Chapter 14: A Glimpse of Now
Caranthir wiped the ink off his quill and set it gently on his desk, putting the lid on his ink pot directly after. He had been writing his autobiography for a few days now, and he was becoming discouraged at how little he had managed to cover. He stacked the papers in order and slipped them inside a leather folder, running his fingers across the smooth surface when he closed it.
He looked to his right at his son, Tandano. “Such a fine young Mer now.” He thought as he looked at him, hoping that his memoir would explain to Tandano why he is the way he is.
“Tandano, what are you writing?”
“Oh, just a paper on the applications of magical wards. Fairly easy. What was it you were working on?”
“Nothing important. Not for now, anyway."
“If you say so, Father.”
Father. Caranthir realized he hadn't thought much of his own father recently. Surely he had died by now. “How old would he be if he was alive? 421?”
He wondered what had become of him. Caranthir considered old age, or maybe disease. It did bother him to not know. If only he had time to go back to the Isles and see Viranirn and Aldaril.
Tandano himself began to ponder his father’s health. He was no longer the dark-haired youth he had been in Tandano’s earliest memories. His once-black hair was beginning to turn a silvery gray and years of combat, physical strain, and being hunched over desks and books had also taken their toll.
Caranthir had begun to get that look in his eye; he was zoning out again, lost in thought. Perhaps it was memories, perhaps just a new theory.
“Your mother would be very proud of you, you know.”
Tandano smiled. Again with his mother. It seemed his father never ran out of stories about her that always seemed to make him love even the idea of her existence.
“And why would that be?”
Caranthir grinned.
“Because you turned out just like me! Strong, smart, and handsome.”
Tandano was glad that his father still could find humor. He had lived a sad life, but he seemed to finally be at peace with himself the past few days.
Caranthir stood and wrapped a thick fur cloak around him and slipped fur gloves over his hands. He climbed the stairs in the entry way to his office and exited out to the roof of the new College’s main tower. It was still fiercely cold, but the snow had stopped.
He leaned against the railing, absorbing his surroundings. The sound of the students in the courtyard below, the smell of smoke as it wafted up from the braziers throughout the school. Most of all, though, was the kiss of the chilly wind upon his face. It was merely a light breeze but he felt that winds were special things. Caranthir was contemplating what message this particular gust could be trying to communicate when the door opened and Tandano joined him at the railing.
“Beautiful view of the mountains, no?”
“It is gorgeous. This land has much that the other provinces don't.”
“You should have seen the view from the old building. Fog rolling over the Sea of Ghosts in the morning was always my favorite sight.”
The two of them stood like that for a while, silent. They were both tired, but neither wanted to sleep. They wanted to stand there forever, just the both of them, father and son.
“Come, Tandano. Let us go back inside. It is getting late and we both have long days ahead.”
“I think I shall stay a few minutes longer.”
“Very well.”
Caranthir turned and went back into his office and walked over to the door to his bedroom. It was expertly engraved and every now and then he liked to admire the craftsmanship. He couldn't quite make out if the bird was an eagle or a hawk, but it's opponent was certainly a dragon.
“I've seen enough of those for two lifetimes.” He whispered to himself with a slight chuckle as he studied the carving.
His chamber was simple with only a bed and a side table along with a washbasin and a polished mirror hanging on the wall. He undressed himself and lay the robes and the garments he wore under them on the footboard of his bed and climbed under the furs. Silk was his preference, but with the Fall coming to a close and the long Winter beginning, the furs were needed to maintain body heat.
He sniffed out the single candle on the table and allowed himself to slip into his dreams, where so many prophecies had come to him. Most often, though, were the nightmares. Things of the past morphing to include events that took place long after.
It was on this night that the latter of the two options would plague him, as he expected.
He stood once more on the battlefield of Whiterun as he had seventy-five years prior, the fear welling in himself and those around him as an Imperial Legate gave a final rallying speech. His thoughts were of his family, Erissa and the children.
However, the events of the battle diverged from reality. Instead of the Stormcloak’s catapults, a great Dragon set the city ablaze. Caranthir ran back to his home again, only to find Erissa hanging from the beams of the roof as she had been. Her body began to morph, and turned into a mighty Eagle.
The dead eagle began to emit beams of light, as bright if not brighter than Magnus at noon. Caranthir shielded his eyes from the lights and when he looked back, he was no longer in his home.
The Great Hall of Sovengarde stood behind him, three ancient Nord heroes at his sides. A hill rose before them, and behind it was a valley filled with a thick fog. Roars and screams echoed from the valley, mixed with the sound of steel on scales. Every now and then a large flash would pierce the veil of fog, and large black wings could be seen slicing through it.
Once again, the landscape changed. He was in the old College, beaten, broken, and defeated. Ancano put a foot on his bruised back and managed to chuckle with labored breath. The battle had injured the both of them, but Caranthir had taken the brunt of it.
“Goodbye, Caranthir. Say hello to Erissa in Oblivion for me.”
Ancano knelt down, dagger in hand, when it happened.
Light. Blue, piercing light.
Each night he would suffer this night terror, and every time the dream ended with blue light at the very moment when Caranthir’s memory failed him. He could remember nothing from the moment Ancano knelt upon him until the moment Tolfdir pulled him from the rubble.
He woke in the morning with a moan. The memories were not pleasant, nor were the ways they had been altered. Eagles, lost loves, his brief time in Sovengarde, the defeat of Ancano; why was he dreaming of these things?
Caranthir dressed himself and walked over to the mirror, staring deep into his green eyes.
“Soon.” He vowed to himself. “Very soon.”
Comments
Altmers and their musings. Good job!