Interlude 9 – A Strange Encounter

"Excuse me, lass. Might we have a word with you?"

Svidi glances up from cleaning a recently-vacated table with a wet rag, one of the less exciting tasks required of your average tavern girl. Which is saying a lot.

There are two men approaching her from the other side of the Vilemyr Inn's common room, both Nords of large stature. The speaker is blonde with a rather prominent aquiline nose while his counterpart boasts narrower features and darker hair. She only takes note of the hair because both men have theirs neatly trimmed in the Imperial style – a rarity in the Old Holds and even more so in a rural town like Ivarstead. That combined with the self-assured way they carry themselves is enough to tell her they aren't locals.

Pilgrims of some kind, then. It's a logical assumption, as the only outsiders who travel to this far-removed settlement are those seeking to test the limits of their faith upon the Seven Thousand Steps.

Their attire is unremarkable, with well-worn cloaks and heavy trousers fit for hiking or hard labor. The same could be said for the weapons at their waists – full-length swords sheathed in plain leather scabbards. Only suicidal idiots or ignorant Imperial bureaucrats would willingly traverse the wilds of Skyrim without the means to protect themselves, so seeing regular folk carrying around military-style blades is the norm rather than the exception in this part of the province. Overall, these men don't look much different from your typical warrior-pilgrims stopping in Ivarstead before embarking upon the perilous mountainside soaring miles overhead.

There's just one problem with that.

It's winter. Barring a single anomaly some weeks earlier, there are never any pilgrims at this time of year. Ivarstead is difficult enough to reach while contending with the egregious snowfall blanketing the land, much less distant High Hrothgar perched atop the mountain's lofty slopes. The odds of them overwintering in town before ascending the mountain in the spring are also low. There wouldn't be any good reason to spend so long twiddling their thumbs while the inclement weather keeps them from doing anything constructive.

How strange…

Svidi mentally gathers herself and dons Welcoming Smile #1. The transition is smoothed by years of diligent practice. "Of course, sirs. How can I help you today?"

The one who spoke, the man with the blonde hair, waves at the table while his companion glances over his shoulder as if ensuring nobody is watching. "May we sit down?" he asks. "We've been rather busy today and would welcome the chance to rest our weary feet. The road to Ivarstead is a difficult one for those unaccustomed to such harsh terrain, like ourselves. The ascent from the lowlands was as abrupt as it was challenging. Nords we might be, but we aren't used to scrambling like mountain goats everywhere we go." He presents the perfect picture of courtesy with his easygoing grin and open expression, practically oozing with suavity.

He's also a liar. She isn't sure what exactly it was that he said, but something about his demeanor simply screams of deception. He's good, she concedes – just trying a little too hard. The point is to not come across as a sleazy merchant trying to sell you something.

Unfortunately for him, Svidi is proficient in the art of telling a lie. She's spoken her fair share of them and she's been on the receiving end of her fair share as well. One might even call her an expert. Sometimes when she's in a grim mood, she imagines herself as a spider dwelling at the center of a tangled skein of deception. Melodramatic maybe, but not inaccurate.

"Please go ahead. I'm Lynly, by the way," she replies with matching politeness.

That's a lie of her own – one exchanged for another. These strangers won't realize it, of course, as she's gotten rather good at peddling falsehoods without giving herself away. Practice makes perfect, after all. One of the few benefits of having lived her kind of life is that she's a damn good liar.

She doesn't enjoy forsaking her gods-given name, but 'Lynly' isn't bad as far as pseudonyms go. Well, she'd hope not. She's the one who chose it.

She primly ignores the fact that she just finished cleaning this table as the two men take their seats and make themselves comfortable. Still, they don't quite relax. The dark-haired one is watchful of their surroundings and the blonde man doesn't take his eyes away from her for an instant. "Lynly," he repeats. "It's a pleasure to meet such a charming young lady."

"And you as well."

She waits a few heartbeats for the man to respond in kind, but no names are forthcoming. She very deliberately doesn't narrow her eyes.

The plastered smile remains firmly in place as she pockets her rag and picks up her bucket of soapy water to move it away from the table. It wouldn't do for her guests to accidentally kick it over. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink? If this is your first time visiting the Vilemyr Inn, the first horn of mead is always on the house. Wilhelm insists on it."

"No, that's quite alright. I've never been much of a day-drinker myself," answers the blonde man with a slight chuckle.

"We just have a few questions to ask, if you don't mind," adds the one with darker hair. "You'll have to forgive us for troubling you." Although his words are pretty enough, his voice is gravelly and cold – like a half-frozen cliffside on the verge of collapsing into an avalanche. She can't read his expression either. It's like his face has been carved from stone.

Svidi's eyebrows inch upwards. "Oh? And what sorts of questions would they be?"

"Nothing to be concerned about," he curtly answers. "It won't take us long, rest assured."

"Hmm." Somehow I doubt that.

Taverns are stereotypically viewed as prime locations for gathering information, so these kinds of requests aren't unusual. Travelers bombard her with questions about the town, the Steps, and the surrounding area on a fairly regular basis.

But the dark-haired one's behavior is making her suspicious. She's more paranoid than most, admittedly, but pilgrims usually aren't this… reserved. They're a rowdy lot a the best of times, especially when they start arriving in large numbers towards the middle of spring. Every year, the entire town is thrown into jovial chaos by the Disablót festival on the Spring Equinox. From what she's seen, there's nobody in all of Skyrim more excitable than a Nord who's fortunate enough to make the trek to Kyne's holy mountain.

And then there's these two. The odds are high that they aren't pilgrims, so that raises the obvious question of who, or what, they are. Sadly, she already has a few theories. None of them are good.

Right now, the dark-haired one is staring at her from the corner of his eye with what she can only describe as frigid detachment. She doesn't detect anything inherently malicious in his gaze, like lust or greed. Simply professional interest, no different from how a stablehand would examine a horse. Or a butcher and a slab of meat.

That's actually more worrisome. Baser impulses she can handle – and often has, unfortunately – but this? It scares her deep down to her core.

You're a simple country girl. There's no reason for you to be worried about this, no reason to act like anything's out of the ordinary. You certainly aren't trying to hide from anyone who could be hunting you down on behalf of the most powerful clan in the Rift. Nope. Absolutely not. You're just a local girl doing local girl things. Nothing special at all.

Unseen to the pair of strangers, one of her hands casually drifts to the hilt of her steel dagger sheathed behind her waist, tucked beneath the back of her apron where nobody will see it. Wilhelm gave it to her around the time she started working for him. She's never had a reason to use it, but she's been mentally preparing herself for the occasion for a long, long time.

But for somebody in her position, one of the worst ways to react towards potentially unfriendly men is revealing that you know they're unfriendly.

Fear claws at her gut, screaming for her to turn and flee, but she harnesses that very same fear to stoically maintain her smile with firm precision. This is the exact scenario she's been afraid of for so long. She can't slip up now.

After letting her stew in alarmed anticipation for a few seconds too long, the dark-haired stranger finally breaks his contemplative silence. "Less than two weeks ago, you spent time in the company of three individuals who recently ventured into town. Two men and a young woman, each armed as warriors and equipped for hard traveling. Do you recall them?"

…Huh? The corners of her lips twitch downwards against her will. She's completely thrown for a loop by the question. She thought they would ask about herself, not a trio of late-in-the-year pilgrims who've already made themselves scarce. What do those three have to do with anything?

"…I, um. That is, I might," she manages to stutter.

"We want you to tell us about them. Anything you remember that stood out to you or behaviors you thought were strange. We've been searching for these people for some time now and even the slightest hint might prove useful to us. Our luck has been scarce so far. We would be greatly obliged if you could be the one to change that."

After the bewilderment passes, she's nearly overcome with relief. She fully expected this man's question to be something along the lines of 'do you know a girl named Svidi?' or if she were especially unlucky, 'you sure look a lot like Svidi, prepare to die.' It takes a concerted effort to keep her mask from completely slipping. Okay. I can work with this.

"What is this about, if I might be so bold? Is there something going on that I should know about?" she asks aloud. Her first impulse is to be careful. It seems that this man is asking about Lydia and her two companions – if so, then his description and timetable are dead on.

She liked Lydia. The young mercenary was quiet and reserved, but she had a very honest and grounded sort of presence that Svidi appreciated. Too many people enjoy hearing themselves talk far too much. She should know. She keeps them entertained every evening.

Lydia, on the other hand, spoke when she had something meaningful to say and little more than that. She was also a good listener. Svidi often takes on the role of a patient listener for those same talkative patrons, so having her position reversed during Lydia's stay at the Vilemyr was a welcome change of pace.

At the same time, she needs to consider her own safety. Her modus operandi ever since she escaped from her previous life has been to keep her head down and stay as inconspicuous as possible. She'd probably be dead by now if that weren't the case. So whatever this is, the fact remains that she needs to get these men off her case as quickly and forgettably as possible. Before all else, she needs to survive.

"We harbor no ill intentions, lass," says the blonde man as he notices her tense posture. "It's nothing to bother yourself over."

Svidi unclenches her fingers from around the hilt of her knife and starts busying herself with wiping down an empty mug from a neighboring table while she mulls over the man's line of questioning. She discreetly wipes a trickle of sweat from her brow. "Forgive me for not taking you at your word. How exactly do you know I spoke to these people? If you've been watching me without my knowledge, I'd say that's a perfectly good reason to bother myself."

"Bah. You've got the wrong idea." The dark-haired one stops just short of tossing up his hands. "We're only trying to find our comrade, a man named Mull. We know you met him because we've already spoken with some of the other townsfolk. A few recommended that we should come to you. One of them called himself Klimmek, I believe. And I apologize if I was needlessly terse with you." He grinds out the final sentence like it's painful for him to say.

"…There's no need." Although she's still skeptical, Svidi mentally takes a step back and appraises the two men from a new perspective. They could very well be sellswords. They don't seem too different from Lydia's companions, disregarding the unseasonably close-cropped hair. "So you're mercenaries like them?" she probes.

"That's right," the blonde one replies just a little too quickly.

"I see." She sets down the mug, which now meets her uncommonly high standards for cleanliness, and selects another to undergo the same treatment. "I don't recall them ever mentioning you."

"Did they have a reason to?"

She hums thoughtfully. I suppose not.

"We're worried for their well-being and simply want to know if anything seemed out of the ordinary when you saw them last. We're trying to understand why Mull went onto the mountain alone without returning. The highlands are dangerous at this time of year, especially here in the Old Holds."

The dark-haired man is intensely interested, but not in a way that makes Svidi think he's actually a concerned friend. His eyes are still too sharp and calculating. The blonde one is a better actor, but he isn't good enough to fool her. She's dealt with a lot people over the years who were much more talented at hiding their intentions than these two. The palaces and slums of Riften alike are filled to the brim with such people. Not for the first time, she thanks the gods with every fiber of her being that she's far away from that city and its accursed intrigues.

She blows a wayward strand of golden hair out of her face. "Okay then. If it's that important to you, I can spare a moment. But only a moment. I'm a busy girl, you know."

"Of course. Thank you." The blonde one grins encouragingly while the surly one gestures impatiently for her to go on.

"Don't thank me yet. They didn't tell me much, and most of what they did say was inconsequential. I'm sure you understand that most of what I hear is meaningless small talk, given where I work." She gestures to the common room around them. "That's what taverns are for."

She considers her next words as she selects a third mug to clean. Now that she's had a moment to think about it, she's pretty confident that telling the truth won't do any harm. All she knows for sure about Lydia's party is that they first arrived from the west across the northern spur of the Jerall Mountains and ultimately left Ivarstead in the same direction – Steelhead Pass.

It is odd that the one called Mull hasn't come back from the Steps, but Lydia mentioned that he would probably take his sweet time up there. Still though, what kind of pilgrimage would involve him overwintering on the mountain? He must've wanted to curry the gods' favor very badly if he's that dedicated. I suppose there's always the chance he could be sheltering at one of the old monasteries. According to Klimmek, some of them are still used by the monks.

Or he could be dead. It's a grim prospect, but it's honestly more likely than not. Not that it would matter much to her, although she might feel a little sadness for Lydia's sake. Klimmek also once said the Greybeards rarely let pilgrims enter their monasteries for any reason. If that man Mull still hasn't returned, then surely he's frozen solid in the snow by now. Either that or he's already come back down the Steps and left for home without anyone here noticing.

Even if these strangers are pursuing Lydia and her colleagues with malicious intent, their quarry is already long gone. And if Mull is still alive on the mountain, he's practically unreachable until the snows melt.

She makes her decision. "As you've already said, the one called Mull claimed he was planning to climb the Seven Thousand Steps alone. He left Ivarstead a couple of days after his group's first night at the Vilemyr and I haven't heard anything about him since, while the other two lingered for another week or so before heading towards Falkreath without him. They didn't say much about his plans. He's still up there as far as I know, but there's a chance he might've already finished his pilgrimage and met up with his companions somewhere outside of town. To the east for example, or maybe the southwest."

"That's unlikely. We haven't seen any signs of him yet and we would've noticed if he returned."

"You've been watching for him that closely? You must really want to find him."

The blonde man shrugs. "What can I say? You forge strong bonds with those you fight alongside. We just want to make sure he's alright."

"How noble of you," she replies with a hint of feigned respect. Liar.

"We were under the impression that nobody climbs the Throat of the World before springtime," interjects the dark-haired one. "It's a fool's errand. Even if you avoid the worst of the storms, you'd still be trapped on the barren slopes while snowdrifts pile around you ten feet high. Why would he do something like that?"

Svidi mimics the blonde stranger's shrug. "The pilgrims we see here in Ivarstead are often strange. They'll to go to great lengths to appease the gods in any number of ways. He could've been seeking redemption and couldn't bear to wait any longer, or maybe he became convinced that he deserved the punishment of the high storms. I have no way of knowing."

"And so neither do we," the blonde man grumbles. "But regardless, you have our thanks. That was… helpful."

Liar.

"Do you have any other insight to offer?"

"I don't," she answers breezily. "Again, they didn't make a habit of discussing their future arrangements while I was in earshot. I can only assume they did so in a more confidential setting than a public inn. I can't say I've met many mercenaries before, but the few I have usually preferred to keep to themselves. These ones were no exception." She starts gathering the mugs to return them to the bar, signaling to the strangers that their conversation will end soon.

The two men share a terse look of dissatisfaction and the blonde one nods.

"In that case, we're willing to offer substantial payment if that's what it takes to loosen you tongue," the dark-haired man says suddenly. "In Imperial gold." He doesn't sound remotely pleased as he pulls out a faded leather purse decorated with a crimson eye-inside-a-diamond symbol and unknots the drawstrings. He tilts it over for her to look inside, revealing it's filled with dozens of gold coins. Not the most she's ever seen in one place, but definitely a first for Ivarstead. Even the town's most affluent citizens aren't exactly swimming in septims.

She stops and stifles a mirthless giggle at the absurdity of this development. That might work on just about anyone else in this town, but not me. She's lived a life of wealth and luxury once before. She doesn't look back on it fondly.

It's also something of a revelation. She doubts random mercenaries would be offering to pay out this much money just to find a lost comrade. She immediately revises her assessment of these men from sellswords to bounty hunters – or perhaps something worse.

That settles it. This conversation should end soon. These aren't the kind of men she wants to associate with for any longer than necessary. "I don't much care for your coin, sir," she bluntly answers. "I've already told you everything I can."

"Is there anything we can do to jog your memory?"

She gives him a hard stare, abandoning her pretense of amiability. The abrupt change seems to catch them off-guard, as intended. She's grown tired of playing the pleasant hostess for these shady interlopers. "You can tell me the reason for your questioning. The real reason. If not, then we're done speaking for today. Unless you intend to purchase food or drink, I'll kindly have to ask you to leave soon. Wilhelm doesn't like having armed men loitering inside his establishment, especially when they aren't paying customers." She deliberately leaves out the option of renting a room.

The blonde man shuffles restlessly in his chair. "I was sincere when I said we mean no harm, lass. Nothing of the sort. We simply… well, we've already explained why we're here."

"I really have told you everything I know," she insists.

He examines her for a long moment. "…I believe you."

"Good." Her artificial smile returns. "Thank you."

She pauses again just as she's about to turn away.

"What are your names, sirs? So I can tell Mull about you in case he returns. I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to know his brothers-in-arms are doing everything in their power to inquire after his health."

The blonde one hesitates for a split second. "…I'm Garman," he lies through his teeth.

"Bodan," the dark-haired one answers after him with almost enough indifference to make it believable – almost.

"Garman and Bodan. I'll be sure to remember." She walks away from the table and calls back to them over her shoulder. "If you need anything else, ask for Wilhelm. He's bound to be around here somewhere."

The blonde one waves in acknowledgement, but the other man raptly watches her go with those same cold eyes. She suppresses a shudder as she retreats behind the safety of the bar and starts reorganizing the mugs. I was right, those two are definitely trouble. The question is how exactly? What do they want with Lydia's companion?

They weren't sent by the Black-Briars, that much is clear. Which means it isn't any of her business. The less attention she draws to herself, the better.

But even though she's only known of Lydia's existence for all of two months, she already considers the brunette warrior to be something like a friend. Gods know she has few enough acquaintances in this backwater of a town, much less actual friends. If Lydia and her colleagues are in some kind of trouble, then she won't ignore it. Besides, the two strangers' inquiries are troubling enough on their own. She sought refuge in Ivarstead in the first place because of its isolation from Skyrim's political affairs and she'd really like it to stay that way.

If I happen to see that Mull man again, I'll be sure to tell him about these strangers. Lydia seemed to care deeply for him, in her own fashion. It's the least I can do for her.

-x-

AN: To those of you who predicted something like this would happen – congrats! Your foresight is impressive, younglings.

In other news: I'm not dead. Since I'll have some time off from work around the holidays, y'all can look forward to more frequent chapter updates over the next few months. Maybe… Hopefully…

I'm planning to keep this story on FF for now, but I might also start posting it on other sites at some point. We'll see. I'll let y'all know if I do.