Special thanks to the awesome 16DarkMidnight80 for going over this!
-L-
I did not, as I had shouted at Marcus, go to Windhelm and sign up with the Stormcloaks. I went to Whiterun with the intention of at least trying—for Lucinda's memory's sake—to live a decent kind of life.
I had to try; it felt important that I try.
Fortunately, I had contacts in Whiterun and, by the time I arrived, I also had plans. That's one of the benefits of an active mind and a long way to walk.
Firstly, though, I had to stop by Fralia and Eorlund's home. It had taken longer than they might have wished, but events being what they were I hoped they would pardon me.
"Hel—oh!" Fralia's eyes grew wide when she opened the door to find me on the other side. "Oh, do come in, Leandra. Come," she stepped aside and let me in, closing the door behind me. "Did-did you find—?"
I knew she was asking about her boys, but I knew she was asking about my sister, too. I was glad she left the sentence tactfully unfinished. "Thorold was fine. A little knocked around, but he and the others went to Windhelm. They thought it might be too dangerous to come back here."
Fralia's expression grew deeply lined, as if caught between fear that I was telling her what she wanted to hear, grief at losing both her sons, and relief that they were unhurt.
"They asked me to tell you to… 'to suffer the winter's cold wind'—" I had to fish for the words Thorold wanted me to convey to his mother. It had been awhile since I heard them.
Fralia patted my shoulder. "For it bears aloft next summer's seeds."
"That's right," I nodded. "I'm sorry it took so long but… things have been bad." My throat felt tight, but the words did not come out thickly.
"Not-not Lucinda?" Fralia asked, covering her mouth.
"She's dead." The words made my sinuses burn, but my eyes stayed dry. "I stayed to observe the funerary rites and hoped you'd understand."
"I do. Oh, dear girl, I do." Fralia looked for a chair and sat down in on, covering her mouth. "She was such a sweet little thing. Such a sunny disposition. Why? Why did it happen?"
I swallowed. "I didn't know how cutthroat business could be. They wanted me but got her. You know we look alike."
Fralia burst into tears and I was tempted to. I managed to resist the temptation, though. It was suddenly too hot inside. Far too hot. Stifling. I couldn't breathe right…
I let Fralia cry until she was all cried out. "So, I take it you'll be going back to Solitude?" she finally hiccupped, knotting her gnarled hands in her skirts.
"No. My father—" I nearly gagged on the words, "—and I had a massive falling out. I'm no longer welcome. Don't worry. I plan to start over and build up. Whiterun is a good place for a merchant."
Fralia looked up, her eyes wet. "I've heard how grief can tear a family apart. I'm so sorry."
I didn't tell her it was revenge and pacifism that had split us apart. It seemed like forever ago, all those hard words. Ugly words. "I hope you and Eorlund will still be willing to do business with me?"
"Where will you stay?" Fralia asked, ignoring my question artlessly.
I shrugged. "I'll pay for a room at the Inn. Hopefully—"
"You will not," Fralia said, pulling herself together. She had a mother's bite in her tone that almost, almost, made me smile. "You'll stay here with me. You can have one of the boys' rooms." Then, before I could protest further, "You helped when I needed someone most. You got them out alive. You brought word back to me. How could I not help you when you need it?"
How could I tell her no?
"I'll gladly rent my roo—"
"No."
"Or pay for board—"
"Absolutely not."
"Fralia!"
"Leandra!" Fralia came over and took me by the shoulders, studying my face. "Dear girl, you've aged."
To my surprise, she wrapped me in a hug that brought the tears to my eyes. I swallowed hard, then buried my face in her bony shoulder, tears seeping from my eyes.
But I wasn't really crying.
Smoothing my hair, she continued, "I wouldn't take a septim from you, not even a button. If it's so important to you, we'll work something out. But I will not have pay from you when I owe you everything."
It was strange accepting such a thing from someone else. If I had to, I could justify to myself that I couldn't afford to alienate a potential client, especially now that I was starting over.
The prospect frightened me, but at the same time tempted me. I'd tended Marcus' established business since I was sixteen—barring the two years I spent with the Legion. The idea of trying my hand at raising something from almost nothing…
The idea, the challenge, was exciting enough to get most of my mind to stop brooding on the ugly things in my life and focus on the challenge for challenge's sake.
-L-
Ysolda is my kind of person, an enthusiastic go-getter who doesn't take 'you can't' or 'you'll never' gracefully. In fact, much like me she's likely to apply herself all the more dedicatedly to prove people—like Belethor—as wrong as the man who felt that he'd found a potion that turned iron into gold.
Ysolda's dream was to enter the mercantile circle. The last time I was in Whiterun on business, I showed her a couple tricks that got her in with the Khajiiti caravans—my family has had little luck with them—and she proved to me that she had a silver tongue that could be trained into a golden one, given time and a teacher. She had a marvelous start.
Her main problem was that her items for trade tend to be handmade goods which are a start but belong to a limited market. She needed contacts and practical know-how to grow her business. I needed a job and it didn't seem right not to give her the option of being a part of my plans to enter the mercantile circles under my own name.
It would also reduce competition.
Let us say, for the moment, that this was in memory of Lucinda. I don't think they knew each other, but it's the sort of thing Lucinda would do—help someone even if she was also helping herself. A fair partnership.
"Leandra!" Ysolda blinked when she opened the door to find me on the other side. "It's good to see you back."
She knows that, formerly, I work on a higher grade than her handmade trinkets so she didn't ask if I was interested. She's also very self-reliant and wouldn't accept much help if it felt like she was being treated as a good deed.
"Yes, and it seems I'll be in Whiterun for a while. Do you have a few minutes? I'd like to speak with you privately." My mouth smiled the way it used to while I was still working for Marcus and didn't feel like dealing with people despite it being necessary. A false smile that doesn't look false is a useful thing for a merchant to have. And if you remember to move your brows and the muscles around your eyes it's harder to spot a fake smile.
"Really? I mean, of course. Come in." She stepped aside, letting me into her tiny home. It was hot from the cooking fire, despite the open window, and full of the smell of overly spiced food. Ysolda crossed her arms, giving me her full attention as I glanced around her home.
"How is business?" I asked without preamble.
"Oh, it's going well, I think," she smiled, and set off explaining her progress since the last time we spoke.
It wasn't how I would define 'well' but she's just starting and lacks capital to make the jump to the next rung of the mercantile ladder. Still, she had dreams (if not actual plans) and aspirations (if no clear idea how to go about obtaining them). She was eager, though, and passionate about her chosen profession… even if it was not quite where she wanted it to be.
I think her real end goal was to push Belethor out. He's so unpleasant but he's also the only general goods store in Whiterun.
I let her talk until she was all talked out, which took some time. Finally, when she paused for breath, "I have a proposition for you."
Ysolda's eyebrows rose, her expression pleasantly neutral. It was a good start on a merchant's mask—as Marcus used to call it.
I outlined it for her plainly, because Ysolda appreciates plain speech. I had capital and know-how. She had a dream and a direction. She could make inroads with those by making use of my resources. I could make a living now that I'd decided to move to Whiterun. It was very much a 'Column A, Column B' situation.
A store would have to wait, but a wagon and horse that could make journeys on the coattails of the Khajiiti caravans (or independent of them once hirelings could be obtained) could be easily obtained. I had contacts in every major Hold which meant a wider net than she currently possessed. If I don't say anything, they won't know I've separated from Box of Wonders—they'll think I'm opening a second shop somewhere. I know Marcus—he won't say I've separated for fear of scandal.
Ysolda did the smartest thing a merchant can do: she asked for twenty-four hours in which to think.
-L-
9 Frostfall
Report on Northwatch Keep
First Emissary Elenwen:
The silence of Northwatch Keep is not due to weather or negligence. Everyone is dead. The full company from the Inquisitor in charge to the lowest gate guard. According to our list of personnel no one escaped. The only prisoners remaining are dead. The barracks was the sight of greatest slaughter, which implies that this band struck in the night. There is no way of knowing how many there were, only that there were no signs of magicka that could be detected. Whoever these people were, they knew what they were doing. It is difficult to say if anything is missing, though the bodies do seem to have been rifled. We will continue with the cataloging and inform you should we discover anything of note.
The motive for this attack, at a place so off the beaten track, so well-guarded, is unclear, as is the entity responsible for it. We're too far from Windhelm for Stormcloaks to have traveled so far, aren't we?
I shall continue the inspection and find out whatever we can.
Yours,
Ganra
Appended: First Emissary, we found that the logbook containing information on prisoners was missing and that one body was removed from the facility—that of one Leandra Ashlynn. Someone has our list of casualties, informants, and collaborators. If this is not a Stormcloak action, it means someone could make a killing selling names of victims or names of collaborators to interested parties.
-L-
(Unsent, Windhelm)
11 Frostfall
To Miss Ashlynn of Solitude,
I received my letter back from the proprietor of the Nightgate Inn—he said it was returned because you weren't in Solitude anymore. Are you well? I thought I'd been discreet about things that needed to be discreet. Talos above, I hope I wasn't wrong and that you're just… somewhere. Safe.
I'd like to write 'where are you?' letters to all the contacts on your list, but it doesn't sound like a good idea. I mean, Windhelm, right? So I'll just put this one somewhere and remember you.
Are you well? Solitude is a big blind spot for us so there's no way for me to find out.
Stay safe.
Ralof
-L-
(Unsent)
18 Frostfall
Dear Miss Ashlynn,
There's dragons about and they're nasty pieces of work. My unit—including our friends—took one out two days ago. It was an ugly fight, and we're not sure if Vidrald's burns will ever heal completely. He's going to have some nasty scars, but he's satisfied. Women supposedly have a thing about scars.
Is that even true? Or does it depend on the woman? That's not the sort of thing I'd ask Gerdur, she'd want to know why I want to know—I swear, I will always be her little brother, emphasis on little. You, on the other hand, are up-front and answer without fear or favor.
Not that I'll get an answer, not having sent this, but it feels better to have asked.
I hope you're alright.
Ralof
-L-
Ysolda could do little until the Khajiiti caravans came back through Whiterun except stockpile tidbits that might tempt the Khajiit into bargaining. I had the wagon and the horse and was preparing to take a few days off and go with Ysolda to Riverwood and let her try her hand with Lucan and Camilla. Riverwood, as I explained, is not a trade hub—however, there are certain items that are always in fashion as long as they have a purpose.
Being a merchant isn't about carrying silks and velvets all over the world, nor is it about—nor is it solely about—convincing someone to buy something he or she really doesn't need. It's about tailoring one's offerings to the place where they are to be sold. Riverwood is, after all, a town of workmen.
And I remembered Ralof mentioning that woodworking was a common pastime in a mill town, which means that some of the locals might be willing to part with wooden curios at a low price.
Buy low, sell high(er). That's the trick.
But until the caravan came back through, we were rooted in Whiterun.
I worked Fralia's stall during the day partly for something to do (Ysolda watched for an hour or so, usually, so as to see the tricks I employed, which we often discussed over lunch). I also did it, partly, so I felt I was contributing something to the family offering me both room and board.
Fralia did seem genuinely happy to have a young person in the house, and part of me wondered if she hadn't secretly wanted a daughter. If fathers tend to want a son, mothers tend to want a daughter. It's just one of those things, I suppose.
Work and planning helped push grief aside, though I often felt as though some part of Lucinda was hanging around, like a shadow over my life.
I took up regular practice with my bow again. Once, I'd always practice a little every day when I wasn't on the road, but I'd gotten out of the habit. More than that, I took up the study of alchemy with Arcadia; I needed something useful to fill out the hours. I'm one of those people who really does need to be busy—and it was a nice break to go out in the evenings or early morning and gather reagents.
Arcadia, knowing I was in the mercantile business and knowing that Ysolda and I were trying to make a go of one, gave me a list of ingredients she wouldn't mind having in place of money for lessons—most of them were not easily obtained locally and some of them were downright rare. However, I know people and if I don't know them the people I do know probably know them.
Exchange is sometimes better than coin.
I found the exacting nature of measuring and balancing components soothing—and it was good to know I could brew a cure for illness if I needed one. I would never achieve Arcadia's level of competency, but poisons and potions are just tools and one should not overspecialize.
Unfortunately, beneath all this, was the sense that I was trying to hold something inside me back—that cold place that didn't care about killing people as long as they were Thalmor. Or collaborators. Deep, deep down, somewhere I didn't like to think about, part of me was preparing for a war with them, even as my higher mind tried to force myself into the idea that people lost loved ones all the time and dealt with it without further bloodshed, that Lucinda wouldn't want me to get myself killed, and that it would be the ultimate irony if I turned out to be just like them—cruel, senseless, and evil.
-L-
(Unsent)
21 Frostfall
Dear Miss Ashlynn,
Is it strange that I find the group feeling a bit lopsided without your bow? Because that's how it is. Even Avulstein thinks there's something weird—but he's not exactly a strategist. I heard him yesterday cussing your bad judgment for not coming with us. I think he likes you more than he lets on. Don't worry, you're not his type, just… I think it bothers him to think so highly of someone he considers 'an Imperial.'
He's simple and keeps the world that way. Please don't hold it against him.
Winter's moving in, so the war is expected to cool down a bit. You can only move so well when the snows come, especially in large groups.
I hope that the mess in Helgen stayed dead with its dead. You didn't deserve to be there. We've heard Tullius got out—I hope he thought better of 'justice' and meted it out as a good leader should.
Maybe it's not right to ask, but I've been wondering what your sister's favorite flowers were. You'll probably think it strange, but I do try to keep her memory. I don't like to admit it, but it's a 'just in case you can't' thing. I hope every time I do it that I'm not actually leaving flowers for you.
If you're ever in Riverwood, stop by and see Gerdur. Give her my love and maybe she'll let me know you're all right.
Zenithar's blessing,
Ralof
-L-
It was a pleasant trip to Riverwood, chatting with Ysolda. Although several years younger than I, she had a maturity that would have balanced out age if I hadn't felt so ancient and cynical, try as I did to hide it. It was the end of Frostfall, and the weather was still mild compared to what it would have been in Solitude.
The trees were still green and the sunlight dappled the road with shadows as it shone through the leaves. The smells of woodlands and river were pleasant and refreshing, as was the gentle breeze that tugged at our hair and clothes.
Ysolda was leading the horses harnessed to the wagon while I walked along the riverbank, looking for reagents. Sometimes you can find nirnroot, which Arcadia prizes. They have an oddly musty smell and give off a pale sort of glow that doesn't extinguish immediately upon harvesting.
Nirnroot is odd in that it is often uses for poisons but can be used—by a very clever alchemist—to create a draught of invisibility. If Arcadia was having trouble with that aspect, then it was definitely beyond my skill level. I was still making sure my potions didn't coagulate in their bottles by the morning after brewing.
"That's a lot of alchemy lessons," Ysolda noted as I rejoined her, abandoning the banks of the river with a basketful of nirnroot.
"Indeed," I answered. I'll hold back a bit for myself, of course, which I've learned how to do, but most of it gets traded to Arcadia for lessons in her craft. Part of alchemy is learning how best to preserve one's reagents if one can't get fresh. Lavender, for instance, can be dried and powdered, but it works better if one extracts the essence and puts it in a neutral carrier such as perfumes use. Nirnroot doesn't extract like that and simply needs to be dried and hung in a well-lit place, otherwise it molds, dried or not.
And nothing smells like moldy nirnroot. The reek is indescribable.
"What are you thinking?" Ysolda asked.
"Just that it's nicer here this time of year than it is up north," I answered blandly. Ysolda is chatty, but like many chatty people is content to run her mouth until it's indicated she should stop.
I found it a good quality. No one trusts a shy merchant. Nor do people trust one who walks into town when she has a wagon.
We pulled to a stop outside Lucan and Camilla's shop and had just gotten down out of the wagon when a voice called, "Miss Leandra!"
I turned to see Frodnar and his dog—I assumed it was his—standing some way off. "Hello, Frodnar—"
"Mother! Mother!" the boy took off at a run, the call less of warning and more of 'look what I found!'
"Friends?" Ysolda asked.
"Sort of. Gerdur runs the mill," I indicated the sawmill ahead. "You don't need me," I gave her a little push towards the door. "You can handle them."
Ysolda nodded, took a deep breath, and went inside. It's one thing to bandy with Khajiit. It's another to start forging your own contacts and ferreting out what local treasures are available. She's chatty and personable, she'll be fine.
I met Gerdur halfway to the sawmill. "You're alive!" she cried and, to my surprise, hugged me. "Ralof's been so worried about you!"
"Has he?" I asked blankly.
Gerdur stepped back, hands on my shoulders. "Of course he has. As soon as his first letter to you was returned, saying you didn't live there anymore, he wrote to me to see if I knew anything. Of course I didn't, but I said I'd keep an eye out for you."
"How is he?" I asked politely, unsure what to think except that my promissory note was not worth as much now as it had been.
"Well except for worrying," Gerdur said. "If you could write him that you're well, I'll see it gets to him. He'd be so relieved and I'd take it kindly."
"Of course. I'll do it before I leave." It was polite, at the very least. I was a little surprised to hear he'd taken it upon himself to write to me just to write—that was the impression Gerdur gave, anyway.
"How long are you in town?"
"Overnight. My friend Ysolda and I are expanding our business and I remembered the charming wooden combs in Lucan's shop."
Gerdur chuckled. "Ralof did quite a few of those, you know. He's good with his hands, though you mightn't believe it."
Reading between the lines, the work of an artisan and wouldn't move much within this community. On the other hand, when one needs to do something with one's hands, one has to do something with the product. Still, although Ralof had mentioned he was something of a woodworker, it surprised me to learn the delicate pieces had been his.
It surprised me further to discover he'd been worried about me. I'd been confident he would be fine with Avulstein and the others… or, and perhaps it was wrong of me, I'd been so worried about my own predicament and clawing out a niche for myself that I hadn't thought much about him or them.
As I thought about it, though I didn't say it to Gerdur, I wondered if he would want to hear from me now that I'd committed a murder and then run away from it. He seemed as though he would answer to 'nice, law-abiding fellow' except for the Stormcloak thing.
And, frankly, I found myself with less concern over 'that Stormcloak thing' than I had previously. Their fight pointed them at the Thalmor. I couldn't give a damn about Ulfric's politics—
I snipped the thought off as neatly as I could. "I'll pen it and leave it with you before I go," I promised.
-L-
(Delivered by courier)
27 Frostfall
Dear Ralof:
Pardon me for not answering your previous letter(s). I left Solitude permanently and rather abruptly shortly after my sister's funeral. But, for your comfort, I'm alive and doing fairly well. I ran into Gerdur on a business trip into Riverwood, which is how I found out you'd been trying to contact me.
Permit me to thank you again for your help in recovering Lucinda's body. It brought closure to my family and that alone is worth almost everything.
I'm living in Whiterun now, and with a partner am growing a mercantile business. It's much what I did in Solitude, only beginning with a blank slate. It's quite exciting in theory, but fairly mundane in practice. As it stands, we work in Whiterun Hold, but most of my contacts have proved willing to work with Ysolda and me as independent entrepreneurs. I'm hoping to expand into the Rift next year, it having such a healthy market.
But I suppose my business concerns are of little interest.
Let me send you my best wishes—keep safe and be well. Zenithar's blessings upon you (forgive me for being unused to invoking Talos).
Cordially,
Leandra of Whiterun
