Fanar - The Weight of Words

Travels took me past Dawnstar this week, and that meant I had business in town. It had been a particularly dreadful crossing from Ivarstead and into the North. A cold and lonely trek among many a cold and lonely trek. Rummaging through my bags, I found a hood that Mother had sewn for me the last time we spoke. She had given it little slots for my ears. Adorable in a way. It looked more like something you would see on a young lad than someone my age, but it reminded me of those golden days and as such, became another important possession. Unfortunately, warm ears did little to stave off the colds of the heart. I left the girl Gili back at her castle, but she could turn up around any corner really. I had hoped as much, but thus far she had not. I am by no means complaining, she is good company. Sometimes I wonder if she could be more, but it is not my place to have such thoughts, not just yet. This old town has changed since my walks began. As a child, it was more or less a sea shanty. Maybe a handful of houses, an inn, and the Jarl's quarters. No real shops to speak of. But as I filled my Father's shoes, this town did some growing of it's own.

Steam wafted up from a tankard nearly too hot for even Dunmer hands. "I haven't forgotten you, old friend. Give me a moment." I mouthed to myself in the steam, visualizing a memorable spot out there by the shore. If my eyes were like my ears, perhaps I could still see some trace of the scuffle. Like stumbling upon a battlefield some years past and tripping over a discarded weapon or bone. Perhaps some charred stone I had left just far enough up the shore that the waves had not yet claimed it in all these years. But I did not need those. I could remember every movement, every step, every drop of blue blood. I toyed with the near-emptied tankard before returning it. Within it sloshed the last of a rich coffee. Beans brought in from Hammerfell. It is but one of the more interesting or rarer imports one might find in the new markets here. From there, I spotted some dockhands and went down to strike up a conversation. The seas had been fair, no monster sightings in those parts. A relief, to be certain. I always asked around during these visits. More curiosity than anything, I still wonder if there were others out there somewhere. If such things have families or communities. I like to think that something with a brain that large has to have more going on than some lowly beast, but I could be wrong. As I walked away from the dock workers, I whispered to myself again. "You know, as much as it pains me to have done what I did, or rather, what you made me do. In the end, they made good use of you. You helped bring about this." I stared long into the breadth of the town. This place was gifted a boon in the form of meat and hide, the likes of which they had never seen before. It was of course not the sole reason that things went in the direction that they did, but it was certainly a factor. It brought tourists, people hoping to see the monster, or what was left of it after the butchers had their way of it. I'm sure every last scrap found use. The docks grew larger and more occupied, and the lower parts dotted with markets. A great wealth came to this town and in time, it became something of a bustling trade hub.

Peering into the far North, from whence he came as far as I knew, I spoke unto the waves. "I would say, wheresoever you be, just know that I am here again to honor and remember you, as I have done before and as I will continue to do." I wanted to hear the wake as it was that day. In one motion, my hood slid down the back of my head, letting chill morning air undo all the work it had so tirelessly done. Settling into a comfortable enough spot on the pier, I peeled back through the layers of my journal, if it could even still be termed a journal. It was a collection of loose papers wedged between the pages of an old book. The bulk of the original text smudged away with that of my own inked over it. It was of course not the same journal I had back then, that one is likely lost somewhere beneath our feet. A plaything or fuel for the machines. No, these were entries rewritten from memory. The good and bad with my thoughts scribbled through the margins. I would at times amend old passages, adding my new thoughts, things that I could have done differently. Things I had come to learn after the fact. Combing through specific lines, I took his story to tongue and would keep it fresh in mind for quite some time.

There was to be one last stop before the long journey south. The doorstep of the inn. On that spot, as a man young of experience and time, I heard a Grahl cry from the shores and made my decision. Under my breath, I continued where I had left off. "But I wonder not where you are in afterlife, for I still carry you. You are not in my pockets but in my words. And yours is a story heavy of words. I did what I thought was right and I pray that from the midst of my words, you may see this town and see what that decision brought about. Whether you could even understand the danger you posed to those people or not. See them now and tell me that I did right, for I still don't see it that way. See how it hangs over me and urges my hand to this day. To forgive me for what had to be done and know that I would have done it differently if I could have. Above all else, that I am sorry, my old friend." My thoughts turned to the girl again and on that doorstep, I made another decision that would stay with me for the rest of my days. At next we spoke, I would ask her to come with me. "Perhaps someday, the weight of these words will be not mine alone to carry."