Hullo everybody! Took me forever to get this out, and for that alone, I'm sorry. Please Read and please Review! I hope you enjoy! -LR
He's still awake.
I don't think he ever went to sleep. I know I didn't. I also know that just as I've been pretending to go to sleep for Segen's sake this past week, he's been pretending to go to sleep for mine.
When we three returned home from battle, it was in silence.
We trudged into the main hall, each of us spaced out, thinking our own thoughts, likely about our own deeds. The movement in the house was immediate. The farmers and farmers' wives waited up for us. As soon as the door swung open, they set about getting us mead and fresh-baked bread.
They drew us baths. They gave us potions, to restore our health. They sat around us, talking and chattering away while the three of us glanced at each other across the table, silently shouldering one another.
It takes its toll, killing. And, only other killers could ever understand.
From the second floor banister, my son watched us carefully, understanding that ours was a look he would someday know as his own.
It's been nine days since the Battle for Solitude.
The Moot has met and today, will crown the new High King.
Last night, Adjin threw a party for the occasion, along with the rest of Skyrim. After a few hours of swapping tales and laughs after supper, the whole of the house eventually turned in. I could lay in bed for only so long, before I grew restless. In the softening dark, just before dawn, I left bed, silently descending the stairs. I came upon the dark of the downstairs halls and walked through the kitchen, stepping into the cold back porch.
I draw the sleeve of my longshirt over my palm, and rub the fogged glass of the window. The soft light of the moons and the sun at the edge of the horizon turns the forest snow shining bright and, all the trees to great sentinels.
In the distance, I can see Solitude. Really see it.
The Imperial banners are struck. The Stormcloak colors don't fly, either.
In their place is a new symbol; the twisted, black visage of a dragon's skull, horns curving up out of its head. In between them, floats the jagged crown of Skyrim's High King, embossed in gold.
I smile.
I turn away from the window, rubbing the soles of my frigid feet on my calves to warm them before stooping to the woodpile and stacking three logs in the crook of my right arm. With my left, I reach into the barrel of dry leaves by the door and draw out a small handful.
I take them into the kitchen and place the logs, one at a time, into the fire pit in the middle of the room. Then, I crush the leaves and lay them on the pile before snapping my fingers. Flame sparks up in a flash of white and blue, lighting the leaves on fire. I blow on them, and it soon catches on the logs, blazing bright, lighting up the whole kitchen.
As the room begins to warm, I set myself down in the corner rocking chair, and draw my robe tighter around my body before lighting my pipe. I exhale the smoke and shrug my shoulders.
"Now, that's a bit better, isn't it, mo'preant?"
Segen, who's been sitting in between two barrels, watching me, rises from his hiding place and crosses over to sit in my lap, settling back against me. I close my robe over the both of us and hold him tight.
"Was he scared?"
I've told him about the battle several times already. He never tires of hearing it.
I shake my head.
"No. No, he was very brave. He fought fearlessly, with all valor and honor. He never shirked. Never once ran the other way."
"And, when Ulfric named him?"
"And, when Ulfric named him, the whole host exalted, shouting with such a great roar that the whole city trembled under my feet."
He cuddled closer against me, and I started rocking back and forth in the chair.
"Was he sad?"
I smile and shake my head again.
"He wasn't sad; he was determined. He doesn't think we'll be separated much longer."
Segen tips his face up to see if I'm telling the truth.
"He doesn't?"
I grin, "Mh-mh."
"Then, I believe it, too," he whispers, hunkering down into my chest. "Do you think he's going to kill Shazaa?"
For some reason, that makes me laugh.
"Noooo," I smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "That wouldn't do."
"But, you wish he would," he tells me quietly. My brows draw in, and I angle my head to look at Segen. He's staring out the window, over the treetops, at Solitude. "You wish he'd come for us, and you wish he'd make everything okay. But, you know that he can't."
"He'll come for you," I tell him. "I swear, Segen; I will never let them have you." I raise his chin, forcing him to look into my eyes as I speak. I shake my head firmly. "They will never take you from your home."
His brow wrinkles and his lips press together tightly. His hand reaches up and grasps my chin.
"You're my home," he whispers, mismatched eyes blazing.
I have no answer for him and can only squeeze him tight in my arms.
"Are you alright?"
He shakes his head, and starts rubbing his eye.
"Not lately. I keep hearing someone."
"Your grandparents again?"
"No, it's-" he shrugs in frustration. "It's different. I don't exactly know her."
"Her?"
He nods, "It's- well, she's- a girl," he confesses. "And, I don't actually think she's dead."
"How old?" I ask, my interest piqued. "Does she have a name?"
"She's around my age, I think," he replies. "And, her name is Leighan."
"Leighan…" I echo. Segen nods. "Well, I think we ought to ask Adjin and Argis about it. Maybe Jarsha, too; he's well-versed in matters of spirituality."
"I don't-" Segen frowns and shakes his head. "I don't want to tell them." At my expression, he sighs and shrugs his shoulders. "It used to be just you and me and Uncle Adjin in the house," he says quietly. "Now, there are all these other people here, too. And, I understand that, and I know that they're here because they have nowhere else to go. But… I dunno." He looks up at me. "I guess I just don't want to have to share everything anymore. Even you, I have to share. And, when she speaks to me- when Leighan comes to talk, I have something that's all mine."
I sink my teeth into my lower lip.
Fuck.
I should've been paying more attention to Segen all this time. Fuck! Who knew that I could be such a terrible mother, that I wouldn't notice his only company was a girl who could very likely be dead? I just threw four families- all, of complete strangers- on his back, forgetting the one vital factor that I always have to keep in mind:
For all his acting so much older than his age, Segen is just a little boy.
He's five in a few weeks. Just five.
I almost don't know what to say, for how his words catch me off guard.
"We can hold off on telling the others. But, I will send for Ri'saad," I say gently. "This girl is speaking to you for a reason, my son. And, no one knows more about fate than he."
He nods his assent.
For a long while, neither of us says anything. We just sit in the rocking chair by the fire, rocking back and forth with him snug in my arms as I hum to him softly.
Have you seen my baby boy?
Please tell me if you have
I looked high and I looked low
And have not seen a sign
oVo
Have you seen my baby boy?
He is my precious one.
Mo'preant. La, mo'preant
My little precious one.
oVo
I looked through the mountains
And I combed the deepest seas
I prayed to the heavens
The Divines, they answered me
oVo
We've found your baby boy, they said
Your little precious one.
He had such lovely eyes and hair
We thought him one of us
oVo
For how well you love him
We will teach to you this tune.
Raise your voice on high and sing
your son down from the moons
The sky was lightening up now.
A clear, blue sky, with the briefest fluffy white clouds.
"La," I call softly, and he grunts his awakeness. "How would you like to go today?"
"Go where?" he mumbles sleepily.
I smile.
"To Solitude, you goose."
That wakes him right up. He jolts into a sitting position, and stares straight into my face, searching for any sign of insincerity.
"To the kingsmoot?" I nod, grinning. "You mean it?" he hisses, his smile gleeful. "We can go?"
I nod for him again.
"We'll have to be very careful that Shazaa doesn't find out," I caution. "He might put it in his report, and word it so that it works against us. And, we can't have that." My eyes find Solitude's silhouette once more, and check the rising of the sun. "We'll have to leave now, before anyone wakes up."
"Just you and me?"
It seems too good to be true.
"Just you and me."
He slides out of my lap immediately.
"I'll wash and dress and get our papers."
"I'll wash and dress and saddle the Queen," I tell him with a grin. "Ten minutes."
"Tops!" he throws over his shoulder, as he hastens quietly up the stairs.
I step back out onto the porch and wipe away the mist of the window, to study his banners again.
"We'll be there," I say quietly. "You won't see us. But, we will."
I return to my room and wash quickly before dressing in brown woolen pants, fine, tall black boots, A pearl white shirt, embroidered at the edges, is pulled on over my head, before I layer on a rust-red vest, a long, pale orange house coat and a brown, quilted over coat over that, a dark brown belt cinching my waist.
I circle my hair around my head, in a braided crown, and jade teardrop earrings adorn my ears. I quickly line my eyes in black kohl and give myself a once-over in the mirror.
When I creep out of my bedroom, Segen comes creeping out of his.
"Have you got your papers?" He raises them in his hand. "Good. Here are mine. Pack some food, for the road," I whisper. "Stick the food in the big saddle bag, our papers in your satchel and meet me outside."
"Got it," he whispered back, and slid all the way down the banister to avoid the middle squeaky stairs.
I follow him down, and head out the door as he dashes into the kitchen. Out at the stable, I place a wool, olive green blanket over Allie's back as she nickers softly in my ear. I rub one of hers gently, before throwing my saddle over the blanket, buckling it into place. By the time Segen arrives with the food, all of her tack is in place, and I tuck him behind the saddle-horn before throwing the saddle bag over the rear of the saddle , placing my foot in the stirrup and lifting my right leg over to the other side.
"It's barely six o'clock," I tell him, my smile sly. "Nine minutes and sixteen seconds."
I don't need to look at him to know he's grinning, too. With a gentle pat on Allie's neck, I click my tongue, signalling for a brisk walk.
I wait until we're close to the swamp and far enough away from the house before I put my heels to the Queen, and we take off like lightning over the frozen marshes.
In spite of her having been ravaged by the Stormcloaks barely a fortnight ago, Solitude is beautiful and lively.
Much like New Life's Day five years ago, all of her vendors line the streets in white tents, calling out their wares, from jewelry and clothes to pastries and magicka supplies. The sky is robin's egg blue, and now is also fully clear, not a cloud in sight. The bricks of buildings scorched by flaming boulders, catapulted over the walls, have been scrubbed and scoured and repainted. Colorful flags and pennant banners hang from lines zigzagging down each avenue.
The people themselves are jovial, laughing and conversing with ease and mirth, greeting stranger and friends alike. When we reach the square, where I last saw Marrick, I see a large maypole has been erected in its center, with girls in sweeping skirts and flowing hair spinning around it, grasping its colored ribbons and laughing.
From his place on my shoulders, Segen can see it all.
He jolts back and forth with his pointing, crying out in awe at the sight of every new thing. A jester in pink and blue motley long-strides past on tall stilts, sheathed in long, bright green trousers. He reaches down to hand Segen a small white flag, bearing the brand new sigil of the brand new High King.
"Thank you!" he hollers over her shoulder, leaning back in such a way that the edge of his black cloak tickles the middle of my back. "Mana, look over there! They've got new wooden swords!"
"Okay," I say laughingly. "Hold on."
I swing him down form his perch and he immediately takes hold of my hand before taking off for the stall.
He brings me two sabres- one for him and one for me- and, stands before me, leaning back against my legs and waist as I make the purchase.
"Thank you for your business," the carpenter smiles. He looks down at Segen and ruffles his hair. "You enjoy those, now."
"Yes, sir," Segen grins.
I place my hands on his shoulders and smile at the artisan.
"It's so lively here," I remark. "I know the battle must have been something terrible, and yet everyone is so pleasant. The people of Solitude are truly resilient."
"Resilience is nothing without leadership," he chuckles, shaking his head. "That young King is something else. You know, I've never seen Elisif once walk these streets. Now, the guards claim they've never once seen him on the throne." He nods at a storefront across the way. "He made his personal condolences to the owner of that apothecary. Her daughter was an Imperial who was killed in the war."
"He came to her? In person?"
The old man shrugs.
"It's become the new normal. There are whispers that all the niceties and city strolls stop once the Moot crowns him today, but I don't believe this is so." He gives a wistful smile. "Cut from a different cloth, that man."
I bite my lips together, to hide my grin.
The horn of the King sounds loud and deep, signalling the main event.
"Divines keep you," I call, as Segen dashes off towards the palace, his hand in mine.
"And you!" he calls back, chuckling. "Until next time!"
Segen weaves through the crowd like water between rock, seeming to forget how much bigger I am than he is, and how difficult it would be for me to follow him through the gaps of his size. Before he can drag me any deeper, I scoop him up and place him back on my shoulders as he cries out an unsteady "Whoa!".
I make a sharp left, breaking off from the crowd of citizens and heading down the alleyway Marrick once pointed out to me, a lifetime ago. With a quick word of warning to Segen, who transitions from my neck to my back, I scale up the side of the right-side house with ease.
From there, I leap lightly from roof to roof until we reach the rooftop closest to the entrance of the Blue Palace, which is still many yards away.
My idea isn't novel; several families have found their way to the same roof, though after our arrival, other climbers were cautioned to look elsewhere for a good view. We perch on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over, as I sit with my water canteen, a bottle of Black Briar mead, sweet mead for Segen, and the array of foods he'd filched from the kitchen: several lavender dumplings, a loaf of braided bread and two large, red apples.
The horn blower stands on the bridge of the overpass of the road leading to the gates. In the archway beneath it stand Ulfric and Galmar.
Each man is resplendent, with Ulfric in his usual robes and furs and Galmar in freshly polished armor.
After them, enters Shazaa.
It seems that Shazaa has made an attempt at out-dressing my older brother, with either man's reputation for beautiful and glorious clothing preceding him.
Shazaa has opted for a gem-green A'likr hood, with a golden coin attached to it falling in the middle of his brow. Rather than an overcoat, he chose blue sable cape with a high-collar, that falls short, only to his hips. It's a thing of beauty, embroidered with silver thread, coiling along its edges and a clasp at his throat. Brown woolens are tucked into the tops of his fine, brown boots.
He stands there, speaking quietly to Ulfric, when Adjin strides into view, immediately commanding all attention. Shazaa's brow pulls in as he fights a scowl.
Honestly, he ought to have known better. For where Shazaa Ibn Rahaim has style, Adjin O'Naharis has class.
He's has opted for all-black: glossy, obsidian Alik'r hood is wound tight, with gold braided cords looping from it. He's dressed in boiled blacks, snug against his flesh, keeping him warm. The trousers taper directly into the tops of his black boots and the fine, charcoal-colored longshirt he wears beneath his boiled leather tunic falls un-tucked to his mid-thigh. A heavy, black wool cloak is pinned at his shoulder in the sagum style, by a large, golden clasp. A gold and onyx circlet can be seen under the brow of his Alik'r hood, and his mustache is once again adorned in gold rings. His hands are sheathed in black leather gloves, but rings still gleam from each finger.
Next to him, Shazaa's attire seems gaudy and overdone. He's clearly lost all confidence in his clothes, continuously sneaking glances at Adjin's dress as he converses softly with Ulfric and Galmar. The Jarls of each hold file in behind my brother, each more stately dressed than the last. At the end of this line is Marrick.
Marrick stuns all.
Rather than dressing in fine robes, he wears a new, dark brown leather jerkin with clasps up its front over a crisp, off-white shirt. His hair is pulled back in a long, neat braid, reaching down his back in an ink-black rope. His beard is still large and thick, but not as unruly as the last time I saw him, during battle. Woolen trousers of a dark, dark brown are tucked into tall, black leather boots. A few jeweled rings line his fingers and a gold medallion hangs over the center of his chest. A charcoal-colored sagum cloak is held by a dragonstooth clasp at his shoulder and hangs to his calves. Dark eyes travel slowly from face to face of the host before him.
His is another level of glory altogether. Even without the finery of one, his is the glory of a king.
"Good people of Skyrim," Ulfric orates. "Friends. Brothers. Today we, your servants, come before you to present your spoils of war." The roar of the crowd is deafening as Marrick offers a slight smile beside Galmar, whose booming laughter echoes across the court. "Much has been the blood spilled to see this day. And all we have achieved is due to you."
A few stray claps flower into thunderous applause. Ulfric raises a hand and all grow quiet.
"It was not through our power alone, however, that we managed to push back the High Elven threat. Joining us here today are representatives of Hammerfell's Council of Magistrates, who lent us their aid when it was most needed. Here, on my left, I present Shazaa Ibn Rahaim, Ambassador of the Free City of Taneth." Shazaa raised a hand as a cheer rose up for him. "And, to my right, the esteemed Magistrate-Elect of Hegathe, Adjin O'Naharis." Adjin bows his head graciously, eyes lowered, his visage solemn. Ulfric clasps his shoulder. "Your deeds for this country," he says, and looks to Marrick, "for our King. They will not be forgotten."
The cheers and applause of the people rise again. Segen and I add our voices as well, as he waves his flag madly. Finished speaking for the time being, Ulfric retreats out of sight, back into the palace, and Adjin leans in to whisper in Marrick's ear.
To whatever he's saying, Marrick nods and straightens his back. His broad shoulders rise and fall with a deep, harsh breath.
That's when I feel it.
A wave of sheer nervousness- of sheer fear rolls through me, filling me up to the point where I can't breathe. A bitter taste opens up in my mouth and I feel faint. Like the sun is shining hotter than ever, and only on me. Nerves rush me again.
It's bewildering. The only time I've ever experienced anything like this was in Riverwood, with-
I draw my breath in sharply. Against all rational, my gaze travels down, ever so slowly, until it rests on my center. And, there it is, flickering in and out of sight.
The golden cord.
Another wave of fear jolts through me, so heavy and vivid that it rattles in teeth in my skull. My hand raises to grip my mouth tightly.
"Mana," Segen calls, over the roar of the crowd. They sound so far away- "Mana. Are you alright?"
I nod absently and my eyes drift over to where Marrick is standing. I see, no feel his fear as it trembles through me. It's overwhelming.
He's nervous about being crowned. About being Jarl, being Dragonborn, but definitely about being King.
I study him, and can see from the look in his eyes and the clenching and un-clenching of his jaw, that it's bad.
I have to so something.
I have to do something; what the hell would I do before? How did I solve this before? Shit. I wet my lips as my brow furrows tight.
I know what I have to do.
I have to calm him down.
I suck in a deep breath and try to focus on the cord. All sound, all smell and all sight fall away. The noise of the crowd and the trumpets, the clashing odors of flowers and meat and mead vaporize. I wait until the only things in the world that exist are my breathing and the faint, gold cord, flickering in and out of sight.
Then, I shut my eyes.
"Be easy," I tell him, as I breathe in. "Marrick, be calm," I whisper on the exhale.
I repeat this, over and over. My words soon wash over his poisonous anxiety and I open my eyes.
The deafening roar of laughing and music, the brightness of the sun and the soft, cool breeze return, occupying my senses so thoroughly that I grasp my stomach. I notice, after lowering my head to catch my breath, that the golden cord has faded completely.
"Mana," Segen calls again. I feel his little hand on my back. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I say, with a weak smile. "Just a little nausea. Just a drink of water; I'll be alright."
I raise up our canteen for empahsis and take a long swig. He watches me carefully, as if making sure I actually do drink.
I turn my gaze back on Marrick, to see him slightly dazed, his eyes glazed over. He shakes himself out of it and straightens his back and rolls his shoulders, his chest rising boldly.
Then, he starts searching.
His gaze is scouring the crowd, a determined look in his eye as he narrows his focus.
Well, shit. Would I have helped, if I knew you'd go and start looking for me?
Just when I'm considering cutting our visit short, Ulfric returns to the archway.
For a moment, only his solemn face is visible, as he walks round the back of the line of Jarls. When he appears at the forefront, the Jagged Crown can be seen in his hands.
At the sight of it, all tumult ceases.
Not one cough. Not one sneeze. Marrick stops his search.
The whole world seems to stop in order to catch its breath.
"Before you stands a man of peerless courage," Ulfric professed, his dark blue gaze burning. "A man who chose your decision to elect him over his own power to decide for you. A man who has and will sacrifice much and more for your future. With his reign comes the beginning of a new age, for Skyrim, aye, for all of Tamriel. Let us be the ones to bring it about, brothers. The age of the Dragonking," he says, and turns to look him straight in the eye. "The age of High King Marrick."
He raises the crown, for all to see, and places it firmly on Marrick's head.
He bows his own and, hand over his heart, retreats back in line with the other Jarls of Skyrim.
The High King of Skyrim turns to face his people. Every man, woman and child in the city streets returns the favor, staring back at him in solemn silence, waiting.
"I was born here," he calls out. "Right down that road, outside the city gates, by the sea. The slum, called Salt City; I lived there with my mother." The storm-dark eyes patrol each face in the crowd, burning them into memory. "I know many of you have spent these last few weeks, wondering about me. About the man who Ulfric Stormcloak and Hammerfell's Council have backed as King. And, I tell you now, not one of you has questioned that more thoroughly than I have." He shrugs. "Am I to be King, just because I'm Dragonborn? Am I to be King, merely because Torygg's blood runs through my veins?" Marrick shakes his head, "I don't believe so. I'd like to hope you don't, either."
He steps down from the archway, closing the distance between himself and the crowd with long strides as a surprised murmur flushes through all- from the Jarls calling him back to their safe distance, to the smallfolk, who have never once been this close to a King, some even backing up as he continues walking. He doesn't stop in front of the crowd- as ever, he belies expectation, and instead pushes on until he is deeply seated in our midst. A wide gap has formed between he and the people, afraid of being too near.
He turns, as if looking each person in the eye.
"You know, I've scoured everything I've ever known about this life of mine, wondering why," he calls out, voice booming. "I've done terrible things; things the like of which you'd never think possible." Marrick shakes his head, "I've never hidden that. And, if you'd have told me, eight short months ago, that today, I'd stand before you, as your Jarl and King, I..." he shakes his head, "I don't know what I'd have done." He gives a lopsided smile and turns again, ensuring that he is heard. "After remembering these truths, I've found the answer to our questions."
Marrick opens his arms wide, as though offering himself.
"I am your King, because I know you! I've been and am you. I know what it is to be hungry and cold, and always wanting more. I am your King, because I know what this country is, and refuse to pretend that it isn't. I pledge to you now, that if this fails. If you go unprotected and starving and die cowering in the streets. If dragons set our world ablaze, and you have to watch your children burn- it will be because I'm fucking dead!" He whirls again, eyes blazing black, his jaw set. "I will not abandon you to the terrors of the world." He shakes his head vehemently, and his hand raises absently to where the golden cord was once strung. "Not twice."
My heart lurches. The men and women and children around us who once sat, now stand straight as arrows, eyes burning as they follow the pace of the King, as he angles his face back towards the archway. His gaze settles on the court reporter.
"Take this down," he orders shortly, before turning back to face his people. "BY ORDER OF THE KING! Let Every Hold in the Country of Skyrim Reduce its Taxes by Four Percent!" The crowd- large and smallfolk alike, gasps collectively. I can only smile, my eyes brimming in tears. "Let the Jarls Reduce their Staff! Let them Open their Homes to the Sick and Impoverished Children Under Fifteen and Elderly over Fifty! Let Each Jarl Provide a Garrison to Defend the Small Villages as Citizens Between the Ages of Fifteen and Fifty Return to them, in Order to Rebuild! Let it be Known that Food and Shelter Will Be Provided for Them!"
Segen grasps my hand as his father makes another turn, boldly eyeing all. I find my brother's face; he's grinning madly.
"This is but the first of many changes!" he thunders. "We will show these serpents that we won't go stumbling blindly through the night! We won't die alone and afraid, no! This is your land! I," he bellows, "am your King! Together we will bring about the age we dreamed of years ago in the slums! This is Skyrim!" he hollers. "And, we are not afraid!"
Then, it came.
A mighty noise, the like of which I've never heard before in all my life. They applaud. They scream. They stomp their feet. They pound their drums, they blow their horns, they cry out in the city streets in such a way that the ground trembles, and shivers run up and down my spine, without end.
Anguish, victory, grief, joy, all wrought forth in a great shout.
And, he hears them. Marrick hears them.
His eyes glisten, brow furrowed slightly as he gazes upon the people in disbelief, his mouth a small, tight curve. He trembles now, but from a force far greater than fear.
"ALL HAIL THE HIGH KING!" Ulfric bellows.
And, so, we do.