#thespectralarrow

Evangeline —

Do not tell Lhaeben!  My love to Ana. Stay out of trouble. Stop shooting guards. Visit soon. Etc., etc. 

Yours, Arveldis 

The septims inside the package are enough to pay off the last of Eva’s fine. A letter comes to Arveldis in return:  Her penmanship has improved, and there are very few spelling mistakes.  There’s also a colorful, shapeless scribble at the bottom of the page.

Arveldis,

Thank you.  I won’t tell him, but I will have you know that he was the one who told me to go to you for money.  I believe “soft touch” was the word he used.  Are you going to let him get away with calling you that?

I want to visit soon.  Both of you!  You won’t believe how Ana has grown.  She’s like a weed.

Sorry about the scribbles.   She got a hold of the letter before I could hide it.

Thank you again. I’ll find a way to repay you.  When we get together next, I’ll bake.  Then we can call it fair.

Love,

[She's exhausted by the time she reaches the Winking Skeever.  It's been a refreshing change, to be able to ride and travel without a baby in tow, and it feels almost normal again.  But her legs are bottom are sore, and she hisses as she sinks into a chair.  With Comrade and Nikulas boarded up for the evening, there's nothing to do but wait.  Arveldis promised he'd meet her here, and she has no doubt that he'll make good on it... But maybe, until then, she can have a quick nap.

Evangeline,

I hope this finds you well. My thoughts often turn to you and young Anascia, especially since I have recently been visited by my own son. I would love for you to meet him. Perhaps we will see one another again before too long. Unfortunately, I cannot travel to Riften for some while.

There is something that has been bothering me that I think you can I wonder if you might have some advice for

You may be pleased to know that Lhaeben and I have reconciled our differences and will be taking some much-needed time from Thalmor Headquarters to attend a wedding in High Rock. My duplicitous schemes to have him wind down are in the early stages of development. Feel free to send any suggestions my way 

Now, this is difficult to say Evangeline, if I may count on your discretion I need to talk to someone, anyone, about I am afraid

Please help me

Warmly, Arveldis

[The letter sent in response is strewn with mistakes, but at least it's legible.]

Arveldis,

I'm glad to hear that Lhaeben and you have put aside your differences.  I miss him.

Can we talk?

There is a lot for us to talk about, it feels like.

When can I see you?  Soon?

I hope everything is alright.

Love,

Sindorin has made plenty of achievements in his life. He has written books, facilitated research breakthroughs, and earned quite a bit of scholarly recognition, all at such young ages. Of course, I am proud of these things. However, I think that I find his passion most admirable. Most of my friends and acquaintances tell me that he is just like me - 

That is a vain thing to be proud of. 

What I mean to say is that I am proud of the way that he embraces his life. He chases the things that matter to him the way that I wish that I had when I was his age. I was so caught up in pleasing my father, in meeting his expectations. Sindorin has never for a moment considered not doing something that might make him happy just to placate myself or his mother. I envy him that. 

“Do you need any help?”

“I’m going to have you stay on Dory Duty,” Arveldis chuckles, sparing a glance for the toddler at his side. The two-year-old sits atop the counter, swinging his feet and eyeing his father’s platter of vegetables with big, mesmerized eyes. Arveldis passes a slice of green pepper to the boy, who snatches it in his eager, chubby fingers and crams it into his mouth.

“He eats those like they’re candy.” Lhaeben pets back Sindorin’s fair, flyaway mane.

“Good,” Arveldis chuckles. “Ah – actually, Benny, can you mince those onions for me?” He lays a cutting board down on the other side of the washbasin where he’d rinsed the veggies. “I ought to open some windows,” he sighs, rolling up his sleeves. He pats Sindorin on the knee on his way past the counter.

Sindorin, the brilliant and crafty spitfire that he is, realizes that there is nothing standing immediately between him and delicious paradise. Boldly, he reaches for the platter, and he wraps a tiny fist around a full and dark green pepper. 

“Oh,” Lhaeben sets his knife down, “Dory – no, child. Not that one.”

“What’s the matter?” Arveldis turns away from the window. “Oh, for Gods’ sakes, Dory, put that down.”

“No!” He clutches the nightmare fuel in both of his hands and takes a monstrous chomp out of it.

Arveldis presses his fingertips against his lips, watching in mute horror as his unsuspecting son crunches away. Parental instincts suggest he remove that wretched thing from the poor child’s grasp, but they are only seconds away from impending doom, and he cannot bring himself to move.

Slowly, Sindorin’s expression shifts from one of glee to one of utter betrayal. He gapes at the offending vegetable as if it has mortally wounded him, his jaw still going for the fact that he has not yet contributed this agony to his favorite food. Dory’s little face contorts and turns red, rivulets of drool already beginning to trickle down his chin. He draws in a shuddering breath, and he wails.

“Benny, get some milk,” Arveldis pulls a hand towel off the rack above the counter.

Confused, yet determined, Dory sobs and sputters as he takes another careful bite of the pepper. Arveldis laughs, a sad and pitying chuckle that is difficult to smother, and he starts to dab the drool off of his son’s chin. “Give Daddy the pepper, Dory,” he gently pries at the boy’s fingers. Lhaeben can hardly pour a cup of milk for his raucous, wheezing laughter.

Instead, Sindorin leans forward, and opens his mouth over Arveldis’s hand until the chewed-up green bits drip into his palm. Arveldis believes the worst to be over until a familiar and offensive aroma tickles his nostrils.

[He frowns, hesitant.] Oh, have I… have I done something wrong? [He makes to hide the flowers behind his back, as if it might help.] I wanted to wish you a happy early Heart’s Day. I have to leave for Solitude very soon.

[She shakes her head.]  You haven't done anything wrong.  I'm being silly.     [The news that he's leaving soon strikes her harder than she thought they ever would, and her mouth goes slightly ajar in astonishment.  It occurs to her, then, that she never really took into consideration that he'd be leaving at all.  Fear and surprise overtake sadness, and they leak into her voice]

[She looks up at the sound of his voice;  Ana is sleeping for now, and Nikulas is curled at her feet.  She stares at Arveldis for a few minutes, before her eyes go to the flowers. 

She isn’t sure how to feel.

She remembers, very vividly, a young girl in the Riften marketplace.  She was often tired, usually hungry, and constantly lonesome.  She would sell wildflowers from the basket in her arms.  She did what she needed to, then, to survive.

All of that felt rather familiar again, and the realization hit her like a slap o cold water in the face.  She wanted to say thank you, but instead, she covered her mouth with one hand.]

…I’m here.  [Her voice is quiet, even to her own ears.  Quiet.  Surprised. Yearning.] …You brought— You’ve got me—?  [She means to ask the question in full, but her voice breaks, and she shuts her eyes as she rests one hand on her chest, as if she might somehow hold her anxiety back.]