Special thanks to 16DarkMidnight80, who goes over these chapters. ^_^
-L-
"Lord Kanvanni, Lady Zazaraya, allow me to welcome you to my brother's court," I declared, curtsying properly. Behind me, Lilvesi began to play something pleasant, but clearly meant as background music, unremarkable. Given the occasional response from the flutist—I heard his voice, but not his words—I expect they were discussing how to arrange matters, musically speaking.
If he felt grumpy about the Dunmer musician being the honored musical talent of the night, he must have kept it to himself. He'd better.
Kanvanni wore deep crimson, Zazaraya a bright scarlet. Both still gleamed with bangles and jewelry, looking like illustrations straight out of a travelogue.
"It is a pleasure, Lady Grey—or should I call you Lady Stormcloak here?" Kanvanni asked, bowing deeply, one hand over his heart.
"As it pleases you, my lord—ah, my brother, you remember Lord Kanvanni and his lady-wife?"
Ulfric, who had arrived after being informed that the first guests were here, beamed, shaking Kanvanni's hand and bowing over Zazaraya's. "Of course, Lord Kanvanni, Lady Zazaraya—I'm glad you were able to accept our invitation." Then, gesturing to Sofie, who regarded the Khajiit pair—or, rather, their clothes and adornments—with wide-eyed wonder, "Permit me to introduce my niece, Sofie. Leandra's daughter."
"Most certainly," Kanvanni inclined his head, regarding the girl with focus, but without real interest.
Zazaraya, however, dropped to one knee. Her tone indicated she was a mother several times over, containing equal parts indulgence and gravity. "I thank you, little m'izhra, for your invitation. Alas, I have left my grandchildren in Elsweyr, or I should have gladly brought them to make your acquaintance."
Sofie curtsied politely. "I regret the lost opportunity, my lady," she answered very formally… but with the air of someone who wasn't sure she was answering correctly.
"Ah, that is refreshing," Zazaraya almost purred as she rose to her feet. "Her manners are exquisite. It is always wonderful to see a well-trained child."
A furrow appeared between Sofie's brows, as if she wasn't sure whether Zazaraya was patronizing her or not. I rather thought not.
"I hope you'll forgive us for being early?" Kanvanni asked. "But we did hope for a moment to thank you for adding us to your fete at the last minute as you have."
"Not at all. It was best for everyone: many members of Windhelm's trade will be here," Ulfric answered smoothly. "If one wishes to discuss such things, then these will be the persons with whom to discuss it."
"Oh, indeed?" Kanvanni asked, cocking his head thoughtfully. "How very fortuitous for us, is it not, my flower?" He turned to regard his wife.
"Indeed, fortuitous," she agreed, casting blandly around the room.
Mother arrived the next moment, her best hostess' smile in place. "This is my mother," I said, indicating her. "Lady Arabeth Ashlynn. Mother, Lord Kanvanni and Lady Zazaraya of Elsweyr."
Mother curtsied properly. "It is a pleasure to meet you both. I hope your journeys in Skyrim have not been too arduous?"
"The cold takes some getting used to," Kanvanni answered politely, but with the twist of smile a man wears when leaving certain strategic points out of a story—namely that the chill wasn't all in the weather. "But apart from that, the scenery here is quite unique. Nothing like home."
"Hopefully you'll find my hearth more hospitable than the roads," Ulfric observed, the words steeped in formality and ritual. Normally, it would let a guest know to move along, that the host had to greet the next individual.
Kanvanni, not knowing that, and without anyone behind him, took it as one of those courtesies exchanged by high-bred people. "Oh, of that I have no doubt. I am surprised you should be so eager for our company this evening, however."
"Leandra makes it her business to know who is visiting my Hold," Ulfric answered, unblushingly. "When she suggests I make an invitation, I generally follow her suggestions."
"Wise, on the whole, to listen to the lady of your house. Is that not so, my love?" Zazaraya declared playfully. When Kanvanni ruefully agreed—rueful, while still looking smug, I might add—she changed the subject. "But I wonder, for whom is this fete being held?"
"For the Lady Marguerite Roche-Guyon," Ulfric answered. "To celebrate her glorious skill in the face of… miscreants with more charisma than sense."
"Oh, indeed? I should like to hear this story," Zazaraya smiled.
"I'd be delighted to share it with you, as I was there. Perhaps over warm wine?" Mother asked, indicating the long table set with food and drink. There were more savory foods available for the adults, but no less showily adorned than the sweets provided for the children.
Mother and Zazaraya broke off, talking animatedly, Kanvanni drifting along after them.
"Are they always like that?" Sofie asked, round eyed as if she didn't quite know what to think.
Ulfric chuckled, putting a big hand on her shoulder. "I'm afraid so. Don't worry, they don't mean anything by it."
Within moments, Thane Brunwulf and Torbjon Shatter-Shield—coaxed out of his usual isolation, it appeared—arrived. Torbjorn still had that worn, weathered look of one who suffers terrible things, but this time, looking at him, I didn't think 'there's on not long for this world.' He did seem to be regaining some strength, but slowly, oh, very slowly.
Guests continued to trickle in over the next fifteen minutes or so. In Skyrim, being 'fashionably late' is not considered appropriate behavior. If the host says that the event begins at X time, then people have finished arriving by X time, plus one minute. It's a Skyrim hospitality thing: the host has opened his home, and it's inappropriate for a guest to try to dictate when things happen or how they happen, by holding up the meal or other entertainments with their tardiness.
It's a thing in other provinces, to be fashionable late, but it's considered extremely bad manners in Skyrim—you might not be invited back if you're too late without a decent reason.
So when the clock struck six, Ulfric and I greeted the last of the guests, unsurprisingly, the parents of Sofie's little friends, and the little friends they were responsible for. The first couple—Brimne's mother and father, the mother being the one who suggested my Sofie put on airs—were vulgar in the extreme, in that it couldn't be clearer they saw an opportunity to advance themselves through their daughter's friendship with my daughter. While they were babbling at me, obsequious and unctuous, Brimne cast Sofie a look, unseen by her parents, which seemed to say 'I am so sorry about them.'
Sofie, also unseen by Brimne's parents, grinned and caught her friend's hand to give it a squeeze, as if to say 'don't worry about it. It's not your fault.' Whatever failings her parents exhibited, it seemed that Brimne was a decent person.
Behind Brimne's family was another young girl about Sofie's age, who looked absolutely transported with delight at being here. Her father, however, looked quite grim. I did recognize him, I realized, and further consideration identified him as a member of the City Watch.
"My lord Jarl, Lady Stormcloak," he bowed deeply, his daughter curtsying as well. The effect on her part was rather diminished because she caught Sofie's eyes, grinned to reveal a single roguish dimple in one cheek but not the other, and giggled.
Sofie stifled a responding giggle, trying so hard to remain dignified.
"I owe you my deepest apologies for the way my wife's been conducting herself," he said sourly. "I wasn't aware that she had been so rude with regards to your daughter and our daughter remaining playfellows." It sounded like a bitter pill.
"Of course, your apology is accepted. May I ask where the lady, your wife, is?"
He snorted. "At home. It wouldn't be proper for her to be here, when she didn't approve of our girls remaining friends, not until she started getting invited to parties," he answered heavily.
"Sofie, this is the last of your guests. Why don't you take her and the others into the room and you all can get started?" At the moment, the children were still hanging about with their adult chaperones, so no one would get into the sweets and ruin the display before the part actually started.
"Of course!" Sofie curtsied to Mother, Ulfric and I, then grabbed her playmate's hand, and the two darted off in a patter of soft shoes.
"I hope you won't think too poorly of my wife," the guard continued, now that his daughter was out of earshot. "She's not malicious, only a bit flighty, and very conscience of social standing—those who have it ought to stick to their own kind," he explained. "And perhaps she was a bit too quick to agree to your invitation, not thinking about how it might look. Again, I do apologize. There's been no malice or avarice here, lady. Just silliness." It sounded as if he had had to explain this several times to several different people in recent weeks.
"It's quite understandable," I answered smoothly, seeing that Ulfric didn't really know what to say to this. "And very kind of you to explain the situation. Please assure your wife that although Sofie is my daughter, I do not intend to sever her from her friends. Children need other children, after all."
The guard smiled a little, nodding. "True enough. I hope that Sofie and Ella can pick up where they left off."
"As do I. Sofie doesn't run and play as much as a child should. May I tempt you with refreshment?"
The guard shook his head. "No, my lady, thank you. If it's all the same, I'll be back later to collect Ella." He glanced doubtfully at the full room. "It's not exactly a crowd I'm accustomed to, if you know what I mean."
"I do, certainly. And may I re-extend the invitation to your wife, now that you've explained the situation?"
"Perhaps in future, but not tonight. Thank you all the same, my lady." He bowed again, then withdrew.
Ulfric sighed, as if unsure what to make of this. "Shall we bring in our guests of honor?"
I immediately set off to the anteroom where Marguerite and Monsieur were waiting. "It's time!" I declared, looking from one to the other, wondering how Windhelm natives—even the Mer—would take Marguerite, whose pregnancy was now quite obvious, sailing in on this massive Orsimer's arm.
"Have the children already retired?" Monsieur asked.
"They have—I imagine we'll be hearing shrieks of delight all evening."
He nodded, looking well-pleased by this. Then, he offered his arm to Marguerite, who chuckled like a young girl and accepted it. I returned to the great hall. "To all assembled," I announced clearly and loudly, the chatter ceasing, "the guest of honor, Lady Marguerite Roche-Guyon, recognized by the House of Stormcloak for her courage, coolness under pressure, and unerring aim."
I stepped aside, Marguerite and Monsieur entering the room, crossing to stand before Ulfric's throne to pay him a polite obeisance.
Sure enough, the whispers and murmurs were immediate—and I'm sorry, while being not sorry, to say that it wasn't just the Nords who found the idea of an Altmer-Orsimer couple discomforting. At least it was a widespread prejudice, which goes to show that it isn't just the Nords who have myopic mindsets.
Then again, I'll admit I would find a human-Argonian couple, or a Khajiiti-elven couple rather strange and questionable. I certainly would mind my manners as if I didn't, however. No need to alienate a potential ally or business associate, after all. Moher ensured I was well-schooled in all manner of social niceties.
"Citizens of Windhelm," Ulfric began, addressing the room at large.
And, sure enough, from the anteroom, came several high-pitched cheers of delight, which left the adults chuckling among themselves.
"It is my honor to invite you to enjoy the hospitality of my hearth. Permit me for this evening to call you my friends, and to entreat you to share my table."
Brittle smiles and polite applause from the Dunmer, though Niranye—easily visible because of her height—seemed to be earnest in her applause. This was, after all, more of an effort than Ulfric had ever made before.
Ulfric stepped down from his throne and began to compliment Marguerite to the company, while Monsieur looked pleased as punch at the praise being offered to his wife.
Lilvesi began to play again, the rest of the musicians holding off until they got the gist of the song before joining in extempore. The sound was bright, enthusiastic, and quite foreign, despite the majority of familiar instruments.
I made a beeline over to the door to the anteroom, and peeped in, to find the children laughing and chatting hard, splitting their attention between plates of food and a beanbag-throwing game drawn out in chalk on the floor. Anne, Ella, and Sofie seemed to be spearheading the game. The children from Lucinda's Creche and the Dunmer children who had come with their parents, did not give the impression of feeling left out—but they had a wariness, as if they weren't sure what to think of being included in this fashion.
Nevertheless, everyone had a plate (Anne was holding Sofie's), and no one seemed shy about loading it up.
I shut the door silently, making a mental note to check on the children again in about half an hour. Discreetly, of course. I wouldn't want Sofie to think I was looking over her shoulder for mistakes or anything like that.
-L-
As the evening progressed, groups formed, split, and reformed. Eventually, Mother, Zazaraya and Marguerite ended up in a cluster, seated on a bench—well, Zazaraya and Marguerite were sitting, Mother stood facing them—with Zazaraya and Marguerite chatting back and forth animatedly.
Kanvanni stood with several members of the trade—all Nords, though he'd spoken to a cluster of Dunmer tradesman earlier—speaking casually, with many hand gestures, his tail flicking back and forth.
Erald stood near Ingina, having preferred not to spend his evening with playful children. He might be bored from non-participation, but his attention wandered all over the room, so it was not as though he had nothing of interest to occupy his mind.
Monsieur was chatting to a mixed cluster of people, including Ulfric, expansive and audible over the crowd. "The thing that must be remembered is that the art and the space it is in must balance one another! They must not be fighting, or the art becomes lost in the architecture, and the architecture lost to the art. Where does one look? No. One must focus on either the art, or the architecture. They must coexist, not war with each other."
"You throw a very fine party, Lady Stormcloak," Niranye announced, sailing up to me.
"Thank you, Niranye. I'm glad you were able to attend."
"Oh, I wouldn't have missed it for anything," she replied amiably. "I've always hoped to be invited to a palace fete. That is the one thing about living in Skyrim: amusements are so few and far between! Especially here in Eastmarch."
"Why pick Eastmarch, then?"
Niranye shrugged. "I liked the sound of it, when I first came, and liked that it was close to the Morrowind border. I hoped for more cross-border trade than actually happens. And by the time I decided I might like somewhere else better, I was too installed here to simply pack up and go." She shrugged again, as if to say 'such is life.'
"I can understand that, certainly. May I inquire as to how you became a friend?"
Niranye smiled. "The usual way: by degrees. Speaking of friends, I wonder whether you found that particular book appropriate."
"Oh, vastly appropriate for me, less appropriate for children. I wouldn't mind more of similar items for my personal library," I answered smoothly.
"I'm certain it can be arranged, my lady," Niranye answered cheerfully.
-L-
When Brunwulf finally approached me, I'd ensconced myself with Mother to listen to Marguerite and Zazaraya's conversation. That is not to imply that either was seeking to exclude anyone, but because the two of them were so well-matched in wit, cleverness, and guile, it was too much a privilege to be allowed to sit and listen for anyone to be dumb enough to interpose themselves.
Rapier comments, quick-stop ripostes, cutting observations, and a general enjoyment of matching faculties against a true peer made the conversation a joy to witness. It was clear that Marguerite was trying to get Zazaraya to expose her real reasons for being here, and just as clear that Zazaraya not only knew this, but didn't mind taking the risk for the sake of bantering with someone similarly gifted. Being allowed to watch and listen, to drink in the exchange was a luxury; when one is actually involved, one has less brain power to devote to observation and appreciation.
So I was not well-pleased when Brunwulf stepped up and asked for my attention. "Lady Stormcloak? I'm so sorry to interrupt."
"Of course, Brunwulf. What is it?" I got to my feet, though, predicting he would want a private word.
"Might I speak with you in the library? I'm afraid it won't wait."
"Of course."
With that, we departed. I shut the door behind us, and Brunwulf sighed heavily. "Thank you for your time, my lady."
"Certainly. I always have time for one so invested in Windhelm's wellbeing."
"I'm afraid it is about that wellbeing that I've come to speak with you." Brunwulf said, ignoring the obligatory politeness. "But first, I hope you will permit me to explain myself."
"Certainly." I sat down in one of the padded chairs, folding my hands in my lap, and gave him my attention.
Brunwulf began slowly. So much so that whatever this is about is obviously very important and incredibly sensitive. "Windhelm has been my home all my life. All my father's life. All his father's life. We stopped counting generations of Free-Winters who have lived here. And always, though we have never held the post of Thane before the honor was conferred upon me, we have tried to protect our home. To make it strong, that our sons might inherit more than a heap of moldering stone," he said finally.
I'm not going to like this, am I? Then again, I knew I wouldn't when poor Suvaris was so nervous. But now that he feels the need to reinforce his family's historic dedication wo Windhelm? I know I'm really not going to like this.
"It's true that Windhelm has seldom been kind to foreigners, although it is also true that it has never been as bad as it is now. The isolation of the Argonians? Ulfric's father. Banning the Khajiit from even entering the city? Ulfric in his father's footsteps."
"With the nation of Elsweyr being so sympathetic to the Thalmor, I can understand his reluctance to give them free access to his city," I allowed smoothly. Tactically, yes, I understand it. However, that hope of keeping spies out of the city has come with a price. And I really don't think the Caravans are here as spies. Not in the truest sense of being so, anyway; they can't help what they overhear, and I imagine they overhear quite a bit.
Brunwulf sighed. "And that is, perhaps, true. But it doesn't change the tone that has sunk into my home. I understand why Ulfric pulled this province into war. I even agree that it was done according custom, with all forms having been obeyed. But however great a general he is, however excellent a soldier… his service as a Jarl has been terribly underwhelming. Could it be anything else, with his closest confidante a man who needs must always be fighting someone?" Then, looking haggard but with something like hope shining in his eyes, "And then he allowed you to join his advisory council. I'll admit, I didn't think much of it at the time. It would be too easy to ignore a woman's counsel either as a woman's counsel, or if he had Galmar shouting in his other ear. But change has come to Windhelm, slowly, delicately, but change nonetheless—and for the better, all of it in the very short time in which you've been murmuring in Ulfric's ear. If Ulfric fails his city every day by being an incapable manager, you don't. As time has progressed, I see how many of those things at which Ulfric does not excel come into your hands, or into Jorleif's."
I should point out, though I would never refute the charge of Ulfric being a mediocre manager of his Hold and capital, that Ulfric doesn't actually tax the Dunmer any differently than he taxes his Nord citizens. Nor are the Argonians burdened with a tax greater than that paid by anyone else. I imagined it would be so, but have since discovered that it isn't. In the eyes of the law—with regard to taxes, anyway—all in the Hold are treated equally.
"And to all his trusted Thanes," I put in gently.
"My only excuse is that I wished to do what was best for Windhelm," Brunwulf said tiredly.
"What are you trying to tell me, Brunwulf? Assure yourself, it matters that you've come to me with something obviously with great explosive potential. You thought I could help, somehow. Very well, tell me what burdens you so, and I shall endeavor to help." And, perhaps, even mitigate associated troubles that might arise from whatever this is.
He closed his eyes, then took a deep breath as if about to throw himself from a high place. "There's an Imperial presence hidden here in Windhelm. I've known about it for some time. Too long, Galmar and Ulfric would happily tell me." He didn't sound afraid of being hung as a traitor. In fact, I had the impression he was more afraid of being branded a traitor at all, because it would dishonor his motives, and the name Free-Winter which, as he took pains to tell me, is a family name that has long had Windhelm's interests at heart.
"How large?" I asked without blinking.
Brunwulf looked at me, as if the pragmatic question, rather than an explosive outburst, surprised him. "Six to eight, I think."
"Friends of yours?"
"Not exactly. Say, rather, that I discovered their existence, but had no contact with them."
"Where are they, now?"
"Hidden," Brunwulf answered. "And that is part of the source of the… delicacy… of the problem."
"Hidden in the Snow Quarter, perhaps?" I surmised. It didn't surprise me in the slightest. Well, that there was an Imperial presence here did, not where they were hiding though. If it wasn't the Argonian Assemblage—and I don't think you could hide an Imperial presence among them—it would have to be among the Dunmer.
Brunwulf actually blanched. "You're very astute."
"I am. It's part of my job. Which is why I'm surprised you're telling me about this. If there is an Imperial faction hiding within the Snow Quarter, then they are doing so with the knowledge of at least some of the inhabitants. As you say, Ulfric is very unpopular. I don't think the Dunmer would appreciate you coming to me… and you stand very high in their esteem. For a Nord."
"Some of them won't," Brunwulf answered, not contesting my 'for a Nord' comment. "But as it becomes more and more obvious who is going to win this war—barring intervention of some divine magnitude—others are beginning to worry about what happens when these Imperials are discovered. Also… I think the Imperials themselves have begun planning what to do when Solitude falls, and I think it's something the Dunmer of the Snow Quarter would rather not be attached to, even circumspectly. Because, of course, it would be a suicidal mission for the Imperials, while the Dunmer would be left to take the blame for having allowed them sanctuary."
"Because if the Empire had won and regained control of Skyrim, change would have come immediately in sweeping waves, and any Nord who dissented would either be imprisoned or killed. Tit for tat, some might say, for how the Dunmer have been treated. 'We suffered like this for this long, someone has to pay for it,'" I declared, extrapolating the 'best case scenario' for these treacherous elves. Because it is treachery, although 'treachery' is often the word for a crime that allows the winner to hang the loser, legally and without fuss.
I simply don't approve of the Legion, puppets to the Thalmor as they are. So, naturally, I feel the Dunmer have made a very poor alliance.
Brunwulf winced. "That opinion has been expressed."
"You disagree?"
"Of course I disagree!" Brunwulf snapped. "If we forever look to our pasts, how can we see our way into the future? Yes, there is great bitterness. Yes, there are old scars that will not heal in my lifetime or in yours. But while some of the Dumner wouldn't mind seeing their Nord neighbors on the receiving end of difficulty, most feel the kind of difficulty the Legion might stir up would be too extreme. And, again, would result in more of the same, or worse, levelled in their directions."
Ah, if there's one thing I can count on in people, it's the tendency to value their own hides. It's the altruistic, self-sacrificing ones who throw sand in the ointment. "It was pointed out to me by an Altmer merchant that the Dunmer's biggest problem is a refusal to integrate. That if they had bent their stiff necks and not to tried to establish a piece of Morrowind in Windhelm when they arrived, they might not be having the problems they're having."
"I can't speak to that, my lady," Brunwulf answered. "As with all problems, there is fault on both sides. My only concern is preventing my city from becoming as blood soaked as the rest of the Empire. Your concern for Windhelm, your care in helping administer it, has earned you a favorable opinion. I think the hope is that you might intercede when the Imperials are arrested and someone needs must be held responsible."
That's a reasonable hope. "Are you speaking on behalf of the Snow Quarter?"
"Parts of it," came the guarded answer. "There remain those who would like to see the city of Windhelm harmed, but most of them? No, that's going too far. They live here, too, whatever the lifestyle."
"But there are extremes for every viewpoint," I pointed out gently. "And we shouldn't judge the whole by the extreme."
Brunwulf nodded. "I must admit, however cautious the Dunmer seem to be about your… reformative activities… I think you'll find success with them. You're an outsider, or were, so your different mindset is expected, versus what has been considered typical before now."
"Then we must find ways to integrate the two societies living within Windhelm, as they clearly have failed to do. But let me make this clear to you, specifically: I will not favor the Dunmer simply because of how hard they feel they've had things, or because they have my sympathy. There has been too much 'favoring' done in this city already."
"I would expect nothing else… and will endeavor to make it clear that fairness is more desirable than the favor of pity," Brunwulf answered.
I nodded approval. "Now. About these Imperials. Where are they?"
Brunwulf balked, then swallowed hard. "There's a back room at the New Gnisis Cornerclub," he answered. "They stay there. Hidden. Ambarys allowed them in before the war started, and he handles their affairs publically. But he's getting nervous about it. As I said, I think they have some sort of suicidal plan to launch when Solitude falls, while Windhelm is fairly empty."
"Then we have plenty of time to swoop in and capture them. And I have time to discuss the matter with Ulfric, so when it is handled, it will be handled reasonably. Will you trust me to act in everyone's best interests, seeing that your friends have done their best to come forward in a city that does not encourage such actions?" I asked.
Brunwulf exhaled, long and slowly. "With that outlook, how can I not?"
"Then let's rejoin the party. We can discuss what do to about these Imperials later. If they're not planning to oust themselves before Solitude falls, we have some time."
