[center][H2]Of Scars and Sins[/H2]
A Collab by Peik and Leidenschaft[/center]

Cilo was annoying, for sure – but at the very least, he was a very handy fellow, and his baselessly high opinion of Sadri meant that the Dunmer could occasionally (as to not overuse the lad’s trust) make use of him. The bottle of flin he had gotten from the lad was small, but he still had some of the liquor left in his drinking skin. Enough for two, at least. [i]Two.[/i] Sadri thought of an appropriate partner for himself to spend the rest of the night with, someone that he felt he could relate to, someone he felt close to. There were plenty of people enjoying themselves thanks to the festival – and he had gotten his fair share of conversation from that woman they called the Huntress, Sevine – but somehow he still felt alone.

‘’[i]Solveig[/i].’’

Right. How had he forgotten about her? The youthful, lively Nord, strong, yet bearing a conflict, a melancholy in her eyes – a melancholy that gave her depth, at the very least in Sadri’s eyes. Sadri had been drawn to few people like her in the past; two of them were definitely dead, and he had not seen the other in decades. Sadri took a gulp of flin to wash away creeping thoughts of the girl being less than half his age, and also being likely to die in his lifetime. He had wasted a lot of opportunities to be happy. He did not want to waste another.

Sadri wandered far and wide through the streets to find the lass, silently moving through the crowds who were far too cheerful and preoccupied to notice the sad, battered Dunmer. In the end, he found her not far from where he had started his journey – sitting by the tavern door, alone. The sight filled Sadri’s stomach with warmth, one that also hurt bitterly, as if it came from coals. Sadri smiled faintly, and painfully.

‘’Hey,’’ Sadri spoke as he slowly sat down next to the girl. For a moment there was silence – silence, that he felt, could last forever (and for a part of Sadri, it did), but even in this silence he felt a degree of joy. At least, there she was, radiant in her glory, reeking of life, with all the good and evil that entailed it. Sadri could not explain his fondness for her. Perhaps some things did not need explanation. He felt like he could just enjoy the moment, despite the bitter feeling in his stomach.

‘’Alone?’’ The Dunmer asked, offering a bottle of flin to the girl. Perhaps it was inappropriate, but with the sort of life Sadri had led so far, it felt good enough – plus, it seemed, she wasn’t the sort of girl to take bouquets of flowers and ballads. For all Sadri knew, he had put himself in the offer. But this sincerity and submission in the act was likely subtle enough to not be noticed by anyone, except Sadri himself.

Solveig had not noticed Sadri walk out of the crowd to sit next to her. It was these moments that she realized she did not notice much besides that woman's face, that child's cries from the rubble and the soft resistance of the old woman's neck her knife felt. She was tired of remembering. It was at one point a way for her to punish herself in a way, remembering was, but now the thoughts and memories came of their own volition like a parade of sin. She only heard Sadri speak one word, 'alone?' and she nodded. She was, or at least she felt it to be true. She folded her arms around herself and sighed, "Are you well?" She remembered how he'd come to what they both thought was her rescue, for all they knew. Like Do'Karth, she felt a strange tug towards Sadri each time he was around, but Sadri's was that bit stronger.

It wasn't the graceful sharpness of  his ears, it wasn't his scarred, but still handsome jaw, nor was it all the warrior in her looking at his scars, his missing limb or his lost ear. It was just there. Asking her how it came about would warrant the same response a farmer would give if asked why the sun fell and the moons rose after. The mer was more than twice her age, but age to a mer was nothing. At least, she told herself that. "I mean it. Between you and I, we make a solemn pair. Even in the Company." She took the bottle of flin and gulped it down. She was surprised  how her throat closed around it and she put the back of her hand to her mouth, speaking in a hoarse whisper, "I guess us living through a siege and chased by a mob of lizardfolk will do that." She coughed, realizing she was yammering almost.

 Sadri had been caught unaware by Solveig’s question – perhaps it was because she was the one who asked it, but her asking him the question he had avoided to the best of his ability in life, now that caught the Dunmer off guard. Was he well? Sadri sighed. It was a damn good question, he had never thought about it because he knew the answer. He was not. He was a wreck, one who had exhausted his body, mind and options at such a young (!) age. He had, over the years, devolved into a simple element of violence, a thug. Worse yet, he was accustomed to it.

He tried to open his mouth, wave off the question with a sarcastic answer, but Solveig insisted. Sadri stood still, his hand still holding the flin in an offer, and then she took it with a flick of her hand and took a gulp of the bottle. Sadri’s reaction to this was delayed by a few seconds, surprised by her insistence, and, admittedly, appreciative of it. He had seen his fair share of his sort – her sort, too – in life, bearers of melancholy. Few had asked him about it, few had let him know that they knew too. Indeed, they were a solemn pair. Had he not been staggered by the question, he would have felt happy about her mention of them being a ‘pair’. But right now, he felt pained, and also relieved, by someone, someone he felt was dear at that, proving that they knew him well enough to see his secret from his face, like a nail getting removed from flesh.

‘’I guess us living through a siege and chased by a mob of lizardfolk will do that.’’

Sadri chuckled, and took a breath.

‘’I expect that you know better than I, this is beyond that.’’ He hunched forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. Might as well face it.

‘’I can see it in your eyes, Solveig. At least, I think I see it. Way I see it, you bear a burden. I say so, because so do I. One isn’t solemn solely because of extraordinary events. On the contrary, I would say it is the base decisions of man and mer that often lead to this state of mind.’’

Sadri sighed. This was practically a mental disembowelment of himself – ripping his guts out, revealing it for all to see. Or perhaps it was more of a mental ritual sacrifice out of the proceedings of a twisted religious ceremony, with the most private parts of his being revealed to those deemed worthy.

‘’I’ve done some sad shit in my life. I’ve lived long enough to learn that regretting the acts don’t help. What I do regret is how I’ve spent myself. I may not be old for a mer, Solveig. But I’ve seen seven decades of life. And yet here I am, risking my life for a bunch of coins and a hot meal, killing people over such matters. After all this time, you can’t help but ask ‘what for?’ It wasn’t because of tragedy that I am in my state, it wasn’t unpreventable fate, I wasn’t changed from my core – it was solely my own doing, a gradual debasement of who I could have been.’’

He took the bottle of flin from Solveig’s hand, and took a sip. This was hard stuff for him, and likely, she felt like she had to ‘leave because of most pressing matters’. Although he expected she wouldn’t take off with such a petty lie. She was strong enough to tell him the truth, at least.

‘’Look at me. I’m lamenting over things in the past. But thing is, Solveig, it’s not that I’m not satisfied with where I am. I’m not satisfied with how I am. I’m not happy.’’ 

Sadri took a pause. He needed it, and she needed it, he figured.

‘’I speak of this to you, because I feel you are alike – that we share a common bond in this. We may not have done good things, we may not be satisfied with our lives, but don’t we deserve to be happy?’’

And Sadri leaned back against the wall, waiting. It was the moment of truth. He hoped the truth wouldn’t hurt. 

Solveig opened her mouth and her lips stayed parted for a while, until a sigh smoked out on the air and she closed her mouth again. Her heart was aching, and that dull pain was a cage around her chest that prevented her from taking a good breath lest it turn into a quivering sob. Did she deserve to be happy? She could say no, she could spite herself for the murderer she'd become, but if that meant she wouldn't earn a Name, she wouldn't be able to make her father settle down next to mother, that she wouldn't be sitting next to Sadri... Did she deserve to be happy? She took the bottle and swigged again, feeling the burn, and again. "My father used to say that men don't often get what they deserve." She said, then glanced sidelong at Sadri, "But piss on that. I've always had it that if the world told me I should not, I would. And gladly, laughing all the way."

A fierce smile crossed her lips, a ravenous twinkle in her eye, but it was short-lived. The words lost their meaning and were hollow boasts after all. Her smile faded, she didn't want Sadri to see what everyone else saw. She would earn a hard Name, but hard words were for fools and cowards. Sadri didn't need hard words anymore than she did. "But you're right." She said in a meek half-whisper, and her heart began to stammer, "In the siege, I did things just to escape with my life. I felt like a mangy cur biting at its brothers for a moldy apple core in the gutter. A woman asked me to help her child trapped in the rubble and I pushed her away." The breath caught in her throat and she bit her lip, she felt a tear race down her cheek and she turned away from Sadri to wipe it off, "I'm here. They're not. I haven't been doing well under the weight of all that, Sadri."

"Good people do good things and I have not done many good things." Solveig sighed, gathering herself, "I want to be happy regardless of whether I deserve it or not. I guess." She stood, her arm emerging from the front of her cloak with an offered helping hand at the end, her cloak kept tight with her other, "I hate crowds. Come walk with me."

Sadri sat still, eyes blank on the horizon, as Solveig confided in him about the things she’d done. Despite what her words entailed, Sadri was happy that she was able to open up to him – show the conflicted interior underneath the outlook of a hardy warrior-woman. After all, being able to be unhappy with someone was still better than being unhappy alone. When Solveig stood up, face bitter and eyes gleaming wet, he felt scared for a moment, thinking she would be leaving, but then he noticed her arm sticking out of her cloak, and felt a tinge of relief even in the grim mood. Sadri took her hand, grasping tightly, and pulled himself up. He could see the leftover moisture from a swept-away tear on her face. The sight alone made his chest burn, but he did not show. 

He began following Solveig, walking away from the crowd, and kept silent for a while, breaking the silence a minute or so later, for there was a certain beauty even in her silent sorrow (although acknowledging this made him hate himself because of his selfishness), and more importantly, one often needed silence to think clearly when trying to attain peace with oneself. He did not want to deny Solveig that.

‘’I would say that our regrets are enough of a punishment for us to deserve happiness,’’ he said, walking alongside her as he spoke. His face and mind had placated to one that of complete defeat, complete acceptance, and perhaps even complete submission. He felt like the flattened ruins left after the destruction of a civilization, silent, still, destroyed, but ready to begin anew. There was a certain peace in this certain state of mind of his. He felt accepted as the wreck he was when with her. It was in this acceptance that he found serenity, and gratitude. Deep down, he wished that she would also let go, release her floodgates, and just show herself, her true self to him. Looking at her face, he wanted her to see that he would accept her for who she was, let her feel relieved, just as she made him feel. 

They walked for a quiet while. So quiet and so long they stayed, that Solveig was terrified of Sadri rejecting her. Of Sadri casting her away for the lowly rat of a murderer she was. Each moment was one that tore a hole in her heart and so when Sadri finally did speak, she stopped walking altogether. Her head hung low and she brushed aside her hair from her face and looked Sadri in the eyes, "Truly?" She asked, almost a whisper, "Then why do I still feel like this selfish whipped cur of a woman? Should the Gods not see it has been enough torment these weeks past and given me some reason to be happy?"

She looked Sadri up and down and met his gaze. The two stood silently, well away from the crowds or the town itself, even. Solveig's arms were wrapped around herself under her cloak as she looked to the side, "Do you not see me as a selfish rat forsaking others' lives for her own?" 

His silence stung deeper than anyone else's she had met. She had met many men, talked to them, even bedded them when she had needs or they had charm... but Sadri's words, for whatever reason, were the ledge she held on to over the roiling, spitting waves. She saw much of her same pain in those eyes of his. He had enough sins as much as he did scars, and Solveig's hurts and sin dragged her and willed her to meet his own. Her lip quivered and her voice was low and hoarse and just a small bit pleading for him to say something that would lift her from the river she was drowning in for long days, "Answer me." She said, and unfurled her arms and let them fall straight at her side, waiting for the poisoned arrow of Sadri's words to pierce her, the blurry film of tears accruing in her eyes, "Do you not see me so?"

She let a tear roll down her cheek and then another, "Your small words tell me everything. At each turn, Sadri, the Gods deny me happiness! My own father did not love me enough to stay at home for more than a day or two, so don't think me weak enough to lay bedridden at your answer! I stood the absence of one man I needed, I chased my father with the help of a good man I wanted for my own and he died far away from my arms! Twice, I've felt the barbs of absence from men I needed, I won't be struck down by your abse-" She clamped her teeth shut. She wanted so much to run away like the little girl she felt like, but only had the strength to look away and cover her mouth with a trembling hand. She stayed silent, bit her lip to remain so, and she dropped to cross her legs while sitting and rested her back against a tree. "I..." She took fistfuls of her trousers, "I feel as if I'm drowning, Sadri. To choose between letting the current take me or fighting towards the shore... I'm set on either choice every other day."

Sadri looked at Solveig, thinking of finding an answer to her questions that both would not be a lie, but also not hurt her. If he could, he would wrap her up, convince her that it was all just a dream. On the other hand, he knew well that crying was a means of relief – and, as much as it pained him to see it, she needed her share of crying, to save herself from the constant clutches of regret. ‘’Tears wash away your sins,’’ a wandering priest of Mara in Bergama had once said to Sadri, while he was a librarian. Its true meaning dawned upon Sadri in moments such as these. Every tear on her cheek was like a new wound for Sadri, only they hurt deeper than steel ever could.

‘’Look,’’ Sadri said as he squatted next to her, although standing taller as if he was trying to shield her from something. ‘’I wouldn’t leave you, or look down upon you, for what you have done in the past.’’ He felt like ripping his flesh off, wrapping it around her, protecting her that way, such was his intensity. ‘’Whatever you might have done, I will not say that it was the right thing – but I will say, it was the human thing. It's alright.’’ He took a breath, although it hurt to do so, just as it hurt to do anything else at this moment. 

Sadri’s good eye became blurry with a thin layer of tears – it had been two decades since his eyes had done such a thing, if you didn’t count some of his contemplative mornings, and this burned his eyes, his brain. He could feel a very great, very powerful flame burning his insides, cleansing his insides – it hurt, his head felt like it could burst any second, and his bad eye was practically filled with blood, but at the same time, he felt that much closer to absolution.

‘’You are strong, Solveig. You may have wronged, but you are human still. Your tears are testament to that.’’ He took a breath. ‘’You can cast this punishment off yourself. If the Gods don’t give you happiness, you can take it from them. You can let go.’’ 

He paused for a moment. He lifted her chin, and smiled the best he could. She deserved that, at the very least. An accepting smile.

‘’We can let go.’’ 

He wished to cry his eyes out, cry and scream like crazy, until he was empty of all his baggage. He wished she would do the same. 

Solveig listened to Sadri's words. They didn't help anything by themselves, but his presence was good. That was all she needed, she guessed. When Sadri lifted her chin, her cheeks felt like fire and she knew she was blushing. [i]It's the cold,[/i] she'd say, but instead she said nothing as she looked into Sadri's one good eye. He was not the beauty Finnen was, her mentor in Markarth, nor did he speak the awkward but heartfelt poetics that Leif did. Even so, every part of him, inside and out was genuine. She thought so, and that was all that mattered. She snaked her fingers around his hand, a smile creeping across her lips and breaking the run of tears down her face. This was the first time she truly smiled for a long time, a genuine smile, not one of spite or a fierce baring of teeth to scare an enemy into submission. A sad, tired one, but a genuine one all the same. [i]Thank you? Yes, we can? I want to?[/i] What was there to say to that?

She admired him, her lips parted, not knowing what to do. She'd never been spoken to so tenderly, not by any suitor, only Finnen. And even then, she'd never declared her feelings for him. How does one do that? With one hand on their breast and head upturned, bellowing it for the Gods to hear? Or a whisper, noses almost touching? Does it need to be, or do they just know? "Sadri..." She whispered, bottom lip quivering.

She knew not what to do now. But as a sob welled at the back of her throat, she let it out in a whimpering sigh, looking down with her eyes closed and baring her teeth, she drew in a breath, "Then we'll take it from the Gods." She said, regarding the mer with a sad smile of her own.

She patted the earth beside her, beckoning him to sit next to her. She did not want to leave this spot, for the world and its happenings were but an interruption, the buzzing of flies. All the world that mattered was here and now. She desperately hoped that Sadri felt the same, she wanted him to be happy as much as she wanted it for herself and a selfish part of her wanted Sadri to be happy with her. When he sat, she asked in a low voice, "I've two questions," She cleared her throat, "Do you still have your Dunmer whiskey, and will you tell me of your scars?"

Sadri smiled back at Solveig as her expression slowly turned to one that of happiness, despite her tears. He could feel her fingers atop his own hand on the ground, her heat burning against his flesh. It was a good feeling, he felt like he could give his good hand forever to her, just so the sensation could stay. As she agreed to take happiness from the yoke of the Gods, the flame that he had been feeling burn him up inside blazed up white hot, eat away all the creeping thoughts and regrets inside his mind, inside his flesh, and turn them into ash and soot to be absorbed and made into something new. After all, some of the rarest, most beautiful flowers grew only after fires, through the ashen soil.

Sadri sat down next to Solveig, his mind and body refreshed, as if reborn, thanks to her agreement to take happiness from the Gods’ yoke. In a small portion of his mind, for the rest was dedicated exclusively to her, he could see his past, all his deeds good and bad, in clarity, in acceptance. At this moment, he was happy, happier than he had been in decades, and thus, his past deeds felt worthy and with purpose for once, for they had all led him to this moment. 

He smiled at Solveig as she spoke, a heartfelt gleam in his eyes, a flame that burned the most intense when he looked at her. ‘’Yes to both,’’ Sadri answered, his voice soothing his own throat and mouth as it left through his lips, and unstrapped the skin of flin hanging off his belt. To him, the drink was unnecessary, for her presence gave him more joy than all alcohol could bring. ‘’But I will hear of your scars, when I am done.’’  Putting the container between them, Sadri began to speak, translating to her the coded epitaphs and memoirs grafted upon his skin by steel and magick. His entire story.