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Fifth Thread Tied
He used to find joy in fishing, but now the best he could do was derive some sort of respite from it; a brief moment to be alone with his thoughts, a short while when all the voices in his head stopped shouting and he could sit quietly and grieve, actually thinking sane thoughts for a time.
He'd been staying in Solitude for a week or two now, still hating the cold, and hating the day he came here. The only place he could find some calm was here, on the jetty, wrapped in furs, staring at the sinker of his fishing line, his tea steaming in the cold morning air.
It was cloudy with the occasional break, letting the sun shine through. He took a sip of his tea and put it back on the tiny table next to him. His sinker merrily bobbed on the water. He didn't usually catch anything but he wasn't in it for the fish anyway, just the relaxation. Or, well, as much as he could relax these days.
His only son, his successor, the one who was supposed to take over after he retired, had met his end at the foot of a waterfall, broken and bleeding. The Brotherhood had paid, true, but it hadn't killed the pain, and even now, he always sat fishing with one extra chair, as if his son was with him in spirit. He also had his bow and quiver with him, somehow it felt these things watched over him.
He sighed and tried to think of happier things, but they all went back to his son, the golden boy of the Maro-line, meant for great accomplishments, now dead and buried in this icy backwater land. Once the Emperor granted him leave, he'd simply return to Cyrodiil and take up a job as an instructor to young soldiers. Titus Mede was a good man, and he'd gladly allow him to be transferred back to the regular soldiery, not just because of the tragedy he'd seen, but also to thank him for so many years of loyal service.
He looked forward to a simpler life. He'd faced enough danger, and had lost his son to it, to last a lifetime. It was time for the younger generation to take over, and perhaps with his training, fewer young men would be torn away from their fathers and mothers by all this war and intrigue. He could only hope.
He was startled by a person coming to sit next to him.
"Whatever it is you want," he grunted, "you've got the wrong man. Go away and let me fish in p – "
His breath stalled when he saw the face of his unasked-for companion.
She was wearing a light toga instead of leather, the hood over her head, but he recognized her right away. It was her, the assassin, the little bitch who'd murdered his son. How had she survived? It didn't matter. He knew what she came for, the toga was probably just a disguise.
He looked down at his tea and realized. With a resigned sigh, he said, "It's in my tea isn't it?"
The girl smiled and shook her head. It was probably just a smile of cruelty, taking joy in his coming death, but somehow didn't look like it.
"What then? A poisoned dart? Contact poison on the handle of my fishing rod? Whatever it is, I'm certain you've already made sure it'll kill me before revealing yourself. Have you come to gloat one last time?"
She shook her head again.
"Or will you just try to stab me with the dagger hidden in your clothes? If that's the case, go ahead. The only thing I care about is that I take you with me."
Another head shake. Why was this bitch even here if not to watch him die?
She took out a piece of paper, scribbled, and slid it over to him. It simply said,
NO TRICKS
NO TRAPS
Maro found that hard to believe. "So what do you want then? To look on the fruits of your labour? To make sure you did a good job of breaking me? Of breaking a father's heart?"
Scribble, scribble.
NO
"So what then?" he asked again. "I'm quitting the Oculatus, there's nothing to gain for you here anymore."
From the folds of her toga, she produced an envelope. Written on it was simply,
PLEASE READ
He scoffed. Nice try, bitch. "What, there's poisoned powder in the envelope? Powder that when inhaled – "
She frowned impatiently and tapped the paper again. Right, no tricks no traps and all that.
"What's stopping me from killing you right now?" he asked. She only gave a lopsided shrug.
Fine, he'd humour her. What else was left to lose? Keeping his eye on the girl, he tore open the envelope and began to read.
COMMANDER MARO
I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT LOSS WAS, OR AT LEAST I'D FORGOTTEN, UNTIL YOU DESTROYED MY FAMILY. I ALWAYS THOUGHT EVERYONE ELSE WAS JUST A PIECE OF SCENERY AND I COULDN'T POSSIBLY IMAGINE YOUR LIVES BEING REAL. IT WAS AS IF NOBODY WAS REAL BUT ME. I KNOW THIS DOESN'T EXCUSE WHAT I DID, BUT I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT I WAS DOING, NOT THE FULL EXTENT OF IT.
THERE ARE NO WORDS TO DESCRIBE THE REGRET I FEEL AT THE THINGS I'VE DONE. AFTER ASTRID DIED, I SPENT WEEKS HATING MYSELF AND WISHING ONLY TO DIE, BUT SOMEHOW I ALWAYS STOPPED MYSELF WHEN THE ROPE WAS AROUND MY NECK OR THE KNIFE WAS SET AGAINST MY HEART.
I DON'T DESERVE DEATH. NOT AFTER WHAT I'VE DONE. IT WOULD BE TOO EASY.
I NEED TO LIVE A LIFE OF PENANCE. I'VE JOINED THE SISTERS OF MARA AND TAKEN THE VOWS. THIS WILL BE THE LAST TIME I SET FOOT OUTSIDE OF THE TEMPLE. MY ENTIRE LIFE STARTING TODAY WILL BE SPENT IN NOTHING BUT PRAYER, FLAGELLATION AND LABOUR. I'VE TAKEN SO MUCH FROM THIS WORLD AND IT WILL TAKE MANY MORE YEARS THAN A SINGLE LIFETIME FOR ME TO EVER REDEEM MYSELF, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T HAVE THE DUTY TO DO WHAT I CAN.
I'M TERRIFIED OF A LIFE OF IMPRISONMENT ON THE TEMPLE GROUNDS, AND OF ALL THE THINGS I WILL NEVER GET TO DO. I WILL NEVER HAVE MY OWN HOUSE, OR KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO MAKE LOVE. I WILL NEVER HOLD MY CHILDREN OR SPEND A WARM AFTERNOON ON A BENCH IN THE SUN.
AND I DON'T DESERVE TO. ALL THE PEOPLE I MURDERED WILL NEVER GET TO EXPERIENCE ANY OF THESE THINGS EITHER.
I CAME TO FIND YOU BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU HAVE YOUR VENGEANCE. I AM BROKEN AND THE BROTHERHOOD DESTROYED. I WAS FORCED TO END THE SUFFERING OF THE ONLY PERSON I EVER TRULY CONSIDERED MY MOTHER. MY LIFE ENDS TODAY EVEN THOUGH I WILL NOT DIE FOR A LONG TIME YET.
SO FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US HAS PAID FOR WHAT WE'VE DONE, AND YOUR SON CAN PERHAPS REST EASY KNOWING HIS DEATH WAS AVENGED. PERHAPS YOU HAVE ACHIEVED SOMETHING EVEN GREATER THAN VENGEANCE: HEARTFELT REPENTANCE.
I DO NOT ASK FOR FORGIVENESS, BECAUSE I DO NOT HAVE ANY RIGHT TO IT, BUT I SIMPLY WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT THE REMORSE AND GUILT I FEEL WILL TORMENT ME FOR EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY AS I SPEND THE AGES IN SILENT PRAYER AND LABOUR.
SO DO NOT FORGIVE ME, FOR EVEN THE MOTHER GODDESS WILL NOT BE ABLE TO. CONSIDER ME RIGHTFULLY AND ETERNALLY PUNISHED INSTEAD.
The letter ended with a simple,
PLEASE DO KNOW THAT I AM TRULY SORRY FOR WHAT I DID.
Maro fought to keep his lower lip from trembling as he lowered the paper and folded it in two. He knew the Temple of Mara accepted repentant evildoers without discrimination, and he also know the Temple never let them leave.
"This… I… this was… not how I expected things to go if I… ever met you again," he said, aware of the hoarseness in his voice. "Don't get me wrong, I still want to murder you with my bare hands, but…" Maybe she was right. Maybe death would be too easy for her. He wanted nothing more than to see her die, but perhaps she'd simply thank him for killing her. And yet, his heart burned with the desire for vengeance, to take her life and cast her dead, limp body into the sea.
"What guarantee do I have that this is the truth?" he asked at length, more to have a conversation, and this some more time to think, than out of actual doubt.
She scribbled on a piece of paper.
NO GUARANTEE
BUT I CAME TO FIND YOU
WHY WOULD I DO THAT IF NOT BECAUSE I'M TELLING THE TRUTH?
She had a point. But maybe she just wanted to make him stop hunting her.
She took her hood down and revealed her head, the hair cut off to a brown stubble. She'd tattooed a pattern on her forehead, a clumsy imitation of the mark used by Cyrodiilic slave rings. It indicated that the marked person had been legally made into a slave as the courts' punishment for only the most heinous crimes.
He believed her.
She gave him a final sad smile before getting up from her chair, her eyes utterly desolate.
Maro stood up as well, still hating her with all his heart, repentance or no.
The girl turned and made to walk back down the jetty and to the shore, but something made Maro grab the bow his son always used for hunting, and draw an arrow.
"I can't let you leave here. You deserve to die."
The girl turned back to him, and her face showed nothing but understanding.
Maro felt tears blur his vision, but he still told her, "I should put an arrow through your heart for the terrible things you did. But… on the other hand, maybe you're right. Maybe you'll be much better punished by spending the rest of your life imprisoned, in pain and miserable."
She merely stood looking at him.
"I should… I should kill you. But…"
Slowly, she took a piece of paper from her toga, wrote a few words on it, and tossed it to him as a crumpled ball. He picked it up, still keeping the arrow drawn with one hand, and read
I UNDERSTAND, NO MATTER WHAT
DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO
Gods, he wanted to kill her. He wanted nothing more. He wanted to see her die, to see the life drain from her eyes, and then hang her on the walls of Markarth to slowly rot. But it would be the easy way out, wouldn't it? Letting her spend the rest of her young life as a supplicant, her back lashed open from the self-whipping, her hands bleeding from the labour, and her heart wailing from guilt, never knowing any of the joys of life again… maybe this was the best vengeance he could have.
But how he wanted to drive an arrow through her heart…
As he held the bow drawn, Siari gave him one final smile, then turned around and started walking.