It was another cold, brisk Skyrim night. A bandit's horse galloped solemly throughout the snow-covered grounds of Winterhold. He rode his steed fast, longing to bring the good news to his wife, in Riften.
As she waited impatiently for his arrival, the mistress prepared for the feast, checking if she had enough drinks or if she would have to make another trek to the Black-Briar Meadery. She never did like the Black-Briars, but Maven was the worst. She was the one who conned Arthelio into doing this ridiculously stupid errand in the first place. She knew he was done with the bandit's life, yet she had to go and bring up the horse he once stole from the Markarth stables. He likes keeping his head on his neck, but she threatened to call upon the Dark Brotherhood to take care of him, anyway.
As he continuously galloped forward, he could only think of why she wanted this stupid stone anyway. True, there are only twenty-four of them in existence, but they're just floating stones, probably cursed by some Daedric lord in the first place. Why would she want this rock so badly?
The night continued to age, as the food she prepared for him grew cold. Vilad wondered whatever became of that boy she once knew, back in Helgen. She couldn't quite remember the name, but she had never heard from him after he moved to Riverwood. The only thing she could think of is if he died in the war, or perhaps became a prisoner of war. She knew he was a devout Talos worshipper, but he never was one for traiting. Or was he?
Arthelio remembered about the life he used to have in Rorikstead, and thought of how he should have made better decisions. After all, he wouldn't be doing this highly unusual errand right now if he did. But, he also wouldn't have met Vilad if he made the right decisions either. He chuckled, his warm Nord breath very visible on the frostnipped Skyrim night. He continued, until Windhelm was in his sights.
For some reason, Vilad just could not stop thinking about the boy from Helgen. How did he grow up? Did Riverwood treat him kindly? Was life decent working at the mill everyday? She tried to shake these thoughts from her head, but she just could not stop thinking about him. She knew he liked he juniper berry mead, but did he like her? She took a very serious life analysis at this point, for the boy was only eight years old. But, Vilad kept thinking, maybe he grew up to be tall, bruting, and handsome, with a little know-how around a blade? She grew weary. "I'm just desperate for attention," she thought to herself. "After all, I haven't seen Arthelio in two months." Was he even still alive?
He rode, until blood, sweat, and tears hit the cold, hard pavements of Windhelm. He pondered whether he should spend the night in Candlehearth Hall or not. He quickly hopped back on his horse, for he had heard of murders happening to the women of Windhelm, and didn't feel like making a pit-stop in the jail of the Palace of the Kings before seeing Vilad again.
She drew out the night, doubting he'd even make it back alive. Sure, they could bring his corpse back, but they'd probably send it to Falkreath. The place had a big enough graveyard, it's like half of Skyrim was buried there. A friend of hers, who she couldn't remember the name of, told her that two bandits and a calvary of Stormcloaks had just been arrested and brought to her hometown of Helgen for an excecution. But Sapphire never did have an honest look, especially since she ran with the Thieve's Guild all the time. She blew the candle out after putting the food away and went to bed for the night.
