Nariilu finally wiped her brow and said her goodbyes for the evening to Balimund and Asbjorn well after the sun had set. The armor was coming along nicely and much quicker than Nariilu could've done herself. Asbjorn was a prodigy at keeping the flames the perfect temperature for the ebony, a notoriously fickle metal. Balimund was much stronger than she was, and hammered down the ingots into sheets while she worked on the finer shaping aspects.
The deafening rhythm of their hammers and the harsh blow of the forge bellows made it easy for Nariilu to slip into a meditative routine. Hammer. Turn. Heat. Hammer. Twist. Hammer. It was well worth the ringing in her ears that would last through the night. The armor was as much for her as it was for Stormcloak. The idleness of waiting for Etienne's reply would have driven her to Sheogorath.
She would have worked through the night, if Balimund didn't pointedly mention that the neighbors would complain if they kept up the racket much later. The orphans next door needed their sleep, and Constance was much too timid to complain. It's why Balimund opened shop much later than other merchants, he explained.
Divines, Constance. Nariilu took a hurried look over her shoulder towards the orphanage as she made her way back through the streets and alleys of Riften. She really should check and see how the poor girl was holding up. The war had left an influx of children for Constance to take care of, and with Grelod gone…the children were much better off.
Still, it couldn't be easy for one woman to take care of that many children by herself. Maybe she should ask Iona to help at Honorhall occasionally. Iona would probably refuse, or, if she did help, the children would likely learn how to handle a dagger with more knowledge than they should at their first decade.
Not necessarily a bad idea, Nariilu thought, walking past a group of loud drunken men Talen-Jei was kicking out of the Bee and Barb. Drinking songs sounded from inside; it was late enough that the evening's leisure drinking was well underway. Ragnar the Red, the off-key notes echoed through the streets. She hummed along, crossing the final bridge before Honeyside.
Muffled sounds could be heard inside. Iona was back, and, by the sounds of it, was arguing with Stormcloak, about Divines knew what. Nariilu opened the door, ready to intervene in case the two hotheaded Nords decided to settle their disagreement in Iona's preferred method.
"-in her pocket!" Iona said. The two were sitting casually at the dining table; if Nariilu was observing from afar, she'd have thought they were discussing something as non-consequential as the weather. Up close, Nariilu noticed the tension each carried, Iona, in her neck, Stormcloak, in his fist clenched on the table. They were so engrossed in their argument that neither noticed her walk in, or, if they did, neither gave any indication.
"And if she was funding the Thieves Guild, there would be outrage from the other Jarls!" Stormcloak replied. "She'd be deposed!"
"Obviously, the Jarls don't know!" Iona fired back, partially talking over Stormcloak.
"How could we not know? I've inspected Maven's books; they're flawless. Not a Septim unaccounted for!"
Nariilu spoke up, sending a pointed look at Iona. "I thought I banned discussion of that bitch in this house, Iona."
"My Thane," Iona said, slightly nodding in her direction, "I was simply explaining the Jarl's…politics."
"According to your Housecarl," Stormcloak said, "Maven Blackbriar is nothing more than a lying, thieving criminal."
"Iona, I'm disappointed," Nariilu said, "you didn't mention how she's also two-faced skeever?"
Iona shrugged. "I was going to mention it eventually. By the way, she sent an invitation over." Iona handed a flawlessly folded letter to Nariilu. "It seems you've been invited to feast with her."
Nariilu looked over the letter. The broken wax seal had been embossed with the Blackbriar crest, now overlain with the symbol of Riften. She blinked at the text; Maven's own looping handwriting, normally reserved for signatures and direct complaints to General Tullius, that the soldiers were interrupting her mead distribution. This was important to her, if she risked her delicate little fingers penning her own letter.
Thane Therel and Ulfric Stormcloak,
It is my distinct pleasure as Jarl of Riften to invite the both of you to a banquet held tomorrow, 24th, First Seed 4E 202 at Mistveil Keep. The pleasure of your company will shine a light on this new era in Skyrim's history, and will strengthen the bonds between old friends and new allies. Please arrive between 6:30 and 7:30. Dinner will be served at 8. Formal attire required.
I look forwards to welcoming you into my home,
Jarl Maven Blackbriar of Riften
"Stormcloak," Nariilu said, ripping the invitation in two, "how familiar you with Maven Blackbriar?"
"I've known Maven for a long time," Stormcloak said, some of the tension leaving him. "Excellent businesswoman. I'm not surprised the Empire made her Jarl; she's been controlling the economy in the Rift for years. She's always taken a harsh stance on thieves, and would never associate with the Guild-then again, I assumed the great Dragonborn wouldn't stoop so low, either."
"You met with the Guild?" Iona asked. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes narrowed. Nariilu knew how much she hated the Guild, and anyone else who relied on underhanded tactics to get what they wanted. Iona liked to do things up close and personal, and with a large audience, like when she broke a pickpocket's arm in the middle of the market.
"It's a very long story, Iona," Nariilu answered. "The College of Winterhold found themselves in need of a forger to keep the Dominion away. I won't tell you more in case the Thalmor come asking, but know that I'd never associate with those lowlifes if it wasn't for the good of everyone." Iona huffed, but her brow returned to its normal state.
Stormcloak wasn't wrong; any thief that was unfortunate enough to get caught stealing from her company had their hands cut off, if they were lucky. Maven was publicly against any sort of crime, going as far to say that she would 'rid the city of its evil menace' in her speech when she first became Jarl. It wasn't hard to understand why he believed her to be completely innocent, especially since she was so important to the economy.
Still, it wasn't hard to figure that she was lining the pockets of the Thieves Guild. Every merchant in town had to pay 'protection' to the Thieves Guild, or they would find their inventory missing soon after. Every merchant, except the Blackbriar Meadery. She had watched Balimund pay off a Thief more than once. Payments were due every few days, he said. It had only taken a short conversation with the barkeep at the Meadery to confirm that they never made such payments, but he refused to say much more.
Nariilu herself had witnessed Maven strolling through the middle of the city, chatting with someone in full Guild armor. Never mind that Maven had all but confirmed it during the same private brunch that she had proclaimed Nariilu to be 'lowborn scum'.
"We've been on good terms, even throughout the war," Stormcloak continued. "I've never heard such accusation against Maven, even from her competitors. In my experience, she's a kind woman, and I'm sure the other Jarls and merchants she's traded with would agree."
"Let's discuss this over a fine mead," Nariilu said, snatching one of the bottles of Blackbriar Reserve off the mantle. "This one will do, from the Thieves Guildmaster's own collection." She set out three mugs and poured the drinks. "Stormcloak, I'm sure you and I have had vastly different interactions with Maven. Given that she's not a woman that you should refuse an invitation from, for multiple reasons, it seems like the three of us are going to be her guests tomorrow."
"With all due respect-" Iona protested.
"You're going, Iona." Nariilu paused to take a long drink. "She's not going to try and kill us."
Ulfric frowned. He had considered Maven a much needed ally for a long time. Throughout the war, she had been secretly funding his army where she could; slipping a mead barrel full of arrows through an Imperial blockade, "accidentally" directing a cart of rations right to the camp in Dawnstar, all alluded to in her personal letters to him. She had supported him, and when she was made Jarl, Ulfric was overjoyed that one of his allies had crept past the Empire.
From the looks of her invitation, it was a friendship that Maven intended to continue, even given his current position. Ulfric was beyond grateful to this woman he owed so much to. If he ever found himself able to attempt to regain his throne, he had little doubt that Maven would help him in some way.
Perhaps that was why the Dragonborn disliked her. She may have found out about Maven's assistance to his cause, and, obviously, his cause wasn't something the Dragonborn supported.
"Stormcloak," the Dragonborn continued, "All you need to know is that Maven Blackbriar has her hands in every pocket that matters in Skyrim, except mine. I won't play by her backwards rules, and she doesn't like that. I'm not scared of her and her connections, and she can't touch me now that I've made a name for myself in every Hold."
"I don't believe you," Ulfric said. "She's helped me in the past, too many times to count. I may very well owe her my life."
The Dragonborn snorted. "Let me guess, she was aiding your cause? Please, the bitch is probably funding the Thalmor. I can't tell you the number of invoices I saw in Castle Dour with Blackbriar written somewhere on them. If anything, she wanted the war to go on longer so she could keep squeezing money out of the Empire. How much did she charge you for her help?"
"Nothing."
"Yet."
There was no way Maven Blackbriar would have funded the Empire. The rising taxes in recent years had left her openly complaining about the Emperor's inane financial policies at any meeting they had both been at. She was very outspoken about the need for Skyrim's economy to be more independent, Ulfric had adapted some of her rants into his created policies for his Skyrim.
Not that it mattered now.
"She called me a milk-drinker," Iona mentioned, "because I refused to be her mercenary after she killed the last Thane I was appointed to. Not directly, of course, but its no coincidence the Dark Brotherhood killed him a week after he sold Goldenglow Estate to someone other than Maven."
"That's not much proof," Ulfric said. Now they were accusing Maven of working with the Dark Brotherhood, and it was well known that the ruins of the assassins' hideouts had been discovered throughout the Great War, others had been raided by bandits and rioting citizens. "The Dark Brotherhood has been destroyed for years."
"I pulled a contract off the assassin's corpse," Iona said. "Death comes for all of Maven's rivals, soon enough. How many times does it have to happen before it's not a coincidence?"
"Don't be naïve, Stormcloak," the Dragonborn said. "Nothing is ever destroyed, least of all anything with evil at its very core. I'm sure she'll show her true colors tomorrow in some hideous opulence. One time, after I'd just cleared out a cave full of Skooma dealers and bandits for the Jarl-Jarl Law-Giver, not that bitch on the throne now-Maven implied that I'd only known where to find the cave because I was working with them. It wasn't true, of course. Then, at my Thanehood ceremony-"
"Alright, I get it," Ulfric cut her off. The Dragonborn seemed to ramble at the strangest times, be it now about how Maven had wronged her on what seemed to be little more than petty squabbles, or earlier on the road when she described at legnth about how a bird had once followed her inside a barrow and landed on a Draugr. It was best to get her to shut up now before she launched into a full account of every single encounter she'd ever had with Maven Blackbriar. "You hate her."
The Dragonborn held up her palms with a slight smile. "I hate the bitch, yes. I'm glad you understand. I doubt we'll come to physical blows tomorrow evening, but, if that does happen, please join in on my side and not hers."
Nariilu didn't think she could get much more pissed off than she already was about having to go to Maven's little party, but having to stop working on Stormcloak's armor a few hours early in order to get ready for Maven's little party was about to push her over the edge. If she didn't get it finished by the time they left for Winterhold-
Oh, shit.
She had completely forgotten about the entire reason they had come to Riften. Nariilu hit herself on the forehead as she picked up her pace back to Honeyside. Hopefully she hadn't missed Etienne; Iona was out selling the loot she had picked up since her last stop in Riften a few weeks ago, before the beginnings of the siege on Windhelm. She had taken Stormcloak with her, both to keep an eye on him and get him a proper outfit for the evening. Her home was empty, and though she didn't keep anything particularly valuable in Honeyside, there were a few weapons and ingredients she didn't want to leave alone with a Thief or two.
Nariilu swore to the Divines, as she unlocked her door, a good sign in her opinion, if she found anyone that wasn't Iona or Stormcloak in her house, she'd Shout them halfway to Markarth.
"It's about time." Etienne Rarnis lounged at her table, tossing the last of her dried berries in his mouth.
"Did you break in?" Nariilu felt a flash of cold on her fingertips and wiggled her fingers to try and dispel the magic.
"Obviously," Etienne replied. He sat up straighter in the chair. "Anyways, I'm here with the contract. It's pretty short; I didn't want to write any more than that since I'll likely be writing a lot in the coming months." He passed a roll of parchment to Nariilu.
She looked over the parchment carefully for any tiny letters or smears in the ink that could put her and the College in complete bankruptcy. Nothing, other than a small clause about the value of Etienne's own life and hands, if he should find himself dead or otherwise unable to forge. Apparently, the loss of his quill hand would cost fifty thousand Septims, at the very least.
As long as the College kept him safe, which wouldn't be too hard, as long as J'zargo didn't blow him up. Even if something happened, Restoration magic could fix most things that went wrong. Nariilu signed the contract. "How soon can you be ready to leave for Winterhold?"
"The day after tomorrow," Etienne said, taking the contract and slipping it into a hidden pocket on his armor. "I have to finish another job, first."
Those few hours could cost them. "Then we leave at dawn," Nariilu said. "Do you need a horse?"
Etienne paused, grimacing. "I can't ride horses anymore. My leg…" Etienne trailed off. "Well, you saw."
Nariilu had seen, and was more familiar with the technique than she'd let Etienne know. The Thalmor had begun breaking one bone at a time, trying to get information that Etienne didn't have. She wondered how much healing he'd had since then. She'd barely been able to get him walking out of the cells with what little restoration magic she knew and ended up half-carrying him to Solitude. "A carriage, then?"
He nodded.
"Good." A carriage could travel through the night, and put them back on schedule. It was just a matter of getting her own horses there at the same time; they weren't built the same as the carriage horses, and wouldn't be able to travel non-stop for that long. Perhaps she could hire a courier, or send Iona with them to Winterhold? She'd figure it out later. "I suggest you go finish your other job so we can depart on schedule."
Nariilu held her breath as Iona tightened the lacing on her dress. She hated wearing these party gowns; she'd barely be able to Shout if she had to. Maven would likely call her poor for wearing the same dress for a second time, that is, if she remembered the dress from her Thanehood ceremony. Iona wrapped the cording around itself and hid the knot with an ornate sash around Nariilu's waist. "Thank you, Iona."
"Anything else, my Thane?"
"Make sure Stormcloak knows how to dress himself." Nariilu slipped her Amulet of Talos beneath her bodice. She opened her jewelry drawer and picked another amulet at random, shaking the chain free of any tangles. Iona disappeared down the stairs as Nariilu clasped on a sapphire necklace.
She pulled her cloak over her shoulders, a matching fur lined thing that did little to keep out the chill. At least Mistveil was always uncomfortably warm. Distant conversation floated from the basement. Hopefully, they could leave soon and get the night over with. Nariilu picked through her amulets for something that didn't look too feminine for Stormcloak to wear.
Finally, Iona and Stormcloak emerged. Iona was in her ceremonial Housecarl armor: ornately etched steel adorned with gold. What Nariilu would've given to be in armor instead of the tight dress. She couldn't fight in this dress if she had to, since nobles seemed to have it in their heads that their guards and Housecarls could do all the fighting for them. It was tight enough around her arms and torso to restrict her movement in the name of fashion. Nariilu wouldn't put it past Maven to plan a party just so she could catch her out of armor or robes.
"Stormcloak, here," Nariilu said. She held out the necklace she had chosen for him; a simple ruby necklace. Truth be told, it would likely go better with her bright red dress than with his muted blue attire, but she'd already put on the sapphire one. He hesitated before taking it, putting it on and letting it fall right over his Amulet of Talos.
Well, at least his Amulet was partially hidden now, in case Maven tried to arrest him for blasphemy.
"Have you ever been to one of Maven's parties?" Stormcloak asked.
"Not one of Maven's, no." She'd never been invited, as a newcomer to high society. Maven never missed an opportunity to remind Nariilu of her 'destitute origins'.
"I believe you'll be pleasantly surprised."