The story so far: Second Archivist Eldaline is still trapped in Whiterun after being frightened by a large black dragon, and her former library assistant Skavild is still trailing about under a false name behind Delphine, last of the Blades, pretending to believe in dragons.
It was still raining the second time the children were thrown out of the schoolhouse that afternoon.
"... And, my Pa says, he says, strike from the shadows, if you're not a mutton-head, it doesn't make you a milk-drinker, and he says your Pa's a mutton-head, and Mistress Aervu Gray-Mane's a mutton-head too." said Lars Battle-Born, whose name had been forgotten throughout the entire day, but not by the narrator.
"Everyone in Whiterun's a mutton-head and a milk-drinker," Braith explained learnedly. "and if you weren't, you'd do what I told you."
"But, we'll get in trouble and she might even kill us." whined Lars.
"She's going through the market. Follow me, or I won't be your friend."
"But you're not my friend now."
Braith turned around and irresponsibly allowed the Second Archivist to escape around a corner. "What did you say?"
"Nothing?" suggested Lars.
"When you were sick, didn't I give you the honey nut treat from my lunch?"
"No, I already had a honey nut treat and you took it away from me."
"Oh yes, I remember now." said Braith. "Well, it's sort of the same thing."
Having very good and upright ears, Eldaline could hear more than they thought.
"Hello." said Braith, eventually catching up.
"Hello." said Eldaline, trying to escape.
"Hello." said Lars, now that it was allowed.
Braith said, "Is it true that you hate humans?"
"It would be unfair to call it a hatred. The best comparison would be if you were to come across a giant talking insect like a korus with the self-assurance of an arch-mage but the mind of a concussed horse. You would certainly not hate it, so much as wish to end its misery as swiftly and painlessly as you could. Well, swiftly, anyway."
To Eldaline's surprise, a young man stopped directly in front of her. "You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I am, but probably not for any of the reasons you think I should be." Eldaline demanded.
"Hello, mutton-head." said Braith.
"Hello, Uncle Jon." said Lars. "Second Alchemist Eldaline was our teacher today. She's a Thalmor. She can't say chowrus."
"You came to Skyrim and ruined everything, that's why." said Uncle Jon. "You started a war, you summoned a dragon, my girl's brother's disappeared and her family blames mine, and your stupid soldier made my best shoes tiny."
"And she can't say Chowrus." said Lars.
"It wouldn't hurt you to watch your tongue, Nord." said Eldaline. "My soldier is educated to perfection and trained to a standard far beyond any normal capacity for idiocy. You probably picked up the wrong shoes. You might have heard that I am forbidden from raising a blade against the locals, and as you see, I am not carrying one, but I am not forbidden from nonchalantly walking past smouldering piles of ash."
"I'm so glad you brought it up, Second Alchemist." said Braith. "All right. I'll teach you to say Chowrus, and you teach me to blow up buildings."
Directly to the south, in the cold air of the near Jerall Mountains, something had already known how to blow up buildings. Embers still blinked in amongst the scattered beams that had once been a village called Helgen.
Skavild was helpfully pointing at things, but Delphine could already see them, and she told him so.
"And like I said," explaind Skavild. "Could've been a rogue wizard, but where's the rest of the trail of destruction? They generally move on to somewhere bigger, or leave a note saying 'That's for laughing at me at school' or something."
They had come in through the same door as Skavild had used to witness the scene before. Delphine was staring over Skavild's shoulder and it unnerved him, to the extent that he turned, with irritated foreboding.
"Armed men!" he shouted, as they advanced, with bows drawn and swords clattering. "Get behind that house, I'll hold 'em off."
It was true, he reasoned, that Delphine had for reasons unknown sent an assassin after him, but she seemed generally confused and distressed and Skavild liked her a sight more than he liked looters and bandits.
Skavild had picked up an old crossbow in Delphine's funny Cupboard of Things in case of trouble on the road to Helgen. He had quite a knack for crossbows, which would be fortunate for his travelling companion.
Or would have been, if his travelling companion hadn't drawn a bow first and released an arrow into the storm. Skavild watched it tear away through the rubble and pass painfully through the neck of the archer.
"This is how they honour the fallen, Ysgald! By robbing them!" Delphine cried. "Two more behind the boulder, the one on the left is yours, light-armoured swordsman straight ahead, stay back and cover the gates when I go in."
It seemed reasonable to Skavild. What seemed entirely unreasonable is that Delphine apparently lost patience with what was, in Skavild's mind, a perfectly normal length of time to load a crossbow-bolt, and shot the bandit on the left as well as the one on the right before he had the chance, which was not at all their agreement.
"Hey." he shouted. "What do you mean, When You Go In?"
In fact, Skavild's innkeeper had run to meet the charge of last remaining bandit, who evidently had not realised that she was the last, and never would, because Delphine knocked her spinning with the bow before dancing behind her and discarding it in favour of a cruel dagger Skavild had not even noticed she was carrying.
Delphine threw the dead bandit aside and turned to look for more.
"So, is that knee tonic from the alchemists working all right for you? There's just me, now." Skavild said, raising his voice above the storm as pleasantly as he could. "You won't need that ward spell."
"Are you sure that's all of them?"
"And you saved me having to do any work, as well." said Skavild. "Why'd you bring me along? In case there were six of 'em? Not that I'm complaining, mind."
"In case there was a dragon." Delphine said.
"I'm not sure how much help I'd be. I'm a bit out of practice with dragons."
"Yes. We all are." said Delphine. "So we're going to Falkreath."
On the way to a place Skavild had been once before, Delphine said very little of her reason for wishing to visit. Skavild had reluctantly come to the conclusion that this was rather not so much professional secrecy as a rabid assumption that he was somebody he wasn't. The most he had been able to understand is that she was looking for somebody called Acilius, who had recently sold some armour in Falkreath.
"No, I don't see anyone following. You're not even sure if he lives here?" said Skavild. He was privately hoping that this person called Acilius didn't, if he was half as mad, armed to the teeth and single-minded as the murderous dragon-enthusiast who had sent an assassin after him without even meeting him, and now thought he was the aforementioned assassin.
"Well, of course not." she said. "Do you think it was any safer here for us?"
"Oh, never." said Skavild. "No need to be like that. I just like to know who I'm visiting." Prob'ly hiding from her. He thought.
"Acilius Bolar, one of the finest swordsmen I've ever known."
Skavild said, "Well, it'll be nice to meet him, then."
Aaaaargh.
"So," he said, aloud again. "Why do you think he sold his armour? And how can you be sure it's his? How did you get to hear of it?"
"I have my sources, and they know the kind of rumours I like." said Delphine.
I bet they do. Thought Skavild. "Nice to know people like that." he said.
"Believe me, it was very recognisable armour. There's the general goods store. You wait here, and keep watch." she ordered.
"All right." said Skavild, and wondered how far he could run while she was in the shop.
"Good morning." said the figure in the shop.
Solaf the shopkeeper jumped six inches in the air and knocked a hanging braid of garlic so that it swung back and forth for several seconds. A customer had appeared at his elbow and he hadn't even heard the bell.
"How did you..." he said. "Hello, how can I help you, and this is my side of the counter."
The customer did not return to the proper side of the counter. "I heard that an old man came in and sold some old armour a month or two ago."
"Perhaps you heard wrong?" Solaf suggested.
"No, I didn't." she said.
"I was a soldier. I wouldn't try to scare me, if I were you."
"You're not me. Are you sure you want to know how I got in without you noticing?"
"No." said Solaf.
"About the armour." she said. "It's dark, with heavy spaulders and tassets."
"I've sold it." said Solaf.
The customer was still staring at him from underneath a thick hood. "You're still not listening. I don't want to buy it. I want to know about the man who sold it to you."
"My brother." Solaf blithered. "He found it."
His customer's fixed gaze seemed to flicker for a moment, and her resolve with it. "You mean, he stole it."
And she became quiet for several seconds. Solaf became anxious.
"Where did he find it?"
continues!