Leola and Erith had had a productive day, sorting and examining the various items that littered the upper floor of Hjerim. Erith had managed to identify a number of daedric artifacts. The only things they were unable to find were the Ring of Namira and the legendary tome of knowledge attributed to Hermaeus Mora. Erith's theory, however, was that the book disappeared once read and therefore would no longer be within the collection.
Erith also identified a chest full of haunting carved masks as belonging to the ancient dragon priests, who were said to guard Nordic ruins that housed powerful secrets. "They were said to rise again when Alduin did," Erith had told Leola, and the girls had concluded that her mother must have defeated them.
It was late afternoon and Erith had headed back to the inn, saying that her two friends were expected to arrive that evening and she would have to meet them there. The girls had bonded during their time in Hjerim, and Leola gave the Breton girl a hug before they said goodbye.
Once Erith was gone, Leola made her way to the cemetery. Her mother's coffin was on display for those unable to attend the funeral to pay their respects. Ulfric had commissioned the building of a tomb for her. Though he had yet to announce where it would be, and Leola doubted that such information would be made public at all, she had overheard him discussing the Throat of the World with his builders. He wanted the tomb to be built in a style similar to the ancient Nordic burial tombs, and guarded with doors that, she had heard him say, could only be opened using "claws". Leola didn't understand what that meant, but she was sure he would tell her if she asked.
Leola knelt before the stone sarcophagus, tears in her closed blue eyes as she pressed her forehead against the cold, chiseled rock. She was silent for what felt like several long minutes before she finally forced herself to lean back and open her eyes. She gazed at the mysterious carvings, a language of lines and dots unknown to her.
"Mother," she whispered in a choked voice, "why did you do this to me? You kept everything from me…you hid yourself from me. Now you're gone and I have to put the pieces together…" She paused, her voice trembling too much to continue as she broke down into soft sobs. She felt the warm wetness of tears running down her cheeks. It was, she believed, the first time she had allowed herself to cry so freely since arriving in Windhelm.
When the tears had slowed and Leola had regained some composure, she lifted her gaze back to the carved coffin that held her mother's lifeless corpse. "Did you think I would never find out?" she whispered, her tone becoming one of anger. "Did you think you could keep me from the rest of the world forever? That I would never learn of your identity, that no one would tell me or even mention it? You were the person closest to me, but now I'm finding out that you were never anything more than a stranger who happened to be my mother."
"Do you think," came a voice from behind her, causing Leola to jump, "that perhaps your mother never told you any of this because she wanted to protect you?"
The blonde turned her head, seeing a Breton man sitting on the steps nearby. He had brown hair and sunken-in eyes, and he was clad in black robes.
"Who are you?" Leola asked, lifting a hand to wipe some tears from her eyes.
"The name's Sam," answered the man with a sly smile. "Sam Guevenne. I knew your mother."
"I wish everyone would stop saying that," Leola grumbled, shaking her head. The man just laughed.
"Sorry, I suppose you've heard that a lot this past little while," he said with a cheeky grin. There was a drunken slur to his voice that automatically made Leola wary, but he didn't seem like anything more than a cheerful, friendly drunk.
"What do you want?" Leola asked him softly, and Sam just gave a shrug.
"Just to talk, I guess," he replied. "You seemed sad. I wanted to cheer you up."
Leola let out a sigh, shaking her head slightly and pulling herself to her feet. "I think I'd rather be alone right now," she said, smoothing out the crinkles in the long skirt of her brown dress.
"Fair enough, suit yourself," said Sam with a dramatic shrug, hopping to his own feet. "But if you're really looking to put the pieces together, as you said, then pushing me away isn't something you want to do."
Leola paused, looking curiously at the man as he folded his arms over his chest. "Why's that? Do you…know things?" she asked softly.
"I most certainly do," he replied with a bright grin and a wink. "Did you know that your mother was one hell of a drunk?"
"Not until everyone started telling me so," Leola said softly, hanging her head. "But yes, I do know that."
"Oh," said Sam, pausing thoughtfully. "Well, did you know that she was one hell of a fighter? I saw her fight her way through a fort of mages like it was nothing."
"Believe me, that's the first one I heard," Leola said, growing irritated by this stranger telling her things she'd already been told. If he had nothing new to tell her, she wasn't interested.
"Oh," Sam said again. For a few long moments, he was pensive.
"Goodbye, Sam," Leola said coldly, turning to walk away.
"Wait, wait, I have one more," said the drunk, and Leola gave a sigh. She stopped walking, but didn't bother turning to face him.
"What?" she asked, annoyed that he would come and interrupt her mourning to talk random gibberish to her.
"Did you know that your mother won the favour of every Daedric Lord in her lifetime, and now rests among the tortured souls damned to Oblivion?"
Leola felt as if her heart had dropped, not into her stomach, but further, to the ground. Her breath caught, and for a moment she wasn't sure whether or not she had heard him correctly. She slowly turned to face him, seeing his face twisted into a devilish grin.
"Why would you say that?" she asked, trying to hide the shakiness in her voice.
"Because it's true, of course," answered Sam. "Your mother knew all along that she was going to Oblivion. Even ask Ulfric – she specifically told him before she died that she wasn't going to Sovngarde."
"That's not true," Leola snapped. Though she tried to maintain an air of confidence, her emotions were quickly slipping out of her control.
"Of course it is, do you think I'd lie to you?" asked Sam with a sly grin. "I also know who your father is, do you want to hear that?"
"No!" exclaimed Leola, and before he could say anything further, she broke into a run. She reached down, grasping the flowing skirt of her gown and lifting it enough that she wouldn't trip over it, hurrying away from the man.
As she was about to round the corner, she glanced over her shoulder. Gone was the strange Breton man who had taunted her just moments ago. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at where he had been. How had he managed to leave so quickly.
Leola bit her lip, looking around. She didn't see any possible escape routes that would get him away from there in the few moments her back had been turned. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. That…or he had never been there to begin with.
The blonde shook her head quickly. No, that couldn't possibly be the answer. She wasn't going crazy or imagining things – she had seen the man there with her own two eyes. His disappearance was inexplicable, but his presence had been certain. With another light shake of her head, she began to walk back towards the palace, trying to shake off the chilling effect that Sam's words had left within her.