Inigo stood in the fields of the Rift, near the city's southern gate. He was training on his lonesome, aiming for targets set up in various distances from his location. The Riften Guards offered words of encouragement and surprise when they saw how deadly he was with a bow. One of them even remarked humorously that it's a wonder the Dragons even dared soar the skies with such a deadly shooter around.
"If these targets were any easier, I think they would walk up to me and leap onto the arrow on my bow." Inigo laughed as he dead-shot a target seven yards away, tucked between two trees, hitting it in the center. When he had his fill of morning training, he was ready to head back into the city.
Inigo considered all that had transpired over the past month and a half. He took a moment longer to sit down at the base of a nearby tree to contemplate.
Inigo sat silently, his gaze lost in the flickering leaves of the tree above him. He had become an unwitting soldier in a war that was larger than any tale or song could capture, a war against the formidable forces of Mehrunes Dagon that threatened to unravel the very fabric of Skyrim. As the air grew colder, his thoughts turned to Cura the Dragonborn, his friend whose return he awaited with a mix of hope and trepidation. He pondered his adequacy, questioning whether his blade was sharp enough, his strategies sound enough to stand against the coming tide of chaos.
He thought of the little people, the ones whose lives were upended by the war's cruel hand. Had he lost sight of them? The people of Riften, with their daily toils and dreams, how would they fare in this new world shadowed by conflict? Inigo's heart ached for them, for he knew that the war touched not just the warriors but the merchants, the blacksmiths, the children.
His mind wandered to the unlikely alliance he had forged between the Legion, the Stormcloaks, and the Thalmor. It was an alliance of necessity, but it weighed heavily on him. Had he done the right thing, bringing together such disparate forces with their own hidden agendas and long-standing grudges? No matter what amount of reassurance and 'buts' and 'ifs' and 'whats' Lucien could offer, he remained uncertain. The future was a muddied lake, and the further one rows to its center, the less sense one can make of what lies beneath its depths. Inigo harbored a deep-seated unease about the Thalmor's involvement. Their presence in the alliance was a constant reminder of the complexities of war. He knew their reputation for ruthlessness and their unyielding pursuit of their own interests. The Thalmor's motives were a labyrinth of political machinations, and Inigo couldn't shake the feeling that they were the wild card in this precarious balance of power.
He understood that their knowledge and magical prowess were invaluable assets in the fight against Mehrunes Dagon's forces. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder if the price of their aid would be too steep. The Thalmor were known to play the long game, and Inigo questioned what their endgame might be in the grand tapestry of Skyrim's future.
Despite these concerns, Inigo recognized the necessity of their involvement. The threat they faced required every available hand, regardless of past grievances. This war was not just about the survival of factions but the survival of their entire world. It was a time for old enemies to forge new bonds, even if those bonds were fraught with tension and uncertainty.
Inigo's thoughts often lingered on the Thalmor's influence. He pondered their strategies, their potential for betrayal, and their diplomatic chess moves. He hoped that the shared goal of defeating a common enemy would keep the Thalmor's ambitions in check, but he remained vigilant, aware that the political landscape could shift with the wind.
The Thalmor's involvement was a bitter pill to swallow, but Inigo swallowed it nonetheless, for the sake of Skyrim and the realms beyond. He would stand alongside them, fight with them, and hope that, in the end, honour and integrity would prevail over the shadows of intrigue that followed them like a silent specter.
Though, knowing Elenwen's connection to Cura sort of bought Inigo some kind of an advantage, he wondered. After all, he was Cura's closest friend, and the first person she confided this dark truth in. If the Thalmor were to kill him and Cura's allies, it would bring further turmoil, so he figured he didn't need to worry about a secretive ambush of sorts.
The more he thought of the matter, Inigo's feelings upon discovering that his friend Cura was the progeny of Elenwen and Ulfric Stormcloak were a whirlwind of astonishment and contemplation. It was a revelation that brought with it a complex tapestry of implications, both personal and political. The knowledge that Cura was born from two figures who stood on opposing sides of Skyrim's tumultuous history added layers of depth to her character and their friendship.
For Inigo, this information was a testament to the unpredictable nature of life in Tamriel. It underscored the fact that alliances and enmities were often more intricate than they appeared. Cura, embodying the lineage of both the Thalmor and the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, represented a living bridge between two worlds that were frequently at odds. Inigo found himself grappling with the duality of her heritage, recognizing the strength it must have taken for her to carve her own path as the Dragonborn amidst such a legacy; especially having learned of it so early on in her quest.
The revelation also cast a new light on the war that raged around them. Inigo understood that Cura's unique parentage could either be a powerful symbol of unity or a potential source of strife. He pondered the political ramifications, wondering if this knowledge could be leveraged to foster peace or if it would ignite further conflict.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Inigo had felt a renewed sense of respect for Cura. Her courage, determination, and ability to rise above the shadows of her lineage spoke volumes of her character. He admired her more for not allowing her identity to be defined by her parents' affiliations, instead choosing to stand as a beacon of hope for all of Skyrim.
Inigo also considered how this revelation affected his own role in the unfolding events. He questioned how he could best support Cura, knowing the weight of the history she carried on her shoulders. He resolved to be a steadfast ally, offering his blade and counsel without judgment or prejudice.
In the end, Inigo's loyalty to Cura remained unwavering. He saw in her not just the daughter of Elenwen and Ulfric, but a friend who had proven her mettle time and again. He believed in her ability to navigate the complexities of her heritage and to use her unique position for the greater good of Skyrim. Inigo's trust in Cura was unshaken, and he stood ready to follow her lead once she returned, and in the war against Mehrunes Dagon's forces. If she could defeat Molag Bal and claim her freedom, the war with Dagon would surely be a short-lived one.
Would they truly be able to guard Skyrim when Dagon rallied his troops again? How long did they have? Would there be a home for Cura to return home to? Where were they going? There was so much uncertainty. The Divines had given their promise to him that they would help, however they could. And Mara and Talos both have shown this, as well as Stendarr himself.
Inigo second-guessed himself, his decisions, his role in this grand scheme. How much foresight did the Nine Divines truly have? Were they guiding him, or was he merely a pawn in their divine play? He hoped for a sign, a whisper of divine wisdom to soothe his troubled mind.
As the minutes passed him by, Inigo continued to reflect, his inner monologue a tapestry of doubt and determination. He knew not what the morrow would bring, but he resolved to face it with the courage that had earned him his name. For now, that would have to be enough.
He slowly pulled himself up and headed into the city, opting to spend some more time on his own. He liked having friends around, but lately he has needed to breathe on his own standing.
Dinya Balu noticed Inigo and hurried to him from around the marketplace's crescent. "Inigo! Hello!" the cheerful Dunmer called out to him. When he noticed her, Inigo walked around to meet her halfway.
"Hello Dinya. The day is deceptively beautiful, isn't it?" Inigo gestured to the pure blue skies above.
"Riften is drowning in a sea of sin and wickedness and it's my personal mission to let everyone know that the warmth of Mara can see them through." Dinya said with a gentle smile. She gently drew a box from her satchel. "All I need is a messenger to bring Her words to these poor souls by distributing these missives." She seemed to be hiding a light bit of distress behind her smile, but Inigo figured that perhaps it was due to her pregnancy.
Inigo raised a brow. "And you would like me to do it?"
Dinya smiled lightly. "Yes; you are the Dragonborn's friend, and a great figure in our land these days. Perhaps the people would have a brighter reception if they come from you. I can feel the winds changing, my child; from the east to the north, comes light and love, and a tide of darkness. The only way we will weather this storm is by the grace of the Nine."
Inigo stared at the box of missives and felt a light warmth well up inside of him. His friend Cura is traveling with an Aspect of Mara right now as they speak, and the goddess has aided them before, underneath Windhelm. In a way, he owed it to her. "Sure thing - I will happily distribute them." he had to crack a joke as well, of course. "As long as Mara can make sure that the wolves of Skyrim never try to bite my kitty hide again."
Dinya chuckled at his humorous remark. "Oh my, how wonderful! Lady Mara will be so pleased!" she gently handed the box to him. "Here you are. Now make sure you give out every single one, we can't afford to let even one lost soul stray from Her warmth."
Inigo accepted the box and took one of the pamphlets in his hand, and read it:
"The Warmth of Mara
Rejoice, Reader...
For Mara's Light Shines Upon YOU!
Mara's Benevolence is everlasting and Her Warmth widespread throughout the world. Shut your eyes, lift your head to the heavens and bask in the glow that shapes our destiny!
Lady Mara will embrace any regardless of their past. Cast away your misdeeds and freshen your spirit! Give unto Her all the compassion that you would give unto your birthmother and learn that She will never leave you, never cast you aside and never forsake you!
Donations are being accepted at the Temple of Mara in Riften"
He paused for a moment, considering the content of the missive. "Any tips on who might accept these?" Most of the citizens of Riften were cynical at best, on a good day. There was no telling how they would react to the positive message. No doubt there were going to be many eyerolls and scoffs.
"Almost anyone in Riften is in dire need of those missives. Speak to them, child. You will know who will listen and who will sin." Dinya gently locked her fingers together over her swollen abdomen. "A word of advice, keep away from the Keep and the city guards. They follow their own path and have already forsaken Her."
Inigo chuckled. "I am sure this is going to be as pleasant as removing a rotten tooth with calipers."
Dinya gently touched his shoulder. She looked into his eyes with a serious, yet gentle expression. "You represent Mara now. Set an example for all."
As he felt her gentle touch, Inigo felt a twinge of anxiety. True; he was passing out Mara's word, here. He could not afford to be foolish while carrying out such a sacred task. He first walked into the Hall of the Dead, where Alessandra, the Priestess of Arkay was busy embalming the body of a Riften Soldier who died in the fields. When she saw Inigo approach, she smiled lightly. "Ah, Inigo. How are you doing?"
Inigo smiled back at her, "I am doing well, thank you. Here, I have something you may find interesting." he reached into the box and handed her one of the missives.
"Oh, a new pamphlet from Dinya? I'll be glad to read it. Thanks." Alessandra accepted it happily and placed it on a nearby counter, away from the gore in front of her.
Inigo nodded, "I will leave you to your work. This is not something I feel too comfortable distracting you from."
Alessandra chuckled, "I don't mind a distraction, Inigo; your company is always welcome here. But I understand. It's best you get the word out for Dinya."
Inigo looked at the marketplace and began his plan to hand the pamphlets out there. The first person he came across was the Dunmer woman at the meats stand, Marise Aravel. "Hello, Marise, how does the day find you?"
The Dunmer readjusted the fur hat on her head and dusted off her dress. "Good morning to you, Inigo. I could be better, but I could certainly be worse. These days 'same as usual' is the greater outcome, I think." She gestured towards her cart, tucked in the corner of the Bee & Barb. "Some fresh meat to fill your belly perhaps?"
Inigo chuckled, "Not at this moment. I have instead something from the Temple for you."
Marise raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Let me see that." she took the paper from Inigo and looked it over. "Perhaps I should speak to Dinya one of these days. There is much weighing on my mind."
Inigo nodded, "I will leave you to it, then." He continued through the marketplace. Maven Black-Briar was strolling by, and he flagged her down. He knew she wasn't going to receive it warmly, but he morely wished to see her reaction.
"I presume you're bothering me for a good reason?" Maven asked, her voice dripping with frost that could rival Atmora.
"Yes, indeed." Inigo smiled with a wide grin. "Here is a pamphlet, from the Temple of Mara!" he handed the missive to the cruel businesswoman.
Maven smirked when she read it and folded the paper back up. With a self-satisfied smirk, she responded thusly, "Excellent, I needed some more kindling for my kitchen hearth." and then she walked away.
Her daughter, Ingun, was following her mother home, and Inigo tried to pass a pamphlet to her. She rejected it entirely, "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."
Hemming walked behind Ingun, and Inigo handed him a pamphlet. He seemed more confused than anything. "I don't understand how paper will help with the dregs of this city, but suit yourself."
Now that Inigo had gotten the Black-Briars out of the way, he came to the obvious conclusion that he'd already known: they are scum. He headed to the Riften Orphanage, where Grelod the Kind was blasting the children within. The small wooden orphanage was darker than the ruins beneath Windhelm, even with the sconces lit.
The old hag was firm and nasty, and far more strict than she needed to be. "Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating. Do I make myself clear?"
The children droned in response, "Yes, Grelod."
Unsatisfied with the initial threat, Grelod added, "And one more thing! I will hear no more talk of adoptions! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Nobody needs you, nobody wants you. That, my darlings, is why you're here. Why you'll always be here, until you come of age and get thrown into that wide, horrible world. Now, what do you all say?"
Hearing this made Inigo want to slam this old witch's head into the floor. She was lucky he was a messenger of Mara in this instant. However, he was certainly going to inform the Temple of her cruelty.
The children droned again, "We love you, Grelod. Thank you for your kindness."
Grelod smirked, "That's better. Now scurry off, my little guttersnipes." The children fanned out, and headed outside into the small pen to play. The cantankerous crone turned to her assistant and barked, "Constance!"
The kind Imperial was startled by her sudden call. "Yes, Grelod?"
"Seven septims are missing from my purse. I know it was Runa. You get those coins back, or by Stendarr, I'll see her rot in the dungeon." Grelod gestured towards the closet behind her on the right side of the room.
Constance's eyes grew solemn. "How can you be so sure it was Runa?"
"Because that little goblin always sticks her hands where they don't belong. She ought have them cut off." Grelod snarled hatefully. She paused in thought.
Fearing the worst, Constance held up her hands. "I'll handle it. No need to blow things out of proportion."
Hearing this entire exchange left a dirty taste in Inigo's mouth. Especially hearing Grelod invoke Stendarr's good name in her cruelty. He knew Cura would be disgusted as well, were she here with him to see it.
Trying to maintain an air of professionalism, Inigo cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but are you Grelod the Not-so-Kind?"
"A Khajiit? When did they start letting you miscreants into the city walls? Anyways, this is an orphanage, not an inn. Begone from here." Grelod sneered. She then narrowed her eyes, seemingly coming to an assumptive realization. "Huh... Maybe it wasn't Runa, after all."
Inigo bit his lower lip, and exhaled through his nose. "I have a pamphlet for you, from the Temple of Mara."
Grelod snarled, "Unless Mara wishes to come down and help me with these urchins, I don't really give a damn about her blessings." She grabbed the pamphlet from Inigo's hands and crumpled it into a ball and tossed it straight into the fireplace.
Inigo's eyes flared angrily in that instant, but he promised Dinya that he would deliver the missives gracefully. He was, after all, representing Mara. Grelod noticed the flash of anger in his stare, and she provoked the cat further. "What are you staring at, you worthless piece of gutter trash? I simply must start locking the doors again..."
Grelod the Kind, her name a cruel irony to those who knew her true nature, stood with her hands on her hips, facing the imposing figure of Inigo the Brave.
"Your 'kindness' is a guise for cruelty," Inigo's voice boomed, his stance hostile as he stared at the witch. "These children deserve compassion, not your harsh words and cold heart."
Grelod sneered, her eyes narrow slits of disdain. "Compassion? You speak of things you do not understand. Discipline is what these children need, not the coddling that would turn them into milk-drinkers."
Inigo grit his teeth. "Discipline does not require fear. You rule with an iron fist when you should be offering a comforting embrace."
Grelod's voice rose, shrill and unyielding. "I have kept this place running when no one else would. What do you know of responsibility, Inigo? You, who takes the world as his own little litter box without a care?"
Inigo stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "I know that a true parent or caregiver uplifts the spirits of those they guide, not tramples them underfoot." The standoff continued, a battle of wills between the cold matron and the fiery warrior, each standing their ground, a testament to their beliefs. Inigo, having been an orphan himself with his brother Fergus, felt great deal of compassion for the children.
Grelod's face turned a shade redder, her voice reaching a fever pitch. "You dare challenge my methods? You, an outsider, presume to know better than I?" she spat, her words laced with venom.
Inigo, undeterred, stood tall, his voice steady and resolute. "I challenge them because I see the harm they cause. Fear is not a tool for growth; it is a weapon that wounds the soul."
"You speak of wounds," Grelod countered, "yet you know nothing of the scars life has dealt me. I do what I must to prepare them for a world that is not kind."
Inigo's eyes softened momentarily, acknowledging her pain, but his resolve did not waver. "And yet, it is our duty to heal, not to pass on the scars of our own making."
The room fell silent, the weight of Inigo's words hanging in the air. Grelod's hands trembled slightly, though whether from rage or realization, none could tell. "You think you can just walk in here and change everything?" she hissed, her composure slipping. "These children need structure, they need order!"
Inigo nodded, "Yes, they need structure, but they also need love, something you've withheld for far too long." He stepped closer, his presence commanding. "I will not stand by and watch you break their spirits."
Grelod took a step back, her certainty shaken. "Love? Love is a luxury we cannot afford," she muttered, almost to herself.
Inigo's voice was firm, "No, Grelod. Love is a necessity, one that every child deserves."
Inigo thought about the children and the abuse they took at Grelod's hand. As well as her blasphemy and her cruel tongue, and he smirked. He was representing Mara. The goddess of love, family, and children by extension. "I think Lady Mara will have to show her love another way this time." He balled his hand into a fist and punched the wicked hag in the face, sending her reeling backwards.
Grelod hit the floor, uncsonscious, and Inigo loomed over her, cracking his knuckles. "That's what you get for hurting children, you vile old crone."
Constance gasped behind him as she reentered the Orphanage with the children, all of whom were gawking at Inigo, the brave Khajiit who punched their tormentor in the face. Inigo slowly turned to face them, and shifted awkwardly. "Oh! Er, this is not what it looks like. I just, uh, swung my arm and the old bat forgot to use her sonar and walked into my fist. Yes."
Constance stared at him blankly for a few seconds. "Well... I'll let it slide. Just this once."
One of the children, Francois, clapped his hands excitedly. "Wow, you knocked her out cold! That's awesome!"
Samuel, one of the others, laughed and stood over Grelod. "How does it feel, you evil old Hagraven?"
Runa, the blonde girl in red, wrapped her arms around Inigo. "Wow, Mr. Cat man! You're so cool!"
Hroar, the boy in the green tunic laughed, as well. "I wish Aventus were here to see this! This is great!"
Inigo chuckled, "Remember, kids; if Grelod threatens you again, you can threaten her with the Blue Tiger Man. If she beats any of you, I will storm down here like the Dragonborn's Thu'um." He turned to Constance and handed her a pamphlet. "Here you go, nicer orphanage lady. From the Temple of Mara. Tell Grelod that if she burns this one, Mara will not send a friendly blue cat her way, but instead will send a wolf to eat her in her sleep. And I am not joking."
Constance nodded sternly. "I'll tell her. Thank you." she understood that Inigo was holding the childrens' best interest at heart, and even if she could not find the words to adequately express it, she was grateful for his intervention.
Inigo left the orphanage and continued about the city, handing out the remaining pamphlets. The owner of the Pawned Prawn, Bersi Honey-Hand, was a warm receptor of it. "If only more people would read this, things might be better in Riften." He said kindly as he laid the Pamphlet on the desk, allowing it to stand upright like a birthday card.
Balimund the Blacksmith was a warm receptor, as well, "Thank you for the blessing, I'll put this to good use." he said as he tucked the missive into the pocket of his apron for safekeeping. He then returned to his work, hammering away at a new sword.
Inigo descended the steps onto the lower walkway and entered the Apothecary. Elgrim, the grouchy old Alchemist was sitting at his counter when Inigo passed him the pamphlet. He took one look at it and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder like spilled salt. "I have no time for Marla or Mara or whatever her name is... there's work to be done!" He turned around to examine his ingredients shelf.
His wife, Hafjorg, picked up the pamphlet. "Elgrim, how could you be so callous?" the elderly woman chastised. "Hmmm. Never read anything from the temple before. I suppose there's no harm in reading it." she took it to a chair next to the fireplace and began to look it over.
Inigo smiled and nodded, and went on his way. After a couple of hours, he found the box was finally empty and he returned to the Temple of Mara. Upon entry, he was greeted with the sight of the statue of Mara, the weeping maiden in a veil and robes looking away from the world within a basin before her and mourning. In the hallowed halls of the Temple of Mara, the air was thick with the scent of incense and the weight of many concerns.
"Has the Warmth of Mara been given to Riften?" Dinya asked as Inigo ascended the aisle.
Inigo grinned, "Yes! I've given away all the missives."
"Oh, splendid! Just splendid! Mara smiles upon us this day. Allow me to give you her gift... a true blessing to aid you in times of need. Despair not, her warmth will protect you always!" She approached Inigo and gently touched his forehead with two fingers. Inigo felt the warm and powerful presence of Mara come to him, and in his mind, he saw a vision of the White Wolf he'd seen with Cura on the other side of the Long Distance Call. Gold light shimmered and dissipated, and he opened his eyes again.
Dinya tapped his shoulder. "There you are. Now, with Mara's protection, you have a greater resistance to magic, and to all things Daedric."
Inigo touched his forehead, dumbstruck. "I saw the white wolf. In a brief instant. That was most unusual."
Dinya Balu, her face etched with the lines of worry, paced before the altar. "Inigo, it's interesting that you should mention it," she began, her voice a soft murmur that barely rose above the flickering candle flames, "the matters that Maramal informed me of last night, of Lady Mara and the White Wolf weigh heavily upon my heart. Their plight in Coldharbour, the realm of twisted shadows and tormented souls, is a stain upon the aspects of Mara."
Inigo, leaning casually against a pillar, twirled his whiskers thoughtfully. "Ah, but Dinya, even in the darkest of places, Mara's love shines like the glint of a well-polished sweetroll." he quipped, a playful glimmer in his eye that almost lifted the corners of her frown.
"Inigo," she began, her voice a mix of reverence and worry, "the matter of this... 'Varla' figure weighs heavily upon my heart. Rumors swirl like leaves in the wind, claiming he is the son of Mara and Umaril. Such a lineage... it is both a blessing and a curse."
Inigo, leaning casually against a pillar, twirled his whiskers with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ah, Dinya, if he is indeed the offspring of a Divine and an Ayleid king, then surely he's got more issues than the Lusty Argonian Maid has volumes." he quipped, hoping to see the hint of a smile on the priestess's usually serene face.
Dinya couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, despite the gravity of the situation. "Your humour is as unexpected as a snowstorm in Sun's Dawn, Inigo. But it is welcome." She sighed, looking up at the statue behind the altar. "If this Varla truly is Mara's son, then we have to reevaluate every teaching the Benevolence has approved over many millennia. The love of a mother, divine or not, is a powerful force, but Umaril's legacy is one of strife and sorrow. What are we to do, should he come to us one day?"
Briehl, the Temple acolyte who stood nearby, snarled. "If this is true, then the implications are dire. The Alessian Order and the early Cult of Mara have gone to great lengths to expunge such records from history. What darkness could compel them to conceal the lineage of one born of a goddess?"
Dinya clasped her hands before her, her gaze distant. "The inerrant goodness of Mara is the cornerstone of our beliefs, the light that guides us through the shadows of this world. To think that she may have... been with... and borne a child with Umaril, a being of such malevolence... it casts a pall over all we hold sacred."
"The very notion that Mara, our goddess of love and compassion, would stoop so low as to bed with with such a creature of darkness... it is a blasphemy that threatens to undermine the trust of the faithful," Briehl said, his words heavy with the weight of the revelation. "Dinya, you do realize the implications of such a lineage are indeed dark. Far darker than we realize." he replied, his tone betraying no fear. "The bastard son of a deity and a Daedric mer of such ill repute could cast a shadow upon the perceived purity and grace of Mara. Yet, we must not let fear cloud our judgment or dictate our actions."
Dinya's voice was a whisper, barely audible above the hushed prayers of the temple. "We must tread carefully, Briehl. The truth of this... Varla person's parentage could sow discord among the followers of Mara. It could turn believer against believer, shattering the unity that has been our strength for centuries. Oh... how could this be? Lady Mara, you could never do such a disgusting thing! You couldn't!" The horror and doubt was sharp and apparent in her voice.
Inigo stopped, his expression resolute. "Then you must seek the truth, no matter how perilous the path. The integrity of your faith demands it. You cannot allow fear to dictate your course, nor can you permit the shadows of the past to loom over your future."
Dinya nodded, her resolve hardening. "We will begin by examining whatever ancient texts we can find, any of those that escaped the purge of the Alessian Order. We must piece together the fragments of history, discern the truth from the tapestry of lies and omissions."
The revelation of Varla the Man-Hunter's lineage was a specter that loomed over them, a dark cloud threatening to burst and flood the world with its hidden truths. For in the pursuit of this truth, Maramal and Dinya found not only the fear to confront the darkness but also the hope that the benevolence of Mara would prevail. Whatever the truth may be, they would have no choice but to make it known; for it would harm public relations far worse if they knew the truth and obscured it.
"Well... perhaps when Cura returns from Coldharbour she will bring Varla to you directly. Then you can ask him yourself." Inigo shrugged.
Maramal emerged from the next room over to the right of the chapel, having overheard the grave matters. "Truth, no matter how uncomfortable, has a way of coming to light," he said. "It is not the nature of the revelation, but how we respond to it that defines our path forward. We must guide the people with understanding, not deception."
Dinya Balu's voice, usually so full of warmth and comfort, carried a tremor of unease. "It is a troubling revelation, my love," she began, her hands clasped tightly before her, "that Varla, known as the Man-Hunter of Eastern Cyrodiil, might bear the blood of Mara herself, intertwined with that of Umaril. Such a lineage, hidden from the annals of history by the Alessian Order and our own forebears in faith, casts a shadow upon the benevolence we hold so dear. I... I don't know what I'm supposed to think of it."
Maramal nodded gravely, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "I understand, Dinya; it sounds too horrible to be true." he agreed. "If such a being were to exist, born of divinity and yet marked by the sins of Umaril, it would challenge the very foundation of our beliefs. The purity of Mara's love, the sanctity of her blessings upon our unions, all could be called into question. I can't believe in the idea that Lady Mara would have a child out of wedlock - it... it sounds far too... Daedric."
Dinya paced slowly, her robes whispering against the stone floor. "And yet, as you said, we cannot turn away from the truth, however unsettling it may be. We must confront this, understand it, and decide how it will shape our teachings." She paused, looking up at the statues of Mara that adorned the temple. "The love of Mara is boundless, but if she has a child who is tainted by the legacy of Umaril, what does that mean for us, her faithful?"
"The love of Mara endures," Maramal said firmly, "even in the face of such revelations. It is not the circumstances of one's birth that define their worth but their actions and their heart. If Varla is indeed the son of Mara, then he too is under her grace, and if he would come to us, it is our duty to guide him towards the light, not shun him into darkness."
Dinya stopped, considering his words. "You speak truly, Maramal. We must not let fear cloud our judgment. Mara's compassion extends to all, and we must embody that, even when faced with the unknown." She sighed, a weight lifting from her shoulders. "But what of Inigo's claim? That his friend, the Dragonborn named Cura, is now in Coldharbour with Varla? Such a journey is fraught with peril."
Maramal's expression grew stern. "Cura is the Dragonborn, and her fate is intertwined with the very fabric of Nirn. Her presence in Coldharbour could be a sign of Mara's will, a test of faith, or a mission of salvation. We must trust in her strength and in the guidance of the Divines."
Dinya nodded, still uncertain, but trying to understand. "Then we shall offer our prayers for their safe return and for the wisdom to understand the role they play in this unfolding drama. The truth has come to light after centuries in shadow, and it is our duty to face it with open hearts and minds."
As the two continued their discussion, the blue fur of Inigo the Brave could be seen peeking around a column. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he sauntered into the conversation, attempting to alleviate the fear and uncertainty. "Ah, my friends, why so gloomy? Are we not in the business of love? Let's not forget that even the divines have their... let's say, 'complicated' family gatherings."
Dinya couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, despite the seriousness of their talk. "Inigo, please, this is no time for jests. The very nature of Mara's benevolence is in question."
Inigo waved a hand dismissively. "Benevolence, malevolence, it's all about perspective in this case, no? Besides, if Cura is with Varla right now, I'm sure they're having a grand old time in Coldharbour. Probably swapping stories and roasting marshmallows over a bonfire of vanquished foes."
Maramal shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Only you, Inigo, could find humour in such a situation. But perhaps there's wisdom in your words. We must remember that Mara's love is boundless and complex, much like the tales of old. Even if... even if it doesn't make sense to us. Umaril the Unfeathered was a staunch nemesis of the Divines! He even returned to Nirn 200 years ago to slaughter people within their Temples. Why would... it makes no sense!"
Dinya gently touched the statue of the holy matron. "Lady Mara, please... help us to understand. Why did this happen? Why are we learning this now?"
A soft whisper filled the air. "Because the world is changing, my child. The times have converged, and the past has met the future. All shall follow suit. The Season Unending has given way to the Season of Change. The efforts of the Dragonborn have shaken more than just this plane of existence."
Inigo shivered in that instant, and he, Maramal, Briehl, and Dinya began to look around frantically for the source of the voice.
"L-Lady Mara?" Maramal asked, upon hearing the gentle voice.
"Do not fear what you learn; the past can be hidden, but it cannot be changed. Not truly. The First Era was a time of great darkness; none were innocent. Umaril's transgression has been avenged, and my son shall be free to walk Nirn once more. He is one of many who will aid the Dragonborn. Do not reject him, I implore you."
Dinya looked at the statue of Mara. Tears were running down from its eyes for true; not simply the decorations. A small ball of light levitated above the basin in front of the statue.
Dinya covered her mouth in awe at the sight. She nodded, "Yes, mother. I promise you that we will be kind to him, should he come to us."
Maramal knelt before the altar and lowered his head. "Mother, what are we to tell the Benevolences in the other provinces?"
The voice was silent for a moment, and then responded simply, "The truth. It will be known to them eventually. Whether they decide to embrace it or reject it, it will simply be."
Maramal nodded, his expression hopeful. "I understand. Thank you, mother."
The voice seemed to address Inigo. "Approach, my child. I sense your heart is troubled."
Inigo flinched lightly and pointed at himself, and looked around awkwardly. "Me?"
"Yes; touch the Light of Aetherius, and we shall speak."
Inigo approached the radiant light above the statue's basin and laid his hands within it. A vision of Mara materialized in his mind, standing in a field of golden wheat. She was not the veiled figure often depicted in Skyrim's temples; she was a woman with luminous ashen blonde hair, clad in green robes adorned with red patterns, and a cape lined with white fur along the collar and bottom trim, clutching a firmly knotted rope. Numerous wolves appeared to frolic across the golden wheat field, weaving energetically through the dense thicket in a playful dance. As the environment transformed around him, Inigo surveyed the changing landscape, absorbing the new sights.
Inigo the Brave stood before the radiant Aedra, Mara. His armor clinked softly as he knelt, his head bowed in reverence and uncertainty.
"Mara, Divine of Love, I come before you burdened with questions," Inigo began, his voice echoing in the celestial expanse. "Have my deeds, uniting friend and foe against Mehrunes Dagon, been just? Have I followed the path of righteousness?"
Mara, enveloped in a gentle glow, regarded Inigo with a mother's warmth. "Inigo, your heart has always sought harmony. The alliances you forged were threads in the tapestry of fate, woven with courage and hope."
Inigo lifted his gaze, his eyes brimming with the weight of his choices. "But I do not know if I have done the right thing. I feel as though I have inadvertedly set us up for the slaughter. Maybe I am overreacting. Maybe not. I do not know, and it... it frightens me."
"The balance of life is delicate, and every action bears its own fruit," Mara replied, her voice a soothing balm. "The peace you fight for is a testament to your spirit, and the sacrifices made are honored in the stars."
"O...kay... and Cura, my friend, ventures through Coldharbour's chilling expanse, guided by your Human and Wolf pieces. What fate befalls her on this perilous path?" Inigo asked nervously.
Mara's gaze, both ancient and kind, fell upon Inigo, her aura a comforting embrace in the vastness of the divine realm. "Inigo, your concern for Cura is a testament to the bonds you've forged. Her journey is one of trials, but also of profound transformation." She paused for a second and closed her eyes. She clasped her hands together in silence before finding her words. "Coldharbour's shadows are deep and its sands desolate, yet within its darkness, Cura's light burns bright," Mara continued, her voice resonating with the power of creation. "With Mary and Korn by her side, as well as dear Varla and her great host of allies, she confronts not only the external perils but also the internal doubts that seek to ensnare her spirit."
Inigo, his heart aching for his friend's safe passage, listened intently. "And will she emerge triumphant, her spirit unscathed by the realm's corrosive touch?"
"The trials of Coldharbour are many, and each soul's passage is unique," Mara replied, her words weaving hope into the fabric of destiny. "Cura's courage and resolve are her allies, and the lessons learned in the darkness will illuminate her way."
Inigo, his worries eased by the Divine's assurances, bowed deeply. "I am grateful, Mara, for your wisdom and for the guardianship you extend to my dear friend. May Cura's path be lit with the knowledge that she does not walk alone."
Mara nodded, her presence a beacon in the boundless heavens. "Go now, Inigo the Brave, carry with you the certainty that Cura's journey through Coldharbour is under my watchful eye. Her story, like yours, is woven into the greater tapestry of the cosmos, each thread vital to the whole."
Inigo nodded, "Thank you, Mother. And, I think I would be doing a disservice if I spoke directly to you and did not ask about this Varla fellow. It is a concerning thing to certain individuals, and to me as well, because he is travelling with my friend. I seek the truth of Varla the Man-Hunter's lineage. Is it true that he was born of your human aspect and Umaril the Unfeathered in the days of the First Era?"
Mara's presence, gentle yet profound, filled the space. "Sweet Inigo, the tale is one of sorrow and strife. In the First Era, my human aspect was indeed ensnared by the Ayleid sorcerer king and bound in his dungeons. Umaril the Unfeathered held no regard for life. He..." she sighed as she recounted the horrors of the past. "He violated Mary, my Human Aspect. As he had done with countless other maidens from the Temples of the Divines. From that unwilling union, Varla was born, a child of two worlds, his existence a testament to both love's endurance and its exploitation."
Inigo's brow furrowed, the weight of such a tragic history in his heart. "And what of the Temple's keepers, Maramal and Dinya Balu? How do they deal with this revelation? They fear for the faith. I cannot imagine this will be a comfortable thing to accept."
"Their path is fraught with turmoil." Mara replied, her voice a soothing balm. "They grapple with the duality of devotion and doubt, for this knowledge challenges the very foundation of their beliefs. Yet, it is in understanding the complexities of my nature and the multifaceted tapestry of life that true wisdom is found."
Inigo, sensing the heaviness that lingered in the air after such profound revelations, cleared his throat and offered a wry smile to the Divine. "You know, I once heard a joke among the mortals: Why did the Aedra refuse to play cards with the Daedra? Because they always throw wild cards into the mix!" He chuckled, hoping to see a spark of amusement in the ethereal gaze of Mara.
The goddess, though not given to the frivolities of humor, acknowledged the attempt with a gentle nod. "Inigo, your spirit remains unbroken, even in the face of such truths. It is a rare quality, one that brings light to the darkest of tales."
Encouraged, Inigo continued, "And speaking of light, I've also heard it said that Magnus left not just because of the creation of Mundus, but because he couldn't find a candle bright enough to read his favorite scrolls by!" His laughter echoed softly, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit; or rather, Khajiit spirit in his case.
Mara's presence seemed to shimmer with a warmth akin to a smile. "Your levity is a balm to the solemnity of our discourse. It is a reminder that joy, too, is a sacred part of this existence."
Inigo bowed slightly, his heart lighter. "Thank you, Mara. It is said that laughter is the best medicine, and I believe even the gods could use a dose now and then." Especially given the current times that have fallen upon the world. He smiled at Mara. "And, well, when your Human aspect comes back to you, that will be a piece regained - like finding the missing puzzle piece hidden under the carpet!"
The more he was getting into it, Inigo's spirit was feeling elevated once more. His confidence was slowly coming back to him again.
The Divine smiled and shook her head lightly. Inigo certainly had a way with words. But that called to another matter: "Earlier, Inigo, you were delivering Missives for the Temple."
Inigo nodded, "Er... yes! I was spreading the love all over the place! I was a nice kitty." He was afraid that she was going to bring up his fist's acquaintance with Grelod.
"So you are aware, I did see you strike Grelod in her Orphanage," Mara began, her voice sounding less than pleased.
Inigo defended himself immediately. "Grelod's kindness was a facade, a cruel irony not lost on those who suffer under her care. My fist was but an instrument of retribution, a momentary lapse in a life otherwise devoted to the pursuit of honour. Er... well, for the past few years, at least."
Mara's voice, a gentle caress against the fabric of reality, responded, "In the grand tapestry of life, every thread has its place. Your actions, though violent, were not without cause. The world is a complex weave of light and shadow, and sometimes, the hand of justice must be firm."
"In the eyes of the Divines, is there room for such acts of defiance?" Inigo asked, his voice a mix of defiance and curiosity.
"The Divines gaze upon all actions with understanding, seeking the intent behind the deed," Mara explained. "Your heart, though clouded by the heat of the moment, sought to end suffering. It is this intent that tempers the judgment of the heavens."
Inigo nodded, his thoughts a whirlwind of reflection and resolve. "Then let my actions be a testament to the plight of the voiceless, and may my future deeds echo with the clarity of purpose."
"That will be all. For you have much to attend to." the goddess spoke softly, having entertained Inigo enough.
Inigo nodded. "Yes; I thank you for allowing me to speak to you like this. It was most enlightening! And thank you for not punishing me for my action."
Mara's presence seemed to embrace him, a silent acknowledgment of his inner turmoil and his quest for redemption. "Go forth, Inigo the Brave. Let your journey be guided by the wisdom gleaned from your experiences, and may your path be illuminated by the light of compassion and understanding."
After his profound conversation with Mara, Inigo felt a tumultuous blend of emotions. There was a sense of relief, like a burden had been lifted, knowing that his actions, though harsh, were seen in the light of justice and intent by the divine. He felt validated in his role as an agent of change in Skyrim, and he hoped that he could be a guiding hand until Cura returns. Yet, there was also a solemnity that settled in his heart, a recognition of the gravity of his deeds and the complex tapestry of morality that he had to navigate.
Inigo's spirit, always a beacon of bravery and desired honour, now also carried a deeper understanding of the divine perspective. He felt humbled by Mara's wisdom, her words echoing the nuances of life's grand design, where every action and every intent were interwoven with the fates of both mortals and gods. The First Era itself was far more complex than many realized; and Umaril the Unfeathered sounds worse than ever, given the revelation he'd heard. The Imperials would be up in arms to learn of this.
Their conversation had not only provided answers but had also opened new avenues of thought, prompting Inigo to reflect on the nature of kindness, the essence of cruelty, and the true meaning of justice.
With a gentle flash of light, Inigo stood in front of the Statue of Mara, in the Temple of Riften. Dinya Balu and Maramal stood nearby, watching in awe as he came to his senses again.
"Inigo, what did you see?" Dinya asked, clasping her hands together. Her eyes were gleaming with the light of expectation and worry.
In the warm light of the Temple's inner sanctum, Inigo's countenance was etched with the gravity of the revelation he bore. "Dinya, Maramal, I spoke to Mara herself," he began, his voice steady yet laden with the weight of untold histories, "I come before you with the truth about Varla, once and for all, and his origins that intertwine with the divine and the profane." He gently tapped his fingers together as he was about to confirm the rumours once and for all to the people who were most troubled by them. He twiddled his thumbs as he tried to explain it as softly as possible to the Clerics.
Dinya Balu, her dark eyes reflecting the flicker of the sacred flames, nodded for him to continue. Maramal stood silent, his expression a testament to the solemnity of the moment. "Varla was born not of love, but of a darkness that sought to corrupt the purest of lights," Inigo continued. "His existence, a tapestry woven from the unwilling union of Mara's human aspect and Umaril the Unfeathered, is a legacy of an era when cruelty reigned under the Ayleids. Mara did not willingly lie with Umaril, so you do not have to worry about the possible implications of her being a ''harlot,'' if that makes you feel better at all."
The air grew heavy, as if the very stones of the Temple absorbed the sorrow of the tale. "How can this be?" Dinya whispered, her voice barely audible. "How can the embodiment of love and compassion be... be... tarnished like so?"
Maramal turned his face, and clasped his Amulet firmly. The news was like a bitter fruit, its flavour tinged with dismay and horror. To learn of such a disgrace befalling his goddess was like a knife to his heart. And a testament to the brutal and sadistic nature of the Ayleids, Chief among them Umaril.
Inigo met their gazes, his eyes resolute. "I suppose it is the duality of this existence, the balance of light and dark. Mara's ordeal at the hands of Umaril was a trial of her divine essence, a testament to her enduring spirit even in the face of unspeakable adversity." He was impressed by his ability to turn a phrase. But in truth, Inigo hoped to soften the blow as much as possible.
Maramal, with hands joined in quiet supplication, finally broke the silence. "And what becomes of us, Inigo? Of the Temple and the devout seeking solace in Mara's arms? How shall we reconcile such a revelation with our cherished doctrines? Mara, assuming a mortal guise, bore a child out of wedlock, whether by choice or not. The... the Goddess of Love... of Matrimony..."
Inigo took a measured breath, choosing his words with care. "She is still all of those things, Maramal; what Umaril did to her Human aspect does not negate that. And the Divines dealt their punishment upon him in the form of Pelinal Whitestrake. I dare to say Mara made her point very clear to him through that."
Dinya Balu, her determination reinforced by Inigo's words, nodded slowly. She clenched her fist in her other hand as she pondered the facts. "We will embrace this truth to fortify our determination. We will not only preach about Mara's love but also her steadfastness amidst... amidst terrible darkness. She has always been a beacon for those who have suffered such horrors... maybe... maybe that's... Hmm. Lady Mara has consistently embraced those who have endured abuse and suffering. Maybe she comprehends their anguish more deeply than we know."
Maramal, his voice now firm with newfound understanding, added, "Let this Temple be a sanctuary for all, a place where the light of Mara dispels the shadows of the past and guides the lost towards redemption, and comfort to those who suffer grievous injustices."
Dinya gently sat upon the pew. "And as for Varla..." She and Maramal sat down for a small while and went over the precious few details they'd learned, with what they now know, and in the wake of the revelation, their perception of Varla's existence underwent a profound transformation. Where once there might have been a shadow of uncertainty or discomfort, there now stood a deepened sense of compassion and a more nuanced understanding of the complexities of life and divinity. They came to view Varla not as a symbol of a dark past but as an embodiment of resilience and the possibility of redemption that lies within every soul.
Varla's existence, born from the convergence of divine suffering and mortal struggle, became a poignant reminder to Dinya and Maramal of the indomitable spirit that defines both the mortal and the divine realms. They felt a renewed reverence for the life of Varla, recognizing in him the same potential for goodness and love that Mara, in all her benevolence, bestows upon the world.
The knowledge of Varla's origins did not nurture hatred, but instead a newfound respect for him; it fostered a deeper empathy for the trials he must have faced, being of such a conflicted heritage. Dinya, with her heart ever open to the pains and joys of others, found within herself a wellspring of forgiveness and understanding, a desire to offer solace and guidance to those who, like Varla, have known the bitterness of life's cruelties.
Maramal, whose teachings had always centered on the sanctity of love and the strength it provides, now saw Varla as a testament to the enduring power of love to overcome even the darkest of beginnings.
Together, Dinya and Maramal embraced the truth of Varla's being, allowing it to inform their teachings and interactions with the faithful. They considered speaking of him with a gentle respect, using his story as a parable of hope and the transformative power of faith. He began his life a guided weapon in the Alessians' hands from infancy, and driven to the life of a mad despot, and slain, though now, according to Mara's own words choosing to find redemption and honour in aiding the Dragonborn and helping Mara's aspects return to her in Aetherius. Given the chance to do good, he elected to take it. In their eyes, Varla was no longer a figure shrouded in the mists of legend but a beacon of possibility, a reminder that every life, no matter its origin, is precious and worthy of love.
Their feelings towards Varla became interwoven with a broader vision for the Temple and its followers - a vision that acknowledged the multifaceted nature of the divine and the myriad paths that lead to understanding and acceptance. They saw in Varla's life a mirror reflecting the struggles and triumphs of all who seek the light of Mara's grace.
As they continued their sacred duties, Dinya and Maramal carried with them the memory of Varla, allowing it to shape their words and deeds. They found that in accepting and honouring Varla's existence, they were also reaffirming their commitment to the principles that had always guided them: compassion, forgiveness, and the unyielding belief in the potential for every soul to find redemption.
"Inigo, thank you for bringing these truths to light. You and Lucien." Maramal said ultimately. "It is inane, once one realizes just how much of our history has been lost from the First Era. It is a good thing that Lucien had some knowledge. Much of the Arcane University's records are kept from the Public. Without him, we never would have pieced this together. Be sure to thank him for us, if you please."
Inigo nodded, "Of course. I am happy to help you."
Dinya Balu nodded and looked up at the statue of Mara, and then looked back at him with a smile. "Inigo, I will pray for your successes in both the battlefield, and in love and happiness for the future." she reassured him.
In that moment, Marise Aravel entered the Temple, and Inigo shifted to the side to allow her entry. The Dunmer woman appeared anxious; troubled. She addressed Dinya. "Dinya? I was reading that missive you gave me and I was wondering something about marriage."
Dinya smiled, "Feel free to ask me anything you like."
Marise swiftly took a seat beside her on the bench and spoke in a hushed tone. "There's someone I like very much in Riften. I think I'd like to marry him someday, but... well, he's not of my kind. Would Mara be angry?"
"No, no... not at all. Mara believes that the spark of a union comes from inside us, not from our appearance." she smiled and looked at Maramal for a brief moment, while he was busy dusting the bookshelves on the opposite side of the sanctum. She tapped Marise's hand gently.
Inigo listened to her words and nodded. He then waved, "Well, I will be leaving now. Take care of yourselves, okay?"
Dinya smiled, "You as well, Inigo. May Mara's light guide your steps."
As he walked away from the temple, Inigo carried with him the echoes of Mara's words, the weight of history, and the lightness of a future yet unwritten. He felt relieved to know that the Divines were watching over them, even if it made him slightly uncomfortable. "Well, Inigo; you had better be on your best behaviour. And if you swear, better have a bar of soap on hand." he told himself with a lighthearted chuckle as he walked along the wooden boardwalks.