Chapter 3

Sadness and Sorrow

Illia knit her brows together, a look of pained sorrow crossed her face.

"Please, let us go inside, dear. I can tell you everything over some hot tea," she insisted.

Rona sniffed, nodded and sheathed her weapon. Bishop followed the two of them into the worn cottage. The room, which was once more sparse than anything, was filled with furniture, flowers and food. Alongside the bed were a dozen potions, some empty, some half full and a few tipped over.

"Please pardon the mess," Illia said as she gathered a kettle and some tea bags to set on the stove. She used magic to light a fire and began stirring her brew together. Rona numbly sat down at the small round table she'd once shared with her mother years ago. Bishop leaned against a wall by the door, his arms crossed still not totally trusting the mage in their presence.

After the fire was set and her brew was made Illia took a seat across from Rona and smiled gently, "Go ahead, ask me anything."

"When...when did she die?" It was the one question she had to know. Was she a day too late? Was it her fault for taking on these tasks and pushing off seeing her mother? Was it because she took her sweet time preparing to leave Cheydinhal instead of taking her mother's letter seriously?

Illia sighed, "Your mother was very sick all winter. She was sure she'd get well once spring arrived, but it just didn't happen. I did everything in my power to heal her. I'm not terribly good with restoration magic, but I tried every concoction and healing potion at my disposal. And when that failed I traveled to Whiterun and sought out the priests of Kynareth. Even they couldn't do anything for her, she was too far gone. Your poor mother waited until the last possible moment to send for you. It was only two days after the courier left that she passed in her sleep."

So it wasn't her fault. The courier hadn't even handed her the letter when her mother died. There was no way she could have made it in time. But still, I could have...I could have seen her, I could have come here, I could have tried. Rona felt sick to her stomach.

The kettle whistled and Illia rose to pull it off the stove. She looked over at Bishop and asked, "How do you like your tea?"

"I'm good, thanks," he declined.

"Alright," Illia pursed her lips, poured two cups and stirred honey into them. She placed the steaming cup in front of Rona and sat across from her again, sipping at hers.

Rona stared into the cup. She felt numb all over. "How did she die?" she asked finally.

"We think it was bone break fever. She had a run in with a bear last fall. She'd been tasked with clearing out a den of them for the Jarl of Falkreath and contracted it after getting scratched badly."

"And her body?" Rona asked.

"You mean, where she was buried?"

"Yes."

"Your mother's last request was to be cremated. She also wanted me to give you this letter." Illia pulled a folded note from her pocket and handed it to Rona. It was her mother's handwriting, but it looked thin and shaky in places.

Rona,

I apologize that this letter is given to you under these circumstances. I realize now that the courier will not reach you in time. My illness has taken a turn for the worse and it seems I will not make it through the night. I have instructed my steward, Illia, to take care of my personal affairs and to ensure that everything from my estate goes to you. My strength leaves me as I write to you and though I still have so many things I want to tell you, first and foremost I want you to know how sorry I am for everything. I was never a good mother to you, I know this.

I never had it in me to be motherly to anyone. I had dreams of adventure and couldn't live a stationary lifestyle even if it meant stability for you. I was selfish and I relied heavily on the fact that your father took you and raised you. For that I am grateful. I made many mistakes, but you were never one of them. I want you to know how proud I am of you.

When I'd heard you ran off to join the Fighter's Guild I celebrated all night with the Companions. After that I wanted a chance to make things right, so when you came back to Skyrim five years ago I did everything I could to make it work, but it wasn't meant to be. I realized in our brief time together that without having raised you we had become complete strangers. We were doomed from the start and the blame for that lies squarely on my shoulders. I never held it against you, for choosing to avoid me for all these years.

You are a beautiful, strong and smart young woman. Much smarter than I ever was. And your talent for magic, though it may not be up to your father's standards, I always thought it was truly amazing. I want you to know that. And please know, I always loved you from afar.

I have one last selfish request for you; scatter my ashes among the farm, but take some of me with you and scatter me in the most precious places you find on your journeys. I want you to make your own destiny Rona and follow your heart just as I once did.

With all my love,

Mother

Rona felt warm tears streaming down her cheeks as she read through the letter. As she set it down Illia handed her a handkerchief. Rona dabbed at her eyes and noticed Bishop looking away into the hearth fire, his arms crossed.

She looked back at Illia and asked, "Where are her ashes?"

Illia stood and grasped a small round urn from a shelf over the hearth and handed it to Rona. "Here, I'm sure you'll want to spread them."

Rona grasped the urn which fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. "I'll be back in a little while."

"Of course, take your time," Illia said, "I wasn't sure when to expect your company so I will add a bit more to the stew to feed all of us."

Rona nodded and stepped outside. A light rain had started which seemed all the more appropriate. She walked across the grass to the edge of the farm overlooking the lake and sat down in the grass.

A gentle wind picked up blowing strands of her hair across her face. She carefully opened the urn and ran her fingers through the ash letting it spread across her palm. She watched as the remnants of her mother fluttered off with the wind.

She felt so much in that moment. Sadness and sorrow overtook her and she released her voice to the wind.

(The Song is Sadness and Sorrow by Erutan)

"Tears fall, but hope stays,

Pick yourself up so we can find home someday,

Wishing, when this ends,

We can live in peace and happiness, again.

Death might surround us, but we can't lose hope,

In everything we've fought for,

When we finally find peace we can go home,

and throw away this sadness and sorrow."

Tears streamed heavily down her cheeks now as the rain picked up and the first sob of her agony burst painfully from her chest. She pushed herself off the ground and grasping her mother's urn threw it at the dimpled lake. It landed in a bush and scattered on the ground.

She was so angry, more angry than she'd ever felt in her life. Of course her mother was a terrible mother. She'd always known this, but she couldn't understand why the woman never tried. She just wanted her to try harder. They were strangers, maybe, but she could have tried.

"SHE SHOULD HAVE TRIED HARDER!" Rona screamed at the wind. A lightning bolt clapped in the skies above her. "IT'S NOT FAIR! WHY!? WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE THIS WAY!?"

She pleaded and screamed as the wind swirled around her. Then a familiar roar came from the mountains. It was no doubt the sound of a dragon, maybe the same one from Helgen. She wanted it to come claim her right then and there but a pair of hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her inward pressing her face to his strong chest. It was Bishop and Rona didn't care. She turned her face into his welcoming arms and cried her eyes out.

"Come on ladyship," he whispered gently, "It's getting really bad out here. Come inside."

She followed him in and rubbed at her eyes with her sleeves. She felt pathetic and really wished he hadn't seen this side of her.

Bishop held a bottle of alto wine out to her, "Take it, you look like you could use a drink."

"Oh good...my favorite," she blubbered.

She took it, not even bothering to pour it in a glass, and downed several gulps straight from the bottle. Illia was working by the hearth, preparing a meal for them.

Bishop sipped at his own bottle of mead, standing resolutely against the wall. Rona knew he was keeping an eye out for her and she was grateful. He was kind enough to let her have this time to mourn without giving her shit for it like he usually did.

Bishop made small talk with Illia while Rona just sat on the bed and listened, tuning them in and out as her mind tried to process her feelings. She drowned her sorrows in the bottle before passing out on her mother's bed only to wake in the middle of the night with a brutal headache.

Illia was sound asleep on a bedroll on the floor, another bedroll beside her was missing it's occupant however.

Rona crawled out of bed and poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the counter then stepped outside to a cool breeze. The rain clouds had dispersed for the most part and a bright full moon peaked just over the mountains.

Bishop cleared his throat to make his presence known. He was seated on a small bench on the porch, still sipping at his mead, "Couldn't sleep either?"

She sighed, "I just woke up with a bad headache. How long was I out for?"

"A while now actually. Been about five hours I'd say," he paused to take another sip, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm ok," she said as she looked out over the gently swaying field. Then she turned to him and said, "I'm sorry. I know you came with me in the hopes of finding your wolf and you probably don't need all of this."

"Got that right," he smirked, "Buuut it's okay. We made a deal, you come home to take care of your business and then we head to the Rift...you're not giving up on me now though, are you?"

"No!" she blurt, "No, oh hell no! I have to get away from here. Really, I cannot be here right now."

"I hear yah," he said.

They were quiet for a moment, as she drank her water to chase away the hangover and he took a few more swigs of his mead. The buzzing sounds of torchbugs broke the silence. Rona leaned over the railing of the porch and said, "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"She was a really shitty mother."

He laughed, "Oh Princess, I could tell you all about shitty mothers."

She gave him a half smile. She didn't know why she did it, maybe because it was cathartic, but she spilled her guts to him, "No, really though. I came to live with her when I was ten years old, I wasn't getting along with my ata and I really wanted to try and get to know her. To...to have a mother. And you know what she did? She drug me along with her on all her contracts and left me at the local inns while she ran around doing mercenary work. We did this for eight months and the last time she left me she was gone for a whole month! I ran out of money and begged the innkeeper to let me send word to my ata. I promised he'd pay them, so they let me stay and Ata came to get me and take me back to Cyrodiil with him."

Bishop raised an eyebrow, "Wow, she sounds like a real piece of work."

"You know how long I waited to hear back from her after that? It was another two months before we got a letter from her apologizing for forgetting about me. Either she was gone for three months doing gods know what or she decided to wait and wait and wait before even bothering to apologize to me..."

Bishop set his mead down and stood up where he leaned against a pillar on the porch next to her, "So why all the tears for her ladyship? Sounds to me like she's not worth a damn bit of your time."

Rona sighed and turned her head down, "She's my mother. It's hard you know? Trying not to care about a parent."

"Gonna have to disagree with you there Ladyship."

"Well it was hard for me...I came back here five years ago, trying to make up with her again. She seemed to be trying harder but it all fell apart really fast and we fought a lot. I had so many expectations of her as my mother and she just wasn't what I wanted her to be. Then one day she just up and disappeared, no note, nothing. So I went back to Cyrodiil and never looked back."

"Some women were just never meant to be mothers," he said. "My mother was a real bitch of a woman, she never should have had us, ever."

"You have siblings?"

Bishop pursed his lips, realizing his slip, "Ah, you wouldn't want to hear about it."

"Sure I do, but I won't pester you to tell me."

"Good 'cause I don't want to talk about it. Well I'm going to bed. You should get some sleep too Ladyship, we've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow," he said, patting her on the shoulder and disappearing into the cottage.