[b]Last minute collab by the Schaft and the Dervs[/b]

She felt a pin prick at her skin and it made her open her eyes. The haziness of sleep faded slow, and the only thing she could make out was a rough blob that slowly took form as an ugly bastard holding a knife to her throat. “It's that easy.”

Well, she had to pay, didn't she? Someone had to come collecting, “Just hurry the fuck up.”

“So quick to sign your life away, little sister?” That familiar crow's voice came wafting over the same way the smell of shit does.

She snorted, “No signing to do with it. Death just happens.” The memory of terrified eyes wanting nothing but to live just one more moment, same as her, belonging to a woman with blood dribbling out of her neck and down her chin as she fell came to mind. She didn't sign anything that morning.

“Maybe it does. Don't mean you should make it easy for the bastard, even if you do deserve it.” Mire smiled that shitty grin.

“What the fuck do you know about what I deserve, you bloated pig?” Solveig snarled, paying no mind to the point of the sharp knife at her throat. If he'd meant to do anything with it, he'd have done it by now. “And sheathe that fucking thing, halfhead. You've the same knowledge of what to do with it in hand as your cock- nothing.”

Brittle's laugh stretched out and he sheathed his knife, sure enough. Solveig swallowed, trying not to bring her hand up to the spot where it tingled like mad at the knife's absence. Funny thing, that, even the worst things can be missed. “I like you, woman.” The dark-eyed little man smiled.

“I don't like you.” Solveig cast a firey glance his way and then to Mire, “Speak your business, or are you just the type of folk that like watching a woman sleep?”

“Two things.” Mire held up a gloved hand with two fingers up, as he spoke, he folded his middle one back down, “Ashav's got a meeting on. But before you go to that, I need to tell you something. There's a man in Winterhold. Not a bad one, or no worse than any of us here, eh? We're nice enough folk. But this man, this man, your father knew. You want to save your father from a knife in the back, you'll find him and kill him within the first moment your eyes meet.”

“Who says you aren't making this up and using me to knife some poor fool you got a feud with, or that owes you something?” Solveig narrowed her eyes. Mire's word wasn't worth shit to her, nor anyone. Murky, muddy, can't see through it, and treacherous and deadly too. Like a mire, it's how he got the damn Name.

“You don't. But that's the beauty of it, aye? You knife him in the throat, you get this purse full of gold and that's good enough if I'm lying. But if I'm not? You saved your Pa's life and got paid for it.” Mire showed the purse in question at that, “O'course, even I can prove to be a man of truth once every bleeding moon. Your Pa's got a feud with this man, this [i]Reach[/i]man. Your Pa has a feud with about every Reachman in Markarth Side and west of the Druadachs. But this one's got a burning for your Pa's life hotter'n anything. Ask him about it, ask him about Durrum ap Yawl and his son.”

That got her thinking. The gold, sure, gold gets everyone thinking. But she knew her father wasn't well liked by the Reachmen of Markarth Side because of his little trip with Ulfric and his boys that way years ago. Who's to say there aren't more than a few Reachmen still wanting blood after all those years. She swallowed, “I'm not your fucking assassin.”

Mire smiled like he'd got a little secret, “Just a murderer, then? Reckon you and your father have a little in common, then.”

“Shit on you and your gold, Mire, you know nothing of me or my father!” She'd gotten to her feet faster than lightning and then she noticed that she'd gotten her knife in hand at some point. “I told you that if you got in my way or even if I saw you look at me you'd fare no better than that greyhead in the caverns.”

Mire's smile turned dark and he laughed low, “Trust me, little sister. Everyone sleeps and it is [i]that[/i] easy.”

She took a step back to try and get Brittle into her view. She didn't like that man where she couldn't see him. “Hard words. I beat men in the circle who spoke harder.”

“I killed women prettier.” Mire smirked, “And I killed people better and worse than me. Which d'you think you are?”

“The one that shuts your cunt mouth.” She gripped her knife tighter and swallowed her nerve. Her mentor in Markarth had told her that the one that strikes first is the one that strikes last. Then Mire turned his back on her and started walking off, slow as slow, enough to tell her without words he wasn't scared. “You talk to me like that again, Mire, and I'll kill you.”

“Be sure to tell me when it's time.” Mire called back.

“You'll know.” She growled, fist starting to shake and her whole body getting hot with anger, “You'll know it's time when you wake up with a cut [i]fucking[/i] throat!”

Mire only laughed his crow's laugh and turned to look at her again. He shook a finger her way, “I'm fucking liking you more and more.”

he turned back around and kept walking towards town. She watched their backs until they were a ways away and then took a deep breath. Her hands were trembling and her heart was beating faster than anything. She swallowed, sheathed her knife and then set off back to town for Ashav's meeting.

* * *

The room fell silent when it came time for questions. No one after Keegan ventured to know more about their mission. Just newbeards more preoccupied by the money rather than the completion of the job. Jorwen couldn't blame them, he was once blinded by glory and gold himself. Jorwen cast an eye about the room, finding a few familiar faces. He picked Do'Karth out of the gathering and they shared a nod. Then he saw Solveig, hanging back in a corner hunched about a steaming cup. Perhaps warm apple ale, knowing her habits the past few days. He didn't shake his head, nor did he nod, they didn't meet eyes until a small glance from Solveig that she quickly turned away from, nursing a frown. He remembered what Halla had told him back in Windhelm, that Solveig was a woman now and she didn't need coddling. Just a guiding hand. But Jorwen was a shit guide and was no example to follow.

Do'Karth made his way through the assembled sea of bodies to find his way to Jorwen, a pair of apples in hand. He passed one off to his great red giant of a friend, steering him towards the wall to lean both himself and his quarterstaff against the thick wood walls. A claw extracted from a padded finger and began to carve a slice out of the apple. "Do'Karth is sorry he has not been able to check in with yourself or Solveig since we were forced to leave Windhelm. How is Halla? This one cannot imagine it has been an easy transition for her."

"She knows how to pack quickly for the road. She's had to be married to me for more years than I can remember." Jorwen smiled, but it was a little bit of a shame to have that skill. He watched Do'Karth carve a piece of apple from itself with a claw. As one of the things in question pierced the red skin of the apple and dragged a fine scar downwards, Jorwen swallowed, scratching at a scar hidden beneath his beard. "And you needn't be sorry. That half a rabbit was good enough of a snack, and it was good to see a friend."

He took a large bite out of the apple and chewed in silence, weighing the thing in his hand before he swallowed, "And Solveig... She's distant. She keeps herself locked up in that head of hers. That's as dangerous as cradling a snake, keeping hurts locked up." Jorwen sighed, clearing his throat, "I didn't see you raise your hand to resign from the Company. Staying on, eh?"

"Do'Karth promised he would look out for you and your kin. That has not changed." The khajiit replied, freeing the slice from the fruit and wordlessly sliding it between his teeth. "Being khajiit has perks around caravans. They were going to charge 20 Septims for that rabbit, but who can say no to Do'Karth when he offers a trade, hm?" He glanced over at his friend when he mentioned his troubles with Solveig, offering a knowing nod. "We all deal with stress in different ways. She will release her hurts, as you call it, in some manner. All you can do is offer an outlet for that release to be a positive thing. She has her father back, and while it doesn't seem like it, she isn't exactly pushing you away, Jorwen. Do'Karth believes she wants to rekindle what relationship you have, but it is going to be a difficult road. One cannot simply wash away bad blood, trust Do'Karth; he knows. Just know he is here for you all, until the end."

Do'Karth paused in consideration before nodding slowly. "Perhaps it is foolish, but Do'Karth has elected to remain with the company, despite what he's seen, but as silly as it sounds, there's a sense of belonging he's felt here that he has not found before, at least not in a way he could discard so readily. After what happened, Do'Karth cannot abandon his friends. You, Solveig, Sevine... the three of you are the closest Do'Karth has had to friends since..." Do'Karth stopped himself, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. "Since it last mattered. Do'Karth tries not to become attached, but how can he not, after what we've been through? There is real purpose here."

"Sure feels like that, doesn't it?" He watched the crowd for Sevine and Roze and the others. Young Sagax sat listening to the briefing, once again, standing out among the other young'ns. Perhaps one day Sagax would be a man to follow, not like some of this herd. "I look at some of these scarred newbeards and striplings motivated by nothing but pay and loot, wonder how I could've ever been like them. Then I remember how much of a thing I was, always ready to get stuck in someone's craw, ready to bleed Skyrim dry for a hard name, for that familiar shaking of hands and slapping of backs before a fight with men you trusted. Guess we all got our reasons to stick with one crew or another."

Jorwen took another bite of his apple and chewed thoughtfully, thinking on Do'Karth's words, weighing them out. One part of him said they were true, the other part hoped they were. But if Solveig was as much like himself as everyone kept saying, he feared for her. "I hope you're right about my girl. I was young and fiery-tempered, same as her when I was young. Stories might die over the years, but there's a reason I'm named the Red-Bear and why Reachfolk hate that name. She doesn't want anything to do with me, it seems, but if you can catch her at the right moment, talk to her." Jorwen wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and scratched the hair under his cap, "I put a lot of responsibility for a daughter that isn't your own, I know, but as a favor to a friend. I've tried, and she doesn't take to it."

"You're going to have to sit Do'Karth down one of these days and explain exactly this whole name thing." The khajiit observed. "One thing this one is good at is observing people, and he knows you two are quite alike. Do'Karth barely knew his parents, so he spent a lot of time watching parents and their offspring, connecting the pieces. Try as one might, you cannot escape blood's influence. Do not fret, Do'Karth will consort with Solveig before we set out to Winterhold. Hard to escape conversation if you share a boat, yes?" he grinned, working on another slice. 

Jorwen grinned and had a little chuckle, taking a last bite of what was left of the apple, "True enough." Jorwen leaned over and put the apple core on an unattended plate. "Names? Like a title, earned the same way. Some Names are just meaningless things- you got an ugly nose, folk get to calling you Hook-Nose. Maybe folk'd get to calling you Lame-Leg. Or Bone-Setter, on account of your healing. But the real Names, those you earn by being fierce, by being the biggest braggart in the hired and backing all of it up. They earn you glory, recognition, reputation, fear from those who hear it. Across Skyrim you'll hear of warriors' Names. Huntress, Ironside, others too." He sniffed, "Lot of importance in names here. I earned my Name when I followed Ulfric into the Reach with a few hundred others. It was some bloody business."

"So Do'Karth understands it. Sevine told this one of some of her experiences with the war. Truly nasty business. Have non-Nords ever been given these honourary names? Do'Karth shutters to think of all of the great things he's done without recognition! This one suspects 'Rug' does not qualify." he grinned with a slight chuckle, looking at the eager faces closest to Ashev. The funny thing was, in the grand scheme of things, Do'Karth was not an old man by any stretch of the imagination, but he felt like he'd already lived several lives in the time he was afforded. When Ashev asked if there were any questions, Do'Karth took note of the hard-looking Redguard who spoke, a face he didn't recognize, offering his services. Do'Karth suspected Ashev and the other leaders would be hard pressed to turn down manpower after so many losses. Leif also spoke up, enthusiastically offering the services of a ship. The way he spoke told Do'Karth that he was only half-listening to the briefing; Ashev had said they were sailing there, not walking. The khajiit said nothing as he worked on carving his apple some more.

When there was a break in the questions, Do'Karth tapped his staff against the floor, turning eyes on him. "Do'Karth was wondering how we are going to get supplies to the College. To this one's understanding, it sits atop a large pillar of stone and is only accessible by that bridge, as well as the entire city being at the top of a considerable cliff. If we are sailing there, are we climbing to the summit? Clarification would be welcome." 

Having said his piece, Do'Karth's eyes met with Sevine's when he spotted her near Leif and he offered her a warm lingering smile.

"Aye, nasty business. Us Nords call war the [i]Season Unending[/i]. Long before man there was war, long after, there will still be, the skalds say. All our heroes were made in war, all men we reckoned good and just. Shame." Jorwen mumbled before he cleared his throat and smiled, "But, you start doing things worth remembering, my friend, you'll earn a Name. There's not a lot to it, just be more foolish and a bit braver than most." Jorwen laughed, "Any which way, I think we should get to listening. Good talking to you, we'll have more chances to do it again on that boat, as you say."