NOTE: Similar to my opinion of general Quest timing, I believe that Daedric Quests taking place only after certain other quests or levels or whatever aren't realistic.

Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): MORE DAEDRA BECAUSE DAEDRIC PRINCES FASCINATE ME

Last time…

"Oh, and we're headed out to Falkreath tomorrow… whenever we're all awake and alert, that is."

Chapter 29 – Like a Whisper

We spend the day drinking and swapping stories, and the next morning, my accursed internal clock has me up and walking at sunrise.

I find myself sitting at the bar, nursing my headache with a minor Stamina potion and some bread with cheese, as well as a glass of milk, screw what the Nords say, until Erandur eventually comes wobbling out of his room and plops down next to me ungracefully.

When he seems awake enough to respond to simple questions, I tell him I'm going to clean up. I'm still planning on building proper plumbing systems, maybe in Hjerim when I get the chance. For now, though, I'm stuck with a tub over a fire and a spare set of clothes from my knapsack. My old pants are ruined permanently, I can tell from the smell and the threadbare fabric. My tunic can still be saved, though the bloodstains will be permanent.

Groaning and resigning myself to visit the market in Whiterun to buy some new clothing while we pass through there, I set to work in scrubbing my tunic – and myself, since I reek of march bog.

Sitting down on a small stool next to the tub in my underclothes, I vaguely wonder if I'll be disturbed by anyone. Erandur has trouble figuring out words aimed at him in the mornings – he normally starts to function only about an hour after he's woken up, Vaermina's influence on his dreams hard to flush out of his system even with Mara's helping hand.

The priest has rough nights, which makes him fit in just fine with the rest of us – with Marcurio and myself, that is.

The soap is of an awful quality compared to the rich Dwemer types I've had the luxury of using Before, but as with all the miserable things in Skyrim, I make do with whatever I can.

Of course, it's when I'm washing my hair, unable to look through the suds and assorted dirt threatening to harm my eyes, when I hear the door to the small back room open.

I stiffen, my mind racing furiously through ways to defend myself unarmed against a threat, but when I hear Marcurio's "Oh, there you are" I nearly fly out of the room, propriety and dignity be damned. It's not as if he's never seen me in my underclothes, as I quite vividly remember the time in Riften when Anneke and I nearly got robbed in the middle of the night and I was forced to go thief-chasing.

I do hope the people there have since forgotten that incident.

But be as it may, all my scars, all my bruises, my whole body is on display with the way I'm seated on the small stool. I cringe, blindly moving to grab some cloth to further cover myself, not caring that it gets soaked in the process.

The mage clears his throat awkwardly. "I… Was just… Uhm…"

I tug at a particularly persistent tangle in my hair with more force than strictly necessary, biting back a yelp. Gods, why isn't he leaving? Tsk, it's not as if he likes the view.

(Unbeknownst to me, the mage had indeed not expected to see me in any state of undress, as I usually kept as much clothing or armour on as possible when cleaning up.)

"You're never going to get that mess sorted like that." The Imperial chides, though his voice wavers somewhat. "Right. I came here to see if you needed help, oh mighty Dragonborn."

I let out a small growl, still unable to see more than the insides of my eyelids but feeling a small cold gust of air as the mage moves behind me for whatever reason. Strangely, I'm not as uncomfortable as I'd expected, but that's probably because I am used enough to him to even sleep without gear in his presence.

…And then his hands are on my head, massaging my scalp and working out the tangles in my hair I couldn't manage to get to and…

It's divine – whenever Ma washed my hair when I was a kid, she would always be a bit too rough, scrubbing and drenching me in scalding water without warning me to close my eyes. Then, when she brushed, the tears would jump to my eyes. Marcurio's hands are petting me in comparison.

It's still quite awkward to sit there half-naked and blind while the man I'm pretty sure I like as more than just a friend runs his hands through my hair.

Despite my mind yelling obscenities at me and my ears burning like beacons, I find myself leaning into the touch without really meaning to. When the imperial moves away, I lean back, chasing the touch and almost falling off the stool for my efforts.

Marcurio catches me before I can make the situation even more embarrassing by toppling over, before he chuckles softly.

"Tilt your head back."

I comply without a thought, baring my throat to the mage. Yet another extremely vulnerable position, but I trust Marcurio, of all people, not to hurt me. I wish we could be married so that this wouldn't feel so strange.

HOLD ON, WHAT.

The water flows down my face and back and I scrunch my nose before wiping it out of my eyes, blinking up at the mage owlishly, reeling from my own thoughts.

Where in Oblivion did that come from? I – I must be tired, aye. Just… The journey has taken more out of me than I thought and it's affected my common sense. That… Must be it.

"Why help me? I would have managed on my own." I manage to somehow utter, the words leaden on my tongue and steady only because I keep it as flat as possible. Marcurio looks away, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare show of self-consciousness.

"It's not like I haven't helped you before."

Aye, but then I was wearing pieces of my armour, and I couldn't even reach the back of my head properly. We were out in the open, so it was dangerous to linger too long, but I wanted the smell of death off of me.

I tilt my head sideways, still looking at him upside-down. Now, the mage backs away, out of sight, and is that a flush on his cheeks? Room must be warmer than I thought.

Clearing my throat, I pull on my tunic and spare clothes as fast as humanly possible. I glance over at the still unmoving figure, whose eyes seem to be drawn to the cuirass in the corner.

Clearing my throat, I gesture at the pile.

"While you're in here, you might as well make yourself useful. Grab a sponge and help me get the dirt off of my armour, it's annoying when it seeps into the seams and hampers my movement. Also, get cleaned up yourself after, alright? The marches haven't been good on your robes."

"I am an apprentice wizard, not your personal cleaning lady!" A pause. I wait. "Oh, very well, but it better not take too long."

"You didn't seem to have a problem cleaning me, why be bothered about the armour?"

"The bottoms of your boots have seen things worse than that wayward bird's nest on your head."

"Did you just insult my hair?"

"I don't see any hair, makes me wonder where that Rock Warbler took it."

"Marcurio!"

At least the banter makes for familiar territory, dispelling the uncomfortable air between us. For the moment, anyway.

The journey down to Falkreath is the most awkward period of time I've ever spend travelling, ever. It even beats that time Mellte dragged my sleeping self to the other side of the city, in the busiest part of the market, in a dress. With pigtails. Forcing me to walk back with everyone staring after me.

I'd been mortified back then.

This? This is somehow even worse. I can't look Marcurio in the eye at all, and Erandur's too-knowing gaze means that he probably has an idea of what happened in the bath stall, and encourages it. He even made sure Marcurio and I sit together during food breaks and stay close to each other while walking with some well-placed comments.

Meddling old coot.

Xrib's forges, I have no time for romance.

"Don't we have to pass Riverwood once we're finished in Whiterun?" Erandur asks, watching a few elks as they skip across the road. I shrug. "Not really – I was planning to head by Markarth, first. To visit old friends." Sure, it's the long way around, but I've been planning to visit Markarth soon either way.

"We really should think of investing in horses if you're planning to run us ragged all across Skyrim." Marcurio jokes, and I shove him gently. "No horses. You can get a horse after we part ways."

After all, I can hardly keep him around me forever – he's still a mercenary, he probably gets bored if he's on one job too long.

The mage falls into a pensive silence after that, lasting all the way to Whiterun. I can't say I'm not happy with the small break after having been paying him most of my attention for almost two days straight. Thanks for that, Erandur.

At least the awkwardness is somewhat lessened again as we continue. "When we're in Whiterun, I'll introduce you to Adrienne, and Jenassa and Elrindir, too!" The priest of Mara chuckles.

"So we finally get to see the woman that has you so enamoured?" I misstep in surprise, stumbling and spluttering. "Enamoured? She's married!"

Besides, I think as I give Marcurio a quick glance as he looks at the road unwaveringly, I'm more interested in someone else.

We make a quick stop at the Khajit caravan, where I trade some of the items we'd plucked from bandits and creatures along the way for food and mead.

"Be cautious, travellers." The leader of the caravan, Ri'saad, calls after us, "The residents of the city are in mourning, it would be wise to conclude your business quickly." In… mourning? Who died?

Now, Ri'saad's comment caused me to get worried, and I pick up my pace, passing the guards at the gates and making a beeline for the Drunken Huntsman when I see Warmaiden's is closed, in the middle of the day, and Adrienne doesn't come out to greet me.

There's a stilted atmosphere in the air, and Elrindir and Anoriath are quietly conversing behind the counter, not even noticing my companions and I as we walk in. Ulfberth is sitting next to the fire, staring into the flames darkly, Adrienne seated next to him, her back ramrod straight and her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

Jenassa is seated at her usual spot, and seizes my companions up with her red eyes once she spots me. "To be honest, I hadn't expected you to return for another few months. Now that you're here, you may have noticed Whiterun is a mess."

"Kodlak Whitemane, the unofficial leader of the companions, is dead. The Companions are in an uproar, and meanwhile, rumours say that the jarl's children are caught under a Daedric influence Danica cannot banish, and they have been insufferable for almost a month. You've arrived at a bad time."

I sink down next to her, letting Marcurio and Erandur do as they please for now. They choose to take place near the fire, their faces grim, and in Marcurio's case, expectant. He knows me too well.

"Daedra, you say? Erandur, that ritual you used, does it work on every Daedra?" The Dunmer priest straightens when the attention of most people in the room turns to him. Fidgeting with the sleeve of his robes, he frowns pensively.

"The ritual wasn't designed for a specific type of Daedra, though it's more effective the stronger they are. It might be worth a try, if it's children in the grasp of such a monster." I nod, before inquiring to the state of the Companion's affairs.

"Chaos. They have no leader, and little leads on the perpetrators. Or if they do, they are very secretive about it." She scowls. "A murder, or so rumour has it, and they refuse to accept any help, claiming it's an 'internal' affair."

I hum, thinking about the implications of that.

"Perhaps there's a secret they're hiding? Kodlak might have died over that, and that would mean that any following investigation would bring the secret to light…" The Dunmer frowns and shakes her head, staring into her mug.

"The Companions are strong and honourable warriors. I can't imagine they would have any dark secrets to hide."

My mind returns to the first time I visited Whiterun, when said warriors did not make the best impression. In fact, they mistrusted me from the get-go. And for that they must have had a reason despite never meeting me. So I wouldn't be so sure they aren't hiding anything.

"Either way, the children are our first priority." Marcurio notes, watching me for approval and when I nod, Erandur stands immediately. "Very well, Mara's blessings be with you all in this trying time, and our apologies for intruding." He bows genially to the group, as he and Marcurio step out the door, presumably to hold guard outside in case I want to talk to anyone before dealing with the problems around here.

"New companions of yours? The mage seems… decent." I give Jenassa a small grin. "He's better than that. I've kept him on for months, much like you."

My smile turns sad, and I look down, leaning back a little in my chair before rising. "Meaning that I'll likely part ways with him soon."

It will give me some time to sort things out.

"I'll try to come back once I figure out what's happening up in Dragonsreach."

The jarl seems more troubled than I've ever seen him – not that I've seen him much. Erandur and Marcurio are walking on my left and right side respectively as we approach. Balgruuf looks up at me, slumped in his throne, and the bags under his eyes don't bode well for whatever trouble is afoot here. "Yes?"

"I've heard you are having trouble with your children. I'm willing to help however I can." Straight to the point – I doubt the man has much patience for drawn-out stories or talking politics at the moment. He looks exhausted. Like Marcurio when we got out of Labyrinthian.

"Well… Yes. My youngest, mostly. He's a dark child, I don't know what to do with him anymore. He's always been a quiet lad, but lately? He's become brooding, even violent. It's getting worse, and he refuses to say a word to me… I do not know how I've upset him. If you could speak to him, find out what's wrong with my child… I'd be immensely grateful."

Finding Nelkir proves easily, as he's slinking down a corridor not far from the throne room. I exchange looks with my companions – does he have this… aura around him, or is that just me? Erandur shakes his head sadly as he looks upon the child, and they both stay back near the top of the stairs while I approach the brat warily.

"You must be Nelkir. Your father has asked me to speak to you." And I'm trying to figure out if you can still be saved from the shadows hanging over your head. I've never seen a child glare so evilly, so darkly.

To be honest, I'm a bit taken aback by the boy's ferocity. I can see another sibling, a girl, watch us from the other side of the room, where she's drawing with a piece of charcoal. Then Nelkir opens his mouth and I'm… flabbergasted by his audacity.

"So the disgusting pig sends you to bother me? One day, I'll tear his face apart so he will leave me alone."

Whoa, Sithis hold my heart, what is wrong with this kid?

"My father doesn't even know anything about me! But I know about him. And the war. More than he might think." I frown pensively, staring at the child and tilting my head as if figuring out a flame trap in a Nordic ruin. If he's still got a bit of child in him… He will like it when others play along with his games. So I raise my eyebrows as if in interest. "Really? What kind of things?"

"I know that he still worships Talos. I know that he hates the Thalmor almost as much as the Stormcloaks do. That he worries about being chased from Whiterun." Whoah, he wasn't kidding. This boy… "That he… That I'm… That I don't have the same mother as my brother and sister." Here, my eyes go wide, and I have to refrain from cursing the jarl – That's taboo. To lie with another woman? When he has a wife, or is a widower? How dare that – that – I bite my lip harshly.

"Dare I ask how you found out about all of that?"

He goes on to explain about the ways he overhears everything that happens, then mentions a Whispering Lady. How does Marcurio say it? Ah. Jackpot. "Who's the Whispering Lady?" I ask, not having to fake the honest curiosity and confusion in my voice. Something lights up in the boy's intensely dark eyes, the first light I see in him since we started talking. Not all is lost….yet.

Nelkir's information has me walk back down to the main hall. "Marcurio, Erandur, why don't you two go talk to Farengar and see what he knows? I consider him somewhat of an ally." They are about to protest, I can tell, so I swiftly turn on my heel and walk off to discover where this basement door can be found.

The dungeons don't lead me anywhere, but in the servant's quarters I find a door almost completely blocked by hay and bags. It's partially jammed, but when I open it, I find 'her' – the Whispering Lady's - door. I listen carefully at the keyhole, trying to ignore the coiling disgust in my stomach, before hesitantly deciding on the best course of action.

"What… do you want me to do?"

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!