Falkreath Hold, Calidaseer Manor
14th of Morning Star (Vakka), 4E 210
Young Ahahlei Calidaseer nibbled at her shaking claws, furrowing her horn-rimmed brow. She approached her father on light but quivering feet.
When she emerged from the kitchen, she noticed her father in the towering main hall. He sat in a chair by the fireplace, leaned forward and half-engrossed in a book, his back to her.
Ahahlei tracked him with her eyes. He hooked an idle claw on the corner of a page to turn it. She took the opportunity to come around the front of his chair.
At the appearance of her lithe petite figure in his peripheral vision, he glanced up over the rim of his book at her. A warm loving smile spread across his formerly stoic and focused leafgreen-scaled face. Soft cyan eyes glittered a striking contrast in the flickering orange-yellow firelight. Flames illuminated the curving twin horns on his forehead and the sleek purple feathers on his scalp. They danced across the green scales that made up his entire body. His scaly tail poked out behind him lazily through the open backside of the chair.
"Papa?" Ahahlei asked, her voice squeaking one timid decibel louder than she'd intended.
"Yes, Ahahlei?" Sal-Gheel answered her in his deep but tender baritone timbre. He closed his book and turned around to lay it aside on the long dining table standing behind him. "What is it?" He leaned forward and spread out his arms toward his daughter.
Ahahlei stepped into her father's embrace, relishing his warmth. Her leafgreen scales blended seamlessly with his. "Papa, can I ask you a question?" she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, not making eye contact with her father.
"You know you can ask me anything at all,sweetheart," Sal tucked his hands underneath Ahahlei's waist and lifted her up onto his lap, perching her on his knee. "What's on your mind, little one?" He lovingly stroked the plume of purple feathers protruding from her scalp.
"Well…" Ahahlei leaned her head on his shoulder, finally meeting his eyes. The identical cyan eyes they shared gazed sympathetically back at her. His loving stroking of her feathers relaxed her anxious nerves. "You see, Veetmul and I—"
"Well, actually, it was Lei's idea," Emerald-scaled Veetmul Calidaseer appeared on Sal's other side, exiting from the kitchen on the house's west side. He wiped dust and dirt from his brow ringed with small, stubby, curving bone horns, draping a small hand towel over his shoulder.
"No, it wasn't!" Ahahlei protested, pulling away from her father's shoulder to argue with her brother. "It was both our ideas, Veet!"
"You came up with it first!" Veetmul shot back, folding his arms over his chest and pouting.
"No, I didn't! We both did!" Ahahlei stuck out her tongue. "Hmph!"
"All right, kids. Hold on." Sal held back his laughter and put up his palms to pacify his children. He put one arm around Ahahlei's waist, and the other across Veetmul's shoulders. "Let's not create any unnecessary contention here. What idea did you two have?"
"Can you tell us the story of when you were a hatchling?" Veetmul blurted out.
The question took Sal by genuine surprise. He fell silent, musing over the sudden yet innocent question. He leaned back in his chair, arms falling from his children and back down to his sides. Ahahlei scooted over from his knee flat onto his lap.
"I…" He knew he had to choose his words carefully. For them. For himself.
"That's a hard thing to ask of your father. How did you two come up with this? And why did you wait so long to ask me about it?"
"We were just curious, was all, Papa," Veetmul folded his arms over the armrest of his father's chair. "Besides, we were too busy reading and studying all the time, you know?"
He leaned slightly on the armrest, casually swinging his young tail from side to side. "Learning our letters, numbers, listening to you and Mama teach us about the Hist and the Divines."
"We didn't mean anything by it, Papa," Ahahlei added, laying her head on Sal's chest. "We wanted to wait until the time was right."
"I know you didn't mean anything by it, my dear hatchlings," Sal admitted emphatically. "It's just that…"
His voice turned softer, quieter. He took one of Veetmul's hands in his, his other arm again returning around Ahahlei's waist. "It's not a happy story."
"Please, Papa?" Ahahlei locked her eyes with her father's. "We really want to know about you. Where were you born? Who were your parents? What cool places did you visit?"
Sal heaved a deep sigh, averting his eyes from his children. Reluctance showed across every line of his face.
"I wish I could tell you positively, children. About where I was born and who my parents were. I wish I had good memories about all the cool places I visited in Cyrodiil. But…" he bit his lip anxiously. "I can't."
He looked up at his children. "I'm sorry. I just can't. Like I said, it's not a happy story. There's…there's too many bad memories." His brow furrowed, his face now looking grim.
"Don't worry, Papa!" Ahahlei threw her arms around Sal's neck. Veetmul hugged his father around the waist. "Veetmul and I can keep you safe from the bad memories! We'll make them all go away!"
Sal closed his eyes and inhaled deep through his nose. The warmth from his children's bodies seeped into his. He let out a long exhale through his nose. At length, he reopened his eyes and asked,
"Where's your mother?"
"Mama is still in the kitchen," Veetmul pointed to the open kitchen doors. The mouthwatering scent of freshly-baked apple cakes drifted through into the main hall, filling the three Argonians' nostrils. The distant metallic sound of a paddle scraping through an oven accompanied it.
"Wow, that sure smells delicious," Sal remarked. He laid back in his chair, holding his hatchlings close. "I'm sorry, kids. I'm not sure if I can tell you my story. It's too sad. You wouldn't like it. It's nothing like those stories with happy endings that your mother and I read to you at bedtime."
"Please!" The hatchlings both clasped their hands together, as if begging. "Please, Papa?"
"We said we'll keep you safe from all the bad memories!" Ahahlei reminded him. She puffed out her bottom lip, tilting her head sideways and staring at her father with wide, desperate eyes. "We really, really, really mean it!"
"We won't leave you alone, Papa!" Veetmul tagged on, shaking his clasped hands. "We won't let you be sad! Please, we're begging you, Papa! Can you tell us your story?Please? Please?!"
Sal stared at his children, stammering. They stared back at him, their eyes round and wide, their faces pouty and pleading. His face softened and a smile of amused resignation spread across his face.
He sighed and reached up to stroke their heads. "All right. You win." He leaned in to kiss them both on the cheeks. "You're lucky you're both so cute. You two make my heart melt. It's impossible to argue with you, isn't it? Okay. I'll tell you my story."
"Yay! Hooray!" The hatchlings both hugged their father tight, leaping and pushing him back into his chair. Sal laughed and again held them close.
"Go gather our family together. Tell them dessert is ready."
"Yay for dessert!" Ahahlei and Veetmul exclaimed in unison.
They slipped off from Sal's lap onto the floor. Ahahlei hurried down the nearest hallway, and Veetmul sprinted upstairs. Sal groaned in effort as he stood up from his chair, bending backwards to reawaken his muscles, idle from sitting long minutes in the chair. As he watched his hatchlings go their separate ways, he dug his hands into the pockets of his ankle-length trousers. His delight slowly turned to melancholy.
"We're going to be here all night."
As evening settled in over the forests of Falkreath Hold, everyone sat down around the long, rectangular dining table that sat dead center in the Main Hall.
Shahvee passed out her little square-shaped apple cakes, her young hatchlings aiding her. Smoke rose from the baked fruit confectionaries fresh out of the stone oven. Veetmul and Ahahlei jumped and shook their hands with each searing hot cake they placed on a plate. Precise X-shaped patterns were meticulously carved into the dough to keep it from rising too high.
Meanwhile, Lydia and Rayya, the Housecarls, brought Alto Wine and Nord Mead for the adults, and warm goat's milk for the hatchlings. These had come straight from the wine cellars that sat in the basement beneath the house.
Sal-Gheel looked up as Shahvee took her seat beside him, wrapping her hand affectionately around his and brushing kitchen dust from her horn ribbons. An adoring sigh escaped him at the mundane action. His fingers interlaced with his wife's, their scaly hands palms embracing one another.
"Are you sure want to do this, Sal-Gheel?" she asked him, out of the blue. Her thumb stroked the back of his hand.
"Honestly," Sal shrugged, adamant reluctance creasing his face. Shahvee's stroking thumb seemed to calm his nerves. "I'm not even sure if I want to do it." His breathing turned shaky, unsteady. "I don't know if I have the courage; if I'm strong enough."
"You might as well, Sal," Lydia, sitting across from the parents, pointed out. Her arms were folded casually over her chest. When Sal looked up at her in confusion, she shrugged and added, "Sooner or later your hatchlings will find out on their own."
"Erm…" Scouts-Many-Marshes tentatively interjected from the far-left end of the table, holding up a finger. "Just to be clear, this was the hatchlings' idea, right?" He let out a nervous chuckle. "We're not giving them that talk now, are we?"
"By the Hist, no!" Shahvee argued, throwing a scandalized look at her egg-brother. "Of course not! How could you even think that, Marshes?!"
"What talk?" the hatchlings asked in confounded unison.
"N-nothing, hatchlings!" Sal waved a dismissive hand, glaring daggers at Scouts-Many-Marshes, who immediately returned to his dessert. "We'll tell you when you're older!"
"I too am curious," the disembodied, earthbound spirit of Miraak chimed in to bring the conversation back on track. Unlike the others, the masked, robed Dragon Priest did not sit down at the table. Instead, he stood idly leaning against the one of the pillars that held up the staircases of the manor. He too had his arms crossed over his golden armor and midnight-blue robes.
"Long have I wondered about the life story of the Last Dragonborn. How he came to be who he is today. What major events shaped him into the Argonian he has become. What minor events contribute to the building of his personal and moral philosophies. I wonder about these things deeply."
His masked gaze fell on Sal. "What questions lie dormant beneath the surface of his heart, waiting to be answered? What mysteries hide tucked away in the dark corners of his subconscious, gathering dust as they wait to be solved? What exists beyond the reach of your own senses, Dragonborn? We're all quite aquiver with curiosity. Please, enlighten us."
"There's only two people in this room who know the full truth about me," Sal told the Dragon Priest through gritted fangs. He squeezed Shahvee's hand and nodded at Lydia.
His expression softened at a sudden exclaim from Gunjar, the family's carriage driver, holding up his half-eaten cake in delight.
"Shahvee, these apple cakes are exquisite!" he cried out. Beside him, Llewellyn, the bard, popularly nicknamed around Skyrim as "the Nightingale", likewise nodded and hummed his approval, his mouth full of food.
"Oh, wonderful!" Shahvee rubbed the back of her head bashfully, blushing a bit. "I'm so glad you love my cakes! I worked very hard on them! Thank you both so much! Please, everyone, have as many as you'd like!"
Sal allowed himself a genuine chuckle at the heartfelt exchange. He picked up a ripe red-pink apple from the fruit bowl sitting on the table and stared, pondering it.
Do I have a choice in the matter? I did promise the hatchlings…and I hate to break my promises.
He stared round at his fellow Saxhleel. He had never told any of them his true life story. Stands-in-Shallows would tell him to pass down his legacy before his time on Mundus was up.
Shallows would know, wouldn't he? he stared at the elder Argonian. His past battles with Skooma were now cured and far behind him. But age had locked him in its inescapable vice grip.
Gray, pale scales covered his entire body, bare evidence of past molts. His eyes, formerly chalk-white, had begun to turn a misty and ghostly shade. Horns had grown out an inch or so longer than how Sal remembered them eight whole years ago. Hands trembled from weakened nerves and muscles as they lifted the apple cake to his lips. When he opened his mouth to bite, Sal noticed one less fang in either of his jaws than before. He bit down on the cake, tender but hefty, and rolled the cake around in his mouth.
Sal's heart wrenched with empathy at the poor old Argonian's effort, biting his lip and creasing his brow. When their eyes met from up the table, Sal averted his gaze out of respect, trying to appear nonchalant.
If Stands-in-Shallows can pass down his life story before his time is up, then so can I!
Meanwhile, Neetrenaza and Scouts-Many-Marshes both stared at him in evident curiosity. Neetrenaza had one elbow propped up on the table, arm upright and his cheek sitting angled in his palm. Scouts-Many-Marshes had one arm laid lengthwise across the tabletop, giving Sal an encouraging, motivating nod while he nibbled at his cake. Sal returned the gesture, albeit still hesitant.
"From the First Dragonborn to the Last," Miraak raising his voice slightly brought him out of his reverie. He pushed off the pillar with neither effort nor sound and stood up straight, coming up behind Sal's chair. "Time is an elusive luxury. You should never let it pass you by, Dragonborn, as I did. Tell your story. Reveal your truth. Let time take care of the rest. My time ran out long ago. Don't let yours do the same."
BOOM!
A sudden deafening boom of thunder drowned out Sal's vocalization to reply to Miraak. The feathery drizzling of rain followed it in an instant, pelting on the glass casement windows of the manor.
"Eeek!" Ahahlei slipped out of her chair and bolted to her parents' sides. "Mama, Papa, the thunder is so loud!" She climbed into her mother's lap and dug her face into Shahvee's chest.
"It's all right, darling!" Shahvee laughed and held her daughter close. "I'll protect you from the loud thunderstorm. You'll be all right; you're safe with me."
"Veetmul, you okay?" Sal reached out to his son sitting on his left side, putting a hand on the young boy's shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Dad!" Veetmul put his hands on his hips, puffing out his chest, trying to look tough. "I ain't afraid of no storms!"
C-RACK!
"Aaahhh!" At the second cracking clap of thunder, as though the sky itself would rent in two, Veetmul cried out at the top of his lungs and likewise sprang out of his chair—straight into his father's lap.
"Ha-ha!" Ahahlei poked her face out from between her mother's arms to point and laugh at her brother. "Little Veety is afraid of storms!"
"I-I a-am not!" Veetmul complained. He blushed and bared his budding fangs at his sister. "B-be quiet, Ahahlei!"
"Be nice, hatchlings!" Shahvee reprimanded her children in between bouts of laughter. The hatchlings, having been duly chastised, leaned on their parents.
"Well, looks like we'll be stuck here for the rest of the night," Rayya, the Housecarl of Falkreath, commented. She sat down beside Lydia, adjusting her Alik'r Hood and picking up her apple cake. "Sal-Gheel, you might as well tell us your story. Table's set and fireplace is lit. We're only waiting on you, my Thane."
Skepticism etched every line of Sal's face, unease in his eyes. He gingerly replaced the apple in the fruit bowl. He wrapped his arms close around Veetmul, cuddling the boy, losing himself in his own thoughts. For a moment, nobody spoke. Only the chaotic crackling of the fireplace and the thuds of wine glasses on the hardwood table filled the otherwise drawn-out silence.
"Sal-Gheel, please listen to us," Lydia shattered the quietude at length. Sal could not mistake the tenderness in her voice. He shifted his head slightly over Veetmul's shoulders to meet his Housecarl's eyes. "If you were powerful enough to defeat Alduin the World-Eater in Sovngarde…"
"Stealthy enough to steal for me that bottle of Dunmer Double-Distilled Skooma…" Stands-in-Shallows added, his mouth half full of apple cake.
"Bold enough to bring me down in Apocrypha…" Miraak tacked on, folding his arms a second time and returning to his place at the pillar.
"Primal enough to win the Civil War for the Imperial Legion…" Scouts-Many-Marshes chimed in.
"Fierce enough to eradicate the Thalmor…" Rayya reminded before a drink of Alto Wine.
"Courageous enough to face and destroy a traumatizing subconscious memory of the Alduin…" Lydia called up.
"Tough enough to talk down and convince Torbjorn Shatter-Shield…" Scouts-Many-Marshes recalled, now starting on his cake.
"Assertive enough to stand up to those racist Windhelm Nords…" Neetrenaza jogged Sal's memory amidst pouring himself his second cup of wine.
"Smart enough to build this masterpiece of a house…" Llewellyn the Nightingale piped up.
"Heroic enough to retrieve my Amulet of Zenithar from those terrible thieves…" Shahvee finished.
"Loving and awesome enough to be the best Papa ever!" Ahahlei and Veetmul cried out in chorus.
Shahvee's hand moved to caress her husband's back. "If you are all of these things, Sal-Gheel, then you are far, far more capable than you think to tell the story of your childhood."
Sal seemed to melt in his seat. He took a moment to let everyone's words sink into him, his heart filling with their warmth, love, and appreciation. A light squeeze from Shahvee's hand returning to his soothed his unsettled nerves. She leaned in and kissed him tenderly on the cheek for good measure.
"It's all right, Sal-Gheel. We're all here for you." As if to support his mother's words, Veetmul wrapped his arms around his father's neck, burying his face in his chest.
Sal took a moment to compose himself. Finally, he poured himself a goblet of Alto Wine and sighed. He wrapped his other arm around Veetmul's waist.
"It all started 23 years ago, in Cyrodiil, when I was a little hatchling in a city called Bravil…"