The soft twang of lute strings being played in a snow drift whispered its way down a rough path. Riding upon the smoothed grooves of earth created by decades of wagons furrowing the earth, was yet another wagon. In this wagon, a woman, Raelyn Giordano, flicked her finger from string to string. A balding man with a frost flaked beard sat across from her, scowling. 

"Oh come now." Raelyn said in a sing song tone. "You're not telling me you haven't thought of these things?"

The man grunted, "Man could get himself killed. These parts. This place."

"But by right of power would it be just for him to be killed?" Raelyn asked, rephrasing the question in yet another manner.

"A man who is stronger should be able to use his strength to his own ends."

"What of natural strength, unearned by right or passage?"

"I suppose that's up to the man to decide."

And no one heard their exchange, except for the horses and the man who lead them.

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Raelyn was certain she'd heard of Dawnstar in a story, once. How did it go again?[i] From the deeps of Ocean pass, to caves of silver quick and elven glass.[/i] Something like that. She shivered, the wind blowing from the ocean not ever so cold as it was at late evening. Raelyn hurried towards the docks, hoping to catch some dock workers before they went back home to their wives.

Two were sitting at the docks atop two adjacent wooden boxes. They were looking out towards the horizon. "And then I says, that's not a fish in my pants!" the man who told the joke laughed, while the other man, a Breton, seemed rather unamused. 

"What?" the other man said.

 The Breton sighed, "That's the eighth time you've told that joke."

"Well, it gets funnier with age, trust me!"

"If you say so." the Breton said with a resigned sigh.

Raelyn jumped into the conversation, "Greetings!" causing the men to swivel their necks over their shoulder. "I'm Raelyn. I've just come from Winterrun and I was wondering if you two could provide me with the location of a decent inn and, if you two are feeling adventurous," she gave the two a conspiratorial wink while in a deft motion producing ten septims, "Some local gossip?"

The two men gave eachother a look then the Breton spoke first, "There was a mercenary company that passed through here and went to sea a day or so ago." The older man beside him nodded in agreement, "Yes, fools lot I say. When I was their age, all full blooded Nords cursed the sea and rightly so! That's the place for Redguard and fools."

Raelyn rubbed her chin, flicking a coin to each of the men. "Anyone lose their nerve and stay behind?"

The older man started, "Yes, Red-bear actually! Good man, fought beside him against Dominion scum and their Imperial cohorts in the war! No offense, miss." 

The Breton added, " My friend truly means no offense. Jorwen is something of a hero to the old guard and yes, he did kill many Dominion "cohorts"."

Raelyn considered this and gave three coins to the older man and five to the Breton. The older man said, indignantly, "Why am I being shorted?"

Raelyn gave a wry smile, "I think the Breton's prettier."

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"Lady's just arrived in town." Mire's voice came from behind him. Jorwen hated how he could just step out of his shadow and know things.

"I'd fuck her." Brittle said, hanging by Mire, as always. "You done much fucking lately, Chief?"

"I'll make you throat my sword. How's that for fucking?" Jorwen grumbled. Brittle's high laugh was the next thing he heard from the man. It wasn't a joke, the thing was right beside him. "What's important about this woman? Or are you just telling me she's pretty?"

"Woman's just got in town, Chief." Cleftjaw said, shutting the door behind him and dusting snow off himself.

"I know." Jorwen said, nodding to Mire and Brittle, "Got told already."

"She's been asking questions, asking after the company," Mire said, "Asking after you."

"Do your thing." Jorwen said, Mire and Brittle dispersed and chose corners in the tavern to sit in and look unassuming. Jorwen watched them, Brittle looked asleep and Mire took a cup from a sleeping man and rested his boots on the stones near the hearth. Cleftjaw sat a couple stools away from him, mooning into a tankard he'd ordered. He nodded to Jorwen and the old man nodded back. Now, all he was waiting for was the door to open and to act like it was a pleasant surprise a woman pretty enough for Brittle was asking after him.

Raelyn entered like someone who ought to be there. She looked around, giving a respectful nod to the tavern keeper. She beamed when she saw Jorwen. Walking over with surprising alacrity, she sat leisurely next to him, one leg thrown over the other, chin resting on steepled fingers. "I thought you'd be a bit taller."

"Men're always shorter than their reputations. You know me?" He raised a brow at the woman who'd sat next to him. Brittle wasn't lying, she was pretty, or at least pretty enough. She wasn't dressed in the usual drab and utilitarian garb of Nordic women or those who lived in Nord lands. A lute on her, so she was a traveling bard. "You from the Bards' College?"

"Maybe, to both questions." Raelyn said, smiling playfully. "I heard you killed fifty men and could transform into a Red Bear when the moon was full. I'm not sure if I believe the second part." Raelyn could see where some of those stories came from, the mans hair was redder than the evening sky light and as matted as any bear she'd ever seen.

"I been a man my whole life and nothing else, much less a bear. The killing, though," He shrugged, "It's a war." He said, cringing at the memories and taking a gulp of his ale, "So, you know who the Red-Bear is- or stories- but that's easy to do in some parts. I don't know you, lass. A name?" He asked, putting a friendly smile on.

"Raelyn, charmed as ever." she said. The man seemed tense. Had the fighting been that bad? She supposed they must have been in a few ongoing battles prior to Jorwen losing heart and staying behind. She decided on a different tact, taking on a face of concern, "Your face just then, you seemed pained. Have you been taking part in this war?"

"I've two under my belt. I went south when I was a bare-faced child only fourteen summers. Four years, I fought for most of them, came back alive. Went to the Reach, fought there, came back alive. Fought some more for Ulfric after that, came back alive." He sucked his teeth and drank his ale, "I'm sure you know about Windhelm. Came out of there alive, too. Now, my daughter's off doing the fighting, thinking she's doing me a favor. She isn't doing me any, much less herself."

He drew in a breath and sighed it all out, "You get to be this old, lass-er, Raelyn, and you start to see the same mistakes being made over and over." He cleared his throat, "You come all the way to Dawnstar for an old man's war stories?"

Raelyn smiled, "Of course not! I came here to play music. Weedling a story out of you is just a perk."

"I suppose you'll be singing of my deeds after making fanciful songs about them." Jorwen shook his head and took another drink, wiping his mouth with a sleeve, "It's best my deeds get left with the memories of greyheads telling wide-eyed, drunken tales around the fire."

"Oh I can't be the only one telling stories." Raelyn said. She decided to change topic, "So, your daughter. She went off without you? Why are you still here?" 

"My wife needs me here. My daughter elected to go, she's her own woman and I can't change her mind." He shrugged, "And I can't say I don't like going to sleep next to a woman I love with no prospect of a long march. Yet, at least."

"Planning on going back then?" Raelyn said, with a tilt of her head. "I wouldn't. Then again, I've never been a warrior." she put a finger to her chin and looked off towards the ceiling, as if in thought. "Maybe it's like being a bird. You leave for the winter, but when you return it's like summer never left."

"A lot of poetics for describing the black business. You ever walked among the field when the battle was done?" He asked, "It doesn't stink of roses, the wounded aren't crooning ballads and the dead aren't in peaceful sleep."

Raelyn focused on Jorwen again, "Can't say it ever came to mind. You let your daughter take up this work?"

"I didn't let her. But I can't stop her. I won't lie, I hate the skalds and the bards for making war seem like high adventure. I know the truth of it. I know my words alone will do nothing to quell the young fire in her, just like no one's words could quell mine." He looked into his cup and remembered her face split open and dripping lifeblood. He remembered what it took to snuff the flame of his youth and gulped down the dregs in the cup, "Besides, any Nord who sees nothing of the world and shrinks from an honorable fight is a coward." He touched the bartop and his hand was on the table the Thalmor Justiciar ripped his fingernails off on, the flames of the hearth were the same ones wrapping itself around a longhouse in the Reach, screams turned out to be the whistling and howling of the wind outside, "My daughter... she'll do what she will, it's my place to make sure she's learned from what she's done."

Raelyn carefully considered Jorwens words. She wasn't quite sure if the man knew what Ashav was up to and she couldn't just ask. Jorwen seemed a man of moral character, but for all she knew Solveig was under threat of death if Jorwen revealed any bit of important information. Then again, knowing what he was fighting for in his own culture could be less important than the appearance of honor. In any case, nothing would be accomplished interrogating the grief stricken man further.

"Well! That's all certainly depressing." Raelyn said. "I can't really get details about the war out of you, can I? Perhaps that's for the best." What Raelyn didn't say was that she had a very lenient view on historical accuracy in song. She smiled dolefully, "I need to earn my stay at the Windpeak, if you don't mind." Raelyn removed her lute from its case and began strumming absentmindedly. 

He slid a few coins her way, "Go on. I wouldn't mind a song." He turned around to rest his back on the bar and smiled, "Do you know the Lay of Roland? It's one I heard in Colovia, during my service with the Legion."

Raelyn strung a few measuring notes, "Of course. It's common practice to have Bards play that song in their sleep as a sign of skill." she said dryly, beginning to quicken the tempo of the song before slowing down to a soft pianissimo. She sung sweetly, sometimes switching to a commanding tone at the parts of the song wherein The Lord of Chorrol spoke.

The day went on, slower than treacle in winter.