Chapter 4: Thieves in the Night
It felt good to be out on the road again.
After almost a month in the Bards College—spending my days learning about music and history, and my nights practicing the mandolin and fending off Ataf's efforts at conversation—I had been feeling more than a little stir crazy. Getting to spend a night with my family had helped. Seeing Garnag again had done wonders for my morale, and Eiruki…
Well, Eiruki was a more complicated sort of well-being, but it had been good to see her too.
Still, even seeing my family again had come with a pall of gloom. Garnag and the others were on the road to High Rock, in what I felt was a sort of exile. Cicero had beaten Eiruki almost to death, and now she and the others were being sent away. It galled me, the things that Hecate let that clown get away with. But even Garnag and Eiruki hadn't seemed all that angry at him. Garnag just pushed it off on him being the Keeper, while Eiruki hadn't even wanted to talk about it with me.
The next pair of days had seen me champing at the bit to do some violence on the deserving. I think Ataf had noticed my mood being worse than usual, because he stayed well out of my way for the rest of the week. Finally, when Fredas had come and we were given liberty to leave the campus, I had immediately gone to Braste, our floor matron. She was a dotty old Nord lady and nearsighted as a stone, but she had a sweet disposition that made it hard to be mad on those occasions she couldn't tell me apart from Ataf.
After a brief and somewhat muddled conversation, I had managed to convey to her that I was going out for the weekend and wouldn't be back until late Sundas night. She had given me a leave pass, stamped it, and toddled off back to whatever it was she did when there weren't students to tend to.
From there, it had been a short jog over to Proudspire Manor to pick up my horse, Spot, and Pavot, the ice wolf loaned to me by Babette. I waved once to Jordis, the manor's housecarl, then threw myself and my saddlebags on to Spot's back and raced off to the edge of Solitude.
The feeling of freedom that came over me as I rode out of the city, Pavot racing at Spot's heels, was indescribable. After spending all of Hearthfire hemmed in by walls and rules, the ride across the frosty hills and roads of western Skyrim was like flying. Even though it was cold and damp, the sun peeking out from behind a shroud of grey only occasionally, I still felt buoyed up from within by a surge of warmth.
Once the feeling of joy had started to lessen into mere satisfaction, I slowed down my pace and scanned the horizon. I only had two days to find Finn's Lute and bring it back to the Bards College; if I didn't show up for classes on Morndas, there would be hell to pay. Still, given the information I had received from Elbent, I didn't feel like it would be too much of a challenge.
From what my Breton brother had managed to find out, the lute had been taken from the college by a couple of Solitude locals, a pair of brothers named Atrius and Coccius. They were two nobodies from the docks who had managed to get jobs on the college's cleaning staff. They had been picking up stray valuables and selling them for most of the last year. Given that they went missing at the same time as Finn's Lute—and right after the staff was getting ready to open an investigation into the minor thefts—they were a shoo-in for the robbery. Inge Six-Fingers was too important to know that cutlery was going missing from the kitchens; she had only known about the lute.
The lute was the sort of score that morons would love and anyone with half a brain would avoid like the plague. It was too famous to pawn for what it was worth, but wouldn't be worth anything at all without its fame and age being known. Small-timers wouldn't have the connections they needed to fence the thing, and big-timers wouldn't take something so obvious without a buyer. I trusted Elbent enough that if there had been a buyer lined up for the lute, he would have sniffed them out.
Elbent had been thorough. The two morons had a cousin with ties to some local bandits; he lived in a shanty a few hours ride southeast of the city. If they had fled Solitude ahead of the law, that's where they would be going. They hadn't been gone long either. I had to remember to send Elbent a nice thank-you letter when I was done with this, maybe on good vellum with some dried nightshade. His information was just as good as any dossier that Nazir had ever given me, and he had put it together in less than six hours. The man was astonishing.
That put my opposition at two lowlifes with a penchant for drinking and brawling, out of their element and on the run, plus an equally lowlife bandit relation who was currently on the outs with his gang. If I was lucky, they'd be drinking off whatever they got for hocking an old lute and the silverware they had taken. I could catch up to them, take one alive for questioning, then leave them all for the crows. If I was especially lucky, they would have just kept the damned thing, and I'd be able to take it off their corpses.
Of course, I didn't exactly have a history of good luck, which is why I was armed to the teeth.
The saddlebags thrown over Spot's back held a brace of daggers, a full-sized flanged mace, a hunting bow in case I needed food while I was on the road, a couple of dozen arrows, and everything from my chest back at school. I was carrying enough poison to kill a village, as well as basic traveling supplies. As soon as I was out of sight of civilization, I would make a quick stopover to change into my armor.
My personal suit was a set of reinforced leather armor with scale mail interwoven into the breastplate, bracers, and greaves, all done up in the red-and-black of the Dark Brotherhood. It was light enough to cover up with a cloak in case I came across people I didn't intend to kill while I was traveling, but Hecate's skill at the forge had made it strong enough to stop a crossbow bolt at point-blank range. After almost getting killed by a werewolf a month ago, Hecate had made it her personal goal to make a suit of armor that wouldn't impede my movement but was strong enough to keep me alive in the thick of the worst she could imagine. I was looking forward to testing it out.
Despite my gung-ho attitude, I knew I had to be cautious. I was still recovering from my tangle with the creature that had almost killed me. My ribs were cracked, I had bruises on most of my body, and it occasionally hurt deep in my gut and lower back if I lifted anything heavy. Babette had given me a regimen of physical therapy to follow, which I had worked into my daily exercises, and my recovery was going very well. She probably wouldn't approve of me haring off after some thieves while I was still hurt. I rationalized it as keeping in practice while I wasn't taking contracts, but the truth was that I was just plain bored.
I tightened my grip on Spot's reins, kicked him into a gallop again, and relished my freedom.
It was twilight by the time I found the cabin the three thieves were holed up at. A few flakes of snow were drifting lazily from the sky, but it didn't look like it was going to stick. When I spied smoke coming from a rough stone chimney, I tied up Spot to a tree a few hundred yards back, then pulled up my cowl and hood before creeping back.
Full dark had almost come on by the time I reached the edge of the cabin's clearing. From the woods to the back of the house was my best approach, but it still involved crossing almost a dozen yards with no cover. A little light spilled out from between the shuttered windows on the rear of the cabin; they were probably closed up tight against the weather. I decided that if they could see me through an inch of wood and in the dark, they deserved the forewarning.
The crossing to the cabin was quick and easy, but as I sidled up to the wall, I could hear growling coming from within. I tensed at the idea of having to fight another werewolf, but then I realized that they just had a dog inside with them. I smiled; I had a pet of my own. I clucked my tongue to call Pavot up out of the woods, and the great ice wolf dashed over to where I hunkered down, pressing his furry body up against mine. I enjoyed his warmth while I pulled out a knife and quietly pried apart the outer wall's sloppy boards. The knife came back covered in pitch, but I had managed to open a hole maybe an inch or two across. Pushing my eye up to the hole ruined my night vision, but it was a necessary evil. At least I had Pavot to watch my back.
Through my peephole, I could make out one room of a two-room shanty cabin. A firepit crackled away merrily in the middle of the room, a pot of stew boiling above it. A sour-looking Imperial man sat directly across the fire from me, warming his hands between stirring the stew. A mangy cur was curled up next to his feet, licking its chops and casting furtive glances at the stew pot.
"You got that rabbit chopped up yet?" the man called out to someone in the other room.
"Coming now," came back the laconic reply. "Don't twist yourself up."
"Easy for you to say," he grumbled, more to himself than for the sake of whoever he was talking to. "You're not the one had to go gadding about in the cold to catch a single measly gods-damned hare."
"Quit your bitching, Atrius," said the younger man who came walking in from the other room. His tone was even and sweet, the sort of tone someone took when they were intentionally winding up the listener. He must be Coccius then; the family resemblance was too close to be anything but brothers. "You hate cooking, so you got to hunt instead. Would you rather we starve?"
"We'll starve anyway if Vimier doesn't get back soon," Atrius groused as he scooted over to make room for his brother at the stewpot. "Where in Oblivion is that lunk?"
"Probably out on a raid," Coccius replied in a long-suffering tone, "like I must have said about a dozen times already."
Coccius leaned down to the fire and began to scrape pieces of chopped rabbit into the cast-iron pot. A stray piece escaped his grasp, and the dog lunged for it. Before the dog got halfway to the meat, Coccius lashed out with one booted foot, catching the mongrel in the ribs. The dog whined as it rolled away from the abuse, slinking out of reach. Coccius' expression never changed. I found myself frowning in disapproval; I didn't like it when people hurt animals. Coccius reached down, picked up the piece of rabbit meat, and tossed it on into the stew.
"By the Eight!" cried Atrius. "That's disgusting."
"Every little bit helps," Coccius returned mildly. "If your hound wants food so badly, it can go get its own dinner."
"Malus is a town dog," the older brother whined, throwing an arm around the whimpering mutt's neck. "He don't know how to hunt."
"Well, he had better learn," the sallow-faced Coccius responded. "That goes double for you, big brother. We might be town dogs, but we need to become wolves now if we're going to make it out here." The waver in his tone might have gone unnoticed by his brother, but I could hear it just fine. He was scared too—and well he should be. Tonight was going to be the last night of his life.
I decided that subtlety was in no way necessary. Two men, neither currently armed, no armor to speak of, with a mangy dog. I had lucked out—for a change. I would burst in the door, kill Coccius, and beat Atrius until he told me what I wanted to know…
I paused suddenly, thinking about what I was doing. I was planning on murdering two men who had done nothing worse—as far as I knew—than steal some silverware and kick a dog. It was one thing to wield a blade in the Night Mother's name, but was it okay to just murder people because it was convenient? I knew that most of my siblings in the Dark Brotherhood would consider that a perk of the job. I had even thought about how nice it would be to break some heads on the way over here myself.
Nazir's voice echoed in my head, chastising me for my bout of conscience. Cicero's voice mocked me for being afraid of blood. In the end, it was Hecate's voice that won out—the voice that told me that I had a good heart, and that she loved me for it. The nagging worry wouldn't go away, though. Hecate might say that she loved me for having a conscience, but she clearly loved Cicero more—and he was a monster, through and through.
Having decided to give these two morons a chance at life, I fell back on Garnag's lessons. He said that the best assassins were the ones with flair and panache. While he hadn't been speaking of murderers, Headmaster Viarmo had said something similar about bards. I pulled my flanged mace and tossed my cloak onto the nearby woodpile. For what I was about to do, I needed my armor to be visible for maximum impact.
Creeping around to the front door, I gestured for Pavot to heel to me and watch my back. I probably wouldn't need his help dispatching these two if it came to that, but the ice wolf would be a useful lookout in case their cousin showed back up unexpectedly. I stood, keeping my body in line with the door, and lashed out with my foot into the area right below the door handle. The front door tore off of its latch like rotten paper, crashing open and drawing both men's attention.
In the moment after I paused in the doorway, wondering if my gambit was going to work or if I had just given up the element of surprise for nothing, the two men dropped to the ground. The pot's ladle clattered out of Atrius' hand, spilling rabbit stew onto the rotten floorboards. Both men were blubbering and weeping, holding up their hands in surrender. They clearly recognized my armor, and it had far more of an impact than I had suspected it would. I guess killing the Emperor of Tamriel made people decide we were scary again after all. Some of my targets had tried to beg or bargain their way out of death before, but never with such abject fear. It almost made me feel sort of sorry for them.
"Oh gods!" cried Atrius. "Don't kill us! We didn't do nothing!"
"Please!" wept Coccius overlapping with his brother. "I don't want to die!"
I let them blubber on for a moment. Even their whipped old hound dog was cowering in the corner of the room, its paws over its muzzle and its eyes closed.
"Enough!" I finally growled in my most threatening voice after I had let them stew for a few moments. "You are the brothers Atrius and Coccius, correct?"
"No, sir!" screeched Atrius. "That ain't us! You got us mixed up with someone else!"
"Save your pleading," I snarled. "The Dark Brotherhood does not make mistakes."
"What do you want with us?" gulped Coccius, snot and tears mixing on his chin.
"You have one chance to live. The lute you two stole from the Bards College," I said evenly. "Where is it?"
"That old thing?" Atrius asked, confused. "What you want that for?"
"I'm asking the questions here!" I shouted. I slammed my mace into the wall of the cabin, shattering a board and bringing a new bout of crying from the two weasely brothers.
"Sorry, sir!" Coccius shrieked. "My brother didn't mean anything by it." He gulped, apparently dreading to tell me what he knew. "It's just… We sold it already." I nodded; I hadn't expected anything less. My lucky streak had been too good to be true already. I just needed the name of the pawn shop they had ditched it at, then I could be on my way.
"Where?" I demanded, smacking my mace into my hand for emphasis. I didn't usually enjoy pushing people around quite so much, but I guess attending the Bards College had improved my appreciation for theatricality.
"Sold it to that fat nobleman what's got his nose up Elisif's sweet ass," Atrius grumbled. "Bastard paid us a few coins to steal it out of a display case. Wasn't locked or nothing."
"Son of a bitch cheated us," Coccius added. "If we'd known the college would fuss so much over one old lute, we would have asked for more." He suddenly looked at me askance, his eyes still watery with fear. "Did someone… you know?"
"Did someone what?" I asked, keeping my voice low and threatening, wondering who the noble they were talking about might be.
"We didn't figure the lute was worth that much," Atrius mewled. "Thane Erikur said that it had sentimental value to his family, that the bards was keeping it from him. We didn't think they'd notice, since we put another one in its place. Certainly didn't think it was worth someone calling the Black Sacrament on us." He started tearing up again, then he and Coccius held onto one another and just began to weep.
I sighed inside; if they had been taken in by such a shoddy story—and tried such a slipshod cover—then they were even dumber than I thought. Killing them would be like spearing fish in a barrel.
"You are not my targets," I intoned, lowering my mace slightly. It would put them at ease, but it wouldn't make their deaths any slower if they tried anything. "No one has called the Sacrament against you."
"Thank the gods!" cried Coccius as he held onto his brother like a drowning man clutching at driftwood.
"All eight of 'em!" shouted Atrius. "Hell, thank Talos too while we're at it!"
"Silence!" I shouted, bringing their eyes back to me. "You may not be my targets, but if I find out that you've lied to me, or if you get in my way…" I gestured, and Pavot slunk into the cabin next to me, his eyes glowing red in the firelight. He growled and bared his teeth. "There would be no place in all of Tamriel you could hide from the Dark Brotherhood. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!" they cried in unison, shaking and shivering.
"Some advice for you," I said as I tucked the mace into my belt. "You're not cut out for banditry, either of you. Go back to civilization and find real jobs. If I ever run into either of you again, and you're not exactly on the straight and level, I'll kill you both." I started to walk out the doorway, then paused and turned back. "And don't ever kick that dog again."
Their jaws dropped open, wondering how I had known about something that happened well before I arrived, but before they could say anything I was already back out in the night.
As I rode back toward Solitude through the worsening autumn flurries, freshly changed back into my normal traveling clothes, I wondered if I had done the right thing by not killing Atrius and Coccius. Most of the Brotherhood would have taken my sparing them as a sign of weakness. I didn't think so, though. While I didn't mind killing—even enjoyed it, after a fashion, when it was done for good reasons—I didn't revel in it the same way that many of my adopted siblings did.
I had gone over the necessaries in my head several times before the lights of the city came back into view. They had never seen my face. They didn't know my real voice. They weren't involved in any aspect of a contract. Nazir might have killed them "just in case" and Cicero might have killed them "just because," but neither of those were good enough reasons for me to take a life. The Dark Brotherhood might have the Five Tenets, but I was learning that I had my own code to follow too.
It wasn't like they had been useless to me either. They had told me the name of their buyer, and that he was a thane in the jarl's court. The entire thing disturbed me. I had assumed that they wouldn't have a real buyer, especially since Elbent hadn't uncovered any hint of a client. Anything this big should have gone through the Thieves Guild, our sister organization, and neither of those idiots had been Guild-affiliated. Honestly, the Guild had been somewhat down on its luck lately; even so, I didn't think they would resort to hiring that low on the food chain. Either the Thieves Guild didn't exist in Solitude anymore, forcing a buyer to hire outside contractors, or the buyer had done an end-run around the Guild to avoid paying their fees.
Also, the fact that this "Erikur" was in Jarl Elisif's court was a worrisome notion. I knew that being a thane was largely a ceremonial position, but it still carried weight with traditional Nords. At least, that was what Hecate had told me when I asked her about her title a while back. The entire political system was kind of a mystery to me. Current events had never been one of my strong suits.
If I wanted Finn's Lute back, I would have to figure out who Erikur was, find out why he had taken it, and discover where he was keeping it. This seemed more and more like something that I couldn't hash out in a single weekend. On the positive side, the buyer being a person of importance in Solitude meant that it was more likely he was keeping it for personal reasons, rather than trying to resell it at a profit. That meant that the lute would be staying in Solitude, probably in his home since it was a known stolen object and he wouldn't be able to display it publicly.
I trotted my horse up to the gates of the city, dismounting before I reached the guards and bringing Pavot to heel. They recognized me from when I had left earlier, so getting back into the city was no problem. No sooner had I entered the gates than I suddenly felt bone-weary. The long ride, the physical exertion, and the continuing strain on my body from my long recovery had worn me out. The walk back to the Bards College seemed like too far to even think about. Before my conscious mind had made the decision, my feet were already carrying me toward Proudspire Manor, which was closer by several blocks.
I let myself into the private lower stables with Hecate's borrowed house key. I didn't see Shadowmere in residence, though that meant less than it might considering that the demon horse had an uncanny knack for disappearing and reappearing. Still, it was most likely that the Listener had not made a last-minute trip into the city without telling me. I threw a load of hay into the first stall for Spot, poured a bucket of water, then pulled out some old hides into the other stall for Pavot; I promised myself to bring him down some meat from the pantry first thing in the morning.
I staggered into the basement through the back door, throwing the bolt behind me as I let myself in. I blinked against the darkness; it had been dim in the stable, but the basement was nearly pitch black. I stumbled around, looking for a lantern, when my toe banged into something hard and unyielding. I yelped and danced around, knocking over what felt like a stack of metal ingots. The crashing noise made me wince, and the sudden appearance of a bright light in front of me made me stagger back drunkenly.
"Stop, thief!" shouted a woman's voice, just before a body collided with mine, sending me reeling backward.
Anxious to not split my skull open on a sharp protrusion of any sort, I lashed out to grab whatever I could. The closest thing was my assailant; I got a good handful of the front of her shirt and almost managed to right myself before the fabric gave way. The woman pulled away from me, dropping the lantern she carried, and both of us wound up flat on our asses about ten feet apart. As my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I realized that I was holding most of the front of her nightshirt and she wasn't wearing anything under it.
"Jordis!" I shouted looking away from the mostly-naked housecarl. "It's me! Aventus!"
"Aventus?" she said groggily, as though she had bumped her head. She made no move to cover up as she asked, "What are you doing here?" She paused, thinking about it a moment. "Not that you don't have a right to be here. I mean, it's your home and all. I just wasn't expecting you tonight, and certainly not sneaking in like a burglar."
"Jordis," I said calmly, continuing to avert my eyes, "your shirt is torn open." She looked down, seeming to notice the torn clothes for the first time, and pulled a hand up to her mouth in surprise.
"Gods!" she cried. "I didn't mean to show you anything indecent!" She stood up like a shot, trying in vain to clutch her ripped nightgown together with one hand while using the other to pull herself upright. This was made more difficult by the fact that she kept alternating hands to try and fumble for the lantern she had dropped. Thank the Night Mother it hadn't broken, or we might have had to deal with being on fire on top of everything else. "Now Diana will think that I'm trying to corrupt her son, like in one of those trashy romance novels, and she'll hate me and send me away!"
Jordis staggered over to me, finally having managed to balance the lantern on the lip of a forge. She threw her arms around my neck and started crying, bawling incoherently about how this was all she had and she didn't mean to mistake me for a thief and don't tell my mother and she was sorry and she didn't know how this had happened. If I could have gotten a word in edgewise, I would have tried to reassure her that it was entirely my fault, but she was too busy falling apart. I was also, perhaps, not in the best position to comfort a half-naked woman only a few years older than me pressed up against me while I was exhausted. In the end, all I could manage to do was pat her on the back awkwardly while muttering "There, there."
Finally, Jordis stopped sniffling and leaned up from my shoulder. Her lips hovered near my ear, her breath brushing my cheek.
"I think I got snot on your shirt," she whispered.
I sighed and patted her on the back again. I suppose, all in all, a bruised tailbone and a dirty shirt had been a small price to pay for the day's activities.
Waking up in my overstuffed bed in Proudspire Manor was a very different experience for me.
It was my first night sleeping over in the house, and I couldn't get over how quiet it was. Living in Sanctuary—even back when it was just the six of us, back at the beginning—there was some amount of noise all the time. Even in the middle of the night, Babette would be up and about, working on her potions or poisons. The Bards College was a big building and our floor was mostly empty, but there were people above and below us, and the building itself made noises.
Proudspire Manor had been constructed of stout stone and fine wood, and the loudest noise in the whole place was Jordis coming upstairs early to make breakfast for us both. The sound of her clattering around in the kitchen woke me right away; I'm a light sleeper at the best of times, and sleeping in a strange bed had left me restless. The bed was comfortable… but it wasn't me. The house was a place for a wealthy socialite, a role that Hecate occasionally had to play, nothing more.
"Good morning, Jordis," I said as I came downstairs, hoping that the housecarl wouldn't still be upset about the night before.
"Good morning, Aventus," she replied with a jaunty smile. "I made breakfast!" I noticed with some confusion that she was wearing her usual armor, but with a chef's apron over it and a cooking mitt on one hand. Despite the clash and clatter that had been coming from the kitchen, everything still seemed like it was in one piece. I sat down at the table as Jordis laid out a plate for me.
"Aren't you joining me?" I asked when I noticed that she hadn't set a place for herself.
"Oh, it wouldn't be proper," she responded. "A good housecarl sees to her own needs last. At least, that's what Falk always says." At my questioning glance, she continued, "Falk Firebeard. He's Jarl Elisif's steward. He oversaw my training as a housecarl."
"Jordis," I started as she spooned out some runny-looking eggs, "clearly you know people in the court better than I do. I mean, I've never had to deal with politics before, so I'm pretty lost about this sort of stuff. Do you think you could help me catch up? With Diana—my mother, I mean—involved with the court again, I'll need all the help I can get."
"Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask. If I were any good at politics myself, I probably wouldn't be a housecarl."
"What do you mean?" I asked. I took a bit of the eggs; the taste made me realize I was spoiled by Nazir's cooking.
"Well, just…" she trailed off. She put the pan back on the stove and sat down at the table with a wan smile. "I was originally supposed to get married off to a minor nobleman to cement an alliance between our families. But during our engagement party, I wound up annoying him so badly that he broke it off. My father was so mad at me, but Elisif managed to convince him that I was better off following my dreams as a sword maiden."
"So you're from a noble family?"
"Only by marriage," she responded. "We were originally just a well-respected clan, but my uncle's whole family was elevated when Elisif married Torygg."
"Wait," I said, trying to get the family relationships right. "You mean you're related to Jarl Elisif."
"Didn't I say that?" she asked, confused. "We're cousins. Our fathers are brothers. We were raised together here in Solitude. My uncle Oskar—Elisif's father—was a diplomat for the Empire, so we spent a lot of time in the Blue Palace as children. It's how she and Torygg met."
"So you're perfect to explain the court to me," I said cheerfully.
"I think you might be better off with someone else," Jordis said nervously. "I'll do it if you ask… but I'm really supposed to stay near the manor to protect your mother's things. I don't want to risk something happening…" She trailed off, looking twitchy and upset. I thought that maybe she was more worried about dealing with the court than thieves breaking in, so I didn't push it anymore.
After breakfast, I wandered out onto the back porch, brushing snow off the landing as I went. A light dusting was quickly being burned off by the morning sun, but it was still a little too cold to strip my shirt off for my morning exercises. I went through my usual routine, taking it easier than usual because of my exertion the previous night.
The routine ate up time, and when I finished, breathing heavily and sweating, I was surprised to hear applause from behind me. Turning around, I recognized the young man standing there was Frothar, Balgruuf's eldest son. He was on his family's back porch, leaning lazily on the railing as he clapped.
"I didn't want to interrupt," he said jauntily, "so now that you're done: good morning."
"Good morning," I replied, his cheerful tone and smiling demeanor making me grin in return. "Do you always watch people exercising without their knowledge?"
"Only my neighbors," he laughed, vaulting up onto the railing and leaping across to my side. He landed firmly in the snow, not slipping a bit. I had always envied the ability of Nords to ignore the cold, and to move on ice and snow like dry land. It was a knack I had never quite gotten. "Truthfully, I hadn't expected to see you when I came out for my morning constitutional. I thought you were up at the Bards College."
"I was," I started. "I mean, I am. I just needed a day off—out of the school." I laughed nervously. Talking one on one with normal people was still a little new for me. It was rare I could have a conversation with someone that I wasn't threatening or forced to share quarters with. "I was feeling a little cooped up."
"You and my brother both," Frothar chuckled, sitting down on one of the stone benches. "You're still doing better than him, though." He sighed, shaking his head. "You at least started classes. Nelkir just decided to not go, and Father was too busy with the war effort to put the time toward forcing him."
"Nelkir was supposed to be attending the college?" I asked. "I knew we were supposed to have another student who dropped out at the last minute. I didn't realize it was your brother."
"No reason for you to," he continued. "It wasn't common knowledge outside of the family and the staff. And I'm pretty sure Viarmo still likes my father enough to not smear his youngest son for being a layabout."
"I didn't mean-" I started, waving my hands apologetically.
"No worries," Frothar laughed. "You didn't say it. I did. Nelkir is a good kid, but he has no ambition, no drive. All he wants to do is run around town all day, spending Father's coin and associating with the lower class. I dread to think if the boy's discovered women yet. Divines know what sort of doxies he might take up with."
My back stiffened despite Frothar's jovial tone. My mother—my real mother, Naalia Aretino—had been a prostitute, like one of the "doxies" that Frothar was so glib about demeaning. It drove home for me that Balgruuf's eldest son might be funny and charming, but he was still a Nord—and a Nord nobleman at that. I had grown up in poverty and want, on the verge of starving, with the few coins in our home bought by my mother's tears and pain. And this smiling bastard-
I realized that I was clenching my fists and shaking. Frothar hadn't noticed yet, too busy still complaining about his brother's antics. I forced myself to calm down, breathing deeply and stilling my face. By the time Frothar looked at me again, I was smiling pleasantly. My mask was back in place. I cursed myself a fool for letting it slip in the first place. Maybe Hecate had been right; the Bards College could wind up being a good experience for me.
"So, are you going to be at Proudspire more often?" he asked courteously.
"I haven't decided yet," I waffled. "Mostly, I just needed to get out of my dormitory for a while. I've been thinking about…" I trailed off, not sure if I wanted to ask a favor from someone I had just recently met. At his expectant look, I finally continued. "My mother wants me to brush up on courtly matters so that I can keep her up to date about what's going on in the capital. But the truth is that I don't know much of anything about the jarl's court."
"The High Queen's court soon enough," came a lilting voice from across the way. Frothar and I both looked toward the voice, and a beaming smile crossed the young man's face.
"Little sister!" he cried. "Jump across and join us! Clearly, you already consider yourself part of the conversation."
"Jump?" Dagny sniffed. "I think not. Even if I could make the leap, I'd ruffle my dress."
"And dislodge your breakfast, I have no doubt," her brother retorted. "Fine then, we'll come to you."
Frothar stood, brushing frost from his pants, and turned toward his sister. Dagny shrieked and backed away from the railing quickly, knowing what he planned to do. He looked at me and nodded. Once again, his easygoing manner was infectious, and I found myself running alongside him as he dashed for the railing. He was closer but I was faster, so we reached the rail at the same time, both of us leaping up onto it and launching ourselves across. Frothar landed perfectly just beyond the rail on the other side, while I dropped to a knee and forward-rolled to bleed off the momentum. I wound up right in front of Dagny, up on one knee with my hands flat on the ground.
As I looked up at Dagny, she drew a hand up to her mouth, brushing away a strand of dark blonde hair from her cheek with the other. A flush spread on her cheeks, and I wondered if she was just less resistant to the cold than other Nords.
"You should stand up before she thinks you're proposing," Frothar teased as he walked toward me. He held out a hand and helped me up as Dagny snorted in irritation. "Tricking a suitor into marriage is the only way she could attract a man, what with the way those sweetrolls keep going to her thighs." Dagny slapped her brother on the arm as he howled with laughter.
"Just because your tastes run toward those rail-thin Imperial girls," she hissed, "don't think that I couldn't get a man if I wanted to."
"Fine, fine," he chuckled as he walked toward the inner door. "I have to go now. I have a long day touring the troops with Father and General Tullius. Aventus here was saying that he needs someone to teach him about court etiquette. Since you don't have anything to do, why not show him around?"
Dagny turned to look at me with apprising eyes, looking me up and down like a butcher with a side of beef. Despite being fully clothed, I felt unaccountably naked in front of her gaze. Finally, she looked over at her brother.
"All right then," she said, bringing a look of surprise to both of our faces. "I'll do it."
"Thank you, little sister," he replied, coming back long enough to give her an affectionate peck on the forehead. "Perhaps I'll see you at court later, Aventus?"
"Not today at least," she quickly interrupted. She turned to me. "No offense, but you talk like a yokel and I doubt you even own court clothes. Today is just making sure that you'll eventually be presentable. I wonder if Radiant Raiment is open on Sundas…"
As she continued to talk, Frothar laughed once more and walked out. I cast a desperate look at his back as he walked away, wondering what I had gotten myself into…
…to be continued…