Chapter 25 – Suspicions and Friendships

The cart jostled along the dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust beneath the tired horses' hooves. Seated beside Lydia, Hunfen gazed at the horizon, unable to shake the apprehension coiling in his stomach. Whiterun loomed in the distance, perched atop its rocky spur, familiar yet strangely distant. Only days ago, he would never have imagined that returning to the city could feel like this.

He hadn't forgotten Jarl Balgruuf's warning: he had to continue his training with the Greybeards and, above all, remain wary of the factions circling around him. The Dark Brotherhood, the Imperials, the Stormcloaks… Hadvar, Ralof, and even Aventus. That last warning left a particularly bitter taste. Aventus wasn't a threat. Not to him. Not to his friends.

"The Dark Brotherhood may one day have a contract on your life. And if I were in their place, Aventus is the one I'd send to kill you."

The Jarl's words echoed in his mind. Hunfen swallowed hard and shook his head, as if trying to banish the thought. It was absurd. He refused to believe it. Aventus was his friend.

"Are you alright, Hunfen?" Lydia asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

He shrugged, trying to mask his unease.
"I guess."

Lydia sighed softly but said no more.

Shortly after, the cart finally pulled to a stop near the city's gates. Lydia hopped down effortlessly before offering a hand to Hunfen, but he preferred to climb out on his own. His boots met the packed earth, and he cast a glance around. Merchants and travelers bustled about, exchanging goods and news. Another convoy had just arrived, its passengers disembarking with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Hunfen barely suppressed a gasp when he spotted a familiar head of brown hair among them.

Aventus had just stepped down from a wagon, unaware of his presence. He looked tired, but his expression remained neutral. A shiver ran down Hunfen's spine as Balgruuf's warning resurfaced. "The Brotherhood could have a contract on you. And if I were in their place, Aventus is the one I'd send to kill you."

He swallowed and shook his head again, forcefully. No. That's ridiculous.

Quickly, he stepped up behind Aventus' left side, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. With practiced ease, he tapped him lightly on the right shoulder.

Aventus startled and turned the wrong way.
"Huh?" His gaze swept the crowd before finally landing on Hunfen, who beamed proudly at his success.

"Got you!" Hunfen declared, grinning.

Aventus froze for a moment, eyes widening slightly.
"Hunfen?" he murmured, almost disbelieving.

A beat passed before a radiant smile spread across his face.
"What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

A small chuckle escaped him.
"I'm really glad to see you! Last time, in Riften… I had to leave before you woke up."

Behind them, a girl's voice rang out, dripping with faux dismay.
"Honestly, Aventus, if you keep being this inattentive in public, I don't see much of a future for your career!"

Hunfen turned to the newcomer. He had never seen her before, but he instantly knew who she was. Lydia had mentioned this new sister of Aventus—the one who had saved his life in Riften. Francois and Hroar had spoken of her as well. It wasn't hard to deduce that she was part of the Dark Brotherhood.

What he hadn't expected was for her to look like this.

A mere child, no older than ten, yet something gleamed in her eyes, something in that self-assured smirk that sent a chill down his spine.

He straightened, wary, but forced himself to keep a neutral demeanor.
"You must be Babette, I suppose?" he asked politely.

She arched a brow, feigning surprise.
"Well, well! I'm recognized in the streets now? That's unfortunate for my line of work…"

Her expression turned neutral, her voice dropping to a mock-threatening whisper.
"I'll have to do something about that."

Hunfen raised a skeptical eyebrow, his expression unreadable, but he didn't rise to her bait. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible bow.

"I wanted to… thank you. For saving me."

Babette waved a dismissive hand, brushing off the sentiment.
"Don't get carried away, kid. I only did it because Aventus begged me. You have no idea how unbearable he would have been if I had let you die!"

Hunfen turned to Aventus, who was suddenly very interested in the ground beneath his boots. A mischievous glint lit Hunfen's eyes.
"Then I suppose I should be thanking you!"

Before Aventus could react, Hunfen pulled him into a brief, tight hug.

Aventus stiffened, his face turning red. He hesitated before awkwardly muttering,
"It's… it's nothing. You'd have done the same for me."

Lydia approached, visibly tense. Her gaze flicked between Aventus and Babette, her hand drifting toward the hilt of her sword.

"It's surprising to see you two here," she commented, her tone guarded. "Are you in Whiterun… on business?"

Babette let out a lighthearted laugh, raising her hands in mock innocence.
"No need to worry, dear lady. We're just passing through. A simple stop to change wagons."

Aventus perked up.
"Yeah! We're on our way to take care of a bandit! A truly awful man who—"

A sharp slap landed on the back of his head.

"We do not discuss work in public, you foolish apprentice!" Babette scolded in a hushed voice. "Would you like to tell the guards while you're at it?"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Aventus grumbled, rubbing his scalp.

The moment of parting arrived far too quickly for the two friends. Babette and Aventus made their way to another wagon bound for Windhelm. Before climbing in, Aventus cast a final glance over his shoulder.

Hunfen met his gaze with a smile and a small wave. Aventus hesitated before lifting a hand in return, his expression clouded with reluctant sadness. Then, he turned away.

As the cart rolled away, Hunfen turned to Lydia. She had relaxed somewhat, but he could still sense her unease.

"Do you really think he could hurt me?" he asked uncertainly.

Lydia didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm.

"I think he's on a dangerous path. And that people change, Hunfen."

"He's my friend!" Hunfen shot back, lowering his head in frustration.

"Perhaps. But Jarl Balgruuf is right—you must be careful. The Dark Brotherhood lives off the deaths of others. Sooner or later, that principle is all that remains to them."

Hunfen didn't like hearing that. He understood Lydia's caution, but he found it unfair that she lumped Aventus into that fear.

As they passed through Whiterun's gates, he cast one last look at the horizon, where the wagon carrying his friend disappeared into the distance. He wished they had more time to talk. Maybe, one day, they would have that chance.

But for now, their paths led them in different directions once more.

oOo

The streets of the city had not changed, yet to Hunfen, the atmosphere felt both familiar and foreign. Gone were the days when he had first wandered through Whiterun before being sent to the Honorhall Orphanage—now, he felt like a stranger. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, his gaze drifting over the market stalls where merchants and customers bustled about noisily. Everything was just as he remembered it. From the vegetable stands to the fiery sermons of Heimskr, the overzealous preacher who harangued the crowd near the statue of Tiber Septim, nothing had changed. And yet, he no longer felt like he belonged.

Hunfen quickened his pace to keep up with Lydia, but the sound of a familiar voice caught his attention. In the Plaza of the Gilded, Braith stood before an imposing warrior. The young Redguard girl, fists clenched, spoke with fierce determination.

"Come on! I know how to fight! I just want you to train me!"

The woman she was addressing was striking—tall, immensely tall, broad-shouldered, her blonde hair tied back in a tight braid that framed her angular, severe face. She wore a full suit of steel armor that gleamed in the morning light, and an enormous two-handed sword rested against her back. She raised an eyebrow, visibly exasperated.

"No," she said in a deep voice. "Not happening."

"But why?" Braith snapped, irritation creeping into her tone.

"I don't take students. That's just how it is," the warrior stated firmly.

Braith frowned. She didn't seem to understand.

"But you're really good! If it's about money, I can ask my mother—"

"It's not about money," the woman cut her off sharply. "I don't train anyone."

Hunfen watched in silence. He knew Braith well enough to know she wouldn't give up easily. She was about to argue again when another voice cut in behind her.

"By the Nine, girl, do you ever give up?"

Hunfen turned and saw Vilkas, one of the Companions, approaching. He was dressed in training gear, arms crossed over his broad chest, his face showing amused exasperation.

"If I gave up, I wouldn't be a good warrior," Braith retorted, clearly offended.

"Hmph. Stubborn as a mule," Vilkas muttered, shaking his head.

Hunfen knew Braith had been trying to train with the Companions, but they had always refused. He suspected it had less to do with her combat skills and more with her attitude. Braith spent most of her time bullying Lars, and the warriors likely feared—perhaps justifiably—that her desire to join was merely an excuse to continue tormenting him.

Yet, to everyone's surprise, Vilkas let out a deep sigh and said, "Alright. You can come train at Jorrvaskr."

Braith's eyes widened in shock. "Really?!"

"But listen closely," Vilkas warned, pointing a firm finger at her. "It's going to be hard, and I won't tolerate you treating it like a game. You'll train just as much as the others, or you're out. And if I hear that you've been messing with Lars again, it's over. Got it?"

"Got it!" Braith replied enthusiastically, her face lighting up with a wide grin. "I won't disappoint you!"

"In that case, let's go," Vilkas said, placing a strong hand on her shoulder and steering her toward Jorrvaskr.

Before turning away, Vilkas shot a wary glance at the blonde warrior, who met his gaze with a look of defiance. Her expression remained unreadable, but her eyes burned with a mix of anger and resentment. Finally, she turned on her heel and walked away without another word.

Hunfen resumed his walk toward Dragonsreach. Vilkas' behavior and the strange warrior's reaction left him perplexed, but one thing became glaringly clear: with Braith training at Jorrvaskr, she would have no free time left. Just like Lars before her. And like Lucia, who had gone to Winterhold.

Here, in the streets of Whiterun, there was now no one left.

oOo

The wind howled, carrying distant echoes of the city below and forcing Hunfen to mind his balance. From the heights of the palace, Whiterun stretched before him, bathed in the fading evening light. He marveled at the beauty of the panorama, letting it momentarily chase away the bitterness weighing on his heart.

Balgruuf had agreed to let him accompany Lydia to Riverwood, but until then, he was once again a prisoner of Dragonsreach. The Jarl didn't want him wandering the city alone between expeditions. "It's safer for you to stay here, where we can ensure your protection." Protection, or a gilded cage? Hunfen wasn't sure he saw the difference. Frustrated, he had wandered the halls of the castle, avoiding guards and servants, exploring the corridors in search of a place to breathe. That was when he had noticed a passage he had never taken before—a trapdoor leading, to his great surprise, outside. It opened onto a long ledge that wrapped around the palace roof. Driven by his yearning for freedom, he had slipped through.

A still figure, which he hadn't noticed at first, caught his attention. He should have expected it—this place was not entirely unknown to the palace residents. At least one of them had found it before him.

Nelkir sat perched on a high beam, far above the city, watching over Whiterun like a hawk searching for prey. His back was hunched, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the streets below with an eerie intensity.

"You're following me now, too?" he called out without turning, as if he had sensed Hunfen long before he had made himself known.

Hunfen hesitated. He wasn't sure why, but he felt nervous. Maybe it was the height. Maybe it was Nelkir himself. The boy was younger than him, and yet his sharp gaze and venomous words made him seem like a bitter old man.

"I didn't know you were here," Hunfen replied simply. He stepped forward cautiously, testing the wood beneath his feet.

Nelkir let out a dry chuckle and, with a theatrical gesture, stretched out his hand in front of him, fingers spread wide.

"Look at them."

Hunfen followed his gaze and took in the city below. From this height, the people looked like tiny, anonymous figures scurrying through the streets.

"Ants," Nelkir said, his voice dripping with disdain. "They run, they hustle, they fight over nothing. They think what they do matters. But from here, they all fit in the palm of my hand."

He abruptly clenched his fist, as if crushing Whiterun between his fingers. A shiver ran down Hunfen's spine. He didn't like the way Nelkir spoke, that quiet, effortless contempt that seemed second nature to him. This wasn't just some spoiled child who hated everything and everyone. There was something else there, something deeper, like a chasm Hunfen didn't want to get too close to. But he was already here.

"You say they're insignificant," he countered, "but without them, the city would be nothing."

Nelkir scoffed, his lips curling into a crooked smile. He slowly pivoted on the beam, sitting cross-legged now, still perched high above, and cast Hunfen a sidelong glance.

"Oh, really? That's what you think? That all these little lives down there matter?" He made a vague gesture toward the bustling streets below. "Look at them. They live and die without ever changing anything. They pay their taxes, have children, follow the laws—laws they never even chose. And when they die, others take their place, that's all."

Hunfen studied him warily. There was a cruel sort of resignation in his voice, a lucidity he didn't fully understand. Then, suddenly, Nelkir moved. With feline agility, he slid forward and, in one fluid motion, dangled upside down from the beam, his knees hooked over it. His blond hair swayed in the empty space as he stared at Hunfen, amused.

"If I let go," he murmured, swinging gently over the void, "do you really think anyone would notice?"

Hunfen felt his stomach twist. He couldn't look away from Nelkir, his face lit by the dying light of the day, a provocative smirk on his lips. To the other boy, this was a cruel game—or perhaps a test, meant for him.

"Stop it, Nelkir," he said, more urgently than he intended.

The younger boy chuckled softly before pulling himself back up in one swift motion, settling back onto the beam. He stared at Hunfen for a moment, that same smirk still on his face.

"Are you worried about me?" he mocked. "That's cute."

Hunfen pressed his lips together. He didn't like the way Nelkir toyed with him, that icy indifference that made his skin crawl. He didn't know if the boy had truly considered letting go or if it was just another game—a provocation like so many others. But beneath the insolence, there was something deeper. Something unstable.

Nelkir pushed himself up, resting his palms on the beam to steady himself. His gaze drifted back to the city, his blue eyes reflecting the last hues of twilight.

"You know, you learn a lot by listening behind doors," he murmured, almost absentmindedly.

"What do you mean by that?" Hunfen asked warily.

Nelkir turned his head toward him, his smirk widening slightly, a glint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. He was savoring the tension he had created, like a predator playing with its prey before striking.

"That Balgruuf knows nothing about me," he said cryptically. "But I know plenty about him."

Hunfen felt a strange sensation in his chest, something between a guilty curiosity and a deep unease. Nelkir never referred to his father as his father—only by name, as if acknowledging their relationship was too much for him.

"Your father is a busy man," Hunfen said cautiously. "He doesn't always have time to—"

"To what?" Nelkir cut him off, arching an eyebrow. "To see his own children? To talk to them? To notice me?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "He knows everything about this stupid war, about the Thalmor, about politics, about defending Whiterun… but me? I could disappear tomorrow, and he wouldn't even realize it until someone told him."

Hunfen opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He understood what Nelkir meant. He had seen for himself how consumed Balgruuf was by his responsibilities. But the other boy didn't wait for him to find an answer.

"I know he still secretly worships Talos," Nelkir continued, his voice almost casual, as if discussing the weather. "That he hates the Thalmor as much as he does the Stormcloaks. That he's afraid of being driven from Whiterun… And that I…" He paused, his voice dropping slightly. "That I don't have the same mother as my brother and sister."

He spoke the last words with bitterness, like a truth he had carried for too long. The way his fingers clenched the beam was the only sign of the emotion buried beneath his mask of indifference.

Hunfen instinctively took a small step back. He didn't know what to say. This revelation, tossed like a stone into a still pond, sent ripples of uncertainty through his mind. Nelkir didn't elaborate, but Hunfen understood what it implied. Balgruuf had been with another woman—another lover. But who? And why the secrecy?

Nelkir turned back to him, his gaze sharp.

"Why do you think he never told me?" he asked, his tone teetering between cynicism and barely restrained anger. "What dark little secret is he trying to hide? A betrayal? A mistake he wants to erase?"

Hunfen shook his head, uneasy. "Maybe… Maybe he wanted to protect you," he suggested.

Nelkir let out a harsh, joyless laugh.

"Protect me? Don't be naive. Protect himself, sure. Keep control."

He ran a hand through his tangled blond hair, a twisted smile playing at his lips.

"Everyone betrays, Hunfen. Sooner or later. It's in their nature. Even the ones who seem the most honest."

Hunfen tensed. He didn't want to believe that. He didn't want to think that Balgruuf, Lydia, Aventus, or even Ralof and Hadvar were destined to betray him someday. It was too bleak, too cruel a way to see the world. Yet Nelkir carried that certainty so effortlessly that it unsettled him.

The wind picked up, making a nearby torch flicker. Still sitting on the beam, Nelkir smiled as he watched Hunfen.

"You'll understand someday," he said softly. "There's only one person you can really trust."

Hunfen swallowed hard.

"Who?"

Nelkir held his gaze.

"Yourself."

oOo

Night fell over Whiterun, and with it, the weight of the day pressed heavier on Lydia's shoulders. The warrior exhaled slowly, leaning against the doorframe of The Bannered Mare, her gaze lost in the nighttime bustle of the marketplace. The city's murmur still echoed—merchants folding up their stalls, lingering customers haggling over last-minute deals, and the distant, relentless bellowing of Heimskr, still pouring his fervor into the praises of Talos.

A flicker of irritation passed through her. She should have felt relieved. Hunfen was safe, curled up in his bed in the servants' quarters of Dragonsreach after disappearing for hours. And yet, she couldn't shake the unease lingering in her chest. She hadn't forgotten his innocent expression when she had finally found him, perched on a forbidden ledge, gazing at the city beside Nelkir.

Nelkir. A chill ran down Lydia's spine. That boy unsettled her. His gaze was too sharp for a child his age, his smile too knowing. The way he looked at the world, as if he already understood all its secrets… She didn't like it.

Shaking her head, she pushed open the tavern door. What she needed right now was a moment of respite.

The warmth of the hearth enveloped her instantly, banishing the biting cold clinging to her cloak. The familiar scents of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced mead filled the air, drawing a small, almost relieved sigh from her. The Bannered Mare hadn't changed. The regulars were there, their voices blending with the crackling fire and the echoes of boisterous laughter.

Lydia wove through the tables, narrowly avoiding a drunken patron flailing his arms as he recounted a likely exaggerated tale of hunting a sabre cat. Behind the counter, Hulda glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

"A beer," Lydia said, placing a few septims on the polished wood.

Hulda nodded and turned to fill a tankard, but Lydia's attention had already been drawn elsewhere. Seated alone near the fire was a towering figure, one she had seen earlier that day sending Braith away in the marketplace. Uthgerd the Unbroken.

The massive Nord reclined against her chair, a tankard in hand, staring into the dancing flames. Without her steel armor, she seemed only slightly less imposing, clad in a thick linen tunic and well-worn leather pants. Her muscular arms, still partially wrapped in faded cloth bandages, rested heavily on the table, and her clenched jaw made her look like a statue carved from the mountain itself. Yet tonight, something about her seemed… diminished. Some unseen weight bore down on her. Lydia narrowed her eyes slightly. Uthgerd drank like any Nord—but tonight, she was drinking more. A lot more. The line of empty tankards on her table spoke volumes.

Lydia grabbed her beer and approached.

"This seat taken?"

Uthgerd slowly turned her head. Her icy blue eyes, sharp as a battle-axe, flicked over Lydia before she shrugged.

"Do what you want."

Lydia sat without waiting for further invitation. She took a sip of her beer, letting the silence linger for a few moments. Uthgerd wasn't one for meaningless chatter. But tonight, something simmered beneath the surface, something heavier than just the taste of mead.

"I saw you earlier," Lydia said, setting her tankard down. "With Braith."

A flicker of frustration passed through the mercenary's eyes.

"That little brat's a menace," she muttered. "She won't stop bothering me."

"She just wants to learn," Lydia pointed out.

"Learn, huh?" Uthgerd let out a joyless chuckle. "To fight? To wield a weapon? To take hits and deal them back? She thinks it's a game—like all kids her age."

Lydia studied the older warrior. There was more than just weariness in her voice. A deeper shadow.

"That's why you refused?" she finally asked.

Uthgerd remained silent for a moment. She stared into the flames, as if searching for something she had never found. Then, slowly, she set down her tankard and crossed her arms.

"When I was that girl's age, I was just like her. Stubborn. I wanted to be a warrior—a real one. Not a servant, not a craftsman's wife, not a housewife. I wanted to fight."

Lydia said nothing. She understood.

"A little later, I wanted to join the Companions," Uthgerd continued, her voice quieter now. "Jorrvaskr, honor, camaraderie… all of it felt like a dream. They took me on trial, like they do all their recruits. And to prove my worth, they had me fight another novice. A boy—barely old enough to grow a beard."

A heavy silence fell between them. Lydia felt her stomach tighten.

"They thought it would be an easy fight," Uthgerd went on, clenching her fists. "After all, I was a girl, right? No real threat. But…"

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, as if holding something old and painful at bay.

"But I won."

Her blue eyes drifted into memory.

"I struck him down. In the heat of the fight, in the rush, in the desperate need to prove I was worthy… I hit too hard."

Her jaw tightened.

"I didn't mean to kill him."

Lydia felt a shiver crawl down her spine.

"The Companions never forgave me. Least of all Vilkas. To them, I was a murderer. They cast me out of Jorrvaskr, rejected me. They called me Uthgerd the Unbroken…" She let out a bitter laugh. "A nice way of saying I was too stubborn to die with my shame."

Lydia listened in silence, her fingers tightening around her tankard. Uthgerd spoke in an even tone, with no embellishments or self-pity, but every word carried a crushing weight. It wasn't a confession, nor was it an attempt at redemption. It was simply fact, a fragment of history she had carried alone for far too long.

"That's why you won't train Braith," Lydia murmured.

Uthgerd nodded, her gaze still locked on the fire. "You're perceptive. I've spent my whole life trying to prove I'm more than that one mistake. I've forged myself into something disciplined, unshakable. They stopped calling me the Unbroken out of mockery and started saying it with respect. But it doesn't change what I did. I know what I'm capable of. And I won't risk shaping a child in my image."

Lydia averted her gaze briefly, troubled. She thought of Hunfen. Of that moment frozen in time, that night at Honorhall Orphanage. She hadn't been there, but she had read Constance Michel's letter, picked up on the unspoken truths in the other children's words, seen the mute guilt in Hunfen's eyes when he avoided the topic. And she had witnessed the terror in his face when he recalled what he had done.

Lydia took another sip of her beer, forcing away the tightness in her chest. Hunfen wasn't like Uthgerd. He was just a child… But a child who carried a power too great, a power that had already slipped from his grasp once.

Was her duty only to protect him from outside threats?

She stared into her tankard. Uthgerd had imposed an iron discipline on herself to ensure she never made the same mistake again. Hunfen had the guidance of the Greybeards, but he was still at an age where instinct outweighed reason, where fists flew before thought. She had to be there to make sure he learned. That he controlled what he was—what he could become.

Uthgerd's rough voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"You've got a strange look on your face all of a sudden. Did I bring down the mood?"

"…Let's just say," Lydia murmured, "I know someone who also hit too hard once."

Uthgerd raised an eyebrow but didn't press for details. Instead, she offered a small, knowing smirk.

"Then make sure they never carry that weight as long as I have."

Lydia didn't answer immediately. But deep inside, her resolve settled more firmly. She wouldn't just protect Hunfen from those who wanted him dead.

She would protect him from himself.