Chapter Three
The memory of the righteous

My memories are carved into the crevasses of my brain to near perfection. I can remember the moments of my life as if I am reliving them. I remember everything; I see everything. I can see the shape of each looming cloud, resting calmly in the sky and the soft freckles of my mother's face. I see the always unfamiliar cracks in the cobblestone ground and the rhythm of the breezes. I can remember the cracking of the fire heating and boiling stew in the cooking pot. I remember the lyrics of each of Balimund's soft songs as he stirred our supper. I remember everything.

I recall my third name day as if it were yesterday. It was a particularly warm day in Rain's Hand, and the flowers were already beginning to bloom big and bright. We'd spent many days during that month lounging in the garden and picking the most beautiful flowers. Bees had begun to arrive around Solitude and our garden homed many, their soft buzzes carrying from one flower to the next. All around us was peace and play as Hroar and I sat in the soil, making small dirt castles and naming the blooms. On our name day, we woke up in the same bed, cuddled closely. I woke before Hroar, feeling excitement in my chest. His steady breath was heavy, and drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. "Brother," I whispered leaning close to his face. He did not stir until I gently cupped the side of his face. Slowly his eyes fluttered open.

"Where's Momma?" he yawned, pulling his body up with all his strength. I shrugged, and hopped off my bed with a thump and nearly falling over. I helped Hroar off the bed, being the larger of us. We made our way to our mother's bedroom and knocked on the door. Father answered with a small smile.

"Good morning." He opened the door and we ran over to mother who looked up from her book. Her red locks were dishevelled and loose around her shoulders. Her face was flushed, the freckles dotting her face standing out more prominently. She wore a soft night shirt made of fine white cotton, and never had I seen her look quite so pure.

"Happy nameday, children." She planted kisses on our cheeks, and called over Lydia to dress us.

Lydia had spent the entire morning baking us many treats, including sweet rolls, taffy and lemon cakes. She had even made Hroar and I each our own cakes. They were no bigger than half a sweet roll, but to us, it was the most amazing treat we'd ever received.

Mine was beautiful, a cake covered in white icing and purple flowers. The inside was red and tasted of chocolate. It was creamy and sweet. I shared my cake with Mother and Father. Though I offered Lydia a piece, she declined and told us she did not eat sweets. Hroar asked her why, though I did not pay care to the answer. Hroar kept his treat all to himself. His cake was a dark brown, made completely of chocolate. It was decorated with a single blue flower, to which he handed to Mother.

We played the rest of our day outside with the other children. In the evening we opened our gifts and sang songs.

I remember our fourth birthday and our fifth as well. I remember our sixth and I remember my seventh. I could still tell you each and every tale that was read to me before bed, each word as it was told. I remember the exact shade of gold of my father's hair, and I could describe to you his throaty laugh, which had never failed to calm me. I remember him, and I shan't ever forget.

I remember Lydia, and everything about her. I remember the shape of her jaw and how softly it would curve into her pointed chin. I remember the cloudy grey of her eyes which was always slightly brighter than the grey sky of Riften. I remember even her sword. It wasn't beautiful and I never felt love for it. It was made of steel and forged in fire. It was basic and plainlooking, and much more forgiving than mother's bow, but I can still remember the way Lydia's hand could always find its pommel, an instinct which never left her.

I remember a bow, the blackest I'd ever seen. My mother had always loved her bow. It was black, and long and beautiful. More than that, it was terrifying. Its intricate engraved curves were sharp and poisonous. It always seemed to burn and singe everything and everyone brave enough to look or touch it. I'd seen her wield it just once, but I could still imagine the way she would pull it from its place and time would stop. I could imagine how her nimble fingers would tightly grasp it, never too hard and never too loosely. I never wanted to see her bow leave its spot on her back. It held too much power, too many memories. Too many souls it had stolen from the living.

Hroar had asked her once to teach him how to shoot an arrow, but she had shooken her head and told him, "Hroar, you're not a warrior." I knew she was right. He wasn't a warrior, not a soldier nor even a thief. He could never be a leader or mercenary. He'd asked too many questions and he had too many dreams that could be so easily broken. Perhaps one day he could've been a father or a farmer, maybe a merchant, but Mother, Father as well as I knew that Hroar did not have the secret calm or the strength to fight in battle. But when Hroar did not argue, I felt pity for the boy who did not know who or what he was meant to be. I suppose it wouldn't matter.

The times I saw my mother throughout 4E 204 and 4E 205, I saw her with her bow, in armor I did not recognise. Her black, sharp armor made of ebony had been traded for leather. Her helm was traded for a hood. I questioned it at first, only in my head, but somehow it suited her well. I believe she felt it was right as well. I saw her each day, always with a smile on her face. I had found that she and Balimund were very happy together, living with me in Honeyside. The hours every day we all spent together were the happiest for me as well. Runa would join us when she could, and it was like I had rediscovered a family. It really was a family I could have belonged to.

Balimund was good to me, and the times I was not at the Temple or with Runa, I was with him, sitting by his forge. I had grown accustomed to the warmth of the forge, the 'Heart' as Balimund called it. I grew to love Balimund as if he really was my father. I loved him for my own, just as I hoped he loved me. I will forever love Onmund, who was my first father, but he was gone before I even understood anything. There is no doubt in my mind that he was my father, but I could not stand there and pretend that the men I came to know and love; the men that raised me were not my fathers as well.

I admit that these words are treacherous to my own blood, but in a world like this, blood means only war and at its essence, family means only love.

And Balimund loved me.

There was a time in late 4E 204 when I sat on a barrel, waiting for my mother. Balimund was somewhere nearby. The market stalls were quite empty, and a chill wisped through the air. It was a chill unfamiliar to even Riften, whose walls were even cooler that the mountains. A beggar whose name I never knew came up to me. He was wrinkled and pale, on the brink of death. I felt pity for him, and would have offered him a coin, for it not the look in his dark eyes.

"You're a pretty girl," he said. His lack of teeth made his words lisped. "It's a cold day today… how bout we warm each other," he snarled. My heart skipped a beat. I had no idea what he meant but something within me told me that he was a very bad man. I backed up on my barrel until I leaned against a wall. He leaned in closer, his breath smelling strongly of week old ale and remains. His old face was only inches from mine and I could only flinch away.

"Runa, is this man bothering you?" Balimund had appeared behind the beggar and had managed to shove him away. I felt scared and cold. My eyes searched around for my mother, but she was nowhere to be found. Looking back at Balimund without meeting his eye, I nodded. He turned to the beggar and shoved him until he hit the ground. "You stay away from my kid, you hear me?" The beggar scurried away as Balimund helped me off the barrel. He took me by his rough hand and led me back to Honeyside. "If any bum like that ever comes up to you ever again, then you call for me, do you understand?"

I nodded, relief passing through my body as we walked through the door of our home.

4E 205 started out as a calm year, with snow falling from the night sky as the people of Riften danced around for the New Year. It had been a sweet celebration, with soft smiles among some people's faces and soft grimaces on others'. The air was chillier than it was last year, but I did not mind. Balimund seemed very joyful as he danced and sung with a smile that could cure the world. Mother danced with him, and it was obvious that dances were not either of their strong suits, but it they seemed happy and drunk, and that was all that mattered.

Runa and I stood by the snack table, with Francois who ate quite daintily, especially for a boy.

"Hi," he said to me a sly grin on his young face. Curly brown hair fell carelessly around his ears.

"Hello," I responded, my face turning red despite myself.

"How's that taffy?" he asked me calmly, his grin widening, revealing two large front teeth and a wide gap between. Deepening my blush, I opened my mouth to answer as Runa grunted.

"Lorie! I wanna dance before it gets late and Mistress Constance makes us go to bed!" I looked from her to Francois as she tugged at my arm. As I was about to go with her, Francois gently touched my hand.

"Dancing sounds like fun," he told me, bright eyed. "Would you care to?"

Sending a guilty look at Runa, I agreed. She huffed and crossed her arms as Francois and I danced the night away.

She got over it, dancing away with Martin and Constance, but I was too happy to even notice. My heart fluttered as I jumped around with Francois, but I couldn't help but see as he snuck glances to the girl with the pretty blond hair.

"Where's Mother?" I asked. Balimund shrugged and bit into his bread.

"Work… who knows," he said lightly, food still in his mouth.

"But I made dinner," I said, deflated.

"Don't worry, Lor," he began, swallowing. "Look, it's snowing… she probably got held back." I nodded solemnly looking out the window. The snow was beginning to pile very heavily.

The winter was harsh that year, and I was forced to stay inside. I did not see Runa for weeks at a time, but I had the company of Balimund, Lydia and my mother. We played games and read books and told stories of past lives and gods and of times that were somehow now funny. We ate what we had and missed what we didn't. I looked longingly out the frosted window to a white city. I never thought I'd miss those grey skies.

In the middle of that long hard winter, there were three days of little warmth, and Lydia walked me over to the Orphanage. Runa greeted me with a tackle hug, to which I reciprocated with fits of giggles. After we greeted one another, I glanced around the room. "Where's Francois?" I asked Constance. She pouted slightly, folding her hands together.

"He is very ill," she told me solemnly.

"Ill?" Lydia asked. Constance nodded.

"Kayd is sick too," Runa added, looking at Lydia.

"Well, Runa can't stay here," Lydia announced. I frowned, exchanging a look with Runa. "Runa should come and stay with us until spring." Runa beamed excitedly, as Constance smiled and agreed.

"What is it you want to be when you're older?" I asked Runa one evening, as we sat on the floor of the basement. She took a bite of her taffy before answering.

"I'm going to be a bard," she stated, taking another bite. "This stuff is good," she mumbled, still chewing. I giggled and leaned against one arm.

"Me too," I said. "You know, my mom got me a flute once." She lit up, a smile crawling across her face.

"Really?! We need to go play it!" Runa hopped up and took my hand, dragging me towards my room.

"You're doing it wrong!" Runa exclaimed. "That isn't what it's supposed to sound like!" I flushed and handed the flute to her. Runa took her turn, making the worst sound I'd ever heard in my life. After an irritated huff she giggled, and I followed suite.

"Okay, maybe we're not so good at this."

"Probably not," I replied with a sigh.

"Don't worry though Lorie," Runa said, patting my shoulder. "We are smart women, and one day we're going to be the best bards ever." I began to respond, but I was interrupted by my door opening.

"What is that awful racket?" Balimund demanded; his hand still on the knob.

"We're talented women bards," I said. I didn't understand why, but Balimund exploded with laughter once he saw the flute in Runa's hand. After calming down for a minute, he told us,

"A flute ain't a real instrument."

"But it's what we have," Runa said, slumping down.

"Wait here one second," Balimund said, before coming back with a lute in his hand. "Ready to make some real music?" Both Runa and I nodded excitedly.

I was good I suppose, and I seemed to have charmed the people who heard me play, but I was in no comparison to how well Runa could sing and play. Learning the lute was not as easy as I suspected, and it took many months and patience on all of our parts to learn, but somehow Runa and I managed. Runa had a gift, it was obvious. She had learned the flute far faster and with more skill than I could ever find, and I was in complete awe. Her fingers learned to grace each instrument as if it was an extension of her own body. I wanted to listen to her music all the time, and it was obvious she realised her talent as well.

"See how great that was, Loralei? One day you'll be able to play like me too!" she'd tell me with a grin. Most times I did not mind, and I still believe to this day that she meant well. Balimund was not one to sugar coat either, so Runa's playing oft came with more praise than mine.

By spring 4E 205, with the snow frosting the cobbled paths of Riften, we had learned many songs, and many times each week we would play and practice. Maramal would sometimes hear me play when Runa and Balimund were away, and each time he would tap me on the nose and say, "It was excellent, my dear," and every time I would smile at him and my cheeks would turn red.

We played for the whole town once, Runa and me. We were ecstatic. We'd been practicing nonstop for our performance. We even practiced our bows and curtsies for the everloving audience. I was nervous, of course, as we'd never played in front of many people. I most excited to see my mother, who had told me the last time I saw her a few days passed that she was excited to see us perform. After Maramal's sermon on the 3rd of Rain's Hand, he introduced us, glee in his eyes.

"Now, as I finish my sermon, I must introduce to you Runa, and my dearest Loralei, who will play before you and before the eyes of Mara, a song special to us all."

Balimund, who sat on my left, nudged me forward. Runa grabbed my hand and dragged me to the front of the Temple. As Runa told the crowd the song we would play, I glanced around the room. The temple was full, only a few spaces between strangers left unfilled. I searched for my mother. Keerava and her fiancé sat in the front, next to Dinya. Sadr sat at the back with his elven maiden. Lydia beamed at us from her seat in the second row, her hair braided nicely for the sermon. All around the room I saw faces of the people I had come to know and love, but amongst none of them was my mother.

"Lorie," Runa whispered. I looked at her. She had her lute in her hands. I nodded at her, and picked up mine, feeling pressure in my chest.

"Oh! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…"

The crowd had loved our music. The tempo was right, and our voices mused the other. We were in complete and utter unison. We were one with our music, and the entire crowd cheered for us. I saw how proud Lydia was, how proud Dinya was. I'd almost never seen Maramal smile brighter. We were perfect. Balimund told us so. If he were anyone else, I swear he would have cried. Runa was proud too. I could see it in the way she held her pretty face just a little higher, how her bow was low to the applause and how she smirked as we took our praise. I figured I should have felt the same as well. Instead, I let Balimund take me home, wordless as he gave me praise. I went to my bedroom as Balimund made supper, and held my dolly close as I rested my head on my pillow.

Many times I tried to convince myself that my mother had a reason. There was a reason that she did not come to see my performance. There was a reason why she did not come home for supper every night like she did when they first married. There must have been a reason for her long, loud arguments with Balimund, on the few days she did come home. There was a reason that she smiled less and less at home as the year ended and more and more at the man with the red hair. There had to have been some reason, some excuse that I did not understand that in those days, she looked at me less and less, and looked at Balimund no longer.

"What's wrong Loralei?" Balimund asked me, kneeling at my bed as I tried to cover my face. I could not see his, but I could only imagine his expression. Thick eyebrows scrunched together, his mouth slightly agape.

"Mommy… she didn't hear me sing."

When she came home that night, I heard him shout at her. I found that after that night, she looked at me no more.

I found a moment of happiness on my tenth name day as my mother came home and promised to take the whole week off. Runa, Lydia and I spent the entire 27th baking a giant cake for the whole town of Riften to share. It took the entire day, and by the end Runa and I were happily exhausted, even though Lydia did most of the work. It came out beautifully, though some parts may have been questionable due to Runa's 'adventurousness'. It was large, with 10 tiers, each representing one year of my life. Momma cried at them, because on the first layer, there were two figures holding hands dancing in the rain.

On the day of my birthday, the entire town celebrated with me and even the boys from the orphanage were very nice. We smiled and danced like it was the New Life, and Runa and I performed a song for the crowd. I felt my heart swell as my mother wiped her tears and ran to me with an embrace. When it began to rain, Mother and Lydia brought the food into the Bee and Barb where the remainder of the celebration would take place.

Before the celebration ended, Francois kissed me on the cheek and whispered, "Good wishes Loralei." My heart pounded in my chest and the blood rushed to my face. I nodded and ran to Runa who laughed when I told her what happened.

Runa drifted into sleep before me, but I could not find it. I got out of my bed and fell to my knees in prayer. "Happy birthday, Hroar. I miss you," I whispered to who knows who. It started as a happy prayer, a secret traditional, but after a moment's hesitation it was lost. "I know that prayers are meant for the gods, but…" I shook my head and got into bed. Who was I kidding? Not even Runa who slept beside me could hear my prayers.

Once again I tried to find comfort in the Temple, a place where I had always found home, but as days passed and I listened to Maramal's speech, I found no comfort. The speeches were all the same, laced together with words that only changed to form the illusion of progress. They painted the false image that the gods were ever-changing, along with life and with you. But it wasn't true. If there were gods, then they did not do their jobs well. If they truly did, war would not exist. Sickness would not exist. Death, age and monsters would all be fantasies. Fathers would stay, and mothers would love their children. Blue mountain flowers would never perish and Hroar and Father would still be with me.

I spent many days with Runa and Evesa. We would play with her after Maramal's sermon, and I would teach her to read. We attempted to teach the child the lute, but she showed no interest. It frustrated Runa greatly, but I did not mind. Not everyone needed to find love in music.

Evesa grew more beautiful with each day. Though she was young, she seemed old. Perhaps age only came with spirit; I did not know. What I did know was that she learned reading and writing faster than I, and much faster than Runa. And though she was a silent child, she questioned much. She went as far as questioning her own faith. She was still very young and perhaps that was a contributing factor, but once, after one of Maramal's sermons she said, "But what if there is no Mara?" When Maramal placed his hands on her shoulders and knelt to her height, I felt pity as he told her, "Do not question the truth. The divines may condemn you my child."

"I don't know," Runa answered, aiding me in picking the lettuce from our garden. "Do you?"

"I don't know either." I told her. "I never questioned it though, when I was younger. My father believed in the nine, my mother the religion of the Altmer. But to me there were eight divines, and they all loved me and protected me… I just-"

"Does it matter?" Runa interrupted, leaving me slightly agape. I remained silent, placing more lettuces in the wheelbarrow.

Summer came and I was grateful for the rare sunny days. I would oft sit by the well in the bazaar and watch everything around me. I don't know when I became an observer, but somehow I found peace in it. It was a peace that I once found at the temple; a peace I'd once found in my father's arms. Runa had tried sitting with me once. She tried her best to make conversations. At first I attempted to respond, but as the days went on my answers became shorter and shorter until they consisted of one word and then nothing. She made other friends, as I suspected she would, and though I felt something swell within me when she played with Francois, I didn't leave my barrel.

My mother was gone the whole summer, and she'd taken Lydia with her too. They'd left because of some duties that Mother had in Solitude. I didn't ask why Mother needed Lydia, but I'm sure she had a reason. Goodbyes were drawn out, and though Balimund did not plead with mother, by the way he looked at her with question and resentment; I knew he did not trust her. Since they'd left, he hadn't been the same. His words lacked their usual snark, and his walk lacked his confident swagger. He was hot-tempered, and never had anything but criticism to say. I oft avoided him, so I wouldn't have to deal with the sourness of his mood. He would wake up early every single morning and walk over to his forge wordlessly, and work until the sun went down. I noticed that his hair was beginning to grey and the darkness under his eyes never went away. Never did I see him without a cup of ale in his hands that summer, except for when he found himself at the forge.

One sunny day in Last Seed, I sat on my barrel, calmly patching over a hole in one of my dresses. My hair, which was now past my shoulders hung loosely in a strawberry golden tangle. Lydia had taught me long ago to do my own hair, but it was always Mother who told me to pull it back. She wasn't here to tell me to do so, and even though I preferred it that way, I couldn't be bothered. I liked how it felt when the breeze would pick up and lace through the strands of my hair. The hum of the Riften bazaar was soft and buzzing, leaving me calm and steady, my stitches small and almost invisible. It was a perfect day in Riften. This day lacked only the rhythm of the anvil, as Balimund was still at the Bee and Barb, probably recovering from the night before.

A short distance away, Runa and Francois sat on a bench, far apart. Runa seemed to be ranting about something or another as she chewed ungracefully through her sweetroll. I had not spoken to either of them in at least a week. It had been Runa who came up to me, dragging a joyful Francois with her.

"What's going on with you?" she'd asked me, her tone irritated. "All you do is sit on this barrel and look at strangers! And when it rains or it's ucky you stay at home and do gods-know-what!"

"Sorry," I'd told her blankly. She had rolled her eyes and dropped Francois' hand.

"I hate it when people apologise and don't mean it!" Dramatically, she'd stomped her food and thrown back her head, blond hair flying everywhere. "Don't feed me lies!" When I'd said nothing, she continued, grabbing Francois' arm and pulling him forward. "Your complete and utter abandonment of me has forced me to play with Francois, who is, if I'm correct, a boy!" I'd just gaped for a moment, as Runa looked at me expectantly, and Francois looked between us, remarkably amused.

"S-sorry," I had managed. Runa huffed, and had stormed away, Francois trailing behind her. After that, Runa had sent frequent glances my way. A day or two after, I'd stifled a wave, but the look she gave me told me that if I wanted to say hello I needed to walk over and do so.

When Runa finished her rant, Francois grinned and told her something that must have upset her because she stormed away, not before throwing the remainder of her sweetroll at him. I watched them interact quietly from my little seat. I missed them; Runa especially, but I found that I never had much to say, much less to think about. Part of me wanted to go and play and have a laugh, but I knew that even if I walked over there, I wouldn't be able to have fun. To this day I don't know why I was like this. Perhaps I was getting too much sun, or not eating quite well enough. Mayhaps it was because I was ten, and on the brink of young adulthood. Maybe it was because I was a little girl, in a gloomy little town in the corner of my world, and simply, I felt alone.

"I have not seen you at Temple in a long while, my child," Maramal said a little later, standing next to me as I folded my now-perfected dress. Francois had gone to find Runa I guessed, and I'd gone back to my work soon after. "Is something the matter?"

"No, Maramal," I told him steadily.

"Then why do you not smile?" he inquired, gently touching my shoulder. I looked up at him, forcing my eyes wide. I gave him what he wanted: a smile that even if he tried looking closer would have never passed. He chuckled though, seemingly happy I was okay.

"Alright, Loralei." He removed his hand from my shoulder and walked away, not before turning and telling me, "Come visit at Temple. Mara requires you, as you do her,"

I tried not to scoff at his turned back.

When Mother and Lydia returned, they had grave news. The Emperor was dead, by the hand of the Dark Brotherhood.

"But I thought it was long gone?" Balimund demanded.

"It's disgusting!" Mother spat. "An organization for murder!" Balimund let out a raspy laugh.

"Elaira, it's not as if you're a saint," he said to her. She raised her hand as if to strike but stopped herself middair when I spoke.

"But now that we have no High King and no Emperor, who is to lead us?"

"I don't know, Loralei, but they'd better find someone soon, because I refuse to let my family live in a place where not even the Emperor is safe." Balimund laughed once more.

"Half your family's dead, and you don't give a fuck about what's left of it," he spat. This time, Mother did strike him.

On the 30th of Frostfall, the Emperor's name day was celebrated solemnly. Green lanterns were lifted into the sky. Runa came up to me as I watched them, far from either of my parents. Her face was streaked with tears. She wasn't pretty when she cried. I took her hand, and I whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry." She nodded desperately, and fell into my arms. I listened to her shaky breath as the sky burned green.

I spent the new life celebration at the orphanage, with Francois and Runa, who'd snuck in snacks. "Why did you want to stay in here?" Francois asked us softly, biting into his chocolate.

"I didn't want to hear the music," Runa said.

"How come?" Francois inquired further.

"All the songs are sad," she told him, resting her head on my shoulder.

Just barely, either from inside my head or outside the walls, I could hear the voice of someone or another, singing and strumming to my old favourite song.

"Oh… there once was a here named Ragnar the Red…"

"Here are the firesalts for your forge," Mother said, handing a pouch over to Balimund, as she packed her travel bag.

"Thank you," Balimund said, leaning for a kiss. Mother leaned away and tied up her bag, leaving Balimund agape. "How long will you be gone for?" he said, retreated; face now stone-still.

"I don't know, a few months." Mother said; picking up the weapons scattered on the floor. "Depends on how well it goes." Balimund nodded, and leaned back against the wall.

"Will you write?" he asked. Mother shook her head as she plaited her hair tightly.

"No, you know that. The boss doesn't allow that," she told him, tying her braid.

"Your boss; is he the redhaired fella, or the mean one?"

"The mean one's dead, Balimund," she responded, seemingly irritated. "I really must be off," she told him, kissing him quickly on the mouth, showing slight reluctance.

"Farewell Mother," I said after hovering for only a moment. It seemed as though she would move toward me, but instead she nodded, strands of red already falling into her face. She pulled up her hood and grabbed her bag before leaving, not looking back.

When she left, the world shifted somehow. It was subtle, but I could tell I was not the only one who felt it. Mother had left me many times before, but somehow this time it was different. I'm not sure if it was how she left or how long. I don't know if it was Balimund, who often stared emptily into nothingness. I don't know if it was Lydia who always opened her mouth to speak before closing it and turning it away. I don't know if it was me, and how I spoke almost never and stopped reading and singing. I don't know if it was Runa who tried to help but didn't know how. I don't know if it was Francois, and how I managed to smile at him.

All I know is that those few months where Mother left, I knew this family I thought I had would soon be family no more.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Francois suggested quietly as Runa performed a song she had written. I turned to him. His hair was longer than ever, reaching his chin, curling into pretty brown tufts.

"Beautiful," I agreed, giving him a small smile. I folded my hands in my lap, and looked towards Runa. Her voice echoed around the Temple, the entire crowd completely entranced.

"You know," Francois said, never removing his eyes from Runa, "you are too." Blood rushed to my face and I looked away, embarrassed.

"W-what?" I stuttered. I felt warmth on my arm and I turned back to him. His hand was on my arm. I tried not to shake.

"You're pretty too."

"Thanks," I said, trying not to look as horrified as I felt.

"I don't think my parents are coming back for me," he said. It was raining out, the droplets clattering hard on the windows of the orphanage. Runa was talking with Constance about something or another, and Francois and I sat on her bed, waiting.

"Probably not," I said. Francois' lip quivered slightly, and I regretted my words instantly. "I mean, there's always a chance." He only snickered and looked up around the room.

"This lady came to the orphanage the other day," he began, not meeting my eyes. "She was pretty with nice black hair… an Imperial lady I think. She was nice and asked to take me… but I told her I already have a Momma."

"Oh," I said after a moment of silence.

"But maybe if she doesn't make me call her Momma, I'll go with her." He looked at me now; expectantly. He wanted me to say something. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to tell him to go with her, or that his parents would be back.

"You're leaving," was all I managed. He looked away once more, and nodded, his curls flying around his head.

He left the day before my name day. He came to say goodbye to me when I was in the Honeyside garden. He had a blue flower in his hand, and extended his arm as he walked over.

"For me?" I asked. He nodded with a smile. I took it and returned his gleeful face. He seemed happy.

"So… I'm leaving now. Ma'am is taking me to Riverwood." I nodded, looking at my mountain flower. "I already said bye to Runa… she seemed upset with me."

"She's going to miss you," I told him. He nodded and fiddled with something in his pocket. "I'll miss you too," I told him. He looked up, his eyes glassy. Francois walked over to me and we embraced tightly. It was a short hug but it was a sweet farewell. When we parted slightly, I saw contemplation pass through his expression. He had freckles, I noticed. Very light, but they were there. Our faces were very close, and our arms were still awkwardly placed around each other. I wondered if he could feel my heart, which was pounding strongly. I wondered if he could hear my breath catch and he leaned down. He planted a chaste kiss on my mouth. It was quick but it was sweet, and after lingering for just a second, we parted.

But that was not the last time I saw Francois.

When my mother came home, it was pouring out. I didn't know she was home yet and I only discovered she'd arrived after I came inside, wet from the rain. When I walked into my home, the fire was burning low, and I thought no one was home. The house was still, but its aura felt disturbed and ragged. I made my way downstairs and saw two figures sitting on the bench, far apart. Mother sat on the left. Her hair was down again, but clean and frizzy, her curls tripling the size of her head. Her face was streaked with tears, and she looked to the ground guiltily. Balimund had no tears. He never cried. Between them rested two daggers, though they gleamed no longer. Mother looked up first. They said nothing as I proceeded to my room.

This was it; the moment where it ended-the marriage, the family… that feeble sense of home. But if there was one thing that Balimund taught me, it was not to cry. So I closed the door behind me and changed my clothes, hoping that closing my eyes would make me forget.

Balimund moved out the next day.

We walked through Riften on a cold day some time after. The sky was particularly grey and my mother's skin looked pale. She was leaving again, and Lydia had her hand on my back, leading us towards the gates. I had managed not to let tears fall from my eyes but when she looked one last time at the man with the Red hair, I felt myself breaking in. She always left. She must have had reasons. But they weren't good enough.

I closed my eyes; there was nothing left to do, nothing left to think or feel. In the back of my brain, I could see just one thing-and it was blue.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing and whatnot! I'm sorry this took so long, but I'm glad it's out, even if there are areas for improvement! -Cwiss *heart*

Published on 07/05/2014

Edited on 20/04/2015