Chapter Thirteen
Be done in love

There are many different kinds of love in our world. There is brotherly love; the love I felt and would always feel for Hroar. Platonic love—a love between friends and companions—was the love I found with Blaise and Mila and Dagny. There is also sexual love, obsessive love, a love between a mother and her children. But these definitions are far too simple for the way humans feel, for the way that love intoxicates our bodies and wraps around our souls.

I refuse to believe there is only one kind of love between a mother or father and their child. The way my mother loved me was not the same love which is described by books and other people; it was distant and regretful. Her love for me was not like a vine growing and tightening around me, nor like a sentinel which followed in my shadow. Her love was not a brace, which would help me walk, help me breathe and help me grow. Instead, my mother's love was like a breeze, which would push and pull with its own will, only touching me softly before dying out, never with a promise of return.

I wondered often what it was to love one's mother the proper way. I assumed that there was admiration and comfort when a person thought of their good and thoughtful mother. Thoughts I had of my own mother were plagued with betrayal, distrust, and a longing for something else—something missing. Perhaps the reason that I saw my mother so differently was because she was a person to me. Children don't normally see flaws and pasts and feelings in their parents, but my mother was too human for me to not see it—all her scars and flaws, her confusion and her mistakes were laid out in front of us like a painting. The love I felt for my own children was of a different sort. It took longer for it to grow completely, longer than it took my mother's, but at least it was complete. I prayed to the divines that my children thought of me differently than I thought of my own mother.

I wondered if they saw only the good grace and honour in me, and even hoped that this was the case. But did I want them to see me that way, which was so… inhuman? Perhaps seeing one's parent for who they truly are is the truest way to view them. Wasn't it wrong to see an illusion of someone and ignore their loves and lives and memories? Wasn't it better to know the reality offered than to see the falsities of comfort and 'goodness'? Or perhaps these thoughts are just an invention made by my brain to comfort me, and there is simply one motherly love; a love that had simply never been offered to me. Maybe there are good mothers and bad mothers and whatever kind of mother Elaira was. And maybe it was all the same anyway.

In 4E 216, there was a love between Kust and me, which was beginning to bloom with the birth of the spring flowers. Yet even so, with the flowers grew thoughts of dimples and blue eyes, like weeds in the back of my mind that wouldn't leave no matter how hard I tried to pluck them. Every movement Kust made was followed by a thought of how Lars would have moved differently. Lars had swagger, and walked with confidence and prowess. He walked like he was a king and the earth beneath his feet was his own. Kust was graceful in an entirely different way. He walked proudly too, but rather than conquering, he protected. He did not own the land on which he walked—he was a part of it. Like the leaves that grow from branches and salt that is infused with the sea, his soul was wrapped and tangled with all the life and death and dust around him.

Their laughs were different too, as well as their words and minds. Kust valued honour, peace, and respect, while Lars praised tradition, beauty, and pride. Kust prayed and worshiped, was devoted and serious. Lars had lived and fooled around with confidence and arrogance. Lars and I together made sense; wherever I was weak, he was strong; what he didn't understand, I could explain; what we didn't have, we could build together. With Kust, it was simple too, but rather than fix or complete one another, we wove together. We were stronger hand-in-hand, and the bond which was forever growing and tightening was bright and complex and complete. Kust and I were strong on our own, but we were better together.

And so, when Kust told me he loved me on some Fridas in First Seed and I kissed his cheek and said nothing back, I knew that he could wait for my love. But as always, a small and fleeting thought travelled through my mind and my heart. Would Lars have waited?

In warmer weather, when the rain ceased, I would bring Vittoria to the graveyard, and she would play or help or watch while Kust told her stories about the wars of Falkreath. I doubted she could even understand him, but she was fascinated nonetheless. Sometimes she would dance around on top of the graves, and I wondered if it was sick of me to let a little girl who didn't understand dance on top of dead people.

The day I realised that the cemetery was not a good place for a little girl, I took her to the shops. I gave her five septims to buy whatever she pleased. She found a clay horse to match the one she had at home. "For Nelkir, Mama," she insisted.

"That's very nice of you to buy something for your brother," I praised. She smiled, and revealed all her shiny teeth. She was already tall for her age, and she had large feet. She would be tall and big-boned, like a true Nordic shield-maiden, rather than like the little thing my mother was. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to get something for yourself, as well?"

"No ma, but can I get Kust something?" she asked.

"Why?" I demanded, not unkindly.

"Because Kust is nice. I like his stories." She blushed then, and I frowned.

"Okay," I said, handing her more money. She took it, but didn't run off yet. "What's wrong, Vittoria?"

She sighed, and shook her head before looking around once more. Soon enough, she returned with a shy smile and an amulet in both her palms.

"What's that, love?" I asked, gesturing to the necklace in her hands.

"It's an amulet, Ma." I peered closer, and made out the strange shape of a bird, and the dark blue gem in the center. I felt my heart thump and my throat dry from the recognition. My hand shot to my chest where mine own amulet had lay for years, but my fingers were only met with skin. I gave it to Lars, I remembered, feeling suddenly exposed and empty.

"And a very nice one," I whispered. Vittoria must have missed whatever strangeness had overcome me, because she continued to smile.

"Will Kust like it enough to become Papa?" Vittoria asked, smiling proudly. I froze, and for a moment I stood in shock. When my breath returned, I knelt. Our eyes were on level, and her eyes were bright and curious. Mine must have been dark and sad. Shaking, I moved to cover her hands with mine.

I didn't know how to respond to what she had said, but I had to say something.

"It's beautiful, Vittoria," I began. "But… you cannot ask someone to be your father."

"How come?" I opened my mouth to speak, but it took several times before I could form words.

"It's impolite," is all I eventually managed. "Do you even need a Pa?" I whispered, and I wondered if it was unfair to ask her this.

"Isn't that how it's supposed to be, Mama? Don't you have one?" she whispered back, frowning.

"No," I said simply. "I haven't for a very long time." Her face softened, and for a moment I believed my three year-old daughter might have understood. With her hands still in mine, Vittoria took a step towards me and laid her curly head against my chest, and finally, it stopped feeling bare.

The courier ran up to me in town, on a sunny morning in early Second Seed. Kust and I sat on the porch of some old shop, sipping on cold beer while our legs dangled over the edge. Earlier that morning, I had convinced Kust to take a day off. He hadn't been reluctant, like I'd expected; he'd been excited, and seemingly glad we could spend a day just the two of us.

The courier handed me the letter, and I put my tankard down on the deck beside me to take it. "Thank you, sir," I said. It was thin parchment, but had been sealed and stamped, though I didn't recognize the emblem. "Who is it from?"

"Runa, from Riverwood," he informed, before reaching into his bag for his next delivery. "Well, I must be off."

When he was gone, Kust glanced curiously at the stamped wax. "Who's Runa?"

"My oldest friend," I said, running my finger over the wax. "I must have talked about her before."

"Maybe," he said. "Is she the one you went to school with?" I nodded, and moved to open the letter. Kust looked away, taking a gulp of his drink.

4th of Second Seed, 4E 216

Loralei,

I know, I know, it's been a while since I've written, but I've been very busy. It took me a while to decide where to stay in Skyrim, and I'm still not sure if I'm staying permanently, but currently, I'm in Riverwood! I had thought to move back to Solitude, but with the war growing, I was afraid the Stormcloaks might lay siege there. Battles are often fought in the countryside, but Riverwood is just close enough to a city that there's a small chance of it being sacked. That is my hope, at least. Plus, the weather is nice in Riverwood, and it's calm.

I don't know why we never visited while we lived in Whiterun, I could walk there in less than an hour! It's so calm, and like the name promises, it's in a perfect crook between the forest and the river. Sometimes I hear wolves, but the locals have reassured me that they leave the town alone, for the most part. There is an old mine nearby, a few minutes southwest of Riverwood, and I've been inclined to give it a visit. No one really goes down there, so I should expect a plain-old drained mine, but things are never so simple in Skyrim, to the world's misfortune and my personal delight.

For the moment, I'm staying at the inn, but I've been considering purchasing it completely! My only inn experience is from working at your mother's, but I think it would be a nice investment. Already, I play almost every night, and I think the townspeople are beginning to warm to me.

Speaking of townspeople, did I mention that Francois is still here? He lives with his adoptive mother at a general goods store called The Riverwood Trader. Her name is Camilla Valerius and is married to an old wood elf called Faendal. Their love story is quite adorable! When Francois and I reacquainted, he told me about his little family. Camilla's brother, Francois' uncle, used to run the store with Camilla, until he was killed in search for a relic—a golden claw—which had been stolen from the store. Apparently, as Francois recalled, your mother was the one who brought home his body and the claw. All this had transpired in the beginning weeks that he had lived with Camilla.

I dine with the two frequently, and Camilla has told me of all her encounters with your mother. According to her, it was your mother who had brought Faendal and Camilla together. Faendal is a wood elf, who hunts to make his living. He had lived in Riverwood since he and Camilla were teenagers. They were friends for a long time, and eventually, Faendal was smitten with her. When she and her brother opened their shop, she used to go over to his little house and bring him little knick-knacks she'd snuck away from the shop. He would tell her stories about Valenwood, and the old ways of his parents and grandparents and back and back. Camilla says they could talk for hours and days and weeks and years if it were possible.

Yet even so, one thing stood in the way. This thing, was another man—a lumberjack and bard, called Sven. Sven is a Nord, who takes care of his mother. She is old and mean, but she still lives today. She was one of the first to settle in Riverwood, I heard. Anyway, Sven had grown up alongside Camilla, and had been in love with her for a long time. But, when he noticed she was more and more in love with Faendal, he grew jealous.

Years and years ago, when your Mother frequented Riverwood, Sven asked her to do him a favour. He had written a false letter in Faendal's name, which said horrible things about Camilla. Your mother took the letter, but straight to Camilla, to reveal what Sven was capable of. She broke off their friendship, and a year later she married Faendal.

This story isn't all bad for Sven though. He has rekindled his friendship with Camilla, and Faendal and he share drinks. Sven married a woman named Hilde (which is kind of weird, considering that's also his mother's name). He and his wife had seven children, all whom are grown and living their lives in other parts of Skyrim.

Faendal and Camilla had trouble conceiving, though, considering it's an elf-human relationship. When they received a letter from Constance, encouraging adoption, they took it as a sign and brought Francois home.

He's had a beautiful childhood, he tells me. He's asked about you, and I told him about your manor and your beautiful children.

Sometimes I feel like Skyrim is both such a big and such a small place. On one hand, it's possible to run into someone you knew years and years ago, but on the other, our lives are so different from one another. Do you know what I mean?

Anyhow, I have to go through all of the stuff I acquired during my travels. Right now, they're all packed tightly in a chest in my cramped room at the inn. I have many gifts for your children. I can hardly believe I've never met them. You've described their faces, and their personalities and I feel like I know them already, but I long to embrace them and spoil them rotten to make you look like a sham cheapo!

We must get together soon!
Love, love, love,
Runa

I smiled, and folded up the letter. Love, love, love. I leaned against Kust's shoulder and sighed against him.

"Good news?" he asked, amused.

"Yeah," I cooed. "Good news."

Runa kept well to her promise, and in the fall, I waved from my balcony. Her carriage was wooden and open-backed. She was drenched from the rain, but she smiled and laughed as she waved back. She looks like a madwoman, I thought. I must have too, though, still in my nightclothes, with a confused baby at my hip and a small girl tugging at my dress.

When her carriage drew nearer, I grabbed Vittoria's hand and we raced down the stairs. My heart pounded in my ears, and hot tears welled in my eyes. It had been three long years since I'd seen my girl last, and it felt like an elastic being snapped back after years of being pulled and exhausted.

Runa jumped out of the carriage before it stopped moving, and stumbled when she hit the ground. I let go of Vittoria's hand and put down her brother. When I looked back, Runa was charging towards me. I nearly fell from the impact, but I remained standing. We held onto each other and spoke incoherently into each other through our tears.

It almost hurt when we tore apart after a long while. When we did, I looked back at my children, who looked very concerned. I laughed, and wiped my face before touching Runa's arms.

"These are my little creations. Introduce yourself, Vittoria," I said, smiling like a fool. It was chilly, and I was a bad mother for waking my children and bringing them outside on such a cold night, but how could it matter when Runa was here? My heart swelled, and I felt like a fool for not realising how much I'd missed her.

"I'm Vittoria," Vittoria said. "Who are you?" Runa knelt, and placed her hands on my daughter's freckly cheeks.

"Your eyes," Runa said. "They're glowing." Vittoria's face reddened and she hid behind a giggle before placing her own small hands on Runa's face.

"Are you a princess?" she asked. "You look like one."

"Yes," Runa said with a wide smile. Awkwardly, Nelkir waddled towards Runa and Vittoria, placing his hands on both of their cheeks. The three giggled like simpletons, and I was stuck between rolling my eyes and crying at how stupid they all looked. "And you must be Nelkir," Runa bit her lip, the way she never did. "I like that name."

During Runa's visit, my mother arrived unexpectedly, and the three of us played house until Elaira, then eventually Runa, left. My home seemed empty when they were all gone at the end of Frostfall, but a faraway voice reassured me that they would be back and that even if not, I would be okay without them.

The winter was harsh, but we all lived on, and before I knew it, my children were two and four. For their birthdays, Kust and I made a rocking-horse with a mane of rope and eyes hallowed from burnt wood. The children had loved it, and would rock on it for hours, but like every other toy, it was discarded after only weeks of use. I loved it though, and it made me wonder at all the things Kust and I might create together.

Kust bought a boat at the first signs of spring. It was old and rickety—much less expensive than the one I had bought for Lucia and I that hot summer four years ago—but Kust was proud of it. He seemed almost giddy the first time. He sat me down on a hard bench, and he took his seat across from me. Kust rowed and rowed, saying nothing until we were in the middle of the lake. The sun hung low on the horizon, and the sky was purple and grey. "I like your boat," I said, and his giddy smile only grew.

The second time was only two days later, and this time, I had packed us sandwiches. He ate his with a third slice in the middle, and three meats in-between. Mine was ham and cheese. The midday sky was bright blue, and the water was still. "You look pretty," Kust told me. There were crumbs in his beard, but I kissed him anyway.

It rained for a week, but when it finally ceased, he took me to the lake again. This time, it was pitch dark out, and I could see all the stars in the sky. The serpent was bright. "Why so late?" I asked him while he paddled us to a silent alcove. Only the moon, the stars, and a dim lantern were our sources of light.

"I want to know you at all hours," he said. I blushed and snickered.

"You're a sap," I said, pocking his nose. He rolled his eyes and looked past me.

"You love it," he quipped. He met my eyes, and I must have been looking at him funny, because his smile faltered.

"Yeah," I said, and he stopped paddling. He took my hands, and I felt my heart throng as our souls sighed into each other.

"Yeah," he whispered.

Our fourth boat ride took place in the crook of Rain's Hand. The air was humid, and I wanted to jump into the welcoming water, but instead we rode out like normal. I wore a floppy hat, which was long ago outdated, and he wore a thin linen shirt.

"You know," Kust began, looking everywhere but me. "I've been thinking… a lot, actually… about you and me, and the kids."

"And?"

"Well, you know this, but I love you, and I love your kids—our kids." A cool wind blew, but it did nothing to cool the heat that was building as my heart throbbed hard and radically. "And Skyrim, Skyrim's a messed up place. But with you, and our family, it all starts to make sense. All the wars, and the dead people, all the legends and stories—all of it is blurry with insignificance. It's all just indistinct while you and Vittoria and Nelkir are in focus.

"We belong together, all of us. In this town, on this lake, in this world. Our divines, Loralei—the ones me, a monk, and you, a Priestess have given up our souls and lives to—have put us together. And I don't think I can wait any longer for us to be blessed in matrimony." He looked at me now, as serious and fierce as the day I met him. It had begun to rain, soft dripping all around us. Those divines think they're funny, with their little signs. "Will you marry me?"

I kissed him. "Yeah," I said when we broke apart. Kust laughed, and pulled me in an embrace.

"Yeah," he mumbled into my shoulder.

12th of Second Seed, 4E 217

Loralei,

Congratulations on your engagement! Kust is an excellent partner, and has been so good to you and my grandchildren! When do you plan on being wed? Have you begun planning? If you need anything, let me know. I'm always travelling, and if you need me to run an errand or recruit a Priest or a dressmaker, just tell me what to do!

-Elaira

P.S. We've located Auriel's Bow, and should be off to retrieve it very soon.

I liked the way they looked together, this family of mine. I liked how Vittoria always seemed to be off doing her own thing, yet she was always connected to Kust and her brother. No matter what she was doing, however far, whether she watched them from her peripherals, or whether she listened closely, she was mindful of them. Even when Vittoria was in another room, I knew she could sense them, that she was reading them from afar.

Kust and Nelkir were almost never apart. Whenever Kust was not at the cemetery or alone with me, he was with Nelkir. They shopped together, ate together, sat together. Sometimes I would pass a room and I would watch them pray together. Kust knelt and Nelkir sat, and Kust would mumble the prayers beneath his breath. Nelkir's eyes were closed, but I knew he followed all of Kust's words, no matter how little he understood.

Together, we all seemed to fit, like this was the way it had always been, like it was the way it always would be. But somehow, in late Second Seed, when Nelkir smiled at Kust and said, "Pa-pa," my heart dropped. And when I saw Vittoria smile to herself knowingly, I felt it shatter, as if it had hit the hard bottom of my body.

1st of Mid Year, 4E 217

Dagny,

The days here in Falkreath are long and hot. The air is sticky and the water that does fall from the sky is warm. I feel dirty no matter how much I bathe, and I have half a mind to cut off all my hair. It sticks to my back and it's a hassle to pull it all up. It's especially irritating when I must either dig new graves or clean the old ones, and all I want to do is bathe or scratch my back. Speaking of which, my work in the cemetery is tiresome, and we host more and more burial services as the weeks pass.

The people in Falkreath don't much like to talk about the war, Kust especially. People here remain in ignorance of what is happening—which battles are being fought, what plans have been made, which side is winning. The Stormcloaks might have overrun every city, and I wouldn't have any idea. Parts of me have always wanted to remain passive on this matter, but I fear and I thirst for the news. The only times I learn about the war are from Lars' letters.

I've tried to convince myself it's for Lars' own sanity, but I think I know that it is just as much for mine own. I wonder if I could ever stop reading his letters. I love Kust, and it has been a million years (if ever) since I have loved Lars, but I don't think I could bear to never hear from him again.

I'm pleased to hear you are with child! My Lila has knitted a doll for Carlotta, and I've sent forward a rocking horse which Kust and I made. It's ugly and used by our own children, but we loved it. They lost interest within the month it was finished, but I thought since that Lorgren of yours remains as adventurous as ever, he might like a little horse of his own.

-Loralei

At the end of that long and hot summer, my mother returned. She had not sent a letter beforehand, and I was saddling my horse for a ride into town when she trotted up. Her horse was not one I recognized, but hard and swift anyhow. She called to me and dismounted, wearing a wide and nervous grin. She led her horse to our small stable, and once it was tied up, she embraced me. I was surprisingly glad to see her, but there was an undeniable anxious flutter in my bones. My arms felt weak and light when they dropped to my side. Elaira smelt like horse. I wondered for how long she'd ridden.

"It's been a long time," she said. Her hair was long and braided at the back of her head. Loose baby hairs stuck to the skin of her face.

"Yeah," I said. "You're bad at keeping in touch."

"A fatal flaw, I suppose."

"So…" questions ran through my head, whirling uncontrollably. Why are you here? Are you staying? Are you leaving? Is it over? Do I want you to leave—to stay? I asked nothing, choosing to wait.

"Draw a bath for me, will you? I've ridden all day." I nodded, and felt both relief and tension that my questions went unanswered.

At dinner they were answered.

"It's over, the war between the vampires and the Dawnguard. I'm retreating to Riften and renouncing all that belongs to me: my titles, my properties, anything. I can't give you my titles, Loralei, but all my property minus a few weapons, clothes, armor, and that beautiful horse I brought, now belong to you. I'll stay for a day or two, but I think it's best for me to leave as soon as possible."

I looked at my hands while she spoke.

"Will you not come back for the wedding?" Kust asked. I closed my eyes and held my breath, almost afraid to move.

"I'm afraid I can't wait for such an affair," she informed us. "I had hoped you would be wed by now, but my daughter has been lazy in preparations." She was smiling, though, and it was an obvious attempt at jesting. I wished I did not care, but I had a lump in my throat and I could not feel my heart.

"I'll miss you," I said, finally opening my eyes. I was almost surprised when hot tears poured out.

"Really?" Mother whispered. I looked up at her. She did not cry, like me. I thought for a minute she should apologize, but no—one should never apologize if they're not sorry. Sometimes I forgot how many lessons she had given to me.

"I always miss you," I confessed. She offered me a soft, sad smile. Perhaps in this instance, she knew I loved her, in my way. I've always loved you, I thought. Now she knows for sure. But I knew better than to confess it out loud.

She left the next afternoon. Beside her beautiful horse, we stood. Runa and Lydia's family had come to say goodbye. They stood some ten feet behind us.

She looked beautiful, my mother. I always thought she looked the most beautiful like this; clad in black armor. It reminded me of a time long ago, when I had wanted so much to be like her—when I had been proud of my green eyes, my strong jaw, and my funny ears. I resisted the urge to pull at them, like my father had before. What did that feel like? It was the one thing I could not remember.

Elaira squeezed my shoulders. Her gauntlets almost hurt through the sleeves. She was hesitant as she placed a kiss on my forehead. She leaned in so we were cheek to cheek. Her voice was a soft whisper as she said her last words to me; "Loralei, my girl." She said no more, but it was enough that I understood. I closed my eyes as we embraced, and I remembered all which I could never forget. In my head, I could almost hear the strength in her voice. And understand that when I am gone, for long, for short or forever, you will always be loved. Somehow, that made me strong too.

Published on 18/03/2015

Edited on 14/07/2015