Hullo, everybody ! College Kid now, and I love my classes! But, that's not the important thing; this chapter is! More coming soon, people, the plot thickens. And, I'm sorry. Please, read and review. I hope you enjoy! -LR
"Where are you staying?" Segen demands. "An inn? What's the name?"
I chuckle to myself, as I fold up another tunic. It's been just over a week since I sent the courier to Whiterun, reserving a room that I could investigate from. From what the runner had said, refugees would be flooding the capitals, seeking shelter from the dragons. Even Morthal, as small and open as it is, was seeing new faces, relatives moving in with relatives, making the town into a city.
Segen likes it well enough.
There are more children for him to play with than I care to count.
"You'd better tell me," he insists. "I need to know where to look, if something happens." I smirk, and start walking down the hall; he trails after. "If you get attacked? What if you don't make it to Whiterun? What if there's some opposing mercenary? Or, like, you run into a dragon?" His eyes brighten with some newfound horror. "Or, what if-"
"Segen," I bark, and his spine straightens stiff. I can't stay cross with him, though, because I'm not. He's just a sweet boy, worried over things he can't hope to control. "Do you trust me?" I ask, as I always do.
And, he nods, as he always does, but there's a flicker of hesitation. Now, I'm no fool. At least, not where it concerns my son. I know he questions me now, and I know why.
Seeing as I hadn't ever told him about his father, how could he trust me with anything else?
"Oge`," he says hoarsely. "I trust you."
"Then, you have nothing to fear," I tell him gently. "Not now. Not ever."
He looks as if he wants to say something more, but I press my lips to his forehead. "Fine," I sigh, after pulling back, cradling his face and rubbing his cheeks with my thumbs. "Go get the map. The big one, in the armory."
Besides his crossbow, it is his favorite thing.
Segen rolls off the bed, and dashes out of the room to get it, dodging nimbly around Argis' legs as he enters.
"Whoa," he chuckles at the narrow miss. "What's got the little lord so excited?"
"He's after the map, in my armory. I'm going to show him exactly where I'm going, and exactly how long my whole journey ought to take."
Argis nods his approval.
"Aye, a good compromise, that."
"My thoughts exactly," I grin, tossing another folded shirt into my duffel. "I'll be sure to give myself plenty of time, and get back before he expects me." Argis nods again, as he rubs his Ghost Eye absently. "Are they bothering you? My parents, I mean."
He shakes his head, still rubbing.
"No, no. Not your parents, at least."
"Ileana then?"
"She wants to tell him so much. About his father, about his destiny, about his being . . . you know who." He sighs, and shrugs. "Half my attention goes toward muting her voice, and the other half is me trying to teach Segen."
"Hn." I stop folding, and cross my arms. That bitch. "Don't expect it to happen again. I'll make damn sure that it doesn't."
"Much appreciated," he says, with a fatigued smile, as Segen rushes back into the room, map clutched tightly.
"Lay it out on the bed baby, and we'll go step by step." Once the thing's rolled out, I sigh, and lean over it with Segen, planting my fists on my hips. "Alright. Where are we?"
"Here," he answers, putting a finger on Morthal. "We're here."
"Good. Now, where's Mana going?" He scans the parchment with hawkish, mismatched eyes, before training them on the marker. He plants his finger accordingly. "Good. Good. Now, that- the distance between here and there, that's two days."
"Two days," he murmurs, in echo.
"It'll take me about. . . four, I'll say, to get settled for investigation and arrest."
He doesn't miss that last word.
"Arrest?" Segen's brow wrinkles as he turns his face up to mine. "You don't arrest people. Guards arrest people."
"And, why can't I?"
He's baffled.
"Because, you kill them."
I want to laugh, but I can't. My father would have laughed. Hard. My mother, too. It's disconcerting that my child knows such truths about me. But, then again, I would rather him know the truth, than a bold-faced lie.
"This is a special case, my love. I need to apprehend someone, and deliver them to someone else."
"For money? Like, a courier boy?"
This does make me laugh.
"Sort of, baby," I grinned, watching him pour over the map. It was a moment I wanted to keep. Even if he didn't understand, or trust my reasons for not telling him about his father, his chief concern was still my life. Was still loving and protecting me. I nodded to myself, in awe of him. "Sort of."
That was yesterday.
Now, just as so many years before, I pass the ruined Western Tower, on my way to Whiterun. Once again, I am incognito. Rather than the Prince of Death or the Queen of Pirates, I have become a refugee. The false papers arrived three days ago, identifying me as Sybyll Darkwater, from the Pale.
Thoroughly greased footwraps shield my feet from the cold, and though I kept my heavy wool cloak, a roughspun tunic and trousers are all that I wear. My hair is wild and dirt-streaked, my glass lenses are intact and my nose is preparing to turn blue. All for the sake of that traitorous bitch.
I hunker down, letting my absolute hatred of Iman Suda warm me, hugging my knees to my chest.
Though I look it, I am not entirely defenseless: my knife is concealed between my breasts, and my weapons, armor and warmer clothes were sent on before me, so as to not draw suspicion from those refugees in the wagon train.
Segen was confused as to why I was boarding it, instead of taking Queen Allie, and even more so concerning why I was dressed like I was.
"Safer to travel in disguise my love," I smiled, kissing the top of his head. "Remember that, if you remember anything else: never journey as yourself."
That said, I climbed into the back of the refugee wagon, took my seat, and watched my son and his teacher until I couldn't see them any longer. Presently, I shut my eyes, trying to will that final image of Segen back into my mind.
"So," comes a hoarse whisper to my left. "What did you lose to the Dragons?"
I pause for a moment before replying, "The father of my son."
Whiterun comes into sight a few hours later. And, it is nothing like how it was when I was on the warpath. Camps and fires dot the plains outside of the fortress, the new homes of the families displaced by dragons, without the money to enter the city and afford housing. They are the overflow.
And, as guilt threatens to make a home within me, I recall that they are also not my problem.
The wagon train continues on, up to the stables of Whiterun, and it is here that we disembark. Grubby faced children, both older than my son and younger, rush us, pleading for our scraps. They tug on my ragged clothes, and some even try to search my pockets. They are so young, and so desperate.
Is this how Marrick was forced to grow up?
Besides the children, there are whores, tempting fathers and husbands and sons with every look. Come warm yourself, they seem to say, Come forget your woes, your family, your duty, yourself. I can't blame them. Everyone has to eat.
"Spare a septim, ser? You know you can. My own sire is dead, in a dragon's belly. Take pity, won't you? Take pity. I starve if you don't. I will. They'll burn my body up, then. They will. I'll burn just like my pa."
"Stop your snivelling, Skeever shit," one man snarls, booting the young boy aside. "I have enough mouths to feed without your lies."
My eyes burn and tingle, and I know the boy isn't lying.
The ghost of his father stands just by him, there, hand on his shoulder as they both cry to themselves.
Head down, I plow forwards through the crowd, my toes numb in the frozen snows outside the gates. This truly is the coldest winter ever. I fall in with the other refugees, and finally make it to the city gates and the checkpoint.
"Pay up or piss off," the guards are saying. "Pay up, or piss off."
I dig the small purse of septims that I've hidden in my hair from the bun, and pass it to the guard, who nods me through. It makes no difference. The city is just as bad as the plains, if not worse.
For certain, this is not the Whiterun I recall.
Overcrowded.
Rank.
Pained.
Bodies with forlorn faces line the streets, every man in the Plains District eyeing each other. both in suspicion and speculation. Can I get away with robbing you? Are you after my things? I could kill you, if I needed to? Are you after my things? And, even worse are the ghosts. They stand sentinel to those they are lost to, their grief tying them down to this plane of Oblivion.
Where are the gods now?
If heroes go to Sovngarde, and villains go to Oblivion, then where do their families go? Who protects the ones the heroes protected in life? Who defends the ones who were defenseless then and are defenseless now? Where are the gods?
I draw my cloak more tightly around myself.
Are there any?
Up the street in the Plains District, I can see a fire pit has been set up, with bodies crowded around it. I trudge on through the wind, and sidle up close, as its occupants swap their tales of woe.
"It weren't Alduin, what slaughtered my livestock and ravaged my farm," one man imparts. "But it were something of his ilk. Came in the black of night, silent and deadly and frightful as an open grave. It en't something you predict, or you plan for, no. It's something you can only survive."
"My father perished in the flames," whispered a young woman. "He died, getting the rest of us out of harm's way. Now, we're stuck in this all-forsaken city, where my husband has spent what little we have on whores, and my children have to make-believe their supper."
"Don't blame the whores," snaps another woman. "Don't! We're only trying to eat, just like the rest of you. Do you think I was always a whore? I had a business! I was a merchant! Now, I'm just another hole for bitter men to stick their cocks in."
My eyes flit carefully around the circle, before landing on the face of a young man, of about fifteen by the look of him. His eyes are brimming with unshed tears, and his lower lip trembles madly.
"I never cared for him. For Torryn. He was my younger brother, and he was always tailing me. My friends came round and said they'd seen a dragon, so I called bullshit and went with them. I didn't know-" He choked off his own words with a heart-wrenching wail. "I didn't know he was tailing me. I didn't know! And only now do I realize he only wanted to be like me, be with me. I'm sixteen summers old, and he'll never even see ten."
Sixteen, hm? I was off by a year.
The boy crumples to his feet, forehead pressed to the cobblestone, weeping as he clutches tufts of his hair in his fists. I do another pass around the circle, and finally retreat.
There is no point in my listening to their stories, I hiss to myself. I'm here on business, and to settle a personal score.
That's all well and good. It is. But, in my heart, I know it's bullshit.
Iman Suda is bullshit.
Alduin is bullshit.
The Jarls are bullshit.
The Aldmeri Dominion is bullshit.
The Dragonborn is bullshit.
The gods are bullshit.
They don't control fate; good and decent people do. And, unless I wanted to be bullshit, then I had to start pulling my weight. It's not like anyone else was. My brows pull in as I turn my back to the crowd and their woeful fire.
Not even Marrick.
Just as I think these words.
Just as I think this name.
"Here," he says, his voice strong and sure. "You can have my cloak."
My body freezes as my heart fills, chin trembling with the weight of words I know I can never say and chills racing across my skin, as my every nerve whispers his name to my soul like a secret.
HE IS RIGHT THERE. HE IS RIGHT THERE, BEHIND ME, RIGHT NOW.
That's his voice, right there, speaking actual words, out loud. That's his voice!
And, before I can convince myself to do otherwise, I turn to see him.
My heart was full. Now, it is bursting.
My hands fly to cover my mouth, to fight the cry that threatens to leave it.
Those are his feet, right there, on the ground! Behind him, are the footprints that they made to walk over here! Those are both of his legs! Both of his arms! His hands! His mouth, actually breathing out his breath; those are his eyes! That is his hair. His eyelashes. His nostrils. His teeth. His chest, with his very own heart beating inside it!
This is him.
Five feet away, this is him.
Five years, to a close, this is him.
My loose hands close into fists.
This is him. But, I'm not me.
I'm Sybyll Darkwater, from the Pale. And, I've never seen this man before, in all my life.
As much as my whole being fights it. As much as the act makes me want to retch. As much as I feel this is the wrong thing to do, I turn around, my back to him, and the crowd, and the fire, and I just walk away.
Half of me expects that I'll turn around again, and go to him.
The other half expects that he knows me, and that any second now, he'll grab me by the arm.
I nearly die when I feel fingers close around my wrist.
I'm pulled in close to a warm body, much taller and bigger than mine, with a smell I couldn't forget even if I'd died and returned as a new person, with new purpose.
"It's alright," Adjin whispers, as my eyes flood. "It's alright, mish'kirai. I'm here." He strokes my hair, cradling me in his arms. "I'm here."
"He's been better, than he was before." Adjin hands me a Back Briar ale, fully aware that it's the only thing I drink. By this time, I've washed and changed into clean clothes. Fine, boiled black leathers, warm over my mail; wool longshirt soft and warm beneath it. My bracers and boots are laced up tight, giving me comfort when I squeeze my hands into fists. "Much better. Every day, and every night, he's out here, helping the people who need it most, without giving himself away." We look on as Marrick chops firewood for another house, stacking log after log behind him. "It started out worse. Much worse. After he left you, he crawled into a bottle of skooma, and stayed there up until I found him again. He was living off what he made as a merc, but it was mainly catching Skeever, cleaning out vermin, you know."
"No," I say hoarsely, "I didn't know."
Marrick plants his hands on his waist and twists this way and that, cracking his back. Then, he turns to the stack of logs, and starts loading them onto a sled.
"Go ahead," Adjin murmurs, stroking his beard. "You can ask."
In the midst of shaking my head no, I still blurt it out.
"Why is he stealing from all the Holds?"
"We came to a dilemma, concerning how he should make re-entry."
"Re-entry to what?"
"Re-entry to hell."
I suck in my breath harshly, not even daring to think about the transition he'd had to make.
"That's not healthy," I hiss. "That's not even sane."
"No, it's not," he assents. "But, it was necessary. And it's helped him."
"If it's helped him, then why are you hovering?" I snap, and this gives Adjin pause. When you enter hell and you're sent off alone, then you're all alone. Your mentor cannot assist you. You have to find your own way.
"You can I both know that he's a special case, but enough about us," he sneers coolly, turning his berating eye on me. "What brings you by, sweet sister?"
Clearly, he thinks I'm here to hover over Marrick, the way he's hovering. He has no idea. . .
"I'm here on merc business," I reply, closing my wrapped hands into tight fists. Their knuckles are suddenly very interesting. "Iman Suda has been tracked here, and linked to the fall of Hegathe." The last part barely escapes as a whisper. "Shazaa Ibn Rahaim is innocent."
For a long, long while we are both silent. Marrick is long gone, the only indicator of his presence being a trail of the sled he dragged the firewood off in.
"Kematu has told you as much?"
"Oge`," I whisper. "And Shazaa himself is this side of the border. He's holed up at Swindler's Den."
"By the grace of Stenndar!"
"And, I've had to tell Segen a little about his father."
My older brother's hand raises to clench his mouth tight, brow furrowed deeply.
"He knows?" Adjin demands. "Segen knows? Everything?"
I shake my head, "A doctored version. I just didn't think either of us was ready-"
"You did the right thing," he says, nodding to himself. "You did the right thing." It is another moment of silence before he's riled again. "Where's Segen?" he hisses. "You didn't bring him, did you?"
"Yes, Adjin, I'm completely irresponsible with my own child," I babble in careless tones. "No, I didn't fucking bring him! And, I didn't leave him, either." I huff and hug my arms around me. "I got a steward."
This earns me a smirk.
"You? A steward?"
"I'll cut your balls off."
"Lot of hacking, dear one."
I crack a smile that quickly becomes a grin.
"Divines, but I've missed you."
"And I, you." The wind picks up, and with it, the sweeping snows. I bring my cloak's edges closer around me, and Adjin suddenly touches my elbow. "Do you love him?"
"No," I whisper, as I nod my head, brows furrowing. "No, I don't. I dont."
He watches me with a pained expression, as I watch Marrick with one of my own.
"Will you go to him?"
"I can't, Adjin, I can't, I-" The words sputter suddenly, tears erupting from my eyes. "I don't love him anymore, I don't. I promise you, I don't. I don't." I peek from between my fingers to find myself alone. I wonder whether Adjin was ever there at all.
"Get you anything sweetness?"
I look up and into the face of the Bannered Mare's owner, blonde hair tied back from her angular, matronly face, as ice-blue eyes look down on me, concerned.
"Just a drink," I murmur softly. "Something hot. Something sweet."
She waves her hand to some barmaid near us, repeating the order, and sits down at my table.
"Hope you don't mind," she sighs, settling down.
"Of course not," I say, with a faint smile. "But, I'm afraid I'm poor company tonight."
She nods to herself, "Was that your man?"
A jolt shoots through me, and for a moment, I think she means Marrick. Then, I realize I've been sitting with Adjin all night at this table, and I start to calm down.
"No, ma'am," I reply, "my brother."
"I see." She flicks some dirt off the table, and looks at me again. "So, what's your story, child?"
I feel my brows pull in, half-distracted by my own thoughts.
"My story?"
"What brings you here?"
For some reason, I can't lie; I'm too tired to lie.
"Some bitch ruined my life and got my family separated. I was orphaned at sixteen and went to Skyrim to start over, and I did. Then, I went and fucked the fucking Dragonborn, and he got a child on me. My four-year-old is a two day journey away, and he knows I've been lying to him his entire life. I've left him in the care of a stranger, just because my brother recommended him. I sent a courier boy to rent this room so I could find someone. Instead, I found someone else, who I never thought I'd see again. I have a room to myself, when there are thousands outside of the city more in need of it than me. I'm jealous of my younger sister because she got to settle down, which isn't even something I knew I fucking wanted, and she has it. I've just seen my kid's father, the Dragonborn, and the one person I have ever loved, and I just don't know what to do with myself. I don't how to proceed." I shake my head violently, my chin trembling. "I'm just stuck. And, I'm fucking hungry."
The bar woman watches me silently, and suddenly, her hand covers my own.
"If you're the merc who rented the room, we can still split it up. You can stay in my rooms, or Saadia's, if you like. Your son will be perfectly safe, I'm sure, and we can find your son's father after you've rested up."
"That's just it," I sputter. "I don't know if I want to find him. I was right there, right in front of him," I murmur, eyes glazed over. "And, I don't think it's a mistake that I saw him first."
"Marrick Stray-King," the woman utters, and I flinch.
"What did you just say?"
"Marrick Stray-King," she echoes, with more certainty. "That stupid, stupid boy. That stupid boy!" She's absolutely delighted. "You're her. You're his woman!"
What the fuck?
"What are you talking about?"
"Five years ago," she whispers, like it's a secret with a meaning that only she and I know. "Five years ago, he stumbles through here. He's always drunk. Always high. Always smelled like-" Her eyes brighten. "Tell me, do you smoke sweet kush?" I nod absently, and she squeals, banging the table excitedly. "You're her. There's no doubt about it, sweetness. You're his woman. And, he's been waiting for you all this time, to come through."
Tears start to well, as my chest fills with air and my heart soars.
"Please, are you lying?" I stutter. "Please, tell me if you're lying, I can't- I can't, if it's the truth, please-"
"It's all true, I swear by all the gods." Tears prick at the corners of her own. "He's been waiting. Said as much, sweetness, he's been waiting for you."
"Are you sure?" I ask, feeling like this is a dream. This has to be a dream. "Has there been no one else?"
"He couldn't replace you, if he wanted to. He tried very hard, miss, but he knows that now. You are his whole world. You are his every thought." I shut my eyes, as if the act would close up her words inside me and I could hold them there, forever. "Speaking of . . ."
My eyes open, and I see her gaze is trained on a point beyond me. I whip around before I can stop myself, and there he is again, reaffirming the truths I've come to understand.
Iman Suda is bullshit.
Alduin is bullshit.
The Jarls are bullshit.
The Aldmeri Dominion is bullshit.
The Dragonborn is bullshit.
The gods are bullshit.
They don't control fate. They don't. And, I know that, because him being here, and me being here, this is fate. Our stars aren't crossed, I know that now. They weren't always on the same lineup; they took up different paths and constellations, but they would always end up where they needed to be: together.
I watch Marrick.
He smiles faintly at everyone who greets him. They all know his name, and shake his hand; he's made a difference for many of them. I watch as the bar owner directs him to fit more people into the room I've canceled rent on, and as he organizes other men to get to work with him.
I watch, and I watch and I watch.
The man I knew has disappeared, replaced by the man I have always loved and believed in.
My faith in him, is absolute.
I watch him cross from the main stair, the work upstairs finished. He stops to chat in the taproom, then continues on through the kitchen, to a back stairway, which he climbs up.
Then, I wait.
I wait for as long as I dare to, and I rise from my seat, and follow.
On the top stair, I realized the entirety of what is about to happen. Of who stands on the other side of the door.
This is the man who shares a soul with me. This is the man whose child I've raised. This is the man whom I've loved in spite of my own denial. This is the man with eyes as bright and as dark as the night sky, full of stars.
This is the man with endless height, and with hair like raven's feathers. This is the man who sleeps with a child's face, and whose heartbeat lulls me to sleep like nothing else. This is the man who fights like a song and lyrics, like music. This is the man whom nothing is like. This is the man who is the death of me. This is the man who writes his name on my lips.
With my heart full of these truths, I take the final step, and I push open the door.
They're both naked.
Instead of the bed, they are pressed against the far wall.
Her slim fingers clutch to his broad back, running over his nine stripes. Her knee is hooked over his elbow, and his hip braces her other leg out of his way. Her fingers are now running through his raven's feather hair. Her arms wrap around his wide shoulders. His muscles ripple like water over rock as he thrusts into her, over and over and over. He's grunting, she's screaming for something; she's screaming for more.
They kiss.
They kiss, and then, I see her face. Once I have, I shut the door, and I leave.
The gods are bullshit.
The Dragonborn is bullshit.
The Aldmeri Dominion is bullshit.
Alduin is bullshit.
The Jarls are bullshit.
Iman Suda is bullshit.
But, maybe they do know something about fate.
As I leave the Bannered Mare, I realize I was right:
It's no mistake, that I saw him first.
(A/N): You must remember my penchant for sinking 'ships. Please keep reading, please review, please be patient and I hope you enjoyed. -LR