Gili - He and I

It has been a good while since my last entry. I suppose in the stillness of this night, I might find time to fill a few pages. Fanar has been with me for many a month now. Near every day and night since that first. We have been quite busy, he and I. His mere presence eases the mind and body. My life had became a cold room in a harsh winter. It's fireplace barren with no firewood in sight. Then he, a mountain of tinder and a sure spark. Though, at times I do wish I was at home with my Father. He suffered as much as I, perhaps more. It pains me to know the state he is in and know that I can do nothing. I know not if I should have defied him to stay by his side or took my freedom as he wanted. It is a difficult thing. I have taken some steps to brighten his days, though unlikely to succeed. A letter penned in no haste, addressed to my sister far off in Auridon, The Isles. I have little hope that such a letter could reach her, but I have tried. Each week, I hand a duplicate to the courier, making changes as necessary. Father would like to see her again. He rarely spoke of her, but I know. I doubt the sight of the mother could worsen his situation, but perhaps even that could help.

Fanar has been a wellspring of new sights and experiences. Places, things, and pass-times of which I could have never dreamed. From the keep, we slowly weaved Southward, along the border of Cyrodiil, through the mountains and Westward into the woods of Falkreath. Along the way, Fanar would find work for us. Each job was, for me, a chance to learn. For him, betterment of the world. An important thing to him. And to both of us, another excuse to grow closer. With each passing month, my hair grew longer. I took it as one way of keeping track of the passing of time, as I was somewhat preoccupied. By the time I took note of it again, it had grown from just above my shoulders, to below them in the back. I toyed with different hairstyles before settling on an interesting one. Balled up on the left and right side. Like how I would wear it when I was a child. These times were like a newfound childhood, so I found it fitting in a way. Speaking of work, I still feel that I could be more useful. I had yet to really join him in the violence of it all. I had warmed myself up to the idea of it, that it would be a necessity if I were to follow him, but it had not yet happened. I would aid him by magic, but he is more than capable of taking care of things on his own most of the time. He seems so calculated, sure of victory, yet quiet and reflective, perhaps even regretful when the deed is done. It permeates even to his casual demeanor. He is smooth talking, wise, but fraught with bouts of silence. It gives him a sort of intrigue. I still strive to be like him, to do as he does. Though I fear I still talk far too much.

We lay awake in a tent one night, our words heard only in a whisper, discussing plans for the week. He wanted me to see Haafingar and The Reach, to show me around Solitude, something of a second home to him, or was it third? Then he sought to make way to Whiterun, "briefly", with our journey ending in Helsmyrr, to meet Fannah before returning me to the keep. I thought us to stop by Whiterun as we first made our way down the mountains and wondered why he had veered so far from that path, but it seemed he had this intended route in mind all along. At last our voices did hush as the sound of far of crickets carried us to sleep. In the following days, tragedy struck. I had noticed Fanar fiddling with something in his pocket at times. I grew more curious by the day, and as is my nature, rather than ask, I casually took a peek by magic. Not a key, nor anything living or my detection would have worked. Enchanted, though lightly. Curious indeed. Something that he would clutch at times, lost in thought. Metal I believed, as at times it would jingle as he hoisted himself over logs and such. At one point, it nearly escaped his pocket. I arched my head around him, trying my hardest to peer into the depths of that pocket, only to have a branch thrust into Fanar's hat. My hat. It ripped a sizable hole in the front. I had grown ever so attached to that hat. As luck would have it, I still carried a bit of cloth cut from my jacket as I made adjustments some weeks ago. This cloth, green and white and checkered in full, made for a fine cap once tied in the back. Fanar seemed to agree. Rather than pay a tailor to repair it, he assured me that his Mother would take care of it. That is when the thought occurred to me, of this path of ours. I already knew how he felt and the feeling was beyond mutual. But this? He carried something metal in his pocket, a precious thing, it seemed that he was taking me home to meet his parents, and then to his sister, a priestess of Mara. This was his way of going about it, I supposed, and I would not ruin his surprise. It made me smile at the time, and the thought of our future together grew to be a consuming and common thought.

Markarth and Morthal came and went without real incident. If I had to choose one, the choice would be obvious. Markarth. A lovely fortress of brass and stone. I look forward to the next visit honestly. Morthal on the other hand, that dreadful swamp. I had little to say about it and was quite glad to spend only one night there. In little time, we arrived in Solitude. Fanar received quite the warm welcome. One could tell that he had spent considerable time there, in his youth and adulthood. He knew all of the sights by heart, every shop, every person by name, and they him. He was treated as nobility or a town hero, and I suppose in some ways he was one or the other to most of these people. We spent far more time here than in any of the previous towns. There was so much more to do and see. We would work, visit shops, visit old friends. These acquaintances would share tales of past meetings with the family. All of those stories brought to mind the ones that I had heard of them before our actual meetings. They were not important people by any means, but their deeds and the way they carry themselves transcended all of that. I would want to be that way. For us to be that way.

I found myself drawn to the clothing stores, their wares a fair bit below what I was used to, but impressive all the same. Subconsciously, I suppose I was searching for a fitting dress. For that certain occasion. I would walk down to the shops every morning after breakfast, just on the off chance that something would catch my eye. On what would become our final day in town, I ran down to the shops as usual, while Fanar readied himself to tend to some minor work in town. I again found nothing of true interest and returned to our room, content to pen an updated letter to pass the time. That evening, he returned to the inn distraught and we had a long talk. Of the day and days to come, of us and where our path leads. Everything that I had already known. There is little more to say of it now, though that may change soon. That night we went to the temple and replaced the amulet he had so long carried and so thoughtfully given away. I carry it now, proudly and with some glee.

The next day, I handed an updated letter to the courier. The thirteenth. In return, there was another letter of work for Fanar. A thing most urgent. A vampire attack, people had been disappearing in neighboring villas. A local militia managed to catch it in the act and had driven it up a nearby mountaintop but dared not attempt to finish it off. On such short notice, but he decided to see to it and I to accompany him this time. Neither of us were dressed appropriately for such a place, but we both have our share of cold tolerance. We traveled Westward for much of the next day, then began our ascent just before sunset, leaving a camp at the foot of the mountain trail to accommodate us on our return trip. I tugged down on my cap and held him close to share what warmth we had throughout our climb. Wind whipped at us and howled in our ear, at times sounding like a voice, though I could not make sense of it. A fine sharp dust covered our feet, kicked high and low by our motions. Clinging to the fabrics just as firmly as I to him. At the summit we slowed ourselves and observed. Fanar's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, pillar to wall. The wind calmed, leaving an eerie silence about the peak. The scent of decay came to us in the final draft. We had arrived. Immediately ahead of us we saw a body or what remained of one, the snow still caked in blood. Blood makes me uneasy. I had seen more than my fair share during the revolt. We crept to the body, Fanar kneeling to examine it. "Fresh" he whispered, being sure to look up from his task every few moments just to be safe. I looked away from it as much as I could, until Fanar extended a finger. "The blood on the snow, why would a vampire leave that?" His eyes found something glittering beneath the mess, bits of metal perhaps. He gave it some thought then brushed it aside. "And the meat on the bones, this doesn't look like an animal attack either." He stood, peering down at the mess in the snow and I circled around him, leaning against his back to ease my nerves. As I sighed, he turned and comforted me. Above us, a gentle snow began to fall. "Do you want to wait here?" he whispered, looking deep into my eyes before letting them return to their scouting duties. I contemplated. Looking to the bloodied remains and then to him. A lump formed in my stomach, a chill but not from the cold. He was not afraid. Afraid for me perhaps, but he was not afraid. He had a plan. I drove down my fears, forced a smile cross my cheeks and peered up at him. His serious expression warped to one of surprise, I suppose in my attempt to mask my true emotions I may have overdone it. Our eyes remained locked for but a moment longer, then I lunged forward, planting a small kiss upon his lips. He grunted in surprise then settled himself.

"I'll go around and up" I muttered, stepping away from him. He flashed a quick smile then readied himself, axe in hand. Slowly, each foot lightly coming to rest atop the next step before him. I scuffed through the snow, head tilted skyward, attention drawn to the structure overhead. It fed into the top of the plateau, just from the side. The perfect angle for a better view, or an ambush. The returning wind shrieked from the cliffs below as I stationed myself atop the highest rocks. My hands found new warmth, a warped red glow about them as the weight beneath my feet fell away. A silent flight, one that is rarely a calming experience. I have been able to do it since I was a small child, though it used to make me sick at my stomach. It is disorienting and at times hard to control. I found that it works best when one treats it as a dance. Moving my arms and legs as though I were elegantly swimming through the air, rather than walking or randomly flailing about. With every few meters of height, I would twist or turn myself, a twirl. Before long, I had gained enough height to step onto the ledge. I shook the red from my hands, scanning the far side to see how Fanar had fared thus far. He had just crossed the final step, his head held steady as he searched. Seemingly clear, he took a few more steps, coming before a stone wall. I matched his pace, making my way across this bridge and onto the platform proper. I came to notice a sound, a hiss. It started low but had swelled to far more than some random oddity on the wind. Fanar took note of it shortly afterwards, turning to face me. Then, we both saw it.

A figure stood before us in the shadows, clad in a Dwemer cuirass. Red eyes aglow. That low hiss emanated from it's twisted lips as it stared intently across the way at Fanar. Without warning it lifted off, levitating toward him. It had an odd look about it. It's entire form shimmered most oddly. I thought what best to do in the situation, settling on an endurance spell for Fanar. I held aloft both hands, vibrant green tendrils begat a cube within a cube, far and fast they traveled, lending themselves to him. Fanar had a certain look to his face, more of confusion than fear or anger. His silver axe soared upwards, catching the last vestiges of sunlight, shining like a star above them before coming down.

It snarled as the axe shattered through the chest plate, a hole visible even at this distance. Fanar lifted his brow, as though he thought it would be over then and there, yet it were not. Not the intended strike perhaps. It's fingertips grew alight, arching red and black magics across the way. Fanar took it, gasping as it drained him. My spell did little to stop it and dissipated no sooner than had it taken effect. He looked to me between blows, his expression as stern and sure as ever. As their fight carried them further and further from me, I began to cross the platform as well, replenishing my spells as they fell. They neared the edge, giving Fanar some pause. He held his axe aloft to block as he peered behind and below, off the sheer cliff. Our foe howled, backhanding the axe, sending it skyward. I looked to the axe, lodged in snow, glints of blackened blood still clinging to it's edge.

With no weapon, Fanar readied fire into both hands and set about searing the monster, attempting to gain ground but growing closer and closer to the edge. With glowing palms, I reach for the axe, across yards it soared, at last coming to my aid. I peered at the thing, focusing at a point on it's back, and hurled the axe by magic. It struck true, sparking as it dug deep into the cuirass, undoubtedly hitting flesh beneath. Without hesitation Fanar's hands ignited tenfold. He returned a howl of his own, driving the fiend back with a churning wall of flame. He pushed it against the far wall, his heat devouring the surrounding ice and powder. I bolstered him as best I could, with what little I had to offer. It lay against that wall, writhing and near death, the axe being forced further into it's back with each attempt to escape. From there, I could see it's face at last. It's skin tough and loose fitting. Something on it's forehead, a wound or mark where Fanar had not struck it. Skin flowed like water beneath the fire, an unnatural sight. Then came a sound, metallic and pounding. From this wound sprung a Dwemer rod, taking half of the fiend's face with it. The illusion of flesh fell away, leaving a faceless dismembered monstrosity peering up at us. Mechanical whirring and chimes replacing hiss and scream. It struggled for moments more then all went silent. With it's death, a sharp wind crossed our faces. On it, words carried some distance. I could not make them out, but Fanar's long ears seemed to have caught them. His eyes widened, yet he kept focused, seeing fit to burn the remains until little was left but a heap of metal. I knew not what to say. "That was no vampire", Fanar finally gasped. He mumbled to himself, thoughts seemingly racing. He took a piece of that steaming brass into his hands and walked back to the steps, having a seat as he fiddled with it.

His axe lifted from the ruined form at my call, gracefully hovering behind me as I too returned to the steps and took seat beside him. His hands disappeared into his pockets, at last producing his pipe. He brought it to his lips, loaded it with elves ear and set it alight with the flick of a finger, again bringing his attention to the bit of metal now in his lap. He pondered long and deep. Sunset became nightfall and the the peak grew colder by the moment. At last we stood, he and I, the bit of metal finding a place in his pockets. We began our descent, a fair bit more quick-footed than the climb. Along the way, he mumbled to himself, of his grandfather and of his thoughts and fears. Fears, an odd thing for me to associate with him, the one I hold as so fearless. After the ordeal, this still night was certainly welcome.