Winterhold was deemed the best place to find an Elder Scroll. The Greybeards said, "such blasphemies have always been the stock in trade of the mages of Winterhold", so that's where Skathi had to go. To her knowledge, there was a mages' college up there, so a presumably mystic device such as an Elder Scroll could surely be found there.
What was not so simple was the border patrol. The Legion had recently taken Winterhold and Fort Kastav was being used to hold the line. Traveling along the roads was difficult this way, but otherwise was far more dangerous. It still made their prodding unwelcome, especially when they figured out that she wasn't a citizen of Eastmarch. Better than throwing herself into the wilderness again.
Upon approaching Winterhold, it was clear the city had seen better days. Skathi had heard the tales, that a chunk of the city had fallen into the sea years ago, but she would assume that would still leave something. No, what was left was the size of a small town, and even that left a few buildings in ruin. To think that this was once the capital of all of Skyrim. What could do such a thing?
After a brief stroll through the city and Skathi arrived at bridge leading into the college, the only way in. As such, it was inconvenient that one of the mages blocked her path. A High Elf with fist at her sides stood in the way. It was likely unwise to fight her, both due to her skill and her proximity to the guards. Skathi dismounted and approached the guard.
"Cross the bridge at your own peril!" the mage exclaimed, "The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!"
Skathi sighed. "Can you let me in?" she asked, "I'm looking for an Elder Scroll."
The mage's eyes tightened. "It is true there are some here who have spent years studying the accumulated knowledge of the scrolls," she explained, "But what you seek does not come easily and can destroy those without a strong will."
Skathi frowned. "Can you let me in?" she asked again.
The mage crossed her arms. "Not just anyone is allowed inside," she stated, "Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic. A small test, if you will."
"I don't wanna learned magic," Skathi admitted, "Would you grant entry to the Dragonborn?"
The mage's eyes went wide "Dragonborn?" she stammered, "It's been so long since we've had any contact with the Greybeards." She continued, "Do you really have the Voice? I would be most impressed to see that."
"Fus Ro Dah!"
The mage got out of the way just in time to dodge the Shout. The force threw loose stone up the bridge and off the side. The mage stood there shocked. It was easy to assume she had never seen a demonstration of a Shout in her life, especially one so powerful.
"Alright," she remarked, "The library's in the main building, first door on the right, up the stairs."
"Got it," Skathi replied, "Sorry."
A little guilty from the demonstration, Skathi still followed the directions right and found the library fine. What she wasn't expecting was to find an Orc at the librarian's desk. He was an older man, had the air of a bear, rough and impassable. Skathi had killed bears before.
"You are now in the Arcaneum, of which I am in charge," he explained in a gravelly voice, "It might as well be my own little plane of Oblivion. Disrupt my Arcaneum, and I will have you torn apart by angry Atronachs. Now, do you require assistance?"
Skathi nodded to show respect. "I'm looking for an Elder Scroll," she explained
"And what do you plan to do with it?" he inquired, "Do you even know what you're asking about, or are you just someone's errand boy?"
"No, tell me more about the Elder Scrolls," the Dragonborn admitted.
"I knew it," the librarian growled, "Everyone comes in here, expecting my help, but they don't even have the proper questions." He continued, "An Elder Scroll is an instrument of immense knowledge and power. To read an Elder Scroll, a person must have the most rigorously trained mind, or else risk madness. Even so, the Divines usually grant the reader's sight as a price."
"A price for what?" Skathi warily asked.
"The simplest way to put it is 'knowledge,' but there's nothing simple about an Elder Scroll," the librarian explained, "It's a reflection of all possible futures and all possible pasts. Each reader sees different reflections through different lenses and may come away with a very different reading. But at the same time, all of it is true. Even the falsehoods. Especially the falsehoods."
Looks like she would need to flex her power again. "What about the Dragonborn?" Skathi inquired
"What about- wait. Are you?" he stammered, "Were you the one the Greybeards were calling?"
Skathi noted how these mages seemed to change their attitudes quickly when they heard about that. "I need to find one and was told you could help," she stated.
"I don't know who told you that, but I'll do what I can," the librarian offered, "What we do have are plenty of books."
He moved over to the bookcases. "I'll bring everything we have on them, but it's not much, so don't get your hopes up," he admitted, "It's mostly lies, leavened with rumor and conjecture."
He brought two books on the desk. "Here you go. Try not to spill anything on them," he barked.
It was going to be a while, so Skathi sat down at one of the tables and started reading. The first book, Effects of the Elder Scrolls, was straight forward in describing what it was like to read one. Those who knew nothing of the Scrolls would see nothing and nothing would happen to them. What was worse is if you could read it, you would go blind without preparation. The Cult of the Ancestor Moth could however read them continuously with preparation, but still go blind with time. Maybe they should have found a different way of learning Dragonrend.
The second book, Rumination on the Elder Scrolls, was insane. If the first was the average book for intellectuals, this was pure gibbering. So much poetry and no plain speak. It was not at all useful and whoever wrote this was probably mad.
Skathi held up the book to the librarian and stated, "This book is incomprehensible."
He squinted to see the title. "Aye, that's the work of Septimus Signus," he nodded, "He's the world's master of the nature of Elder Scrolls, but," he paused for a moment, "well. He's been gone for a long while. Too long."
"He's dead?" Skathi asked.
"Oh no. I hope not," the librarian remarked with genuine concern. "But even I haven't seen him in years, and we were close. Became obsessed with the Dwemer. Took off north saying he had found some old artifact. Haven't seen him since. Somewhere in the ice fields, if you want to try to find him."
And once again, a dead end turned into another lead. Seemed common in Skathi's life.
It was a long ride from the Reach to Windhelm. Jeanne had to lay over in Whiterun before going the rest of the way. Her and the rest of the soldiers going to the city. Among the injured and retiring was her, on time out. It would humiliate a lesser person, but the adopted Nord would weather this trial as well as could be expected.
To her understanding, a host was deployed to Morthal in a desperate attempt by an Arrald Frozen-Heart to claim glory. It was a thousand strong versus two thousand stronger. To no one's surprise, they didn't have a new hold and rumor had it that he would need a new head. The results were that the warband was nearly spent, much to everyone's disappointment. The war couldn't be sustained for long, not with the undertrained and undermanned army they had.
Upon arriving in Windhelm, the men went right to the barracks to rest. Jeanne's immediate thought was that she didn't realize she'd missed Windhelm's cold. No clue why; it was the chilliest winds she ever felt, but perhaps she was just moody. Considering her experiences in the past week, she had every right to be a little moody.
Before she could open the door to Candlehearth Hall, there was a scream in her night. Jeanne drew her sword and bolted to the source, the cemetery. She almost slipped three times as she came upon the scene. A woman, stripped of her clothes, dead on a grave.
There were guards and shocked bystanders already there, one spotting Jeanne. "Hold it there. Keep your distance," the guard ordered.
"What happened here?" Jeanne asked.
"Another girl killed," the guard bitterly explained, "This is Susanna, from Candlehearth Hall. Served me a drink just a few nights ago," he paused, perhaps out of the shock, "but I can't say I knew her. Susanna's the third. It's always the same: young girl, killed at night, body torn up."
Jeanne knew Susanna much the same. Susanna the Wicked, as she was called, though she deserved neither the name nor this fate. The Breton couldn't believe Ulfric would allow a serial killer in his city, but perhaps this was a recent development. No matter the cause, this wasn't something that could be tolerated.
"Are the murders being investigated?" she asked, afraid for their lives.
"We're stretched thin as it is with the war," the guard seethed, "Nobody has the time to spend on this. Not pleasant, but it's the truth." If the battle at Fort Kastav was to be believed, they were quite busy with the Imperial invasion force. Shocking that now the Stormcloaks were on the defensive.
There were three witnesses of note in the cemetery. The first was an Imperial man with the appearance of someone who lived quite finely, but a closer examination yielded fake finery. The second was a beggar woman, worn and wearing clothes that surely couldn't protect from the cold. And lastly, the third was a priest, though nothing said which god she served. Perhaps one of them was a murderer, perhaps not.
The witnesses were muttering something about how sad it was to see another go when Jeanne interrupted. "Did you see what happened here?" she inquired.
The Imperial answered first. "Sorry. I thought I saw a fellow running away but didn't get a good look at him."
The beggar went second. "I heard a scream and came running, but she was already," she shivered, "like this," she looked away in horror, "when I got here." She seemed like she would shatter.
The priest was last. "Eehhh," she thought, "no. Sorry. But I did notice that her coin purse was still intact, so whoever did this wasn't after gold. I'm going to keep prepared the body, if you'll excuse me." She was surely a priest of Arkay, as she went about to handle the body.
The witnesses didn't have much, but it would do for now. "Take this for your troubles," Jeanne said as she handed a fistful of coins to the beggar.
The beggar took this gold in both hands, shaking with excitement. "Oh, thank you!" she cried, "Divines bless your kind heart!"
Meanwhile, the Imperial wasn't particularly happy with it. "Why does she get money and we don't?" he questioned, motioning toward the coins like a child about to take it.
Jeanne slapped the Imperial's hands away and was ready to slap his face if he tried again. "If you want coin," she barked, "you should pray to Zenithar for guidance, not Namira." Hopefully, he made time to read Beggar Prince once in his life.
He stormed off in a huff. Good riddance. Jeanne turned to the guard to talk about her findings, as few as there were.
"I've spoken to the witnesses."
"Just like always," he seethed, "nobody saw anything useful. The bastard's escaped again."
"There might be more to this if you'll let me help," she offered.
"Look, friend," the guard snapped, obviously in a state that he didn't noticed the officer's uniform, "if you think you can do better than the legion of guards, be my guest. You'll need to talk to Jorleif, though. We can't just let anyone go around claiming to be on official business. If he's willing, then we'll talk."
Jeanne decided to leave him to stew. She needed liquor. Drinking in Candlehearth Hall, she realized she didn't have the authority or skills to carry out an investigation; she was just some girl from High Rock who ran off to join a foreign army. Upon that realization was one that she was just some child playing whatever game she fancied for the moment.
She tried to wash these thoughts away with drinks, but they just had their mead piss water. The ale didn't help, they didn't have any whisky and their alto wine was weak. Drink wasn't going to work, but she was desperate to make it. And then her thoughts went to how much shame her parents must feel to have a drunk for a daughter. Whatever was going on in Jeanne's head, it didn't make much sense.
The next thing she knew, Jeanne was laying on her side on a bed, the smell of something burning in the air and a bloody sword on the floor. She wasn't sure what was going on. This lack of sense didn't seem like it would be useful for murder investigations. No clue how to end the night, so just fell asleep on the bed. She would find out what in Oblivion was going on tomorrow.