The Rose and the Azalea - Chapter Ten

• Posted by The Sunflower Manual June 17, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Long Story - #Harrow  #Sabina  #Rose/Azalea  - 1,234 views

  

   

   

  

   

   

   

   

  

  Agh. I've written eighteen of these already, I'm running short of ideas...
  

   

   

   

   

  

   

   

   

                  During the day, the longhouses and mead halls that made up Little Whiterun were just houses like any other. At night, however, the unique woodwork and stonework of Nord architecture bore down on visitors in the dark with a far more… martial disposition than the buildings in the rest of Anvil. Throw in the traditional torches and oil fires that the Nords used instead of more modern candle-lamps and lanterns, and I felt like my carriage was rolling backwards through time, bringing me to an age where the races of man were just tribes of simpletons learning how to knock sticks together.

   

                  I kept that particular thought to myself. The coach was rolling to a stop in front of the feast hall, and there were crowds of people milling outside the reception area. Sighing, I savoured the last few seconds of air on my face, then jammed my heaume over my head.

   

                  ‘All right, let’s go,’ I muttered, already hating how the heat from my breath was bouncing back onto my skin. Edwin nodded, then opened the carriage and stepped out.

   

                  Azalea was sitting next to me, staring out with his eyes wide.

   

                  ‘Never been to the Nord quarter before?’ I laughed as I hopped off the coach. ‘Come on.’

   

                  He took my hand and stepped off, his posture graceful, his stride pert. All heads within forty feet turned to us instantly, along with a good number of confused whispers. I smiled underneath my helmet. I’d attended several of these gatherings before, but never with anyone on my arm.

   

                  As my carriage began to move, Denholm and S’hni’s own coaches stopped behind it, and the two underbosses stepped out. This was a formal event, so even Denholm had to come in full armour. It was a matter of Flavana pride. I forced down another laugh as I saw the fat Breton waddle up to me like a metal-plated ball of blubber.

   

                  Denholm shot a look at Azalea that was equal parts unease and discomfort. ‘Was it the best idea to bring this… ah… to bring him here, my lady?’

   

                  Azalea shifted closer to me. ‘Is my being here a problem?’ he pouted.

   

                  ‘No offense to you personally, Lady Sabina, or to you uh… s-sir-’ Denholm choked as if he was having trouble getting the masculine address out of his throat. ‘But wouldn’t it be bad manners if someone in this… ah, profession-’

   

                  ‘Don’t be such a compulsive fussbudget, Denholm,’ S’hni said derisively as she came up to walk besides us. ‘Whether it’s a girl or not, a flower from the Bouquet is upper-class meat. S’hni is willing to bet you’ll find a couple of your friends here, hanging on display.’ She stretched out a finger and stroked Azalea’s hair, animalistic hunger dripping from her voice. He clung a little tighter to my arm as she did. I couldn’t blame him. The Khajiit slavemaster was notorious in prostitute circles for her cruelty. ‘Ohhh, one of these days, S’hni will get to take a brand to someone like you… you lovely little fairy, you.’

   

                  ‘You seem to have a low opinion of your own goods, S’hni,’ I said, trying to steer the conversation away from Azalea.

   

                  ‘S’hni knows exactly what kind of service her slaves are meant to provide,’ my underboss snorted. ‘There’s a difference between the low-end market and the high-end market. S’hni’s girls are cheaper, yes, bruised and bloody and tired and pumped full of skooma, so S’hni’s little helpers just get more of them! Hypocrites like Nightshade hawk their meat at prices only the merchants and nobles can afford, so S’hni just sells to everyone else! S’hni’s operation makes the family just as much money, my lady, don’t you worry…’

   

                  Right, talking to that psychotic bitch about her ‘goods’ had been a terrible mistake. Azalea turned deathly white and began to shake, biting his lip.

   

                  Rhansan chose that moment to appear, marching out of the feast hall to nod at me. ‘My lady. You’re earlier than I expected.’

   

                  Under his heaume, the Redguard smuggler’s small black eyes darted towards my companion, but he made no comment. As always, Rhansan was the quiet and sensible one.

   

                  S’hni swung right around to greet him. ‘How are you doing, Rhansan old boy?’ she asked cheerfully, slapping him on the shoulder.

   

                  A small twitch of what might’ve been annoyance flashed in Rhansan’s eyes, but his voice was as flat as ever as he replied. ‘I’m fine,’ he said curtly. ‘Our seats are ready. Would you like to go in now, my lady?’

   

                  ‘Let’s go see what kind of birthday party Fjorn is throwing,’ I said, and led my underbosses towards the feast.

   

                  Azalea walked – no, he glided – alongside me as we approached the entrance, drawing jealous stares from men and women alike. I smirked. He was already pretty enough to begin with, but in a sea of Nord tunics, Imperial shirts and Breton coats, his Akaviri robes made him stand out even more.

   

                  ‘I knew the Iron-Tooth Clan was powerful, but they managed to get so many people to come,’ Azalea marvelled. ‘Even if it’s for the head of the clan’s birthday…’

   

                  ‘The head of the clan’s wife,’ I corrected him. ‘And yes, the Iron-Tooths are the single largest gang in all of Anvil, maybe even all of Cyrodiil if you don’t count the international organisations.’

   

                  ‘Mister Fjorn must love his wife very much,’ Azalea said dreamily as we showed our invitations and entered the hall.

   

                  ‘There is that, and…’ I hesitated for a while before lowering my voice and continuing. ‘Hrolka Iron-Tooth has been ill for quite a long time now. From what I hear, her condition is becoming so bad she can barely walk. Fjorn probably thinks this is the last time he’ll ever get to celebrate her birthday.’

   

                  ‘I see,’ Azalea said, growing sombre.

   

                  ‘Ach, sorry,’ I grinned and gave him a pat on the back. ‘I shouldn’t be getting you down. This is a feast, we should enjoy the occasion!’

   

                  ‘There seems to be a great many important people here,’ Azalea murmured as we sat. The seats were arranged in Skyrim fashion, single rows behind long tables forming three sides of a rectangle. We were seated on the east, along with the heads from other, smaller gangs, while opposite us on the west sat the magistrates and guardsmen in Fjorn’s pocket. The table on the north was reserved for Iron-Tooths only. Fjorn and his wife occupied the central seats.

   

                  ‘I told you the Iron-Tooth Clan was powerful,’ I said, swivelling to look at Lady Hrolka. Then I caught myself. Wait, no, she isn’t nobility. There was such an air of refinement and dignity about her that I had applied the title automatically. And besides, Fjorn is probably richer and commands more influence than most nobles anyway.

   

                  I examined her a little more closely. Hrolka Iron-Tooth must’ve had a full figure once, but whatever disease she was suffering from had ravaged her body, leaving it gaunt and painfully thin. Her sharp Nord cheekbones protruded from her face, and her skin was pulled tight over her skull. Despite all that, she was still beautiful.

   

                  Fjorn was not his usual brazen, loud-voiced self. He seemed… diminished, somehow, and his eyes were thoroughly bloodshot. The lower half of his bright orange beard was completely sodden. I could smell the mead from here. The man had been drinking. Continuously. Over at least a week.

   

                  Most of the guests had arrived by this point. Hrolka stood, tottering on her husband’s arm for support.

   

                  ‘Welcome, and thank you so much for coming, friends one and all.’ Her voice was so weak I had to strain to hear her from my end of the hall. ‘My dear Fjorn has outdone himself… it’s such a- such a-’

   

                  She brought a hand to her mouth as she began coughing uncontrollably. An uneasy murmur rose up amongst the guests. Fjorn rubbed her back, his face a mask of hard anger. Hrolka gave his arm a gentle pat, and the mask dissolved as she murmured soothing words into his ear. Fjorn sighed and nodded. I shook my head, a little awed. Even while close to death, she was the one comforting her partner, not the other way around.

   

                  Despite looking as if he was close to breaking, when Fjorn spoke, his voice was as deep and strong as before. ‘Excuse us, ladies and gentlemen. Speaking is difficult for my Hrolka right now. Please, enjoy the feast.’ They both sat down, Hrolka still making dry, muffled coughs.

   

                  That little display put a bit of a damper on the whole event, and the guests were quieter than they usually would be at a birthday feast. I found myself wondering if we were going to be invited to Hrolka’s funeral next. I don’t think Fjorn would handle her death well.

   

                  It was fortunate for me and my underbosses that, in a feast like this, guests were generally expected to walk around; to socialise and make polite conversation. It gave us an excuse not to eat, which meant we didn’t have to take our helmets off. Azalea didn’t have to worry about that. He was digging into a leg of roast boar. ‘Are you not hungry?’ he said curiously, slipping a slice of meat into his mouth. My stomach rumbled and I tried not to glare.

   

                  ‘The helmets stay on,’ I shrugged, standing up along with my underbosses. Azalea swallowed his mouthful of boar, then stood up as well. ‘You don’t have to come with me, you know.’

   

                  ‘Nonsense,’ he said cheerfully, sidling close to me. ‘I’ll go wherever you’re going.’

   

                  ‘Uh, right,’ I stammered, glad that my face was covered. ‘Ah, you see that magistrate over there?’ I said, hurriedly changing the subject. ‘He was a friend of my father’s. Here, I’ll introduce you.’

   

                  We took two steps towards the west table, but before we could go further, a trio of Nords with the same style of braided beards as Fjorn stopped whatever conversation they were having and stared straight at me and my underbosses.

   

                  ‘Flavana,’ one of them spat. Even Rhansan seemed taken aback at the pure venom in his voice.

   

                  ‘Yes?’ I said warily.

   

                  The Nord seemed too upset to string together a coherent sentence. ‘My brother- his whole family- you- you actually have the nerve to-’

   

                  A giant spade of a hand clamped down on the Iron-Tooth’s shoulder. ‘That’s enough,’ Fjorn growled, nodding at the other two Nords.

   

                  They pulled their comrade away, with one of them leaning in to mutter emphatically into his ear. ‘Forget it, Yakov, this is Anvil.’

   

                  ‘My apologies for that display, Lady Flavana.’ There was the slightest hint of a tired slur in Fjorn’s voice, telling me just how much he was going through right now. ‘But like I said when we last spoke,’ he continued, his voice growing stronger as he hid his momentary lapse of weakness. ‘Blood is not so easily washed away.’

   

                  I bit back a remark about how maybe he should keep his underlings in better control. Our peace accords were fragile enough as it was. I could overlook the whole business with my skooma den burning down – Fjorn had punished the one responsible swiftly and more brutally than anything I could have done. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said jovially. Sensing that the situation was cooling down, my underbosses relaxed and began mingling themselves, gradually moving away from me.

   

                  Fjorn nodded at Azalea, looking him up and down appreciatively. ‘You’ve brought company today, and not another one of your armoured henchmen. A welcome change of pace. Pleasure to meet you, madam.’

   

                  ‘This is Azalea,’ I said, holding back a smile. ‘He’s a friend, but not really… in our same line of work.’

   

                  Fjorn blinked as he heard the word ‘he’, and he cocked an eyebrow as his gaze flicked to Azalea’s flat chest, delicate fingers and even more delicate face. A few seconds later, the cordial dignity on his face was replaced by complete and utter disdain. ‘Oh, I see,’ he sneered. ‘Argr.’

   

                  I didn’t know exactly what that word meant, but it reeked of unpleasantness and typical Nord bigotry.

   

                  ‘Well, Lady Flavana, I suppose it’s only natural. I approve! You and I were born for conquest, after all,’ the head of the Iron-Tooths continued, still giving Azalea that sideways look of sheer contempt. ‘Is it any good?’

   

                  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, keeping my voice level.

   

                  ‘Come now, my lady,’ Fjorn laughed, a note of drunkenness returning to his voice. ‘These… ah… what’s the word for it? Aberration? Aberrations like these – female men, male women – are only ever good for one thing, heh heh. So how is it?’

   

                  Azalea looked downwards, avoiding my gaze. I racked my brains trying to think of an appropriate response. It refused to come, mostly because I was rather busy also trying to ignore the urge to just punch Fjorn in the face.

   

                  Hrolka saved the day. She burst into another bout of tortured coughing and Fjorn straightened immediately, startled. He jogged over to her, leaving the two of us alone.

   

                  ‘Hey, uh…’ I turned to Azalea, who looked like he was about to cry. Oh gods what am I supposed to say? ‘Don’t… don’t take him too seriously, okay?’ I said in a bit of a panic. ‘Nords have a sort of… archaic way of thinking, you know.’

   

                  ‘Hmm?’ Azalea sniffed, looking up at me. I felt a small jolt in my heart. His eyes were moistening just enough for his pupils to start dancing in his starry silver irises.

   

                  ‘Yeah,’ I whispered, making sure no one else could hear me as I leant towards his ear. ‘Between you and me, I think they’re outdated savages.’

   

                  Azalea giggled, which sent another jolt of lightning through my body. It was a strangely addictive sound, his tinkling laughter. If there was only one sound I could ever hear for the rest of my life… But before I could even start with that joke about the Nord fisherman – I didn’t think I’d be telling it here of all places – someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Edwin, followed closely by my coachman.

   

                  I glared at the two of them, annoyed. ‘Can’t we get even a minute to ourselves?’

   

                  ‘F-forgive me, Lady Sabina,’ my coachman stammered. ‘B-but… ah…’

   

                  ‘Well?’ I snapped, growing more irritated by the second. ‘Out with it!’

   

                  ‘S-someone’s… um… v-vandalised your carriage, ma’am.’

   

                  I stared at him incredulously. ‘You can’t be serious.’

   

                  The coachman hung his head. For the umpteenth time I wished I didn’t have my helmet on so I could massage my head, which was starting to pound again. ‘All right,’ I snarled, walking briskly towards the entrance. ‘Take me there.’

   

                  Azalea started after me, but tossed a longing glance back at the table, towards his unfinished roast boar. That brief chew on his lower lip was so infuriatingly cute that I had to chuckle. ‘It’s fine,’ I said, pushing him gently back into his seat. ‘You stay here and eat your fill. This won’t take long.’

   

                  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to…’

   

                  ‘It’s fine,’ I repeated, already halfway to the door.

   

                  My coach had been deposited near the south end of the feast hall, along with several other horse-drawn carriages and carts. The coachman led us there, babbling about some sudden loud noise and then wheels flying everywhere.

   

                  I stopped as we rounded the corner around the feast hall and my jaw dropped a good four inches. My carriage hadn’t just been ‘vandalised’ as my coachman said. It had been completely demolished. The entire passenger’s compartment had been smashed into a tangled mess of fragments and wooden splinters, and the horses had long since bolted.

   

                  I examined the wreckage. No burn marks or signs of frost, and I could swear that on what little remained of the upholstery, there was a deep hole with contours resembling a fist.

   

                  ‘Did…’ I was struggling not to gape. ‘Did someone… punch my carriage into pieces?’

   

                  Was it the same people hounding me from earlier this week? All of my underbosses were here, but that could just be to give themselves an alibi. None of the Nords could have done this, but I did have to say – I wasn’t all too impressed with Fjorn’s security.

   

                  ‘What now, ma’am?’ my coachman asked nervously.

   

                  ‘See if you can buy us a new coach,’ I sighed, passing him a pouchful of gold. I could worry about it after we managed to get home. ‘I really don’t feel like staying the night here.’

  

   

  

  Seriously, do you guys even read these?
  

   

   

  
  

   
   

                  The roast boar was indeed delicious, but I was also quite sure that whoever – or whatever – destroyed Sabina’s coach was doing it to draw her out of the feast hall. Staying close to her was important, but going outside with her right now did not seem like a good idea.

   

                  I polished off my plate to be polite, then began walking around the feast hall once more. I made it a point to keep a respectful distance from Rhansan. Our meeting was tomorrow – until then, I had no wish to become entangled any further with the enigmatic Redguard smuggler.

   

                  The crowd was becoming disorganised. I wove around a couple of red-faced Nords, through a semicircle of half a dozen bickering Imperials, and past a pair of Bosmer jugglers likely hired for entertainment. I examined the last pair out of the corner of my eye. Their clothes were tight-fitting jester’s outfits and I didn’t notice any signs of concealed weapons on their body, but that didn’t mean I could rule out very small blades or magic. Before I could take a closer look at the jugglers, however, I came across Fjorn Iron-Tooth.

   

                  ‘Hello, sir,’ I said sweetly as he looked down at me, frowning. The Nord gangster was tall, towering entire heads above me. ‘Is Madam Hrolka all right?’ I asked, injecting concern into my eyes.

   

                  ‘You’ve no business asking after my wife,’ Iron-Tooth muttered, looking askance at me.

   

                  ‘Have I offended you in some way, sir?’ I clasped my hands in front of my chest, squeezing out my lower lip just a little more than usual.

   

                  Grimacing in disgust, the Nord turned away from me. ‘Where to even begin…’ he mumbled.

   

                  I drew closer to him, leaning slightly forwards and allowing one end of my collar to hang loose as I released just a small amount of my scent. ‘Do tell me, sir,’ I breathed. ‘Could I… make up for it somehow?’

   

                  Blanching, Fjorn staggered back from me. ‘Sell yourself to one of my boys if you’re so desperate to learn what a real man feels like,’ he spat, and marched back towards his wife.

   

                  I tried not to smile. I was making the manly man uncomfortable. Good. I could use discomfort… and judging from the elevated heartrate that I perceived when I leant in, he was more than likely overcompensating for his initial attraction.

   

                  Or perhaps he was just drunk.

   

                  The Bosmeri jugglers passed me again, one of them now on the other’s back juggling five balls at once with his feet. I made a mental note to go back to my train of thought later. Right now, I had more immediate concerns.

   

                  The Bosmer were athletic and very flexible. That in itself was no reason to be suspicious, but the timing of their performance with what had happened to Sabina’s carriage-

   

                  The sounds around me suddenly warbled, then became muted. I bent my knees instinctively before I relaxed. The cone of silence was – quite distinctively – the work of a Po’ Tun.

   

                  ‘Quick intuition, kit,’ a voice rumbled behind me, low and sounding perpetually angry. ‘But your reasoning was off.’

   

                  I turned around, shocked. ‘Bengakhi-ra, sir.’ I didn’t know how him of all people had managed to blend so flawlessly into the crowd. Did he use the Nords? They’re the only people tall enough to even come close to masking his presence, but what about his fur?

   

                  ‘Choosing to pay attention to the entertainers was the right decision, but remember that they may also have been set up for additional distraction,’ Bengakhi said. ‘That’s why I hired them.’
  

   

                  I could only stare at him. The Grandmaster’s advisor was dressed in a horrendous yellow doublet with a smattering of yellow face paint smeared all over his black stripes. He looked like a seven-foot-tall cob of corn with enormous bananas for arms. Bengakhi frowned and I hurriedly explained.

   

                  ‘Apologies, Master, but that’s… an unusual disguise.’

   

                  ‘The more flamboyantly you are dressed, the less likely common bystanders will remember what you actually look like. So long as you keep your distance, they’ll only notice the outfit.’ Bengakhi inclined his head towards a group of Bretons, who passed us looking thoroughly scandalised. ‘Right now, instead of a giant humanoid tiger, all they see is another crime of fashion.’

   

                  I found that highly irrational, then reminded myself that Tamriellian society was often highly irrational.

   

                  ‘Is there some kind of trouble, Bengakhi-ra? I assume you... ah, dismantled Sabina's carriage in order to catch me alone,’ I murmured, huddling closer to him to hide the movement of my lips.

   

                  ‘Not explicitly, and yes,’ he growled, turning his back to the crowd. ‘I’ve assumed direct command of Haruka’s operation here. She will still issue orders, but from now on you report directly to me. It’s time we brought matters in Anvil to a close. The village has larger concerns than petty criminals, and Haruka’s brothel would be able to gather far more information. The sooner we resolve the criminal influence here, the better.’

   

                  I felt an immediate surge of confidence. With Bengakhi spearheading my missions, things would no doubt go smoothly. In addition to being a logical, decisive leader, Bengakhi also possessed an exceptional political acumen. Having him handle the quagmire of nobility, economics and Imperial interests would be ideal.

   

                  ‘What have you learned, then? You are in a far better position to investigate the families than any other shinobi.’

   

                  ‘The earlier exchanges I observed with the Nords have been invaluable. I can now say with certainty that the lingering tensions between the Flavanas and the Iron-Tooths have not faded away. And while both bosses of the families were maintaining their basic courtesies with each other, judging from their conversation and mannerisms, their position is a delicate one. Neither side can afford to offend the other, while at the same time, they cannot afford to appear weak. That fact alone offers us opportunities, sir, if not direct leverage.’

   

                  Bengakhi narrowed his eyes. ‘Solid intelligence, but any kit with a sharp pair of ears could have surmised that much. What else?’

   

                  ‘Sabina Flavana and her underbosses conduct meetings in her ancestral home of Flavana Manor. The area is heavily fortified, but I can identify several optimal infiltration routes for a small unit, or even a team of two units, should you decide to eliminate all of them in one stroke, sir.’

   

                  ‘Under normal circumstances, that would be the ideal approach. But the Empire wishes to take down the Flavana family with their wealth intact. Radical destabilisation is not our goal here. The infighting would cause too much damage, even if the Legion could contain the situation. We must erode their control systematically but swiftly, forcing them to react and consolidate their resources, allowing the Empire to appropriate their assets with relative ease.’

   

                  I nodded. ‘As expected, then, the plan is to target the underbosses individually?’

   

                  ‘That depends,’ Bengakhi replied. ‘Aside from the Breton Denholm, the underbosses have held power over a short enough period of time that there should be no clear line of succession. Do you believe Sabina Flavana capable of holding on to her territories even as we dispatch their leaders?’

   

                  ‘Yes,’ I answered immediately. ‘She is a strong-willed young lady, as resolute as she is be-’

   

                  Bengakhi fixed me with an unflinching stare. ‘Go on,’ he said quietly.

   

                  ‘Bold,’ I said, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. ‘As resolute as she is bold.’

   

                  ‘I see,’ Bengakhi said slowly, his yellow eyes piercing my skull. ‘Anything else you would like to report?’

   

                  ‘Sir,’ I said, relieved that he was changing the subject. ‘I believe the Flavana smuggler Rhansan suspects me of being an agent planted into Sabina’s side.’

   

                  ‘Is there a reason he hasn’t attempted to blow your cover yet?’ Bengakhi said.

   

                  ‘He said he had something to discuss with me on Loredas, and warned me not to make any moves.’

   

                  ‘Loredas is tomorrow,’ Bengakhi said. ‘Not moving was the correct decision, kit. You are an important piece with unique advantages. Identify Rhansan’s demands, and if you find them impossible to meet or contradictory with your mission, you have my permission to eliminate him in a manner that does not compromise your position. That will be all. Dismissed.’

   

                  I nodded again, but before I could leave the cone of silence or let the two of us drift apart inconspicuously, Bengakhi must’ve caught my sideways glance back at him. He sighed. ‘Did you have a question, kit?’

   

                  ‘Ah,’ I said, flustered. ‘I was only wondering why you would be coordinating such a small operation in person, sir. Given your status…’

   

                  Bengakhi paused, then turned back towards me.

   

                  ‘I’d just finished assisting a number of Imperial-sanctioned privateers in an off-the-books naval offensive on Firsthold.’

   

                  I gazed at the century-old Shadeclaw in awe, amazed as always at how self-assured and straightforward he was. That sentence alone could be enough to spark war if heard by anyone else.

   

                  ‘I sailed back to the continent several days ago and caught wind of Haruka’s own operation here,’ he continued. ‘I took a special interest, given that having you train here was my idea. You seem to have become… moderately more effective.’

   

                  ‘And I remain endlessly grateful for the opportunity, sir,’ I said, humbled. I knew how high Bengakhi’s standards were and how much he expected each individual operative to contribute. His praise and acknowledgement, however light, sent a rush of fierce pride through my chest.

   

                  ‘My judgement was premature,’ Bengakhi said grudgingly as he turned around once again to leave. He did not smile, but then again, he never smiled. ‘It appears you may have a place in our village after all.’

   

                  I felt ridiculously giddy as I watched his massive back recede into the crowd, bustling and noisy once again as the cone of silence faded.

   

                  ‘A place in our village’…

   

                  Our village, I laughed silently, feeling like spinning around, dancing and sweeping my sleeves out. He said ‘our’. That includes me.

   

                  My village!

   

                  My home.