A/N: Do enjoy! Reviews are most welcome, guests and members!
Chapter 10: With Friends like These, Anything is Possible
"There are three people behind you. I want you to find out which one has the contract, and kill that person."
This one turned around on the floor to look behind her. There were three people, all on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, feet probably bound as well, with bags over their heads.
There was a woman, shoulders shaking as she cried silently, perhaps murmuring a prayer and maybe begging that she could live. The second was a man, perhaps a soldier or a mercenary judging by the steel armor and strong body. The last was a Khajiit, the most relaxed and at ease of all those here.
At least, that is what this one thought. Perhaps it is not true.
I must remember not to get too bloody – this one almost had to scrub her fur out last time to clean out all the blood out last time. I stood up, taking up my sword. "Don't you have a dagger? Would you like mine?" the assassin-woman purred, holding out a sheathed black dagger. I turned to glare at her, drawing my sword. "This one has never really needed a dagger – claws and magic and her sword and bow have always served when necessary."
"Suit yourself, then," she shrugged, tying the dagger to her thigh again.
"Please, let me go! I know, I'm a mercenary, I've made enemies I don't even know about, but it's my job! Please, let me go…" the man! How strange – this one would have thought the woman would beg.
But no – she was the one fighting, demanding to be released! "You listen to me, you snot-nosed brat! You let me go this very instant! You'll be sorry if you don't!"
I laughed – I couldn't help myself. "Really? This Khajiiti will be sorry if she doesn't let you go? Ha! I think not," I purred, raising my sword, ignoring her threats and the mercenary's pleas to be released. "Let's see if I will be sorry if you die."
I stalked behind them, turning the sword in my hands, holding it with both hand-paws to drive it home better, blade-to-ground, hilt-to-sky. I let it hover about the woman's neck, then pushed down, down, down! Into her neck, through her heart, organs, flesh and bone! There was blood, and this one snarled when some sprayed onto her, the woman moaning-screaming.
"What happened?! Oh, Divines, please! Let me go! I beg of you!" the mercenary cried. Not just the shout-cry, but the water-from-eyes-cry. The Khajiit….
Well, that Khajiit was calm, turning his head, trying to listen to what was happening, ears twitching under the bag. "Did someone die? This Khajiit would know – is this one next? Heh heh, it is true, I have more enemies than most, and this one accepts his fate, heh heh," he laughed, calm-and-nervous.
Ah, next one, next one! I thought, grinning, tail high and twitching. I would kill the sniveling mercenary next, just because he was crying. "Face your death with some bravado-courage, Mercenary. You fight and kill all your life, and now you cry when someone tells you death is here? Bah, weak!" I snarled, wrenching my sword free from the woman and cutting his head off. And he was silent, suddenly. There was the stink of urine when he died. Perhaps this one is not a very good mercenary, and that is why he cries.
"Farewell, Brother of the Sands," this one says, then impales the Khajiit on her sword. I kick him off, swinging the glass sword to throw off some of the blood, then reach of a bag and wipe the green blade. I turn to glare at the assassin-woman. "Is this enough repayment for you, Dark Brotherhood Assassin?"
"Hmph, aren't we the over-achiever? Fine – your debt has been repaid. The choice is now yours: accompany me to the Sanctuary now, or take your time to think about heading to the Black Door west of Falkreath. If you choose this second path, the Black Door will ask you a question, to which you must answer, 'silence, my brother'."
"This one will go with you, but first, this one must know what happened to her companion when you took me?"
"Oh, the male Khajiit in the steel?"
"Yes."
"He's alive – we only knocked him out. He'll probably have returned to his caravan," she sniggered, sliding down from the bookshelf. "I'll see you in Falkreath, then."
This Solän'cae made it to Morthal over the next four or so days – it is possible that this one got lost – only to find that Kharjo and his caravan had left, lamenting a fallen-member-who-is-not-fallen. No-one knew where to they were headed either, so this one would have to find him when I found him. Chasing after a Khajiit caravan wasn't something an intelligent cat did, and Skyrim is big, full of mountains and danger. And at least one dragon.
No. The danger to this one travelling the wilds is too great. If it was meant to be, we shall see each other again soon.
So I stayed in this miserable marsh village of Morthal, after there was a murder of sorts. A man was accused of burning his wife and child inside their house to be with his mistress, but so far, there was no evidence to prove this was the case. People said it was true, though, because he moved in with his mistress immediately, and seemed to forget his burned-alive wife and child. They were very barely buried, after all.
How cruel – even this one could not be so cold, and there are many things this one is capable of, that I am sure of. I would offer my help to the Jarl tomorrow, and see if I would be allowed to investigate. After all, it was interesting, and I was curious. Let us hope that curiosity does not kill this cat – she is too young to die. I laughed, booking a room at the inn, and wishing I had not.
The orc bard – what kind of orc becomes a bard, anyway? Is it not something that is an illegal not-law? – was awful, screeching and false and very proud of his lack of skill. He sounded like he thought he was the greatest bard in all of Nirn. "Sorry 'bout the orc – the townsfolk are used to 'im by now, but the visitors usually get the worst of 'is 'performances'. How's food on the house for ye stay?"
At least the innkeeper-woman tried to make it easier. And this one would never turn down an opportunity to keep her coin. "Thank you. I'll be staying for at least two days – this one can tell you more specifically tomorrow."
"Sure thing. Room's this way," she called over another girl, and told her to show me to my room. I followed, and put my small knapsack of food on the bed. At least the assassin-woman had left that outside for this one, so there was no need to hunt for food. But sleeping on the cold, hard ground of Skyrim was extremely unpleasant. I should have taken a bedroll from the shack I was in, I scowled, paying for a bath and putting my sword, bow and quiver on the bed, then went back to the main room after locking my door.
I needed to be most perfectly presentable to the Jarl in the morning – best to have perfectly falling-cold-white-rain-of-Skyrim fur, then.
It was surprisingly easy to request an audience with Jarl Igdrod in Morthal – perhaps it is because the Hold Capital is so small, or perhaps it is because the Nord woman is also a seer. But she is old, and unwilling to do much for her people, if the arguments and questions about her leadership is anything to go by. They were even grateful that an outsider, a Khajiit was looking into the fire.
Perhaps they were especially grateful someone else was doing it, because some believed the fire was started by magic. And so, this one believes, all Nords are idiots who fear magic. Perhaps it is because of the Altmer and the Thalmor, too. Bah, this Solän'cae cares not.
"So, life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. Welcome, Khajiit," the old Jarl-seer beckoned me closer with a smile. Perhaps not all Nords are so bad….
"Thank you, Jarl Igdrod. I am curious about the house that burned down. Some in Morthal say that it was not fairly burnt."
"Hroggar's house? Yes, he lost his wife and young daughter in the blaze. You speak some truth – the townsfolk believe it is cursed. And who am I to gainsay them?"
"That is the house, yes. This one wonders, what does the man say happened? Perhaps this one could look into the matter for you, Jarl Igdrod?"
The woman leaned back in her throne, staring carefully at me. "Hmm…. Yes, you are the one to find the truth. Hroggar blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fire. Many think he set the fire himself."
"Because he moved in with his mistress almost the same day as the fire? But, what of his wife and cub – did he not care for them?"
"Lust can make a man do the unthinkable. The ashes were still warm, yes, when he pledged himself to Alva. The woman you call his mistress."
It was enough to make this one furious – one's cub is one's cub! One cares for it, whether you love your mate or not! One mourns for the loss of one who is loved! "Why has this man not been arrested yet?" I growl quietly, tail anxious and tense and twitching angrily.
"On town gossip and rumor? I cannot do that. But you, Khajiit, are a stranger to this town. You can find the truth, so sift through the ashes others are afraid to touch, and see what they tell you. Whether you return to prove Hroggar innocent or guilty, I shall reward you. I would like to know about any details you think are important, directly from you."
"This one shall investigate the fire, Jarl Igdrod," I bowed, dismissing myself.
Well, this miserable marsh-village-capital just became far more interesting, after all! It was overcast outside today, and perhaps it would rain soon, or later, so this one had to move quickly. This 'Hroggar's' house was the one all people in town avoided, closest to what – if this one squinted up to the hill behind it – looked like a graveyard. Khenarthi take the souls of the dead, I prayed without thinking, quickly going up the stairs to the small wooden house, covered in white ash and black wood. From what this one could see, there was no fat near the fire, but the fire seemed to have started in several places. Perhaps it was magic? I wondered, looking around some more. There is nothing left of this house, only ash and burnt wood.
A young hairless-cub's giggles startled this one, and I turned, hissing as I readied a Flame Atronach spell. "Gotcha! Ha ha!"
It was a ghost! A young hairless-cub-she-ghost!
I let the spell go, standing up. "Are you the little girl who lived here?"
She nodded quickly, swaying on the spot. "Mm-hm! My name's Helgi! What's your name?"
"This one is called Solän'cae. Can you tell me what happened here, Helgi? Who did this to you?" Gah, this one must deal with a hairless-cub, so ugly, so irritating. But she must know what happened. She will tell me.
"I died in the fire," she shrugged. But then her eyes went wide, and she looked afraid. Then it was suddenly gone again. "Play hide-and-seek with me! The game starts tonight, so the other person who's playing can join in, too! If you find me first, I can tell you who set the fire!" this little girl giggled, clapping her hands and then vanished, her giggles still in the air.
And this Khajiit called Solän'cae was stuck, standing inside the burnt house, shocked to have spoken to ghost.
I did not even notice the first of the white-cold-rain-snow begin to fall.
I was wet and cold when I returned to the inn. It was barely afternoon, and there was nothing more I could do but wait for evening to play hide-and-seek with a ghost. Jarl Igdrod had suggested the graveyard when I told her about Helgi's ghost, and this weather the Nords call 'sleet' had started in earnest. There was a woman serving here, one I suddenly remembered had the name Alva. I cannot question her here – I have no other place to sleep. But this one is sure there is more to her than meets the eye. I shall wait for tomorrow to question her. Thinking of her, what is she doing, being rude to a patron?
I ordered food from another girl, and sat down at a table not-too-far, not-too-close to where Alva was arguing with a hooded and cloaked stranger. Not loudly, but fiercely – like a private-and-public argument, the kind one has when one must do it in public, but without a scene. From here, where I sit to eat, this Solän'cae cannot see if she is arguing with a man or a woman. "Get out of this town – you aren't welcome here!"
The stranger must have said something, but spoke very quietly. I growled, frustrated. I wanted to know what was being said!
"Godsdammit! I know you for what you are – this town belongs to my clan! You aren't welcome here, and you should leave!"
And the stranger spoke again, this time turning slightly to look at her. I could swear her face changed slightly…. "Leave. But now we must return to our roles, lest sheep suspect wolves. You will regret staying here!"
And so she left, and her face was the same.
Had this one imagined something? Perhaps, but my instincts said no, there is more to all this than is known. I did not look away from the stranger fast enough, and the look that came over me was colder than the frozen waters of Skyrim.
It frightened me, and this one dropped her head and started eating immediately. I have a game of hide-and-seek I promised to play with a cub – I cannot deny her that!
This was it – Operation: Steal Faralda's Notes was finally underway. It seemed, in her attempt to be as irregular as possible, she had managed to set up a routine. Once she was in the Midden, she tended to work on her research in one room, and then move over into another whenever she got frustrated. This second room was where she marked assignments and essay works by the Destruction students she lectured. Once she was absorbed in that, she would be busy for at least an hour at a time.
That was when I would strike.
Luckily for me, Urag did allow some books out of the Arcaneum for research purposes, provided they were moved to the Midden with a scribe present. So it began that I dove into the Septim lineage again, with my tome to comb through everything again and make some solid notes and cross-reference things. There had to be something I had missed or overlooked – I couldn't believe that there no longer existed records of the Septims outside of the tome. Of course, I doubted they would use the family name 'Septim', but….
I sighed, hefting the books in my arms a little higher as I navigated the Midden with a scribe dutifully following me, another two books in his arms. After I had checked out these books, Urag had even recommended several others, though he had insisted they remain in the Arcaneum. So I would get to those after this was over.
"Thanks," I smiled, dipping my head in greeting when the scribe put the books down on the table and left. I would have all the privacy I needed to do my research, and I could steal Faralda's notes as an added bonus. I had argued Enthir up to pay me thirty-five percent of the payment for the notes, and Marcurio had managed to secure himself twenty percent – he was going to help copy them all, of course.
Truth be told, I was quite excited by this – Enthir had mentioned several times before that he was familiar with several Thieves Guild members, and should this go well, he would send along a good word on my part to someone called 'Brynjolf', especially after I had let slip I wanted to join the Thieves Guild. So I had a future career hanging on the successful completion of this little heist.
"I told you, Onmund, a deal is a deal! You should have thought about how precious it was to you before you traded it in. Now, leave me alone – I have better things to do than bother myself with trivialities like this!" the sharp and slightly husky voice of a familiar, shady Bosmer snapped.
Onmund did business with Enthir?! I stopped before coming across them in the Hall of Elements. If I stayed too long, I'd be late for Alchemy…. And it was already crowded in the Hall of Elements. I clutched my notebooks to my chest. Too bad for Onmund, I can't help him get whatever he traded back. But, why is he dealing with Enthir? He's terrified of the Bosmer, and doesn't trust him at all…. I sucked in a breath and walked out into the open just as Onmund opened his mouth to argue. I flashed a quick smile at both of them. "See you later in the Hall of Nourishment!" I shouted, doing a quick turn and taking two backwards steps to grin at a sheepish-looking Onmund and a smug Enthir before being swept up in the crowd of students rushing to other lecture halls in the College.
I didn't have time to worry about whatever shit that Nord had gotten himself into – I had exams to study for, and notes to steal. And research to cross-reference.