Hellina observed the young woman who was standing in their common room in robes that appeared to be at least one size too large. The woman, who still seemed more girl than woman, had been accompanied by a letter of reference; and it took no more than a simple glance for Hellina to recognize the beautiful writing as that belonging to the woman who had sent Hellina a similar letter in answer to her inquiry.
"Eofel Torban. You come recommended by Thane Aric of, well, that list is somewhat long. His Steward in The Pale writes that you are acquainted with his daughters Sara and Delphine, and that you are a gifted, though still young, Healer. Do you know of Thane Aric and his daughters?"
"I know of him, he is Archmage of The College of Winterhold, your Grace. That is how I also know his daughters. Sara and I are recent graduates. Delphine has only completed half of her education."
Merciful Gods, is there a title that this man does not possess? Hellina asked herself.
"Thane Aric is Archmage at the College?"
"Yes. He also lectures in Restoration, and Alchemy, and Thaumaturgy. For advanced students he teaches The Lore and Practices of The Old Gods of The Reach, and The Power of The Earthbones."
Hellina made a mental note to ask Gwenyfe and Manis about those fields of study, which were completely foreign to her.
"Did you advance far enough to study those subjects?"
The young, pink face looked downward at her almost brand new Healer's robes, and the equally pink hands that protruded from the wide sleeves.
"They were very difficult fields of study, your Grace," she said meekly.
"Do not call me your Grace, child. My name is Hellina, my rank is Commander. You may choose whichever of those best matches your idiom."
It was the word child that caused the pink face to look up and make eye contact with the Commander of The Silver Hand. Hellina did not fail to notice the face grow hard and gain color.
"How old are you?" Hellina asked her.
"Nineteen. Commander."
So, there is metal underneath that oversized garment.
"I beg your pardon, Eofel Torban. I should not have called you child."
The young woman's face softened as she spoke, but her eyes stayed fixed upon Hellina.
"It is no matter, Commander. I am too sensitive. All my instructors say so."
"That may come in company with being a gifted Healer, or so I have heard it said. But I must speak plainly and say that our life is a dangerous one, and a hard one. And while you would not partake directly in that danger, it would be your duty to deal with its aftermath. Have you ever seen a man who has been bitten by a vampire? Or a man who has been attacked by a werebeast, or a troll? Those sights are not for the innocent, or the faint of heart."
The young woman's eyes grew wide as the color, that had recently visited her face in protest of the word child, fled again.
"No, your... Commander. But... do you know of The Eye of Magnus?"
"That name is not known to me."
"I am not surprised. It would take far too long to tell the entire tale, but in summary: there was a great battle within the College two years ago in which the Eye played a critical part, as did the Archmage, though he was not Archmage yet. When the battle was over Archmage Savos Aren was dead, and there were many injured and wounded. It was my part, and the part of anyone studying Restoration, to assist in treating those wounds and injuries; and there were a great many of both. I am aware that I appear to be much younger than I am, but I am no innocent child. I have seen more than you may imagine."
Hellina was quiet for a moment as she consider the young woman in front of her.
"You will have a roof over your head. You will have enough to eat. You will have a bed, and a room, that will belong to you, and no other. We have lately been quite busy, which brings us abundant gold, but also abundant injury. You will have a share of the former, and will tend to the latter. It is not an issue with other members, since they are all warriors and can defend themselves, but I will state it plainly for you: no man or woman may place a hand upon you without your consent. Anyone who does so will lose that hand, and possibly the life that motivated it. I will ask you regularly how you fare, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and I expect you to answer honestly. If I see a bruise or a mark upon you I will ask you plainly how you acquired it, and you will speak truthfully when you answer. Anyone who does you harm, be they Silver Hand, complete strangers, or anything in between, will answer to me. I do not know the Archmage at all, but from what I have heard tell of him, these conditions must be familiar to you from your time at the College, so I will not press the point further. Do you accept the position under the conditions I have described?"
Hellina could see the joy radiating from her face, but she also saw that young Eofel Torban knew the seriousness of what she was undertaking when she stated her answer plainly.
"Yes, Commander."
Frik was not jealous; that was not why he hated Hylf with a passion. His hatred for the assassin long predated Hylf's recent clinging behavior towards Krev.
Frik was not certain whether Krev's deteriorating state of mind was due to his closer association with Hylf, or if the association was a symptom of that decay. The Krev of old would not have given Hylf the least attention, unless he was hiring the walking beanpole to strike Soran down from behind and without warning, or when the Harbinger was asleep. The Krev of old would have never held a secret meeting, unless that meeting had included Frik. But Frik was not jealous.
Frik was, on the other hand, quite adept at listening in on conversations that the participants preferred to keep, and thought they had kept, private. It was this skill, and the attention that Frik had been unobtrusively keeping on Hylf (though Frik was not jealous) that had led him to discover Krev's secret plot to sow dissension within Jorrvaskr. That revelation had not been the reason that Frik had dug up his hidden treasure and moved it to a new location, not the sole reason at least. And Frik did not care one jot whether the residents of Jorrvaskr tore each other to shreds; in fact, he preferred it. Dead Companions are no danger to anyone, whereas live Companions, particularly those that can change into werewolves, are dangers of the first water. What Frik cared very much about was being present afterwards to collect his share of the treasure that the dead Companions left behind. As Krev's second in command Frik would have his pick of the choicest plunder, and Frik had no intention of being supplanted by a leather clad walking corpse who thought he could simply walk in and shoulder Frik aside.
When they had acquired the man, who had come to them from Eastmarch, Frik had voiced his objection as strongly as he had dared. There was something about the man that Frik had not liked. It was not only that the man wore no armor, choosing to wear simple leather garments that were little more than breeches and tunic. Neither did he carry a weapon, not a real weapon; a dagger was not a real weapon, neither singly, nor when carried in pairs, not in Frik's mind at any rate. It was not only that the man waved off any objection voiced by one of Krev's men when they complained that the man did not lift a finger when it came to tracking down werebeasts, or working the silver mine; very few of them made any effort at those tasks either. It was not only his regal tone of voice or flowery language when he spoke to anyone that was not Krev, or how the strength fled his legs when Soran or Hellina (or Urul, which was less of a fault in Frik's mind) addressed him. It was none of those things individually. But when all of those things were combined, they yielded a man whose reputation, even among the refuse of humanity that formed Krev's followers, was uniformly bad. Except, for some reason, with Krev, who valued the man more and more as days became weeks. Someone else might have understood that assassins are at their core cowards. They do not face their enemies openly and defeat them through strength and skill. They are brave only when they are unseen. Courage and strength are not their gifts. Someone else would have considered all these points and forgiven the man for his deficiencies. But Frik was not someone else.
The problem now was that Hylf had gained a great deal of favor with Krev, and Frik could not simply fabricate an argument, call him out, and kill him. And if Hylf even suspected that Frik was thinking of doing so, he would put one of his long slender knives in Frik's back the first chance he saw, and then place the blame on someone else. No, Hylf must certainly die, but not by Frik's hand. Frik would step in afterwards, Krev's loyal lieutenant, to offer his condolences, or to point to a manufactured suspect, or to do absolutely nothing, whatever seemed most appropriate in the moment. And then once Hylf was out of the way, and Frik's place by Krev's side assured, then The Companions could kill each other with abandon, and Frik would cheer them on as they did so, and pick over their corpses, and their inverted long boat, afterwards. But only after Hylf had been dealt with.
Skyrim was a dangerous place. The line between life and death was narrow, and not always clear.
"She will require a space to work, and a space that she can call home," Hellina said as she spread jam onto Soran's toasted bread while he removed the pot containing their porridge from its hook and spooned the contents into two bowls.
The season was growing late, though the temperature was still moderate. Hellina could remember years when the ground was already wearing it's first, or even second, coat of snow by this time. But she knew better than to tempt the Gods and mention the temperate weather to Soran.
It was either by coincidence, or the result of that type of telepathy that some couples share after a long acquaintance, that Soran was also thinking of the weather, and in practically the same way that Hellina was thinking of it. But he was also one to avoid tempting fate, or the wrath of the Gods. His attention was currently focused on his hands, and that he should have protected his hands from the now quite hot bowls.
"You do not think she would be safer if she shared a room with someone?" he asked as he set the bowls down and shook both his hands to alleviate the pain.
Hellina licked jam from her fingers and sipped her tea. "A strong lock will suffice. But we must keep Krev and his bandits away from her."
"I liked the construction of the apothecary shop in Dawnstar very much," Soran said as he sat down and handed Hellina her bowl, "Eofel could work on the ground floor and live on the top floor."
Hellina stopped the progress of a spoonful of porridge on it's journey to her mouth to look at her lover.
"That would take some time to build. And if we allow Dralof and Siggyr to reside here as well we will have to clear more space."
Soran shook his head as he took a bite of toast before stirring sugar into his porridge. "I still find it hard to believe that there is no magic that can clear a space of trees, and make the ground flat. Mages have no imagination when it comes to practical matters."
Hellina took a sip of her tea to clear her mouth before she spoke. "Healing wounds is a very practical matter. And do you not have enough sugar spread on your toast?"
Soran continued to stir his porridge as he watched the woman he loved lick jam from her fingers and lips for the third time. "Since I observe that half of the jam from that pot has ended up on your face and fingers, you have lost the right to cast aspersions."
The pair smiled at each other and ate their breakfast in silence for a moment.
"We could sell the trees we cut to the wood mills, and we could mine extra ore to pay for the construction, but it would still take months; and it is late in the season for building. Until them, she could live in the house, in the spare bedroom. She would have us for protection. We could clear out the back room for her work space."
Hellina smiled, but said nothing. Soran watched her eat her breakfast, the smile still on her face.
"What?" he asked.
She shook her head, but stopped eating and looked at him.
"I was imagining where we might put a bath house."
The late autumn morning sun chose that moment to cast it's first rays of light directly onto the table at which they sat. Soran was not sure whether it was a sign from the Gods, but he had already been forming his answer in his mind, and the golden light only convinced him that he had chosen correctly.
"The builders in Hjaalmarch and The Pale will be very happy this year."
"I need volunteers to work the mine, and to clear land for building," Subaltern Dyus said to the seven men in the dimly lit structure. Some of the men were clearly drunk, some and been asleep when he had entered the decrepit structure and were still asleep. Dyus considered the old fort, that looked to be as old as Tamriel, a death trap and he wished to complete this futile task quickly so he could return to the open air and clear the stench from his lungs. The Subaltern knew that it was a pointless task. He had selected, and Soran and Hellina had rescued, anyone of merit from Krev's band, and there had been no recent additions of any kind. Those men who were left, scattered across two or three locations such as this... Dyus did not waste any mental energy searching for the proper words to describe them.
"What is the pay?" one of the men asked.
It was always the same with them; Dyus knew that well enough. And the men present, and conscious, knew well what his response would be.
"It is part of your duty as a member of The Silver Hand to assist with such tasks."
Dyus waited the shortest amount of time he felt was appropriate, during which the only response he received was silence, before he turned towards the door.
The voice that he heard behind him, and recognized, stunned him into silence.
"I will help," Frik said simply, as he stood up and wiped his hands.