City of Windhelm
Sal dropped by the Marketplace of Windhelm to see the latest stocks available on sale. Whatever the means, he needed to get his mind off his nightmares. On the usual Sundas, the market was, quite predictably, crowded. Infectious life energy pierced the core of his heart. Sal smiled at the rabid positive aura that emanated from the lively throng.
He bought vegetables, fruits, spices, seasonings, assorted meats, and freshly-caught fish for the Assemblage. Also, he treated himself to casual gossipy chats with the merchants. They told him of troubles stirring in the faraway lands of Solstheim and Mournhold, and new geological changes in the province of Morrowind in Vvardenfell. A few mentioned in passing unfounded rumors of some "political cleanups" in the Imperial courts in Cyrodiil. Emperor Titus Mede II regained some measure of control over his Empire, much to the irritation of the so-called Aldmeri Dominion. Across the breadth of Tamriel, Talos worship became legal again, including in Skyrim. The Khajiit of Elsewyr boomed in their traveling caravan business and had therefore begun to diversify their available products, beyond the typical moon sugar and skooma trade. A couple more told of happy economic and social improvements in faraway Black Marsh, the Argonian homeland. This last news especially made Sal indescribably glad.
Sal quickly brought his purchases back to the Assemblage. Then he went unburdened to Candlehearth Hall in the center of the city. When he entered inside, a massive wave of warmth and relief washed over him. He felt his muscles relax and his body unwind. A tangible thick aura of heat and fire melted away the cold in his nerves and bones. A faint sound of bold brave singing emanated from the lounge area above; the light brassy strumming of a bard's lute accompanied it. He pulled out his coinpurse from the pocket of his breeches.
"Well, well, well!" Elda Early-Dawn, the barmaid, smiled welcomingly and brightly at Sal as he slipped onto a bar stool. "Look who finally showed up after being gone for so long!"
"Good to see you, too, Elda," Sal grinned from ear to ear and leaned over the barstool to push five Septims from his coinpurse toward Elda. "I'll have a coffee and whatever you've baked today."
"Coming right up!" Elda reached behind her and conjured up a silver tankard of natural Nord coffee. She stood it on the counter in front of Sal and took the five Septims. "Hope you're hungry, Sal-Gheel. Apple pie is the house special today. Make yourself at home in front of the fire and I'll have the cook bring you up a plate."
"You're a lifesaver, Elda!" Sal swung off the barstool and scooped his tankard of coffee in the same movement.
He settled into a chair in front of the upstairs fireplace and casually sipped his hot coffee. The honey-laced cocoa liquid (Nords did love honey in their drinks, not unlike their infamous mead) heated his mouth and throat. It washed down his esophagus and warmed his nerves along the way. He felt it ease the tension of his icy insides as it settled in his stomach. His blue eyes stared deep at the roaring crackling fireplace. His Argonian mind began fanciful flights of wandering wistful thinking. Behind him on the other side of the room, an acapella voice sang confidently aloud.
"Our hero, our hero,
Claims a warrior's heart.
I tell you: I tell you,
The Dragonborn comes!"
It was the voice of Luaffyn, the local Dunmer Bard. Sal-Gheel always admired her wonderful smooth-as-silk fearless voice. Admittedly, he was not a strong singer himself. Shahvee sang far, far better than him. Scouts-Many-Marshes could even carry a tune surprisingly well.
A hero who claimed a warrior's heart...A hero of such a sort would never have nightmares. Why, then, did they plague him, and why now?
He took a second, fuller sip of the coffee. His eyelids drooped slightly. The fireplace squeezed up as a thin chaotic slit of yellow-orange beneath his eyes now. The cook came up the stairs carrying a slice of freshly-baked apple pie on a platter and placed it on the chairside table. Sal thanked him generously. He stood his coffee tankard on the table beside the pie. The scent of baked apples wafted under his nostrils. Sal allowed himself a measure of wakefulness to loosely acknowledge it. He chuckled inwardly as he started salivating.
Luaffyn continued her glorious and heroic song.
"With a Voice wielding power,
Of the ancient Nord art!
Believe, believe,
The Dragonborn comes!"
Sal knew this "Voice wielding power" as the Thu'um. A blessing and a curse. A sword and a shield. A burden and a grace.
A power he'd never asked for or wanted to have.
The Way of the Voice taught him much about life and the mortal condition. It taught him humility and deference, courtesy of the enlightenment of the Greybeards, and of course, the Dragon Paarthurnax.
But it never taught him how to banish the persistent nightmares that plagued him now.
He wished they were there with him to give their counsel. The Hist knew how much he needed it right now.
Nevertheless, Sal shouldered it in strength and bravery. He learned to control and embrace it. He learned to bend himself to his will and use the Thu'um only for good, never for evil. As the Greybeards would've wanted.
"It's an end to the evil,
Of all Skyrim's foes.
Beware, beware,
The Dragonborn comes!"
Sal sipped his drink a third time. He blinked rapidly. His head hung on his chest. The song (or perhaps the non-caffeinated coffee, or both, he couldn't be sure) steadily lulled him into a drowsy trance.
All Skyrim's foes? he wondered to himself. He suddenly speculated on how many Dragons at present soared through the skies above Skyrim. Did they all submit to Paarthurnax's "Way of the Voice"? Or did they remain as rebellious loyalists of Alduin?
Would that the Dragons were there to show him the truth!
All Skyrim's foes? The Thu'um hadn't ended the Civil War. It was a combination of Sal's quick-thinking battle prowess and the ruthless tactical genius of General Tullius that quelled the Stormcloak rebellions once and for all. No act of divine intervention or imbalance of the scales of luck to one side or the other. Rather, a fusion of minds banded together in tandem to show the world once and for all that anything can change.
"Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?"
The wise words of Paarthurnax broke through the wall of sound in Candlehearth Hall. They pierced his memory louder than the combined ambiance of the inn. Sal dwelt on them thoughtfully even amidst his tired caffeine-free coffee-induced haze.
Perhaps the Dragon spirit inside Sal guided his every action on those bloody wintry battlefields of Skyrim. It compelled him to feel neither remorse nor guilt when he struck down Ulfric Stormcloak in the Palace of the Kings. He severed Ulfric's head from his body for good measure out of a Dragon's insatiable bloodthirst.
A Dragon's natural need to dominate, the pull to authority and control...That base instinctual inclination detached Sal from contrition and regret when his sword and dagger slew one Stormcloak soldier after another. He recognized no heartbreak or penitence when his bow and arrows struck tomb Draugr in the heart. His Iron Dagger stabbed the guts of a random wild bear or lone wolf. Only indifference and apathy, traits of a Dragon's will to dominate over others.
He hated to admit that these physical weapons couldn't save him from his mental night terrors. No help to combat his feelings when he awakened in a shaking sweat in the early hours of the dawn. But he never wanted to throw them away. He never knew when he'd need them again.
Perhaps he would need them very soon.
Then again, he thought, I hope not.
"For the darkness has passed,
And the legend yet grows.
You'll know, you'll know,
The Dragonborn's come."
The room erupted in a round of acclamatory applause that jerked Sal awake in his chair. He quickly turned around and joined in. Luaffyn the Dunmer bowed humbly and took an empty chair.
The applause died down. The thoughts in Sal's mind did not fall quiet. He no longer felt sleepy.
The darkness of Skyrim had passed, and indeed the legend of the Dragonborn yet grew. However, Sal's dark ideas returned. Fleeting split-second colored images of Skuldafn and Sovngarde filled his mind's eye. The gaping snapping fanged maw of Alduin the World-Eater followed them. The deafening earsplitting roar of the Three Tongues combining their Shouts almost burst his ears asunder. The essence of the afterlife – indescribable beyond comparison – snaked through his veins and arteries, in through his skin and out the other side. Scarcely he understood such puzzling feelings and head-spinning thoughts.
Sal held his head and swayed dizzily on the spot. That wasn't the coffee or the pie talking to him.
He shut his eyes tight. The luminescent flames glowed and mildly licked his eyelids. Using all his energy, Sal forced the unwelcome thoughts and images back. He opened his eyes again. A torrent of relief swept over him and spilled throughout his body. At last, some semblance of peace descended on Sal. A divine, holy, sacred searched-for peace burned in his bosom.
Sal instinctively steeled his nerves. He took his plate of apple pie and ate unhurriedly, and eavesdropped on the loose-lipped innocent gossip of his fellow patrons. The crackling of the fire relaxed him. The hot coffee kept his Argonian mind sharp. Thanking Elda and the cook for the delicious food and drink, Sal immediately left Candlehearth Hall. His feet guided him unconsciously to his next destination on the same side of town.
Temple of Talos
The sun filtered in wide diagonal rays through the large stained-glass windows of the Temple of Talos. Sal sat in the frontmost wooden pew facing the statue of the great Talos himself. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head in a solemn whispered prayer.
"Dearest great and powerful Lord Talos of the Divines, it's me, Sal-Gheel, the Dragonborn. I know I haven't come to visit the Temple in a long while. My new home life has kept me busy. I hope you can find it in your divine grace to forgive my absences. Many wonderful things have happened for my family and me, and more such things yet to come. I look forward to what lies ahead for us with excitement and joy.
To you, I give my wholehearted humble praises, O grand Talos Stormcrown, Ninth of the Divines. Your word is holy law and springs from the mouths of Dragons. Your will is born in the fiery furnaces of Dragons' hearts. You have anointed good priests to spread your doctrines across the provinces of Tamriel. Your words are on their lips and tongues. Your voice is in their throats and lungs. I thank you and the other Eight Divines for your blessings and grace. I ask graciously that you continue to smile down upon us from the realms of the heavens. Now, I beseech thee personally, Lord Talos, to hear my fervent prayer.
Strange events have troubled me as of late. Dark has been my recent dream. Nightmares plague and disturb my sleep. They are born of my experience in the afterlife, of Dragons and Alduin the World-Eater. I hear the voice of my adversary wishing ill will on me. Numerous other terrible things I see and hear amidst the mists of Sovngarde. Above it all, I sense the presence of Alduin. He tortures me in mind, body, and spirit. His voice and face in my head give me no rest.
Oh, hear me, holy Talos. You who ascended to the realm of Aetherius and dwells amongst the Divines in the fabric of the skies of Nirn. I come before you in contrite supplication with a confused mind and a wayward heart. I am lost for a course of action, my Lord. I do not know what to do to rid myself of my terrible nightmares. Therefore, I pray for your counsel, your wisdom, and your insight. Plant in my mind an idea of what to do to be free of these dark nightly visions. Help guide me back to the path of light.
I have fulfilled my destiny as Dragonborn. But the memories of my deeds and battles torment me still a year later. Tell me what to do, Lord Talos. I am directionless. Show me the steps I must take on the straight and narrow road.
Grant me blessings of peaceful, restful sleep, free of nightmares and terrors. Help me find the Dragon inside myself again. Teach me to fuse it and the Argonian together. I pray, Lord Talos, that you will send me comfort and consolation in this time of need. I also ask that you may give me the knowledge and intelligence on how to be a husband to my wife, Shahvee, and a father to my future hatchling children, when they do come. Bless me with the sacred balm of Aetherius. In your sacred name and the Eight Divines, I offer up my prayer."
Silence descended on the Temple for a full minute. Sal laid his hands in his lap and waited patiently.
An idea formed in his mind's eye. He saw himself on his feet wandering the landscapes of Skyrim, revisiting familiar locales, and reuniting with familiar figures. His mind recognized each place and his heart knew each person. It was a blessed comfort and he knew it.
He knew what he had to do.
Bowing his head again, he spoke a quick prayer of thanks and left the Temple.
Argonian Assemblage
"What?! You can't be serious!"
Sal sat at the lunch table in the Assemblage between the other Argonians. They gaped at him in disbelief as he ate his portion of the leftover bacon. A firm expression painted his face, a steadfast resolute determination. It was the look of someone who'd already made up their mind.
"I've made my decision," Sal humbly declared, eating a piece of bacon. He swallowed and added, "I prayed to Talos today. I know it was Him and the other Divines who put this idea in my mind. I figure it's something I need to do. I have to find the answers to my nightmares, and the only way I can do that is by going directly back to the sources. I've got to retread my path all over again; revisit the same locales and uncover the truth of everything. I already did it once. I can do it again. It's what must be done to help me be rid of my nightmares for good."
"But now?!" Neetrenaza protested, throwing his hands in the air in incredulity. "At this time? When we need you the most? When your wife is pregnant?"
Sal looked at Shahvee. Her eyes were staring in a kind of trance into the log fire, and she'd barely touched her stew. After a few seconds, she said, "This is Sal's choice. The Divines have prompted him to take action to help himself. He is following his heart on this matter. We both know I'll be all right without him. I can take care of myself and the hatchling, I'm sure of it. What good would it do for us to oppose Sal? What's the point in brooding about it or trying to beg him to stay? He is doing what he feels is best. The least we can do is support him. He is our brother and our friend. We must stand by our egg sibling."
She turned and stared at her husband empathetically. "My love, if you feel that this is something you need to do, then you do it. It may very well be your first selfish act in a year, but you are doing this for your good. I know your nightmares have tormented you terribly, and you wish to be rid of them. The Divines guide your path and the Hist flows through your blood. Follow them both, and I know you will not fail."
She reached out and took Sal's face between her hands. "I have complete and utter faith in you, Sal-Gheel. Dragonborn or not, I married you for better and for worse. I know you'll return from your new quest, as you have returned from all the other places before. High Hrothgar, the Throat of the World, Solitude, the Thalmor Embassy, Sky Haven Temple, Skuldafn, and Sovngarde. You always came back to us no matter what the circumstances. Rarely if ever you've thought of yourself. Well, now, darling, is the time to think of yourself. Take a stand, Sal. Go out and conquer your nightmares. I have confidence that you can do it."
Sal turned his face and lightly kissed Shahvee's palms in immeasurable gratitude. "Thank you, Shahvee," he whispered gratefully.
Shahvee released Sal's face and began to eat her stew.
Sal raised his eyebrows at the other three males. They sighed collectively but did not say a word. Neetrenaza drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table. Stands-In-Shallows spread butter on his toast and ate it, rather perturbed. Scouts-Many-Marshes met Sal's eyes and nodded in concurrence.
"I'm with Sal on this as well, my brothers. After putting his life on the line to save the world, and spending the past year helping others, it's time for him to do something for himself for a change. He needs us at his back, supporting and empowering him. Dragonborn or otherwise, he is our family. We are duty-bound to succor him. What do you say?"
Neetrenaza and Stands-In-Shallows grumbled and growled in their throats. Defeated three to two, they both nodded their consent.
Scouts-Many-Marshes placed a slice of buttered bread on Sal's plate and asked, "Where do you plan to go first?"
"Whiterun," Sal explained in a tone of finality and graciously accepted his bread. "I owe Lydia a visit. Feels like ages since we last saw each other. I do miss the warmth of Whiterun. Maybe I'll drop in on Jarl Balgruuf while I'm at it."
"This is insanity," Neetrenaza murmured, shaking his head. "What if Shatter-Shield finds out you're gone?"
"Do you think he'll even care?" Sal snorted in derision and took a hearty bite out of his buttered bread. "I could just stop working on the tanning rack altogether and he won't even notice. He's that tunnel-visioned, I tell you. If I disappeared off the face of Nirn tomorrow, he wouldn't know the difference."
"That's fair," Stands-In-Shallows agreed and licked butter off his fingers. "What about Jarl Brunwulf Free-Winter?"
"I've already spoken to him," Sal gave Stands-In-Shallows a clarifying nod. "He's understood my plight and has given me extended leave. He's enabled me the privilege to take as long as I need."
"That was generous of him," Shahvee smiled warmly and put her empty stew bowl aside. She washed it down with a mug of Nordic ale. "He's doing a fine job as Jarl of Windhelm. The future is bright for us, my dear family. Sal's absence won't dim it in any way, I already know it."
Sal stood up from the table and clenched his hands into adamant fists. "Then it's decided. I'll start packing straight away."
Windhelm Stables
Sal carefully laid his bags on the floor of the horse-drawn carriage and triple-checked their belongings to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Shahvee had come to the Stables to see him off. The other Argonians returned to work.
Shahvee approached her husband after he finished his final baggage checks. She placed her hands lovingly on Sal's broad chest and smiled at him warmly, her eyes glowing in the sunlight. "Please give Lydia my love when you meet her."
"I promise I will," Sal nodded reassuringly. "I certainly will. She'll be overjoyed to hear how you're doing." He turned to the carriage driver and nodded apologetically. "Sorry to impose on you for this long-distance trip."
Alfarinn, the Nord driver, snorted dismissively in his seat. "Oh, come off it, Sal-Gheel. It's an honor to serve the Dragonborn. Besides, I'd be out of a job without people like you. Ready when you are."
Sal turned back to Shahvee. She stroked his face the way he liked it, and he held her close by the waist. "Stay safe out there, Sal. Don't take any unnecessary risks. And as always, keep your chin up and stay positive. I'll pray to Zenithar and Talos and Akatosh for you every day and night."
"You think the tanning rack might miss me?" Sal joked, raising his eyebrow in mock sympathetic curiosity.
Shahvee caught the quip and shook her head in disagreement, grinning. "I doubt it. A bit disappointed, maybe, but it shouldn't miss you chronically. Besides, the Nords can always find someone else to cover for you in the meantime. I know you'll come back, Sal." She leaned in and whispered tenderly in his ear. "I love you with all my heart, Sal-Gheel, and I believe in you in every fiber of my being. Now, go!"
They shared one final passionate kiss, then Sal climbed in the back of the carriage and turned around sideways to face his wife. They locked eyes as the carriage buckled and began to rumble down the snow-coated stone road, pulled fearlessly by the hardy brown-and-white horse. Shahvee waved farewell after her husband, who waved longingly back. Both lovers kept their eyes firmly on each other until the carriage disappeared out of sight into the horizon.
When it turned the corner, Shahvee whispered to the thin winter winds, knowing they would carry her words to her mate,
"I love you, Sal-Gheel."