Hullo, everybody! There are going to be shorter chapters, because I want certain POV's to cover certain events. In any case, they'll be pretty much back-to-back the next couple of days, so stay tuned. I hope you enjoy! -LR
"Take this letter with you," I tell the sixteen-year-old, as I clasp his shoulder. "My steward, Argis, will attend to you. He'll know when he sees my seal. You'll be safe, and warm, and fed, for as long as you wish to remain with us."
"Thank you," he says, eyes brimming, he turns to his father, who holds his wife and daughter by their hands, and who looks as if he means to say something, but can't. "Thank you so much, milady."
As he moves to help his father load their cart, his mother crosses to me, and takes my face in her hands. Her weathered face is tense, on the verge of tears, but she smiles, nods and kisses my cheek. When they have all boarded the wagon, and are on their way down the road, I raise my hand in farewell, and she raises hers in return.
They are the third family I've chosen to send to my home. An anonymous visit to the Jarl proved that there was nothing he was willing to do to accommodate these people; his citizens and subjects. I was turned away. In spite of that, I knew that there more I could do for them. I was always telling my brothers about the haunting emptiness of my home. Now, it might never be empty again, and I am glad for it.
My eyes catch sight of a few boys, washing their faces and hands in the stream.
I know what it's like, to have your whole world ripped away from you. And, as hard as I tried, it just isn't in me to separate my own pain from them theirs.
The boys start to splash each other, squealing playfully, in spite of themselves and in spite of their woes. My thoughts return to my son, and to the responsibility I was sending him. To the people whose lives I was consciously making a part of ours. Regret does not once make an appearance; I know that I have done the right thing, made the right choice.
I will do what I can, for those who needed it.
"Gates closing soon, miss," a guard informs me, as he treks back up the cobblestone path. "Best be getting inside."
Entrance to the city is allowed only with a validated pass.
Those who are part of the overflow; those with no clearance, are those with no money.
"Get on your job, Jarl Balgruuf," I whisper to myself. "Ulfric gave you this chance. Don't make me take it away."
I must admit, it's become more than business with Balgruuf. It is very, very personal. I don't think I can leave this city without his head.
Not with who I've just seen in the Dragonsreach gaols, resting against the bars of a cell.
Turning on my heel, I walk up the path and into the iron-wrought gates of the fortress. Nighttime passage isn't freely given; the city prefers citizens to remain within and visitors to remain without, at least until daytime.
But, tonight is the night that I bring Iman Suda into heel. And, that will require our leaving the city.
As the gates shut behind me, I cast a look around.
The herd is thinning. Between the people I've sent to Windstad manor, and those who've managed to find lodgings, people are dying, getting locked away, or slipping into the safety of the hideout Marrick's made for them out of Breezehome.
I learned of it from Hulda, but Marrick himself is the one who showed it to me.
Biting my lip, I promise myself not to look at the house as I pass it, but it's quickly broken.
I followed Marrick that one night to see if he would know me, at all, any part of me. He never gave me a first look, never mind a second. It's true, my face is now what he'd likely expect it to be. But, then again, I've found his very much changed, and even without its cues, I would know him.
His beard is a strange addition, but to me, it's fitting. He looks twenty-nine. I don't know why, but all these years I expected the Nameless, selfish, womanizing, stray dog vagabond to forever look the same. To forever be young, with that pretty, pale face and those laughing eyes, and that playful, careless tail.
But, instead, he's grown up. He's not the same man he was then, and I can't blame him for that, because I'm not the same woman.
When I had some time to think on it, the desperation I felt the night I saw him quickly seemed ridiculous. Five years' work of proving that I didn't need a husband or a lover had all washed away, and for what? A man who's clearly forgotten me, and has grown out of that half drunken night in Solitude the very way I should have.
"Silly," I chide softly, as I stand before his home. "I'm so silly."
Shaking my head, I keep on walking through the light snowfall, even as its wind picks up and becomes gustier. Head down, I trudge on, soon making it into the safety of the Bannered Mare. I stamp out my boots and slip out of my cloak, before raising a hand to Hulda, and taking a seat at the corner table.
Hulda nods at me, and her expression takes on one of expectant concern. Ever since I came downstairs from seeing Marrick and Iman fucking, she's had that look on her face when she sees me. It's as if any moment, she's waiting for me to suddenly break apart, like a glass doll. If that's what I've been putting out; that I'm some pathetic wench whose every act depends on a man, swaying like a tree in his breeze, then I've truly not been myself, and that needs to be remedied.
In any case, the nosy woman knows a fraction of my plan. She already knew I was a merc, and now, because I was being stupid, she knows that Marrick is the Dragonborn, and that I have his son. But, she doesn't know that Iman is who I'm after, and I'm using that ignorance to my advantage.
Any minute now, she'll call on Iman to service me, because Hulda knows I want to "talk" to her about Marrick and our "family". What's really happening, is that Kematu and his Alik'r warriors are waiting outside the city for me to lead this bitch outside and deliver her.
As I wait for her, I tug out my pipe, and reach into my satchel for a large, white square of wool, which I fold deftly into an Alik'r hood. White hoods are generally worn by Redguards who have been nomadic, and seek to keep peace between other they find on their journeys. This is my role now: a woman who has heard of "Saadia's" plight with the Alik'r, and who finds her innocent. A woman who wants to help her.
But mostly, I'm just trying to hide my hair. We've met a few times, Iman Suda and I, and the rust-red would definitely give me away.
"Saadia!" calls Hulda, without a hitch of nervousness. "Back table; quick as you like."
"Yes, mum!" she chirps, and then appears, like magic, from the kitchen. She flounces towards me, and finally takes me in, almost freezing in place. Her hands fly to cover her smile. I know what I must look like. I know what she sees. She's seeing my white hood, and so, she's seeing a friend. "How?" she stumbles happily. "How did you find me?"
"There are tales of your woe across Skyrim, Sister. And, it is a nomad's duty, to assist those Redguards in trouble." I rise gracefully from my seat, making my smile warm, and kind. "Saadia, isn't it?"
There is not even the slightest flinch at the false identity.
This fucker's for real.
"Yes," she gushes, relieved. And then, she has the nerve to add, "Oge`."
No worries, though, I have something for that smile.
"If we are going to make it, Saadia, we must leave tonight."
As expected, her grin wipes off real quick.
"Tonight?" she stutters, and worries her lower lip.
"Oge`," I say, in the most sickly sweet voice I can muster. "The sooner the better. Why? Is something wrong?"
"No, no, I just. . ." she stutters, trying to disguise her dismay. Makes no matter; I already know what it is. Marrick. "Does it have to be so soon?"
"The Alik'r are on their way as we speak; I was almost captured at Swindler's Den." I cock my head, and give her an odd smile, as if I'm confused. "I'm sorry, Miss. I thought you'd be perfectly ready to leave this place. We've a sanctuary prepared in Dawn Star, just for you."
Stupid bitch.
Apparently, this is all that's needed for her to forget her attachment to Marrick Stray-King.
"Alright," she says, animatedly. "Alright. Let's do it. Let's go. I'm ready."
She doesn't write a note. She doesn't go upstairs for shit. She grabs her cloak from its hook, and looks at me expectantly.
Well, who am I to complain?
I grab her hand, and lead her to the door, prepared to step out into the night.
Instead, I step right into Marrick.