Special thanks to 16DarkMidnight80 for going over this chapter! Special thanks as well to anyone else sticking with this slow-to-update story! Your support is so very much appreciated!

-L-

(Forwarded from Whiterun)

Proudspire Manor, Solitude

Second Seed 21

From the desk of Mme. Ashlynn

To my dear Lady Grey,

I chatted with a friend who works in the East Empire Company's office yesterday and this isn't a time to invest in maritime ventures. Apparently the Blood Horkers —what name!—have been harassing shipping on the eastern Sea of Ghosts, slowly strangling trade to Morrowind and Solstheim. Although she assures me the Company is looking into it, it sounds like one of those situations where 'one more thing' keeps coming up.

I can't say whether I approve; the Company has a long reach, but these Blood Horkers (such a name, I can't get over the ridiculousness of it!) are also strangling all but a lifeline of trade out of Windhelm. Apparently, this 'Shatter-Shield Shipping' has ships and sailors made of stern stuff. Either their cargos aren't as rich, or they're so tough the Blood Horkers (Seriously? Blood Horkers? How can they expect anyone to take them seriously?) won't interfere with them.

You can imagine how upsetting this is to my friend. Not as upsetting as the idea of a naval force out of Windhelm, though. The Emperoris still in Solitude, you know, living out of the Katariah in the harbor. The idea of that wretched Ulfric being able to menace our city or our Emperor… it's not a comforting thought. I do wonder why the Emperor hasn't gone back to Cyrodiil yet. There's even a rumor beginning to circulate that he's not actually here. Old men in sumptuous robes look alike at a distance.

Still, it doesn't make sense as rumors go. Why fake his presence here?

I don't know if you heard, or if I told you, but Commander Cassius Maro's son was killed last week—you know, the officer leading the Penitus Oculatus. 'Killed.' I should say 'murdered.' Apparently, it happened in Riften. The rumor is that he was in bed with the Stormcloaks, hence why he was in the eastern half of the Province at all. No one seems to know why he would be there, and it's the only logical supposition anyone I know has come up with.

The poor Commander has been beside himself; I begin to worry he's not going to remain competent to hold his post for much longer. Supposedly, he had quite the row with Legate Rikke and again with General Tullius. He seems to think his son was innocent—of course he would—and that this whole thing is a frame-up.

There's even been a whisper that the Dark Brotherhood is behind all this, that Gaius is just a casualty in some war they're waging. I'm not sure where the rumor started, but it's started. I'm sure this is just wild speculation. The Dark Brotherhood? A tale told to frighten children indoors at night, these days.

Anyway, it seems like a dreary summer if things go the way they have been.

You're engaged? You'll have to tell me all about this young man, who his people are, all of it. I don't mistrust your judgment or taste, but I'm a true busybody about my friends' romances as you very well know. I'm sure I have no idea why you're waiting so long, but doubtless you understand the situation better than I do.

I know I had something else I wanted to say, but I can't for the life of me remember. Ah, well. If it was important I'll send you another note.

Yours,

Mme. Ashlynn

P.S: Wherever did you meet this young man? I would have thought work would take up too much of your attention to allow you to look for something like that.

-L-

"Blood Horkers?" I asked, wrinkling my nose in distaste. I was with Mother: what in the world possessed them to name themselves something so ridiculous? Horkers are fat, slow, ponderous creatures, only aggressive if provoked and fairly delicious as a foodstuff.

Well, no one ever said pirates are smart.

I tapped Mother's letter with my fingers, ignoring her questions about Ralof. I knew she'd ask. I also know she'll approve of him.

Gaius Maro is the head of the Penitus Oculatus—the Emperor's personal guard. He was in Skyrim months before the Emperor was supposed to arrive to ensure everything was safe. What surprises me is why his son was wandering around the eastern half of the Empire—Stormcloak territory. I certainly never heard any little birds twittering (or big lads bellowing) about the lad joining 'the Cause.'

I opened my armoire and dug out the locked case marked 'Riften,' flipping through to the papers from Second Seed. My own list of cumulative deaths was at the back of the file. Gaius wasn't mentioned by name, just that a non-resident had been murdered walking between the Benevolence of Mara and the Bee and Barb. The killer was never found, just gone like smoke. Weapon of choice: an arrow through the eye, the shot exceptionally precise.

I frowned at Mother's hints that the Emperor wasn't actually in Skyrim. Now, if the son of the Penitus Oculatus' commanding officer is poking around the Eastern half of the Province—and assuming he's not really in bed with the Stormcloaks, because I think I'd know somehow or other if he was—he'd need a reason. He was doing it undercover, because a Legionnaire or a member of the Penitus Oculatus can't just wander around without drawing attention.

What were you looking for, young man? And was that why you were killed? Or was it something else?

This wasn't someone getting stabbed in some back alley for the purse he carried. It looks, on the surface, like a private act of vengeance, but with a name like Maro attached to it… I begin to wonder if maybe Commander Maro might have the right idea. And if I was him, I would have the Emperor or his decoy out of Skyrim tonight.

My stomach quivered uncomfortably. Why would someone kill Gaius in such a blatant fashion? And rumors of someone trying to acquire jarrin root.

The stories are that the Dark Brotherhood is as on the decline as the Thieves' Guild. But if I asked myself 'who would want to kill Titus Mede III and likely succeed if they tried?' the list is very short and, in decline or not, the Dark Brotherhood ranks second, right behind the Thalmor. Wouldn't assassinating an Emperor be a wonderful way to say, 'We're back! Business is open!'

I don't want that. I really, really don't want that. If the Thalmor want to stomp out a religion, maybe they should start with that cult.

I looked at the stack of paper on my desk, then sat down, inking my stylus.

-L-

Second Seed 22

Palace of the Kings, Windhelm

To Commander Cassius Maro, Penitus Oculatus:

Having received word of your son's death in the Rift, I feel it my obligation to deny the involvement of myself or anyone under my banner. However determined we are to drive the Empire and its legions from our home, we have no intention of offering violence to the Emperor. Believe this or not as you like, but on my father's head I swear that my movement had nothing to do with this unfortunate event.

As a sign of goodwill in this matter, permit me to share a report I was given with you and your Penitus Oculatus: it was brought to my attention that unknown parties were seeking in my Province for a reagent called jarrin root. I am assured this is a plant native to Morrowind, and quite lethal in both its refined and unrefined forms. While none of the alchemists interviewed about this substance report selling any—not having it to hand, although Riften is certainly home to a specialist in poisonous reagents—it is possible an assassin might go straight to the source and obtain it directly from Morrowind.

A person currently wanted in connection with a murder in Windhelm certainly sought passage to Morrowind: a Dunmer woman with short black hair, with the accent of a Morrowind native, who speaks but softly. At the time, she was accompanied by a red-haired male, Imperial by his looks. They were seen leaving Windhelm by privately contracted transport during First Seed. If she passed through Windhelm on her return, it went unremarked.

While I cannot support the Emperor's policies, I have no desire for the civil unrest that would follow in the wake of his assassination. As the most high-profile target in Skyrim just now, I entreat you to remove him from my Province and return him to his capital at risk of the unspeakable happening.

Yours,

-L-

I looked over the letter. Ulfric can rewrite it as he likes, then sign and seal it. I doubt it will mean anything in the grand scheme of things, but the simple fact that he's aware that the Penitus Oculatus had an agent running around—and no reason to think Gaius stopped or was planning stop in Windhelm—but isn't going off the deep end about it might give Maro pause.

And if we can't lay hands on this questionable Dunmer, perhaps the Penitus Oculatus or the Legion can. I would feel better knowing she was safely in custody with someone.

It would have been better to send this letter sooner, but one must do the best she can.

I'll just ask that, if Cassius writes back, that Ulfric sends me a copy of the correspondence. Meanwhile, I have pirate problems.

Did the Shatter-Shields—assuming they really are in bed with these ridiculous pirates—really think no one would notice that their ships alone were safe? …although, I must say, that does seem to be the case.

I took a deep breath, pushing back the thought. Assumptions are dangerous. It's possible everything is alright and there's no wrongdoing.

But if there is, I'll have them. And I know exactly what I'll do with them. Scandals are ugly. This one cuts into the Jarl's treasury. They'll go a long way to ensure he doesn't find out. I'll tell him, of course, but only after ensuring he doesn't try taking matters into his own hands. Let him play ignorant; it will be far better.

Please, Zenithar, let there be wrongdoing here.

"Svana?" I called, leaving my chamber once I'd put everything away, shredding the letter of complaint from the Captain of the Watch about Mjoll's disposition to causing civic unrest. I get a letter from him every few days letting me know whether Mjoll is making waves or not. She hasn't been arrested, so clearly she hasn't crossed any lines. I need to get her and Brunwulf together. He's got the local knowledge and she knows how to wage a crusade.

"My lady?" Svana called. She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her head done up in a kerchief, clearly in the process of cleaning.

"I'll be dining at the Palace tonight."

"You might take your parasol," Svana advised. "It looks like rain."

I trusted her judgment about the weather. She's got an uncanny nose for when moisture refuses to simply be something that hangs in the air.

-L-

"You think someone's really going to try assassinating the Emperor?" Galmar asked blankly. "Who? Why?"

"If they were going to assassinate Ulfric, they'd have at least tried by now," I answered, as Ulfric re-read the letter I'd submitted to him. For a man in his position, it isn't uncommon for someone else to pen his letters, which he then signs and seals and forwards as if he wrote them himself. "My informant in Solitude raises some excellent points: it's like the Emperor—or a lookalike—is waiting for something to happen. Why else would he still be here? He wasn't that close to Vittoria Vici, and the funerary arrangements were handled weeks ago."

"Whom do you suspect?" Ulfric asked without looking up from the paper.

"There are three agencies who could do it if they seriously tried. The Thalmor, the Dark Brotherhood, and the Morag Tong. The Morag Tong work almost exclusive in Morrowind, as you doubtless know, only putting a foot across borders on occasion. They may be expanding. This might be the Dark Brotherhood's announcement that they're making a comeback."

"Gods, I hope not," Ulfric breathed, looking up from the paper.

"And it doesn't benefit the Thalmor to cause the kind of civic unrest that would follow assassinating Titus Mede—unless they meant to open up another war."

"I don't think they will," Galmar said stolidly. "Skyrim is enough unrest. Add to that and what do they have? Chaos. More than even they might want to deal with." That was exceptionally logical and deep-thinking of him. I wish he would be that way more often.

"In which case there's a silver lining if the Emperor is assassinated. At the very least, this letter allows us to deny involvement with some veracity if it happens. We warned them of the possibility, we gave them the most likely culprit we could find."

"And this Dunmer you've set up?" Galmar asked a little sourly.

It took me a moment to grasp his meaning, but it left me grimacing. "I don't need to make something up or pin it on some convenient peon. I understand that's the limit of your methodology, so I'm not offended," I answered tartly. "She does exist and is wanted in connection with the murder of Nilsine Shatter-Shield, who was originally listed among the Butcher's victims, an assumption overturned by my investigation."

Galmar shifted uncomfortably.

"And she was described as having the Morrowindan accent, certainly left Windhelm to go to Morrowind. Assuming she's not a simple traveler, it's entirely possible she's Morag Tong. In which case they're either expanding, or her work here was finished and she was simply returning to Morrowind. But the timeframe of the Nilsine Shatter-Shield murder and this woman's departure as witnessed by one of my sources suggests that Nilsine was not her only business here."

Ulfric exhaled deeply, then signed the paper, sealing it quickly as if part of him resented sharing any kind of information with 'the enemy.' "If the Emperor is assassinated, what can we do?"

The rich flavor of my mead swept across my tongue as I settled back in my chair. "Right now, you can write to your fellow Jarls—supporters and non-supporters—with this Dunmer's description, and your concerns that she means to assassinate someone. I'm sure you can cleverly suggest without actually accusing her of planning to assassinate each Jarl in turn in individual letters. They'll keep a weather eye out to protect their own skins whereas they might be a little more lax otherwise."

Ulfric nodded to this, but said nothing.

"If the Emperor is assassinated, then as Galmar said, there will be chaos that even the Thalmor might have trouble controlling. I don't think it would be hard to start a rumor that they actually backed the Dark Brotherhood's activities. I'm sure such a rumor would take in Markarth, and you never know how beneficial that kind of destabilization will be."

"How are things in Markarth?" Ulfric asked.

"Excellent. My man on the inside has gone and proved reliable at starting rumors and letting them circulate and grow. He reports that the Forsworn are a deep thorn in the sides of the Hold. My man in Madanach's camp—" I had to pause to take in the gob-smacked expressions. "Yes, my man—lad, really—in Madanach's camp reports as he's able without compromising his cover. Mostly logistical information: numbers, magic-users, weapons, social climates. Things that will be useful when the time to curb the Forsworn comes. He's focused mostly on making sure he can stay close enough to Madanach to stab him in the back when I give the order."

Ulfric studied me for along moment. "Can he get out on your order?"

"If he can't, there will be a watcher ready to put an arrow through his eye, and give him a clean death." This answer didn't seem to please either man. I suppose it sounds much colder than it really is. I do want the lad to escape if possible. But killing Madanach is worth his life. And if he kills Madanach but bungles getting out, an arrow from an ally is far kinder than what the Forsworn will do to him. They'll literally tear him to pieces, nice and slow, over the course of several days. "How was your walk through the Snow Quarter?"

Ulfric's mouth twisted. Finally, when it became apparent I wasn't going to continue without an answer, "I survived. And no one threw any eggs or produce."

Of course not. They'd be too surprised to see him.

"And your chat with Brunwulf Free-Winter?"

Ulfric twitched his shoulders. "I'd forgotten what a good man he is."

Ah, such a nice, diplomatic, empty answer.

"And while we're on internal matters… are you aware of the shipping problems the East Empire Company has been having?"

"Are they having problems?" Ulfric looked over to Jorleif, who straightened in his corner.

"Gross problems. But, as they are a private company, there's been no grounds for us to interfere. And they certainly haven't asked for help," Jorleif answered promptly. "They pay their tithes and taxes, albeit at a reduced rate given their reduced circumstances."

"I think their circumstances are being reduced, which means a reduction in my lord's income. In time of war, no less."

Galmar looked thunderous at this lack of patriotism; Jorleif looked appalled.

Ulfric simply frowned. "How?"

"Hired pirates."

"Whom?"

"I believe Clan Shatter-Shield to be involved. Their business seems to be going quite well. But my lord," the interruption didn't seem unwarranted: Ulfric looked ready to jump up and dispatch a messenger to haul the clan's patriarch before him immediately. "It would be better to allow me to finish resolving this matter, myself. Rest assured, I can and will deal with the pirates. But sanctioning the Shatter-Shields under the table can yield greater results than your understandable anger might exact."

Ulfric glowered, as if he didn't quite trust my empty politeness.

"For instance, in return for not bringing this matter to you—and bringing your anger down on their heads—I can leverage better working conditions and wages for the Argonian workers. If I am attached to this improvement, you will be indirectly attached to it. The Shatter-Shields will be punished enough: having to pay their workers properly will cut deeply into their profit margins. And I can always change the deal if need be. They would, I'm sure, rather not face you after their antics cut into your treasury during time of war."

"Blackmail," Galmar grimaced as if tasting something terrifically unpleasant.

"That's one reason I brought her on, old friend," Ulfric observed mildly. "I'd like to see what all you plan to get out of this arrangement. As a point of curiosity."

"Of course, my lord. I'll have it written up in a day or two. Do I need to wait for your approval of the plan before I press forward?"

"No. I'm simply curious. Any word on the Dragonborn?" He knows I'll tell him when I know something. But the subject on hand was clearly ended for the purposes of discussion.

"None as yet, my lord."

-L-

(Delivered from Whiterun by courier)

Second Seed 22

To my dear Mme. Ashlynn,

Ralof is a kind man—an artisan out of Riverwood. I met him on the road and he ended by assisting me with some very painful personal difficulties in the northwestern part of the Province. If you know me at all, you know what for, as I'd prefer not to speak of it.

Truth be told, I'm incredibly fond of him, but I fear such happy futures are not intended for me. My work occupies such a large portion of my time and attention (to the extent that I haven't set a single stitch for my trousseau). But he is content to wait, as I've requested, so he has time to think better of his interest in me.

And, if I've somehow blinded him with my charisma, then it has time to wear off.

It worries me that he'll wake up one day and realize that, perhaps, we're not a good fit. I wouldn't want him to be unhappy.

But there, perhaps I'm so used to trouble I've started going out of my way to borrow it. Suffice it to say, what while he isn't incredibly clever or very rich, he's a good man which is much the better. What good—as you once asked me yourself—is a clever man who happily sharpens his cutting wit on you, or a rich man who wishes you to remain on the shelf he designated for you?

Yours, very truly,

Lady Grey