Goodbye Skyrim: Epilogue

• Posted by Karver the Lorc June 28, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Short Story - #Straag Rod  #Lissette  #Karver  #Teineeva  - 1,316 views

  

  

  The celebration kept going well into the night, almost to the morning and it was maybe an hour before sunrise when the last of the most stubborn ones fell off. The east was already much brighter when Grulmar began picking his way among the people just lying everywhere around the homestead, snoring and murmuring in their sleep.

   

  He had to pick up all his things quietly, so he cast an aura around himself, muffling all the noises. It was more difficult than he expected, the fact he was up all night taking its toll on him. Luckily he didn’t drink much, but he could still feel the alcohol in his head, dulling his senses, as well as making it harder to concentrate on keeping the spell as he gathered his things.

   

  He carefully picked his way through the people on lying on the floor, making it to the door without waking anyone up and he allowed himself a sigh then. He took one last look at the mess that was the homestead, chuckling to himself. He was damn lucky he didn’t have to clean that up. With that he closed the door and stepped out into the porch, only then letting the spell slip from his fingers.

   

  The Orc turned around and nearly jumped out of his pants when he saw Koor just sitting behind him, watching him with those clever sky-blue eyes. Grulmar put a finger to his lips, and then kneeled next to Koor, rubbing the dog’s ears. “Keep watch over them, Puppy. And be quiet, ya don’t want to wake them up, right?” he whispered into Koor’s ear and the dog pushed his head onto his lap. “Oh, no, don’t even think about it. Yer puppy eyes don’t work on me. Now go on, go have a nap before Mahti wakes up, hmm?”

   

  Koor softly whined and Grulmar patted his head before getting back to his feet, giving the homestead one last look. He took a deep breath then and headed south.

   

  But he didn’t get far, because not too far away from the homestead was a big Altmer sitting on a low stone wall, smoke rising from his mouth and nostrils as he was puffing on the pipe in the corner of his mouth. Still in his clothes from the party, on his lap was a carved wooden box and he seemed to be holding something up with his left hand, like he was inspecting it. Something shiny, by the looks of it. Grulmar suddenly froze, clenching his jaws, when the blazing eyes left the object and honed on him in the dim light. Crap… There was no point trying illusion magic on the Altmer, so Grulmar just sighed and walked towards him.

   

  Äelberon’s eyes went over the sack over Grulmar’s shoulder, at the bandolier hanging loose over his other shoulder, with the Dragon Priest mask and the vambrace from Ahzidal’s armor tied to it, at the bedroll tied to the sack. He lowered his hand, putting the object out of view, but Grulmar saw that it was round. He sighed at the inevitable, both Shiny discovering him and that he was instantly attracted to the something shiny the old Altmer had been holding. What did Dec always call ya? A Magpie?

   

  “You really do not want to clean up, do you, Motagiik?” Äelberon chuckled, bringing the young Orc out of his thoughts.

   

  Grulmar stared at him for a moment and then he shook his head, chuckling too. This wasn’t what he wanted, or what he expected, but it was a nice surprise. Maybe Äelberon, of all of them, deserved to have the last word.

   

  “What can I say?” Grulmar shrugged. “I’m terrible at cleanin’ my messes,” he added with a smile, sitting next to Äelberon, the Mer letting a long leg drop from the wall while the other rose, bending at the knee to give him space. The box was still on his lap and his left hand still held it. Grulmar was trying not to inhale the smoke, just the thought of smelling moon sugar again was giving him shakes. He then suddenly frowned when the smoke reached his nostrils, not smelling like skooma or moon sugar at all. “Y’are not gettin’ blazed,” he pointed out.

   

  “No. It is no longer needed. So, just dried Elves Ears,” the Altmer said with a quiet smile and Grulmar looked at his ears with raised eyebrows. “No, not mine,” Äelberon chuckled. He took the pipe out of his mouth and turned the bit towards Grulmar. “Would you like to try it?”

   

  “Is it addictive?”

   

  Äelberon chuckled yet again, but it was a strange chuckle to Grulmar, half with humor, but with undercurrents of something philosophical. “I usually pair Elves Ears with painting, but…” He made a gesture towards his place on the wall. “This isn’t quite the place to start painting. So, not on its own, no. But the ritual can become addictive. I am almost compelled to paint. Hmm, I may do it tonight.”

   

  “I’ll pass then,” Grulmar raised his hand, shrugging. “Once an addict always an addict.”

   

  The bit found the Altmer’s mouth again and he gave the pipe a steady puff. There was a moment of silence, before Äelberon broke it. “No goodbye then?” the Altmer asked, a seriousness creeping into his voice. “I understand the appeal. Saying it is...too difficult. Too emotional, believe me, I have said many ‘goodbyes’, some temporary and some… permanent. But don’t you think they,” he pointed towards the homestead with his pipe, “deserve at least the choice to decide for themselves whether or not they want to say goodbye?” He smirked. “Though even I understand the hypocrisy of my own words. I was planning on leaving today too, or at least the dragon was. You changed his mind and I thank you for it.” His eyes found the ‘stead, the fire in them going warm. “And so does she.”

   

  “I don’t know. It’s not really about them, Shiny,” Grulmar rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes. “It’s about me. Always about me. I’m not good at goodbyes. This way I won’t have to deal with it.”

   

  Äelberon narrowed his eyes. “We are all selfish in our own way. And something tells me that this feast… was not just for me.”

   

  “It was and wasn’t,” Grulmar shrugged, eventually sighing. “Ya needed it. Tipsy needed it.  But I needed it too. I wanted to belong somewhere, at least for one night. Does that make sense? Barely does to me,” the Orc snorted. “It was my way of sayin’ goodbye.”

   

  “It is your choice where you belong, Grulmar,” the Altmer clasped his shoulder.

   

  “No,” the Orc shook his head, fighting against the wave of emotions. “The people, they all came here ‘cause of ya, matey, they’re yer family. They wanted to remind ya what it means to live. They’re yer family, not mine. They have accepted ya.”

   

  “Family is relative. Acceptance is relative. You and I are much more alike than you think,” he remarked, slowly opening his left hand.

   

  The Orc raised his eyebrows, ready to reply, but the object once again drew his attention and he narrowed his eyes in curiosity. “Ya play with marbles now?” Grulmar asked.

   

  The Mer’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and he faced Grulmar, holding up the object so that Grulmar could get a better look. It was round, like a marble, but it seemed to dance with a fire within it, like how crystal catches light, bending it. “If my people heard you call this a marble..”

   

  “I’d be executed, am I right?”

   

  “Probably.” Spoken with an impish grin. “Most painfully.”

   

  “Not a marble then.” Grulmar’s eyes found Äelberon’s. “What is it?”

   

  The Mer paused in thought, his eyes darting briefly to the crystal sphere before returning to Grulmar. Understanding crept into the Altmer’s gaze and he pointed at Grulmar’s tattoos. “It holds the opposite meaning to the tattoos on your face and the lash scars upon my back. It is acceptance, called a Calian. Aye, I see your smirk, lad, Altmer have marbles telling them they are part of something,” he laughed again. “This is my marble that once told me I belonged, or at least, represented the illusion that I belonged.”

   

  “And what does it tell you now?”

   

  “That to spend your life seeking acceptance is not living. You must go your own way.” He chuckled to himself. “You must be your own storm, sing your own songs.” He put the Calian back into the box and then pulled out a cloth. “This, on the other hand, was what wrapped the Calian. Unimportant to my people, a nothing to protect what they think is important.” Grulmar stared at the cloth, silver grey silk with lace and a pattern of embroidered diamonds or crystals, it was hard to tell in the light.

   

  “Pretty, for a piece of cloth. Worth stealin’,” Grulmar grinned. “Heh. I’d steal both, ‘cause both are...shiny.”

   

  Äelberon had to cover his mouth to prevent from waking his guests he was laughing so hard. “Ya bloody magpie. If ya stole this lad, I wouldn’t be strappin’ ya by the legs like I did when ya stole from Jorrvaskr.”

   

  “So this would warrant ‘by the balls’ strappin’, eh?” Grulmar asked, noticing that the Mer had slipped into his heavier Dusken accent. Did it sometimes when he played around. “Must be really expensive.”

   

  “The Calian, yes.” The accent was dropped. “Sometimes worth lifetimes of striving and achieving acceptance, tolerance. Only to lose it all with a falter of the hand or a strike against stone. But the cloth? No, actually, it isn’t,” The Altmer shook his head and shrugged. “A cheap silk handkerchief. Thousands like it given out by every temple in Summerset on Ascension Day. Worth nothing to any Altmer, often lining the streets when the festival ended, trash. Humans are funny, they thought it so fine because they’ve never seen it before and I let them think that because why not? It is a true treasure to me, more so than even the Calian, and I liked seeing that for once something of mine was thought of as something beautiful and rare.” Äelberon smirked, but Grulmar saw the eyes mist and the voice broke when he spoke. “See, this cloth,” he started, almost clenching the fabric now as he brought it to his nose. He closed his eyes, breathing in, like he caught a familiar scent in it. “This was my Lenya’s, from her very first Ascension Day. The nicest thing she ever possessed and she gave it to me, her son, to wrap and keep my Calian safe. Beautiful in a completely different way. Overly sentimental, yes. My people would say the very same thing, mock me for it, but I am my own storm. And in my storm,” he faced Grulmar, “cheap silk will always trump blown crystal.”

   

  And wasn’t that the truth of life? Cheap silk will always trump blown crystal in someone’s eyes, the simple things bein’ more important than the shiny ones. Simple… I wish things were simple again. No dragons, no magic, no… end of the world. But even in the face of that, it’s the simple things that matter the most. “Ya don’t have to fight Alduin, ya know,” he murmured after a moment of silence.

   

  “I do not?” the Altmer raised his eyebrows. “Got a better idea, eh? We send Tilma?”

   

  “Very funny. Nah. Why fight him? To save the world?” Grulmar asked and then snorted. “World ain’t worth savin’. But those people there,” he pointed towards the homestead, “yer family, they are worth fightin’ for. Like how you fought for yer family back during the Oblivion Crisis. I know ya, ya weren’t fightin’ then to save the world. That’s bullshit.” Grulmar pointed to the handkerchief. “Ya were fightin’ for that handkerchief. Ya don’t have to fight Alduin. Ya must want to fight Alduin. For them, because they mean the same thing to ya that that handkerchief means.”

   

  “You’re right. They do,” the Elf replied and Grulmar watched the Mer stowe the handkerchief away inside the box, which was placed by the Mer’s side on the wall.

   

  He sighed, rubbing his goatee between thumb and forefinger. “On the other hand, I don’t belong here, Shiny. I don’t. The knights are comin’, and I stayed for too long anyway.”

   

  “But running is not always the right option, Motagiik. Didn’t you make this feast to remind me that I am not alone? You are also part of that handkerchief. You are not alone either-”

   

  “Nah,” Grulmar shook his head. “Ya have yer shit to deal with, I have mine. Runnin’ is just how I deal with it. And damn it, just hand me the pipe.” the Orc grimaced suddenly, reaching for the pipe. Äelberon raised his eyebrows, dumped the contents of it over the wall and handed it over to him, along with some dried Elves Ears. “I’m such a weak-willed bastard,” Grulmar griped as he filled the bowl while the Altmer watched him intently. He then wiped the wood and put the bit into his mouth. With a snap of his fingers, he conjured a tiny flame at his fingertips and he put it close to the dried leaves in the bowl, puffing.

   

  The sensation of smoke filling his lungs was just amazing, for a second he felt as if he was smoking skooma again, the way his head was getting dizzy, but soon he realized that it didn’t affect him in any other way. He let out the smoke with long exhale. “Tuskin’ amazing,” he grinned at Äelberon, handing him the pipe again.

   

  There was a silence between them for a moment, both actually quite comfortable with it as they were exchanging the pipe, just enjoying a smoke. It was an interesting moment, especially for Grulmar. He heard people talking about such moments among friends, he even read about it in stories, where two friends could share silence without it feeling awkward. And this moment, well, it was little bit awkward, but not as much as Grulmar thought it would be.

   

  “So what’s your headstart?” Äelberon suddenly asked.

   

  “Not sure. Got an instant message via Recall scroll from Dawnstar, the moment the knights arrived there,” he said and then he chuckled. “I sent messages to Solitude and Dawnstar right when we arrived from Solstheim - along with plenty of invitations, heh.”

   

  “So that’s when you and Ana started cooking up this thing.”

   

  “Actually while we were still on the boat, but pretty much, yeah. So, a week ago they arrived at Dawnstar-”

   

  “And they will most likely head to Windhelm, since that is where you got off from the ship-”

   

  “And they will track me from there, and the track-”

   

  “Leads to Whiterun,” Äelberon finished, smiling. “I say you have a two to three weeks head start. Perhaps more if the people in Whiterun throw them off the track by telling them you headed east to Morrowind for example.”

   

  “Exactly my line of thinkin’,” Grulmar grinned, only to sober up a little, taking the pipe from Äelberon again. “Also, since we’re talkin’ about Dawnstar… well, the contact I have there, he’s an old...acquaintance of mine and also an associate of Lorbulg. He recently moved his… business there.” He puffed, releasing small gusts of smoke from his mouth as his thoughts shifted towards Lorbulg. Another name that only demanded answers in the form of emotions from him, eventually making him raising more questions. But he knew Äelberon knew that name too. Most people in Skyrim and the Empire probably did by now. The infamous Lorbulg. The one who killed the Emperor.

   

  “This acquaintance of yours… Is he perchance good at ‘listening’?”

   

  Grulmar grimaced, handing the pipe back to Äelberon. “Sadly, yes. Name’s Aretino. I’m sayin’ this so that ya can keep an eye out for trouble from the north when ya get back.”

   

  “When I get back,” Äelberon smiled, mostly for himself. “And where do you plan on running?”

   

  “Hammerfell,” Grulmar answered and he saw how Äelberon frowned, but didn’t say anything. “What?”

   

  “It just surprised me. Cyrodiil would make more sense, in my opinion, because Hammerfell… Well, Orcs to Redguards are sort of like Altmer to Nords. Which makes me think there is a specific reason you are heading there. Something you are not telling me. Perhaps the book in your sack?”

   

  Damn it! the Orc’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, he was that surprised. “Ya knew about it all along, didn’t ya?”

   

  “Mora’s scent is hard to forget,” he said quietly, unconsciously rubbing a hand that was covered with runes.

   

  Grulmar sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He offered me a deal, back on Solstheim. He wants some kind of secret in the City of Inkseeds.”

   

  “Ah, that explains why you kept asking about it.”

   

  “Yeah. Well, I told him to go tusk himself, ya know. Back then. Then the knights showed up, I ran and all of a sudden I found the book in my sack when we were still on the ship. I’m fairly sure I’d remember packing something like that with me, so-”

   

  “So apparently telling the Daedric Prince of Fate to go ‘tusk himself’ is not a deterrent,” Äelberon snorted, releasing a smoke from his nostrils and offering the pipe to Grulmar who gladly took it. “Do you think he will keep his end of the deal? That the price will be worth it?”

   

  Grulmar shrugged. “No idea. But he said I will have somethin’ he wants, a secret.”

   

  Äelberon laughed softly. “Oh, yes, he does love those. Just do not give it freely, make sure you have something to back it up.”

   

  “Now that’s the first good advice I’ve heard tonight,” Grulmar grinned, jumping off the wall. “So much shit we could chat about, but I really should by on my way. Will be a long trip, stayin’ off the roads so that the knights don’t have it too easy trackin’ me down. Would like to reach my hidden camp before noon, so I can rest. Plus, I think this is not the last time we’re going to be talkin’,” he smirked and reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a bronze frame - which Äelberon forged for him - with his Aetherium shard set firmly in place. “We have these after all.” The Mer flashed the ring on his middle finger and nodded with a smile, but then his face turned serious.

   

  “Then you do not plan on returning to Skyrim.”

   

  That statement was said with a finality that caught him off guard, he even coughed on the smoke that he inhaled too sharply. It was one of those things he knew the answer for, he just didn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it out loud would set it in stone and nothing should really be fixed that way. So instead of an answer, he just shrugged. “We’ll see.” A neutral answer was better than saying the truth, at least for himself.

   

  “Of course,” the Altmer replied and the Orc knew the Mer wasn’t falling for the lie.

   

  The Orc then silently chuckled, giving the pipe back to Äelberon. “Seriously, just look at us. What would Decimus say now?”

   

  “That we are, hmm, the word he used, ah, ‘yapping’ like fucking old women,” Äelberon grinned. “And smoking, heh. He always despised this habit of mine, said it made me look like a fat Khajiit trader. And I always said he would one day flood all of Nirn with his constant spitting.”

   

  “Yeah, fucking old women, that we are. But let’s not drag this out, it’s tough as it is already,” Grulmar sighed, not looking forward to this part. This was the reason why he wanted to disappear without saying anything to anyone. He offered his hand to Äelberon. “Goodbye, Äelberon of Dusk.”

   

  “Never could really shake the name, could I? Gods know the Nords have tried.” The Altmer slid down from the wall almost like a cat, looking at the Orc’s hand and smiled. He clasped Grulmar’s forearm, tightly squeezing. “But you have shaken yours. So goodbye, Grulmar Telvanni.” He then shoved the pipe and a bag of Elves Ears into Grulmar’s hand. “A gift. A reminder. That you are always accepted here. Always welcome.” The Mer gave Grulmar a smile that let him know a bad joke was cooking in his brain. “Think of it as your marble.”

   

  They stared into each other’s eyes, Grulmar not even capable of saying ‘thank you’ and then Äelberon patted him on his shoulder, the faint light making his eyes twinkle, nodding, as if reassuring the Orc that it was all alright. And in a way, he did that, and it was only then Grulmar realized that he had needed that. He had needed the confirmation that this was the right decision. With a loud exhale, he slipped from Äelberon’s grasp and turned his back to him, to the homestead and to Whiterun, heading south.

   

  Goodbye, Skyrim.