The wind had begun to pick up again by the time Riviere came to the city of Winterhold, or what was left of it. Riviere wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but she knew that one day, the city just disappeared, fell into the ocean below. All that was left standing was a ruined bridge in the middle that connected the few buildings left on the mainland to a tower of stone in the middle of the sea, atop which stood a giant fortress-like structure; the College of Winterhold. Riviere stared at the college for a moment, wondering the same thing she always did when she came this way north, and that was how the hell is that place even standing? She had never been inside, though she did hope that one day, she'd be able to come up with a good reason to see what was within those mysterious walls, especially the fantastic library that she'd heard so much about over the years. Biggest library in Skyrim, if I remember correctly. But then again, that's not necessarily a hard feat to accomplish, given the fact that I barely ever see people reading around here... With a final curious glimpse, Riviere turned her gaze from the College and instead looked to her right, at a small building with a sign out the front that read "The Frozen Hearth". I think this is where I'm supposed to be meeting Enthir. If he's not here now, he' probably up at the College, but I can't just walk in there, so I might have to wait a while. Riviere walked up the front steps of the thatch-roofed, wooden-walled inn and entered inside. To her relief, it was nice and warm inside, as the central fireplace was burning brightly. Riviere looked around briefly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Bosmer whom she was searching for, and eventually saw Enthir seated alone at a table on the other side of the inn.

"I'd say evening, Enthir, but I'm sure it is in fact morning," Riviere greeted the elf as she took a seat beside him, though instead of facing the wall as he did, Riviere sat with her back to the table.

Unsure at first who had just addressed him, Enthir turned his head slowly towards Riviere. "Well, if it isn't Brynjolf's little apprentice, or whatever it is they call you..."

"Scout, actually. Full-time member now," Riviere answered with a hint of pride in her voice.

"Hmm. It has been quite a while since I last saw you, hasn't it? Well, no matter. What brings you this far north?"

"Well, sorry to say it isn't a social call. It's a rather long story, actually. But the short version, and all that I can really tell you right now, is that Karliah sent me."

"Wait... did you say Karliah? Then that means... Gallus's journal. She finally found it... Do you have it?"

"I do. But there's a, well, a slight complication." Riviere produced the journal from a pouch strapped to her belt and handed it to Enthir. "And by slight complication, I mean a rather big one."

"Is there any other kind," sighed Enthir as he took the journal. "Let's see." He opened the small book and flipped through the pages, sighing again as he did so. "Of course, this is just like Gallus. He was a great friend, and I loved him as such, but he was always far too clever. He's written everything in the Falmer language. Just wonderful."

"Well, can you read it?"

"No. But, I do know someone who might be able to, or at least have the materials that we need for translating it ourselves."

Now it was Riviere's turn to sigh. "You wouldn't be thinking of Calcelmo, would you?"

"Well, yes, actually. I mean, sure, he's incredibly stubborn, and guards his research like a mother guarding her child, so getting the information won't be easy. But he's not that bad-"

"No, it's not that. My problem isn't Calcelmo, though I know getting anything out of the old wizard will be an adventure in itself. My problem is the travel distance. Markarth is completely the opposite side of the province, about as far away as you can get without leaving Skyrim..."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I think that's the only choice we have right now."

"Yeah, I know, I know. Bah, there goes my plan to get back to Riften as soon as possible. Damn."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Another long story. But basically, I'm sure the entire Guild, minus Karliah of course, reckons I'm dead."

Enthir looked at Riviere with a stunned expression on his face. "Well. That's, uh, quite another problem entirely."

"You have no idea. Ugh. This is going to be absolutely wonderful to explain... But according to Karliah, translating the journal is first priority."

"Well, then I guess all you can do is wish for a swift journey to Markarth and back."

"Yeah. Well, I guess I'll see you when I get back. From Markarth. All the way on the other side of Skyrim. So damn far away..."

When Riviere walked through the city gates of Markarth, she was able to almost instantly forget the long and bumpy carriage ride from Winterhold. In Riviere's eyes, this city was by far one of the most beautiful places in Skyrim; it was once an ancient Dwemer city, and as such it was architecturally different to the rest of the cities within the province, which perhaps was why Riviere had always been drawn to its splendid beauty. Markarth was carved into the mountainside that surrounded it, and several tumbling waterfalls cascaded down the sides, eventually winding their way into either a stream through the centre of town, or to a large pool near the silver mine on the southern side of the city. Riviere walked along the centre stream and followed it as it wound beneath bridges and buildings until she reached some large stone stairs at the far side of the city that led up behind a waterfall that cascaded in front of two ornately carved gold doors. These doors, Riviere knew, were the doors that led into the city's keep, Understone Keep. This ancient castle carved deep into the mountain was the political centre of the region, where the Jarl made his home and dealt with his business from his stony throne. However, Riviere was not here to see the Jarl, but instead looking for Calcelmo, the court wizard, so upon entering the huge complex, instead of walking straight onwards she turned left, up a hill, and found herself in a wide cavern. To the left, at the end of a short path, was another pair of golden doors which led to what Riviere knew was the Markarth Hall of the Dead. Up the centre of the cavern, winding gently up into another ruined part of the under-city, was a stone path, beneath which ran a tumbling river which Riviere had always assumed turned into one of the waterfalls that was seen from outside. To the right, and where Riviere headed when she walked in, was a small research station at the water's edge. A man sat on a low stone bench with his back turned towards Riviere. He was wearing a black, hooded robe, a common choice of attire for a wizard. Distracted by the book that he was reading from, he did not hear Riviere coming, or see her when she stopped at his side. Riviere stood there and stared inquisitively at the old Altmer as he continued to take no notice of her, but eventually her impatience overcame her curiosity and she cleared her throat to try and grab the wizard's attention.

"Uh, excuse me?" Riviere interrupted quietly. The old wizard still seemed to be ignoring her, completely distracted by what he was reading. "Mister Calcelmo, sir?" Riviere tried again.

"The excavation site is closed," grumbled the wizard. "I don't need any workers, guards, or researchers. The last team hasn't come back, so until they do so, I have no need for any more."

"Actually, I was looking for you, sir."

Calcelmo looked up from his book and eyed Riviere with suspicion. "Do I know you?"

"We've met before, but it was a while ago. It was only a brief meeting, anyway."

"Well, like I said, I don't need any more people to go into the ruins," Calcelmo repeated, standing up from his bench. "Why do people always feel the need to bother me when I'm busy? Idiots. I'm trying to finish my research, here! I am the most recognised authority on the Dwemer in all of Tamriel!"

"Yes, which is why-"

"And yet you insist on invading my workspace and-" the old wizard stopped speaking and looked at Riviere again, only with less suspicion and more curiosity than before. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I am getting carried away with my studies again, and the stress seems to be getting to me. But I should have contained myself a little better. So, you said you were looking for me?"

"Yes. I came to ask a question of you, for I know you to be an authority not only on the Dwemer, but also on the ancient Falmer."

"Well, that is true. In fact, I am on the verge of completing my masterpiece on the subject, a piece which shall be named 'Calcelmo's Guide to the Falmer Tongue.' It will completely change how we perceive and understand those ancient Mer."

"Sounds fascinating... Now, I'd ask if I could take a look, but I know your policy on sharing unfinished work, and that is it'll never happen."

"You seem to know me far better than I know you."

"Well, you are somewhat famous."

"That I am."

"And I do admire your work."

"Completely understandable. But still, I must decline. I'm sorry, but-"

"It's alright. I understand the need to keep one's work a secret, and so I can respect that."

"Then I thank you for your understanding. But now, I'm afraid that I must really be getting back to my studies."

"Thank you for your time, then." Riviere prepared herself to leave, annoyed that she would have to come up with a new plan that would undoubtedly be far more difficult than she had hoped. But as she turned away from Calcelmo, an idea popped into her head.

"Hey, Calcelmo? One more thing. Is that museum of yours still open? I heard about it last time I was in Markarth, and it sounded very impressive. I was told that you had an astounding collection of Dwemer artefacts."

Calcelmo couldn't help but let his sense of pride show on his face, as his mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. "Again, that is the truth," he said smugly, before his face took on a rather stern expression. "But again, I must apologise. It is currently closed, at least until the little issue in the ruins has been taken care of."

Riviere pouted disappointedly as she looked at the old wizard. "Are you sure?" she asked as she began to walk closer. She walked just past Calcelmo, brushing lightly into the edge of his flowing robe as she did so. "There's nothing I can do to change your mind?" she inquired, turning once again to face the wizard.

"If you know me as well as you seem to, then you already know the answer to that. Personal wealth and other... pleasures... are of very little importance to a good scholar."

"Other pleasures?" Riviere repeated to herself in a whisper, initially not quite understanding why Calcelmo had added that to his statement. But then she did realise, and figured that her manner of asking Calcelmo for entrance to the museum had been, well, a little more forward than she had intended. "Oh, gods," she muttered under her breath. "Awkward."

"What was that?" Calcelmo queried, his left eyebrow raised in a combination of wariness and amusement.

"Nothing, nothing," Riviere replied, shaking her head. "I'll... just go now. I'll let you get back to your research." She quickly swivelled in her position, and departed in the opposite direction.

"Well, farewell?" Calcelmo called after her. "How curious," he shrugged, returning to his bench and resuming his reading.

Riviere stopped around the corner, just outside the cavern, and leaned against the wall. She looked down at her clenched left fist, unfolded it, and smiled. I figured he wouldn't let me in. But I also hoped that he had the key. She looked proudly at the small, simple key in her hand. So damn lucky it was in that pocket I checked, though. Don't know how I could have checked the other, and what if he hadn't had it on him? By the Nine, that was close. Someone's watching over me today, it seems... Riviere then peered across the room that she was now in, the entrance hall of the Keep, and eyed a flight of stairs up the other side. A man, wearing the green tunic of a Markarth guard, stood watch from the top. Well, that's the museum up there. But getting past the guard shouldn't be too hard, especially since I have the key... Without waiting any longer, Riviere quickly made her way to the other side of the hall and ascended the stairs. As Riviere expected, the guard stopped her at the top.

"Excuse me, miss, but the museum's closed," said the guard gruffly.

"Not for me, it isn't," Riviere smiled sweetly.

"Oh really? And what makes you so special, sweetheart?"

"Well, for one thing, I have this," Riviere answered, holding the key in front of her face. "Calcelmo gave me the key and said I can go on in."

"Uh huh. And why would he do that?"

"Because I showed not only an interest in his work, but a respect for his privacy, and so he decided that though he could not permit me to see his latest work, I could at least wander around in the museum. I have some research of my own to do, and he said that the museum should have what I need."

The guard looked doubtfully at Riviere. "You don't look like the scholarly type."

"What do I look like, then. A saboteur? A trouble-maker? A thief?"

"No. Suppose not."

"Besides, how on earth could I have gotten the key if he hadn't given it to me. It's not as if I could have just dug it out of his pocket, or something..."

"Well, alright," replied the guard after a few moments of hesitation. "I suppose you're right. Here, give me the key and I'll let you in. But I do warn you, there are several other guards in there. So, if you do turn out to be a saboteur, trouble-maker or thief, you'll be in a world of hurt. Got it?"

"Aye, sir!"

"Good." The guard took the key from Riviere and then proceeded to move over to the museum doors. Within a few seconds, he had them open. He waved Riviere though the doorway.

"Thank you, sir." Riviere nodded as she walked past the guard and into the museum.

"Yeah, whatever," sighed the guard, locking the doors behind Riviere.