17th of Rain's Hand
Ding, dong! The unexpected pealing of the morning chapel bells shocked Sal-Gheel wide awake.
Ding, dong! Their sonorant, clangorous, metallic tolling resounded through every single corner of the city, far and wide.
Ding, dong! He clapped his hands to his head at their reverberating sound. He turned and noticed its steps just behind the Lucky Old Lady.
"The chapel!" He thought aloud to himself once the pealing had ceased. "Of course! Maybe they'll give me food! And a bath, too, I hope…"
He sat up and let out a wide noisy yawn, stretching and shaking himself awake. His head and limbs and tail flailed and whipped up and down and side to side.
"It's not perfect." He made his way down from the Lucky Old Lady's dais. "But it'll have to do."
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he let his feet guide him to the chapel.
He came around the back of the Lucky Old Lady. The chapel towered over him; the steps cutting straight through his eyeline—
"Whoa—Ooof!"
His foot caught on something solid. He tripped forward. He slid into the thick, freezing cold dirt on his stomach.
"Well, lookee what we have here!"
Sal-Gheel lifted his head and turned to one side. Just in time to hear footsteps rushing towards him.
"Hey!" he exclaimed as dry and calloused hands grabbed hold of his ankles. Another pair of arms grabbed his shoulders and turned him onto his back.
"Little Argonian boy!" a male Bosmer observed. His hands clamped around Sal-Gheel's shoulders. "Ripe for the taking!"
"Hey!" Sal-Gheel writhed against the Wood Elf's grip. "Let me go!"
"Aww!" A Redguard woman leaned over him, her hands tightening around his ankles. "What's the matter, baby boy?" The Yokudan stared down at him with a sultry expression. "All covered in mud?"
"Don't worry!" A female Khajiit took hold of his mud-coated shirt. "We can help with that!"
"Pin him down, Engndir!" The Redguard ordered the Bosmer.
"Get off me!" Sal-Gheel's anger and abrupt fright mixed together. "Leave me alone!"
"No way, kid!" The Bosmer lifted his arms over his head and pinned them down on the ground. "You fell right into our trap! You're ours now!"
"No!" Sal-Gheel cried out. "Stop!" But only a predatory laugh and grin came from the Bosmer I reply.
"Up with the shirt, says Moajma!" The female Khajiit forced Sal-Gheel's shirt up to his shoulders.
"Down with the trousers, says Ysirsandra!" The Redguard pulled his trousers all the way down.
Moajma rubbed her paws over his exposed scaly torso and chest. "By Jone and Jode! Cute little body on you for such a small sakhliit child!"
Engndir pulled the shirt clean over his head. He tossed it over his shoulder and onto the chapel steps.
"No, don't!" He shook his head with vigor. "Please!" he begged. But she slipped them straight off his ankles. "Those are the only pair I have!" She tossed them nonchalantly over her shoulder.
"Nice round cheeks," she snuck her hands underneath his loincloth, feeling the shape of his rear and tail. He tried to pull away. But the Bosmer's vice grip held him bound to the cold thick mud.
"Any chance we get that loincloth off of you?" Engndir glanced at the hatchling's crotch, licking his lips. "I've always wanted to see a naked Saxhleel! Don't spoil him before I get to have a turn, girls!"
"What a lucky stud you are, Argonian!" Ysirsandra praised. "Three people want you!"
Sal thrashed and flailed against their tightening grips. But neither of the three adults relented.
"Oy!" Engndir laughed, digging his fingers into the Argonian's wrists. "Feisty little one, aren't you? But that'll just make you easier to bed! Won't it, ladies?"
"Don't be afraid, little one," Moajma, the Khajiit, removed her shirt.
"No! Nononononono!" he protested as she took his face in her paws. His eyes widened in abject horror when she pulled him towards her.
Between the crook of her arm and her body, he spied the doors of the chapel.
If I can just break free…If I can just get inside, I'll be safe!
"Come to Moajma, child…" Moajma pressed his face to her chest. He cried out and tried to pull free.
But the Khajiit was already undoing the straps of her top with one hand. He wriggled as the bra fell from her. The silk fabric slipped over him for an instant before falling to the ground.
"Leave me alone!" he screamed at the tops of his lungs between her bare breasts. "I'm warning you! You are all so gross!"
"Time for the main event!" Ysirsandra pried his legs apart. She slowly moved towards him, also spreading open her crotch.
"Ohhh, yes!" The Redguard moaned, touching her crotch to his. She began grinding on Sal-Gheel's genitals, moaning out loud. His legs twitched and thrashed in protest when she mounted him and rubbed their groins together. "Oh, oh, oh!"
"I said…" the hatchling hissed deep in his throat through gritted teeth. He turned his head away from the topless Khajiit.
A faint fiery glow materialized behind his irises.
"Leave me ALONE!"
His veins and arteries and capillaries all combusted at once.
"Aaaaaahhhhhhh!" The trio recoiled and freed him in immediate terror. They all leaped away, falling flat onto their backs.
Sal-Gheel climbed to his feet. He stood to his fullest height. Blazing yellow flames filled the whole of his irises. Every single blood vessel, venule, and arteriole glowed a blinding, flaming golden. As if they had been set ablaze by some heavenly power.
"N-nice Argonian…" Engndir inched towards him, reaching out a hand to the hatchling's shoulder. "Good Argonian—yoooooooowww!"
Moajma jumped, frightened by the Bosmer's scream. Ysirsandra clapped a hand to her mouth. Her face drained of color.
"Hotter than the center of Magnus himself, he is!" Engndir clutched his overheated, blistering, reddening hand. He stumbled away and turned his back on them.
"Do not touch me!" Sal-Gheel raised an accusing finger at the approaching Redguard and Khajiit. A deeper and grittier voice had joined his own.
"Do not touch me, ever again!" It growled from the depths of its throat. His throat.
He threw his other hand out beside him at Engndir. "Or you will suffer my wrath!"
"We'd better run for it!" Moajma scrambled to pick up her bra. She hurried to her feet, fumbling to replace it back onto her chest.
"We'll get you for this, kid!" Ysirsandra seethed. "You haven't seen the last of us!"
"Moajma will get her mouth on you one day, sakhliit!" Moajma licked her lips at him and sprinted after the Redguard.
"Hey! Wait for me!" Engndir staggered after them. They vanished into the shadows of the houses and alleyways.
Sal-Gheel reined in his heavy breathing. He shut his eyes and inhaled through his nose. Then he exhaled out through his mouth.
His body temperature dropped in an instant. His bloodstream no longer burned within him.
He snapped his eyes back open. The flames had burned out behind them.
Walking on unconscious feet, he fetched his clothes and slipped them back on.
Then, without even a backwards glance, he climbed the chapel steps.
The Great Chapel of Mara
Sal's breath caught in his throat at the chapel towering over him. A slightly piney aroma surrounded him like a warm comforting blanket. Beneath it, the woodsy floral honey of fresh acacias. Indeed, they hung in small white bouquets knotted to the armrests of each wooden pew he passed by. Colorful sunlight beamed down upon him in diagonal rays from the towering stained-glass windows. An unfamiliar though not altogether unwelcome wave of relief washed over him.
Circular, smoking, ceramic incense burners sat on each side of the central altar. From these the pine-scented smell had come. Underneath them, abstract hints of lilac and plumeria. The smoke drifted in balletic strands under his nostrils. The dusty stone floor scraped and brushed beneath his muddy sandals with every quivering step.
One arm wrapped close around his chest. The other trembling hand pressed to the altar's wide and circular stone frame.
A vivid sky-blue ball of energy shot out and struck him smack in the chest.
He cried out—but no pain came.
Instead, the ball burst into streams of divine essence. They swirled around him in rising spirals, before dissipating into nothingness.
"What the—?"
"Rejoice, my child. Through faith, your afflictions are banished!"
Sal-Gheel turned round to see a slender and lithe Nord woman in muted taupe robes walking towards him. Her dainty hands were clasped at her waist. A small hood covered her head, adorned in shoulder-length brunette hair.
"Priestess Sirimgeira Ebon-Brand," the hatchling acknowledged. He stared down at his feet. He dared not look upon the holy woman with his unworthy eyes.
"What is on your mind, child?" Sirimgeira dropped to her knees in front of him. She placed a gentle, soft hand on his shoulder. The hatchling flinched at her touch. She withdrew and lowered her hand onto her lap.
"What is wrong, my Argonian friend?" Sirimgeira whispered, comforting, encouraging. "Please, speak your mind. You are in no danger here. What troubles your mind, my child?"
"These…people…" he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "A Wood Elf, a Khajiit, and a Redguard. They tripped me..." A lump formed in his throat, stopping his words short. Small tears sprang to his eyes.
"Then they pinned me down on the ground. Pulled my clothes off…" He rubbed his sleeve on his wet eyes. "And they tried to touch me all over my body."
He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. "The Redguard woman even touched my rear! And my tail!"
"Gods!" Sirimgeira's face drained of color. Her face fell, her eyes softening with empathy. "Oh, my child, I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"
"I, I... I don't know!" Sal-Gheel shrugged, arms still wrapped round himself. He trembled in his own protective embrace. "I tried to fight back. But they kept holding me down, and—and touching me…Oh, and the Khajiit woman pressed my face to her chest. Then the Redguard tried to touch me between my legs, and—,"
"You need say no more, little Saxhleel," Sirimgeira interjected, and he fell silent. "What happened wasn't your fault. If anything, it's the fault of those depraved predators."
She reached out to place her hands on his shoulders, hesitating. He dropped his timid arms by his sides, but nodded. She rested her gentle hands on his shoulders.
"You didn't deserve what happened to you. Deep down, you know that."
"I know it's not right to get revenge…" he mumbled half under his breath. He averted his eyes from her, absentminded towards the stone floor.
"And it would be wrong as well," Sirimgeira agreed, nodding. "You can't change what they did to you. You can't change their character. But you can control how you decide to react to it." She rubbed his shoulders up and down. Her thumbs caressed his joints.
"You can decide to be kind to yourself. To forgive yourself. To be happy. That in and of itself…is just as good as—if not better than—getting revenge. Your revenge…for yourself."
The hatchling's eyes turned the other way. A fresh well of tears filled them. "But I don't think I deserve to be happy."
"You don't?" Sirimgeira tilted her head to one side. "Why is that? Why do you believe that?"
"Why…?" Sal-Gheel chose his words, forming the sentence in his mind. It came hesitant and reserved from his mouth. "Why did the altar bless me? I haven't done anything good at all lately, Mother."
"What do you mean when you say you haven't done anything good?" Sirimgeira tilted her head to one side, curious and empathetic. "Can you try your best to explain that to me?"
"Well…" the hatchling turned away, averting his gaze and body from the sacred woman. He rubbed his arm up and down as it hung stiff by his side. "I stole a loaf of bread from the Breadsmith for my breakfast yesterday. Sourdough, fresh out of the oven. Had almonds all over it."
"I see…" Sirimgeira straightened her head and looked away from the hatchling for a moment, searching her thoughts. "You believe you are unworthy of the chapel's blessing because you committed an act of theft the other day. Is that what I am to understand?"
"Yes, priestess," the hatchling turned back to her and nodded.
"Did you commit the theft with intentional malice?" Sirimgeira met the hatchling's eyes. Her heart wrenched in her chest at the sight of the hatchling's weary and listless pupils.
"No, Mother…" Sal-Gheel gulped and continued rubbing his arm. He turned his thoughtful gaze upwards at the ceiling, thinking. "Not really?"
He made a sheepish, clueless shrug. Though his facial expression hardly shifted. "I only stole it because I was hungry. This other Khajiit woman who was there yelled at me, too. She said I almost made the baker lose business because I stole his bread."
"Ah, Jakino Statori's bakery," Sirimgeira nodded, understanding. "Must've been Shurassa Tavakani, that cantankerous hag. She is a regular customer at Statori's place. So, you intended no ill harm towards Mr. Statori when you stole his bread?" she guessed.
"No, ma'am," the hatchling responded with a vigorous shake of his head. "I didn't do it hoping he'd lose money or business. I was just so hungry. I hadn't had anything to eat all. People wouldn't give me food or drink. All the other beggars in the city wouldn't share their food with me, either."
Sirimgeira's heart sank. She let out a sympathetic sigh.
"May I put my hands on your shoulders again?" she asked the hatchling, reaching out to him.
The hatchling nodded but did not say a word. Sirimgeira replaced her hands on his shoulders. The child said nothing, but exhaled in relief and contentment.
"You wanted to know why the altar forgave you, instead of compelling you to repent of your wicked ways," she began, her voice caring and her words full of empathy. "You may have thought that your act of theft was a sin, when it was not. You had good intentions behind your stealing of the bread from the Breadsmith. You did not have intents of malice or ill will towards Jakino Statori. Nor did you deliberately bring harm upon Shurassa and her husband, Ayiheh, who witnessed your petty theft. You did it out of desperation, but also of benevolence. Again, for yourself."
"It was my last resort," the hatchling added, his voice dropped to a whisper. "I was so hungry…" He pressed a hand to his stomach, and winced.
"Seeing as you are here in the chapel," Sirimgeira voiced her thoughts. "The guards decided not to take you to prison. They would have been in the right to do so."
"Captain Gemanius said he and his guards released me because I was a little child," the hatchling remembered, casting his memory back to the Guard Captain's words. "They weren't going to try me in court."
"There you have your answer," Sirimgeira completed the thought for him. "You are innocent, little one. Not as infamous as you think you may be."
"Even after what that Redguard and Khajiit and Bosmer did to me?" He lowered his gaze, his initial sadness turning to anger.
"I cannot speak for the altar," Sirimgeira shrugged, and Sal-Gheel knew her sincerity. "But trust me that it knows the difference."
The hatchling did not reply and only looked back down at his feet. Sirimgeira patted him on the shoulders, then stood up.
"You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like, my child," she told the hatchling, as if reading his mind.
"Wait…really?!" The hatchling looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Yet his eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky. "Every other place has turned me away. The Fighter's Guild, the alleyways, the Breadsmith. I didn't know where else to go…"
He stepped down from the altar. Hands in his wet pockets, he paced up and down the length of the chapel. "All this time I've spent on the streets…I've lost count of the days and weeks. How long has it been since Mom and Dad have been gone now? A year?"
He spoke out loud to no one in particular. The priestess' eyes followed him, listening in silence. When he reached the end of the pews, he turned around again and paced back in their direction.
"Why, Mother? Why didn't you take me in earlier?"
Sirimgeira opened her mouth. But no sound came out.
"U-um…" she stammered, and shut her mouth. The hatchling raised a scaly eyebrow, unconvinced.
"Uh…W-well," Sirimgeira chose her words carefully. "We—that is to say, the clergy and I—had no idea you existed."
"No idea I—What do you mean, no idea I existed?!" The hatchling exploded, indignant. The priestess flinched at the unexpected shout coming from so small a creature. "What, like my parents and I were the only Argonians living in this filthy city?!"
"You never did come to church—"
"Aren't I here now?!"
The hatchling's shout resounded around the chapel. A pregnant silence fell between the two of them. Only the hatchling's heaving breaths of barely-contained anger punctuated it.
He dropped his arms by his sides and released a resigned but still indignant sigh. He turned to his left to look up at the stained-glass windows on the walls.
"Mother," he walked up to one window standing in between the figures of Julianos and Arkay. The image of a human's head adjoined to a dragon towered over him. Both looked off in opposite directions. A golden halo encircling them glowed in the late afternoon sunlight. The figures clasped an upright hourglass between their hands.
"Who is this god, Priestess?"
"That is Akatosh," Sirimgeira allowed a smile to adorn her face. She knelt at the hatchling's side as he approached the altar. "He is the God of Time. Chief deity of the Eight Divines. In the ancient legends of my people—the Nords—we called him the Father of Dragons. There are myths that say that the Dragons are the children of Akatosh."
"Akatosh…" The hatchling spoke the name in the most reverent of whispers. He stepped around the altar and directly below the stained-glass window. His unconscious hand reached out to touch the glass. His eyes affixed on the image as if in some sort of strange trance.
For a split second, the urge to stop him crossed Sirimgeira's mind. But then—
"Gods' blood!"
His fingers brushed against the bottom of the stained-glass. He half-flinched and turned to Sirimgeira at her exclamation. His fingers withdrew in a swift sheepish manner.
The priestess gasped aloud and drew back slightly. The wholes of the hatchling's eyes glowed like brilliant glowing fire.
Then the hatchling gasped. Once again, a blazing fiery aura bathed the world in golden and amber hues. Robes, stone, glass. Flesh, skin, scales. Candlelight, sunlight, cloth, altar. All burned in a divine enflamed aura.
"Don't be afraid!" he blurted out. Though whether to the priestess or himself; he could not be sure. He backed away from the priestess and the stained-glass portrait of Akatosh.
The brightness faded away as quickly as it had appeared. Colors returned to the world. He stood directly beneath the window displaying Julianos, the Aedric God of Wisdom and Logic.
Sirimgeira gathered her wits and cleared her throat. She drew near to the hatchling again. He only stared back at her, genuine curiosity and apology in his face.
"Mother Sirimgeira? Are you okay? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"
"I'm fine, child," Sirimgeira dropped to her knees in front of him. "You did nothing wrong. I'm surprised, but not scared."
"Oh, that's a relief," the hatchling exhaled and held a hand to his heart, relaxing.
She stared deep into his eyes. Cyan sclerae with round, coin-sized irises and pupils stared back at her. Neither spoke for a moment. Sirimgeira watched with patient yet meticulous intent.
But the fires did not return to the Argonian's eyes.
"You…" she whispered in reverent awe at length. "You have a touch of the divine about you, Argonian."
"A touch of the divine?" he repeated her words back to her with gracious but earnestly confused respect. "What do you mean, Priestess?"
"To be honest…" Sirimgeira examined the lines of his face. She leaned left and right. Her gaze roved over him. "I don't really understand myself."
She stood back up. The hatchling watched her but said nothing. Sirimgeira glanced up at the portrait of Akatosh. Then back at the hatchling. Then Akatosh again.
"Argonian, I have an idea." She leaned down until she was at the hatchling's eye level. "Why don't we take you in?"
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "R-really?!" he asked, dumbfounded. "Y-you'd take me in?"
"Yes, really," the priestess nodded, and Sal couldn't doubt her sincerity. "We can take you in. Give you a home here at the chapel."
She gestured around at the main cathedral hall. "We'll give you a place to sleep, three meals a day. You'll live here right here in the chapel."
She also pointed down the stairway into the lower levels of the chapel. "This way, you'll be sheltered from the elements. Safer still from the dangers of the streets."
She dropped to one knee on the ground, her eyes never leaving the Argonian. "The priests and I can make sure you continue your education. Religious and secular."
"I'm smart," Sal-Gheel explained, and Sirimgeira could not mistake the sincere respect for her in his voice. "I know how to read and write, and all that stuff. I can count, too, and I know my ABCs. The months of the year…"
He began counting off on his fingers, staring off in no direction. "The days of the week. How to tell time. Basic arithmetic. I know lots of things. I even speak Jel!"
"Good start!" Sirimgeira nodded, smiling. "You have a strong foundation for you to build upon. You're clearly very well-spoken and finely educated. There's no denying that."
She clasped her hands over her waist. "Yet you can learn so much more here as well. We'll look after your health and well-being on every level."
She thought over her next words, then nodded. "I can educate you on the Eight Divines and their teachings. And I'm sure we have some books on the Hist somewhere."
Placing her hand under his chin, she looked him deep in the eyes. Hers twinkled in the sunlight. Argonian met Nord, staring in silence at each other.
"And you'll never have to beg or steal ever again."
At first, the hatchling's brow furrowed. He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
Sirimgeira removed her hand from his chin, letting out a long sigh. "I know it seems hard for you to trust anyone right now, little Saxhleel. Especially considering everything you've been through. I also know nothing I say will fully convince you to give yourself completely over to the clergy."
She held her hands out to him once more. "But I want you to at least give us a chance."
"What about the other priests?" Sal-Gheel turned over his shoulder and stared down at the staircase. "Do you really think they'll be okay with you taking in an Argonian?"
He turned back to Sirimgeira, anxiety across his face. "A homeless street urchin orphan like me?"
"That's the hard part, I'm afraid," Sirimgeira exhaled a heavier sigh than the first. "Convincing them to let you into our ranks at your age…That'll be the real trial. You being an Argonian won't be the problem at all."
She rubbed the back of her head, nervous but thinking. "Only your lack of qualifications. Perhaps I can speak to them. Best case-scenario, we can enroll you in the seminary. It's a simple education, and there's no money required."
"And the Count and Countess?" Sal-Gheel tilted his head to one side. "Will you have to talk to them about adopting me?"
"Oh, no, we won't, dear," Sirimgeira leaned down to his eye level. "The chapel operates independent of the royal court. No need for tedious paperwork or lengthy debates. We can simply adopt you on the spot—oh!"
She let out a gasp of sudden surprise when the hatchling threw himself into her.
"Thank you!" he cried, burying his face into her torso. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
When at last they separated, tears streaks stained the young hatchling's face. But he bore a broad smile brighter than the morning sun.
"I—I can't promise I'll be—p-perfect, Priestess," he explained, catching his breath. "But I'll do my very best to be a good member of the chapel for you! And everyone else!"
Sirimgeira laughed, a fond smile spreading across her face. She lifted the sash of her robe to wipe the tear streaks from the Argonian's face.
"You don't need to worry about being completely perfect, my child. All that matters is that you learn from your mistakes, and take everything one step at a time. And we'll be there with you all the way."
She dropped her sash and knelt. "Now, I believe our first order of business should be to get you a bath. After that, a hearty breakfast. How about that?"
"That sounds wonderful, Priestess!" The hatchling's face brightened. He nodded in vigorous agreement.
"Excellent!" Sirimgeira stood back up and offered her hand to him. "Come downstairs with me. I'll arrange for the Healer and the Priest to draw you a bath."
"You're not coming?" he asked as he took her hand. He tilted his head to one side in curiousity.
"I must speak with the Primate about you. Our chief bishop," she added, seeing his furrowed brow of confusion. "Don't worry, you won't be in any trouble. He handles all the goings-on in this chapel, religious or otherwise."
They descended the stone steps to the Chapel Hall. "He'll be the one to ultimately decide if we can adopt you or not."
"I understand, Priestess," Sal-Gheel nodded, stepping in perfect rhythm with the Nord.
"Goodness me, I've just realized," Sirimgeira held a hand to her mouth, letting out a sheepish laugh. She took his hands in her own when they reached the bottom of the stairs. "I apologize, I didn't ask you for your name."
"Sal-Gheel," the proud hatchling declared. "Sal-Gheel Calidaseer."
Chapel Hall, Primate's Office
"An Argonian hatchling?"
The Primate peered out from under the hood of his brilliant crimson silk robes. His quill stopped mid-stroke. Lamp-black carbon ink dripped idly from the tip onto the parchment below.
"I know it sounds really far-fetched, Valutinian," Sirimgeira sat across his desk from him. Her hands sat in her lap. She had her hood dropped, brunette hair flowing free over her shoulders. "I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it. But there's something…different about this hatchling. Strange. Unique. I can't quite place my finger on it. Yet I can feel a certain…"
She waved her hand about from side to side, reaching for the right words to say. "Aura…about him."
Valutinian slowly laid down his quill. He leaned back in his chair. Neither of them said a word for a long moment. Only his drumming fingers upon the table, and a lively crackling from the fireplace behind him, punctuated the delicate silence.
"You said his eyes glowed when he touched the window of Akatosh?" the Imperial asked at length.
"Yes, Primate," Sirimgeira nodded. "I haven't told you a single word that wasn't the truth. I saw it all happen."
"Of course, I trust your word, Sirimgeira," Valutinian placed his hands on his table, interlacing his fingers together. "Rest assured, I haven't a problem with him being an Argonian. Never in a million years would I ever turn away one in need of our help."
He gestured to himself and then to Sirimgeira. "Man, mer, or beast. All are welcome within our sacred halls." He dropped his hood onto his shoulders, and flattened his unkempt mat of charcoal-black hair.
"As our Divines encouraged, and that's exactly why we need to take him in, Val," Sirimgeira insisted. She tapped her finger on the table in emphasis. "This is the safest place for him. He'd be safe from those wretched streets; from people who'd try to harm or take advantage of him. I'd rather have him live here than spend another day on the filthy streets on Bravil." She spread her arms wide, asserting herself.
"For Mara's sake, a trio of depraved people tried to molest him on his way here. Perhaps, if we took him in, we can prevent that from ever happening again. The Divines will protect him when he cannot protect himself."
"An Argonian with an unusual connection to Akatosh…" the Primate thought aloud. "Spent a year living and begging on the streets. No parents, no extended family, no next of kin…
"Stole a loaf of bread from Jakino Statori's bakery," Sirimgeira counted on a finger.
"Tossed into the Larsius by a Khajiit," Valutinian added with his own finger.
"Thrown out of the Castle by the guards."
"Denied food and drink for an entire day. Almost ravished by predators who…ahem…"
He averted his awkward gaze. "Well, I suppose 'twould be insensitive for me to say…They attempted to teach him the Dibellan arts...erm, prematurely."
"Which is why he should live with us," Sirimgeira laid her hands in her lap. She sat upright in her chair. "Those people wouldn't dare try to touch him again. If they know he's under our protection."
She leaned in to the Imperial to strengthen her words. "Perhaps we can also uncover why the Divines have touched him the way they have. Especially Akatosh."
Valutinian met Sirimgeira's eyes. "Where is the boy now?"
"Mathnude and Romarcella are giving him a bath as we speak," Sirimgeira pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "Then we plan to give him breakfast."
"I'll admit, he is indeed curious," Valutinian confessed. He picked up his quill with an idle hand. Conscientious, he cleaned the ink from it on a napkin. Then he put it aside and sealed his inkwell shut. The parchment he'd previously been writing on he placed atop a stack of books.
To Sirimgeira's surprise, he nodded. "All right, Sirim. You've made a solid case. I should very much like to meet with this Argonian hatchling during breakfast." He stood up and made to exit his desk.
"You'll consider it?" Sirimgeira also stood to her feet. "Adopting him?"
"I make no promises," Valutinian admitted, and Sirimgeira could not mistake his frank honesty. He lifted his hood over his head, and she followed suit. "But if what everything you've told me is true…Then we may very well have a living miracle in our hands."
Chapel Bath Hall
"You're not peeking at me?"
"No, Sal-Gheel," Romarcella Plinale dropped her long blonde hair down over her shoulders. "We're not peeking."
"Do you need any help getting into the bathtub, little one?" Mathnude turned his head slightly in the hatchling's direction.
"No, thank you, Father Mathnude. I can do it."
Sal-Gheel untied and slipped out of his loincloth. He folded and laid it neat and flat on top of his dirty clothes.
He grabbed the edge of the small porcelain ivory-colored bathtub. In one single movement he had swung both legs over the rim.
His tail coiled around the polished brass faucet. A little giggle escaped him: it was so finely polished that his own muddy reflection smiled back at him.
Arms spread out and tail uncoiled from the faucet. Splash! He flopped into the smooth hot bath.
The steaming water engulfed his entire body. Cool crisp air flooded his gills in an instant. He soaked it all in, feeling it hug every inch of his scales so gently. A stark contrast to the filth and sewage-ridden canal.
Is this what the waters in Black Marsh feel like?
He took a few seconds to breathe in the aromas of the pure holy water. All his worries faded from his mind. His thoughts cleared like a dispelling fog or mist. His heart soared in his chest as though it had grown wings.
Wings. Heh. Would be nice to have wings. Spread them out and fly away from this Hist-forsaken place…
Finally, he broke the surface and turned around to see the clergy's backs to him. A thin layer of misty vapor drifted up and around the bath hall.
"All right. I'm ready now." The water splashed around him as he leaned over the edge of the tub.
They both breathed a sigh of relief and turned round to face him.
"By the Eight, you've got a smell about you, Sal-Gheel," Romarcella knelt in front of the bathtub. Mathnude plopped down beside her. "Whereabouts have you been bathing?"
"In the Larsius," Sal-Gheel explained, wiping water from his face. "This mean Khajiit lady named Shurassa Tavakani tossed me in there yesterday. It's a long story."
"You were tossed into the Larsius?!" Mathnude put down the bowl of soap he'd been holding on top of the tub. "Divines preserve you! Why would they do that to such an innocent soul like you?"
"Beats me," Sal-Gheel shrugged. He stared curious at the bowl.
"See this?" Romarcella picked up a square-shaped bar of golden soap from the bowl. "We call it Dragon's Tongue. I'm going to use it to clean your head."
She turned the bar over and over in her hands, inspecting it. "Works wonders for us here at the chapel."
"It's a lovely color, Mother Romarcella!" Sal beamed watching the priestess rub the Dragon's Tongue into her hands, working it into a lather. The Imperial smiled in return.
"I'll use this here Spriggan Soap to wash your body," Mathnude showed him the green bar. Sal took it in his hands and turned it over, exclaiming in awe. He giggled as it squeaked in his palms and stuck to his fingers.
"It's green, just like me!"
"Yes, indeed!" Mathnude chuckled. He rolled up the sleeves of his burgundy tunic to his forearms. Sal returned the Spriggan Soap to him. "Shall we get started?"
"The sooner we get you bathed," Romarcella reached up to take his head in her hands. She rubbed the Dragon's Tongue into his scale feathers and sewage-ridden scalp. "The sooner you can have your delectable breakfast!"
Mathnude too worked the Spriggan Soap into a lather. He rubbed it on Sal's shoulders, working outwards towards his arms and hands. Romarcella continued to clean his head. She worked her soap into a small sponge and dabbed it on Sal's forehead bone horns.
"The soaps smell so good," Sal commented, closing his eyes and focusing on the light floral scents. "Almost kinda like…flowers." He spread out his arms to give Mathnude access to his chest and stomach. "They're so relaxing..."
"They are indeed lovely, aren't they?" Mathnude soaped Sal's chest and stomach with gentle hands. "They remind me of the incense burners in the chapel."
The Breton passed him the Spriggan Soap. The hatchling formed it in his hands. He soaped in and around his legs, feet, rear, and entire tail.
"May I clean your back?" Mathnude asked, and Sal nodded his consent. The water swirled with him as he circled around to expose his back. He faced the pale stone wall, adorned by a flank of brightly-burning torches.
"Nearly finished here, child," the Breton Priest cleaned his back and shoulder blades. "Thank you most kindly for being so cooperative."
He cupped his hands in the water to rinse the soap away. He used a second handful of water to brush back his unkempt blonde mullet. Romarcella snickered and likewise straightened her black ponytail.
"I'm finished," Romarcella announced, withdrawing her soap-covered hands. She washed her hands to rinse Sal's feathers and horns.
"This is so much nicer than bathing in the Larsius," Sal commented. At the soap dripping down his face, he shut his eyes instinctively. "Cleaner and cooler, too." The Dragon's Tongue froth slipped over his eyelids and down the sides of his nose. He splashed his face to clean it up; Romarcella wiped away any excess.
"And there we go!" Romarcella proclaimed, spreading her hands wide in a gesture of finality. "All clean!"
"Look over there at that mirror, Sal-Gheel," Mathnude gestured at a tall body mirror standing on the far-right end of the room.
Sal surveyed his reflection in the mirror. His body sparkled and glistened in the beaming daylight. Not a trace of canal filth or sewage in sight.
"Oh, wow!" He clapped his hands to his face, smiling from ear to ear. "I've never looked this clean in such a long time!"
He snapped around and wrapped his wet arms around the two clergy member's necks. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" Though taken by surprise, they laughed and hugged him back.
"Now, then," Romarcella stood up and adjusted her robe. "We must get you dressed so you'll be ready to meet the Primate!"
He climbed out of the bath, and they toweled him off.
"Would you like us to keep your old clothes, Sal-Gheel?" Romarcella held Sal's old tunic and trousers to him. "I can wash and have them ironed, if you'd like to hold onto them."
"Yes, Healer," Sal nodded. He slipped back into his loincloth behind the towel Mathnude held up. "I would very much like to keep them. They're the only things I have that remind me of my—"
He stopped himself short and gulped. "…of my old home."
"I understand," Romarcella nodded. She draped the clothes over her arm. "I'll go take care of them right away." Mathnude cleaned away the last of the water.
"This way, son," he stood up and beckoned to Sal-Gheel. Curious, Sal followed him through an adjacent door.
"This is the sacristy." He waved a hand over a candelabra to light it. He did the same to torches and candles around the room. They bathed the space in a beautiful amber and sunny light. "Here is where we keep our garments and vestments, church furnishings, sacred vessels, and the parish records."
He flicked a hand; the doors of a large rectangular armoire wardrobe sprang wide open. Peering inside, Sal noticed it was chock-full of everyday, secular clothes.
"Take a look in there, Sal-Gheel. Let me know if anything catches your eye."
Sal selected a small navy-blue tuxedo shirt and sleek black wide pants. Mathnude helped him fit a pair of freshly-shined Doeskin Shoes on his feet.
"Oh, don't you just look absolutely dashing!" Romarcella gushed when they returned to the Bath Hall. She held in her arms his freshly-laundered clothes. "So handsome!" Sal couldn't help but giggle and blush.
They led Sal-Gheel to the Chapel Hall proper. A door opened from the far-left corner. Out stepped Sirimgeira, followed by a stranger in a brilliant crimson-golden robe.
"Sal-Gheel," Sirimgeira approached Sal and gestured to the stranger. "May I present to you the Most Reverend Primus Valutinian Mosellia, Primate of the Great Chapel of Mara."
"How do you do, Sal-Gheel?" Valutinian nodded to the hatchling.
Mathnude and Romarcella dropped to their left knees. Sal hesitated but then hurriedly followed suit. Valutinian and Sirimgeira both chuckled. The Primate held out his brass sapphire ring to them. The two adults kissed the ring, then Sal-Gheel (after a split second of confusion).
"It's an honor to meet you, Your Grace," Sal greeted the Primate using the proper honorific.
"Please, little one. The honor is mine." Valutinian too knelt on his left knee. He reached out a gentle hand to cup and lift the hatchling's face. "Priestess Sirimgeira informs me that you have a unique connection to the Divines about you."
"Yes, Your Grace," Sal nodded, and Valutinian withdrew his hand. "She informed you right."
"She wants the chapel to take you in," Valutinian continued. "A little homeless orphan hatchling, living here in our sacred halls."
"Yes, sir," Sal nodded, almost pleading. "I would very much like that, Your Grace. My home was…" he gulped. "…taken from me a long time ago. I haven't had anywhere else to live ever since. It's been over a year."
He gulped, then added, "I don't mind living here at all. If you'd have me, Your Grace."
Valutinian took a moment to let the Argonian's words sink into him. Finally, at length, he spoke, "With your consent, we could take you in. Give you a house and home. Attend to all your wants and needs. Adopt you as one of our own. What do you think of that?"
Grrrowl.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Your Grace," Sal held a hand to his stomach with a sheepish grimace. "I'm awfully hungry. I haven't even had breakfast yet."
To his surprise, Valutinian laughed out loud. "Now that you mention it, I don't think any of us have!"
He stood up and motioned for everyone else to do the same. "I'm feeling rather peckish myself. Let us sit down and have breakfast. Mathnude, can you fetch an extra chair for our guest?"
Everyone set up food and plates upon a lengthy rectangular dining table. Sal closed his eyes and breathed in the collective scents of breakfast.
Fresh, earthy, fatty wheat bread. Ripe fruity red and green apples. Tangy and somewhat sharp blackberries. Odorless red and purple grapes. Two different kinds of cheeses (one unmistakably cheddar and the other perhaps provolone?). On top, a variety of freshly-harvested vegetables, everything from carrots and tomatoes to leeks and radishes. Underneath all of these, a vague hint of cold but sweet almond butter.
From the distant fireplace, a tea kettle whistled over a roaring fire. It exuded a strong yet soothing wisp of cooked jasmine leaves.
"Come, Sal-Gheel," the sound of Valutinian's request snapped him out of his breakfast-induced reverie. "Join us."
Sal's eyes grew as wide as the sun. "You want me to eat with you?"
"Of course!" Valutinian sat first, and the others did the same. The Primate gestured to the seat directly across from him. "Our place is your place, if you accept it."
"Yes, Your Grace, I do!" Sal sat in the extra chair that Mathnude had provided. "I really do!" He rested his hands in his lap.
"Let us pray," Valutinian prompted. Everyone dropped their hoods and bowed their heads. Sal put his hands together and pressed them to his heart.
"O great and benevolent Eight Divines. You who grace Aetherius above and Nirn below with the presences of your constant spirits. We call upon you now to bestow thine blessings upon this bounty which we are about to partake. We ask that thou shalt bless it to give us nourishment, health, and energy to perform our daily tasks. We ask for clarity of mind. Strength of spirit. Humility of heart. We ask that we may be open to thine still, small promptings to lend our aid to those in need. We pray that thou shalt extend your love to Bravil, in whatever forms it may come.
Forgive us of our trespasses and shortcomings. Teach us to learn to forgive those who have trespassed against us. Forgive them of their shortcomings. Above all, we ask that you pour out your blessings upon our beloved guest, the Argonian hatchling Sal-Gheel Calidaseer. He honors us with his humble presence today and shares our meal. Grace us with the truth, knowledge, and revelation of whatever divine connections he may bear to you. We pray in thine holy names. Glory be Thine Forever."
"Glory be Thine Forever," the others repeated. They lifted their heads and redonned their hoods.
"Glory be Thine Forever," Sal intoned. He too lifted his head up and parted his hands.
"Please, Sal-Gheel," Sirimgeira gestured around at the food. "Eat freely."
Sal sampled a bit of everything. He placed red apple slices and blackberries upon his plate. Romarcella, who sat to his right, placed two slices of wheat bread on the side.
"Butter or cheese on your bread, child?" the Healer held out the butter and cheese bowls to him.
"Provolone cheese, please," Sal explained, picking up an apple slice. Romarcella nodded and proceeded to slice up the provolone.
Sirimgeira left the table momentarily to fetch the tea kettle.
"Would you care for some Jasmine Tea, Sal-Gheel?" she asked, finishing filling Mathnude's teacup. "A special recipe preserved from the Second Era."
"Oh, yes, please, Mother!" Sal nodded, and Sirimgeira filled up his cup with a smile.
"It's still hot!" Mathnude reached out a hand in front of Romarcella to stop Sal. But the hatchling was already lifting his teacup and saucer to his lips.
A delicate, fragrant, floral flavor washed over Sal's tongue and teeth. Sweet subtle notes in the aftertaste lingered on his unburned taste buds.
"Wow…" he whispered in awe, placing his cup down on the saucer. "It's delicious!"
"Are you all right, son?" Valutinian asked, genuinely concerned. "You didn't burn your tongue? Your lips? Fangs?"
"No, Your Grace," Sal shook his head. He put his saucer back on the table. "I didn't feel a thing except that wonderful flavor."
He turned to Sirimgeira, sincere. "Thank you for the tea, Mother."
"You're…very welcome, Sal-Gheel," Sirimgeira exchanged a knowing sideways glance with Valutinian. Sal, now starting on his bread, failed to notice it. "There's sugar and maple syrup if you'd like, too."
While they continued to dine, the door of the Chapel Hall opened behind them. Three individuals, a female Dunmer and Breton and a male Nord, entered.
"Ah-ha!" Valutinian beckoned the trio to come to the table. "Flawless timing! Sal-Gheel, I'd like you to meet our laypeople, Aravayana Drorano—"
"Good morning, Argonian," the female Dunmer curtsied to him in her brown-white quilted doublet dress.
"—and Bovkianne Bririene."
"A pleasure to meet you, little hatchling," the Breton clasped her hands to the stomach of her patched tunic and bowed. "Might I say, you look absolutely debonair in those clothes."
"And I'm Heinoke Tarbensson," the deep and gruff-voiced Nord removed his hat and held it to his chest, smiling. "Some call me the Giant! I am the Living Saint of the Great Chapel of Mara!"
"This is Sal-Gheel Calidaseer," Valutinian explained to them. "He chanced upon our chapel just earlier today, needing shelter and food."
"How wonderful!" Bovkianne held a gentle hand to Sal's back. "If there's anything we can do to help accommodate you, please don't hesitate to ask."
Sal swallowed his bite of blackberry. "Thank you, Miss Bririene."
"We've just returned from spreading the gospel of the Divines around the Niben Bay," Heinoke folded his arms in reverence over his chest. "As Living Saint, it is my dedicated calling to live by the commandments of Mother Mara. I am charged with being an example of the Goddess of Love to others."
He brushed dust from his plaid shirt and tan linens. "Shor's blood, I'd better throw these in the laundry."
Sal could only stare in awe, fascination twinkling in his eyes.
"Well, following breakfast, I'd like to get to know you, Sal-Gheel," Valutinian explained. Sal turned his attention back to the Primate. Aravayana and the other two sat down at an adjacent dining table. "Whatever about yourself you are willing to share. Your home, your family, your life."
"I don't know if I have much to tell," Sal admitted, staring down and off to one side. His eyes drooped, looking suddenly somewhat crestfallen. "I had a good childhood. Lived in a decent home, until…"
His voice broke and lowered in volume. "…Until…"
"How about this?" the polite Valutinian interjected. "Instead of telling me, how about you show me? I'll walk with you every step of the way around the city. You show me all the places you hold dearly to you, former and current."
At this, Sal looked back up. "Thank you, Your Grace. I'll do exactly that."
The hatchling indulged in his food. His face brightened into a bright happy smile.
"Thank you, everyone. Thank you…for everything."
"Oh, Sal-Gheel…"
Tears brimmed Shahvee's eyes. She reached over to take her husband's hand. The other held Ahahlei close to her chest.
"Sal-Gheel. I'm so, so, so sorry…I didn't know…I never knew…"
Sal-Gheel's overall expression looked somewhere between anger and regret. "Engndir. Ysirsandra. Moajma. I'll never forgive them for what they tried to do to me."
"Those mean people!" Ahahlei scrunched up her face in a scowl. "How could they hurt Papa like that? At least the people in the chapel were really nice to you!"
"Considering your powers as the Dragonborn had not yet awakened," Miraak mused aloud. "You could not have fought back against your assailants. Yet I still wonder why you did not sense them sooner."
"Doubtful they'd even dare to hurt him now," Neetrenaza's eyes flared, his grip tightening on his Nord mead.
"Hist forbid it!" Scouts-Many-Marshes nodded in agreement. "Sal-Gheel's power is far beyond theirs. He can command reality with his voice, and they're mere flesh and blood mortals." He shook his head in disbelief. "Mere arms and legs against the awesome power of the Dragons? The timeless children of Akatosh whose existences predate those predators? No contest!"
"Nalpa Hajhiit! Nalpa mahleel! Nalpa Bosmer!" Stands-in-Shallows banged his tankard on the tabletop. Alto Wine splashed upwards before settling down. "Rotten people! They dared to profane the divine and they suffered the consequences!"
"Those sadists! That's so wrong what they did!" Lydia protested. She hit her fist on the table, furious. "You were a little child, Sal! Innocent and pure and virginal! How could those immoral people get away with hurting you like that?"
"And at ten years old?!" Gunjar added, shaking his fist in the air. "It's monstrous! Still, at your age, you should've had at least some strength to fight back."
"But could I?" Sal objected, struggling not to raise his voice. "Did I give my consent to be treated that way? Did I have a say in it? Did I deserve it? No!"
"But surely they didn't get away with it, right?" Rayya wondered, her Alto Wine halfway to her lips.
"They couldn't have!" Llewellyn agreed between a mouthful of apple cake. "Not with how competent the Bravil Guard is! I mean, they caught you, after all! Uh, no offense!" He held up a quick apologetic hand to the Argonian.
"No, none taken, Llewellyn." Sal shook his head. The Nord Bard deflated in relief and returned to his food.
"I don't understand, Papa," Veetmul lifted his head from his father's chest, looking him in the eyes. "What happened?"
Sal sighed and stroked the back of his son's head. "When the time is right, I'll tell you. When you're old enough. I…I don't think you're quite ready to understand this yet."
"Okay, Papa," Veetmul nodded and returned his head to its former position. Sal's heart melted in his chest, and he kissed his hatchling's scalp.
"May you never have to suffer what I suffered, my beloved hatchlings."
"The priestess was right," Shahvee squeezed her husband's hand to comfort him. "What happened to you was not their fault. You are not to blame, my love. You are still as innocent now as you were then."
"Gods, if only Rayya and I had been there," Lydia and Rayya exchanged a determined glance and a fearless nod. "We'd have broken all their bones!"
"Race be damned, I'd have snapped their arms!" Rayya asserted, hitting her fist into her palm. "HoonDing the Make Way be my witness!"
"I would toss them into the slipstreams between Mundus and Oblivion!" declared Miraak.
"Look, what's past is past," Sal tapped the table to bring the conversation back on track. "I moved on and I'm better for it. No point in dwelling on it anymore."
"I'll admit, I am intrigued by what the priestess said about you," Miraak confessed, leaning back against the pillar beneath the stairs. "'A touch of the divine'."
"What about that, Miraak?" Sal looked over his shoulder at the Atmoran Dragon Priest.
"Nothing." Miraak folded his arms over his chest. His tone of voice sounded suspiciously dismissive. "Carry on, Dragonborn."