Traveling Trials
POV Pellegrina, Chapter 8: Snitches get Riches
A deal with a group of Redguards leads Pelle and Mag to make some interesting encounters in the heart of Whiterun.
17:00 PM, Turdas the 11th of Hearthfire, 4E 201
The plan was simple, but like most plans, it had a short life.
All Pellegrina wanted was to go to Rorikstead, tell the Alik'r about Saadia, and make easy money.
Magrakh agreed it was a good plan, after she explained why the Redguards had come all the way from Hammerfell to hunt down a single woman.
He, too, despises the Thalmor and their supporters, like all sensible people.
Due to the Alik'r leader's refusal to pay before verifying the information, Mag and Pelle found themselves on the road to Whiterun right after negotiating their reward.
Pelle blames herself for not being prepared for this eventuality. After all, how can an Alik'r warrior verify the identity of a fugitive in a city where he can't even enter?
Of course, she sends the two fools who brought the information.
Since the Alik'r pushed them into a deal bigger than they intended to accept–and that derailed their plan to head to Falkreath–Pelle knows she should be angry. Yet, she can't turn her nose up at the armed escort they've obtained for the journey through the tundra, or the prospect of the rich reward promised to them.
It's unlikely they'll encounter a Civil War battle on their route since it's very close to the southern border, which is relatively safe from the neighboring Imperial holds of Reach and Falkreath. But careless soldiers and travelers aren't the only danger on the roads.
If hundreds of hours spent exploring the video game and a month in the real version have taught her anything, it's that among outlaws, wild animals, and monsters, no place is safe in Skyrim.
The 10 well-armed men traveling with them are a deterrent to most dangers with a bit of intelligence, even if the Alik'r themselves don't seem very cautious. Like when they veered off the beaten path for a 'shortcut' that led them to stop near a giant's camp.
Pelle had never seen giants before, and recalling her game characters being thrown into the sky couldn't prepare her for the sheer shock of seeing 7-meter-tall people with her own eyes.
The giants approached to investigate, grunting and threatening them with trees used as clubs, and then they retreated to their den once they decided their group wasn't a concern.
Magrakh nearly wet himself, and Pelle hasn't fared much better. The encounter made her feel even smaller and more vulnerable than usual, and she only calmed down after sitting down and sketching the herd of mammoths peacefully grazing nearby.
The damned Alik'r remained impassive.
They flattened the tall grass, laid out their carpets, and set up their white canvas tents, sharing food and drinks, with an implied request that they share their provisions as well.
The leader, Kematu, smokes like a chimney and offers Mag some, who immediately starts coughing. Meanwhile, Pelle passes around the spiced wine she has bought in Solitude after tasting Hammerfell's coffee, or 'kaveh.' She had missed that bitter liquid energy.
"So, this woman you're looking for," Mag says, after regaining the use of his lungs, "what's her name?"
Lying on a cushion like a big cat, Kematu smiles.
"Iman. She's a noblewoman from a powerful house in our homeland."
"She served me breakfast," Pelle says, while chewing on the jerky they have been given. It's seasoned beyond her limits, and Meeko looks at it longingly, but even though she'd like to get rid of it, she'd rather not give spices to a dog.
"Did she tell you anything?" Kematu inquires.
"Nothing beyond 'Is that all, miss?' She called the innkeeper 'mom,' but then she called her 'Miss Hulda,' and Hulda is a fair-skinned Nord, and I think this goes beyond a Redguard father or adoption. Saadia's behavior didn't convince me."
"So, Iman involved the innkeeper as well. I wonder what story she told her. Last time, she seduced a man and made him believe she was being chased by Thalmor assassins."
"Very easy to make friends in Skyrim with that excuse; most Nords don't like the Thalmor." Pelle mutters.
"No one likes the Thalmor," an Alik'r from the back says.
Pelle raises her mug in a toast, pleased that even on another planet, the Nazis aren't appreciated.
6:00 PM, Fredas the 12th of Hearthfire, 4E 201
The group finally returns to the main road, where Pelle experiences an unpleasant sense of déjà vu, too distracted by avoiding the increasing piles of horse dung to understand why.
After a few minutes, she notices Mag's troubled gaze and recognizes where they are.
She instinctively looks up and feels reassured by the overcast sky that promises another storm, devoid of large winged shadows.
The city of Whiterun catches the eye even from this distance, perched on the hill like a crown on a head. But for now, the group is surrounded by the pieces of the Watchtower and the charred remains of the farms.
"Is everything okay?" Kematu asks, obviously wary of their sudden nervous behavior.
"This is where the dragon attacked," Pelle struggles to say through clenched teeth that she hadn't realized were grinding.
Kematu's eyes reevaluate the surrounding destruction with concern.
"The one that razed Helgen? We heard about it."
"No." Pelle points to a deep and long trench a few hundred meters from the ruins. "This was a different dragon, a much smaller one. That's where it died."
The skeleton is no longer there.
Kematu whistles as he looks at the long trench.
"So they killed a dragon! It's good to know Nord warriors can stand up to one of these beasts." He then turns to her with a mischievous smile shaded by his turban. "If they can, so can we."
His arrogant confidence makes her want to spit at him, so she immediately breaks eye contact, finding no solace in Magrakh's silence and distance.
"Good for you," she says, trying not to poison her tone of voice. "Just keep in mind that over 30 soldiers have died in that battle."
Kematu remains silent, knowing that his entire group consists of 10 warriors, including himself.
"And this doesn't even count the farmers, the animals, the damage to properties, and the loss of crops for the winter." She gestures towards the charred fields that still carry a pungent smell. "But to be honest, they were very lucky…the dragon just wanted to play, so it didn't think of ravaging the city."
In Kematu's continued silence, no one mentions the fact that most of the city is built of wood or that it harbors thousands of innocents.
Whiterun has sturdy walls ready to repel soldiers and even withstand trebuchets, not flying and fire-breathing monsters the size of an airplane.
9:00 PM
They travel the rest of the road in uncomfortable silence and arrive at the city gate shortly after sunset.
As the Alik'r's group reaches the outskirts, the guards start watching them attentively; they're not allowed to move past the stables. At least this serves to divert attention from Magrakh, who hides his face in an attempt not to be recognized.
Pelle takes a deep breath and continues to advance as if there were no problems, heading to a tavern near the stables.
The chatter of the farmers abruptly stops as they enter. Everyone turns to look, with the most interest towards the clearly foreign Redguards.
Wow, am I in a western movie? She stifles a nervous laugh and approaches the counter.
The barmaid, a tough Nord woman, stares back sternly.
"Good evening, ma'am," Pelle smiles, "we've traveled a long way and still have a lot more to go. Would you mind gracing our lips with some mead while we rest?"
It's best to let everyone know that they're just passing through. Nords don't like outsiders, but they're actually friendly when they know they'll be gone soon.
The woman scrutinizes them. "Are you sure you're old enough to drink, girl?"
Somewhere among the crowded tables, people chuckle.
Pelle takes out a pouch of money and slams it onto the counter. Along with the thud comes the strong and distinctive jingle of many coins.
"Absolutely, ma'am. I'm a Breton, we're all this short!" She replies, showing more teeth than necessary. "I realize we're too many to sit inside, so we won't disturb the other patrons, and we'll have the mead at the tables outside, if that's okay with you. Don't worry about the lantern either, I have a lighter."
The woman raises an eyebrow.
"Ah, I mean…flint and steel? And it would be best if the mead is warmed, please."
Despite it still being summer, evenings are cold, and the wind is strong.
The barmaid nods and signals to a waitress who resembles her but lacks the same tan and wrinkles.
"Do you serve dinner as well, ma'am?" Pelle asks, well aware she does.
The woman begins to describe the meals she can offer without preamble.
Most of the options are soups, and when a Nord calls something a soup without specifying what's in it, it refers to a dish made by boiling bones and vegetable scraps all day. There's dried fish, pickled vegetables, butter, and the ubiquitous rye bread that she's beginning to detest.
Eggs are the only fresh food, a peculiar thing for the end of the harvest season; are they already rationing due to the losses caused by the dragon?
Everything is bland, of course. Nords rarely use salt in their cooking, especially so far from the sea; if you want salt, you have to ask for it explicitly and be ready to pay a price similar to costly spices.
"I'll take that evening soup with some bread and a couple of boiled eggs, please," then she turns to Magrakh and the Alik'r. "And you?"
Kematu decides to join her at the counter, and together they order and pay for everyone before going to wait outside. Only once they've taken up two tables under the porch does Jonis ask Mag, "Is she always like this?"
"Yeah," he replies with a pained expression.
The boys laugh. "That explains a few things."
Pelle is puzzled. What did I do this time?
Meeko settles under the table, bumping everyone's legs while seeking a comfortable and mostly dry spot. As usual, Kematu is more sprawled than sitting and is already lighting his pipe, reaching his hand down to pat the dog.
"So, a Breton, huh? With 'Pellegrina' as a name and those curls, I thought you were Imperial."
Pelle shrugs, arranging her things on the damp planks of the porch.
"Depends on who's asking and where I am when I have to answer."
He nods in apparent understanding. "A mix then. If I had to guess, your mother is the Imperial side."
"You think so?"
Kematu smiles from behind a curtain of smoke. "As you know, we inherit much of our appearance from our mothers' race, but no one looks only like their mother." He gestures with his pipe to a grinning Redguard who has a much lighter complexion than the others' bronze.
"And based on your dark curls and olive skin, which are very Imperial, I'd say a Breton father shortened you."
Beside her, Magrakh tenses up, but when Pelle glances at him, he avoids her gaze.
"Why does everyone always focus on my lack of height?" She says with feigned indignation.
Kematu raises his hand, never losing his smile.
"Don't take it to heart. After all, even Wood Elves are quite short, but they terrify any wise warrior with their marksmanship."
It's best not to let Kematu know she's a terrible archer, then.
The waitress arrives at their tables along with her mother–or grandmother–to bring mugs, a steaming pitcher of mead, and their food.
No one waits for anyone, and whoever gets served first eats while it's still hot. Pelle thought the Alik'r would at least wait for their leader, but they behave a lot like siblings, even snatching something from a plate when distracted.
Everyone is enthusiastic to season their dinner as Pellegrina passes her salt around.
This has proven to be one of the best items she brought from Earth, second only to the lighter.
She understands that salt is bad for health, but she's not willing to pay for health at the cost of comfort. Since she has to wash herself with a bucket of cold water and walk at least 8 hours a day every day, a properly seasoned meal is the difference between night and day for her sanity.
"That's a lot of salt for a couple of wandering mercenaries," Jonin comments, clearly voicing Kematu's thoughts out loud.
"Directly from home," says Pelle, "I had it before I met Mag!"
"A parting gift from your parents?"
She snorts, careful not to let the mead go down the wrong way.
"Oh, they've never given me a gift. Ever." Unintentionally, bitterness taints her voice.
"I understand," Kematu chuckles. "They must have made an unsavory discovery in the pantry later on, I suppose?"
"Maybe you mean an insipid discovery!"
Magrakh groans, but Jonin laughs at the terrible pun. She likes Jonin. He's easy to talk to, plays with Meeko, and is quite cute.
"So," Kematu begins when he's halfway through his soup, "do you know this 'Saadia' well?"
At the magical word, all the other Alik'r stop chatting and start listening.
"Not at all, we've been in Whiterun for a very short time. I literally met her once."
"You came to us with a…feeling about a Redguard woman you've met only once?"
"Hey, it's your guys going around asking everyone to bring any information about a Redguard woman with a scar on her face who might be hiding in Whiterun. There aren't hordes of disfigured Redguard women in this city, you know?"
"Right," Kematu nods, "I had the word spread throughout the Whiterun hold after she was seen leaving the Reach heading east."
Another man, Islaf, speaks with a full mouth.
"She was trying to… bribe… Redguard… Markarth," he swallows, "said she wanted to pretend to be her daughter."
Kematu nods in amusement.
"Already having a daughter to think about, he didn't feel too charitable towards someone he thought might be a Thalmor runaway."
'Because the Thalmor have a base in Markarth and their Justiciars could have killed them all' isn't said, but it's implied.
"Do you think you could do us a little favor, Pellegrina?" Kematu asks with a sly look, the smoke lingering on the table despite the wind.
"I thought I already did." The hard-boiled egg she's peeling is still hot enough to burn her fingers.
"Yes," he admits, "but your information, though valuable, won't allow me to enter the city to exploit it."
"I still don't get why they won't let you in."
"The Jarl doesn't like the idea of letting armed strangers into his city while a civil war rages all around his borders." Kematu shrugs delicately. "I can't blame the man for being cautious. But you had no trouble, right?"
Pelle nods. "Helping fight a dragon tends to make a good impression." Better not mention that Mag is a Thane and part of the court.
"A worthy deed, no doubt." Kematu raises his mug.
Uncertain of what to do, she raises her mug too and toasts.
"Since you can enter at will, it would be useful to our mission if you could," he looks up to the broken planks of the porch, "tell our prey that we know her location, and we're coming."
At those words, Mag's attention returns to the table.
"You want me to tell her you're here?" Pelle asks.
Kematu nods. "And that we're coming to get her because the Jarl has finally agreed to let us into the city for the brief time it takes to remove her. Iman is prone to panic, this should flush her out:"
"We'll be here waiting for her when she tries to escape," Erno concludes for him, his brow furrowed with determination. "The fact that the Nord cities have only one entrance gate will work in our favor."
Pellegrina thinks for a couple of minutes.
The request for help isn't entirely surprising as it also happened in the original story, however, she's learned that real life isn't as linear and convenient as the fixed points of a game quest.
"Do you really think she'll leave? She's built a life here and is known in the city because she works at a renowned tavern. What makes you think she won't hide and eventually notice there are no Alik'r within the walls?"
Kematu reflects on her words, scratching his bearded chin. "Don't you think she'll be scared enough to run away?"
"I don't know how she'll react, but if she's been on the run for a long time, she'll be good at not getting caught, right?"
"She's good at manipulating people, I suppose it's the same thing. Yes."
"Then they'll protect her. There's no need to tell you that Nords don't like foreigners, she wouldn't have a hard time spinning it her way. Just a random example, she could say you're in league with the Thalmor–" Wow, they look so offended! "—and the guards will be on her side."
"Plus, it would put Pellegrina in danger," Magrakh chimes in, catching Kematu's attention, "I don't know Saadia, but I know types on the run…you never know what they're willing to do. If Pelle can't deceive her, she might find herself with a dagger between her ribs."
A sound of consideration rumbles in Kematu's throat.
"Pellegrina seems to be quite convincing," Jonin lends his vote of confidence and a smile, quickly quenched by Mag's grim look.
"Okay, wait a second." Pelle raises her hands. "Why tell her about the Alik'r and mention her secret identity?"
"If you have an idea, I'm listening," Kematu gestures with his pipe in a 'go on' motion.
"No offense, but it seems foolish to name the people chasing the fugitive. She pretends to be a waitress, doesn't she ever leave the city? Never comes to the stables to pick up a delivery?"
"Unfortunately, no. We staked out the gate for months before the guards chased us away. We would have seen her for sure," Islaf says.
Pelle pauses to think a few more seconds, but her thoughts circle back to the first one.
"She thinks she's safe here, but she knows you're looking for her, so she's bound to be paranoid of any story I tell her. At this point, why talk?"
Mag turns to her, asking her with his eyes, 'Are you thinking what I fear you're thinking?'
Perhaps it should be scary that Mag has already learned to understand her way of thinking, but Pelle can't help but feel flattered.
"You know that it's a better idea than trying to win the trust of a fugitive."
The Orc frowns in disapproval. "You yourself said that both the guards and the citizens will be protective of her."
"Do you mind not sharing with us who we can't read each other's minds like you do?" Islaf asks, making the guys laugh.
Magrakh glares at each of them with disdain but without much effect.
"I'm just saying I don't think she'd expect a direct attack." Pelle explains.
"We need her alive, friend," Kematu reminds her.
"Yes, I know. I was suggesting a kidnapping."
For a few seconds, the men fall silent, while Mag sighs in dismay and scans the area to see if anyone might have overheard. But there's no one, Pelle has already checked.
"Let's say you succeed," Kematu entertains her idea, "what's your plan to sneak her out of the city?"
"I'm still thinking about that part. So far, I only have half-baked ideas, like finding a way through the sewers, or knocking her out and pretending she's unwell, or–"
Mag waves his hand between Kematu and Pelle as if to cut off the whole conversation. He turns to her.
"The Alik'r's plan at least doesn't make you do anything illegal, but I hope you remember that kidnapping is against the law. For now, the city likes us, but if we get caught, things will change quickly."
Pelle looks into his shadowed gray eyes. It didn't seem like he cared much about Whiterun's ruffian friendship, but evidently, he cares enough to want to maintain the status quo. After all, it's a welcoming and safe place for the Dragonborn, despite his discomfort with the Thane title and the attention that comes with it.
"You're right," Pelle says, "we shouldn't do it." Mag seems surprised, while Kematu looks alarmed by the sudden retreat. "We should have someone else do it."
"What?" Mag is confused.
"I heard there's an Alik'r in prison, is that true?"
The Redguards stiffen and fall silent, and Kematu in particular scowls, taking deep puffs from his pipe.
"Yes," he admits, "I left my homeland with 10 men under my command, but one of them dishonored us all by getting caught while trying to sneak into the city. He should've been better than that. Why do you ask?"
"I was thinking about how high his bail might be."
The worn wood of the chair creaks under Kematu's weight, making her fear the backrest might crack, but he exhales a long plume of smoke calmly.
"Do you want him to take care of Iman for you?"
"If the bail isn't too high," Pelle confirms.
"If you convince the guards to release Rellion, and he successfully helps you with your plan…I'll also consider letting him come back home with us."
When Pelle turns to look at Magrakh to see what he thinks of the plan, she notices he's staring at her as if they just met. Sort of like when she suggested killing a witch to take over her house.
She laughs to shake off the nerves. Yeah, maybe I deserve that.
10:00 PM
The plan, once again, is simple. However, neither of them is foolish, so this time Mag and Pelle prepare backup Plan number 2 and Plan number 3 in case things go south. Still, Mag is uneasy as they pass through the gate with their faces uncovered.
Pelle hadn't expected him to accompany her inside, given how vehemently he wanted to avoid this city in the past days, but he insisted on not leaving her alone.
The guards wouldn't have allowed an unidentified Orc to enter the city at night, and by alerting the guards to his return, the Jarl himself will soon know.
"I thought you wanted to avoid Whiterun," she had told him.
"I would like to," Mag had answered, "but I'm also afraid that forever ignoring the Jarl who welcomed me would make him angry. Especially if he hears that I was in the city and left without visiting the palace. I'd rather not have a Jarl mad at me…"
Despite his words, Mag's fear was still clear on his face, making Pellegrina feel guilty.
"Don't feel obligated because of my plan, we can find another way."
"No, don't worry. I'm fine. The plans we have seem the best for now, let's stick to those. But…if Balgruuf enlists me in the army or throws me in jail, come free me. Please."
"Of course," Pellegrina had replied, touched by the uncertainty in his gaze.
Magrakh has to present himself at Dragonsreach with the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, and explain that he had hurriedly left the city last time to retrieve the Horn as a tribute for the Greybeards before answering their summons.
This should be enough to appease the potential anger of the Jarl.
Then he needs to go into the dungeons and ask about Rellion's bail.
After negotiating with the Alik'r again, adjusting their compensation to cover the risks Pelle and Mag will shoulder in assisting the kidnapping, the sum reached a neat 100 gold coins.
Apparently, this is a very high amount of money–judging by how it made Magrakh drool–and it's equivalent to half a gold ingot.
She wonders how much compensation Kematu and his men will receive in total if he's ready to pay this much.
Mag won't pay Rellion's bail if it's more than half of that amount; they can't afford it not having been paid yet.
Since arriving in Skyrim, Pellegrina has had to unlearn the economy of the video game, which was based on a single currency: the gold Septim.
Having gold as the sole currency is logistically impossible.
It's a precious and not a common metal, just like on Earth, and of a much higher value than the game portrayed, pegging values to economic goods like a potato to the smallest unit of 1 Septim.
If a potato cost a gold coin in real Skyrim, it would mean that potato is an ornament made of solid silver; a gold coin can buy a cartload of potato sacks, and even then, it would be mainly paid in copper at the farm.
Since basic food and lodging have a relatively moderate cost, most of Pelle's daily expenses now have been paid in copper, with a sprinkling of silver here and there. She's only ever seen substantial amounts of gold move for weapons, gemstones, and magical items. Even her paintings were paid in silver.
Spices are part of the luxury goods worth their weight in gold, among which are also Elsweyr's cocoa and Hammerfell's coffee beans. Since the agreement reached at the end of the Great War, cocoa has made its way to Skyrim primarily thanks to Khajiit caravans, causing the price of chocolate–a Nord version of hot cocoa–to skyrocket.
Not that it matters, since for her, it's much more convenient to buy chocolate, salt, and other spices on Earth instead of…
Pelle stumbles in her steps.
I could buy spices at an affordable price at home to resell them for gold in Skyrim.
What's the value of gold in this period? I don't even know the price of a kilogram of coffee beans–10 euros? 20?–but even if I sold it for just one Septim… how many grams does a coin weigh?
What's the carat?
A gram of gold should be worth more than 10 euros anyway, that would be a great deal!
When she starts delving too deep into her thoughts, Mag gives her a worried look.
I'll have to think about it another time.
They head towards the market where the Bannered Mare is located, crossing the Plains District illuminated by some braziers and the torches of patrolling guards.
The streets are paved with skillfully set stones that remind her of a rougher version of the Sanpietrini in Rome, and even though horses are not allowed within the city, it's common to find all sorts of other farm animals. This means their waste dirties the streets, and Pelle has long since learned to make sure the hem of her cloak never touches the ground.
Her face is covered with a scarf, and she's wrapped in her cloak, holding the Wabbajack as if it were a walking stick. It's a cold night, and no one gives a second thought to her traveler's veiled appearance.
They part ways once they reach the market.
"Be careful," Mag repeats for the third time.
Pellegrina rolls her eyes in exasperation. "I'm always careful!"
"No, you're not." He sighs. "Just stick to the plan."
She nods reassuringly and watches him ascend the long staircase to the Cloud District.
The applause and chatter of the inn's customers–a crowd from different social backgrounds compared to the farmers they met outside the walls–create a rather noisy backdrop to the music of the two bards, each playing a different instrument.
Pelle heads to the counter and asks Hulda for a room, ignoring the absurd sense of déjà vu for the action she's performed a thousand times in the game. She also ignores the strong urge to run upstairs to avoid having to wait for the woman to slowly climb the steps.
She's not an NPC, she's just an ordinary woman. Pellegrina tells herself in the silence of her mind. Even if that bosom looks from a mod!
Once upstairs she finds herself on a horseshoe-shaped balcony that leads to a series of doors, and that runs around the inn's perimeter, overlooking the main room. The innkeeper opens a door in the opposite direction of the counter and then hands her the giant key.
"Go in, make yourself comfortable." Hulda invites her with a smile and contagious enthusiasm. "If you don't want to come back to the tavern, I can send Saadia up with some mead."
Pelle considers this. She'd be alone with Saadia in a small room; it might be a good opportunity to either attack her or gather information. But she doesn't know her skills; better stick to the plan.
"No, thank you, the cart ride made me a bit nauseous."
"Oh dear, how about some peppermint tea then?"
Pelle nods.
"Very well," Hulda smiles, "I'll send Saadia up when it's ready. Make sure to let her know if you need anything else!"
She's left in the room with only one candle as a source of illumination. She leaves her muddy boots near the door and quickly removes the weapons from under her cloak to hide them in the bed, then places the Wabbajack and her backpack over it, and lets her hair down. Furthermore, she checks herself with her pocket mirror; the makeup she applied to mimic dark circles hasn't smudged.
Once seated, she takes deep, slow breaths.
Do I know what I'm doing?
Plan n1 requires Pelle to study Saadia's movements and her potential combat skills or magical abilities, but she's not sure how to fulfill these requests without attracting attention. She can lie, but has never had to face a skilled deceiver who's also armed.
At the moment, Pelle is focused on leaving the Redguard with the impression of a traveler who won't stay in the city for long, a harmless and unarmed woman who will probably go to bed soon.
She's never met either Saadia or Hulda, contrary to what she told the Alik'r, and while she's certain that word is circulating about the Dragonborn's human companion, Pelle doubts her appearance is as well known as the Orc's.
She left the map on the bed along with the diary, opened to a page with a sketch of a route implying she came to Whiterun from Falkreath and will soon head to Morthal.
No one cares about Morthal, so no one cares about the people visiting it. The Hjaalmarch is of little consequence for Whiterun's economy and insignificant in the conflict, serving only as a buffer of land difficult to traverse between the Imperial West and the Eastern Reach.
She's pretending to take notes about her travels when Saadia knocks.
"Good evening, miss," the woman says, placing a steaming cup on the nightstand, "the peppermint tea you requested."
Pelle pretends not to notice how Saadia's gaze immediately falls on the open diary, and pays for her drink.
"May I ask you something?"
At the request, Saadia stops reading immediately and puts on a fake smile. "Of course, what do you need?"
"I just wanted to know until what time the bar or the kitchen are open. I haven't been sleeping well these past few nights–" she massages her temples– "but I don't want to bother anyone for chamomile too late at night."
"Unfortunately, the kitchen closes after the first night call, which just passed, but we can always provide reheated leftovers." Saadia says, with the tone of someone who's had to repeat it countless times.
Pelle recalls the first time she spent the night in Whiterun, right after the dragon attack, but she can barely remember a bell ringing outside the Temple of Kynareth. She thought it was an 'all is well' signal to reassure the population, but perhaps that was the 'night call' Saadia speaks of. In Solitude, they have a less noisy method consisting of a number of lit lanterns.
From what she's understands, the night call is the moment when the guards essentially inform the city that it's nighttime, then they count the hours until dawn. The first call was probably at 10:00 PM, when they entered the city.
"The bar stays open longer," Saadia continues, "but it depends on Miss Hulda for how long. Usually until the second night call, but sometimes even until midnight."
Pelle nods with feigned interest. "I see, thanks. I guess the entrance door will be closed by then?"
Saadia pauses thoughtfully before responding.
Did I say something wrong?
"Yes. We'll reopen at dawn." She answers.
"And what if I need to use the restroom?"
"The chamber pot is under the bed, miss," Saadia says without missing a beat.
"Oh." To cover her embarrassment, she starts sipping her tea.
Saadia decides she's sicker than she's pretending to be. "I'll also bring you a bucket, just in case." She slips out and back into the room within a minute.
"Oh, thank you so much," Pelle grabs the bucket and places it near the bed, trying to put on an expression that matches Saadia's concern, as she probably doesn't want to clean vomit from the floor.
"If you feel worse, we can call a priestess from the Temple of Kynareth."
That would be a terrible idea, considering not too long ago the priestess spent a good hour stitching her flesh with magic. They would recognize her, and while it wouldn't be a disaster, she'd rather remain an unnamed character so that no one can identify her if the abduction goes bad.
"I just have a bit of nausea, I don't think I need a healer." She smiles to reassure her.
With a barely contained sigh, Saadia heads to the door. "If it gets worse, our bedroom is on the other side of the balcony. The double door at the end–" she unknowingly reveals– "wake me before waking Miss Hulda."
Pelle remembers to nod before finding herself alone.
Well, at least now I know where she sleeps.
11:15 PM
The anticipation makes her tremble.
As time passes, Pelle senses a decrease in the number of patrons, who are returning home or going upstairs to sleep; even the bards have stopped playing. Every sound easily passes through the walls and floor, like snoring from the neighboring room or murmurs downstairs. The Redguard has a low voice that's hard to distinguish from the hum, but every time Hulda speaks, it's very clear.
Her cell phone reads 11:15, and it might seem early for city life on Earth, but it's undoubtedly late night in a world that moves by daylight.
She's contemplating her next move now that the second night call has passed.
If Rellion doesn't enter before Hulda closes the door, it means the bail was too high, and she'll have to go with Plan n2, Kematu's stupid plan that relies entirely on luck; due to the risk that plan carries, Pelle will talk to Saadia in the morning, so she won't have to watch her back all night.
She hears the kitchen being tidied up, while someone else stokes the fire in the main room.
Pelle is so nervous she needs to use the chamber pot.
I need to calm down, she thinks, Magrakh should be somewhere under the porch by now. If knives start flying, I can run and he'll have my back.
Putting her boots and coat back on, she extinguishes the candle and slowly opens the door.
Hulda and Saadia are still working to close up the inn; it won't take much longer now. Rellion will either come in the next few minutes or not at all.
She feels the contents of the pouch on her belt while mentally preparing the dialogue she'll have to present to Saadia in the morning.
The dagger is hidden under the folds of her coat, the hunting knife is hidden on her lower back, and the lighter in her belt pouch serves as a way to escape a grip. For Rellion's job, she acquired a smooth stone for a good hit on the head, a gag, and a rope.
Rellion should enter, rent a room, gather her supplies and information, and incapacitate a sleeping Saadia. But now she knows Hulda and Saadia share a room. Many Nord families do, but she had hoped it wouldn't be the case in an inn.
The situation has evolved far beyond 'tattletale and get rewarded'. She bets that killing her would be ten times easier.
And then she reflects on what she just thought and shakes her head. My life has really changed quickly in a month…
With the new logs on the fire, the main room is bright enough to illuminate most of the tavern and even part of the balcony.
The apex of the horseshoe-shaped balcony, with two thick columns at each corner, is heavily shadowed, and Pelle stays in the darker area. Her steps are light, ball first, heel second, and the creaking of the boards is no louder than the crackling of the fire.
Giving their backs to the stairs, Hulda and Saadia are washing cups and plates in a tub. There's no one else downstairs.
The double door Saadia mentioned is above the bar and doesn't have a handle, just a lock that's key-operated. Pelle retreats into the darkness, feeling useless and foolish.
Hulda might become a witness if she wakes up while Saadia is being subdued, so she'll need to be stunned as a precaution, but she'll need the key or a lockpick first.
Here's something I should have brought from home: lockpicks!
Pelle should find out where the key is instead of hiding in the shadows like a knockoff version of Batman.
Saadia is now engaged in conversation with Hulda, sitting on a stool near the counter, where two tankards are placed, while something is heating up on the fire. If she's learned anything about Nord, the liquid in the pot is almost certainly alcoholic.
This gives her an idea.
Heading back to her room, she slaps her cheek to simulate a pillow mark, then returns to the stairs, descending without concealing herself.
Saadia notices her as she crosses the balcony, while Hulda only sees her when she reaches the creaky stairs. The Redguard is observant, good to know.
"Hello, miss," Hulda greets her, "feeling better?"
With a smile, Pelle sits on the stool next to Saadia. "Yes, thank you."
"I'm glad to hear that. Are you feeling well enough to join us for a bit of snowberry cordial? It's not too strong." She gestures to the pot next to the fire. "We were preparing a nightcap before closing."
"Ah, thank you, but I think I'll wait until tomorrow for something like that, I wouldn't want to ruin the effects of the peppermint."
"But of course."
Pelle does her best to suppress the embarrassment of what she's about to do. At least her theater experience is coming in handy again.
You're on stage, she tells herself. You're practically an NPC yourself, play your part and remember that Mag is just outside.
"Anyway," she says after mustering some courage, "I think I'm feeling well enough to eat something and keep it down. Would it be too much trouble?"
Hulda's face brightens. "Oh, not at all. But I can only offer you some leftovers at this hour, dear."
"That's perfectly fine. Could I know what's available? Something warm would be wonderful; yesterday's storm chilled me to the bone."
Hulda gives her a knowing look. "Ah, the late summer storms are the worst. We still have the apple and cabbage soup, it's quite sweet with those red apples from Rorikstead."
Pelle nods, keeping her hands in her pockets to avoid Saadia noticing anything odd.
"And the chicken broth turned out quite well, didn't it, dear?"
"Tasty as always, mum," the Redguard chimes in neutrally, watching Pellegrina like a hawk.
Has she perhaps sensed that Pelle is plotting something…?
"We have roasted vegetables too, mainly potatoes and leeks, but they're all local and fresh."
As it becomes evident that Hulda could go on listing everything in the pantry, Pelle decides to interrupt. "That apple and cabbage soup sounds inviting, Miss Hulda."
The innkeeper exchanges a few words with Saadia, and she leaves for the kitchens without a word, probably cursing Pelle.
Alright. One down, just one more to go.
"Oh, would it be too much trouble to have another cup of peppermint tea? It was wonderful." It wasn't, it tasted like any other boiled leaf, but Hulda smiles at her request and promptly puts water on the fire.
While Hulda is occupied and Saadia is in another room, Pelle noisily places her purse on the counter, then slips off the stool and approaches the cordial.
She blows the steam onto her face with one hand. "The snowberry cordial smells really nice, Miss Hulda. I hope I can catch a cup tomorrow."
"Of course, miss. Anytime! It's always the right answer to the cold," she says while crushing the peppermint, "that or hot mead!"
Before Saadia returns with the soup, Pelle is back on the stool.
She sips the tea and eats her soup slowly while indulging Hulda with her endless chatter, avoiding eye contact with Saadia, who clearly wanted the evening to end an hour ago. But business is business, and she's paid every coin and even tipped because 'they're so kind so late at night.'
At first, she thinks Hulda's mumbling is due to the cordial, of which she's on her second cup. But then Saadia yawns and leans on the counter muttering 'I'm going to bed' but not moving from her stool.
Then Hulda slumps, laughing like the Joker, and that's when Pelle realizes she might have overdone it with the sedatives.
She goes into panic mode.
Saadia is gone, but Hulda is still conscious and floundering like a fish out of water, so she rushes to her.
"Uhm, Miss Hulda? Are you okay?"
"Is fine," she mumbles, trying to get up but failing, "think t'm'ch drink…"
Pelle helps her onto a chair. No doors upstairs have opened, but she's terrified someone might appear any moment.
The leaflet says to take one pill for a gradual, natural sleep and not to take more than three at once. Pelle only even took two pills per night, and sleep came slowly, so she figured four would be an acceptable number to quickly put someone to sleep without causing harm.
Doubled to eight because it was for two people in a lot of liquid, and with one more pill because she feared the high temperature might weaken the effect. The 9 crushed pills she put in the pot vanished among the snowberry pulp, and she didn't even have a chance to stir.
Now, as she looks at Hulda and Saadia's now unconscious forms, she can't help but feel terror.
Did I kill them?
She casts another glance at the balcony on both sides before feeling their pulses.
They're definitely alive, although their heartbeats are slower than normal.
Hulda had two cups, Pelle watches her chest rise and dip, how fucking sturdy are these Nords?
Several useful thoughts flutter among her many other panicked thoughts.
Like: I can't leave them here where anyone can see them, and I'm not strong enough to lift them, and the inn's door is still open.
As she regains her composure, she rushes to the door and opens it slowly.
Mag should be on the porch, and someone is sleeping on a bench, but she can tell it's not him because of the size. Before she can attract the guards' attention, she shuts the door.
Okay, calm down. She tells herself and her racing heart. You knew this could happen.
If the dose the women took was correct, she should have 1 or 2 hours before they start regaining consciousness when shaken.
So she better hurry.
She darts to the back with swift steps, though trying not to make too much noise, and searches for a rug or a shirt, anything to put over the wooden floor planks. She finds an empty sack in the kitchen.
Using the jute sack as a cushion, Pelle moves the occupied chair onto it and then drags it, muffling the noise and lowering the effort.
Hulda, the tall and sturdy Nord, is heavy and floppy, but in a few minutes, Pelle manages to hide her from the balcony's view by dragging her into the back room where the alcohol is stored.
After catching her breath, she does the same with Saadia, moving her into the kitchen, where she should be concealed, and where there's a service door that opens onto the less exposed side of the inn.
The Redguard isn't even remotely heavy like Hulda, but dragging her across the entire tavern, circumventing the hearth, and sliding her down the three steps of the kitchen is still a long and laborious task.
But at least now both women are hidden from direct view, both from the entrance and from the rooms upstairs.
A deep silence has fallen over the inn, the kind of silence that can barely be heard above the rush of blood in one's temples.
As Pellegrina catches her breath and reflects on her life choices–which goes from I'm a criminal now to I should have asked more from Kematu–she looks around for ideas on how to transport Saadia out of the inn.
The problem is she doesn't know the real Whiterun well enough to plan the escape on the fly. She doesn't even know where the nearest manhole is, or where the sewers lead. If a navigable sewer exists. She doesn't even know if Whiterun's sewers are the watercourses that run throughout the city!
At this point in the plans she's skipped, she doesn't know what the best choice is. Rellion didn't show up for plan n1, Magrakh isn't outside where he was supposed to be for backup plan n3, and she just drugged plan n2.
The worst part is that she has no idea where Mag is!
He could be having a drink with good old Balgruuf, or he could be in trouble for fleeing after being made Thane. Maybe he's in jail!
If he's really in jail, she hopes she can afford to pay the bail, but in case it's very high, she should try completing the job to get the reward.
Speaking of trouble. Pelle disarms Saadia of a dagger and several small throwing knives strapped to her thigh, finding a small key sewn into her undergarments; she hopes it's the key to their room.
Then she ties her up.
Still hoping that Mag or Rellion might join her, she occupies her time with investigation.
The small key doesn't open their room, so she tries Hulda's key ring until one fits the lock.
There are two beds, a chest locked with a padlock, and a desk with a ledger. Pelle presumes Saadia uses the single bed on the other side of the room, and that the items on that side are hers.
Rummaging there, she finds an enchanted dagger, but the rest is harmless, though a bit pricey for a serving girl's income: perfumes, creams, soaps, cosmetics, and essential oils. Saadia is soon leaving for a permanent vacation, so Pelle helps herself to whatever attracts her.
There's no diary with Saadia's nefarious plans, no incriminating note accurately describing her movements and dealings over the past months. But she does find a small bag hidden in her drawers and a tiny locked chest the size of her fist, which was tucked inside the pillow.
Ah, this is probably what the small key is for.
Having the keys to Hulda's safe as well, she currently has the potential to rob the inn of everything. But she doesn't want to harm Hulda or the inn. The Bannered Mare is picturesque and renowned, doesn't smell of piss like the last place she was in, the food is decent, and the accommodations are cozy. Plus, she's been treated with respect by the woman who will soon need to hire another maid.
No, she won't swindle her out of all their money, but she doubts she'll miss a few things.
She takes a couple of bottles of Honningbrew mead and Black-Briar Reserve, and even one of the fine Alto wines. In the kitchen, she finds a loaf of proper wheat bread, some spiced lard that Mag loves, and a nice bone for Meeko.
Back in her room, Pelle dresses and packs, ready to leave in an instant; she firmly grasps the Wabbajack, letting its presence give her courage…although it comes with a bit of doubt.
Since she never managed to hit the birds and skeevers she tried shooting on the road between Solitude and Rorikstead. She hasn't had the chance to use the magic staff yet, so she's not sure if it can do what it did in the game.
However, considering it's the staff of the Daedric Prince of Madness, she presumes nothing can really prepare her for the randomness of chaos.
2:33 AM, Loredas the 13th of Hearthfire, 4E 201
Pelle returns downstairs with a genuine stomach ache induced by anxiety.
Hulda and Saadia seem fine, and the Nord is even snoring, but they also look far from waking up.
These days dawn is around 5:30, so early risers will begin their day even earlier. The innkeeper and her 'daughter' should be among them.
Pelle has now accepted that no one will help her tonight, but given the current situation, she finds it impossible to go to sleep and execute Kematu's plan n2 in the morning.
She just drugged the innkeeper and her maid, damn it!
Pelle only wanted to make their sleep heavier, so that when they went to bed, they wouldn't wake up easily during the kidnapping. But she can't even drag them into their room on her own to make them believe they simply got drunk. She also doesn't want to know what Saadia's reaction will be tomorrow.
No, she has to leave now or kidnap Saadia alone.
When there are no more new ideas, you have to go back to the basics.
Pelle spots an open barrel in the kitchen that's big enough to hold a person and removes the last pickled onions.
She fastens a gag over Saadia's mouth, undoes her bodice to allow for better breathing, and then starts pushing the woman inside the barrel.
It's not an easy task to move an inert body larger than herself, much less fold it into a confined container.
She's struggling to get Saadia inside the barrel when she hears, "By the divines!"
Pelle freezes.
A woman stands in the doorway of the kitchen.
An imposing woman, clearly a Nord, but more importantly, she's wearing armor with the crest of Whiterun.
A fucking guard.
"What are you doing?" She asks, hand on the hilt of her sword, looking shocked.
It's too late to cover her face and run.
Pelle's gaze flicks to the Wabbajack leaning against the table; she could grab it in just a second, whereas it would take the guard at least three to reach her.
If only she had entered before she found the barrel, Pellegrina could have gotten away with no obvious crime!
But now all that's left is to improvise, or rather, lie.
And if it doesn't work…tonight she'll learn what the Wabbajack can do.
"Ma'am," Pelle says, rising slowly, "you must help me, the maid and the innkeeper have had too much to drink!"
The guard is still staring at the scene with her mouth agape.
"Or maybe they've been drugged, I can't wake them up."
Baffled, the guard eyes Saadia's bound and gagged form.
"What? The barrel—"
"I'm a short, weak woman, ma'am, I thought by stuffing her in there, I could at least roll her to the Temple for a healer."
It doesn't matter that the Temple is in the Wind District and up the stairs, or that she could've simply asked the people upstairs for help.
It's not her best lie, but she was caught red-handed, and her mind is blank.
"But now that you're here, you can surely help them better than I can! I think we should start with the innkeeper, she's older, and I fear for her heart." She gestures towards the bar, edging closer to the Wabbajack.
The guard watches her in silence and, more importantly, isn't stopping her from spewing bullshit. So, before she can change her mind or before a smarter guard can come in, Pelle gets to work on her new act.
"If you can take Miss Hulda to the Temple, I can go fetch my master, the Dragonborn. Do you know him? He's the new Thane, the red-headed Orc, and I'm his squire. He should be at the Cloud District now, but I'm sure he can come to help—"
The guard brings her hand to her face and mutters something that sounds like "I wasn't prepared for this."
While she's distracted, Pellegrina seizes the Wabbajack and aims it at the guard.
The Nord snaps out of her surprise and approaches, apparently not understanding that a magical staff is pointed at her.
At the first sign of aggression, Pelle intends to activate it and then escape through the side door.
She even has the key to lock it behind her, and if she could—
"Thane Magrakh sent me," the Nord says. "I am…his Housecarl."
Pelle sinks to her knees.
"Oh, shit…" She takes a few deep breaths and waits until her heart is no longer pounding in her throat. "You scared the hell out of me!"
The Housecarl watches her, hesitant. "The Thane ordered me to deliver you a message. He's spending the night at Dragonsreach, a guest of Jarl Balgruuf, and the message is: 'wait for a new plan tomorrow'."
Her gaze shifts to Saadia, half-stuffed into a barrel. "Maybe I arrived too late. I didn't rush because it's late at night, I thought you were sleeping."
"There's a valid reason for all of this, I swear on my mother's life!" Pelle says, getting up. "What's your name?"
"Lydia the–" the Housecarl replies, then sighs. "Just Lydia."
Pelle's smile widens, hurting her cheeks.
Lydia! How did I not recognize her?
She forces herself not to dwell on what would have happened if she had used the Wabbajack.
"But…is she alive?" Lydia can't help but ask. "No, wait. Perhaps it's better I don't know. Thane Magrakh told me to keep you safe though, not that you don't seem safe— maybe I should wait outside."
"It's fine. Listen, she's alive, just unconscious. I'm kidnapping her, but this woman is running from Hammerfell's justice, so technically, she's not even a citizen!"
Lydia eyes Saadia with uncertainty. "I'm not going to ask how you know that, or if the Thane is aware of what you're doing."
I should probably thank my luck and tell her to wait in my room. But…
"Hey, Lydia, what's your opinion on the Thalmor?"
The Nord's face clouds briefly before quickly returning to a neutral expression, avoiding eye contact.
"My opinion doesn't matter, I'll follow my Thane's orders."
"You don't like them much, do you?" Pelle smiles. "It's all right, we don't like them either. Do you know the political state of Hammerfell right now?"
Lydia doesn't answer, nor does she look at Pelle.
"They managed to drive the Aldmeri Dominion out of their lands during the war, but they're still sorting things out. Well, this woman is an aristocrat who helped the Thalmor conquer her own city during the war."
This catches the Nord's attention, and she looks back at Saadia with renewed curiosity.
"She fled after the Thalmor were repelled from Hammerfell, and since then, she's been providing false names and stories to hide. The Alik'r found her, and we're helping them because they can't enter the city."
"Do you realize that just a moment ago you were feeding me the boldest lie I've ever heard?"
"Yes, it was awful! But right now, I have no reason to lie to my Thane's Housecarl, especially because I'm doing it for him. What do you think he meant by 'new plan'?"
Lydia reflects, still doubtful.
"So, are you giving me a hand or not?"
The Nord huffs, glances at the empty tavern, and then helps her.
Once the inn is locked up, they move Saadia into the barrel and seal it shut.
Lydia manages to shoulder Hulda and carry her to her room, where Pelle leaves a note on the nightstand, written by 'Saadia'.
"Miss Hulda, I apologize for getting you so drunk, but I needed to leave quickly and without obstacles in the middle of the night. I thank you for your help and wish you all the best in life and work. Please dispose of this message. Goodbye."
To make the note believable, she takes some of Saadia's clothes to pretend she packed her bags.
Pelle has no idea what kind of relationship the two have; Hulda might not believe the note or recognize a different handwriting, but she felt she had to try.
It's just over an hour until dawn, so she straightens up and treats herself to a swig of wine to calm down.
Suddenly, a guard starts ringing the damn bell that has given her heart palpitations every single hour of the night.
At the familiar sound for the locals, some people start emerging from their rooms just as the first light of dawn shines through the small windows.
Before they can come to the bar, Pelle hurries to open the front door and stoke the fire.
With her face mostly covered by her scarf, the patrons look at her in puzzlement, but she waves them off with a friendly smile as they leave.
Before even considering breakfast, some people have business to attend to. She learned that in Hjaalmarch Outlook: animals are cleaned and fed first, people come second.
Meanwhile, she brings all the leftover food from the kitchen and sets it by the fire, but she has no idea how a medieval inn is managed and no desire to find out.
She brings a warm cup of peppermint tea to Hulda.
The innkeeper is starting to wake up, but the progress is too slow, so Pelle gives her a good slap. The poor woman yelps, blinking to focus on the room.
At least she'll merely look hungover.
"Saadia made this for you," Pelle places the cup in her hands, and the woman automatically starts drinking. "She said you had too much cordial. It's morning, and there are customers downstairs."
Hulda tries to focus on Pelle's face, but the room is dim, and the scarf covers her. "Who… what?"
"It's morning, Miss Hulda, drink your peppermint tea."
And Pelle leaves.
7:00 AM
Pellegrina finally sees Magrakh descending the Cloud District stairs, and he notices her immediately.
She had settled onto a bench in front of the controversial Talos' statue, where the priest Heimskr has already begun his passionate sermons early in the morning.
Not even time for a nap.
A Redguard is walking alongside Mag, dressed in clothes a size too big and looking like a farmer.
So, we paid the bail for nothing. Fantastic…
They sit next to her, and Heimskr raises an eyebrow at the Orc and the Redguard joining his audience, but it only strengthens his fervor.
"Rellion, I presume?"
He's a boy with barely a hint of facial hair, looking puzzled by her presence.
"Where's Lydia?" Mag asks immediately, probably sensing something in the air.
"With Iman," Pelle says, smiling and keeping her eyes on the Talos priest.
"What?"
"I executed plan n4."
"There was no plan n4! Lydia didn't tell you—"
"She arrived a bit too late, Mag."
The Orc sighs, burying his face in his hands without another word, and Pelle pats his shoulder, understanding his frustration.
At least no one ended up in jail…for now.
Rellion looks bewildered. "You mean you've already taken her? Where is she?"
"Lower your voice, dear. Pay your respects to the nice priest, bow to the statue, smile, and follow me."
They quietly return to the Plains District, getting closer to the walls on the east side.
The alley they reach is secluded and doesn't see much traffic or sunlight. It seems there's another district down there, of which Pelle knows nothing, except that the guards don't seem to find it worth patrolling.
If she had to think of a name, it would probably be the slums.
Rellion's jaw drops when he sees Iman, now semi-conscious and tied up like a sausage inside the barrel.
Lydia is guarding her, but it's clear she's embarrassed by the situation, especially since her Thane doesn't seem to have a positive reaction.
Indeed, Mag is doing a statue impersonation, muttering things like: "I left you for just one night. I said follow the plan… you nodded.…"
Pelle ignores him and catches the boy's gaze. "Now you'll do exactly what I say."
Fortunately, the young man straightens up and listens attentively.
The gates have opened shortly after dawn, and Lydia, Magrakh, and Pellegrina are quietly approaching to greet the stationed guards.
She immediately notices that Lydia is recognized before Mag.
"I see Jarl Balgruuf has finally had the chance to name you a Housecarl, Dragonborn," a guard says with a smirk.
Lydia maintains an impassive expression and stares into the void, while Mag grumbles and nods with his usual eloquence.
It seems Lydia doesn't get along well with these former colleagues.
"Do you think it'll rain today?" Pelle asks the guard who spoke.
"Huh? Oh, probably. You never know how Hearthfire will behave."
"Maybe we should hurry then, while it's dry."
As they are talking, Rellion rushes over, pushing a wheelbarrow. "Excuse me, coming through!" He says, looking like any rude and busy young man as he shoves them aside.
"Who was that?" The guards stare at the boy's back, suddenly on alert. "Hey, you, stop!"
"No, no, don't worry about him," Pelle says, trying to mask her alarm and hoping Mag's concerned face doesn't give them away. "He's rather impolite, but he's the only help we could find available at this early hour."
Rellion, as Pelle had instructed, doesn't stop at the guard's call, who now turns to her.
"And you would be?"
Pelle has to look up to meet the guard's gaze, and with a shiver down her spine, she lowers the scarf. She opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mag's big hand lands on her shoulder.
"She's my squire," he says in a very unnatural manner.
"And those were our supplies for the journey!" Pelle adds.
The other guard eyes Rellion's figure, now in the distance. "A barrel of onions…?"
"Of course." Pelle gives a thumbs up. "Onions are antibacterial, antiseptic, and detoxing, great allies for every traveler!"
In the resounding silence that follows, Mag gives her a pat on the shoulder, considerably too strong. "She's also my cook! A bit eccentric at times, she's a Breton, you know…"
The guards nod in apparent understanding.
"By any chance, do you know the state of the road to the east, along the White River?" Pelle asks to change the subject. "We're headed to Ivarstead, but my Thane doesn't know if it's safer to head north and skirt the Eastmarch or go south and cross the ruins of Helgen."
The two men seem to let go of Rellion and the onions to contemplate her words. "Going through Helgen is probably safer. There was another battle along the border, I heard."
The other scoffs. "The battle's over by now, better the carrion than risking a dragon. Who knows if it's still lurking in the mountains."
"I bet the Graybeards wouldn't allow a dragon to nest in their mountain."
"There are many mountains in that area, Hugo."
"Thanks," Magrakh interrupts, walking away from the gate with Lydia and Pelle following like ducklings.
Rellion and the Alik'r are secluded behind the stables, where the boy is giving Kematu a report.
"And where did you get the sleeping potion?" He looks rather puzzled.
"I provided it."
Kematu shifts his gaze to Pelle, who indeed has red eyes from lack of sleep, and circles under her eyes from the makeup she still has on and forgot about.
The head Alik'r gives one last look to Iman, who is fully awake now and trying to glare at everyone. "Well, looks like I owe you some gold."
"Indeed!"
Rellion is given back his clothes and the scimitar that Mag held for him, and the boy smiles gratefully before going to change.
Many coins change hands, filling Pelle's pouches to the brim, having run out of space.
This is the only kind of problem I want to have!
"Don't laugh like that, this is just further proof that you're as crazy as I thought," Mag says, shaking his head, while Lydia nods from behind him.
Meeko, at least, is happy to see her and almost knocks her over while counting the coins.
"Hey, cutiepie," she scratches his head, "are you really happy to see me or just sniffing out your treat?"
She tosses him a bone–a femur from some cow or deer–which still has traces of meat and tendons that Meeko is very happy to chew on.
Kematu watches with an enchanted smile, while Lydia whispers from behind, "Where did you find her?"
"You don't want to know." Mag grumbles.
"Oh, stop it, I have a treat for you too."
She tosses him a pack, which the Orc eagerly grabs as soon as he hears, "It's spiced lard!"
Magrakh opens the packet and grins, his teeth and tusks on full display, when he sees the slab of peppered and herb-infused lard, prompting laughter from the Alik'r who are quick to compare him to the dog.
Kematu only stops laughing when Pelle opens Iman's small chest and shows him the notes, revealing that the woman is still an active Thalmor spy.
Without a second thought, she's happy to leave the dangerous documents with the Alik'r, then shows his friend what else is in the chest.
Seeing the treasure of gold, silver, and gems, it's Magrakh's turn to burst into laughter.
Notes
In the next chapter from Magrakh's POV: The group settles in Falkreath, where Magrakh starts working with Lydia, leaving Pellegrina in the safety of the city. This leads to arguments, culminating in startling revelations.