intended for the last one to end,
which is why I managed to get it written so quickly.
(It was mostly done inside my head.)
That said, I'll work on the next Murder of Wayrest next, so it might take a while before I get around to writing the next chapter on this one.
But I assume most of you have gotten used to that by now, hehe. (my bad)
So, Enjoy the chapter!
I always love to hear your thoughts on the chapter,
so drop a comment if you feel like sharing. :)
And Happy new year!
Do you feel Guilt?
I couldn't find a single dent. Not a chip, nick, notch, or scratch. All of that dull-gray metal on my armor looked as new as the day it was made, no show of wear or tear whatsoever, only the fursuit beneath and the sturdy leather straps holding it together showed signs of usage—I had even replaced a few over the years—but the metal itself was as flawless as ever.
The eternal steel of the Skyforge.
All steel that came out of Eorlund's Skyforge was like that. Nails, armor, tools, or blades, it made no difference. Even the steel I made held together like that.
I heard rumors every now and then, doubts, that Eorlund only was as good a smith as he was because of his forge. And sure, the quality of the steel was all because of the Skyforge, I couldn't deny that. I doubt even Eorlund could, he's too self-aware. But it wasn't the quality of the steel that defined Eorlund's craftsmanship, it was everything else.
The design of the armor itself was masterful: The buttons holding it together both as a way for the leather straps not to break, were a lycanthrope to wear it while transforming, as well as the ability for one to don it without the help of another: the shape of the platings, measured and shaped to fit on my body and my body alone like a second set of skin: The engravings—the pack of wolves—on the chest plate that rivaled, perhaps even put to shame, any decorative armor of a noble: and of course the vambraces, the vambraces where the metal itself was shaped into the heads, the faces, of wolves biting down on one's wrists, so detailed one could feel every crevice and tooth, touch every element and detail, even the fur. No mold did that… could do that.
The Skyforge alone could not make this, it was all made by the hands of Eorlund—Master of steel.
Such a shame that he'll most likely melt it down the second I leave—It's shaped after my body and won't fit anyone else, and steel is expensive.
As I sat in my room under the candlelight, reminiscing memories on my armor as it sat on its mannequin, it all began to sink in. Really sink in.
I'm leaving…
A feeling of melancholy; I'll miss this place. Over the years, with everything that has happened, it really has become my home. More than my home.
There was a knock on my door, pulling me from my lonely state.
"Come in," I said with a sigh, lifting my elbows from my knees and straightening myself up in my chair.
Vilkas stood in the doorway as he pushed the door open with his foot, holding two plates of food.
"You're up early," I said as he entered.
"That's funny, coming from you," he answered as he handed me one of the plates and leaned his behind against my desk beside me.
"Thank you," I said as I took the plate. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep. Spent most night polishing my armor to make time pass."
"You should thank Tilma," he said as he made himself comfortable and grabbed his spoon for a bite, "She got up early to make this especially for you."
"Hm," I let out as I looked at the plate in my lap: venison stew with a piece of bread soaking in it. The broth smelled rich. Stew? In all my years she's never made anything but porridge for breakfast.
"I see you've packed," he said as he ate, hinting at the sack on my bed.
"Yeah…," I said and rose from my chair to move and sit on my bed, gesturing for him to take the seat. "I was just about to leave," I said as I sat down and watched him take his seat.
"Before sunrise? You're not going to say goodbye to the others?" he said, rather than asked—I saw he already knew the answer, so I didn't answer, I only looked down into the stew and began to eat. "I think they'll be sour with you for that," he said, "Ria most of all."
"She always was the sensitive type," I said, eating.
"Aye," he said with a slight smile, "Not at all like Njada and Aela."
"No," I let out, feeling the humor. "I doubt those two will even notice I'm gone."
"Oh, they'll miss you," he said. "We'll all miss you. But you know how we are—not the most sensitive of bunches."
"Ha."
We sat for a while. Ate in silence.
"You know why you're leaving, don't you?" he suddenly said, still looking into his bowl of stew.
"Because of my father," I answered without lifting my head, "Though I made that clear yesterday."
"I meant the real reason," he continued, this time looking up as I, too, looked up at him.
"Not you too," I said, a hint of annoyance running through me, "So that's why you're here?"
"Mostly to say goodbye, but that too," he said.
With a deep sigh, I looked aside before looking back, showing my frustration.
"Don't take me wrong," he said, "I think it might be good for you. To get away for a while."
"Other than Riften?" I said sourly.
"I meant all of this. Jorrvaskr, The Companions… Whiterun. To get some time to think."
I didn't answer. It all felt frustrating, angering even. This was never something I wanted to talk about; felt like talking about.
"You know he's right, don't you?" he said after a brief pause, "The old man."
"I know!" I said, frustration growing sharper, "That's the most frustrating part about him, he's always right." Vilkas looked at me with those silver-blue eyes, waiting for more. "Just once I'd wish he'd say something stupid. But he never does, does he?"
"No," he said with a slight chuckle—made my anger soothe, "That man will probably teach Shor himself a thing or two about wisdom when he meets him in Sovngarde."
"Ysgramor too," I added, suddenly feeling like laughing—but I didn't.
Vilkas did chuckle before he again turned silent and a bit broody, "Bringing up Skjor was uncalled for," he said.
"I know," I said, suddenly feeling bad about myself—I still blamed myself for his death, and… all deaths. And again that hollow feeling came creeping over me like a cold draft. "I just... lost my temper a bit." In hindsight, it was an assy move. "Could you apologize to Aela from me for that one?" I asked him and looked up.
"Sure," he said.
"She'll act uncaring," I continued, "but I know she'll—"
"Aye, I'll tell her," he interrupted with a nod.
And we both returned to eating—sharing each other's company in silence as we ate—until Vilkas put his plate on my desk and rose to look at my armor.
"I see you polished it well," he said, grabbing his wolf-head-shaped belt-buckle with both hands as he looked at it.
"You can tell?" I asked as I placed my empty plate on the side of my bed and looked over at the armor.
"Not in the slightest," Vilkas said and turned for me with a smile.
It almost made me laugh, made both of us almost laugh. But it felt sour-sweet.
"I don't know how Eorlund does it," he said, "but his armors looks dirty and clean at the same time, and never anything else."
"Yeah," I said in agreement.
"Did he ever teach you how he does it?" he asked, "To make it gray?"
"No," I said, "He told me once he was saving that secret for one of his sons—whoever decides to inherit his trade—but I have the feeling he'll be taking it to his grave. They don't seem interested in the Skyforge."
"Aye, a shame," he said, looking back at the armor.
"All I know is that it doesn't affect the quality of his steel, or he'd do it on all the steel he makes—Companion armor only, The Circle."
"Hm," he let out and walked up to it and studied it for a while. "You should keep the vambraces," he suddenly said and began strapping them of the mannequin without hessitation.
"Kodlak said—"
"I know what Kodlak said," he interrupted. "But you've been with us for a long time, you should have something to remember us by," he said and handed me the pair—without the split-buttoned gloves that went with them.
"Vilkas…" I started, "I don't think the Empire lets it's soldiers bring their own armor pieces."
"They'd be fools to turn down a soldier wearing Eorlund's work," he said, holding out the two pieces in front of me, "Besides, you think their metal is anywhere near as good a protection as these?"
"I…" I hesitated—about to decline, but I didn't. "Thank you," I said as I accepted them.
"Don't mention it," he said as I strapped them to my arms and drew my fingers over grey steel, feeling its details with a sigh as I've done many times before. It always felt relaxing in a way.
"Well," I began and rose from the bed, reaching for my bag and tossed it over my shoulder, "I should get going.
"That's all you're bringing with you?" he asked, nodding at the size of it.
"Actually, when I started packing I didn't know what to bring," I said, looking over my shoulder at the bag before looking back at him. "I mean, the Empire will provide most of what I need, won't they? Clothes, gear, armor…"
"So… what did you bring?" he asked with curiosity.
"Food for the trip, mostly—dried meat and such," I said, feeling awkward and odly embarrassed, but I pushed the feelings back down. Vilkas didn't, he laughed at me. "I did bring some clothes," I said, "For the trip. Shaving gear. My savings."
"Well Solitude is two or three weeks away, wouldn't want to show up in dirty clothes would you?" he said jokingly as he stopped laughing.
"But I will bring these," I said and reached for my dagger and attached it to my belt, and then my axe. The axe is mine, I made it, and no one, not even the Empire, could take it away from me.
"Aye," Vilkas said as I took the hooked leather strap and pulled it over my shoulder, and sheeted the axe on my back with those two satisfying metal clicks: the axe-head attaching to the hook behind my knees and then. the handle, to the hook behind my shoulder. "I'll walk with you," he said, holding out my cape for me as I had finished.
"Tilma," I greeted as we walked up the stairs and entered the main hall.
She stood over a large pot by the freshly lit fire, cooking breakfast, as she looked over. Smelled like porridge. Guess the stew really was only for me… and Vilkas, who most likely was lucky—right time and place.
"Did you bring the dishes?" she asked kindly as we approached, Vilkas holding the two bowls. "Leave them on the table, would you," she said with a nod for the table as she continued stirring the pot with that giant wooden ladle that required the use of both her old scrawny hands. "I hope it was to your liking?"
"I assume you know," I said: why else would she have gotten up this early only to make me stew.
"Oh, Kodlak told me everything, dear," she said, smiling at me as she continued stirring the thick porridge. "Such a shame, I went out and bought ingredients for a good venison-roast I had planned for dinner. But now I guess everyone's getting stew instead."
"Don't be like that, old haggard," Vilkas said jokingly, "We can still have roast for dinner."
"Ha! And celebrate his return when he's left?" she said and gave him a sharp, yet humored, look, squinting her eyes, "Pf! As if you lot would get to eat any better than he did? No, you'll eat what I make you."
"Fair enough," Vilkas said in accepted and expected defeat.
"Thank you for the stew, Tilma," I said and she turned that sharp look on me, "It was good."
"It better have been," she said, "I had to get up earlier than you." She almost sounded pissed but I knew she wasn't—the tone of a lecturing mother. Her look softened, "Such a shame to see one of my children leave," she said, her voice growing softer and she let go of the wooden ladle and wiped them clean in her apron.
"Your children?" I let out a snort for her comment as I looked at her, "I'm not so much of a child anymore, am I?"
"Oh, you'll always be children to me," she said, face and eyes growing even softer. Were they… teary? "Come here," she said and held out her arms for a hug.
I let out a complaining sound from my throat and turned my head away from both her and Vilkas; this was getting awkward. But she took a step toward me and embraced me either way.
"I'll miss you," she said as she pressed her cheek against my lower chest, arms hugging tight around my waist.
With a sigh, I moved my arms and hugged her back. She was so short and small—or I was tall, would be more accurate—barely reaching to my chest. "The Mother of Jorrvaskr, eh," I said.
"And don't you forget it," she mumbled into my chest and her old arms squeezed tighter.
"I'll miss you too," I bitterly admitted in a low voice, feeling her old white hair beneath my fingers.
This is why I didn't want to wait around for all the others. This is nothing but awkward, embarrassing, and… oddly painful. Almost too painful all of a sudden.
"Well…" I started, letting go of her before it all became too much, "I need to leave now. Before the carriage leaves without me."
"Don't think I'm dumb," she said softly, "No carriages leave this early." still she gave one last squeeze before she let go of me and stepped back to look me over.
"Yeah, well," I said awkwardly and corrected the bag over my shoulder.
She wasn't wrong, I wasn't leaving early because of the carriage, I was leaving early to avoid moments like these.
"Well go ahead," she said reassuringly with a proud face and a wave of her hand. "Away with you. Both of you."
Vilkas gave a push on my shoulder with his fist.
"The other will get to say their say when you come back," Tilma said, "And then, and not until then, will I make that roast."
"Hey!" Vilkas fretted and looked at her in protest.
"Oh, hush with you," she said sharply with a wave of her finger and returned to stir in her pot.
And we left.
Most of the sky in front of us still held that deep dark purple hue as we exited Jorrvaskr into the cold spring-morning air, but there was a lighter tone of frost-blue above and behind us, and, on the other side of Jorrvaskr—to the east—I'm sure a white-yellow light was already growing across the horizon, predestinating the sunrise, even though we couldn't see it.
This must be the first time I've ever walked down the stairs from Jorrvaskar and not be greeted by the wailing prayers of Heimskr. The lack of screaming-to-the-heavens was much appreciated, a relief even.
That's the one thing I don't think I'll ever miss.
Actually, now that I was listening in on it, the entire city was quiet. And empty. It had yet to awaken. Even the stray animals were still asleep.
I preferred it this way, being alone where one usually wasn't alone. And walking in the silent company of Vilkas didn't disrupt that feeling; I still felt alone.
The giant statue of Talos—looking down on us with dead eyes—only added to that brooding feeling as we descended the stairs. Is that how my home takes farewell of me? Judgemental eyes delivered by a god: cold and uncaring.
"The marketplace?" Vilkas said, hinting a direction, as we approached the Gildergreen: nothing but a skeleton of a tree freezing in the chill morning breeze.
"Why?" I asked, "It's a lot shorter if we walk through the Wind District."
"And then you'll have to wait longer for the carriage," he said with a fair point.
"Sure," I folded, after all, I no longer needed to pretend rush and hurry: Jorraskr's well behind us now.
So we turned by the old dying three and wandered through the tiny park, down the wide main-street between all the wooden log buildings with fenced-off backyards, until we reached the stairs leading down to the marketplace.
I remember the first time I ascended these stairs, wearing that old, oversized, and rusty iron armor my father had gotten me; my father's old sword by my hip. I wonder what happened to that old blade… Aah, that's right: Eorlund melted it down when he made me that larger sword I wielded for a while. The larger sword I wanted only to impress Skjor. The sword I later on melted down to make my axe.
That was so many years ago. Feels like a lifetime ago. No, it is a lifetime ago—I most certainly wasn't the same person then as I am now. In so many ways. Few good ones.
I… remember how nervous I was. By Ysmir, nothing but a farmer's son walking the steps to the most renowned warriors of all of Skyrim. My heart had been pounding like a woodpecker every step of the way and I had been stuttering every other word I spoke.
Whatever gave me the courage?
Rolf had. His death was the reason for it all. The reason it all began. Only because I never wanted that to happen again… how naive I was.
I had failed him. And I sought out the Companions to never fail another, to never see another loved one die. Yet, after that, I've never done anything but fail.
I failed Rolf because I was a coward who chose to run instead of lifting my bow.
I failed Skjor because I chose to be late to something I had no reason to be late too.
I failed Ysolda because I was too afraid to kill someone who clearly, beyond measurement, should have been killed the second I laid eyes on her.
And I failed Jida simply because I never even realized she existed… until it was all too late.
By Ysmir, I never should have joined the Companions. But then… I never would have met her.
"Something wrong?" Vilkas suddenly asked.
I was clenching my chest through my yellow tunic with my left hand, or rather, clenching the ring on my neckless through the fabric with my pain-pounding hand.
"No," I said and lowered my hand—almost hid it—by my thigh as he walked on my right. I clenched my fist a few times for the stinging in the bones: like a migraine-inducing toothache. But no matter how many times I clenched it, without touching her ring, it remained to pound."Just… some old memories."
"Aye," he said and turned his head forward, "Can't escape those."
"No," I said in a low voice.
Do I regret joining the Companions?
"Do you remember our first duel?" I asked while looking down at the steps in front of us to take my mind off of things and, more importantly, to make Vilkas believe those were the memories I was thinking of.
"Ha!" he laughed once, "I had you on your ass before you swung your first swing."
"You did," I admitted, trying to hide the sad tone in my voice, "and I was so confident too."
"I noticed. But that's what you get for going against someone who's been wielding a sword since he was seven," he said joyfully with an obvious hint of pride.
"You know, I thought you were an arrogant prick back then," I said as we closed in on the bottom of the stairs.
"And I thought you were a spoiled brat who needed to be taught a lesson," he answered with a laugh.
"I was never spoiled."
"But you were a brat who needed to be taught a lesson."
"Ha," I let out. He was probably right.
"And then out last duel?" He continued.
"Yeah, that's a long time ago."
"Before Skjor," he said, a shared hint of solemn in his voice. "You gave me a nosebleed that time."
"Not the first time I made you bleed," I said, a small smile at the corner of my lips
"Aye, but it was the first time you made me lose my footing—had me taste gravel."
"Still you won."
"And I always will."
The marketplace was void and empty. A flat, circular, surface of cobblestone ground surrounded by empty wooden stands with a stone-well in the middle. A wooden bucket abandoned on its side at the base of it.
You could see the sunrise from here, well, not the horizon but the sky turning light blue and yellow above the Bannered Mare: The city Inn, or tavern—or whatever you wanted to call it.
¨Once I've made enough money trading with the Khajiit caravans, I'm going to buy The Bannered Mare from Hulda.¨
Her voice. Again…
"Did you know I once helped Farkas with a ¨contract¨ here?" I asked, looking at the Bannered Mare.
"No," he said, slightly surprised and equally curious.
"He was still showing me the ropes back then, showing me the city mostly."
"Farkas?" he said in humored doubt, "Showing you the ropes?"
"He was showing me the city," I corrected admittingly and looked over at him, "And it wasn't really a contract." He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. "We were only walking by and Farkas suddenly said he heard… ¨something fun going on inside¨. I hadn't heard anything of notice, thought he was joking, but after I turned moon-born I figured how he had heard."
"Aye," he said, still listening.
"So we went inside and was faced with this… obnoxious high-nosed drunk who was groping every bar-maid in his reach and shouting insults at people, laughing all the while—something the city-guards should handle."
"Aye," he repeated.
"There were guards present, but Farkas told me he'd ¨show me how a real Companion handles thing.¨ So he walked up to the man, to talk, as I stayed back—"
"To talk?" Vilkas interrupted surprised, "That doesn't sound like him."
"No," I said in agreement, "I guess he wanted to impress me because I was new. Anyway, so he walked up to talk to the man, to tell him to behave or something. Didn't take long for the drunk to laugh him in his face, ¨young brat,¨ he called him. Still, Farkas kept face and tried to talk some more, but you know how he is."
"Aye, not the best talker."
"¨Slow,¨ he called him, ¨learn to talk like someone with a brain,¨ and so on."
"Ouch," Vilkas said, seeing where the story was going.
"Right. Farkas saw red, flipped the entire long-table with one hand along with everything and everyone around it before I knew what was happening, sent the man flying as his barstool tipped over. None of the guards moved—they knew he was a Companion—and we watched as the drunk spewed insults and crawled over the mead covered floor as Farkas stepped over him—towered over him, actually. I thought he was going to kill him at the time."
"Aye."
"But he reached down and grabbed him by the back of his expensive-looking collar, dragged him along the floor. He wasn't laughing anymore; ¨My mother will hear of this,¨ he shouts while clinging to Farkas's arm above his head, ¨You have no idea who you're dealing with,¨ the usual nonsense. Farkas paid no heed, he kept dragging him across the room with one hand and… I swear there was this yellow glow in his eyes that sent chills down my spine. I thought I had imagined it at the time, but, as I said, now I know better."
"Aye."
"He threw him straight out the door and he rolled down the stairs, landed right here. Right where we stand," I said, looking down at the frosty dew-covered cobblestone beneath our feet. "I never knew who he was, until a couple of years later."
"That so?"Vilkas said.
"In Riften," I said, looking up, "Shortly after I became a circle member. Siggy Blackbriar, the son of Maven Blackbriar—founder of the Blackbriar meadery—and, on top of it all, he's in jail now."
"What for?" Vilkas asked.
"No idea," I admitted. "Groping women, I guess," I joked, "But here's the thing, I heard some rumors down there that he had come here to sabotage the Honeybrew Meadery—corporate espionage and what-not—and he failed because Farkas got him thrown out of the city."
"Ha," Vilkas laughed, sounding both surprised and impressed.
"That's why the guards here couldn't jail him here—because of who his mother was—but they sure could throw him out of the city."
"So my brother saved the Homebrew meader," he laughed jokingly, although it wasn't a joke at all.
"And all because he couldn't leave the bar-maids alone."
Again, a moment when we both should laugh, but that 'knot' in my stomach told me not to and Vilkas laughed as I smiled along.
"I've sparred against Farkas many times," I started as Vilkas settled, "but I've never seen him like that since—that look in his eyes."
"Aye," he said. "My brother has too good of a heart. Even when serious, it's always fun and games when he fights, and he could never fight seriously against someone he likes—He's too afraid he'd hurt you."
"Sure," I agreed
"But trust me," Vilkas said, "If he ever did fight you seriously, wanted you dead, with that look in his eyes… you wouldn't stand a chance."
"I don't doubt that for a second," I said. "That man's a beast."
"In more ways than one, aye," he said, looking around in thought, "He's always been the stronger one out of the two of us. For as long as I remember."
And still, Vilkas is the one I've never defeated.
"Let's go," I said. Felt like enough reminiscing.
I glanced to the side as we walked, I had no intention to do so, yet I glanced down that narrow street past all the tiny stands and shops: The street to our home. But as we walked, and the street in my view bent, I could not look further. I did not wish to see the house I abandoned; the beginning of a life we could have had. The beginning of happiness.
What would that be like? The picture of a four-year-old playing in the streets with other children. Scraping chubby knees against the stone and sharing laughter through puffy cheeks…
Guess I do have a fantasy of happiness—sad as it may be: Us, walking in a park, me and Ysolda with our daughter between us: holding hands as we walk. And that's it, nothing further felt needed in my imagination. Simple happiness. Only, in my imagination, I'd never let her go.
Now it stood empty—my house—abandoned, cold, and dark, without any hopes for a future. Yet another skeleton in my closet göaring at me through dead hollow eye sockets, and who had I to blame for leaving it there? Depressing.
I still had the key… somewhere in my bag. Gathering rust like a festering wound growing uglier with each year. Hopefully, one day the rust will consume it and it will be no more… but what will remain then? What will remain but another void of another thing I used to cherish. Emptiness.
I sighed, a sudden smell of herbs and… honeyed tea?
"Interesting how the mind works, isn't it?.." A kind woman's voice suddenly spoke.
I stopped and looked forward, Vilkas, too, had stopped beside me to look at her.
An old woman stood before us, holding an old basket out of dried braided twigs. Gray-white hair and a wrinkled old face with a clear, innocent, and soft smile. Muddy white eyes that looked straight at me. A feeble old woman.
"You?" I said as I recognizing her. I hadn't seen her since… that day after Ysolda's funeral.
"…Using pain to distract you of your thoughts," she continued with a nod directed at my hand.
I looked down and realized I was clenching my chest again, the ring beneath, and quickly lowered it as I looked back at her, hiding my clenched hand by my side.
"How long has that been going on?" she asked kindly, still, with a soft smile.
Ever since I got the scar. But I didn't answer that, I didn't answer at all as I looked at her, suddenly feeling tense, for I had the feeling she didn't ask for an answer—something with the tone in her question—she asked to remind me of the answer myself. Why?
"I wonder…" she said, briefly looking over at Vilkas with those muddy eyes before she looked back at me, "Is it to protect you from your thoughts, or to punish you for them? But then, those things are both caused by guilt. Do you feel guilty, dear?"
"What do you want?" I asked monotonously. This all felt… suspicious to say the least—the wolf in me felt as if on guard: a feeling, instinct, I had long since come to trust.
She smacked her lips and looked over at Vilkas, "Would you kindly give us some privacy, dear," she said.
Vilkas gave me a look and I responded with a sideways nod, "It's fine," and he gave the old woman another brief look before he shifted and reluctantly retreated away.
She looked at me, patiently, with that soft smile as she waited for Vikas to gain some distance. But even then she didn't speak as I looked back at her for a while before opening my mouth:
"What do you want," I asked again.
"It's not nice to eavesdrop, dear," she said softly with her eyes on me.
Her answer confused me, but then I realized she wasn't looking at me, but past me. I turned my head over my shoulder and looked at Vilkas in the distance. He gave me a stunned look as he stood holding his belt-buckle. He was far away enough that he shouldn't be able to hear us, but then again, with our ears, I knew he could clearly hear us. I knew it. And seemingly, so did she. Yet she only kept that kind wrinkly smile as I looked back at her.
Did she know? She had made me out for what I am—moon-born—the second I had presented her my hand. Had she known before that? Perhaps she knew about all of us.
I bit down and gave Vilkas another nod and he shied further away. Far enough to, this time, not be able to hear us.
I looked back at her, refusing to repeat my question again—If she had something to say she better say it.
"My, how big you've gotten," she said, looking me over, "as tall as they get."
"That why you're here? To tell me I've grown?"
Again, she looked at me with that smile for a while before she continued with a deep breath, "I had the feeling I should go for a walk today," she said, slowly looking around at the weather; drawing in the chill morning air. "Early as it is. And to think I almost walked the other way—through the Wind-District—but then I felt something changed your mind. For the better, I hope?"
So that's how it is then, no attempt at hiding it: The Seer. I didn't know what she expected for an answer, so, again, I didn't answer.
"It's been a while since we last saw," she said softly.
"I suppose," I said, thinking back as I looked at her.
When was it? Three… four? Four years ago? She didn't look much different from when I last saw her, perhaps a bit skinnier, meager. That's right—I remember now—she didn't have any family left; no children. She was all alone.
"Are you being taken cared of?" I asked. I think I asked the same question back then. I'm not sure.
"How kind of you to ask, dear," she said, "I might have lost some weight over the years, but that's just the old age showing." ¨Lost weight,¨ as if she had read my mind. "But no," she continued, "There's no need to worry about me, I have more years left in me than you do," she said with a slightly crooked, but warm, smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked skeptically.
"About a handful, I'd say," she continued, giving a smile seemingly in thought before adding: "Ironic, isn't it?"
"What is?" More skepticism at her cryptic talk that felt disturbingly like more than empty talk.
"I told you, didn't I…" she said heartedly, surely answering the look I must be giving her, as she gave a nod at my hands, "that even my death was written in there."
The suspicion grew and I briefly looked down at the palms of my hands before I looked back up at her; this conversation didn't feel so innocent anymore. Far from it. "What do you want?" I asked.
"Advice," she answered obviously, unaffected by my impatient tone. But at least she did answer.
"You didn't offer much advice last time." And I doubt she will now.
"I never claimed to," she said with a smile, "Last time, I only helped you find your way; showed you the path ahead of you so you could see that everything was going as intended—the path you're still walking. Nothing will ever change that," she finished with a slow reassuring shake of her head.
I couldn't help but snark in jaw-clenching disagreement and a sharp breath through my nose. I utterly refuse to believe my life has gone as ¨intended,¨ and if it has, I'd sure as Shor's bones would like to meet the intender. Now, wouldn't that be cruel? And I never did buy into all her talk of ¨faith.¨
"Oh, you have no idea. If only you knew," she smilingly said, again, shaking her head as if to tease. She drew for breath in a sigh, perhaps to draw her own focus on other things; perhaps, simply, to smell the air. "Now, things are finally getting interesting; it's an interesting new chapter of your life you're entering. The things you'll get to see. The places you'll get to visit. Not everything is a downside, no matter how boring it'll get from time to time. Boring is needed every now and then."
"Is that so?" I wasn't going to pretend I wasn't getting fed up by her know-it-all attitude, nor was I going to pretend ignorance at what she was talking about. I should be both surprised and confused that she knew I was leaving for the Empire, but I wasn't. Not anymore.
How did she know though?
"All things new are," she said, "Only idiots claim to gain something from denying new experiences, and reluctant, as most are, few ultimately come to regret the taste of the unknown. That's what they call curiosity, is it not?"
"I've never been the curious type," I said. "I'm not going out of curiosity."
"No," she said agreeing, "you're not. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it. The things you don't feel like enjoying are usually the most worthwhile: the experiences that are forced upon you."
"And what do I have to enjoy."
"Ha," she let out to my surprise, "Nothing you'll ever admit out loud, but there are a few things: the thought of me in a sauna, for example."
"That's… disturbing." I can't possibly imagine anything that would draw my mind to an aged, insane, and wrinkly old woman while naked in a room of steam. Even less, a reason to enjoy it.
"That's what old friends are for, dear, reminding you of disturbing thoughts under awkward circumstances," She said. It only made me feel more tense and awkward. "And nature," she continued and that soft warm smile regrew on her face as she looked at me. "You'll come to enjoy nature as you travel—all its crooks and crannies. You'll come to see that Skyrim isn't as ugly a place as you've convinced yourself it to be. Just remember to look up when things seem too black and white—there are more colors than gray out there."
"Look up, eh," I said. Same nonsense as last time, ugly or not, that comment would fit any dark moment. A seer, eh? Educated fraud is more like it, like Kodlak: good at reading people and good with her words—at least that's what I tried to convince myself to believe, ignoring the feeling that I was utterly wrong.
"Oh, don't worry too much about remembering that part, you'll be reminded of that too," she said, smiling even with her eyes; dim-white eyes. "But look at that," she said, again, suddenly looking past me. "Seems the market is opening, and my basket is empty."
I looked over my shoulder—behind me—and watched as a handful of people had begun opening their stands and prepared their wares to be sold. Furs and vegetables were placed or hung, all while other people broomed and dusted the thin layer of morning frost of their signs. The day was beginning. The sky was light. No clouds.
"You haven't offered any advice yet," I said as I looked back at her.
"Haven't I?" she said questioningly, tilting her head as she looked back at me. Yet she didn't look 'questioning' at all, she looked to enjoy herself. "Well then," she said gladly and sharp, "What ¨advice¨ would an upcoming soldier like to hear? ¨Stand straight, chest out, do as told!¨ that sort of things?"
"I—"
"No, of course not, only fools need to be advised on the obvious." She paused, looking at me as if she was studying me—made me feel more than uncomfortable—until she smacked her thin lips and tiny tongue and the smile regrew once again on her face, "No," she said. "You're no fool. Neither are you uninteresting. No, I may know, but by the end, you'll see more than I've ever done—I wonder what reason that desperate mind can conjure."
And suddenly, as I looked at her smile, I realized what that uncomfortable feeling within me was: Kodlak always paused to pay thought into his words, never speaking without thinking, but this woman? This feeble old woman? She didn't pause to pay thought, no, she spoke as if she already knew; she paused, not to think, but to make me think. And I understood nothing.
"So let me give some advice then," she said sharply with a teasing look in her eyes:
"Eat with your friend while you still can, for no matter how dark, everyone deserves to laugh.
"Ride on horses for travel you will, though avoid their eyes, their intent is to neigh.
"Inner Circle is all behind, it's the Legates 'pup' that the pig will rub.
"Kill the prayer I'd say before he tells, yet tell he will once his secret spill.
"Wait a while and a blind eye she'll turn, you'll go right back home for honey and tome.
"Icy old caves where the dead's left behind, those who stray far, will join them in par.
"Little you know of old despair, yet the horns you'll find shall the future bind.
"Lizards above flying so high, one black as mold the other one's charcoal.
"Distant voices thundering high, on your knees they'll demand but for you, not a command.
"In different directions, you both will wander, so say your goodbyes, next time there be cries.
"Embrace the truth and results of your actions, two promises are broken, trial judgment is spoken.
"Again with the rhymes?" I said as she finished.
"Oh, don't think too much about the rhymes, dear," she said, "They're hardly the important part."
I sighed as I looked around, thinking it over. None of it made much sense, but neither had she made much sense last time. "Kill who?" I asked, at least that sentence seemed obvious, "What prayer?"
"Oh, you'll know him when you see him," she said with that teasing, annoying, isn't-it-obvious smile. "You'll want to kill him, but you won't. Well, not that it matters, the end result will still be the same—just another drop in your bucket of crimes. Few things matter in the end, you'll see that one day—that we're all just insects trying to live in the grand scheme of things."
"Then why tell me anything? If it doesn't matter?"
"Oh, you dear little thing. Who said I was telling you anything?"
As confusing an answer as ever—I should be used to that by now.
"But I'm afraid I must leave now," she said, hinting at her empty basket, "I like my eggs fresh, you see." She looked me over and smiled again, before she gave a relieved sigh, "Just ignore the ornaments and place fate in the braids and you'll do just fine," she said, "She's a trustworthy one. And do tell her you like her before you kill her, would you. She deserves it."
"Kill her? Another one?" I asked, for an old woman, she sure spoke casually about killing.
"Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself, that's more than far off from now: a lifetime beyond another." she said softly. "Until next time, it'll be far too long before we meet again."
"You say that as if we've met plenty."
She shook her head slightly before continuing as if she hadn't heard me, "But it won't be you I'll be meeting then, will it? Not really," she said, clearly ignoring my comment, "It's interesting… I can't tell if you'll be broken beyond repair, or whole beyond the point of unbreakable. But then again…" her smile grew wider, wrinkles spreading under her eyes, "There's hardly any difference between those two, is there? Perhaps you'll simply be," she said with a look that, again, said she knew more than she let on; a look that said I should be figuring something out by now. But again, I figured nothing.
"Is that a question?" I asked, growing increasingly suspicious, and impatient: whatever her true motive for our conversation was, it didn't feel as if she meant it as a kind gesture.
"Can it be a question if you already know the answer?" she said cryptically, finally acknowledging my say.
"Rhetorical questions are still questions."
"Are they though?" she said with a tilt of her head. "I believe they have more in common with answers, answers in of themselves."
"And what answer would that be?"
"Now isn't that the question?" she said, again, that wrinkling smile grew—eyes going thin.
By Shor, why are all the old people I meet like this?
"Just tell me what you want," I snapped as my patience for whatever game she's playing washed away. "Speak clearly."
"But I've told you, have I not?" she answered, "And now I really must leave, the market's open and I have the feeling the eggs will go fast today. I better hurry."
She finished and began walking toward me to pass me. But when she came parallel with me, she stopped beside me. I looked down on her over my shoulder and she had a clenched, thoughtful, expression on her lips as she looked ahead. As if she was contemplating whether or not to tell me something else.
"One last advice," she said as she looked forward—seems I read her expression right.
"As if you've given any," I said.
She turned her head, looked at me with those muddy eyes that suddenly seemed clearer than they ought to be, and smiled, "I've given you plenty more than intended," she said with a smile before she turned her head forward again, and looked ahead. "But do be wary of that man."
"Who?" I asked as I turned my head and followed her line of sight and saw, "Vilkas?" I looked at her as she looked in his direction. "Why?" I asked, feeling she wouldn't give a straight answer.
"Because, without realizing it, he speaks truth through irony," she started, "But once he does realize the meaning behind his words, the thing he wants most, he'll lie to you out of selfish reasons—for honor, he'll claim, though his action holds none—and as the horned silhouette takes him away you'll be the one ending up to suffer for it."
Again, I felt nothing but confused as she turned her head to look at me, though this time I hadn't expected to feel any other way. But the look she gave only confused me more, enhanced the suspicious feeling inside me: she gave me a look of pity.
"Well," she said, turning forward "Until next time then, do take care." And she began to walk. "Oh!" she let out and looked over her shoulder as she walked, "And when you do decide to come visit, leave your axe outside, would you? I do so mind the cold," she said before walking off.
My axe? I thought, unconsciously reaching over my shoulder but stopping myself from touching its handle as I caught myself in the act. I watched her blend into the morning crowd that had gathered while we had spoken.
To say I felt confused would now be an understatement, utterly dumbfound was the word. She had made about as much sense as our last talk. But one thing I felt for certain: she knew a lot more than she let on.
I lifted my hands and looked down at them, looked into my palms, saw my scar—as silver brakes skin, bone and all—that part had come true. How much had she seen in these hands of mine? And how little had she chosen to tell?
"Who was that?" Vilkas asked as he approached and I lowered my hands and looked at him.
I sighed as I again looked into the crowds. "I have no idea," I said to his confusion.
"What did she want?"
"Ha," I let out silently, "I have no idea…" I looked at him as he stood, looking more confused than I, "Other than messing with me? You know how Kodlak is all cryptic when he tries to make a point?"
"Aye," he said.
"Well, that woman's worse than Kodlak. Whenever Kodlak spews his wisdom you at least have some idea of what he's getting at, but her," I nodded into the crowd, "I have no idea—It's as if she was trying to make me answer a question I don't know I have."
"Hm," he let out in thought, "I guess you need the question then."
"What's that?" I asked for his comment.
"Well, you can't give the answer if you don't know the question, so first you need to find the question. Perhaps the question will answer itself?"
"Oh, don't you start too," I said annoyed, I've had enough of riddle-solving for a lifetime. "Let's go," I said and headed for the city-gate before he could say another word.
¨Rhetorical questions are still questions.¨
¨Are they though?...¨ ¨...I believe they have more in common with answers, answers in of themselves.¨
¨And what answer would that be?¨
¨Now isn't that the question?¨
Need to find the question, eh? Perhaps Vilkas was onto something after all.
¨Do be wary of that man…¨
"Have you ever lied to me? Vilkas," I asked as we walked.
"Lies are for condescending fools to cowardly to speak their own mind," he answered.
"That's not an answer," I said, feeling increasingly suspicious for the comment the old lady had made on him, though, I didn't show it.
He gave me a questioning look as we walked before he looked back forward with a thinking face, "Can't say I have. I might bend the truth a bit every now and then, but… I'd never outright lie."
That went along with my experience of him, he might be a manipulative ass every now and then, but never a liar.
"She said you would," I said and looked forward, awaiting his reaction.
"Did she now?" he said before falling quiet for a second or two, "I can't think of any reason why I would?" he finally said, "But it'd have to be for a damn good one."
"Hm," I let out as we approached the gate and hailed for the two guards to open.
We walked down the slope in silence and I looked out over the yellow grass-fields; the farms and wheat-fields stretching far around the foot of the city. It was always windy out here, the city-walls kept the wind away, but once out here it always made itself known with its cold, chilly, and frosty bite. Nagging at my clothes.
"How long do you think it'll be?" I asked Vilkas as we walked.
"Hm?" he let out questioningly as he gave me a look.
"The war," I explained.
"Hm," he let out again, this time in thought, and looked forward, "Well," he began, "The Great War lasted four years. But that was all-out war from beginning to end, this one's more of a rebellion I'd say. It might drag out for a while—guerilla warfare and what-not."
"You think it'll be more than four years?" I said, partially disagreeing and partially admitting not knowing better.
"Well," he said, "It might have a slow start, right now the Empire is recruiting," he gave a nod that made me an example, "And I'm sure the Stormcloaks are doing the same. And once both sides have built up enough strength, they still might take time from afar—sniffing each other from a distance, both waiting for the other side to make the first move before they act."
"Sounds boring," I said, looking forward.
"It's strategic," he explained, "It'd be foolish to act before you know what the other side is up to; an easy way to fall in a trap. But then, of course, if Ulfric was to be assassinated I'd say the war would end in an instance… can't really say the same for whoever is running the show on the Imperial side though."
"How so?"
"Well, Ulfric leads the Stormcloaks, he can't really be replaced, can he? But whoever the Empire sends here to overlook the war, if that person is killed the Empire would most likely simply send a new one. The Empire is too large and powerful not to have people in reserve."
"I guess that makes sense," I said as we finally came to the stables.
"Look," Vilkas said, pointing his finger, "Your carriage is here already."
"My carriage," I scruffed sarcastically.
It was simply a carriage; a wooden box on wheels, that carried wares and vegetables between towns and cities, to claim it was mine was nothing but a jest of humor.
"Good morning," I greeted the driver as we approached.
"'Morn," he tiredly greeted back—probably tired from traveling all night, "You the one coming along? To Solitude?"
"I am," I said and heaved my bag up on one of the seats on the wagon. Handed him some coin before he could ask.
"A'right," he said, "But we're not leaving before an hour or so, I need to get some shut-eye."
"So," Vilkas said as he stood beside the carriage and watched me. "What will you do when it's all over?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. Honestly, I hadn't given it that much thought.
"You're not coming back to the Companions?" he asked. That was obviously the real question he had been fishing for.
I sighed. Again, not something I had given much thought. But once I was signed into the Empire, would they even allow me back? Skjor had served in the Empire, they took him in."I don't know," I said, "Fighting's all I can but…"
"I get it," he said, crossing his arms and looking around, "Can't move on as easily if you come back to us: old wounds and all that."
"That's not…" honestly, I should get angry for what he's hinting at, that's what I usually do. But right now… I suddenly only felt sad.
"But you are coming back, right?" he asked again with a raised eyebrow; a look of concern. I knew that look.
"I'm not leaving to die, Vilkas," I said with a reassuring shake of my head, surely answering the question he had on his mind.
"No," he said agreeing with a soft smile, "You wouldn't be so cowardly as to fall on purpose. There's no honor in that, nor a Sovngarde."
"Right," I said in a low voice, feeling strangely guilty for some reason. Did I feel guilty because I am leaving? Or did I feel guilty because a part of me wouldn't mind if I did die.
"But hey," he continued, "No matter what you decide to do, you'll always be welcome in Jorrvaskr, you know that right. We're family, after all."
Family… No—thinking back—I don't regret joining them, Because they are the family I chose. All of them.
"Always," I answered. The guilt… it is because I'm leaving them.
"You mentioned our last duel," he suddenly said, looking over the fields and then back at me with a smile, "I don't suppose you have the time?"
"If only I had my armor," I answered, feeling a small smile form.
"Hm," he let out with an equal smile.
"You know what," I said as I reached over my shoulder, drew my axe, and heaved it up on the wagon before I turned back at him, "When I do come back, I'll give you that duel."
"Is that so," he said gladly, uncrossing his arms to grip his belt-buckle.
"And next time…" I said with a farewell-smile, "Next time I'll win."
"Ha!" he let out in humor, "Only if I let you!"