Sincere thanks for the additional fav's and follows, and special thanks to Shtoops and FaeSong for your kind reviews! FaeSong's words have prompted me to write Rasha's own adventure, so keep reading! Also, for those interested, I have uploaded some screencaps of Judiiz to my account at DeviantArt. You can go and say hello to her at dovahdad*deviantart*com (replace * with dot). Her hair is not quite as red as I would like though...
Dust motes swirled in a shaft of bright sunlight shining through the single small window above Rasha's bed. Her slit amber eyes tracked their movement before she huffed, disturbing their passage. Rasha was completely and mind-numbingly bored. Judiiz' housecarl Lydia had kept her in bed for the last two days and while she'd welcomed the tasty meals the stoic Nord woman had prepared, she hadn't been one for lively conversation. Judiiz' message had arrived that morning by courier. Since then, Rasha had been burning to leave the confines of Breezehome. There had to be something better to do than lie here!
She suddenly spotted movement from the foot-end of her bed and stilled, her pupils dilating and focusing. What was that? The movement came again – it was under the fur at her feet now! She whipped the fur aside and pounced on it, grabbing the culprit by its scrawny neck. Her own tail twitched in her hands as if to say 'I give up!' and she let go of it despondently. It whipped back and forth behind her in agitation and she had the almost uncontrollable urge to pounce on it again. No, this can't go on! She got off the bed and proceeded to dress herself, wincing when she pulled her armoured vest on. She was still a bit short of breath and her shoulder was sensitive to excess movement, but lounging here would outright kill her from pure tedium …
"Ohhhh no … You can't be out of bed yet!" Lydia protested vehemently when she spotted Rasha trying to sneak past her. "My Thane would have my hide and so would Danica Pure-Spring!" Lydia had been busy reading at the dining table. She closed her book and got up to block Rasha's exit.
"I'm better!" Rasha proclaimed with a huge fake grin. She performed a little jig and swung her arms around to prove her point, but the stern Housecarl was not convinced. "Lydiaaaaa …" she whined in a last ditch effort.
"That is not going to work," Lydia shook her head, pointing matronly at the bed. Rasha's shoulders slumped and she mewled pitifully, whiskers drooping and eyes pleading.
"Hmm. No, that doesn't do it for me either," Lydia shot her efforts down determinedly. What could she do to convince this mother hen of a Nord … She looked out the window suddenly and her eyes widened comically.
"Oooh, look, squirrel!" She dashed frantically for the front door when Lydia turned in disbelief and was out before she could be stopped. Can't believe she fell for that old trick …
"This is on your own head!" she heard Lydia cry out after her accusingly.
"Fine!" she shouted back defiantly. She was sure that Judiiz would understand. She was the rash one in this friendship anyway, right? Getting better was one thing, but how could anyone expect her just to stagnate in a bed? She slowed down when she reached the market and realised that Lydia hadn't followed her. It was early morning and the sun was still low but vendors were out already selling their wares and she perused some before she got bored again. Shiny jewellery caught her attention and she slavered over them for a while, her paws itching to slip something into her pocket. No! Naughty, naughty! Judiiz would spontaneously contract Rock-joint if she found out that she'd stolen something from the people of her city! She had coin to buy something, but what fun would that be? She reluctantly tore herself away and was tapping hanging braids of garlic at a neighbouring vegetable stand and watching them swing with fascination until she reached too far and upended some carts, fresh produce flying in all directions. She yelped in surprise and reflexively jumped on the nearest roof, dodging thrown gourds from the owner of the stall until that grew old as well. She leapt from roof to roof before the guards spotted her and scaled Whiterun's thick timber pole fence. Outside at last! The air was crisp and fresh, the morning was young and there was adventure to be had again! It sounded like Judiiz wouldn't be back for at least a couple of days still. That gave her enough time to, ohhhh, visit Riften perhaps? Thief's paradise, she'd overheard from people talking about the place. Exactly the kind of fun she had in mind!
When Rasha cleared the last hill into Ivarstead, she wasn't so sure about the fun part of her plan anymore. Her chest was burning from the thin mountain air, her legs were numb and she was extremely short-tempered. Who's bright idea was it to walk all this way? She smirked at herself. Oh yeah … It was late in the afternoon already and she made straight for the inn, ordered herself a mead and started pushing the bard to play livelier tunes. Much later, she ended up dancing on the tables to the raucous cheers of patrons, almost breaking her tail when she performed one particularly acrobatic spin and crashed into chairs. She overnighted and continued her journey the next day, feeling slightly hung-over but in good cheer. At least the terrain levelled out after Ivarstead and she made good time, only running into the occasional hungry wolf on the road. She was surprised when she encountered a small convoy of Imperial soldiers once, escorting a bound man in ragged armour between them. Was this war really getting so bad already? What were the Imperials doing so deep into Stormcloak territory? She watched from the cover of bushes next to the road as they passed and continued afterwards, a little more wary. She stopped in the late afternoon at a place called Heartwood Mill on the bank of Lake Honrich, south-east of Riften, and delighted a little boy there playing tag with him until his mother ran towards them and snatched him away with a warning look at her. She supposed people couldn't be blamed these days for not trusting anyone. Snow Shod Farm followed next, directly south-east of Riften and she had to take to the undergrowth again to avoid a group of Stormcloak soldiers this time, patrolling around the farm. It was late in the afternoon when she called the bluff of a Riften guard trying to swindle a 'tax' from her and entered the ramshackle city.
Judiiz stayed over for the night in Morthal again on her way to Solitude. She'd gone to Riverwood and agreed to Delphine's audacious plan to enter the Thalmor Embassy through a contact of hers, a wood elf called Malborn. Apparently he had reason to hate them, as they'd killed his whole family. She'd thought the Thalmor quite able of such an atrocity. She'd been exceedingly reluctant at first; besides an intense dislike of parties, especially one where the rich and connected would be trying to cosy up to the Thalmor, there was a high likelihood that Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador, might recognise her from before Helgen. She'd also not forgotten the faces of the Thalmor torturer Rulindil and his personal informant Gissur. For several heartbeats, her mind had clouded in crimson revenge when she'd recalled that part of her … ordeal, and Delphine had actually appeared very concerned over her unfocussed expression. Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone's invitation to supper when she'd arrived in Morthal had been entirely unexpected and she'd surprised herself by opening up a fraction over the pleasant meal laid out in the Hold. Behind the Jarl's eccentric exterior was a perceptive and calculating mind, such a contrast to how everyone viewed her. Judiiz had found her growing motherly manner most endearing. Bidding Jonna at the inn farewell the next morning, she'd taken the road west, passing a group of Imperial soldiers going the opposite way. Before reaching the wide stone bridge over the Hjal River, she was delighted to find rows upon rows of snowberry bushes lining the road and she picked handfuls, cramming them into her mouth. Sweet-sour with a tinge resembling hot peppers, they triggered a long-lost memory of more carefree times before her wretched flight to Skyrim. Swamplands dotted the landscape to the north and in the far distance, a massive stone arch was visible even from this far off. That must be Solitude. She passed Fort Snowhawk and was accosted by inept necromancers, their skeletal summonings at their sides. Her new bow proved a boon and she escaped reasonably unscathed. Oh, how Rasha would have delighted battling 'skellies' again … She missed her friend suddenly and wondered how she was recuperating. Probably had Lydia climbing the walls by now!
A lone cabin in the woods just rubbed her the wrong way and she'd just marked it on her map when the first lightning strike lit the area around her. She looked up, surprised that thunderclouds were roiling in preparation for a downpour. She'd barely crossed into Dragon Bridge, marvelling at the immense stone dragon heads suspended in the centre with spires reaching skyward on either side, when the heavens opened up and she was drenched in moments. She passed the wood mill into the little town at a trot and found the inn, the Four Shields Tavern, bustling with bodies. The owner, Faida, took pity on her and ushered her into a room, returning shortly after with a small tub of heated water. Judiiz hung her soaked clothing in front of the flickering fire before sitting down, eating the bowl of stew Faida had provided, her thoughts lost in crackling logs, smouldering coals and simple wholesome fare.
Crickets and night owls were still belting out their nocturnal song when she left the next morning. The air was crisp from the rains and in the east, wispy clouds were just turning varying shades of tangerine and rose. Some distance from Dragon Bridge a fork in the road nearly confused her; taking the left side somehow felt odd and after consulting her map again, she took the right. Soon, the arch of a gatehouse straddled the road, a small crenelated tower standing watch over it. The main gate to Solitude was immense, imposing stone and spires looming overhead. A very lacklustre guard opened the city to her after delivering the standard warning of behaving herself.
Witnessing Rogvirr's execution caused unwanted memories of the horse-thief's similar execution at Helgen to surface and she listened absently to the assembled crowd's whispered banter. By now, Judiiz had heard the stories of High King Torygg's death at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak. She remembered him, gagged and unkempt, his scarred face and colourless Nord eyes radiating contempt at his Imperial captors. She recalled one particular rumour that had piqued her interest; that Ulfric had attended some training at High Hrothgar and had Shouted at the King. She'd meant to ask Master Arngeir about it. How could Rogvirr still stand by his proclamation then that the duel between Ulfric and Torygg had been fair, if one man had been additionally armed with the Voice? Rogvirr's sympathy with the Stormcloaks did not interest her. Neither did the fact that Torygg had presumably leant towards the Empire. The feud currently gripping Skyrim smelled too much like a Thalmor machination to her and therefor, she wouldn't commiserate with either side if there was a common enemy.
The Winking Skeever was brightly lit for a Skyrim inn, with a vaulted ceiling and fragrant Deathbells growing cheerfully in pots at the bases of pillars. There was only one wood-elf present. He was slim, dressed in a common tunic and his auburn hair looked windswept away from a high forehead. He looked up in surprise when she sat down in a chair opposite his at the small table he was occupying.
"Can I … help you?" he asked, brows arching.
"Our friend sent me," she offered, hoping that she wasn't about to make a complete fool out of herself.
He appraised her a moment before sneering, "You're the one she sent?" Her eyes flashed dangerously and she started pushing herself up from the chair. He leaned forward and halted her movement with a hand on her arm. She shook it off in annoyance.
"Alright!" he hissed urgently, trying not to draw attention. "She must know what she's doing. She could have warned me about your temper!" Judiiz had wondered about that herself. Her soul flared at the slightest provocation lately. She huffed and sat down again.
"You'll need to give me everything you can't do without at the Embassy. Weapons are expressly forbidden there."
She looked at him incredulously. "I'm just to … hand everything over?"
Malborn rolled his eyes. "You'll get it all back once you're inside. Are we doing this or not?"
"Armour as well?"
"Everything you'll need! Keep your pack and that sabre skin," he said impatiently. "I can't smuggle your whole household in for you." Judiiz's eyes narrowed again but he merely shrugged, impervious.
"Wait here," she ground out and got up. She undressed in a guest room; the only other clothes she had to replace her leather armour was the set of Dragon Cult armour she'd taken of the cultists who'd attacked them in Whiterun. It was ill-fitting and didn't afford much protection, furthering her ire. She was very reluctant to part with her new bow purchased in Winterhold; it was a magnificently crafted Orcish weapon with swirling inlays of Orichalcum, and she lay her quiver and daggers with it. She returned to the table and plonked the bundle of items in front of Malborn. He looked at it incredulously.
"Didn't I say …"
"Stow it," she cautioned him abruptly, brooking no argument.
"Fine, I'll make a plan," he sighed, grabbed her possessions and left without a further word. Judiiz ordered a mug of mead to cool her inner fire, sipped it halfway to give Malborn time to slip away and proceeded outside. Delphine would be waiting at the Solitude Stables already.
The grain-mill she'd spotted from afar on her way here was turning languidly in the light salty breeze from the harbour. A farmhouse with elegantly carved barges was half-hidden behind the stables and a carriage was already drawn up in front of it. Delphine was leaning with her back against the mill wall, impatience written all over her face.
"Have you given Malborn the gear you want to smuggle into the Embassy?"
"Yes," Judiiz answered curtly, the heat in her soul still smouldering from her exchange with the wood-elf.
"Good. I have your invitation to the party." Delphine handed an envelope over to her. "But," she continued, "the only way you're going to get past the guards is if they really believe you're an invited guest, which means you have to look the part and not be armed to the teeth. Here," and she handed another bundle of clothing over. Judiiz frowned irritably, but conceded that cultist robes probably wouldn't do for a party. "Put this on. You can't go in … whatever that is," Delphine indicated her attire. "I'll keep watch, change here inside the mill quickly." For the second time that morning, Judiiz disrobed, this time next to the laboriously crunching stone wheel of the mill. The extravagant clothes fit well though, and she gratefully tucked her curls into the matching hat. Hopefully she'll look a bit different. Delphine gave a satisfied nod when she emerged and held her hands out expectantly.
"I'll keep the rest of your gear safe until you get back. Don't worry," she added when Judiiz hesitated, "it will all be waiting for you. Can I sell this pelt for you? It might not keep that long." Judiiz nodded her assent and gave Delphine her pack.
"Alright. You'll only have what Melborn smuggled in for you, plus whatever you can pick up inside," Delphine started reviewing the plan. "Once you're inside, try to get away somehow and start looking around. Secret files, notes, maps; look for anything that we can use, and then get out alive. Don't go in arrows flying and Shouting Thalmor into walls – I won't pretend to know what happened between you and them, but for now the information is more important. Got it?"
Judiiz clenched her jaw, but nodded grudgingly. Get in, distraction, get the information, get out. And don't kill anyone. Right. Easy for Delphine to say. Her soul wasn't snarling for revenge inside her.
"You'll be fine," Delphine tried to reassure her. "Ready to board the carriage to the embassy?"