Elara’s eyes scanned the crowded inn from the doorway, searching for Onmund’s familiar dusty blue hood. Her eyes met those of Corpulus Vinius who motioned her over to the bar.
“You looking for your Nord companion?” the inn’s proprietor asked and he added in his next breath as he saw Elara nod, “He left with that blond Breton.” Elara slowly sat on the stool, stunned, and Corpulus, with the innate timing known only to barkeeps, placed a foaming mug of ale in front of her. She stared at the froth, wishing she could dive in and become part of the forgetfulness that it promised. It was not like Onmund to not be where he said he would, and the memory of him gesticulating wildly at Delphine while she rode away on the wagon to the embassy surfaced. Maybe Delphine was doing the hard work of sending him back to the college, just as Elara knew it had to be done. The Blade was quite persuasive. As much as she knew it was best for Onmund, she had not known how much she would have missed seeing his smile and the sparkle in his eye.
“Hey, there, you look like you could use some company,” a dark-haired bearded Nord drawled and slid onto the stool next to her. “I am the owner’s son, and all of this will be mine someday.” He gestured widely at the inn. “You can call me Sorex, as I am sure we will get to know each other quite well.”
Elara stared uncomprehendingly at the proffered hand.
“I do not think the young lady is looking for your special brand of company, Sorex,” a refined, though slurred voice interrupted. She glanced up to see Octieve San, the only other person she knew in Solitude besides Corpulus.
Sorex puffed out his chest. “No one asked you to get involved, old man,” Sorex growled low, managing to keep a smile on his face for Elara’s benefit.
Quickly, in hopes of avoiding a scuffle, Elara added, “I was waiting to share a dinner with Octieve. Thank you for your company.”
“Sorex, I need you to sweep the storeroom,” Corpulus called from across the room, and his son slunk away, eyeing Octieve suspiciously.
Elara patted the seat next to her. “Thank you, Octieve. I was getting close to having to shout at him.”
The old Breton laughed. “You would not have been the first lovely lady to do that.” Elara realized that her version of a shout was now different from that of others and she shuddered.
Concerned, Octieve placed a hand on Elara’s shoulder. “Would you like to move closer to the fire?” Elara was grateful for the old soldier’s assistance, but missed Onmund’s intuitive understanding of her gestures, the words that she left unsaid. Onmund. Her heart sank further. She felt unsettled at the thought of him with Delphine. The Blade was a fierce warrior, but Elara did not feel that made Onmund any safer.
She shook her head no, and bit her lip, willing her eyes not to water.
Octieve slapped the wooden bar suddenly, making Elara jump in her seat. He looked keenly in her eyes, all signs of inebriation gone. “I know who you put me in the mind of, Elara. It is your eyes, but when you bit your lip, I was certain. Years ago, I had a best friend, Orin Rammligr.”
Elara caught her breath, surprised that the sound of her father’s name could still pierce her heart, surprised that her dragon’s soul had not consumed her completely. Octieve paid no notice, as his eyes took on a dreamy cast, caught up in his reminisces.
“Not many people remember the Rammligrs now, as they have been gone from Solitude for years. Proudspire Manor was theirs, but has lain empty for, well, over thirty years. The father, Erich,” here Octieve’s voice hardened slightly, “was a cunning businessman, and managed to have dealings with most royal families across Tamriel. His two eldest sons were his pride and joy. But his third son was ‘most useless’ he often would say, and was effectively ignored. This was Orin, my friend. Brilliant mind, but since he had no support from his father to study in the Imperial City, Orin joined the Bard’s College. There he devoured books upon books, history, plays, poetry, and folklore. Oh, we had our adventures, too, as young men are wont,” Octieve chuckled. “He was never interested in the ladies, though they could not resist his dashing looks. I was grateful to him for the many broken hearts I was able to soothe.” Octieve grinned and his eyes twinkled. Elara even managed a tiny smile at Octieve’s delight.
“But his songs were something,” Octieve struggled to find the words, “magical. Not like the bloody ballads of aggression and oppression heard nowadays in the inns. Regression is more like it,” he harrumphed. He was silent for a moment, and gave Elara a playful smile that made him look years younger. He cleared his throat, and began to sing in a clear, bright tenor.
Kyne whispers, “Fly with me,” and with winged feet I rise
and swoop with gulls, skimming the foaming waves of the Sea—In Solitude, except
for her, the wind and her breath the same.
Marking that I am Mortal no more, no Hearth to warm me,
I ascend majestic heights borne along by her voice,
her words, her promises of soaring saving choice.
Kyne’s Wind is my Helm guiding and protecting as I glide and Fall, Wreathed in leaves,
floating and fluttering through
chinks and Rifts, then Running along through drifting White petals of snow,
dodging Winter’s Hold to rise again,
arms outstretched
to grasp the brightness of Dawn’s Star.
Safe always in Kyne’s embrace, divine Kiss At the End.
The Winking Skeever was silent, as all the patrons had stopped their conversations, some with mugs still lifted to their lips. Octieve’s voice held the place spellbound, as much for the beautiful hymn to their homeland as the shock of the town drunkard and sometimes fool singing them.
“Now that is a song to make me want to fight for Skyrim, inspired by love and longing, not bitterness and hatred.” Octieve stood up, emboldened by his captive audience, and they suddenly burst out in cheers and applause.
Lisette, the resident bard, sauntered over, brushed up against him, and smiled, “I’d like to make that a duet with you, Octieve.”
The old Breton’s mouth dropped open in surprise and pleasure, and Elara laughed, astonished at the lighthearted sound emanating from her. She wondered if the ale had freed her voice or was it the magical lilting notes that loosed the knot in her chest? Her father’s words had acted as a calcinator to the alembic inside of her, releasing the volatile pressure of grief and confusion and pain. It was the voice of the past coming into her present, and she heard his message of “soaring, saving choice.” She recalled her father’s last words to her, Elara, you always have a choice. Could he have known what was going to happen to her? Yet through one tiny ingredient, she became whole again, not separate pieces, not a bereaved daughter, not a hero, not a creature with the soul of a dragon, but Elara, herself.
Elara stood up suddenly, and gave Octieve a hug and kiss. “I can never thank you enough for that. And I will be back to find out more about my father. But I have to go.” She gave him one last kiss on his slightly wrinkled forehead and dashed out the door but could not hear him call after her, “Wait, Orin is your father?”
The Breton stood outside the inn and looked up at the star spangled sky, twinkling with a magic she had buried with her father. She breathed deeply and took off towards the Blue Palace, just to have a look at the house her father called home.
After obtaining directions from a few startled passersby—she was filled with energy and ready laughter, something more akin to a child instead of a person her age---she walked slowly up the stairs and laid her palm on the thick oaken door. Elara closed her eyes to better concentrate on the tingling residual magic of the massive manor. She almost felt like the door would have yielded to her touch if it were not for the strong iron bolt holding it fast. She patted it gently and whispered, “I will come back to you.” Then she turned right towards a stone stair in the back, leading to a small patio overlooking the sea. How often had her father stood here and dreamed of things beyond?
Onmund would love being out here, for as often as I found him staring out at the sea at the college, Elara smiled at the thought of him munching a sweet roll, elbows propped upon the stone wall. Her smile faded as her thoughts turned to Delphine and Onmund’s departure.
“You gave fully of yourself, didn’t you Papa, and did not look back?” Elara spoke out loud. With sudden resolve she shouldered her pack again and headed for the gates of Solitude, Riverwood as her destination.
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I actually finished the embassy quest, but can proceed no further. I also went on the mission alone, so when I... more