"I know nothing of him, or his family," Carcette said as she walked slowly along the dirt road near the Silver Hands small village just west of Dawnstar, "except that he is a frequent visitor to, and dear friend of, the Jarl of Morthal. They have known each other for decades. And he attempts to help her daughter, who is afflicted with dreams."
It was not only because of the recent injury and illness of the leader of the Vigilants of Stendarr in The Pale that their pace was slow. Soran had still not recovered fully from the wounds he received as he fought for his life near Bloodlet Throne.
Carcette's recovery had reached the point where Soran was comfortable moving her to the permanent home of the Silver Hand. It was only a small collection of buildings, the main structure set just off the road was two stories, constructed of wood and stone with a shingled roof rather than thatch, and windows that were weather tight with glass panes. Four smaller cottages, and two separate barns, sat behind the main house and were laid out in a semi-circular arch with a small covered forge midways between them and the main house. It was home to barely a dozen Silver Hand, but it was the largest collection of buildings that were scattered across the northern holds of Skyrim that housed other members of their band. Most resided in single cottages, or in groups of two, with the occasional long house thrown in for good measure.
But not Krev, nor any of his followers. All of them seemed to prefer caves or abandoned forts or refuges. There was some logic to it, especially in the most northern regions, where cold was as serious an enemy as were beasts. But Soran believed such a choice spoke to the innate flaw that resided in all of those men who chose to follow Krev.
"He collects Jarls, it seems," Soran replied, "like some men collect...well...chose whatever item seems appropriate. He is sworn brother to the Jarl of Whiterun."
"It says much about the man, does it not, to have such friends? It should ease your mind, but I see that it clearly does not."
Soran was quiet for a moment before speaking, hunting for the right words while trying to ignore the pain in his arm and leg.
"No, it does not. We have little information on him, and what information we do have is not to his credit."
"But he does not appear to be cruel or malicious, not by your description of him. His behavior towards his daughter, and hers towards him, was quite loving by your account and the account of others who were there."
Soran thought back to the evening in question. They had trailed the Thane and his company for some time, thought at a distance. But the distance would have to have been far greater for any of them to miss the loving nature of the relationship between the too attractive Thane and his broad shouldered daughter who was the very model of a Nord warrior. Indeed, their repeated shared laughter would have ruined any attempts at stealth should it have proved necessary.
"He led her into a fight to the death against a score of night walkers," Soran said in a half-hearted attempt to convince himself that the Thane of Whiterun was not as perfect as others believed.
"You led your own brothers and sisters into such a fight," Carcette reminded him gently as they approached the two storied house, and the covered porch, that had been their starting point, "be careful by what standard you measure him, least you also find yourself wanting."
Soran's face became hot with shame as the truth of words of the High Priestess of Stendarr struck a chord in his heart and soul.
"Wisdom, it seems, is a prerequisite for leading the Vigilants of Stendarr," Soran said as he helped Carcette up the few steps leading to the porch.
Carcette smiled up at Soran as she sat on the cushioned chair in the welcome shade of the porch, the residue of pain still displayed upon her face. "And also, it seems, for the Harbinger of The Silver Hand."
Sharn stopped sharpening her dagger and looked at her friend once again, and finally spoke her mind. "What is it that you are writing? You have been at your scribbling for some time."
Gwenyfe did not look up from the page in front of her when she replied. "I am writing a letter to my sister Siubhán."
"Again? Did you not just write to her last month?"
"Yes. I am recounting our ordeal at Bloodlet Throne."
Sharn's skepticism could clearly be herd in her tone of voice. "The length of those pages must rival Songs of the Return by now. It cannot be only that attack you describe to her, and it takes no skill at divination to guess what else you describe."
Gwenyfe's face became hot. "I am also describing Aric, Thane of Whiterun," she said shyly.
"Ha! I knew it!" Sharn said as she pointed her finger at Gwenyfe, "I knew it was Thane Aric that you were writing about. The motion of your pen and the look on your face betrays you."
"What look on my face?" the Reachman woman asked her Orismer sister as she finally drew her eyes away from the page.
"That insipid smile. I have seen it far too often of late."
"Better than the lecherous smile that you have worn lately," Gwenyfe replied, her heart rate and her irritation increasing in unison, "All of us know where your thought fly to when your face likewise betrays you."
"Do you two truly fight over a man that neither of you has met formally?" Hellina asked as she entered the room.
"She started it," Gwenyfe said as she pointed to Sharn with her pen, sending several dots of ink in the warrior's direction.
"It is your own fault for being such an easy target," Sharn replied, "You fall in love with him too easily. I merely lust after him."
"Gods give me strength," Hellina said, "Soran has a mission for both of you, if you can avoid killing each other long enough to hear his charge."
Gwenyfe dusted her unfinished letter with fine sand and placed it in her writing case before her eyes landed on Sharn.
"You are forbidden from reading it."
Sharn rolled her eyes. "As if those pages contain anything of interest to me."
"Merciful Gods," Hellina said as she bowed her head and rubbed her temples with her hands.
"You cannot send them together," Hellina said to Soran, "They will surely come to blows. The fight over him like skeevers brawling over the last egg in a nest."
"Arkay give me strength," Soran said quietly as he placed the pen he had been holding onto the desk, drew a breath, and closed his eyes.
Clesa, Manis and Vala sat a short distance away, and both Silver Hand smiled at the thought of the two women who were the topic of discussion between Soran and Hellina, and the particular egg that they fought over. The Redguard Vigilant of Stendarr wore a confused look, but remained silent.
It was only a moment later when the pair being discussed joined them, and everyone in the room could see the tension between the two.
"There are two tasks that must be completed," Soran began, "We believe that we have located another fragment of Wuuthrad. And we must gather further intelligence on the Inner Circle from Whiterun, but Naar does not think it wise for him to return to the city so soon after his last visit."
Gwenyfe's face began to radiate pure joy.
"Do not become over excited," Hellina said, "he is away. Our last reports have him well on his way to Solitude."
"Two of you will accompany Clesa, who will be your guide to the brick and stone refuge midway between Morthal and Dawnstar that is reported to hold the fragment. Two of you will travel with Naar back to Whiterun, but Naar will remain in the foothills above the city."
"And that pair obviously will not go armed or armored as members of the Silver Hand, but must remain anonymous," Hellina added, "It remains now only to assign each of you to one of these tasks."
"You cannot send me to Whiterun," Sharn said, "Not without drawing attention that you do not want. Neither Orismer nor Altmer inhabit Whiterun in any number."
"That is true," Soran replied, "though your reason for traveling to Whiterun could be to visit the Temple of Kynareth, their house of healing."
"If that is the case, you are more in need of healing than I am," Sharn said, "and it should be you that leads that mission."
"She has a point," Hellina said with a smile.
"Kodlak Whitemane has seen my face at least once," Soran replied as he rubbed his wounded leg, "otherwise I would consider the idea."
"Then it is decided," Gwenyfe said, "Sharn and I will accompany Clesa and search for the fragment."
"Sharn and Manis will accompany Clesa and search for the fragment," Soran said as his eyes remained fixed on the document he had been writing.
The look on the faces of both Sharn and Gwenyfe displayed shock, but only Gwenyfe's face also showed how much his words had hurt.
"You are separating us?" she asked.
"For now, I believe it is best."
"For what reason?" Sharn asked, as her eyes went from Soran to Hellina, her voice rising in company with her irritation and, Soran would have sworn, her height as well. It always seemed to Soran that she grew taller when she became angry. And Sharn was quite frequently angry.
"It was my decision to separate you for a time," Hellina said in defense of her commander.
"Over a squabble that is none of your concern?" Gwenyfe asked as she stood her ground in front of the Silver Hand second-in-command, the color rising in her face, "Do you think that this is the first such argument we have ever had?"
"Affairs of the heart are different," Hellina said calmly, "they cut deeper, and are not so quickly healed."
"Then it is only Gwenyfe's heart at risk in this case," Sharn said as the smile that she had so recently worn returned, "it is a different organ of mine that is in question."
It took slightly longer than one minute for the laughter to die down sufficiently for Soran to be heard, or even to draw enough breath to speak.
"In that case," he said as he wiped his eyes, the remains if his own laughter mingling with his words, "Sharn and Gwenyfe will accompany Clesa."
Sharn walked up to Gwenyfe and placed her large hand on the shorter woman's shoulder as the two women looked at each other. "It is settled then."
Well, that was easier than I expected, Hellina thought to herself after looking at the faces of the two women, which now bore not a hint of tension.