#mareenawrites

The fact that the Moons were out and the auras were shining across the cold Skyrim skies should have put Athis more at ease, but everything seemed somehow off as he and the rest of his party trudged along the cobbled path back to Whiterun. There was an anxiety he couldn’t quite place, and his temper was rising with every crunch of gravel under his muddy boots. Peace and quiet, for one, could have been achieved as they walked—if it weren’t for the ancient off-key drinking song that was winding its discordant way into Athis’s ears for about the billionth time since Farkas had “taught” it to an Orcish bard during one ill-advised stay in the swamps of Morthal on a longer job last Rain’s Hand. It had been miserable to endure then, and hearing the song now was near-equally annoying. It seemed no amount of practice could straighten out the deep bass notes of his friend’s voice into something sonorous.

“But a day shall arise when the dark dragon's lies

Will be silenced forever and then—!

Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw,

Dragonborn be the savior of men!”

He glowered back at Farkas—fresh bear pelts were folded over the towering Nord’s shoulders and he walked on as if he didn’t have a single care in the world—and frowned. Aela caught Athis’s eye and shook her head in mutual dismay. They all had done their job as well as expected, and with a decent amount of haste—but stopping to have, as Farkas had called his antics and drinking, ‘an early dinner,’ had put them far behind their expected return schedule. Vilkas and Kodlak would have words for them, and to be honest, Athis didn’t want to hear any of it. He just wanted to get home, wash up, and get to bed.

As of late, he’d been taking on more work than was strictly necessary. There was an itch in his bones to be out under the skies when he was at home in Jorrvaskr, and then an itch to get back there as quickly as possible once he was already out and about. Aela had warned him to rest, but resting seemed more and more impossible. His life felt like something he’d been doing by rote; it’d been as if he was barely awake as he moved through his routine. It wasn’t that he didn’t have it good—he was the only Dunmer fortunate enough to get a spot in the Companions’ ranks, after all—but somehow, the days were beginning to blur together despite all he’d achieved. There was, unfortunately, a sense that reaching farther was not for him. The Circle was full, and recruitment—and thus the opportunity to become a mentor—was at a standstill because of lack of space and work, and well…. Despite everything, Athis did sometimes feel like he didn’t quite belong—and probably never would.

She tried to keep her voice even, but it was on the verge of breaking. She’d worked so hard to leave that part of her past behind. Odd how she’d mentioned Niruin in passing to Teldryn, only for the man to show up here hours later. Maybe one never did escape the ghosts of their pasts.

“It’s so good to see you,” Niruin said. He lurched forward as if he, too, was disbelieving a mirage — or couldn’t otherwise trust his own eyes. His voice hitched with emotion in a way he’d only ever allowed to happen with her when they were younger. Otherwise, he had to put on a strong face — as did she.

That said, his eyes sparked with joy. He didn’t look stressed. There wasn’t a trace of exhaustion. He didn’t curl in on himself as she was prone to do. There was a confidence that wasn’t manufactured — this was something natural to him now.

Gods, and his hair. The coppery curls were gorgeous. No wax to weigh them down and tame them as was the expected for noblemen back in Haven. It was sort of symbolic, wasn’t it? Even though he’d been forced to leave, he’d found some kind of freedom. He looked so different from the way he existed in her memories — but this version felt right, somehow.

She let the barest hint of a smile cross her face, but it faltered. Too much of her own anxiety crept up her throat and the joy felt wrong as it escaped her heart.

She didn’t know him anymore, really. And he had no idea of the hell she’d been through. They had been damaged as children, but had they ever recovered from all of that? Was it right to ask?

“It’s good to see you, too,” she whispered. Something was cracking inside her as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She’d thought she’d been done crying. She didn’t think this phantom from lifetimes ago would prompt such a reaction.

“Oh!” Niruin said. “Please — I didn’t mean to upset you, Nyenna.”

There was a strangeness in the way the other thieves shifted uncomfortably, glancing sidelong at him. Nyenna had noticed.

She dragged in a difficult breath and scrubbed away the errant tears.

He’d heard her back in camp a few days ago — he’d heard loud and clear her admission that she didn’t know how to love. What, pray tell, was it that they had, in that case? After their fight over that, he’d acted as if all was well, had even embraced her and offered soothing words, but most of that was to placate her. Had that been wrong?

At the end of the day, he wasn’t going to renege on the promises he’d made to her. Love wasn’t always convenient, he was finding. The both of them had a lot of room to grow, and the optimistic part of his mind still held on to hope — right there, next to all that anger.

He could try and sympathize with how overwhelmed she must be feeling. She had been correct in all their disagreements, however — he could never truly know the weight of the world like she did these days. Anyone would buckle under so much pressure. That she was still standing was a miracle, if you asked anyone else. But he knew how strong she could be. Athis had seen it first hand. And he wanted to preserve that — keep her hand in his. All he’d ever wanted to do was keep her by his side. He could support her with what skills he did have — and he’d been honing those for plenty of time. He could hold his own in a fight.

But the fear… The fear was something she couldn’t so easily let go of. It was insidious, and seeped into every thought. Worry consumed her at every branching path of her quest. He could sympathize with fear. Nyenna had trusted him with the worst of hers, and often still did, even when she talked in circles like she had during their argument. In the past, before even that, she’d cried in his arms enough times now when the grief of losing her brother hit like a tidal wave out of nowhere. She’d become convinced that whoever followed her into battle — or into whatever other chaos she was getting herself into these days — would never come back out again. That didn’t have to be the case. He’d repeated this to her and to himself a thousand times.

Athis let out a long, frustrated sigh through his nose and folded the map he’d been glancing at without absorbing any of the information. He knew that Riften was just up ahead. They’d be rejoining the main path soon enough. Thankfully, his earlier scouting revealed no Thalmor to be seen. Though he’d forgotten all the specifics, it was known that Riften had sided early on with the Stormcloaks, anyway.

Her thoughts were racing as if she’d encountered some grand danger, not just the anger and hurt of her husband. The words he’d shouted seemed to glance right off her like water from the backs of ducks. Her mind couldn’t hold them and she wasn’t sure if that was due to how heavy the conversation was or her own confusion.

“Athis, please!” she said, voice carrying over the settled snow and ice that spread itself thin over the side of the mountain. She’d kept her power from the words, and did not let them shake the earth beneath her feet.

He’d made it pretty far before he started shivering. He wheeled on her and trudged back a few paced, face twisted in a scowl.

“I asked you why and you had no good answer for me,” Athis said, voice low and dangerous. “No. You — you refused to answer.”

“It’s not — Athis, I didn’t refuse to answer, you just didn’t like what you were hearing!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, but Nyenna didn’t miss the way his arms were shaking, or how his fists were clenched tight enough to leave marks in his palms.

It was a moment again before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was low with a rage burning in the background. “Why would you forgive him? Forgive that? Why would you allow yourself back into the same chaos you’d left behind?”

“I told you this already. We have to work together. We don’t have a choice.”

“We do have a choice, Nyenna! That’s what you’re not seeing.” He paused and let out a sigh. She watched as shivers began overtaking him. Her own budding rage prevented her from moving to his side to keep him warm as she normally would have. “You don’t need to treat him like some kind of friend — or more. His presence has a purpose, and when that is done, he can go. We can be rid of him and go about our lives as we intended.”

Nyenna ground her teeth and flexed her fingers. Something primal screamed in her head, or deeper still within her bones. Somehow, she managed to ignore it. Her own heart beat furiously in her chest, as if it was itself a dragon, wings beating to help it escape the confines of her ribs. And she was angry. She was, but she knew the reason: Athis was right. She hated to be called foolish in not so many words. He had a point. His pain was valid. But that didn’t mean he knew everything.

He couldn’t know everything. No matter how much she explained the situation, or the danger, he would never grasp it. Not in its entirety.

Teldryn stood on the edge of a cliff that served as a home base of sorts to the creature’s keeper, pondering his life choices for the span of maybe a second or two. There had been no initial misgiving that he was conscious of, but occasionally pausing to adjust one’s moral compass never hurt, especially in this line of business. Upon inspection, his true north was still somewhat metallic—just as it had always been.

As if in direct response to that, a great deal of gold coins clinked merrily in his pockets as he finished tying a rather impressive series of knots. Revus Sarvani—that was the mer’s name—had somehow succumbed to a rather nasty bump on the head while he was going about his otherwise ordinary business. Teldryn had obliged to restrain the poor fellow and stash him away in the piece of fraying canvas that doubled as a sorry excuse of a tent.

The wayward Nord was currently busy stacking an absurd amount of stones of various shapes and sizes inside the unkempt cabin in the silt strider’s back. They weren’t all large, but the tedious work would have worn out the average person by now, or so Teldryn thought.