Those Whom the Gods Forsake - Chapter 7

• Posted by Accursed August 7, 2015 - 979 views

  Chapter 7: An Unwelcoming Greeting

  I pulled my hood up and walked back to the main building. The others were still sitting at the table.

  “Sorcalmo! I knew you weren’t tired. Look at you; my son a dashing Mer in Gilded armor. You remind me of myself.”

  “Hm. Well you wanted war stories. Here's the whole thing.”

  I fell into my chair and sipped at the little wine I had left. This was heavier than I remembered. After some time had passed it was only me and my father at the table.

  “Come, let us sit by the fire.”

  I did as he asked.

  “So, when will you have your wedding?” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was serious.

  “Wedding? We’ve only been together a few days, and you think we’ve already planned a wedding?”

  “Heavens, boy! Have you two even slept yet?”

  “No! Why should such things matter?”

  “Magnus preserve us! You do know HOW, don’t you?”

  We laughed.

  “Yes, father. I know exactly what the gods intended.”

  “Then do it! I didn’t live this long to not have any grandchildren.”

  “As you’ve said the past thirty years.”

  He sighed. There was something troubling him.

  “Sorcalmo, and no, I won’t call you Caranthir, I’ve heard things about the war those heathen men are causing in Skyrim. I worry it may have been wrong of me to toss you into that mess.”

  “Yes father, it's true I’m residing in a part of the province that is held by the rebels, but I assure you it is of no threat to me. Their presence there is miniscule. The city barely has a dozen residents.”

  “Humph. If you’re positive you're safe there, I will trust your judgment.”

  We embraced, and went to bed without another word.

  I took my armor off and set it against the foot of the bed. I stripped and changed into some night clothes, a luxury I hadn't had the week and a half I had already spent in Winterhold. I crawled into my bed, thinking of the events of my time in Skyrim. The deaths, resurfacing memories, dreams, notes, and yes, an insane Bosmer and the Psijic Order. I feared I would never again live as I did here in my homeland.

  I woke and changed into a silken robe. I needed to reflect on what I truly wanted in life. I put on some soft leather shoes and walked out to the garden in between the main building and my sister's house.

  I sat down in a simple stone chair and closed my eyes, meditating. I listened to the sounds. Wind in the trees, a bird flying over head, lizards scrambling on the gravel paths. Lastly, Viranirn playing her Dizi, a traditional flute.

  It was a wonderful melody, drifting through the air like a feather falling softly to the ground. There was something about it; sad, yet peaceful. A feeling like longing something you will never again have.

  I breathed in deeply, clearing my mind. I soon fell into my nightmares, the sun warming my face.

  Another dream of my past. Father, Viranirn, and I were sitting at the dining table. At this point, I was a mere baby when compared to most of Mer; recently having turned twenty five. Father was unusually grim and quiet. I took as his grief still lingering after my mother’s death three years before, as we were nearing the anniversary of her passing; Viranirn was excited to mark her fourth year, however.

  He looked at me.

  “Sorcalmo, I’ve no doubt you’ve heard a great deal of the need of soldiers on the battlefront.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Well then you also know that it is a very honorable thing to fight. Unfortunately, after recent… dealings, our family’s honor requires that somebody fights. In normal circumstances either I or your younger sibling would go, but problems arise there. I am far over the age limits for enrolling, and your sister is merely three. That only leaves…”

  “So I’m to fight because YOU did some morally questionable business dealings? You’d put my life in danger to save your own name?”

  He grew angry.

  “Damnit, boy! You know I don’t want to. We just need somebody aiding the cause.”

  “Hm. “

  We scowled at each other, and in the morning I left for the docks without saying goodbye. I only left a note saying I did as he asked. A small stall had been erected near the ship sailing to Cyrodiil to handle admission and equipping of the soldiers. I got my standard issue weapons and armor and sailed into Dominion-held territory for basic combat training.

  I woke with an ache in my lower back from sleeping in the stone chair.

  Thinking back on my leaving for war, I reminisced on my naivety. Ah, how immature youth can be.

  Judging from the distance the shadows had moved, it was approximately noon. My stomach growled, a good indicator I needed some stew. I went in the front room of the central tower and found it empty. A ring of a bell later, a servant had appeared to ask what I required.

  “I was thinking a venison stew, if that isn’t much trouble.”

  “None at all.”

  The young Altmer scurried off to inform our chef.

  This truly was an easy life, one that I may never have again.

  I scowled, having not thought of that before. What would I do after I finished my schooling in Winterhold? If I returned here I would have wasted my chance to put my training to use, and if I stayed in Skyrim being a healer I certainly wouldn’t become as wealthy as my father.

  I ate my stew whilst my anger stewed.  How ironic of me.

  The next few days were spent similarly, eating, meditating, talking. By the fifth day Erissa and I were ready to go back to Winterhold. I embraced my family, Father giving me two hundred septims to help pay for travel and whatever I might need while I was away.

  Aldaril made his rounds, stopping at our estate entrance. We boarded and enjoyed the hour-long ride back to the Alinor docks. I patted his shoulder and promised to come back next year and spend more time with him.

  A ship was leaving for Windhelm that evening, so I paid for passage and we wandered the town until the time came to board the ship.

  The journey was a half week with one brief supply stop in High Rock.

  The ship pulled into the Windhelm port and I got off. Dreadful place.

  The Argonians worked hard and in return were given a single room for them all to live in each other’s filth. The sailors littered all around and the guards lazily watched people get on and off ships. It was risky to sail here, right into the throbbing heart of the rebellion.

  Midway through the city, a group of Nords glared at us like we were some form of Daedra. We passed them without any trouble, but their looks put me on edge. We were clearly not welcomed here.

  The horse we borrowed from the College was at the stables, as I had paid for, and we made it to Winterhold within two hours.

  Just outside the city two Stormcloaks stood over the bodies of some Imperials and their fallen comrade. They were loading them into a cart when we approached.

  “Move along, Altmer. Nothing to see here.”

  We continued by without replying. The war was slowly creeping upon us.

  I stabled the horse just to the right of the bridge entrance and we walked across.

  “So, how was your first time in your homeland?” I inquired.

  “Oh, it’s lovely there. And your family was so welcoming too.”

  “Hm. You should’ve met them before my mother died. Father was even livelier then. Of course, my sister would have been unborn.”

  We embraced and went into our rooms, mentally preparing to return to our studies.