“Do you think they'd have liked it?” Caradach asked.
“He would. She'd have hated it,” Ancalime replied. It was a stone plinth with a great painted red eagle on top with wings spread, and a dragon sprawled at the bottom, painted red with gold eyes. The plinth had Madanach's portrait on the left, Liriel's on the right, both smiling eternally at each other, their names and dates of birth and death underneath. Below that was a slogan in both Rhanic and Tamrielic, reading “PARENTS OF A NATION. SAVIOURS OF THE WORLD. NEVER FORGET.”
“Cicero thinks it is an excellent likeness,” Cicero chirped up, bouncing up to stand next to Ancalime and examine the portraits. “Madanach looks very young, doesn't he? You can hardly see any wrinkles.”
“Liriel had grey hair when she died, that is not grey hair,” Ancalime nodded. “But I don't think either of them really wanted to be recorded for posterity as anything other than as they were at their prime.”
“Da always said his prime was as Reach-King the first time,” Caradach said solemnly. “When he had blonde hair, not silver. I can't really imagine him with hair any other colour. Even Ma didn't know him back then. I miss them.”
Ancalime's hand crept into his, as the aunt who'd always been more like a sister comforted him.
“So do I,” she said quietly. “But you know Madanach wanted to go by the end.”
“I know,” Caradach said roughly. “And when he did die, he wasn't the all-conquering fighter who raised me, I know that too. All the same... he had a choice! He could have stayed a vampire, or turned Ma or...” He wiped a tear from silver eyes just like his father's and Ancalime reached out to cuddle him.
“All things must die, caradion,” Ancalime whispered.
“Of course they must!” Cicero cooed from where he was lovingly stroking Liriel's portrait. “We would be out of a job otherwise!”
“Cali,” Caradach said, his voice muffled. “Can I stab him?”
“Surprised you asked,” Ancalime said crisply. “Your da never did.”
True enough, Caradach had lost count of the number of times he'd seen Madanach burn, freeze, shock or just life drain Cicero over the years whenever he lost patience with the ghostly jester. Unnerving to watch, but Caradach had learned an awful lot from watching his father at work. Now he'd never see him again and it was breaking his heart.
Tinny, electronic version of the Sky Song of the Reachmen burbled out and Caradach swore loudly as he reached for his phone. Small portable telecommunication devices that could in addition to contacting anyone with a similar device also dial into a mysterious Cloud in one of the Daedric Realms that could store knowledge. A bit weird having a Daedric portal in one's pocket but it was amazing what you could get used to. Such as the bloody thing going off at precisely the wrong moment.
“It's Teldryn. I'd better take this,” Caradach sighed. “Hey. Teldryn, cariad, what's up. You and Karliah OK?”
Ancalime sat back and watched while Caradach talked to his husband. Teldryn and Karliah, Caradach's Dunmer spouses, were friends of his mother and both older than him – but Caradach, much like his father, was persistent, determined and a little blind to convention, and had successfully seduced Teldryn Sero first and then they'd both coaxed Karliah out of seclusion and into their bed a decade or so later. Three adorable Dunmer-Altmer-Breton children, Brynja, Gallus and Lirion, had been the result. Madanach had taken the whole thing in his stride without batting an eyelid, Liriel had taken rather more convincing, but she'd been won round by grandchildren.
“Brynja's done WHAT?” Caradach shouted into the handset. “Tel, they don't even have dragons in Blacklight. Do they?”
Far in the distance, the very ground shook as the Greybeards Shouted for the first time in centuries.
Re: Thicker Than Blood 15.11
“He would. She'd have hated it,” Ancalime replied. It was a stone plinth with a great painted red eagle on top with wings spread, and a dragon sprawled at the bottom, painted red with gold eyes. The plinth had Madanach's portrait on the left, Liriel's on the right, both smiling eternally at each other, their names and dates of birth and death underneath. Below that was a slogan in both Rhanic and Tamrielic, reading “PARENTS OF A NATION. SAVIOURS OF THE WORLD. NEVER FORGET.”
“Cicero thinks it is an excellent likeness,” Cicero chirped up, bouncing up to stand next to Ancalime and examine the portraits. “Madanach looks very young, doesn't he? You can hardly see any wrinkles.”
“Liriel had grey hair when she died, that is not grey hair,” Ancalime nodded. “But I don't think either of them really wanted to be recorded for posterity as anything other than as they were at their prime.”
“Da always said his prime was as Reach-King the first time,” Caradach said solemnly. “When he had blonde hair, not silver. I can't really imagine him with hair any other colour. Even Ma didn't know him back then. I miss them.”
Ancalime's hand crept into his, as the aunt who'd always been more like a sister comforted him.
“So do I,” she said quietly. “But you know Madanach wanted to go by the end.”
“I know,” Caradach said roughly. “And when he did die, he wasn't the all-conquering fighter who raised me, I know that too. All the same... he had a choice! He could have stayed a vampire, or turned Ma or...” He wiped a tear from silver eyes just like his father's and Ancalime reached out to cuddle him.
“All things must die, caradion,” Ancalime whispered.
“Of course they must!” Cicero cooed from where he was lovingly stroking Liriel's portrait. “We would be out of a job otherwise!”
“Cali,” Caradach said, his voice muffled. “Can I stab him?”
“Surprised you asked,” Ancalime said crisply. “Your da never did.”
True enough, Caradach had lost count of the number of times he'd seen Madanach burn, freeze, shock or just life drain Cicero over the years whenever he lost patience with the ghostly jester. Unnerving to watch, but Caradach had learned an awful lot from watching his father at work. Now he'd never see him again and it was breaking his heart.
Tinny, electronic version of the Sky Song of the Reachmen burbled out and Caradach swore loudly as he reached for his phone. Small portable telecommunication devices that could in addition to contacting anyone with a similar device also dial into a mysterious Cloud in one of the Daedric Realms that could store knowledge. A bit weird having a Daedric portal in one's pocket but it was amazing what you could get used to. Such as the bloody thing going off at precisely the wrong moment.
“It's Teldryn. I'd better take this,” Caradach sighed. “Hey. Teldryn, cariad, what's up. You and Karliah OK?”
Ancalime sat back and watched while Caradach talked to his husband. Teldryn and Karliah, Caradach's Dunmer spouses, were friends of his mother and both older than him – but Caradach, much like his father, was persistent, determined and a little blind to convention, and had successfully seduced Teldryn Sero first and then they'd both coaxed Karliah out of seclusion and into their bed a decade or so later. Three adorable Dunmer-Altmer-Breton children, Brynja, Gallus and Lirion, had been the result. Madanach had taken the whole thing in his stride without batting an eyelid, Liriel had taken rather more convincing, but she'd been won round by grandchildren.
“Brynja's done WHAT?” Caradach shouted into the handset. “Tel, they don't even have dragons in Blacklight. Do they?”
Far in the distance, the very ground shook as the Greybeards Shouted for the first time in centuries.
“DOVAHKIIN!”