This Long Reunion - Lette

This once depressing hovel, though now cramped, had certainly grown warmer. The nightmares all but chased away by gleeful words, laughs, and occasional sobbing. Tear soaked shoulders abound, we talked of things. Things that were, and those yet to be. Many words. My reason for being here, and theirs. The town left in flames, brothers and sisters, her aunts and uncles left to their fates, the line of dead from here to there. My coldness shocked her. That Nord blood had mellowed her. I always expected as much and would honestly have it no other way. There is hardly a Dunmer there at all. She could not truly understand how, but she understood why. The children. My grandchildren. The mere thought of them likened my shriveled grey heart to an ever burning coals. They were so small, yet so familiar. The girl, Fannah. I said their names over and over again in my mind. She was the very image of my young daughter. Her mannerisms, her voice. Everything. The boy too, Fanar, though to a lesser extent. As we talked, they ransacked the room in search of sweets or playthings. Finding neither, they found themselves bouncing on the bed. The father. My son-in-law. A man of mysteries it seemed. I was just to call him “Snake” for now. He sat boldly in front of the fire pit, smoking his pipe. My daughter, her skin, clear and unblemished as mine once was, stood behind him. Her arms thrown about his neck. They would occasionally trade passionate glances, a thing I once knew. All but a memory now. I looked away, his face filling my mind. In this hour, in our merriment, there were times that he was not the center of my mind. I had urges to quit here, to take what I had found with me, or to go with them. The realization sickened me. How easily I could be swayed. In time, I came to accept it. That if I were to go with them, it would be temporary. A much needed respite before continuing my search. I could live with that, just a bit longer. I would hold him, if not today, then soon. In the end it mattered not, but I resided in those thoughts. Behind our voices, the streets outside had grown ever more crowded. Yarti would at times leave Snake’s side and peek out the window with some concern. On more than one occasion, one of us had questioned what exactly was going on, yet none wanted to interrupt the reunion to check. It had finally began to calm down when came a frantic knock on our door and a fretful tone. “Is there a healer in there?”

We looked to each-other and then to the door. Yarti stood, tracing her hand down Snake’s arm as she stepped forward. He rose behind her, his arms encircling the kids and ushering them to a quiet corner of the house. With my daughter at my side, I opened the door and stepped out into the faded light. The woman who had knocked on the door motioned toward us before darting across the street. The crowd had dispersed, revealing a crashed Sky Render just shy of it’s platform. I took note of the sickening smell, something akin to Kwama innards. Against it’s mangled abdomen, the townfolk had propped up it’s presumed passengers. My failing eyesight made it difficult at first, but as we got closer I could make out the rest of the scene. A Dunmer man in Telvanni garb, certainly dead. Beside him, a Dunmer woman. A mercenary or something of the like, she wore cumbersome iron armor that had done little to save her. She looked as though she were crushed. Perhaps found under the mount. And lastly, an older Nord man. A pitiful weary old man. Clothed in a Telvanni robe and topped with a Dwemer skullcap of some make. Enchanted, heavily so if the shimmer was any indication. Beneath the cap, a handlebar mustache and worn pink paint covering half of a wrinkled face. His face. My legs gave way at the sight of him. My Sanbosm, haggard and aged beyond his years. I fell to one knee, gasping and clawing at the dirt before me. I thought my heart to explode. Yarti saw me go down. I think she knew, somehow. She nodded and continued toward him, hands aglow. Laying them upon his chest, his body consumed in her light. I found my footing and came to join her, eyes pouring like rain. My mind raced, hands joining hers, their glow paling in comparison. Sorrow, anger and regret, white magics flecked with green. I could do no good here, I would poison him. It was too much. I fell back on my knees while daughter carried on as best she could. My hands found his face, holding it between them. I peered into his wrinkled visage. He was alive but injured. Minutes felt like ages as his wounds were undone.

He was conscious, but did not speak or acknowledge us. We took him atop our shoulders and made way back to our room. Each of his pained grunts took my breath, making our passage more difficult. He was far too large a man to be carried by two Dunmer of our stature, but we managed by grace of Azura or whoever had brought me here. There were no words. Again, there could be none. These bones would be dust before I could say half of what need be said. We brought him in and tossed aside his heavy robe before hauling him to the bed. I wrapped my hands about his Dwemer skullcap and attempted to remove it, only to be met by a low snarl from his lips. Voice weak, matured, shrill, hateful. A voice quite unlike the one in my memories and dreams.

“Leave it.”

He spoke no more, seemingly content to rest and recuperate, so we allowed it. We had time. Some hours into our endeavor, Snake disappeared, only to return with a Dunmer friend of his. Darfin I believe. We stood around the bed, a crowd of our own, yet the room lay silent. Yarti had came prepared and by nightfall, had laid out bedrolls for each of us. With that done, she devoted herself to a warm meal. Her cooking was special to me. I had never been one to cook, my meals had always been tended to by others. I did not teach her this. I taught her nothing. She made me proud. They all did. Even my Sanbosm. He had lived on without me. His body littered with scars, but ever so toned. He had been busy, active. He had done things these long years, made something of himself. While I withered away, solitary and sedentary. My creams and oils thrown aside, a face once clear as that of my child, now racked by the age I had so long hidden. My Sanbosm. He was a young man when I knew him. Bounding with energy, but now shriveled and bedridden. His hideous crone, clothes thick with rage and guilt, hovering above his would-be deathbed. Waiting and hoping. At once, his breath hastened, eyes fumbling in their sockets. He grunted and blinked, gazing through the gloss and matter, his wandering eyes found mine. His violet met my crimson. The end and beginning of this long overdue reunion.

“Lette?”