This update has been a little while in coming, and I apologise. Uni started again and I also obsessively played through both Knights of the Old Republic games. Also, a warm welcome to any and all new readers, it's nice to have you along. Morrowind belongs to Bethesda, enjoy. -D

The next two days were busy for everyone except Winterbell. Shops and houses were decorated with flags and pennants, and the inns filled with visitors, mostly farmers. Temporary guar pens were set up outside the town as the best of the herd were gathered for judging. Everywhere people smiled and broke into spontaneous song, the warmer weather lifted the spirits of one and all.

If it could be done, then there was a contest for it. Housewives proudly baked their favourite family recipes, youths practiced sparring with wooden staves day and night, and old women gathered in cackling groups to show off their needlework and look at the young men. Young women counted their coins and purchased bright new dresses.

Winterbell holed up in her house, away from the noise and barnyard smell and made potions. Her indifference was all an act though, for every time she paused to look out the window she couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation.

The day finally dawned, bright and clear. Winterbell had vowed that she would not be getting out of bed any earlier than normal, but after finding herself wide awake at dawn she gave in and joined the other early-risers in wandering around the town. Even at this hour the contest registration, set up in the Hlaalu council house, was packed. The council house was full of half-familiar faces, and a disconcerting number of people seemed to at least recognise her, even if they didn't know her.

Winterbell stomped on feet and snarled and pushed her way to the Bosmer in charge of the archery, javelin, and flower arranging competitions.
"Flower arr-?"
"Archery," Winterbell cut him off. "Longbow amateur division."
"Uhh…of course. Name, and…I'll tell you when you're scheduled."

It was with great relief that Winterbell finally escaped the council house, with her number and time scrawled on a piece of parchment. She saw Marayan still mid-queue but couldn't get close enough to talk.

The Mage's Guild didn't hold any competitions, as amateur magical events were considered too dangerous for all involved. Instead they held displays and advertised for new apprentices. Ajira had no skill with spells, and so she joined Winterbell as she wandered around.
"I can't believe how many of our people are going in competitions," Estirdalin enthused. "It's never happened before, you're in archery, Masaline and her boyfriend are going in the dance competition, and Marayan said he was going to compete in something as well."
"He's going in the ring," Winterbell said.
"What? Combat? Is he crazy?"
"Very possibly."

There was a cold laugh and a tall Nordic woman sauntered over. Estirdalin pressed her lips into a disapproving line.
"Hello Eydis. Enjoying the displays?"
"They are…the same as every year. I hear you Mages are having some internal problems."
"Nothing the Fighter's Guild need concern itself with."
Winterbell watched the exchange; rather puzzled as she had no idea the Guilds had any animosity towards each other. Ajira looked a bit surprised as well.
"Well, it is nice to see you're getting out a bit more. It can't be healthy, spending all that time reading books."
"I think you'll find we're healthy enough."
Eydis's steel gaze flicked over Winterbell, "Well you don't look it, to be blunt."
Winterbell gave a chuckle that showed a lot of teeth, "We'll just have to see, won't we?"
"Seriously though, you might want to reconsider some of your entries. There's no magic allowed in the ring."
"I didn't know you followed the amateur fights." Estirdalin raised an eyebrow.
"Well, between you and me, there's going to be something special this year. Our recruits have been top-notch. It's a shame that Redguard couldn't participate though," the fighter mused, "he was last seen heading into the Ashlands…I hope the blight monsters didn't get him. Ah well…I have rather a lot to organise. I'll see you ringside." And with that she turned and walked away, her plaits swinging behind her.

"Did that sound vaguely threatening to anyone else?" Winterbell asked no one in particular.
"Estir, what's going on?" Ajira asked.
The Altmer sighed, "It's…it's personal. Eydis got on quite well with Ranis, which should tell you what kind of person she is. And she doesn't get on with me at all…we've clashed before. Although I think she did go a bit far," she frowned, "there's no need to insult Winterbell or drag Marayan's fight into this."
"We should tell him," Ajira said.
"Tell him what?" Winterbell affected unconcern, "He's going into the ring with open eyes. We'll all be there; they won't be allowed to cheat."
"Then I shall keep my sight sharp," Ajira vowed.
"Speaking of sharp sight, I have an archery competition soon. I'm going to collect my things, get in early if you want good seats."

Winterbell lined up with the other archers, but as she pulled on her supple leather gloves her thoughts were elsewhere. Eydis had been rude and threatening, but underneath her words Winterbell sensed a current of fear. She stood in the bright sunshine and watched the activity warily.
"We're going to miss the ring being blooded," one of her competitors said to his companion sorrowfully. Winterbell nodded thoughtfully, she remembered in Cyrodil, watching the adjudicator kill an animal, usually a rat, and drip the blood onto the sands of the ring. Symbolic blood for a symbolic war.
"I certainly hope so," she replied softly, almost to herself.

Winterbell noticed little bar the flight of her own arrows during the competition. At first she was considered a joke entry, but as the scores mounted and the number of competitors dropped people started to take notice of the old woman with the bonemould bow. Winterbell was faintly aware of the mages cheering her on, and once she caught a glimpse of Marayan's smile.

THUD.
"She's out!" The Dunmer who was both judging and commentating nodded to Winterbell, who felt quite relieved to be able to sit down and un-kink her fingers. She joined the other eliminated competitors on the grass nearby to the applause of the crowd and gratefully accepted a drink.

"Third place! Well done!" Winterbell couldn't hold back a grin as the other mages gathered around and slapped her on the back.
"It was only the amateur division," Winterbell protested, nodding towards the current crop of archers, most of whom were Imperial troops.
"Still, not to be sneezed at," Estirdalin proclaimed.
Winterbell caught Marayan's eye, "You up to beat that?"
The mage grinned, "I think so."
"You be careful," Ajira admonished, "I don't want to have to patch you up."
"That's what she said." He nodded at Winterbell with a mock-scowl. "It's so nice to know you all have confidence in me."
"Ugh," Winterbell realised that she'd forgotten breakfast in the excitement, "I'm going to find something to eat. I'll see you ringside."

Winterbell put away her bow and wandered among the stalls looking for something that wasn't deep fried or pure sugar. She found an Argonian selling little cakes filled with scrib jelly and bought three of them. She lunched leaning against the wall of the Fighter's Guild and trying not to get in anyone's way.

A Breton woman in netch leather came out of the Guildhall leading a small group of young men and women who all looked rather nervous. Winterbell watched them go past and seriously considered that she could lose her bet with Marayan.

Still, she couldn't shake the prickling feeling that something was wrong somewhere. Somewhere today she had seen someone almost familiar who shouldn't have been there.

"Psst! Spellwright." Winterbell jumped and glared towards the shaded alley behind the Guildhall from which the entreaty had issued. Glancing around to make sure no one else had heard anything she stalked into the shadows.

To her surprise she didn't recognise the scrappy Dunmer who bobbed his head before her. He was dressed like a peasant, and looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in six months. His gaze was furtive and calculating.
"Who or what are you?" Winterbell asked her lip curling towards a sneer.
"I'm Fast Eddie, not-quite-ex-Telvanni, right? There aren't too many of us out west, are there eh? We should stick together."
"I do not 'stick together' with anyone. So unless you have something useful to impart I'll be on my way."
"All right, all right," he said hurriedly. "It figures you important people would be busy. Look, I found this guy in the river-"
"And what were you doing in the river?"
"Dunnin't matter now. The point is he was in the Southwall Cornerclub last night, shooting his mouth off about how he'd been sponsored. He came here for the competitions."
"Which competitions?" Winterbell asked suspiciously.
"Combat." Eddie nodded significantly. "I uhh…overheard Eydis and the mages earlier. You might want to look out for your mate there."
"Is this man still alive?" Winterbell asked urgently.
"He's an Orc. And even Orcs can't take too many blows to the head with an axe."
"All right. What do you want then? Gold?"
"What do you mean, Spellwright?" Eddie blinked ingratiatingly.
"I haven't time for diplomacy. You helped me for a reason, so spit it out."
"I just want you to let me come back to the House. When you've gotten rid of Gotheren- he's the withered old bastard who chucked me out."
"You want to go back?"
"Life isn't easy for me here. I can't get work, and I hate lying to my Mother in all the letters I write-"
"All right, you can come back. If you continue to make yourself useful."
"How do I know you'll keep your word?"
"You don't." Winterbell strode away, her face grim.

The fighting had started by the time Winterbell arrived, but she didn't recognise either of the young competitors. Marayan had apparently been scheduled for later. Winterbell wove through the crowd until she found the judge with the list of challengers.
"I saw you in the archery," he said. "Do you want to sign up for combat as well?"
"No, I just need some information. Have any of the challengers not shown up yet? Any Orcs?"
"We've had a few drop-outs, but no one's gone missing." He consulted his list, "There are only three Orcs competing. They've all shown up."
Winterbell frowned, "Hmm…well…are any of them sponsored?"
"Yes, we've got one sponsored by the Fighter's Guild."
"What does sponsorship mean exactly?" Winterbell asked.
"It means you don't have to fight all these farm boys. Only the Guild or the Legion can sponsor people, it means you go immediately into qualified rounds. It saves time."
"Have you seen this sponsored Orc?"
"Yeah, big guy with an axe. If you ask me he should be in the professional competition, but I assume the Guild knows what it's doing."
Winterbell let out a breath, "I think the Guild has a good idea."

Winterbell pinched her nose and tried to blot out the clamour of the festival and think. Of course, she realized, it could be this entire business was between two Orcs who wanted sponsorship, and have nothing to do with Marayan, but Winterbell wasn't convinced by her own reasoning. But she had no proof; and she doubted Eddie would back her up in public, even if she'd been willing to have anything to do with a known Telvanni.

Winterbell spotted a familiar figure heading toward the Fighter's Guild. She bared her teeth in a humourless smile, "Eydis." If anyone knew what was going on it was she.

Winterbell wished she had time to collect a weapon from her house, but couldn't risk losing the Nord. A few minutes after the warrior entered the Fighter's Guild, Winterbell followed.

The Guild was deserted and reeked faintly of oil and sweat. Winterbell closed the door gently behind her, her senses straining for any noise. Winterbell crept forward, and peered around the corner at the base of the stairs.
"I'm surprised you had the courage to follow me." The words dripped with bitter venom. "And now, my love, we finish this."
Winterbell turned to look up the stairs, "What the-? Ungh!"
A small throwing knife lodged itself in Winterbell's shoulder, and such was the force of the surprise attack the mage staggered and nearly fell against some barrels, blinking back tears of pain.

Outside, under one of the shade tents, Marayan waited patiently for his turn to fight, his shortsword held loosely and confidently in his hand. For the tenth time he scanned the crowd and wondered what on Nim was keeping Winterbell.