Frina felt a shudder ripple up her back as the Argonian dock worker in ragged clothing turned to her. He was carrying an oversized armload of wood that looked entirely too heavy for his scrawny arms to be holding; but he smiled at her, she thought, and said “another day, another septim.”
She nodded and turned away.
I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to shrink back just because they’re Argonians and Khajiit and Dunmer. I’m better than this. I have to be better than this. Otherwise I don’t have any reason to be telling Ulfric that he needs to take care of all the people. I’d be just a hypocrite.
The shudder ran out from her core, regardless. It simply wasn’t going to be as easy as that after an entire lifetime of being sure, in her heart, that she was somehow better than all these other people just because she was a Nord. That’s what she’d been taught. That’s what everyone around her had always said. Talos favored the Nords, that’s what people had raised her to believe, and nobody else really counted.
But Dardeh, who looked like nothing so much as a lighter-skinned Redguard, worshipped Talos and had fought on his behalf. And Roggi had lived next door to a Dunmer mage, and called her his friend. And Ulfric – well, it was obviously true that he favored Nords but he did nothing to actively harm or remove the other races from his city. If even he could be at least tolerant, surely she could, as well.
She slipped into the first set of doors she saw, hoping that this would be where she could talk to someone about the East Empire Company. There were at least two large rooms, a warehouse, really. Just inside the door were empty carts pushed up against the walls. A richly colored carpet with a table and chairs set in its center clearly served as a place to do business. Barrels, crates, and sacks filled most of the floor space that she could see in the next room; and there were shadows that suggested more areas beyond.
There was a figure facing Frina, a female seated at the table. Frina walked up to her and cleared her throat. When the woman looked up at her Frina nearly jumped. She had seen this Dunmer before, the day she’d first entered Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks. “Do you hate the dark elves, too?” this person had asked her.
Frina blushed remembering what she’d done. She’d drawn back from the woman and snapped, “Yes I do,” not wanting to risk being touched by the mer woman and anxious to find the castle. She hadn’t given it more than a moment of thought.
“Then we have nothing more to talk about,” the very dark elf had growled, and walked away.
She looked at Frina now and sneered. “It’s you.” She paused for a moment and hissed. “You are nothing.”
“I’m so sorry,” Frina said quietly, deciding to pretend that she didn’t remember their first encounter. “I’m in the wrong building. Sorry to have bothered you.” The woman made a disgusted noise.
Frina slipped out and leaned back against the cold stone wall for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging of the tears that wanted to start. I was so awful to her that day. I don’t blame her for hating me. What was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking at all, was I.
Well, this isn’t getting me anywhere and I need to find out what I can do to help before Ulfric sends his guards after me.
She took a deep breath to settle herself, and then walked farther down the waterfront. Not far away was another set of doors, this one with a notice board outside. It looked like a place of business, even though there wasn’t much activity going on outside it. She frowned, and entered the building.
This place was nearly identical to the one that the Dunmer woman was in except for one major detail: it was almost empty of goods. She saw movement in the far room and called out.
“Hello?”
“Back here,” a distinctly Imperial voice called.
Frina’s instincts put her on high alert immediately. Imperials were to be eliminated. Then she remembered Brynjolf, shaking his head at her and telling her to keep business and politics separate in this case. She moved toward the back of the space and found the man, a slim, dark-haired Imperial man in simple merchant’s clothing. He nodded to her and reached for a broom.
“I’m Orthus. Orthus Endario. I know this place looks horrible,” he said, grimacing. “Please, don’t hold it against the Company.”
“I won’t, of course,” Frina said. “I’d heard that there might be some problems…”
“Sad, isn’t it?” he answered. “We can’t afford to keep the place running since these attacks started. Pirates, you see – raiding all along the coast, from Hammerfell to Vvardenfell.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Only the Shatter-Shields appear to be safe.”
“Really. How interesting.” The Shatter-Shields, of course, were one of Windhelm’s more prominent and well-to-do families, living in one of the large manors near the Palace. Frina had heard that one of their daughters had been murdered, not too long before she had arrived in the city; so being ‘safe’ was a matter for some debate in her mind. She doubted that he meant the word in that sense.
“They run a private shipping operation and would love to have the docks to themselves. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were in league with the pirates somehow.”
Frina’s mind ran over all the things she’d seen and heard since washing up on the shore near Solitude. There were definitely pirates operating up and down the coast: she’d eliminated some of them not too far from the border of High Rock. She nodded.
“I’ve had run-ins with some of those pirates, but accusing the Shatter-Shields would take some evidence. They’re awfully influential. Do you have any?”
“Evidence? Not yet, no. But perhaps an intrepid person such as yourself could help with that?”
“I could try. I also could speak to the Jarl if we can prove a connection between the Shatter-Shields and the pirates.” At least I hope I still can.
“They have a dark elf who oversees their operations. Suvaris Atheron. She’s meticulous to a fault and keeps a log book recording every transaction she makes. If it were somehow to end up in my hands… Well, I wouldn’t argue,” he said, grinning.
Oh great. That has to be her, next door. The one I insulted. The one who says I’m nothing. How in Oblivion am I going to get past her?
“Alright,” she said, trying not to look distressed. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you know anything else about the pirates?”
He nodded. “They call themselves the Blood Horkers. They’ve been around as long as I can remember, but only recently focused on our ships.”
“Makes sense, with all the upheaval caused by the war, that they’d pick now to make a move.”
“Yes. Our own forces have been limited, and the war has had all the mercenaries tied up. But they’re more than simple brigands. Shrewd, clever – not to be trifled with. We don’t even know their base of operations and attacking single ships won’t really solve the problem.”
“Right. Pirates are like skeevers. Just about the time you think you’ve stomped them out more come out of the shadows. I’ll go see if I can get that log book and get back to you as soon as I can.”
Frina left the East Empire office and slipped back around the corner to what was clearly the Shatter-Shield’s shipping offices. The goods filling their warehouse made sense now, as well as the emptiness of the East Empire’s building.
That Brynjolf is a clever one, isn’t he? I don’t know what his connection with the East Empire Company is, but it’s clearly one that needs to be kept under wraps. And yet he’s right. We can’t have a pirate group disrupting business. It’s bad for everyone.
But how am I going to get Suvaris’ log book? She hates me already.
Frina reached into her pack and checked what she’d stuffed in there. She hadn’t really given it much thought before leaving her house; she’d just grabbed it and left. And she certainly didn’t want to go back to her place right at the moment, in case Ulfric’s guards were waiting for her return. But maybe…
Sure enough, she found a lone invisibility potion tucked in the bottom of the bag. It wasn’t a very strong potion, and so wouldn’t last too long; but it would definitely get her past the woman and into the back of the office. Getting out might be an issue; but it was still worth a try.
She pushed the door open just enough to peek in. The Dunmer was walking toward the back of the place; so Frina slipped inside and downed her invisibility potion. She crept around the first room, keeping as close to the left wall as she could. Suvaris, having done whatever she was doing at the back of the facility, returned to take a seat in the front; Frina moved quickly around the piles of merchandise to the far end of the space, into the alcoves she’d not been able to see before. It was a narrow space, there at the far end; maybe the width of a short man’s height. Against one wall was a small, square table with a chair before it; the table held a ledger, a strongbox, a bottle of mead and a bowl, a very fat coin purse and, almost hidden beneath the ledger, a small journal. She picked up the journal and flipped it open for a moment, long enough to read “Property of Suvaris Atheron.”
There we go.
Invisibility potions being what they were, Frina knew she was now visible. She slipped the journal deep into her pack and inched her way around the doorway into the roomful of merchandise, keeping to the shadows as best she could. She held her breath and inched along, agonizingly slowly, not wanting to be discovered. Suvaris stood up and moved toward her, and Frina’s heart started pounding, certain that she’d been seen; but the Dunmer merely moved around the table and took a seat on the other side, facing away from Frina.
It felt like a lifetime to her as she crept around the dividing walls, past barrels and up to within an arm’s reach or two of the Dunmer, then sideways toward the deepest of the shadows in the room. Her heart was pounding to the point that she wondered why Suvaris didn’t hear it.
If she spots me I’ll just make a break for the door. I’m pretty quick, I can probably make it before she sees my …
Frina’s heart nearly stopped as Suvaris pushed her chair back from the table and rose. She tensed, readying herself to bolt for the door.
Suvaris turned toward her left – away from the side of the room Frina was on – and walked toward the back of the warehouse. Frina said a quick prayer of thanks to Talos under her breath and moved as quickly as she could, up through the front of the space and out the door. She didn’t pause to catch her breath; rather, she slipped past a pair of Argonians and around the corner into the East Empire Company office. She slammed the door behind her and sank back against it, panting.
“You’re back!” Orthus cried.
Frina just nodded, dug into her pack, and handed him the journal.
“How did you… never mind, I probably shouldn’t know,” he said, opening the journal and skimming through it. “I see. It looks like Suvaris has been travelling to Dawnstar to meet with a pirate crew there. Get to Dawnstar and see what you can find out about these rogues. I’d wager they won’t be too far from the tavern.”
Frina opened her mouth and then closed it. She’d been about to snap at him for giving her orders when it had occurred to her that getting out of Windhelm for a bit would probably be the best thing she could do.
I yelled at the Jarl and turned my back on him when he told me to come back. I’m disobeying him right now. Dawnstar sounds like a great idea.
“Ok, I’ll do that,” she said.
“Try to find out where their fortress is. The captain, Stig Salt-Plank, has to know something.”
“Yes, I would think so. Wish me luck; I’m off.”
Frina considered returning to her apartment, but decided against it. There was a small boat for hire here, tucked in between some of the larger vessels. She spoke to its owner, who was quite willing to take her to Dawnstar if she didn’t mind spending fifty septims. Once he had the coins in hand, he told her to climb in and get comfortable.
__
The inn in Dawnstar was full of loud men who smelled of liquor, fish and salt water; and Frina frowned as she overheard a conversation at the table opposite the door.
“Come now, dearie, surely we aren’t all that bad,” a gravelly voice slurred.
The tavern girl stood back and made a disgusted face.
“Just leave me alone,” she said. “I brought you your mead. Now drink it and shut your filthy mouths.”
A dark man who’d clearly had far too many mugs of mead already said “oh we’ve got other things in mind for our mouths, sweetie.”
Frina swapped a quick glance with the girl and reached for her war pick. The girl shook her head no, but grinned before walking back to the bar.
Disgusting. I’d rather listen to Roggi peel a man for information.
She was trying to decide how to approach the first of the disgusting men when he stood from his table and nearly bumped into her.
“What are you lookin’ at?” he growled.
“I’m looking for information. Have you heard of a crew called the Blood Horkers?”
He puffed himself up, swaying just slightly. “Heard of ‘em? I’ve been captainin’ a crew of ‘em for well on nine years now!” He squinted his bloodshot eyes at her and leaned forward a bit, and Frina tried not to gag at his breath. “What’s it to you?”
So this was Stig. Frina gave him the greediest grin she could come up with. “Lots of gold to be had, plundering ships, yes?”
“Aye. The war kept the Empire and the locals too busy to worry about us. Haldyn called it our ‘golden age.’”
“Haldyn? Who’s that?” Frina was confident that Stig was just drunk enough that she could keep him talking, especially the way that he’d started ogling her chest. She didn’t have a large bosom, but the scaled armor showed off what she did have very nicely and he was admiring it.
Not like you could get a hand anywhere near it. Either I’d cut it off, or I’d convince Roggi to do it for me.
“Our secret ingredient. A battlemage. Runs the Blood Horkers and makes sure the battles end right-side up.”
“Where would I go, if, say, I wanted to join up?” Frina asked, smiling. Gods forbid I would want to do such a thing. I’ve killed off an entire cavern full of pirates with far less gear than I have now and for less reason.
“Well I just can’t tell that to any skeever that washes up,” he snorted.
“Oh come now,” Frina said. “Do I look like a skeever to you?”
“Looks to me more like you’re trying to cause trouble for the Horkers.”
Frina shook her head, in the way that made her ponytail dance and Stig’s eyes follow its motion. She tried to look pitiful.
“Look, the war’s over. They’ve sent all us mercenaries home. I need to be able to put bread in my belly. That’s what I’m trying to do. I don’t care to cause trouble for anyone at this point,” Frina said as earnestly as she could manage. “I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime and then some.”
Stig frowned at her. “Well. Hmm.”
“Would this help you remember?” Frina reached into her pack and pulled out a sack of coin, handing it to him. It wasn’t the largest purse she’d had in her apartment by any stretch, but it was the largest she had at hand and she was fairly certain he would appreciate its heft.
“Ahhh, I think that’ll do just the trick,” he said with a grin, slipping the coin purse into his own pocket. “Haldyn will take my hide for this, but Skyrim’s been feeling a bit… confining, lately. We draw council at Japhet’s Folly. You know the place? Little island up to the northeast. The fools in Windhelm won’t go near it, which is fine by us!” He swayed again. “Now if you’ll pardon me, my crew needs gatherin’.”
And a bath. By the Nine. You smell like you’ve been bathing with raw salmon filets that have overstayed their welcome.
“We should be in Hammerfell before the other Horkers know who let slip their secret.” He leered at her once more.
“Yeah, good idea. Thank you,” she said; but he had already turned to speak to his men. Frina breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the door.
Japhet’s Folly. Alright then. Back to Windhelm.
__
When Frina reentered the East Empire’s empty quarters in Windhelm, she found Orthus getting a dressing-down by his superior, an Imperial woman named Adelaisa Vendicci. She was wearing the armor of the Empire; Frina had to fight herself to keep from drawing her weapons out of reflex.
I can’t lose my control now. This is important. Brynjolf said it was important, and Ulfric’s reaction when I said I wanted to do this tells me that he thinks it’s important, too. I need to remember. Business, not war.
“Finally,” Vendicci said, “someone who can get things done. Since we’re short on soldiers you’ll be coming with us. No arguments. Anything else you can tell us about the situation?”
Oh very good, Frina thought. I’m being kidnapped. I expected Ulfric to be the threat, not these people.
“Their leader is a battle-mage named Haldyn.”
The Imperial’s eyes grew wide. “Haldyn? I’ve heard of the man but never expected he’d join up with pirates. This could be even more dangerous than I thought.” She paused for a moment, thinking, and then shook her head. “Head for the ship. We’ll plan our assault on the way.” She turned and strode from the building.
Well damn. Now I’ve done it. If I run from here, this Imperial will be after me. If I go back to the castle – who knows what will happen. And if I abandon this effort nobody will be any better off than they were before I stuck my nose into it. I guess if I could steal Imperial battle plans on my own, I can do this with a backup crew. Talos protect me.
She nodded a farewell to Orthus Endario and made her way out to the docks. A man in Imperial colors stood on the deck of one of the larger vessels. He waved to her, and she froze for a moment, the uniform once more sending her into battle readiness. But she breathed, slowly, and made her way to the ship.
There are a lot of uniforms around these days. There were a lot of dead soldiers. People wear what they can find. It doesn’t mean a thing.
I’m still glad that I’m not wearing Stormcloak blue.
The ship cast off only a few moments after she went aboard.
__
Ulfric was pacing in his quarters. Pacing, and shouting, and occasionally tossing things. Thus far he hadn’t thrown anything that could be shattered, but Jorlief wasn’t entirely certain how long that would last; the Jarl’s bed was running out of readily-available cushions.
“Damn the woman! How dare she just run away like that?”
“Should I have the guards go to fetch her, my lord?” Jorlief asked. “You would be well within your rights to have her punished…”
“No!” Ulfric snapped, glowering at Jorlief. “How could I justify punishing a war hero for simply disagreeing with me when I didn’t punish the Dragonborn for throwing me through the room with his Voice?” He stomped once more from one side of the room to the other, stopped in front of his dining table, poured himself a goblet of wine and downed it in one quick motion.
“Well, both Galmar and I thought at the time that action might have earned more of a response from you, my lord, but in the end it did turn out well, I suppose.” Jorlief was mostly muttering under his breath, and was therefore surprised when he saw Ulfric glare at him. “I mean no criticism, my lord.”
Ulfric tossed his hands up. “Of course you do, Jorlief, and as usual you are right. I should have put him in his place – and yet he was invaluable in securing our victories.” He ran his hands down over his face and blew out a breath. “I am not used to having people disobey me. Or contradict me. And all of the best – the reasons we won this war – are people who have done exactly that. You would think I would have learned better by now.”
“Yes, my lord,” Jorlief said, automatically, and then gulped when he realized how that must have sounded. “I mean…”
Ulfric stopped pacing to stare at Jorlief and suddenly burst out laughing. “Yes. Yes you would. Don’t be concerned, old friend. I knew what you meant.” He sat down heavily in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment.
“So she has run away to do exactly what I told her not to do. I could have her executed for that. And yet I find that I am more concerned with whether or not she will survive than I am whether she bows and scrapes before me. Far more concerned. I can’t bear the thought…” He opened his eyes and slammed his fist on the table, startling Jorlief. “Damn the girl! And damn her scruples! Does she not know that she would not even have her home if it weren’t for Roggi’s expert interrogation of its previous owner?”
Jorlief chewed on the inside of his mouth for a moment and then decided to hazard the comment he knew he must make. “No, sire. I don’t believe she does understand that. And if I may offer my opinion…?”
Ulfric was rubbing his eyes, and waved a hand in the air. “Yes, yes, what is it?”
“It would probably be just as well if she never made that connection. Even though it was clear that it was very disturbing to her to learn what he is capable of, she is quite devoted to her former brother-in-law.”
Ulfric sighed. “Yes. So it would seem,” he said quietly. He rose from his chair and paced the room again, bending to pick up the cushions he’d thrown and toss them back onto the bed.
Jorlief sighed as well. It was beginning to be apparent that the little things he’d been noticing in Ulfric’s demeanor over the past months really did mean what he’d feared they meant. He’d seen this behavior from Ulfric before. Only once before to be sure, but he had seen it; and it unsettled him a great deal, particularly given the news he needed to share with the man. He did not – and more importantly, Skyrim did not – need this situation to arise at this precarious moment. He’d watched Ulfric behave erratically, and he’d watched the worst in his lord’s personality emerge the only other time he’d seen the man in this state.
No, Jorlief thought, Skyrim did not need an Ulfric Stormcloak distracted by romantic interests. He would become unpredictable and volatile, and Skyrim needed her solid, thoughtful, predictable leader right at the moment. Jorlief decided that something needed to break the man’s train of thought before he realized for himself what Jorlief could already see plainly.
“My lord,” he said quietly, “I am sorry to change the topic, but I need to share some information that arrived earlier. It is… likely of great importance, it seems to me, even though I am not a strategist of any sort.”
Ulfric glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “And yet you often see through to the heart of the matter where others do not. What is it?”
“There is word from Solitude, sire. It would seem that the Lady Elisif…” He paused, and wrung his hands together for a moment, searching for the best way to say what must be said.
“The Lady Elisif what, Jorlief? Get to the point.”
“Has taken a new husband.” Jorlief held his breath, waiting for the Jarl’s reaction. It might well make the difference between life and death – if not for him, then for others.
Ulfric stopped and turned slowly to completely face Jorlief. His eyes were wide, his brows raised. “She has… what?”
“Been married, sir. To one Edwyn Wickham, the new Archmage of the College of Winterhold. It seems they made a very abrupt trip to Riften and were back in Solitude almost before the guards noticed they were gone.”
“Get in touch with Galmar,” Ulfric growled. “Those guards will be replaced with more competent ones immediately.”
“Sir.”
Ulfric turned to stare out the window. He was quiet for a long while until at last he shook his head. “Married. Damn! This is going to make her claim for the throne much more substantial.”
“Sir?”
“What do our people love more than a royal heir, Jorlief?”
“An heir, sir?”
“Yes, you heard me. A child. An heir. It represents stability. The continuation of the line. Why did the people no more than blink before making me Jarl of Windhelm when my father died? I was his son and heir. Elisif is young, and of child-bearing age. If she has a child…”
“But, my Jarl, you have just won the war. She agreed to your terms. You could claim the throne at this very moment.”
“Ah, yes I could. There were certainly those present in Solitude who thought that I should have. And even if I had done so it would still be the case that Elisif was the wife of the previous, legitimate High King, and no Moot has yet determined that I should take his place. Now she is remarried and may have another in her line before a year has passed.” Ulfric’s voice dropped. “And I have taken no wife, and produced no heir.”
Jorlief groaned to himself. Perhaps I might have better distracted him with something else. This has taken him right back to thoughts of …
“No, my lord, you have not; but it was my understanding that…”
“Let us not revisit that, Jorlief,” Ulfric said, in a tone that left no room for confusion; the topic was closed. He stood and stared out the window for a long moment, and then shook his head.
“That will be all, Jorlief. I find myself in need of some quiet, and some contemplation.”
“Sir.”
Jorlief left the Jarl’s chambers, closing the door quietly behind him, and wondered whether he had made matters better – or much, much worse.
