Hullo, everybody. Here's the moment you've all been waiting for. Please Read and Review (like really, please) and I hope you enjoy! -LR
Sleep's a bitch; it doesn't even try to find me.
Everything I've created for myself has been uprooted. I had a calling, to help other people. Now, I've helped a woman into capture. I managed to separate my thoughts from Rontu. Now, once again, she's their queen. I took in a younger me, to help him find his mother. Now, he's been separated both from her and from me, and it's all my all-damned fault.
The fact that Chaos wasn't returned to me after the first delivery was its own pleasant conversation:
"So, what now, Kematu?" I snarled, my patience threadbare. "What happens to the boy?"
The man stood there, as calm and cool as a just-fed sabrecat.
He had just taken an innocent fugitive- a mother - as his captive. He'd just took her four-year-old son as well. And, if that wasn't bad enough, he had somehow duped both me and a woman more just and morally straight than anyone I've ever met- a woman who was supposed to be his friend- into helping him, the bastard.
As infuriated as I was with the whole situation, I couldn't give it away. He'd warned me, with his Don't interfere. I'd come that far into the deal without showing him my reluctance; I wasn't going to just throw my farce away. Chaos and Saadia had a better chance of getting out of this, if the Alik'r didn't see me as a potential threat.
To my question, of the boy's fate, Kematu merely shrugged.
"We'll give him back when we deliver the last shipment," he said. "What you do with your time till then, is up to you. Just until I've the last of my rubies in hand."
So, it's been about five or six since I last saw him.
Like a fool, I've just let them take him, like they took her. Like they took them; I've not seen Rontu since she delivered the third shipment. They would come in a caravan, with Kematu driving the lead wagon. She would leave the city, passes in hand, and then take up the seat beside him, gaining the whole group entrance to the capital.
I thought I'd have no way of knowing if the boy was even still this side of the border, let alone if he was alive. But, as ever, Chaos had thought of everything. And apparently, his gift of foresight foresaw my lack of patience and apprehension.
The evening after the first delivery, a courier boy found me, with a small parcel and a note he was instructed to read aloud to me.
Kematu had written to tell me of a new stipulation from the boy: each drop meant a little package from him.
He sent a booklet of letters for me to trace and then, pictures of what they become when you string them together and then, words for me to trace as well.
While it seems innocent enough, his gesture means a lot to me.
Not only because he cares enough to let me know that he's alive and unharmed, but also because he remembered and still wanted to honor our agreement. Even though his mother has been taken, as he must know, he wants to prove himself a good man.
Besides. Trapped in Breezehome as a fugitive, what else was there for me to do?
I glance to the pallet beside me where a booklet sits, unopened. A brother leaf sits beside it, and another beside it, and another two beside them - one for each week that Chaos has been with the Alik'r.
Its writing is clear and bold, though a bit uneven. It's on a slant, as if he's written on an angle rather than in straight lines; four-year-old writing.
The only four-year-old thing about him.
I can't really talk, though; my own handwriting's more like chicken scratch.
"Write nine truths about yourself, one for each of the Divines," instructed the second week's booklet, which I was now able to read myself. "Then, read back what you've written,"
At this, I sighed with a smirk. Nearly two leagues away, and he's still so bossy.
"My name is Marrick Stray-King," I whispered, watching the words. "I am twenty-nine. I have a horse named Fenris and he is nine years old. I hate taffy, it's my least favorite food. My father was Torygg and my mother was Ileana. My only family now, is Adjin O'Naharis." My eyes trained on the next sentence, and my chest filled with breath. "I am the Dragonborn."
A silence followed these last words, as I waited for the world to end; it was both my first time saying them aloud and my first time writing them down. Immortalizing them, in a way. If these papers, holding words that pass from a four-year-old boy to a twenty-nine-year-old man, are saved and taken care of, then they live forever. Or, at least, that's what Adjin said once, trying to coax me into words as he'd coaxed me into swords.
I am the Dragonborn.
A third week of practice later, his sloped hand decreed that I write a story of any truth of my choosing. The ninth sentence is the one I chose. And, what I wrote immortalized a story that not even Rontu knows about me: how I came to learn that I have the soul of a Dovah.
I wrote carefully and for a long time, crossing out and crumpling up until every word was as I wanted. To see two pages filled with my own hand, which I'd hardly ever seen before, filled me with a ridiculous pride.
Week four's booklet sent the children's books Kolb and the Dragon, the Yellow Book of Riddles and the Red Book of Riddles, with instructions to read and summarize them. Basic as they were, they lit something in me.
I read them over and over and over again, until their texts became memorized, their words becoming mine. The summary came easy to me, but I'd been given a disease with this reading, I came to realize.
Even now, I'm insatiable, looking for something to read.
One of the refugees had been poking around on the upper floor of Breezehome, and discovered a bookcase with a few volumes. With some hesitation, I began Reven's Beggar, the first chapter of The Adventures of Eslaf Erol.
Then, almost immediately, I continued on to Thief, Warrior and King.
I COULD NOT. STOP. READING.
I was lucky, as Chaos' week five letter told me to devour more books.
The steward's shelf also held the two volumes of The Black Arrow, and another refugee managed to save his copy of Immortal Blood. But, after that, there were no other books It was too expensive to buy others; all of our money was pooled to pay for the food that was brought to the city vendors to sell. Even still, I went through receipts and diaries and journals and graffiti until I remembered that there was something else for me to read.
Something hidden away, above the rafters, tucked away behind a loose stone in the wall . . . Presently, I place King down carefully, before my eyes travel up the wall to the rafters.
When I was illiterate, I would have given my right hand just to read her letter. Now, I'm not so sure. What if it's true, that she's moved on? When I saw her, those few weeks ago, she didn't look unhappy, or unloved.
She looked very happy. Very loved.
When I left five years ago, I didn't wish her unhappiness or anything like that. But, I was a ruin. I wasn't happy at all, without her; and after everything we were, I guess I just expected that to some extent, she would be the same. I guess I just expected her to feel affected. That it would confirm that what we had, had been real.
I sit there, on my pallet, watching the rafters and weighing the consequences of giving in to my greatest want on this earth . . .
I suppose I'm not as strong as I thought.
I fly up from the bedroll and sprint up the steps three at at a time. I jump as high as I can off the last step and hold fast onto a low-hanging beam. Hauling myself up, I stagger dumbly across it, eyes fixed on that loose stone, one step at a time until all of a sudden, it's here in front of me. I rip it from its little hollow, revealing the carefully folded page.
With trembling fingers, I pick it up, and plop down right there on the crossbeam; I can't wait to get back down to read it. Gingerly, I fold back each of the folded squares until every word in her handwriting is revealed. I breathe in her smell . . . and then, I start to study the one piece that I could never, ever get sick of reading:
This letter could have started in any number of ways.
I could have cursed you, but you curse better. I could have lamented my loss of you, but then again, because of you, I've gained so much. No, what I'm going to do now, is own up to our agreement: "No lies". Right, Marrick? And, so here is my truth:
I see your face in the rising sun. I hear your voice in the crashing waves. I taste you behind the sweetest of summer ales. We said no lies, Marrick. So, just know that it's the truth when I say that I miss you more than I miss having a soul of my own. I tried very hard, these past months, to forget you. Even writing these words, I can only laugh. Forget you? And how? How, when I see your face in the rising sun? When I hear your voice in the crashing waves? When I taste you behind the sweetest of summer ales?
I don't know if telling you this will mean anything, or how it even could. If you're to be believed, then you never cared for me at all, and that's something I have come to terms with. I suppose I could say I just mean to let you know where I stand, after the time and distance between us. But, that isn't my true purpose, and we said "No lies". So here it is:
Marrick, the last I heard, you joined up with the Blades. With Delphine, and the old man. I want you to know, that I'm satisfied with that. It's the only thing I want from and for you; your being the Dragonborn and realizing your destiny. What I said, that last morning, outside the Guild, in the cemetery, it's not something I can say again, to you, or any other man. But, I do believe in you. I believe in how great a man you can be and with how great a legacy. I just don't believe it involves me.
Well, in truth, us.
Something has happened, honestly about six hours ago, but even more honestly, about eight and a half months ago. I had a baby, Marrick. Our baby. Please, don't worry or fret yourself. No one is angry with you or howling for you to take responsibility.
I may think of you often but, I'm not helpless.
I can't tell you the name or the gender; I didn't want to trap you in a twisted relationship with a woman you don't love and the child you got on her. But, I'm sure it's not the first time. Not with your notoriety as a lover.
Oh, smile, will you? It was a joke.
The child will grow up knowing you- well, a version of you, and will have Adjin and Jarsha and myself to guide lessons in all subjects. Together, we'll make a good team, so don't worry, we're well taken care of. I'm a propertied woman now, with lands of my own. Can you believe it? We've returned to Hammerfell, to a port city where the child will know the sea, just like you. The baby is healthy, fat and lively- I did tell you that you gave me life. That, and to be happy. So, please, do so. I tell you these things not to work your spirit, but to encourage it. Let Fate lead the way to your destiny.
After that, who knows?
Maybe, one day, it will lead the way back.
I read it.
Again and again and again, I read it.
The tears are delayed, but they definitely come.
A child?
My child?
Mine, and hers?
Five years . . . that would put the kid at four.
I don't dare ask why she didn't tell me. I know why she didn't. If I were in her place, and she had said what I had to me, I would have hated me, too. But, to keep me from my child? A part of me growing up and living and breathing away from me, just like her? I feel as though I've lost something I never even had. If I were in her place, and she had said what I had to me, I would have hated me, too.
Only, she didn't hate me, based on her letter.
I haunt her every thought, the same way she haunts mine; she still loves me! She still loves me, and she has my kid. That, and they are in Skyrim; I know that the bit about Hammerfell is a lie. Kematu and his men came here to see her. As to whether she's with another man, and whether he's raising my child, I have no idea. But, that part, that part towards the end, that What I said, that last morning, outside the Guild, in the cemetery, it's not something I can say again, to you, or any other man.
I know what she meant by that.
She meant the "I love you".
It was the first one I'd heard from a woman who wasn't my mother that was genuine.
I love you, Marrick.
I never even got to say it back.
I love you.
The most beautiful thing I'd ever heard, because it was from her and because she meant it. And now, I'd ruined her love for any other living man? Really? And if that weren't bad enough, even if I ever managed to get next to her again, I wouldn't ever be able to hear it? Really?
"Once isn't enough," I whisper absently. "Once isn't enough. . ."
"Marrick!" calls one of the men. Vaguely, I can see him standing in the doorway, though he only has the bare minimum of my attention. "Marrick, they've brought Chaos back!"
I store up everything about Rontu and me up in my center, before vaulting to the upper level floorboards and trotting down the stairs. Before looking after my affairs, I would have to sort out his.
Once I've reach the ground floor, the boy is stepping through the front door.
His eyes are downcast; he refuses to look at me. He also refuses to take off his cloak, and I notice then that he also has a trunk that he won't set down.
"You're not staying, are you." He shakes his head, still refusing to look up at me. "Did they hurt you?" My hands become fists at the thought, and I still don't calm when he shakes his head again. "What is it, Chaos?" I finally ask, exasperated. "What's wrong with you?"
I kneel down before him, but he turns his face away. Chaos starts to speak, but his voice is barely at a whisper; he clears his throat to try again.
"I have to leave," he tells me. "My uncle's come to get me, you see, and since my mother's not here anymore-"
"Don't worry about that," I say, my voice fierce. "Don't worry about that. We'll get her back; I swear to you. You'll both be safe and together again."
He doesn't seem to register my words; he's distracted. Lost in his thoughts.
"Thank you, for everything," he says, and his voice cracks; is he crying? "Thank you, for taking care of my mother. Thank you, for taking care of me. I'm sorry that I've been such a handful. And, I hope I see you again."
Before I can say anything, his arms are around my neck, his face buried in my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him, and a great warmness spreads out within me, that I don't even understand. Just as quickly as it began, the embrace ends, and he pulls away. Chaos takes my hand then, and opens it; presses a crumpled ball of wrapping paper into my palm.
"Goodbye," he says quietly, and steps away, back off of the threshold. "Goodbye. And, thank you."
"Goodbye, Chaos," I say back, and he nods quickly before heading back outside the city gates.
Once he's out of sight, I unwrap the wrinkled ball of parchment, revealing an item I never thought I'd see again outside of my sleep.
"Adjin's locket . . .?" I breathe. I click open the latch, the way I should have so many years ago, and there, behind the glass, is a miniature of Rontu, smiling and gorgeous. "But, why . . .?"
Air hitches in the back of my throat, as I catch sight of his sloped writing in the center of the page:
You Know Who I Am.
I stare dumbfounded at the words.
Then, without regard for the wanted posters, or the guards, or the refugees grabbing at me or the checkpoint at the city gates, I start to run. I fly out beyond them to the stables as fast as I can, as though my life depends on it.
"CHAOS!" I holler, like a madman, waving my arms, my eyes fixed wildly on him. "CHAAOOOOSS!"
Seated before Kematu on a dappled grey horse, the small form turns at the sound of my voice; his eyes now finally on me.
One night-black, like mine. One pearl-white, like hers.
The smile that fills his face takes my breath away and brings me to tears, brings me to my knees.
It's the first one I've ever seen from him.
My son.
Our son.
(A/N) : READ AND REVIEW, GUYS! I hope you enjoyed !