Tirdas, the 7th of Frostfall, 4E201
Saya's eyes slowly opened and she released a long, weary sigh. Tired limbs protested with a prickly ache but she pushed through, rising from bed. Meekly, she lifted her hand to touch her neck, wincing as she swallowed the saliva in her mouth and her stomach growled in protest, empty since last midday. Shaking her head, she fell back into the bed and blankly stared upwards, at the wooden ceiling while her mind drifted elsewhere. Or rather, elsewhen.
After she'd killed Morokei, she tried to bring Lydia back with her. Throwing away her food, her supplies, even her ruined armor - anything that could be replaced and would be in the way. With only Hevnoraak's mask, a pouch full of gold, and her housecarl's breathless body on her shoulders, she walked through the night until her legs could not bear to stand anymore. That was when she had finally reached Old Hroldan and collapsed.
When she came to, she was in a bed, not unlike this one. Worried and wary faces greeted her, and it took her quite a while to explain herself - in no small part because any attempt at vocalizing her thoughts was met with dry coughing, voiceless wheezing, and dizzying amounts of pain that threatened to plunge her back into unconsciousness. Eventually, with the help of pencil and paper, she managed to explain her condition and where she wanted to go. She agreed to rent a room at the inn until the morning after, when a cart would be coming by from the Honningbrew meadery to refill their stock, at which point she'd try and pay the driver to hitch a ride.
The Dragonborn sighed once more. She felt miserable. Even though there were no outward wounds on her body, she still felt completely spent, like a lemon squeezed dry. She couldn't help but think that if the ghost was around he'd probably kick her out of bed. She chuckled, smiling wryly and finally dragging herself out from under the covers to put on some clothes. Then, with a sense of duty fulfilled, she stumbled out of the room to greet a new day.
Couldn't sleep for shit. Hurts all over. Could barely swallow stew.
The cart came by just before noon. Driver was understandably suspicious of a person traveling with a body. But I think he recognized me once I told him I was Thane, so he agreed to take me anyway. I just want to get to Whiterun soon.
Got back late at night. Good man helped me carry Lydia to the priests, back at the Hall of the Dead. They said they'd do their best to preserve the body.
I'll tell them tomorrow. I don't think I want to see anything or anyone right now.
Middas, the 8th of Frostfall, 4E201
It took Saya many hours to build up the courage to walk into Dragonsreach. It took her another hour to write the letter she was clutching in her hand. Now, those hours felt like mere moments in comparison to the time it took Balgruuf to read everything. She was too scared to even shake in her boots, instead just remaining frozen there, stewing in her own shame. She listened to the words she, herself, had written, yet they all felt like meaningless rambling. Maybe it was.
She heard the rustle of paper and lifted her eyes, hesitant. For the briefest of moments, she could see the troubled gaze of Jarl Balgruuf meeting hers. Then, she heard footsteps. Hrongar's face was twisted with animosity, and he was quickly moving towards her.
Crack.
Saya could've sworn she felt one of her teeth split as she fell to the floor. The Nord picked her up by the collar, slamming her back up against one of Dragonsreach's great pillars and throwing another punch. She tensed up, but did not defend, letting it happen. One after one, she felt the dull pain of each impact turn to a burning tingle as dark bruises blossomed beneath her skin.
Ah. I think that one broke my nose.
"Hrongar! Stop this at once!" Jarl Balgruuf barked from his throne, slamming his fist down on the armrest. The younger brother did not even react, continuing his beatdown. Saya's already stunted breathing became even weaker and blood poured from her nose and mouth. The Jarl turned to Irileth, who understood the command without him having to voice it.
The Dunmer was right behind the taller man in seconds. With one quick motion, she forced both of his hands behind his back, dropping Saya to the floor in the process. With one more, she had him on his knees with his head pressed into the floor.
"You were told to stop."
"I'll stop when this bitch pays for my daughter!" He growled through gritted teeth. He was seething with rage, struggling under her hold yet unable to escape even with all his strength. "YOU HEAR ME?! PAYS!"
Balgruuf watched the pitiful sight with a mixture of remorse and disgust until he finally rose from his throne, approaching the crazed Hrongar. "Pays for what? For being alive? Stop a moment and think what you're saying, you fool!" He glared at his younger brother scornfully before he heard another cough. The Dragonborn was sitting on the floor, holding a bloodied hand to her nose. The Jarl looked at her with a tired expression, unsure of what to say. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Take him away."
Saya looked up at him, surprised. Without taking her eyes or hands off Hrongar, Irileth asked: "Where to, my lord?"
He waved his hand, sighing. "Out of Dragonsreach. Just… Out." The Dunmer nodded, calling over some guards to help her get Hrongar back onto his feet without him breaking free. Surprisingly though, he didn't struggle. On the contrary, he went completely silent. Balgruuf didn't look at him. Couldn't, even. He didn't want to see his face at that moment.
The Dragonborn watched the palace doors open and close. There was a relief when they did, one that she almost felt a little bad for feeling. The lingering pain reminded her of its existence when she tried to channel some of the energy she still had into healing, but although the bruises did slowly dissolve, her nose still remained bleeding and bent. She would've cursed, if she could.
"In the letter…" Balgruuf began, stammering some. He was trying to keep his composure, but it was obvious that his mask was cracking. He still had the paper, crumpled up in his clenched fist. By the Three, it was a stupid idea. "You said it'll be happening today, at eight?"
Saya nodded without lifting her head. Still couldn't bring herself to face him. It was almost funny - in an infuriating, frustrating way. It felt like she only ever showed up when she had something to be ashamed of.
"Very well. I will come, then." The Jarl sighed, unfolding the letter as best as he could before putting it away into his pocket. He didn't really need it. But he felt like he would need to read it more than once to properly process everything. "Will you be there?"
Finally, she looked at him. Long and hard, she tried to peer through his features. His furrowed brows, his pursed lips, his aged face, in all of it she tried to find even a single flicker of anger. Yet, much to her dismay, she couldn't. She felt tears well up at the corners of her eyes, as if betrayed. Anger was easy to deal with, but forgiveness was an entirely different beast.
She nodded.
Balgruuf smiled tiredly as he got his answer. He was unsure what to tell her. His heart bled for his niece and brother, of course, but he knew better than to blame her. After a few seconds of silent thought, he offered her his hand. Saya looked at it with a sort of sardonic amusement, but took it nevertheless.
"You should visit Danica before then." He grunted a bit, pulling the Dunmer up off the floor. "She will have a look at any injuries you might still have. Maybe she can do something about…" The man gestured to his neck awkwardly, unsure of how to articulate it properly. "About your voice."
Saya smiled wryly, shaking her head. She was planning on it already. Yet somehow, now was the time that she started wondering if she should. Almost like feeling obligated to do something made her want to do it less and less.
"Should someone escort you home?" The Jarl offered, motioning at one of the guards. She gave one of them a weary look over and waved her hand dismissively. She wasn't that helpless yet, and she trusted Irileth enough to keep Hrongar off her if he tried something. "Very well. Until later, then."
Balgruuf left upstairs, retreating to his chambers. The chamber remained empty, barring only Saya and a couple of guards who still remained at their stations. Saya stayed there for just a few moments, reminiscing while the guards whispered something amongst themselves. She reached a hand into the firepit, letting the flame wrap around her skin. She smiled and stood up, leaving the palace at last.
The firepit felt colder today than it was when they first met.
The priest of Arkay spoke his words with a calm and even tone. Blessings, prayers, mantras that he knew by heart after decades of service. He was expressionless, but his eyes were gliding over the grief stricken faces of all who had come to hear him. Friends that had grown distant yet still had a lingering memory of fond times. An uncle and a father, concealing their sadness behind carefully crafted visages of stoicism.
Saya was neither here nor there, out of them all. Words entered her mind as quickly as they disappeared from it. She looked as if she was in a daze, motionless where she stood and red eyes half-open, unblinking. She felt many things at once: sadness, frustration, anger, regret, disbelief. But most of all, she felt empty.
The Hall of the Dead was much quieter once the procession was over, a long hour later. The priest had given his blessings and the crowd - if you could call it that - had gradually dispersed. Hrongar had left without a word some few minutes ago. His brother followed soon after. No doubt, at least one of them would be getting drunk at the Mare right about now. Hulda definitely had her work cut out for herself tonight, not to mention Irileth.
Saya was still sitting there, kneeling on the red carpet. She had been blankly looking at the closed coffin ever since the funeral started. They hadn't even let anyone see her face. And yet, she could see it clear as day, even through inches of solid metal. Burned into her vision.
The Dunmer found amusement in her own selfishness. Somehow, knowing that none save herself and the priests had laid eyes upon Lydia only made her want to see her one more. Just slide the lid open and look at her face. Reach out and hesitantly stroke her hair. Pull back, quickly, hide it before anyone could see. Before her own brain could register what she was doing and realize how wrong it is.
Before the emptiness could catch up and extinguish that brief, fabricated happiness.
Saya laughed quietly. It was not a happy laugh. It was pent-up hysteria slipping through between the cracks. She covered her face with her hands and the urge to rip it to shreds welled up with every heartbeat. Her fingernails dug into her scalp and the numb cold of the air around her gave way to a hot sensation of blood trickling onto her fingertips. The same hot feeling that burned at her cheeks as she wept, the same hot feeling that singed her throat as she tried to cry, and laugh, and talk, and to scream.
The empty catacombs were silent, an echo chamber for the feelings that ebbed and flowed and rushed from the very depths of her soul. For every blessing the others had given to Lydia's soul, Saya had given three curses directed at herself. Silent and venomous, seeping through her every thought. Seething with hate, with sadness, and with emptiness.
Once the last tear dried from her face, Saya opened her eyes and stared at her hands. Blood drew streaks across her palms and stained her sleeves, yet it took her a moment to realize that the blood was her own. Her eyes once again focused on the coffin. Carefully, she reached out, her nerves tingling at the sensation of cold metal. And without really thinking about it, she let her fingers glide across the lid.
Sorry.
The tiny, almost invisible red letters spelled out. She wanted to say it out loud a hundred, a thousand, a million times. Yet all she could do is write it once. She choked up, pushing back another wave of tears. It wasn't enough. It could never encompass all she wanted to say. It was just too shallow.
Too empty.
It was time to leave, she figured. She didn't know how long she had been there for. Couldn't have known. Didn't really care.
Saya wiped her face before she could break down again. She drew her hand across the coffin lid, wiping off her blood half heartedly but leaving behind a barely visible smudge. She looked at it scornfully before shaking her head. Too much effort for something so small. Steadying herself, she took one last breath and steeled her nerves before approaching the exit door and pushing it open.
Hm. She didn't remember putting on a ring. How strange.
Sundas, the 13th of Frostfall, 4E201
Danica had told her not to drink alcohol. It'd only do more damage and complicate the healing process, she said. But on an evening like this, it was really difficult to think about something as seemingly meaningless as restraint.
The late evening sky was lined with myriads of multicolored stars, shining down upon the lantern-lit streets of Whiterun. Despite it being well past your usual person's work hours, business was in full swing: the market bustled with talk and laughter, the alleys were full of peculiarly-dressed children knocking on doors and attempting to scare the life out of whoever opened, flustered adults following the little ones around and giving them candy if their efforts impressed them - such was the trading capital of Skyrim during the Witches Festival.
It was an old and well-known holiday, though one would definitely struggle to tell you where it really came from. The more Daedra-savvy celebrants could tell you that it was Mephala's Summoning Day, with the festival possibly being a cover-up for such a grim holiday. Others might tell you that it was precisely because of Mephala's closeness to the mundane on this night that the evil spirits, spiders, demons and other such creatures of the dark would roam Tamriel. But whether it is due to respect towards - or in mockery of - such superstitions that the most famous tradition of the Witches Festival was born - dressing yourself in assorted macabre outfits, meticulously designed to terrify the onlooker as much as possible.
Saya remembered liking this holiday at some point. Without fail, her mom would put together some kind of costume for her every year, watching with stifled laughter while the little redheaded Dunmer would run from house to house for hours. Then, when she was finally satisfied and thoroughly exhausted, the rascal would drag herself back home and offer half of her spoils to her parents with a big grin, all while pretending that she hadn't already eaten some on the way.
Now, the Dunmer chuckled at the memories. It had been a long, long time since she last went for an outing like that. Now she did the adult thing - the boring, dull, mind-numbing thing of watching the youngins have fun while sitting at a table on the street and slowly sipping on a cocktail. 'Bloody Mara' - corny name, but a damn good drink. Though it did have a bit of a bloody aftertaste… Maybe she'll ask Hulda later how they make these.
She shook her head. What was she doing, even? Of course, for the past few days she'd kept herself busy with installing decorations and occasionally playing guard, but was that really 'doing' something if she'd just fall back into her slump immediately after? Then again, what could she really do in her current state, get herself killed? Sure would be productive.
She sighed, taking one more sip of the pleasantly tingling liquid. Maybe she should check back with Fortunata - the two had been silent in regards to one another, maybe she and Esbern figured out something useful with all of their research. And even if not, it'd probably be a good idea to let them know what happened with Hevnoraak. She waved her hand and the wisps of magic gathered at her fingertips, weaving together a summoning spell. Iridescent light pulled together into a shape, shedding the unwanted colors and revealing itself as the all-too familiar falcon daedra that Saya had been employing in recent months.
The bird blinked immediately after being summoned, its glowing eyes taking in the surroundings. It released a quiet squawk and the Dunmer smiled, placing her hand close to it and watching the bird climb onto her fingers. She lifted it close to herself and gently petted it with her thumb, careful not to rustle the feathers on accident. The familiar closed its eyes, content with the attention for the time being. Saya couldn't help but wonder if she should feed it something. Daedra didn't need to eat, right? Could they even eat? Would it be harmful at all? Though dremora do talk a lot about gutting people and eating their hearts…
"Woahhh!"
"Is that a real bird?"
"Hey, don't touch it!"
The girl's ear twitched at the sound of voices and she turned sharply, her mind going into high alert before it could really register why. The falcon swiftly relocated to her shoulder as its owner reached for her hip, grasping the handle of her weapon while her eyes narrowed, assessing the new arrivals. Yet, instead of the subconsciously expected bandits or monsters, what she saw was something that others in her shoes would not only expect but look forward to - a small group of some five or six children, all dressed as various fiends: skeletons, zombies, even an odd atronach in the back.
Her posture and expression both relaxed and she chuckled nervously. Her hand left her weapon alone and returned to the table, grasping her cocktail and taking a long, hearty drink. The children continued to stare at her, wide-eyed, and she raised a bemused eyebrow as the familiar on her shoulder carefully hopped down onto the table, cocking its head and giving a little squeak as a greeting of sorts. The little crowd once again exploded with phrases of amazement, some backing away and some inching closer. One particularly bold skeleton even tried to reach out and grasp the bird, but the clever thing managed to slip away while Saya grabbed the child's wrist.
"Eek!" The girl yelped from under the mask. Her eyes sheepishly met Saya's, who squinted and gave her a knowing smirk. The Dunmer wagged her finger, letting her eyes wander over each and every one of the children as she made sure all of them knew not to repeat their friend's mistake. Then, she calmly let go and propped her elbow up on the table, snickering inwardly as the daedric animal landed onto her hand the instant it was available.
There was a series of murmurs amongst the children, one of them pulling back the skeleton girl that was still rubbing her wrist - more scared than hurt, though. Saya made sure to grab her firmly, but not so much that it'd be painful. Some asked if she was okay, while others scolded the behavior. Eventually, after some half-hushed conversation, one child hesitantly stepped forward - a boy dressed in rags, both literally and metaphorically, imitating the appearance of a ghost in tattered clothing.
"Miss, can we please play with your bird?"
Oh my, so polite. Well, she couldn't just refuse that.
Almost conspiratively, Saya looked left and right for any of the kids' parents. Then, she brought the familiar up close and covered her mouth, as if whispering something to the little avian companion. The bird looked at her and gave a small chirp, resulting in another 'aww' from the kids. Finally, she turned back to the little ones and put a finger over her lips before releasing the bird, which promptly took off and landed on one of the children's heads. There was a series of gleeful screams and squeaks, the children exploding with laughter and trying to reach the little daedra as it flew in circles around them, leading the kids around the market while changing colors so they could still see it among the bright lights.
The Dunmer smiled, shaking her head as she grabbed her drink again. She'd definitely feed it later as compensation.
They ended up running around all evening… I caught a few glares from the parents, but they didn't actually confront me so I guess it's whatever.
The kids calling it "birdie" over and over made me think, though. I never named my familiar. Would that be a bad idea? I mean, I am basically enslaving a creature from another realm.
But for convenience's sake, I suppose it wouldn't hurt. I'll call it 'Kura'. Yeah, that sounds nice.
Turdas, the 16th of Frostfall, 4E201
Saya was never one for dressing up. Now, it's not as if she disliked wearing pretty clothes - she thoroughly enjoyed every opportunity to do so. However, she wouldn't go out of her way to seek one out, or to try and make her everyday clothing more flashy. No, her normal clothing was always something… Well, normal. Comfortable, not too cold, not too hot, and reasonably good-looking.
When the mid fall chill once again reminded Saya of its existence, she finally caved in and bought herself something new. The old, worn leather boots she'd travel in got replaced by a fresh new pair, fur lined and with thicker soles to make future walks in the snow a bit more bearable. She still wore the same simple pants made from rough brown cloth, but now she found herself strapping a dagger to her thigh every time she went out in the evening. She'd bought herself a pair of gloves that she'd always forget to put on, and never bothered to when she did remember. By far, the biggest change was the addition of a thick brown gambeson that reached down just below her knees, lined with grey fur at the wrists and bottom of the coat - not so much for heat but more for the look.
Nowadays, she'd notice herself catching a lot more than one passing look in the marketplace. There was an air around a person in that sort of outfit, especially around people who are only used to seeing such a coat in an armed duel. Though of course, there could also be a simpler explanation for the intimidated eyes - the fact that she'd constantly carry around Stormblade in its scabbard strapped to her waist, as if waiting for something to go wrong.
It never did, but she figured it's better to be prepared than carelessly calm.
Dining at Dragonsreach had become something of a regular occasion over the week she had spent in the city. The first time was Balgruuf extending an invitation, outwardly for the purpose of talking over the event and how to prepare it, but really to keep an eye on the Dragonborn. For the next two days, she ate at home, half-heartedly preparing meals just to stave off the stomachache. Eventually, she grew tired of even that and spent her evenings having sleep for dinner. She was intent on applying that solution for as long as she could, but there was only so long that a body can last without proper sustenance before it starts to show.
She was half-expecting an earful from Balgruuf the first time he saw her with those sunken cheeks, but no. He just told her to come to the dining hall and treated her to a meal, no questions asked and no reprimands voiced. The silence was tense, in no small part due to Hrongar's and Irileth's presence in the room, but nevertheless it remained unbroken right up until Saya was leaving. She gave a courteous bow in place of a thank you and, before she exited the palace, Balgruuf told her: "You're welcome to come here tomorrow, too". She spent the night mulling it over, and decided to take him up on the offer despite the downsides.
Or rather, the singular big, bald, sword-carrying downside.
Tonight, this downside was absent. Drinking at the Mare again, Balgruuf said. He had become a frequent patron after the funeral, and Saya could never really tell if she should be glad. It would be worse for him in the long run, of course, but her skull was not looking forward to a second meeting if one were to happen.
The Jarl was a bit more talkative this evening. It was mostly awkward small talk - how she'd enjoyed the festival, how Danica had been treating her, how her recovery was going. The Dunmer had gotten used to carrying around a small notebook to write down responses, showing them to her conversation partner. Sometimes just a simple gesture would do, or an expression. If all else failed she could try to whisper, as difficult as it would be, but she tried not to resort to that unless it was an emergency.
"It has been ten days." Balgruuf said, after a long break. Saya glanced away from her plate, but didn't stop eating. "I worry for Hrongar. I know I've been stern with him, but…" He shook his head. "I can't always be the indulging big brother who lets him off without any repercussions."
Saya put down her fork and grasped her pencil, scratching down a quick reply: "Why are you telling me this?"
"I don't know." The Jarl sighed, shrugging. "I suppose I just want you to understand. He's not a bad man at heart, just… He lets his heart decide for his head sometimes."
The Dragonborn thought for a minute and once again wrote: "I guess I can relate". Then, after a few moments, she added: "It's not like he has no reason to dislike me."
"He does. I understand his rage and his grief. I just wish he understood what he's doing, too, instead of deciding who's to blame and letting himself loose."
Saya lowered her eyes. "He wasn't wrong, though."
"He was!" The Jarl slammed his fist on the table authoritatively. Saya flinched slightly, but didn't move out of her seat. "And he still is! He's looking for someone to blame when there is none, because all he knows is how to lash out on others instead of facing his own thoughts!" The Nord barked, his tone bitter. He was angry, but she knew it wasn't at her. She had a feeling it wasn't at Hrongar, either.
"It's not your fault, you know." She wrote, turning away so he couldn't meet her gaze. She already knew what expression he'd look at her with.
That same kind smile that aggravated her to no end. It was almost his signature at this point. He patted her on the shoulder as he responded. "I could say the same to you." She rolled her eyes.
The firepit continued crackling as they went back to their meals, wondering if there was anything else to be said. In reality, there was a lot that both of them wanted to say, though neither of them was sure if they should. They just listened to the drumming of rain against the roof, letting it sap the tension from the chamber. Saya couldn't help but imagine what'd happen if Hrongar was here, and if he heard this conversation. Would he explode with even more anger, or would he take the words to heart and try to change his ways? It was a weird train of thought. At one point, she stopped to wonder if she was driving a wedge between the two brothers in some way. Fortunately, she pushed that thought out of her mind before it could fester into anything.
Balgruuf broke the silence, though that shouldn't come as a surprise considering Saya's condition. He was hesitant to speak, opening and closing his mouth as if tasting his own words and finding them too foul for his liking. "This isn't the first time this happened to him."
Saya raised her eyes at him, furrowing her brows. "What do you mean?" she tried to write, but she didn't really need to. He kept going regardless of her request.
He tented his fingers, staring absent-mindedly at his plate. "There was this village girl once, Hjotra. I remember when he first told me about her. Beautiful young woman." He chuckled. "Though I could hardly tell you why I remember her that way. It's been many years since we fought over her, I can barely remember her face. Hrongar didn't like being seen together with her. He treasured her for himself, and only for himself."
The Dragonborn put her pencil down, clasping her hands together into a bridge and resting her chin atop her hands. There were already questions she wanted to ask, but she chose not to interrupt.
"Then, after half a decade of them chasing each other around, they finally went to the Temple. And then, twenty three years ago, on the twenty fourth of Hearthfire, he brought us the news, clutching a newborn baby girl in his arms and crying. For the first time since we were kids, I saw him really, honest-to-gods crying." Balgruuf closed his eyes. Even though he knew it was just a memory, it still felt like it had just happened but moments ago - so strongly was the moment burnt into his mind. "He told me that she died during childbirth. Some complication happened. She was too exhausted to keep on, so she just hugged the little girl, gave her a kiss on the forehead and…"
Saya pursed her lips. She reached out for Balgruuf's shoulder and squeezed it softly. The man took a deep breath to compose himself and wiped his face before continuing.
"I don't remember how Hjotra looked, even though some nights she was all I could dream of, all those years ago. But now, when I try to imagine her, all I see is her girl. Her Lydia. Like two drops of water, the two of them." He smiled, though there was no happiness in that smile, only comfort. Like he was trying to comfort himself by comforting her. "Nobody teaches you to be a good father, but Hrongar tried. Every day, he did his best to make sure she knew how loved she was. And every time he would look at his daughter, he'd see her mother's reflection looking back at him. Laughing. As if nothing had ever happened and she was still right there, beside him."
The Dragonborn sank into her seat. It was as if a chill gripped her by the neck and she choked up, covering her mouth. She knew. She knew how she'd grown up without a mother, she knew how Hrongar raised her, she knew how much she loved him. And yet it was only now that it truly hit her just what Hrongar had lost.
Like two drops of water, the two of them.
"I won't ask you to forgive him, nor will I ask you to beg for his forgiveness. I still think he is wrong to blame you." Balgruuf turned to her and looked her in the eye. Finally, he allowed himself a single tear. "But I ask you to give him a chance. Alright?"
Saya gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. Balgruuf smiled back and closed his eyes, letting the Dunmer pull him closer into a hug. And then, when she could no longer see his face, he finally allowed himself to mourn.
Morndas, the 20th of Frostfall, 4E201
The afternoons in Frostfall are both the best and the worst. On one hand, the sun is still shining with the lingering summer warmth, still not quite ready to leave for good. On the other hand, fall is already well-settled in the shadows, and standing in the dark is a sure way to catch a cold on a deceptively clear day. Thankfully, the courtyard behind the Companions' Jorrvaskr was spacious and open enough to not leave room for such traps of nature.
The dagger felt light in Saya's hand, despite its material. Black, glistering ebony, a trademark of Morrowind craftsmanship. Maybe not the best work of her life, but it certainly came close. She spun it around in her hand, unsure which grip she wanted to pick for her current approach, though eventually deciding on the tried and true regular. Better strike range, more options, and less risk of cutting herself.
And it also made her look like less of a poser, which was always a plus.
Irileth allowed her junior to bide her time. The housecarl herself was unarmed, though she didn't look very troubled about it. In fact, she looked almost a bit relaxed - but definitely not lazy. Even now, though Saya had yet to enter a battle stance or make a move, she was staring her down intently and observing her every motion. Waiting.
The Dragonborn double-checked that everything was in order and gave Irileth a signal. The older Dunmer nodded, shifting her foot position for a better approach. After a momentary pause, Saya lunged forward with her dagger. The strike was quick and precise, almost catching Irileth in the side, were it not for the woman's much more honed reflexes. Irileth grasped Saya by the wrist, turning around and pushing back into the Dragonborn's body. Then quickly, she ducked, pulling her opponent's arm and throwing her onto the floor.
Saya landed with a loud thud and groaned. As soon as the moment of confusion passed, she tried to get up. She stopped as quickly as she started when she felt the cold black metal pressed up against her throat and opened her eyes to see Irileth looking her dead in the eye.
"You're broadcasting your movements too much." Irileth said, getting off the girl and offering her a hand. Saya graciously accepted, shaking the dirt off herself. "The stabbing motion was fine, but the way you came forward gave it away."
The Dragonborn scratched the back of her head, nodding and sheathing the dagger as Irileth passed it along. She was thankful for the training sessions, especially considering how difficult it is to drag Irileth away from her Jarl at times, but they were quite an exhausting and punishing activity. It had been three days since she first requested this - the redhead figured that her recovery wasn't an excuse for going out of shape. Besides, seeing the housecarl subdue Hrongar with as little effort as she did, Saya could definitely tell there was a thing or two she could learn.
"Also, don't use your whole body to charge. A dagger is a nimble weapon, it doesn't benefit from the weight as much as a warhammer would, or something similar." The Dunmer commented. Since her training partner wasn't much for speaking at the moment, she made use of the time between each round to point out the mistakes she could spot in Saya's technique. It was valuable criticism, of course, but also it was rather entertaining to watch the Dragonborn try to keep herself from getting mad. "You're not a bear or a bull. You don't have the brute strength to smash through an opponent's block or overpower them, so you have to use your head and your agility to get around them."
Saya's eyebrow twitched a little, but no comment was made. It was a rather frustrating position to be in but she couldn't complain too much, being the sole reason she's in such a position to begin with. In order to compensate, she actually had been digging through the city libraries in search of any kind of means to communicate without speaking. A book on ancient Thu'um users mentioned those unable to speak using some sort of sign language, but it looked rather complicated. Maybe if she ever had the time she could try to learn it, but that was not a week's business.
Irileth looked up into the sky, squinting. The sun was a little past zenith, so it was maybe one or two in the afternoon by her rough estimate. "I should return to Lord Balgruuf. It's almost time."
Saya had already wandered over to her journal, which she left behind on a nearby table, and scribbled a quick reply: "Why, is something scheduled for today?"
The housecarl shook her head. "He usually eats lunch around this time, and if I'm not there to keep an eye on him then I'm certain he will try to sneak out again." Her tone was impressively even and calm, but there was a mild hint of amusement and irritation, as if she was fighting a smirk.
The Thane snorted, rolling her eyes. "Someone's protective." Irileth glared at her. Saya shrugged. "What? You are. It's kind of amazing, to be honest."
The conversation continued out into the streets of Whiterun. The Gildergreen was still as green as ever, though Saya wasn't sure if it would lose this trait in the following months. Did it just stay green all year long? A plant supposedly blessed by Kynareth sounds like it'd do something like that.
"Jarl Balgruuf and I go back many years. Camaraderie forged in battle doesn't fall apart easily. All I'm doing is returning the favor." The housecarl said, and the other girl scratched her chin in thought. Now that she thought about it, she never really thought about how the two met, and how a Dunmer would go about becoming a housecarl.
"Did you two meet during the war, then?" She asked. It'd make sense, not much battle to be had by your everyday man outside of a continent-wide conflict.
Irileth nodded. "We met on the battlefield, though I wasn't a soldier. I was injured, and fully expected him to finish me off, but he carried me back to his allies, where his healers helped bring me back from the brink." Her hand hovered briefly over a spot on her abdomen. "I repaid the favor by fighting by his side, though I never formally signed up. Then, when the flames settled down and he returned home, I came with him. Years later he became Jarl, and when he was told to find a housecarl to protect him, he chose me without a second thought." She stared off at the palace as they walked, almost as if reminiscing. Her features seemed more relaxed, for once, and Saya found herself smiling as she listened.
Then, it was as though the woman snapped out of a daydream and turned to Saya sharply. "I'll be going, now. Will you be at the Temple, if you're needed?" The Dragonborn gave an affirming nod. "Good. Until next time, then." Almost a bit hurriedly, the housecarl then walked off in the direction of Dragonsreach, leaving Saya behind. This was not uncommon, as Irileth wasn't really one for small talk and returned to her duties as soon as the sparring sessions were finished. Nonetheless, this particular one left the redhead a bit more fulfilled than the others, even if she did just get her ass handed to her for the past hour.
Speaking of which, it was high time to get those bruises looked at. The girl quickly navigated around the Gildergleam, looking for the brightly painted building on the other side. It's most recognizable feature was, without a doubt, the image of a soaring hawk on the carved wooden door. The Temple of Kynareth.
Not forgetting her manners, the Dragonborn knocked, and entered the building.
Nobody really thinks what a magical candlelight would feel like to the touch, much less how it would taste. After her experiences at the Temple, Saya could personally attest that it feels and tastes like absolutely nothing.
The little glowing orb was a common tool of Danica, which she conjured to inspect wounds more directly every once in a while. In this particular case, she needed the lighting to properly check how well her patient's throat was healing - much to the Dragonborn's discomfort, as she was really beginning to get tired of holding her jaw open. This was one of those times when being thorough was as much of a curse as it was a blessing.
"Alright, you can close your mouth now." The priest finally said, backing out and dispelling the candlelight. Saya didn't need to be asked twice, making weird faces as she tried to get the ache out of her facial muscles. "It seems like your recovery is going smoothly. We'll keep up the sessions for around another week, and by then - you should be safe to speak again."
She nodded in understanding. Half due to Balgruuf's advice and half due to her own worry, she had been visiting the Temple regularly to receive treatment from healers. As in, the ones who actually knew what they were doing. Thanks to that, her pains were greatly reduced and were mostly gone by now. The occasional exclamation or curse still slipped out when she wasn't paying attention, causing her a notable degree of discomfort, but at the very least she was no longer tasting blood 24/7.
"What about Shouting?" She asked. Logically, it'd be the next question, and she had a feeling that Danica might not have an answer, but she figured it's best to try anyway.
As expected, the priestess of Kynareth looked rather unsure. "I've not dealt with injuries of such origins before, only similar ones. If your condition from when you first arrived is anything to go by, it might be best to avoid these… Shouts, at least until you're sure you are feeling better."
Saya frowned. "What if I'll feel better in a week?"
"Then feel free, at your own risk." Danica shrugged. "If your vocal cords get scarred, then a raspy voice will be the least of your concerns. That's all I'm saying-" Suddenly she turned away, noticing her apprentice calling for her attention. Next to him, a bandaged man was sitting up on his resting spot, coughing and clutching his side. "Ah, one of the soldiers woke up. I best be going now."
Saya watched her caretaker run off, but didn't leave immediately. She put a hand on her neck, tracing down along her windpipe. She could feel it move with each breath, yet when she so much as thought of speaking, it quivered. Was she afraid? If so, of what? Those questions stewed in her head as she pushed open the exit door.
In a more it less practiced motion, a handful of coins left her pocket and got tossed into the offering box. She didn't know if the Temple was a government mandated entity, like with Morrowind, where House Indoril was more or less directly responsible for managing religious institutions, but she figured that they deserved some thanks for their job regardless. Everyone needs money to survive in society, and maybe those few coins made a difference between a hungry patient and a fed one. She definitely knew which one she'd rather be.
The road back from the temple was a blur. The redhead didn't think that just two weeks would be enough to make something feel routine, and yet she found herself spacing out every time she was walking along that street leading up to Breezehome. The mailbox she had made a few days ago was still empty. Though, now that she thought about it, she hadn't gotten the chance to tell Fortunata about it yet, so any mail directed to Saya would be delivered straight to her anyway, given the method. Sighing, she opened the door and entered the building, throwing off her boots and lighting the fire pit with a snap of her fingers.
Almost a little absent mindedly, she picked up Stormblade, which was standing in its scabbard, propped up against the chair she found herself sitting in. The blade was clean, and she found herself annoyed at the fact. Normally, maintaining her gear was when she could allow herself to drift away into thought, letting her hands do the work while her mind was elsewhere. Now, she stared at the polished weapon with irritation. It had been twice now that she had come home to clean the Stormblade since she had returned to Whiterun. It hadn't been a single time that she actually had any reason to.
Her fingers curled around the grip of her sword. What would Lydia think of her, sitting here like this, moping in the dark? Would she be able to look her in the eye? Well, how could she, if she can't when look at her own reflection in the metal?
Saya shook her head. One week, she thought. Just one week longer, and I can leave and do something. And then…
She paused. What then? She'll go back to traveling the roads alone? To sleepless nights, watching every shadow to make sure every wink is safe to make? To hours of silence, naming random pathways and talking to herself so she could avoid pondering what she could've done differently? To days and weeks of seemingly endless adventure, so stressful and tiring that she wanted nothing more but to see home, yet every time she returned she found herself drowning in stagnation and longing to leave again?
Just one more week. She thought to herself, picking up a piece of cloth on her armrest and wiping her sword again.
Just one more week.
Loredas, the 25th of Frostfall, 4E201
She had spent a lot of hours wondering what'd happen if she were to encounter Hrongar again. Almost all of them included Balgruuf or Irileth somewhere in the background. Maybe it would be in the palace, maybe in the marketplace, or maybe on some random street. But she always held out hope that those daydream scenarios would remain just that. Daydreams, fantasies, a product of imagination and nothing more.
So when she did eventually meet him, she wasn't sure what to do. She was at the stables, just checking in to see if her horse was getting the care it needed. Annie was a good girl, not easily spooked and not very needy. But there was just a thought in Saya's mind that maybe, since dragging around everything on her back would be problematic, she should try and get reacquainted with her mount. Maybe she'd actually get around quicker, too.
In hindsight it seems obvious that horses of Thanes would be kept by that of the Jarl and their closest entourage. But when she felt someone watching, despite her best instincts she didn't expect it to be the one man in the court that looked like he'd go out hunting for sport. Indeed, once they made eye contact she simply froze on the spot. Despite a wooden barrier separating them, she still felt herself reaching for her dagger, grasping the hilt but not drawing just yet. Hrongar snorted dismissively, shaking his head and turning back to his own steed.
"Saddle up. You're coming with me." He said. Saya didn't register the statement for the first few seconds afterwards, doing a double take when she did. She was shocked by the sheer audacity of the sudden demand, so she didn't have the time to even feel outraged before he spoke again. "I thought I said 'saddle up', not 'stare at me like a newborn chick'." The Nord looked at her, his expression not quite angry but definitely exerting a dangerous air. "Come on. We've a conversation to have."
Any normal person in her place would've just called the guard. She wasn't sure why she didn't. Maybe she assumed goodwill, against her own judgement, or maybe she was just curious. Point of the matter remained that, minutes later, the two of them were out in the plains of Whiterun hold, riding in almost complete silence. The birds were singing, flying about in the sun and catching the warmth while they still could. The clopping of horse hooves was even and rhythmical. The Dunmer was quite thankful for it, as it was precisely that steady noise that she tried to focus on. Minute after minute, she tried to steel her nerves for whatever was to come instead of filling her brain with possible combat scenarios where she'd have to fight off this behemoth of a man in the middle of nowhere.
"I don't trust you."
Half an hour had passed until he'd spoken again, and those were the first words he said. They had stopped in the middle of the open road, just a little ways away from the destroyed western watchtower. It still lay there as rubble, just how Saya remembered it. The phantom scent of smoke never quite left her nostrils.
"Ever since Balgruuf said you were Dragonborn and you lashed out at him, I had my doubts. I didn't protest him making Lydia your housecarl because I trusted her. Not because I trusted you." The man looked at Saya, his deep blue eyes gleaming with a cold and bitter light. One that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up just a little bit. She reached for the journal she was carrying with herself, but he stopped her. "No, put that down. Your job right now is to listen."
She stayed her hand, staring at him anxiously. She'd listen to what he had to say, she owed him that much at least. But subconsciously, she was already readying herself to storm off at the slightest sign of trouble. Meanwhile, he just kept going.
"You already ran your mouth enough." He barked, moving closer to her. "But you never know when is the right time to do it. So be quiet for once, and listen." He stared her down from a literal high horse before scoffing and dismounting, leading her over to the watchtower. She was following along, clutching the reins tightly in her hands. If nothing else, she wanted to see where he was going with all of this. And yet, he was dead silent right up until they arrived at the watchtower.
The scorched grass had not yet grown back. The claw and burn marks on the stone were still there, as fresh as yesterday. Only the corpses were missing, she thought. The guards that were stationed there before she arrived with Irileth. She could've sworn she could see them out of the corner of her eye as she jumped off her horse. Hrongar walked up to a large piece of wall that had collapsed, trailing his fingers over it. Saya spotted a similar chunk behind herself, sitting down on the opposite side from him.
He did the same, sitting down and leaned forward. For the first few seconds, he just clasped his hands together and stared into the blackened ground. It was as if he was contemplating whether he should even speak, like he was hesitant. Saya's eyes kept darting to the sword on his back.
"You know, they call you a hero." He finally spoke, looking up to her. His voice was sullen and spiteful, even more so than his gaze. "The people of Whiterun, all of them. They talk about how the great Dragonborn is back in the city. The slayer of dragons, they call you. The savior of Skyrim."
Saya pursed her lips, discomfort stinging at her mind.
"They talk about the things you've done. Even things you didn't do, but they say you did them anyway. They don't care for the truth, so long as they can believe in the lies they tell to themselves. The ones they want to believe in." He pulled a canteen off his belt and uncorked it. After a long swig, he said. "I wanted to tell them. I wanted to tell them about what you did to my brother. About how you ran away. About how you got my daughter killed." The girl flinched, her fists tightening. "But I knew they wouldn't believe a word of it. You've got them all wrapped around your fingers without doing a single gods-damned thing."
Not a thing? Saya's hand twitched. He's just saying that. Stay calm.
"And then my brother made you Thane. Do you know what an honor that is?" Hrongar lifted his gaze. "How many great people bore that title, and how much they've done for Whiterun? For all of Skyrim? And what did you earn it for?" He leaned forward, squinting. Saya felt her throat tighten up, like she was nauseous. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. "By being born? By coming to our land and stealing our legends and our hero's name? One that you didn't even want?"
Saya was silent, bowing her head down. Partly out of shame. Partly, to hide the outrage building up behind her eyes. She never asked for this. He was among the ones who forced it on her.
"And then what happens? You break into a tantrum, snap my brother's arm. You run away and don't show up for days. And we keep quiet about what you've done, because Balgruuf told us to." His words were like tar. Thick, viscous, suffocating. She felt filthy just hearing them. But he had no intention of stopping. "All because he believed in you, the idealistic fool he is. But I believed in him, so I let him entrust my daughter to you. I had hoped that she'd be able to see the world and keep an eye on you at the same time. I… I thought…"
Hrongar trailed off, sighing. He lifted his canteen once more and gulped down what looked like half of what'd fit in the damn thing. Saya found herself grasping at the cloth of her coat with a white-knuckled grip. She had a bad feeling about where this was going.
"But then you went and fucked up. You couldn't protect her. The one job you had, to protect people, and you FUCKED IT UP!" He shouted, slamming his fist on the stone by his side and finishing the tankard before throwing it at the ground. He winced, the bite of alcohol burning his tongue. "He told me I could trust you, he told me that he trusted you, but it was all for nothing, because in the end - ALL YOU DID IS GET HER KILLED!"
He stood up, walking towards her. "BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T FIGHT-"
She bit her lip. Her ears were ringing. "BECAUSE YOU SAVED YOUR HIDE-"
He grabbed her by the collar, lifting her off her seat. "AND NOW MY LITTLE GIRL IS DEAD!"
Saya lifted her gaze, making eye contact with him for the first time since he began his speech. His expression was twisted with rage and anguish. He was baring his teeth and his eyes had a dangerous glint to them. She placed her hands on his arms, holding herself up as she tried to breathe. Her heartbeat was erratic, fueled by her panic. Mentally, she cursed.
To hell with Danica's warnings.
"What do you know?" For the first time in a month, words left her lips. Her voice was hoarse and raspy, like sandpaper rubbing against gravel. She met his eyes not with her previous blank look, but with a glare. One of grief, indignation, and anger. In his surprise, Hrongar's hands wavered just a little bit and she pushed him away, breaking out of his grasp. He stared at her, dumbfounded, as she continued talking. "What do you know about what happened? She sacrificed herself for me and you have the gall-"
"Shut UP!" Hrongar bellowed, breaking out his daze. He threw a punch straight for Saya's head, but thankfully she was just quick enough to react. She backed up, sitting down and flipping over the piece of rubble, letting the Nord bump into it.
"Why would I? I'm telling the truth! Or do you prefer the version that you want to believe?!" She snapped back. As he walked around the broken tower piece, she circled back to stay on the opposite side of him. "We picked a battle that was too big for us. She knew we couldn't win, and so did I! We were making a break for it but that thing wouldn't leave us alone, so she said she'd buy me time to-"
"I said SHUT UP!" He jumped onto the stone bricks, running across them straight towards Saya. The girl quickly darted to the side, trying to put more distance between the two of them and vaulting over the place Hrongar was sitting.
"It was her choice! I could do nothing if I tried to stop her!" She screamed at him. Her body was shaking, but she wasn't sure if it was out of fear. Not only out of fear, at least. "Do you think you're the only one who stays up at night thinking about it?! Do you think I don't play it over and over in my head, wondering what else I could've done?! Or do you not even know that your little girl could make decisions without you there, telling her what to do?!"
"LIAR!" He shouted, veins popping out on his arms and forehead. "It should've been you! You hear me?! YOU SHOULD'VE DIED INSTEAD OF HER!"
"MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE!" Saya choked up. Damnit. Her eyes were starting to sting. "But that's not what she chose! And there's nothing either of us can do about it anymore, no matter how much you wish you could!" She lowered her arms as she stepped out from behind her cover. "Do you think I don't miss her either, Hrongar? Do you think that after two months of spending every day of my life by her side, I wouldn't care about what happened? That I don't care?"
Hrongar gritted his teeth, clenching his fist. She didn't want to fight, he saw it. And he could tell she was being genuine in everything she said. So he found himself lowering his arms before he knew it, closing his eyes as his expression became bitter. He could hear her stepping towards him, the ground crunching under her feet. Maybe…
'Don't call me that.'
'You're going to have to make me.'
'I- I didn't mean to-!'
'Dragonborn?! Hero of legend?! Shut up with that!'
No. He couldn't just forgive her. Not this useless, cowardly, elven-
His eyes opened, burning with rage. With a bestial cry, he rushed towards her, grabbing his sword from his back. He didn't care for consequences anymore. All he saw was red, and the vision of her lying dead and bloodied at his feet. Because he had his pride. Because he couldn't have been wrong. And because he would be damned if he would let her get away with what she's done.
Saya was expecting something like this, and yet something inside her stung anyway. She had hoped she could settle this peacefully. She had hoped there was still something inside him that could be reasoned with. But it didn't matter, did it?
With automatic, practiced movements, she grabbed into his arm. Like a snake, she coiled around him, taking his momentum, his weight, all of his power - and turning it against him. The first thing that Hrongar felt was being swept off his feet as his sword left his hands. The second thing was his back slamming into the ground, followed by his head. The impact rang out inside his skull and he groaned, his vision darkening save for just a brief moment.
A moment just long enough for him to see Saya's fist, moments before she knocked him out cold.
When he next awoke, Hrongar was quite disoriented. It had only been a few minutes, and yet he found himself questioning what day it is. He was lying on the ground, and his muscles were sore. As he sat up, his skin tingled under his armor from the incoming blood flow. With how decorated his outfit is, he probably had quite a few patterns pressed into his back. He looked around, briefly alarmed at the thought that his horse might be gone, but he was right where Hrongar left him, and so the Nord breathed a sigh of relief. Now, then-
"Finally awake?"
Saya spoke with a calm voice, though the rasp predictably didn't go anywhere. Hrongar turned sharply after hearing her, seeing her sitting atop the half-broken wall that once circled the watchtower. Mirmulnir really liked to perch on that one, she noticed. Hm. His name was Mirmulnir, wasn't it? Ah, no matter.
He patted the ground around him, searching for the handle of his sword. "You looking for this?" He turned to her, irritated, only to see that she had his sword lying right next to her. She picked it up, slinging it onto her shoulder. "This thing was a pain to get up here, you know. That's gotta be bad for your back." Hrongar grumbled as he stood up. Shaking off his armor from dirt, he inspected his person to check if anything else was missing. Fortunately, he didn't have to check for long. "I didn't take anything else. Well, other than the knife in your boot." She picked up the small dagger from beside her, dangling it for a bit. "You won't be needing either of these right now."
He glared at her spitefully but said nothing. He considered his options as he sat down on the ground again, and the more he thought about everything the less he wanted to think at all. If he tried climbing up where she was, she could easily run away. If he tried getting her to come down, she wouldn't fall for it. So all he could really do is play stare-off.
Or, for a change, he could talk. "Why didn't you leave? You could've taken my weapon and ran while I was out."
"And what would be the point?" She raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a quizzical deadpan expression. "You'd just come after me once you woke up, and I'd only give you more reasons to do so. The only reason I took these is so you couldn't use them against me immediately after waking up. Which you did try."
He grumbled. Guilty as charged.
"So!" She moved closer to the edge, swinging her legs. It was quite comfortable up there. Nice view, and a cool breeze that wasn't too intrusive. "We've got two options, now. One, I could break these and run off, and we can start hating each other all over again the next day. Or, we can sit down and talk. What do you think?"
Hrongar did not reply immediately. Inside, he was still stewing, but he gave her a half-hearted affirmative wave. She smiled, and leaned back, looking off into the distance. The mountains were almost dizzyingly tall, and she caught herself wondering how anyone ever climbed to High Hrothgar before they made that staircase. Must've been an endeavor and then some.
She took a long, deep breath. "You know, Lydia often talked about you." Hrongar lifted his head in surprise. Her smile grew a smidge, but she didn't stop. "She told me all about her childhood adventures, and all the embarrassing stories. But most importantly, the fun ones. B'vek, there were tons of fun ones."
Hrongar twiddled his thumbs, looking away. His mind drifted off to when Lydia was still little. To how she'd run around everywhere, to how she'd laugh at every little thing, to how she'd explore every nook and cranny. "She… She was a bright girl. I remember when she first asked me to teach her how to use a sword, and…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
"Well, she's a damn good swing!" The redhead laughed. "But… You know, there was always something about the way she acted that… Irked me. In a way I can't explain. You ever get that with a person?" Hrongar didn't respond. "So I spent a while trying to figure it out and… I think I get it now. Even if it's…"
She sniffled, covering her eyes. The Nord looked at her and felt… Discomfort. He wanted to laugh at himself. Just a few minutes ago he was trying to kill this woman, and now there he was, listening to her talk and sympathizing with her. He smiled wryly. How the mighty have fallen.
"No matter what she did or what she said, there was always a certain… Anxiety to it. Like she was expecting to be judged for her every action. And when we disagreed, even when she was right, she always just… Relented. Gave up on her own opinion." Saya exhaled slowly, trying to keep her voice from wavering. It was difficult. "The same week we met, I talked to her about the way she acted. She felt so… Artificial. And I couldn't understand it for the life of me. It was like all she was doing was her job, like she didn't know anything else. Even though I never told her to do anything, even though it was Harvest's End and…" The Dunmer's tone was frustrated and confused. She was gesturing wildly, but as she took pause, she lowered her hands. She pulled up one of her legs from the ledge, hugging the knee.
"...She was taught how to be a soldier, Hrongar. But she didn't know how to be anything else."
It was as if the words stabbed Hrongar through the chest. His whole body shook, and his stony expression broke. His teeth clenched together, gritting against one another. His lips stretched into an ugly scowl, and he lifted his arms to cover his face. His eyes burned with the welling tears, but he refused to let them free. He still had his pride. For all the good it's done.
"It was one of the first things I confronted her about, but still picked up on for weeks afterward. She was a bit goofy at times, but… She really opened up in the time we spent together." The Dunmer smiled. There was so much she wanted to tell about, but she understood that it wasn't for his sake. "She liked cooking, though she wasn't really good at it. She liked reading and talking to me about it. She liked looking at wild animals and she'd often feel bad when we had to hunt one for food. And she was sharp as a whip, too. She'd catch my mistakes or bad habits and she'd scold me to no end, but then sigh and let it go when she saw that I'd learned my lesson. She… She was always there beside me." Saya cursed internally. Now she wanted to cry, too.
The two of them stayed silent. Emotions were high, and neither of them wanted to be the one to break first. So they just sat, quietly, hiding their faces and their feelings despite knowing exactly what the other was going through. The wind cooled their heads and the sunshine was warm on their backs, yet their insides still felt cold and hot at the same time. Like their hearts were burning up, and yet there was a piece of them that was torn away, leaving behind nothing but a cold void.
"I loved her, you know?"
And with that one phrase, the dam broke. Hrongar's shoulders shook, his face hiding behind his palms as his breath grew uneven. Saya made no such effort to hold back. Her whole body trembled as she spoke, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I've never felt that way towards anyone. Never the same way. And I've met a lot of people in my life." Saya laughed, picking up Hrongar's weapons as she leapt off the wall. "The way she did things, the way she talked, the way she just… Lived. It- it made me want to do things, to accomplish things. To be someone… Better. Someone worthy of her."
Hrongar never lifted his head when she approached him. He never looked her in the eye when she put his weapons in front of him. Neither did he look when she knelt before him, trying to look into his eyes past his hands, and past the mask of stoicism that he was hiding himself behind. But he still listened.
"I guess what I mean to say is… I'm grateful." Saya said, a rueful smile on her features. "Thank you for raising such a wonderful daughter. And…" She paused, choking up slightly. She stood up, wiping her face as she backed away. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect her."
Hrongar's reply was low and quiet, just barely audible. "Leave." He said, without lifting his head.
The girl looked at him for a while before she nodded quietly and walked away, saddling her horse again. She gave him one last passing glance before she pulled the reins and Annie took off, her hooves clacking against the stone with every step. Only then, when that sound completely vanished off in the distance, did Hrongar lift his eyes again. And in that solitude, he allowed himself to break.
Middas, the 29th of Frostfall, 4E201
Dragonborn,
Esbern and I have pieced together the map. We haven't found anything of essence on it yet, but there have been some new arrivals in Riverwood, people I've never seen before. I don't want to make any assumptions, but I suspect they might be spies of some sort.
Come as quickly as you can.
- FV
I feel like I should be more excited than I am. It's frustrating, not gonna lie.
Kura arrived this afternoon. I'm not sure why I delayed reading the letter until the evening. Maybe I got a little too used to city life. Or maybe I just didn't like the idea of going out again.
I went to pick up this armor I commissioned Eorlund to make, since it's as good an occasion as any. After the incidents with chainmail, I figured that if I'm going to wear something on my person all the time, I might as well make sure it's sturdier and protects more than just my chest. So I paid him to make a full, proper suit of armor for me, though still without the helmet. I've been considering the idea of wearing that priest's mask, from back at Arcwind Point. It's certainly got the intimidation factor, I'll definitely give it that. And it might go better with my cloak.
But damn, I guess they don't call Eorlund the best smith for nothing. This stuff is full plate but it feels super light and comfortable, and it's not even that much of a hassle to put on. I still wouldn't want to sleep in this but… Who knows where the world takes ya, right?
I guess I'll make sure everything is ready and then set out in a few days. Arcadia doesn't have all the stuff that I want readily available so it'll take her some time to get ready, and I'll see if my sleeping bag or backpack or anything needs any patching up.
I swear I'm not just making excuses.
Loredas, the 1st of Sun's Dusk, 4E201
The Hall of the Dead was as silent as it was left, twenty six days ago. The dust roused by the newly interred had settled, and the hallmark atmosphere of eerie tranquility slowly returned to the catacombs. It felt timeless, detached from the world outside. As though the candles burned eternal, the air was perpetually still, the chill always stayed with no regard for the season, and the palpable silence that filled the space within reigned absolute.
Last time Saya was here, before Lydia's coffin, she wept. Sobbed like a woman broken, as though her own heart was being skewered and burst with blood at the mere sight of the metal box. Now, she stood before it with an expression of absolute calm. There was a slight smile on her face. A familiar smile. A sad smile.
"It's time to go. The others have made some progress, and there's work to do. I probably won't be able to visit you for a while, but... You know I'll be back, right?" She traced her fingers along the sealed lid. Without even realizing it, she was waiting for a response. Yet when it never came, it was still as though an invisible wave washed over her body. Her chest stung. "You just wait. I won't be long. Promise."
The Dragonborn took a knee, touching the lid with her lips. She had already given her prayers when she first came, and yet she found herself whispering them again anyway. As if making sure they were heard. She was not a strongly religious person by any means. The Reclamations were worshipped by her people, and so she acknowledged them. The Tribunal were well-remembered by her mother, and so she acknowledged them too. And of course, the ever-present Divines of the Empire. She was never pious, never a staunch believer. She simply treated them as matter-of-fact things. They existed, and there were things to thank them for, and things to scorn them for. That's all. But she found herself praying anyway - not for her own sake, but for the one before her.
As she was getting ready to leave, another person had entered the catacombs. She didn't think to pay them any mind, at first. But then, she noticed that it was not just someone - it was Hrongar. There were no greetings exchanged. But Hrongar felt the need to say… Something. He simply couldn't find the words.
After their last meeting, it was as if his eyes opened again. And now, the girl he saw before himself was no longer the same girl he remembered back at Dragonsreach, those two and a half months ago. Her face was not concealed with the warpaint she had worn the first time they had met, letting the freckles show on her face as the candlelight danced along her features. Her flame-colored hair was longer, though still shaved on one side, and her side-swept bangs were now just shy of reaching her chin, while the hair on the back had grown enough to cover her neck. She no longer wore an outfit he might've found on a bandit, instead clad in masterfully crafted Skyforge steel that united shapes curved and angular, like a union of Nordic and Dunmeri designs. Her posture and demeanor had changed, too. Instead of that obnoxious, skittish nervousness that she seemed to radiate around himself or Balgruuf all the time, the air around her now seemed to almost exude a sense of serenity and poise. Determination, even.
He sighed, passing her by and quietly sitting down before Lydia's place of rest. Saya did not comment, nor did she make an effort to make him say something, either. There was an understanding between them. Silent, but present. And so, without a word, she stepped in the direction of the exit. It was only then that Hrongar finally spoke.
"Thank you." He said. Saya stopped where she was, though she did not turn back. "For taking care of my daughter."
The Dragonborn smiled to herself, and left without another word.