Chapter Text
The clopping of horse hooves was all he heard in the early morning hours. A gentle spring breeze blew through his hair, although cool, the fresh northern air of Skyrim was so crisp and clean. Times like these made the monotonous routine of riding to Whiterun to attend political meetings that came with the responsibility of being Thane pleasurable and relaxing. Mikaru didn’t mind very much however. The only things he would change about having to attend these ridiculous meetings was listening to the ignorant and cowardly politician worms that cared more about their gold than the wellbeing of the people they served. He was no politician, no nobleman at birth, or anything that carried a status except being a Great War veteran and the Dragonborn.
Mikaru was a Dunmer serving under the respect of a Nord Jarl, and one of the most respected in Jarl Balgruuf no less. This position came to him almost a year ago now, thanks to his exploits in slaying the dragon that threatened Whiterun at the Western Watchtower. Through that, Mikaru learned of his destiny of being the Last Dragonborn, sent to the mortal world to eliminate the threat of destruction from Alduin the World-Eater, and since then, the Dunmer has made himself famous throughout Skyrim through aiding others however he sought fit in the best manner he could. It was an exhilarating and liberating feeling coming from Cyrodiil, destined for the executioner as an unwitting casualty to this stupid civil war to being famous in the land he was born in. He was a hero to many, even if they refused to see that or denied it through his Dunmer heritage.
Funny how he was considered a stranger when Mikaru was born in Skyrim. Funny that there were so many Nords that scorned him for his race despite his status as the Dragonborn, among other statuses he held. His Thane status in Whiterun was just one of many. Oh yes, his fame spread beyond slaying Alduin into exploits within the Companions, and being named the new Harbinger. He even met Daedric Princes themselves and possessed their mighty artifacts, a feat few mortals could ever claim they held. His name would be carved in stone and his story told for generations to come.
Mikaru didn’t care. He didn’t see himself as the hero, only a fool whose fate was just puppeted by the Divines themselves. The dragon blood in his veins was a permanent reminder of such, but he could not deny that aspect of his birthright. It was a part of him, a piece of who he was. He knew few Dunmer, but every single one he encountered held a scorn towards him for his Nordic voice and ignorance of his people’s culture. Mikaru didn’t even know his own family. He was born in Skyrim, yes. Yet he was raised by a Nord… One who was friends with his parents. Kodek Spring-Brand was his name, a worshipper of the old Nordic Pantheon, the goddess Kyne.
He held fond memories of the old bear of a man. He was a just and honest man, and he loved and cared for Mikaru as if he were his own son, in spite of his Dunmer blood. Life was hard for the two, even over one hundred years ago. Skyrim’s cold environment was something few could endure and thrive under. He lived outside of Dawnstar for a number of years with the old man, cutting wood, living off the animals in the forests and the livestock on their farm. Winters were brutal when they lacked firewood. Early on, Mikaru was raised as a Nord, something he does not scorn or hate… But at the same time, he couldn’t help but regret it. What little Mikaru knew about his family, he knew from Kodek. He knew of his biological parents’ names, and a little bit of background information on his father, but his mother was a mystery. Kodek said that he would someday tell Mikaru more about his mother, give him the answers he wanted when the elven child was old enough to set off on his own.
That day never came, for Kodek was stricken down when Mikaru was twelve years old.
Mikaru had to fend for himself since he was still a child. The road that followed was long, winding, and not all that glory-filled and proud. Over one hundred years passed. That boy no longer existed, and a weary, war-scarred Dunmer rested in his place. One question always remained on the Mer’s mind ever since he was a child: who was his mother? This one question always turned to many, and he was always left wondering more and more about his past the more he thought about it. He hated thinking about it too much, it hurt his head and left him almost always preoccupied the rest of the day. He had more important things to do than worry about his past.
He took in a breath and sighed. Mikaru looked ahead to see how far he was to Whiterun. Not far now… He still needed to cross the bridge that distinguished the road to Dawnstar from the road to Windhelm. Just turn to your right. Traveling the roads was dangerous. Between the civil war still raging on after the brief ceasefire to allow Mikaru enough time to defeat Alduin, there was always the odd wolf or bandit on the roads. Skyrim was never safe, even when he was a boy. If you were unprepared, be it lacking proper clothing or a solid weapon, you would surely perish in the unforgiving wilderness. This was one lesson that always stuck with him.
He couldn’t tell what time it was. There was no clock or sundial nearby, and the morning sun was peeking through the fluffy clouds. The breeze was still calm, and the faint scent of morning dew on the wild lavender growing along the roads caught his attention. Mikaru was in no rush to meet with Balgruuf and dismounted momentarily off his horse and picked the cluster of flowers. A guard making his early rounds of patrol glanced at the crouching Dunmer. Mikaru glanced back with a soft chuckle.
“Lovely morning for a walk, or a ride, is it not?” He stood back up to his full height, walking alongside the horse, still holding the lavender in his hand. “No rain. Not too cold either. Makes the air feel nice.” When the guard didn’t reply, seemingly staring at the flower cluster in his hand, a small smirk graced the elf’s lips. “What? Gawking at the scarred old Thane taking a moment to smell the flowers? I suppose it’s unusual to see, but...”
“It’s those little things right, Thane?” The guard added, a hint of a smile evident in the Nord’s masked voice. Mikaru expected the man to laugh at him holding a bunch of lavender like some young girl, but he was pleasantly surprised. His smirk turned into a good-natured smile as he climbed back on the horse, tucking the lavender in his coat pocket. Sure, it was a simple joy, but little things were nice to enjoy every now and again. Mikaru lived too long and experienced too many near-fatal experiences to not find a little bit of joy in Skyrim’s beauty.
It drew his mind away from thinking about his past. For a time, at least.
He rode onward, past the farms and the old Honningbrew Meadery. From the corners of his eyes, he could see the farmers toiling away in the dirt, caring for the crops that would help provide food for their families and gold for their purses. Closer he drew to the cracked, crumbling, ancient walls of Whiterun, he stopped, dismounting his horse by the stables. From here, he had but a momentary walk to the gates before entering the great city. There was a scent of burning metal from a blacksmith in the area, and the clanging of metal, both from Adrienne toiling away at a weapon on her forge and the footsteps of the Whiterun guards. He could always take the road cutting between the Drunken Huntsman and the guard tower to get to Dragonsreach, or he could cut through the Market District like he normally does. He didn’t know what time it was. Hopefully he wasn’t arriving too early or too late.
To save time, he opted for taking the road by the guard tower. Though, upon his entry to the city, Mikaru couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He held a grip on his dragonbone sword, keeping it close while he was going along. He sighed. Maybe he was just being paranoid. There’s too many guards for an attack, and he wasn’t in the mood for a fight. Too many civilians. His Thu’um could hurt someone if he was careless. No one would try ambushing him in broad daylight, it was a stupid idea, especially with the guards everywhere.
“Excuse me!” Mikaru looked around for the source of the voice, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. His eyes scanned the area when he felt a tug on his coat. He looked down, and his gaze was fixed on a Bosmer. Mikaru’s grip relaxed considerably. Looks like this elf was a courier; he could tell from the knapsack by his hip. The Bosmer was likely no more than twenty years or so, and Mikaru towered over him-- there was likely a foot or more difference in height. The young Mer shifted uncomfortably under the old Dunmer’s scrutinizing stare, intimidated by the broad shouldered man he was told to relay a message to. Hopefully this wasn’t an inconvenient time...
The courier swallowed, sweating under Mikaru’s gaze. He rifled through the knapsack on his belt and handed Mikaru a sealed envelope. “Are you Mikaru, s-sir?” The young Bosmer stammered. Mikaru nodded. Gods, the poor fellow was way too nervous. Mikaru felt bad that he ended up scaring the poor lad.
“Yes, I am. Don’t be afraid. I had a nagging feeling that I was being watched. It made me a little nervous, that’s all.” The courier’s posture was still tightly wound, but he seemed to relax a little knowing that his recipient wasn’t about to hurt him. Mikaru gave the young man a small purse of gold from his backpack, the corners of his lips turning in a small smile. “Who’s the letter from, young man? Do you know?” The courier shook his head.
“No sir. She said that she was a friend of yours, and nothing more. Told me to keep that envelope sealed, for your hands and eyes only.” Mikaru glanced at the envelope. “She paid a lot of gold to get that to you. I made sure to find you as soon as I could. You’re a difficult Mer to find.”
Mikaru broke the seal on the envelope and unfolded the parchment, half listening to what the courier was saying. His eyes scanned the careful and meticulous writing on the page, widening at its contents.
Mikaru,
Everything was a success! Three long months of searching, three months of digging through so many records, over one hundred years of records and cold trails. We did it. My Initiates have found where she is.
My friend, I thank you for being patient. We finally have the most possible location of Eriya Sarrilo. If she really is still alive, you will finally meet your mother after all these years of searching. I have everything I could find with me. When you get finished with whatever you need to do, I will be waiting at the Bannered Mare, in the back where the kitchen is. I’ve arranged for no one to disturb us while we discuss everything. Please do not take too long dallying. I have contracts to arrange.
I will be waiting.
-S
Mikaru reread the letter three times, making sure what he was seeing was even real. He couldn’t believe his eyes! This letter was the best news he could ever receive… The best news he had in years, honestly. But he still had that meeting to attend to, damn it all. Perhaps his friend could wait just a few moments longer? He yelled a rushed, frantic “Thank you!” to the courier before sprinting to the Cloud District.
“WULD NAH KEST!”
A crowd of onlookers turned their heads when the words were uttered as Mikaru shot himself down the road, stopping almost by the steps to Dragonsreach. As the guards yelled for him to stop, he continued running. There wasn’t any law against him demonstrating his Thu’um, fuck em. The guards can shove the complaint down their damn throats. Mikaru was in a hurry now, and he did not want to be bothered. He sped past the guards outside, rushing through the doors of the palace to get inside. He took a breath and sighed, slowing his pace despite the annoyed glare of one of the maids. A guard noticed Mikaru running and stopped him in his tracks.
“Whoa, Thane! Slow yourself, you’re not late. You’re going to hurt someone running like that.” The guard chuckled under his helmet as Mikaru gave him an unamused look. Really? That is why you stop me? He groaned before walking upstairs. He looked around for a while before going into a room where the nobles convened for meetings. Balgruuf sat towards the end with his steward, Proventus, on his left, and his brother, Hrongar, on the right. Most of the seats on the table were empty save for three that were taken by important people to the Hold. There was Rorik from Rorikstead, Olfrid Battle-Born, and a female Nord Mikaru could recall acted as a tax collector for Riverwood and Rorikstead. In the back of the room, Mikaru could see Irileth staring everyone down with a gaze that could make a hawk quiver. Mikaru took his seat.
“Well now,” Balgruuf began. “I see everyone is here… Now where to begin?”
With those words, the meeting began. Mikaru barely listened throughout the duration of it. He was more concerned about meeting with the person known as “S” on the letter the courier gave him. Oh, he knew who they were on a namesake basis, but his mind was rushing, thinking about everything they would discuss. How much did they find on his mother? Where was she hiding all these years, undetected and unknown from the rest of the world? He stared at the table as the voices of the meeting faded out into the background, becoming gibberish he didn’t bother listening to. Whatever business he was here for no longer mattered.
Time felt like it had slowed. The dullness of these affairs didn’t help the time go faster, though he wasn’t even sure what they were talking about. Sometimes he would hear a fist slam on the table from either Hrongar or Olfrid. Likely, it was about the way they should approach the rising tension in the civil war. He would hear the two Imperial loyalists yell at Balgruuf to take a side while Rorik tried to ease the rising tension. This was a repeating cycle that kept happening… at least once every five or ten minutes. Mikaru couldn’t help but grumble, and he held his face in his hands. Gods damn these Nords, why did they act like children over this? Wasn’t Balgruuf here for something else instead of this pointless war? If they were just going to keep griping over this, then it was better Mikaru leave now.
“Mikaru. Mikaru.” He heard his name amidst the jumble of voices mumbling and bickering about too much for him to care for. That’s funny… Did someone call my name?
“Mikaru. Mikaru!” The voice grew louder and roused him from his stupor. Sounded like Hrongar. Mikaru turned his gaze and saw everyone staring him down. Rorik, Proventus, and Balgruuf appeared to be concerned, Olfrid and Hrongar appeared annoyed, and the Nord woman and Irileth appeared indifferent to what was happening. Mikaru sat upright with a sobered look on his face. Hrongar’s glare deepened.
“Damn elf, didn’t you hear what we asked? What do you think we should do for the war effort? We can’t sit around and wait until Ulfric decides to siege Whiterun. You’re Dragonborn. You’re able to tip the war in the favor of the Imperials! We can drive those dogs out for good!”
Mikaru glared at the impudent Nord babbling on about the stupid war. He’d already suffered through the Great War. The civil war was what caused Mikaru to nearly die over a year ago in Helgen. Mikaru was tired of war, and as long as his body was able, he didn’t give a damn about the war his birthplace was going through. He’ll help in other ways, but this pointless war wasn’t his fight. It never was. He could go on for hours on how he truly feels about this whole thing, but he was in no mood for an argument. He stood up, hunched over the table with his gloved hands on the table.
“Hrongar. I will be brief because I don’t wish to waste my time arguing about how I feel about a pointless war with so many on both sides dying for no reason at all. I don’t care for either side. The Imperials would let spineless scum like Siddgeir on the throne of Falkreath even though he employs bandits to do his dirty work. They gave Riften to Maven Black-Briar, and frankly, that sent Riften into an absolute worse situation than it already was in. But then I look at the alternative under Ulfric… A megalomaniac who only cares about the throne, and his xenophobic right-hand man, Galmar Stone-Fist. He’d make Ulfric drive out every elven race from Skyrim if he so chooses. And here you are, bickering about this? A war that’s only helping the one faction you should be fighting against together? This war is killing Skyrim, whether you realize it or not. I gave my input. Don’t waste my time asking me again.”
The room fell silent under the mercy of the Dragonborn’s voice and piercing gaze. Mikaru sat back down, crossing his arms, and no other words were spoken on the matter. Hrongar was uncharacteristically quiet. But it didn’t matter. Mikaru wanted this to be over with. These diplomatic proceedings always bored him, and he had something more important on his mind… He was tempted to walk out before everything was said and done.
Finally, he was able to leave, hearing Balgruuf’s voice dismiss everyone. Mikaru wasted no time exiting the meeting hall, walking with a renewed vigor. The same old maid that glared at him earlier backed out of his way, seeing the long stride and hardened gaze the tall Dunmer held. Oh, it would be unwise to interrupt or disturb him with how hurried he was.. Mikaru was annoyed, having wasted more time than he wished over nothing but the stupid war. War this, war that. The soldiers had no clue they were fighting and dying for a pointless cause. Oh well. It wasn’t his fight. He kept moving with that same, hurried energy even all the way down the steps from the Cloud District. He passed Jorrvaskr and kept going straight, veering past the vendors in the market to get to the door to the Bannered Mare.
The Mare was in the midst of a midday rush of patrons. The smell of fresh stews and bread mixed with the smell of honey and mead made Mikaru sigh. There was a lot of idle chatter, and most of the patrons appeared to be Whiterun guardsmen on break from their patrols among a handful of farmers. The bard was playing instrumental music on his lute. A small smile crept itself on Mikaru’s face as he looked for the room that his friend was going to be in. He saw Saadia serving a farmer and turning to walk in his direction. They lock eyes for a moment and she points to the back room, where most of the cooking is done. He nods, a silent understanding of “thank you” before going to the back. He felt his stomach rumble from the smell of the cooking meats and sighed contentedly. Maybe I’ll order some horker meat to stew or roast… That sounds nice right now.
A woman sat in one of the chairs on the table. She was wearing a black dress, likely a mourner’s gown, and had her arms crossed. She was a Breton, about in her mid to late twenties. She had black hair, tied back in a high ponytail. When she turned to face Mikaru, he saw her amulet of Dibella resting close against her chest. Some would say she was a beautiful woman, for she had high, pronounced cheekbones with a rosy glow to them, with unblemished and pristine skin. The most striking thing about her were her bright green eyes. He sat down and showed her the letter.
“Apologies for my being late. I had some business I had to attend to in Dragonsreach, unfortunately. Thank you for being so patient. So, you were successful? What did you find on her?”
The woman swung a knapsack over her shoulder and took out several documents. They appeared to be a death record, a birth record, and some immigration records. She passed them over for Mikaru to see.
“I was able to find when she left, and I think I know where she is. What I have are the death records for your biological father, Suliyni Sarrilo, your birth records, and when your parents arrived to Skyrim. They came here around twelve years after Red Mountain erupted, 4E 17, the year you were born. The date appears to be the 4th of Sun’s Dawn. You were born 19th of Last Seed, 4E 17… I think Eriya was bearing you when they arrived in Skyrim. It makes sense. I’m not sure where it said she was from, only that she arrived from Vvardenfell. You were almost a year old when your father died, as his death was in First Seed. Eriya left about five days later. It documents the day she left, but not the location… At least, not named. All it said was that she left for an island off the coast of Skyrim, about a two week sail from Windhelm and back. My Initiate, Kirsail, asked the Dunmer of the Gray Quarter if they knew about this island. Turns out she left for the island of Solstheim.”
Mikaru grumbled when she mentioned the Gray Quarter “So. It looks like I need to go to Windhelm. Damn it… I was hoping to stay away from that cesspit. You are sure it is Windhelm I need to go to, yes?” He picked up his birth record.
“You can ask the three longest living residents of the Gray Quarter for extra confirmation. Windhelm is where the only ship that takes passengers to Solstheim is located. If you’re not convinced, you can ask the owner of the New Gnisis Cornerclub about her for extra peace of mind. He seemed to know her based on what Kirsail could gather.”
Mikaru read his birth records as he listened to Sabine speak. Everything was there, from the location of where he was born down to the time recorded on the clocks. He glared that he was born in the Snow Quarter of Windhelm. He hated that city. Hated the bigots that called it home, but if he had to go back to find out his mother’s last whereabouts, he was ready to deal with the anger he had to hold back.
“I never thought I would be relying on the Dark Brotherhood for something like this. Kind of ironic isn’t it, finding one’s mother and hoping she’s alive rather than spill her blood?” He handed her the parchment back. “You can send your Initiate to return my records to whence they came, Sabine. I have all I need to know to continue my search. Thank you. You’ve helped me more than you could ever realize.” Sabine smiled at him, putting the documents back in her knapsack and setting it aside.
“I’m glad. I’m here to help if I can. I realize I have my own work to do, and you have yours, but I find it much easier to do things if the leaders have mutual respect and work together in their own ways. But that isn’t important… You deserve to know who you come from, and knowing that you’ve spent so long looking breaks my heart.” Saadia comes into the back room to cook another pot of horker stew, paying no mind to the duo discussing business.
“It’s alright. There’s a reason everything happens in the way it does in everyone’s lives. These events shape us to become who we are today. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad. I don’t regret the journey. There’s too much I wish I never went through during the course of my life, but I don’t think I regret any of the decisions I’ve made.”
“Few men and Mer have the luxury of no regrets, my friend. You learned something new from the experiences,” She relaxed her posture, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t think learning something new is something to regret. Even if you don’t like what you hear or see, you still know something you were once ignorant about. Knowledge is both a blessing and a curse in my experiences. But, like you, Mikaru, I don’t think I would be the woman I am today if I didn’t know what I know now. But that’s beside the point.”
“I just hope what my adoptive father told me about her was true. He didn’t tell me much about her. What little I know of her… Well, I know he told me that she was a mage, and a powerful one. The only other thing he told me was that she was rather eccentric and excitable. My biological father helped keep her emotions in check.” Sabine’s expression turned to one of intrigue, rather akin to a cat that found something shiny to play with. She rested her head in her hand, but kept a look of rapt attention.
“Emotional, you say? Knowing you, I don’t think I would have expected that. Now, this may be an odd question, since you told me that you’ve been searching for her for years, but… just how long have you been trying to find her? ”
How long indeed. How long…? Mikaru shook his head. He didn’t remember when he started searching, but it was well over one hundred years ago, he knew that much. His face twisted into a confused scowl, which made Sabine give him a sheepish and apologetic look. He sighed, burying his face in his hand. “Gods. I don’t even remember how long it’s been. I know I was a very young man when I started seeking answers, but Skyrim is just as bad about their distrust for the Mer races then as it is now. Not surprising, really. The Oblivion Crisis had only recently passed and times were in a total state of unrest. I traveled all over Tamriel. The only places I’ve never been were Black Marsh and, ironically enough, Morrowind.”
“Why have you never been to Morrowind?”
“I don’t really know,” Mikaru shrugged. “I guess something in my heart said she wouldn’t be there… My adoptive father told me that she wouldn’t return to where the Morag Tong would try and eliminate her. She would hide somewhere they could never touch her. I suppose Solstheim would be the place if she’s still alive.”
“It’s the best we can hope for. I pray that she’s safe, my friend. I hope you can find the answers you seek.” Mikaru nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.
It’s all I can hope for, really…