Fredas, 26th of Hearthfire, 4E 201

Despite Wuunferth's parting words the night before, Yngve got little sleep. He continued to be plagued by thoughts of his own mother and the recent victims. In addition to this, he couldn't stop wondering about Susanna's coin purse and how it fit into the puzzle.

At the first sign of dawn's light streaming in through the windows in his bedroom, Yngve, who had been lying awake in his bed and pondering for hours, got up and began to dress. As he had a habit of sleeping until mid- or late morning, a servant usually brought warm water for him to wash his face with much later than first light. Yngve didn't wait for this, and didn't feel like bothering anyone, so he instead used a pitcher of water and a large bowl that were already in his room. It was significantly colder than he was used to, and even though he had been expecting a bit of a shock from the cool water, the chill it sent running down his spine made him shiver and gasp. He also found it awkward to clean his face and hair with only one hand, and very quickly gave up on trying to braid his hair or tie it back, as he normally would have done.

When Yngve had finally dressed himself and given up on his hair, he stuffed Wuunferth's note into a pocket, took his backpack from Whiterun, and made for the stairs. It was still fairly early. He was hoping to avoid his father for the moment, but had no such luck. When Yngve came downstairs through the war room, his father was already there, along with Jorleif and Galmar. For a moment, they all just stared at him. Finally, his father broke the silence.

"What in Oblivion happened to you?" Ulfric asked, in open-mouthed shock. "I just saw you yesterday afternoon. You were fine."

"Uh, yeah…" Yngve said, not really sure how to explain. "Um. I'd rather not talk about it?"

Yngve didn't think that answer would fly, and his father eyed him skeptically. Yngve was a sight to take in, he knew, his hair a mess, one hand and wrist wrapped in a stiff bandage. But his father also noted, to his credit, that he looked otherwise clean and was properly dressed – impressive for someone whose dominant hand was completely unusable.

"I, uh… need to go to the White Phial," Yngve said sheepishly, showing his father the note that Wuunferth had given him the night before. "It… kind of… really hurts," he admitted.

"I'd imagine it does," Ulfric said, looking over the note and side-eyeing Yngve's bandaged hand.

"You don't want to eat anything before you go…?" Jorleif asked.

"Not really," Yngve answered honestly.

"Alright," Ulfric finally said. "Take Tymver with you," he added.

Yngve nodded and went from the war room into the main hall, where he found Tymver at the long table. As everyone else had done, Tymver looked shocked as Yngve approached.

"What happened…?" Tymver asked.

"I can tell you about it later," Yngve said. "But we need to go to the White Phial. Are you still eating?"

"Just finished," Tymver said. "And even if I was, we'd still go now."

Yngve rolled his eyes. He knew Tymver's role in his life was essentially one of service, but he had never been comfortable commanding people. It wasn't in his nature and never had been. This was something he worried about often, in fact, as he thought he would make a poor Jarl for it. However, as Yngve grew older and seemed to retain this trait, he was often praised for it by those around him, saying he would become a well liked and compassionate leader. Either way, he was thankful that Tymver was ready to go.

The walk between the palace and the marketplace was uneventful this time, perhaps because Yngve was distracted by the constant pain in his hand and very focused on his goal. When they reached the White Phial and Yngve handed Nurelion the note, he was given two bottles: one quite large, and the other rather small. The liquid in the large bottle was mesmerizing, with swirls of purple, dark blue, and deep red. The smaller bottle contained a thick, almost pasty, oozing white liquid.

"Of this one," Nurelion said, gesturing toward the larger bottle, "you can drink half a goblet or less, at your discretion, with a meal – at most, three times in a day."

"And of this one," the Elf continued, pointing to the smaller bottle, "take two spoonfuls in the morning and two in the evening, with a meal. Never take either of these potions on an empty stomach! I'll write it down for you, so you don't forget."

Yngve nodded, paid Nurelion a hefty sum of 817 Septims, and thanked him enthusiastically, as he packed the bottles into his backpack and carried it out of the shop. Now he just had to eat something.

"Should we go back to the palace?" Tymver asked. "Or would you like to eat at the tavern?"

"No time," Yngve said bluntly. He walked over to Hillevi Cruel-Sea at her market stand and bought an apple and small wedge of cheese, and ate them immediately. Then, he stepped off to the side of her stand, out of the way, and set his backpack on the ground, pulling out the large bottle. He uncorked it, and drank three large mouthfuls of the liquid – what he estimated to be about half a goblet's worth. It tasted sickeningly sweet, but after the hours and hours of throbbing, distracting pain shooting through his hand and wrist, he didn't even care enough to comment or complain. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Although he knew better than to expect the potion to take immediate effect, he felt a little better already, if only thanks to the knowledge that he had finally taken something that would help.

"I think I'd like to visit the temple…" Yngve said to Tymver, as he opened his eyes a moment later.

Tymver nodded, but said nothing. Like anyone in Windhelm, he was well aware of what had happened to Yngve's mother several years before. Like considerably fewer people, Tymver also knew how deeply it still affected Yngve. It was no surprise to Tymver that these particular murders were having such a profound effect on him now.

Between the market and the Temple of Talos, the pair had to pass by the scene of Susanna's murder again. As they neared it, Yngve paused and looked over the spot where she had been found, but there was nothing there to tell him any more about what had happened or who had killed her.

They found the temple empty, save for Nilsine Shatter-Shield, who had lost her sister to the same fate suffered by Susanna, sitting with her head bowed in the very back row of the temple. With relief, Yngve saw that she seemed not to have noticed them enter. He took a seat in the second row, on the opposite side of the temple, near the side aisle. When attending scheduled services, it was customary for the Jarl and his family to be seated centrally and at the front, something Yngve secretly hated, as it made him feel self-conscious. When he came to the temple to pray on his own, he preferred to be at an ouside edge, close but not too close.

The priestess and priest who served in the temple were not currently tending the shrine, but this suited Yngve well enough. He preferred to pray alone most of the time anyway. There was nothing new for anyone to tell him about death and grief. All of the advice and counsel they had on that point, they had given to him before, yet he continued to struggle with it anyway; he sometimes felt his presence in the temple seemed burdensome.

As Yngve contemplated in the temple, alternately looking up to the shrine and bowing his head in thought and prayer, something occurred to him that he hadn't ever thought of before: Helgird, the priestess of Arkay who handled the dead. Because she had always gone out of her way to keep to herself, Yngve had never really spoken with her before. But with all the thoughts and emotions these recent murders had been dragging back up in him, he began to think that perhaps she could tell him something new that might put his mind at ease. It would at least be worth asking, he supposed, so he quietly exited the temple, with Tymver close behind, leaving Nilsine Shatter-Shield undisturbed.

"…I think I need to go talk to Helgird," Yngve said uncertainly.

"Lead the way," Tymver said with a nod, not asking for a reason.

Stepping into the Hall of the Dead sent a shiver down Yngve's spine. The stillness of the atmosphere, combined with the sickening smell of death and rot, gave him a distinct feeling that he was somewhere he shouldn't be. He descended the first set of steps, hoping to find Helgird close to the entrance, but had no such luck. The further into the Hall of the Dead he wandered, the more he wanted to just turn back.

When he finally did find Helgird, he was a bit surprised to see her still examining Susanna's mangled body, lying startlingly naked on a long table. Before he could make himself look away, he became disturbingly aware of some of her external injuries. Helgird quickly covered her loosely with a shroud.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, but you're not supposed to be in here," she said bluntly.

"I'm, uh…" Yngve stammered, still flustered. "I've sort of been thinking of my mother a lot lately, and… I guess I was hoping I could ask you about her," he admitted.

"Me?" Helgird asked, surprised. "Child, I didn't know your mother in life. I only knew her, in a sense, after she passed from this world."

"I know," Yngve said carefully. "That's not what I meant."

"Ohh, I see…" Helgird said, as understanding dawned on her. "I'm sorry you came all the way here, then, but that's really something you should ask your father about," she said.

Yngve sighed and looked away. He knew his father wouldn't talk about it; he never talked about her. As Yngve gazed across the room, his eyes fell on the shrouded figure of Susanna, and his curiosity escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

"What about Susanna?" he asked.

"Come again?" Helgird said.

"Was there anything unusual about her body? Anything that could point to some sort of clue about the murderer?" he asked. Maybe he could at least come closer to solving one mystery.

"Well, she's dead," Helgird answered. "But I guess that's not unusual, at least not for somebody in here. I mean, someone who's not me, that is."

Yngve didn't know how to respond. He was a little unsure what that was supposed to tell him about anything.

"…Sorry," Helgird said after a moment. "I was only joking you."

"Ahh, right," Yngve said, sounding like he was still a little confused. "So, um… was there anything, though?"

"Not really," Helgird said. "The only unusual thing is the shape of the cuts. They look like they were made with… well, the ancient Nords used these kinds of curved blades when they embalmed their dead," she explained.

"Embalming tools?" Yngve repeated.

"I don't know who in Windhelm would even have something like that," she said. "Other than me, of course," she added with a dry chuckle.

"…Did you have anything to do with this?" Yngve asked.

"Me? Don't be ridiculous, child! I'm too busy tending to the dead as it is, to spend time running around making more of them!" she snapped.

"Sorry," Yngve said immediately. "I was, uh… just joking."

"Alright, kid, you got me," she said. "Now I've really got to get back to taking care of the girl's body, if you'll excuse me." She still sounded annoyed about it.

"Right," he said. "Well… thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome," she said, more gently. "But take my advice: don't throw your life away thinking only of the dead. It's okay to still miss your mother, but you can't forget to live your life."

"Thanks," Yngve said.

"Yeah, sure. Now go on," Helgird said, shooing him out as she began to remove the shroud from the body. Not wanting to look at Susanna again, Yngve quickly found his way back out of the tombs.

Walking back toward the palace through Valunstrad, Yngve absentmindedly noticed himself avoiding large stains and drag marks still visible on the ground. They must be preserved by the ice, I guess, he thought. A moment later, another thought hit him.

"I wonder if this leads anywhere," he said to no one in particular.

"Didn't your father explicitly forbid you to be a part of the murder investigation?" Tymver asked hesitantly.

"Officially, yes," Yngve said. "He told Jorleif not to give me any information."

"…And he said, 'you have other things to be doing' and told you to let the guards do their job," Tymver pointed out.

"Okay, again, yes, you are technically correct," Yngve said. "But I just want to check if this leads anywhere. It's not like I'm solving a murder."

Tymver still looked skeptical. Yngve, on the other hand, was gaining confidence.

"Besides," Yngve said. "It's just you, Tymver. You're not going to tell on me."

"What makes you so sure?" Tymver asked.

"You never tell on me," Yngve said simply, shrugging as if he was reciting some mundane fact that everyone knew. He turned and followed the fading reddish trail off the main walkway, with Tymver close behind.

The trail of drag marks and splatters led up a set of steps off the main walk of Valunstrad, to an area with two house fronts. Astoundingly, the trail went directly onto the front steps of one of the houses. Yngve couldn't believe it.

"Whoa!" he said. "Tymver, look! This is incredible! Obviously whoever lives here has to be the murderer!"

"Don't get too excited," Tymver said. "That house is vacant."

"…vacant?" Yngve asked, as his face fell. "But, the blood trail…"

"Yeah," Tymver said with a sigh. "I hate to have to tell you, but it's true; no one lives in that house.

"This is stupid," Yngve grumbled, kicking the hard dirt in frustration. "How could this house, of all houses, be vacant!?—wait a minute!"

"What?" Tymver asked. He was beginning to feel concerned.

"I get it now! The murderer isn't the owner of this house! They must be using this house because it's vacant!"

"Okay, sure," Tymver granted. "So now, we report this information to the guards, and…"

"No way," Yngve interrupted. "If they haven't even found this on their own, what good will it do to tell them about it? They probably won't even follow up."

"Well what do you propose we do instead?" Tymver asked.

"Let's see if we can go inside," Yngve said excitedly.

"Yngve, no," Tymver said. "This isn't some ghost story. There is a real murderer on the loose. Based on these stains, I can't allow you go to in there."

Yngve ran for the door anyway. Tymver jumped into action, ready to physically carry Yngve back to the safety of the palace if he had to. Luckily for Tymver, it wasn't necessary; the door was locked.

"Ugh," Yngve groaned. "We need a key."

"No," Tymver said. "We need to report this to a guard."

"Fine," Yngve said. "I'll just tell Jorleif directly. We're headed home anyway, and it'll be the best way to get anything actually done about it."

The two walked the rest of the way back to the palace in silence. It had been a bit of an awkward situation. Tymver rarely, if ever, put a stop to any of Yngve's antics or shenanigans, but this had mainly been because until recently, Yngve's antics and shenanigans had always been fairly tame. Trying to get into that house may very well be a different story, and Tymver had no intention of letting Yngve enter any dangerous situations.

When they returned to the palace, it was early afternoon, and Ulfric and his court were breaking for a meal. Yngve wasn't sure where his father or Galmar were, but Jorleif was taking his meal at the long table in the main hall, as he often did.

"Will you at least let me tell him?" Yngve asked, shooing Tymver away when they entered the palace. Tymver nodded, and stayed back as Yngve approached Jorleif alone.

"I hate to interrupt," Yngve began as he sat across the table from Jorleif, "but I wanted to ask you about a house in Valunstrad."

"Hmm…" Jorleif said, pausing for a moment. "Well, I can't guarantee that I'll know your answer right off, but if I do, I'd be happy to help," he said.

"It's a large unoccupied house close to the cemetery…" Yngve said. "I was wondering who owns or maintains it."

"Hjerim," Jorleif said immediately, with a grim nod. "That was Friga Shatter-Shield's house. It's been abandoned since she was killed."

"That was her house?" Yngve asked in surprise.

"That's right," Jorleif said. "I suppose her family would have the key to it, now that she's… gone."

"I see," Yngve said thoughtfully.

"Why do you ask?" Jorleif said after a moment, raising one eyebrow. "Funny that you'd mention Friga's old place the day after your father barred you from taking part in the investigation into the person who murdered her…"

"No big reason, really," Yngve said quickly. "I thought some of the windows looked, uhh… broken… as we were walking past that area. That's all. But, now that I know it was hers… it didn't look that bad, so maybe it's better not to mention the house to her family right now…"

"If it wasn't that bad, I'll mention it to them when some more time has passed," Jorleif said.

Yngve quickly agreed that would be best, and left Jorleif to finish his midday meal. Yngve himself was tired, if not exactly hungry. It took a surprising amount of his energy, just being distracted by the aching in his hand all day – and while the potion he had taken from Nurelion did take the edge off, he was still in more or less constant pain. So, Yngve returned to his own room for the remainder of the day, to contemplate what he might do next.

Obviously, he had to get inside of this Hjerim house and have a look around. To do this, he faced two primary obstacles. The first was that he didn't have a key. Being who he was, Yngve could almost certainly get the key to Hjerim from Clan Shatter-Shield directly, simply by asking them for it. But such an occurrence would no doubt strike them as odd, and if they went to the trouble of going and asking anyone, it could easily get back to his father that he had been skulking around the family of one of the murder victims. He could also try breaking in, he supposed, but breaking something to get it didn't sit well with Yngve. The only other option that came to Yngve's mind was picking the lock. This could gain him access without anyone's knowledge at all, without breaking anything; it was perfect. The only problem was that Yngve wasn't sure he could pick a lock like that at all – let alone while avoiding the notice of everyone, including his own housecarl – with his rudimentary, largely theoretical knowledge of lock picking.

This also brought Yngve to his second direct obstacle: his own housecarl. Tymver would never go for this whole breaking and entering plan, and not only was Tymver able to physically carry Yngve away if he had to, but Yngve got the distinct impression that after today, Tymver would report to his father with anything even remotely resembling any more funny business. The obvious answer was to go without Tymver, but this would require going out at night – something Yngve had no intention of trying; the palace guards, he had learned about a year and a half ago, would definitely rat him out.

After several hours of deliberation, Yngve was tired, hungry, and just generally uncomfortable. The only solution, he concluded, was to learn how to pick a lock, and then come up with a way to distract Tymver long enough to get inside the house and look around a bit. For the first objective, he at least knew where he might be able to get some help – but still, it would have to wait. There was no way Yngve was going anywhere else today. Instead, he spent the afternoon and evening trying to relax and let his hand work on healing.