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Aventus hated Windhelm. The bitter cold and blistering winds were a far cry from the lush forests of Falkreath and rolling plains of Whiterun. The cobblestones were slick with ice, the high stone walls gray and uninviting. The people too were cold and dour, not unlike the city they called home. He saw how they whispered as he passed by, the sidelong glances they cast in his direction.
He knew that they recognized him. The damned child. A boy tainted by horror and death. The prodigal son. He shifted nervously, clutching his furs tighter around his body. His stomach lurched, its contents threatening to spill out onto the street. He wanted to run, to abandon this foolhardy endeavor and never look back.
"Head high, Avi."
Ellia's hand on his shoulder did little to settle the roiling in his gut, but he sucked in a deep breath anyway and drew himself up to his full height. He wouldn't run, wouldn't let them see his fear, wouldn't let them think he was weak. He was a Companion, damnit. A warrior. So why did he still feel so pathetic?
After what seemed like ages, their destination finally came into view. His childhood home loomed high over the street, casting a long, ominous shadow that almost shattered his resolve entirely. Each step grew heavier, more unsteady as they made their way towards the towering structure. At last, they came to a stop in front of the door.
Years of neglect had taken their toll. The wood was warped and peeling, the brass knob weathered with age. He dug into his pocket for the key, his hands trembling as he reached towards the lock.
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me."
"Aventus?"
Ellia's hand was on him again, rubbing his back in gentle circles, snapping him back to reality. He didn't remember stepping back away from the door. A lump formed in his throat that he quickly stuffed down and wiped his eyes.
"I'm fine," he said.
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."
Oh but she was wrong. This place had haunted his nightmares for years, calling him back like some twisted siren song. He could do this. He needed to do this. He drew in another deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth just like Ellia taught him, and unlocked the door.
The musty smell of mildew and dust filled his senses, hanging so thick in the air he could taste it. His breathing quickened as the pitch black of the stairwell consumed them. The echo of the door snapping shut made him want to crawl out of his skin and bolt. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed the fabric of Ellie's cloak, pressing closer to her. He was shaking again, every ounce of strength draining from him and threatening to buckle his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing, flexing his hands around the soft fur.
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me."
With a flick of her wrist, Ellia conjured a ball of light, driving back the darkness. He sank down onto the steps and wiped the sweat from his brow. Ellie slid down next to him and ruffled her fingers through his hair.
"For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."
"Deep breaths, Avi."
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Each ragged breath slowed as he repeated the mantra to himself, the soft glow of the magelight soothing his fears, if only slightly. At last, he allowed Ellia to help him back to his feet. He cast a glance back at the door, then up into the waiting darkness above.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
No? Yes? Fuck, he didn't know! Gods, he was so fucking pitiful! A grown man quaking with fear at the thought of ascending the steps of his own home? What a weakling! He bit his lip and clenched his fist, his fingernails cutting bloody half moons into the palms of his hands. He wouldn't stop now. He. Wouldn't. Be. Weak!
"I'm sure."
His voice came out a whisper. He hated how it betrayed his unease. No going back now, so he picked up his feet and moved slowly up the stairs, holding tightly onto Ellie's free hand. When they reached the top and stepped through the threshold into the main room, she waved her wrist again, the magelight giving way to a brilliant flame. She muttered an incantation and every candle and sconce danced to life, bathing the room in light.
He stopped dead as he caught sight of the alcove where Ellia first found him. The room was hot. Too hot, as if her flame had dug its way inside of him and was now burning him from the inside out. He couldn't breathe. He clawed at the clasps of his cloak, choking, desperate for relief. He stumbled forward. Ellie moved to catch him, but he wasn't small anymore. His weight was too much and sent them both crashing to the floor.
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."
His vision blurred, eyes stinging as tears streamed out onto his cheeks. The stench of rot slammed into him and his stomach clenched. Vomit and hot bile spilled out of him with a sick, wet splatter down the side of Ellie's cloak and onto the floor. He was a child again. Screaming. Crying. Stabbing. Over and over and over again, driving a dull knife into a decaying heart. Repeating.
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."
Ash and flames and bile and death clung to him like a miasma, as if every realm of every demon prince had sundered the veil and sought to drag him into Oblivion itself. Darkness crept into his peripheral and everything was spinning. He was going to faint.
A dash of cold water splashed in his face and suddenly he could breathe again. He searched the room frantically, eyes wild with panic, to find Ellia kneeling in front of him. He broke fully then. He crawled into her lap as much as he was able, sobbing into her shoulder while she stroked his hair and cooed soothing words into his ear. He was safe. She was here and he was safe, and she wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.
His cries finally quieted to near silent sniffles. She mopped his dripping brow and wiped the vomit from his chin with the clean edge of her cloak, then offered him her water bladder as she helped him sit up. He gulped it down greedily, finding the sensation of the liquid sloshing in the leather pouch and the cool water dribbling down his lips oddly comforting. When he'd drank his fill, he collapsed back against her, utterly exhausted.
With the worst of it now behind him, he plucked up the courage and stole a glance into the alcove to find it empty. The bones and viscera had been cleared away, as had the candles and books, leaving only cobwebs in their place. The scent of decay that filled his senses so thoroughly had dissipated into nothingness, retreating to the back of his mind with the rest of the waking nightmare.
"Everything's gone," he croaked, his voice thick and hoarse from screaming. "How?"
Ellia shushed him and ruffled his hair. "Your father and I came and cleaned it up years ago," she said, "We knew you would want to come back here eventually. We wanted it to be a little... Easier... When you did."
He was grateful. So so grateful. He didn't think he could have handled seeing, truly seeing, the remnants of the ritual splayed across the floor. He closed his eyes and focused on the steady rise and fall of her chest against his cheek, the gentle pressure of her hand across this temple, the tickle of her fingers as she traced lazy circles above his brow. They stayed like that for hours, listening as the wind and sleet battered the side of the house, until, at long last, he was ready.
"Let's get out of here," he said, picking himself up off the floor.
Ellie kept a firm, steadying hand on his back as they made their way down the stairs, and it was well after midnight when they stepped back out onto the street. Aventus breathed in deep, holding a newfound appreciation for the frigid night air.
"Do you think you'll ever come back here?"
The question gave him pause. Would he come back? He had so few pleasant memories of the place, but it was his home at one point. It was his birthright. Still, it didn't feel much like home now. Home was in Whiterun, in Jorrvaskr with the Companions. Home was in Falkreath, in the enormous manor by the lake he'd helped build. No. No, he wouldn't be back he decided, and shook his head. He turned the key over in his hands and sighed.
"I'm taking this back to Jorleif in the morning. He can sell the damned place and I'll use the money to buy my own house," he said, stuffing it back down into his pocket.
Ellie shook her head. "Keep the money, Aventus. Your father and I have the house taken care of," she replied, producing the key to Breezehome from her pocket.
His eyes welled with tears once more as she placed the key into his hand and squeezed it shut.
"We've been having Lydia keep the place in order since we left Whiterun. You're my oldest son, Aventus. Not by birth, perhaps, but you're mine nonetheless, and I am so incredibly proud of you and everything you've accomplished. Breezehome is yours whenever you're ready."
Ellia pulled him into a hug and planted a kiss on his temple as a wave of emotion flooded him. It must have been a sight for late night wanderers to see, a grown man weeping into his mother's hair. Let them look, he thought, he didn't care. He felt freer than he had in years, the feeling of taint and damnation left behind for now with the dust and cobwebs.
"Thanks, mom."