Into Oblivion

32 (Epilogue)

Elizabeth Asquerana

3E415-4E520

This was what my mother's headstone had read. Engraved deep within the granite was her name. It was bold and proclaimed itself loudly for the entire world to know. My mother, the Countess of Kvatch, had passed away at the ripe age of one hundred five. Her last wishes were to be buried out upon a hilltop near Kvatch so she might watch over it as if she were its guardian. Truthfully, she was. Her stories of fame and honor had passed like wildfire through all of Cyrodiil. Upon her deathbed were the highest figures of society: the Chancellor, the Royal Guard, many Counts and Countesses from neighboring cities and other people whom I hadn't met before.

I stood before my mother's grave like a statuette hovering over a dead lake. People swarmed around encasing me like a thick blanket. I hear the sobs of women and I could sense the grief of the men who had overlooked my mother's grave. For a while I had stood motionless; unmoved, even emotionally unmoved. My eyes fastened upon the bit of granite I could see of the tombstone. My brother, Aeydiin, who would become the Count of Kvatch, had stood adjacent to me. He stood tall and just as unmoving as I was. His coiled silver hair hung before his frozen tangerine eyes. When I had glanced his way I could see the strife that he had attempted to mask. But he was never good at concealing his feelings from me. I knew the path to his heart, a path that not many had traveled. He was; afterall, my twin brother.

My eyes had continued to hold their position upon him until he had glanced my way. His head hadn't moved an inch at all when he shifted his eyes my way. From such a distance I could hear his heart calling. It was beckoning me near. Faintly, it had called. Leisurely and almost hesitantly I had lifted my hand to his shoulder. My fingertips touched the delicate fabric of his crimson cape. But that was all that he needed. His head gave a nod of gratitude and together we had looked back to our mother's grave. Upon the bed of the grave many people had stepped forward from their lines to place down trinkets to honor the dead. My eyes had scanned gradually over these mementos of flowers. Would they not perish as well? Their beauty would dwindle just like the last moments of our lives. They would wilt and wither away and all that would be left was a skeleton of their former selves. I pondered over this for a while and even thought over just why do we leave flowers for the deceased? Should we not leave a more durable substance that would withstand time and symbolize how the Countess' life would live on past the grave?

... My heart began to hurt.

I felt that sickening warmth that overcomes one just as they were to begin crying. Was it in human nature to succumb to it immediately? My lips coiled in and I bit them harshly telling myself, Don't... not here. You must be strong. Be strong for the Countess. As if my brother had heard my thoughts he had leaned near me and rested his frozen nose against my cheek. His breath had rushed past my ear and I heard him whisper almost faintly, "... Lydia... it'sok."

I shot him a glance. He had glanced back before lifting his head to rest against the crown of my fiery red hair. His arms constricted me in a loving embrace and at this moment my defenses had fallen. My lips parted and a wail came as I had buried my head into my brother's chest. My eyes wretched themselves shut so tightly that it had began to sting my eyes. I knew people would glance this way. It was the first time I ever let my audience see emotion from me. My mother said this was a trait I had inherited from my father; to be more or less emotionally frozen. I was shattered. My mother had been my own god. Without her presence how could my life exist? Who would guide me? Who would guide my people?

My sobs had softened and my head hoisted as I look at my brother's neck. The muscles hidden beneath the tanned layer of skin had contracted for a moment then relaxed as he had shifted himself.

My brother... my sweet brother.

He would lead Kvatch to its glory.

After a moment or two I had pulled away from my brother's arms. He lingered for a moment; I knew he was just making sure I was fine. I waved him off and wiped my eyes with the base of my palm. The sorrowful tears had vanished and now I saw clearly. Only a few people had remained now. Those who were exceedingly close to my mother. I saw two Argonians—they were a brother and sister from the Chapel of Akatosh. A Nord stood cattycorner to me and then there was the soon-to-be Count and I.