#guy who wants small house white picket fence and 2.5 kids forced to become a murderer
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Thinking about Celann and his ever present grief at the life he could have had, he and his wife and (he always hoped) their daughter. A life where he was a father--he'd hardly ever wanted anything more than that. So full of love he was ready to burst and needed somewhere to put it, wanted a life with his favorite girls.
Thinking about how the ever present desire haunts him no matter how deep he buried it. It keeps coming back, relentlessly, this anguish that he threw it all away. He could have had exactly what he wanted and he was stupid enough to abandon it all, and for what? Because he was upset? But then he always remembers how hollow he felt after the incident, like if you rapped him with a knuckle you'd hear he was just a shell. He forgives himself, then, remembers how wrong everything felt, and he thinks about all the time he spent desperately trying to make everything feel right again.
Remembers when he realized he was the problem, what needed to be fixed. Removed.
He abandoned the life he had and every dream he'd ever held close because he wasn't him anymore. Celann would never have killed anyone, would never have done... that. He was some other Celann, different, trying to make himself fit in the life of a man that no longer existed. And so he left.
And he has no right to ache so badly at the thought of what he gave up, no right to ache at the loss of a family (of two families, but he starts thinking that and breaks every time, so he's gotten good at simply skipping over the thought) when he was a killer--an adept one, a practiced one--that could mangle and maul and kill and do it again and again. What right does he have to still want that happy little dream?
But the dream is a ghost and it haunts him, is there every time he's out on a supply run and sees kids playing around the marketplace, sees women cradling infants and fathers carrying sons on their shoulders. (He reminds himself of the blood on his hands, is scared he might stain them with it if he reaches out to touch them.) It's there when he has a bag and his axe hanging from his hips and finds a girl crying for her mother, lost and separated, jostled by the crowd.
It's there as he calms her, kneeling on wet and gritty stone, hovering between her and the flow of the crowd so they give her space. He lifts her and holds her against his side with one arm and something in him weeps, feels something soft in him as her tiny weight settles and she starts chattering at him about the groceries she and her mother came to buy.
They weave their way through the marketplace as they help each other--she tells him where he can find what he needs, and he silently curses the nords and their height as he tries to peer over shoulders to catch a glimpse of the woman she described--and that cold weight that's usually settled in his chest, his grief and remorse, lightens with every step. She's warm through his sweater and splutters indignantly every time the ever changing wind blows her brown hair into her mouth and he laughs, quiet and warm.
They check places she's already been, in case her mother doubled back looking for her, and take detours so Celann can fumble to place newly acquired groceries in the bag beneath her, unwilling to hold her over the side with his axe and equally unwilling to put her down, awkwardly shifting her weight as she laughs at him. He's silly for buying such expensive things, she tells him, and he light heartedly tells her Skyrim is silly for not having the things he used to use in High Rock. The revelation he hasn't always lived in Skyrim excites her to no end, and the rest of the trip is a Q&A of the sort only a small child can provide.
He feels warm inside, in his chest, where usually he feels vaguely cold at best, and for a moment he's reluctant to relinquish her when they finally find her mother, guided by the sounds of panicked calls of her name. There's a fond sadness as he sets her down on the stones again, and the woman looks at him oddly for a moment before the look turns knowing, though he's sure the conclusion she reached is slightly off.
She quietly asks if her daughter reminds him of her. He stands there silently for a moment, looking down at the little girl as she rifles through the things her mother's found.
He tells her yes.
#celann#fucking girldad#guy who wants small house white picket fence and 2.5 kids forced to become a murderer#cant live with the guilt and horror and becomes a man he cannot recognize in the mirror more at 6#me thinking about this last night: he uses Adult Privileges to be tall and look out over the crowd#me writing this: his short ass cant see over everyone else#its fine enough when hes just in the fort like usual but then theres a crowd and hes like goddammit#anyway he has to go get his fancy ingredients because NO you CAN use that but it doesnt TASTE RIGHT#and so he has been banished to specifically get his own goddamn groceries#celann: im a cold blooded killer and i can never atone for the atrocities i have committed. i am incapable of good#also celann: ๐๐๐๐๐๐#the loss of self after the incident really fucked him up he doesnt know who he is#he keeps trying to categorize himself and neatly file himself away but the fact remains#he is both the old celann and a new one simultaneously#however he feels tainted by his actions and thinks of the Before as like a purer time and he is not a pure man#so CLEARLY he is not AT ALL the old celann and those good traits are gone#anyway he goes soft when theres kids just absolutely melts#like the only guy in the dg that can be trusted to watch a small child#also in case it wasnt clear when the mother akss 'does she remind you of her' shes assuming his daughter is dead#shes asking if her daughter reminds him of his own#delivering your typical celann angst and remembering when i said i should write happy things for him#unfortunately this has not happened yet the happy things just happen in my mind
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