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thana-topsy · 1 year

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A Conversation on Grief

Had this little scene spring to life in my head yesterday while going through bouts of personal melancholy, and it was an absolute joy (despite the tone) to revisit my beloved Father and Son Duo.

A quiet moment between Aerik and Nilandur. On AO3 for those who prefer to read it there. Below the cut for anyone else who still cares about these two and have wondered what they might be getting up to.

The sun had long since set when the bell at the downstairs backdoor rang unexpectedly. Nilandur had just settled into his chair for the evening, a warm cup of tea in hand.

“Who in the world might that be?” asked Erandur from across the room. He was in the process of drying their dinner dishes, rag still in hand.

“I haven’t the faintest,” said Nil, setting his tea down and getting to his feet once more.

“Want me to come with you?” Erandur offered.

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Nilandur descended the stairs silently, knees soft, his robe shushing across the freshly swept floorboards. He passed through the shop’s backroom and peered cautiously through the peephole. He could make out Aerik’s profile through the blurred glass and the dark night around him.

“Oh!” He unlatched the lock and opened the door. “Aerik! What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Because something was wrong. Aerik’s eyes were puffy, his shoulders hunched in an unusual posture.

“Why’s something gotta be wrong?” his son countered with a forced smirk. “Maybe I just wanted to visit.”

“At this hour?” Nilandur gave him an emploring look, glancing over his shoulder, then back to his son. “Did… you want to come in?”

Aerik hesitated, and something vulnerable and frightened passed across his expression, before he roughly wiped his nose against his arm and shrugged. “Nah,” he said. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“No!” Nilandur stepped forward to grab him by the shoulders. “Don’t say that. I’m very happy you’re here! I’m just–you have me a bit worried, is all. Is–” He swallowed the cold lump that had materialized in his throat. “Is everything alright…at home?”

“With Tel?” Aerik let out a watery laugh. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about that. He actually sent me over here. Or, well, he didn’t send me. Gently suggested it. Encouraged.” Aerik looked away with another laugh, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Aerik,” Nilandur said softly, running his thumbs in soothing circles over the front of his shoulders. “Come in, please. I’ll make us some tea.”

“Erandur up?”

“Yes, but we’ll sit down in the shop. Please.” He tugged gently, pulling him forward. “Come.”

After briefly skittering upstairs to let Erandur know that all was well, that it was just Aerik, and that they’d need some privacy, he’d stolen a quick kiss before nimbly descending the stairs once again. He found Aerik wandering around the darkened storefront, peering aimlessly into ingredient jars.

“It’s kind of spooky in here at night,” he observed. “All these jars full of mystery ingredients.”

“Well, there’s no mystery, Aerik, they’re labeled.”

“Yeah, you know I don’t read.”

Nilandur huffed a laugh. “That is a bold lie for a bard to tell.”

Aerik just waved a hand at him with a smirk. “So, what’s on the menu?”

Nilandur chose a new blend he’d been working on as their tea for the evening. It had a warming effect—a base of roasted snowberry and crushed dragon’s tongue with an imported spice mixture from Hammerfell—burnt and earthy on the first sip that settled into a lingering sweetness, slightly energizing without causing the jitters. Aerik stared into his cup without taking a sip, bouncing his leg nervously beneath the table. Nilandur waited, taking a sip of his own tea and breathing deeply.

“It’s the, uh…” Aerik began unprompted. “It’s the anniversary of her death. Mom’s.”

Nilandur’s stomach hardened, his fingers tightening imperceptibly around his own tea bowl. “Ah…” he said after a moment of silence stretched between them, thin and delicate like a spider’s thread. “How long–?”

“Seventeen years,” Aerik said before he could finish.

Nil tucked his lips around his teeth, his gaze falling to the table.

“I kind of thought,” he continued, his leg still bouncing. “I thought it would get easier as I got older, y’know? But now I’m just–I’m getting closer and closer to the age she was when she–” He hissed through his teeth, clenched his jaw against the crack in his voice. Cleared his throat. “And I just want to talk to her. I just wish I could… talk. Ask her about her life more than I did. About my grandparents. About–” He gestured into the empty air before letting his hand fall against the table with a soft thud. “Anything.”

Nilandur continued his silence, judging his place in this conversation. He was Aerik’s father, yes, but he rarely felt as though he’d properly earned such a title. Empty condolences over the death of a woman he hadn’t seen in over fifty years would ring too hollow. Too practiced.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever told you about your grandparents on my side, have I?” he began softly, staring down into his tea. “Mostly because they aren’t terribly pleasant.”

“You can if you want,” Aerik said after a loud sniff. “Or not. It’s fine.”

Nilandur took another quick sip of tea, cleared his throat, then looked up to meet Aerik’s eyes. “I was disowned.”

Aerik lifted his brows slowly, his expression settling into something both surprised and interested. “You have not mentioned that before.”

Nilandur couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, it’s not a pleasant tale. And after living outside of Summerset for over a century, it’s all painfully ridiculous to look back on. The reasoning for it all, I mean.”

“And what was the reasoning?”

Nilandur offered a small, delicate shrug, drumming his fingers lightly on the rim of his tea bowl. “I’m a naturally inquisitive person. I had far too many questions concerning the ever-tightening control the Thalmor had over our lives.”

“And they disowned you for asking too many questions?” Aerik pressed. His leg’s bouncing had slowed to an occasional jiggle and he absently took a sip of his tea. “Oh,” he looked down into the cup, then took another sip, pausing to swish the liquid from cheek to cheek (making Nilandur wince). “Nil, that’s pretty good. That’s really good.”

“Thank you, dear. And, no, they didn’t disown me for asking too many questions. But it practically became an ideological battle field in our household. It escalated to the point of no return when they attempted to destroy my collection of religious books.”

“The Thalmor?”

“No, my parents. My father, specifically. I was quite grown at that point, but unwed, much to their persistent disappointment. So I was living under their roof.” Nilandur sighed.

“Hey, you really stuck it to them then,” Aerik said with a conspiratorial grin, his tears forgotten. “Knocked up a Nord woman and then bagged yourself a Dunmer husband? So proud of you, pops.”

Nilandur felt heat creep into his cheeks and ears. “Please don’t say it like that,” he said with a laugh. “You make me sound like some sort of rapscallion. Might I remind you that I spent nearly forty years of my life on an island of monks?”

“Are the Psijics celebate?”

Nilandur groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Aerik, please.”

“Kidding, Nil. Lighten up.” He took another sip of tea, leaning back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing. “So, book-snatching. I assume you didn’t let them?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed over the years that I’m not well-known for my ability to stand up for myself.”

“I’ve noticed, yeah.”

“Well, they found my limit that day.”

Aerik let out a low whistle. “What did you do?”

“Well, nothing too outlandish. Mostly just loudly protested their actions and forcibly reclaimed my property. I was then given an ultimatum: surrender the contraband and live under their roof, or keep my illicit knowledge and leave.”

“What kind of books were these?” Aerik asked. “Also, can I have some more?” He pushed the tea bowl across the table and pressed his hands together politely.

“Funny enough, they were rather tame,” Nilandur continued as he refilled Aerik’s cup. “At least by today’s standards. But a few very openly questioned the prevailing dogma that the Thalmor were pushing. So, they were quite illegal.” He laughed self-consciously and handed Aerik the refilled tea bowl. “Illegal knowledge has always been a ridiculous concept to me. Ironically enough, it was the same philosophy that drove me away from the Psijics—this idea of hoarding knowledge, keeping it hidden away under lock and key.”

“You don’t think some knowledge deserves to be kept hidden?” Aerik asked. There was a curious tone to his question—something unsaid—as if he were conducting a test. It gave Nilandur pause.

“Well… I do believe there is such a thing as dangerous knowledge. And I believe these things work best under the guidance of those who are wise enough to provide it. Take Urag gro-Shub, for instance. He is a Lorekeeper, yes, but he acts as a funnel as opposed to a gate. He can guide students appropriately. Or, at least, he has tried his best over the years.” Nilandur chuckled fondly. “I do hope he’s well.”

“We’ll have to pay him a visit sometime,” Aerik said with a soft smirk. “It’s been too long since I’ve properly bothered the old geezer.” He heaved a heavy sigh, sitting back in his seat. “Thanks for telling me all that. I like hearing about your past, you know.”

“Well, I did have a point in bringing all that up. We just wandered a little off the path.”

“What point was that, then?”

Nilandur refilled his tea bowl, brow drawn as he prepared to broach the topic once more. “Grief,” he began. “Is more complicated than I think most believe.”

Aerik went still and silent. Nilandur didn’t look up from his cup.

“I grieve the loss of my parents, though it’s very likely they are both still alive. I grieve what wasn’t there, what could have been. I grieve the pain that they surely endured in their own lives before they ever came together to create me.” He sighed softly through his nose. “And as you said, I expected it to become easier with time. But it does not. I wish that I could tell you that it does.

“Instead, I find that grief feels more like… the ebb and flow of the sea. There are days when the water is high and you are drowning. You are drowning and you cannot see the shore—there is only wave after wave crashing over your head and the dark, fathomless depths beneath you as you struggle to keep your head above water—to even breathe.

“Then, there are days when the tides recede and you’re left gasping on the beach, shaking and drenched but alive. Surrounded by the wreckage of your grief. But you pick up the scattered pieces along the shoreline and you rebuild. And slowly, eventually, when the tides return, you are better prepared. You become a stronger swimmer, I suppose. But the tides will always come back—that is simply something you must accept about grief. But they will also recede.”

When Nilandur finally looked up, tears had returned to Aerik’s eyes, and he briefly worried that he’d made things worse. Then Aerik cracked a smile. A tear broke free and slid down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away.

“That’s some good stuff, Nil. Ever consider the Bards College? In Solitude? I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I could write you a recommendation.”

Nilandur laughed, though tears blurred his vision as well. “Yes, I hear your name carries weight there.”

“So,” Aerik said after a moment. “Are you… a strong swimmer?”

Nilandur laughed again—a watery, pathetic sound even to his own ears—and shrugged a little helplessly. “I don’t think so, no. If I’m honest, I feel like I’m drowning most days.”

They both fell silent, each staring into their respective cups. Nilandur swallowed around the tightness in his throat, the weight of his own melancholy threatening to drag him fully beneath the waves in that moment. He came to you for comfort, and you’ve made this about yourself. He took a shaky sip of tea, a tear escaping the corner of his eye before he could stop it.

“Forgive me, Aerik,” he whispered.

Aerik rubbed a hand roughly across his eyes and straightened with a loud sniff. “Whatever it is you’re asking forgiveness for, you’ve got it.” He got to his feet, eyes downcast, but motioned for Nilandur to get up. “C’mon.”

Nilandur pushed shakily to his feet. “What–” Aerik’s arms were around him before he could finish the sentence, pressing his damp cheek to Nil’s shoulder. His hugs were always just shy of too-tight, but for once Nilandur gladly accepted the crushing embrace, returning it as best he could. Aerik was a large man, though still an inch or so shorter than him. He rested his temple against Aerik’s head, running a hand soothingly up and down his son’s back.

“I love you so much, Aerik. Always come to me when you need to. Even if I offer terrible support.”

“You offer great support, fuck off,” Aerik replied with choked amusement.

They pulled away and Nilandur took Aerik’s face into his hands, wiping away the tear tracks. “You look so much like her, you know.” It was a melancholy observation. “And you act like her, Divines help us all. It’s uncanny,” he laughed through the emotion. “She’s alive and well within you.”

Aerik nodded, expression pained but hopeful. “Yeah, I guess that’s how it works.” He put space between them with a cough and an overly expressive stretch. “Well, I think I’ve kept you from your adoring husband for long enough.”

“Oh, please, Aerik. Don’t feel like you have to run off. Would you like to come up and visit for a bit? I can make more of the same tea if you’d like.”

“Nah, it’s late. I should get back to my own adoring husband, though, y’know. He tries to play it cool on the whole ‘adoring’ aspect.”

Nilandur smiled warmly. “Please give Teldryn my regards.”

He sent Aerik home with a jar of the new tea blend after finally convincing him to come upstairs to say hello to Erandur. Then, after a few more lighthearted farewells, he was on his way back to Breezehome. Nilandur watched him from the upstairs window as he made his way out of the market and down the main thoroughfare. Anxiety gnawed at his nerves, his stomach sour with regret.

“Love,” came Erandur’s deep rumble from behind him. Warm arms encircled his waist and lips pressed between his shoulders.

“I don’t know if I helped or made it worse,” Nilandur confessed.

“You helped.”

Nilandur turned around and allowed himself to be pulled down for a kiss—soft, reassuring. He let out a shaky breath and forced a smile. “I’ll trust you to tell me the truth.”

“Always,” Erandur said with a soft laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Nilandur’s ear.

Nilandur kissed him again. “Thank you.”

#topsy writes #topsy's oc #nilandur #aerik havardr #skyrim #skyrim fanfiction

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