A/N: Now that midterms are over, I'm hoping to be able to update more frequently again. Heh. Fingers crossed, right?
The door to Candlehearth Hall swung open, and a cold wind whipped into the room. The candles on the counter flickered as the traveler, who was heavily bundled up against the weather, entered the room and walked up to the bar.
Elda couldn't see his face; the man wore a mask, presumably to protect himself against the bitter cold. In the flickering candlelight, she couldn't even make out his eyes. He gestured toward the rooms, flipping a ten-septim piece onto the counter; his heavy traveling cloak billowed as he moved to accept the key. Silently, the man retreated to his room and shut the door.
A few minutes later, the door swung open again, and a small group of Stormcloak soldiers entered the inn. Elda walked up to the bar as the men seated themselves.
"So, what'll it be tonight?" she asked. "The usual?"
The man sitting in the center, a beefy Nord with dark hair, dropped a hefty coin purse on the counter. "Your strongest brew for this one tonight," he said, clapping his hand on his friend's back.
Elda looked at the man the Nord had indicated. "I don't know, Hansl…it seems like he's already several tankards deep."
Hansl shook his head, and his other friend—a small, stout Nord named Odmir—chimed in.
"Elda," he said, leaning across the counter to whisper in her ear, "the girl he loves is getting married. Remember her? The Harbinger?"
Elda gave a sympathetic sigh and stood up, turning to fetch a few tankards of her strongest mead.
Iver swayed on his barstool as he accepted the tankard of mead Elda placed before him. Without hesitation, he took a large gulp. Some of the mead ran from the corners of his mouth, and a good deal sloshed down onto his cuirass, but he didn't care.
"I'll always love you, Siri," he sobbed drunkenly. Hansl tousled the blonde Nord's greasy hair as Odmir shook his head. The two men had already begun to join Iver in his drunken stupor.
"It'll be okay," Hansl said. "Maybe it won't work out between them. Who knows? Maybe one of them will get cold feet. Maybe someone won't show up to the wedding."
Iver's eyes lit up, and he turned suddenly, grabbing Hansl's shoulders.
"That's it!" he cried. "I can go to Riften and stop her. I can take her away with me and make her love me again!" His words were slurred significantly, but the light of determination shone in his eyes as he detailed his plan very loudly to his friends.
The masked man in the next room sat on his bed, back against the wall, listening.
Waiting.
A cool breeze snaked its way through the room, and Hansl woke with a start. The furs had fallen off his bed; as he reached down to grab them, he noticed that the bed next to his was empty.
Odmir was rudely awakened a moment later as Hansl shook him into consciousness.
"Did Iver tell you he was leaving?"
Oh…my head…
He clutched a hand to his forehead, attempting to fight off the ferocious hangover that had set in overnight. Slowly he opened his eyes, looking to see if either of his companions was awake.
He sat up stiffly as he realized he was no longer in the inn.
"Ah, awake at last," cooed a voice from the shadows. Iver tensed.
"Who are you?" he asked of the darkness, his voice shaking.
Silence answered his question.
"What—what do you want with me?" he asked, his voice strangled as he fought to suppress the blind panic burning in his chest.
Slowly a large man emerged from the shadows. He was tall and lean and clad entirely in Dark Brotherhood armor. A mask covered his face, and all that Iver could see was the reflection of the candlelight dancing in his eyes. He was smiling; Iver shuddered as the cold, seemingly soulless eyes bored into him.
The stranger remained silent. The dagger that hung on his belt glowed an eerie red in the darkness.
"Please," Iver moaned. "Please…let me go…"
The assassin drew nearer to Iver, moving forward until his shrouded face was mere inches from his captive's.
"Perhaps," he said, his voice a venomous whisper.
Before Iver's eyes, the assassin vanished into thin air.