The Demands of the Divines Chapter 3 in The Demands of the Divines
- Nov. 6, 2013, 5:11 p.m.
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- Public
Once Fakhriya proved she was truly the Dragonborn by killing a dragon and absorbing its soul in Kynesgrove, Delphine, a Blade who had been in hiding in Skyrim since the start of the Great War, left the village to return to Riverwood to set up a plan that would get Fakhriya into the Thalmor Embassy to determine what the Thalmor knew about Alduin’s return. With some time to kill while they waited for Delphine to make her plans, Fakhriya and Jenassa traveled to Windhelm to visit Jenassa’s brother, Turseth.
As the imposing city gates of Windhelm closed behind them, Fakhriya and Jenassa found themselves facing an inn constructed of stone and wood in the classic architectural style of the Nords. A fire blazing in a huge brazier in front of the inn offered the inviting promise of a warm and comfortable respite after what would have undoubtedly been a long, cold journey for most visitors to the oldest human settlement in Skyrim.
“So where does your brother live?” Fakhriya asked.
“I don’t know,” Jenassa responded. “When I left Windhelm for good my brother was rotting in the city jail. For all I know, he may be there now. But if he is out, I know where we will eventually find him.”
Jenassa led Fakhriya east to a residential area that boasted a small courtyard. The courtyard tapered in its northeast corner to a narrow street that led past the entrance to Windhelm’s dockyard.
As Jenassa skirted past some barrels stacked near the doorway to the docks, she suddenly staggered. Someone had slammed into her shoulder. She turned to face a Windhelm city guard who stood menacingly with his hand on the hilt of his weapon.
“You disrespect the law, you disrespect me,” he growled as a warning. Jenassa let her gaze fall to the ground.
“That goes for you, too, Redguard,” the guard took his hand off his weapon to point at Fakhriya so there would be no mistake that he was talking to her. “Stay out of trouble.”
Fakhriya was too stunned by the exchange to even react. The city guard continued on his way as if nothing had happened. Jenassa resumed her course past the dock entrance without a word. Fakhriya watched the guard turn the corner and then followed Jenassa.
Further east the street whittled down to little more than a tight alley and then opened to a small landing atop a steep staircase that continued in a northerly direction in front of a dilapidated general goods store labeled as Sadri’s Used Wares.
This poor district of the city, once known as the Snow Quarter, was disparagingly renamed the Gray Quarter by the Nords of the city in reaction to the influx of gray skinned Dunmer who fled Morrowind in the aftermath of the Red Mountain eruption early in the Fourth Era. The Dunmer remained the dominate population of Windhelm’s crowded slum.
Starting at Sadri’s Used Wares, the staircase, which was largely in disrepair, led past several residences that seemed to house multiple families. Halfway down the length of the staircase three stout columns and a tattered banner alerted passers-by to an opening in the stone façade that expanded into a porch large enough to accommodate several people. A wooden door hung awkwardly in its frame on the deep set stone wall at the back of the porch. The smell of cooking meat invited the curious to stop in. Despite being located in the middle of the street, the tavern was named in the Dunmeri fashion: New Gnisis Cornerclub.
It was a little past midday when Jenassa and Fakhriya arrived at the tavern. The sole customer was an old Dunmeri man sitting at the bar with his back to the door who barely looked up from his tankard when the women walked in. A middle aged looking man was wiping down glasses behind the bar. A slightly younger looking man was sweeping the floor near some tables in the corner.
“Sit anywhere you’d like, ladies,” the man behind the bar said. “I’ll be with you in a second.”
“Amberys, how are you?” Jenassa asked.
Amberys looked up from the glasses he was putting away beneath the counter and smiled broadly as he realized who was speaking.
“Jenassa,” Amberys cried as he came around the counter. He embraced Jenassa and then took her by the hand to lead her to the bar. “What are you doing in this sewer of a town? Come and sit at the bar and tell me what’s been going on. Malthyr, will you look at who it is? It’s Jenassa.”
Malthyr stopped sweeping and smiled.
“Jenassa, it’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time. Who’s your friend?”
Malthyr let the broom drag behind him as he closed the distance between himself and Fakhriya and extended his hand. Fakhriya accepted his handshake and gave her name. Malthyr offered her a seat at the bar and then joined Amberys behind the bar so they all could talk. As they chatted, Amberys opened a round of ales.
“Now, Fakhriya, we get a lot of sailors from Hammerfell in here,” Amberys said after a while, “and I have to tell you, you don’t sound like you’re from Hammerfell.”
“I’m not,” Fakhriya replied. “My father’s family is from Sentinel, but I grew up in Bruma.”
“You’re from Cyrodiil. Oh, ok,” Amberys nodded as he spoke. “So your mother’s an Imperial, then?”
“No, my mother’s also a Redguard,” Fakhriya said. “Her family’s been in Skyrim a long time. In Falkreath.”
“Speaking of family,” Jenassa interjected, “how is Turseth? Does he still come around?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sure he’ll be in later tonight,” Amberys replied. “If he’s managed to scrape up a few septims, he’s likely to spend them here.”
The four continued talking throughout the afternoon. Janessa talked about her days living in Whiterun after she left Windhelm. Fakhriya talked about her studies at the Bards' College in Solitude. The two women showed off their matching matrimonial rings and basked in belated congratulations and well wishes. Malthyr talked about recent events in the Gray Quarter and the difficulties he had bringing the neighborhood’s concerns to the Jarl. Talk of the Jarl inevitably led to talk of Skyrim’s civil war.
“So, Fakhriya, I don’t mean to put you on the spot,” Malthyr started, “but you’re a Redguard from Cyrodiil living in Skyrim. You must have some conflicting feelings about the war.”
“I do sometimes,” Fakhriya said. “I mean, of course, I can’t get behind the whole ‘Skyrim for Nords’ thing, but I do think the Stormcloaks raise some legitimate concerns. Like Talos worship. There are a lot of Nords in Bruma, so I know how important Talos is in their tradition. I mean, for myself, I was brought up to believe in eight Divines, but I’m sure I’ve heard my parents say ‘by the Nines’ more than once. Tiber Septim was undeniably a great man and worshipping him as Talos is an important part of the Nords’ culture and the Empire’s culture. I don’t think anyone should be told what gods they can or cannot believe in.”
Fakhriya stopped for a moment to drink some ale. She wouldn’t have exactly called herself pro-Stormcloak, but she feared that the New Gnisis Cornerclub might not be the best place to voice even the remotest support for their cause. No one spoke – or hit her in the face with a bottle – so she continued.
“And, you know, Hammerfell stood alone for five years against the Aldmeri Dominion after the Emperor signed the White-Gold Concordat. I think Titus Mede was too quick to give up the coast of Hammerfell and end the war. If Hammerfell, Cyrodiil, High Rock and Skyrim had stood together, I think none of what’s going on right now would have happened. I love Cyrodiil and I love the Empire, but Titus II signed that White-Gold Concordat after he achieved a victory. He should have kept fighting.”
“You’re too young to remember the Great War, aren’t you?” Malthyr asked after considering Fakhriya’s words for a few moments.
“I was born after Cyrodiil pulled out.”
“Well, I don’t know if Titus II did the right thing,” Malthyr said, “but I can tell you that the fighting was brutal. I guess Titus figured it was better to accept terms he didn’t like with a sword in his hand instead of at his throat. But when Titus signed that concordat there were a lot of people in the Empire – even here in Skyrim – who were ready for peace at just about any price.”
“And we all were enjoying that peace, too,” Amberys interjected. He nodded for emphasis vaguely in the direction of the Palace of the Kings as he continued, “until the High Lord of His Mightiness over there got the idea that he was the second coming of Ysgramor.”
Amberys’s assertion hung in the air as everyone considered the conflicting opinions that had just been discussed.
“The father was bad enough,” Amberys muttered to himself after a moment of silence. “But the son? He’s even worse.”
As the late afternoon wore into the early evening, the New Gnisis Cornerclub started to fill with patrons. Fakhriya struck up a conversation with a Dunmeri bard who was clearing a corner so she would have space to play. Jenassa maintained a post at a highly visible corner of the bar. Despite her vigilance in observing the door, she was surprised by a man who tentatively approached her from behind.
“Jenassa?” The man asked. Jenassa turned. Her face lit up as she realized who it was.
“Turseth! I’ve been waiting all day for you.” Jenassa stood up and hugged her younger brother. “Grab a table for us while you still can. I’ll get us a couple of ales.”
“The adventuring life looks like it’s been good for you, Jenassa,” Turseth said as his sister sat down. “Have you bought the castle of your dreams yet?”
“I’ve settled for home in Whiterun. Fakhriya and I do all right for ourselves,” Jenassa said as she showed Turseth her matrimonial ring. “How about you? What are you doing for work these days?”
“Well, there isn’t really a lot of work in Windhelm right now. Not for a Dark Elf, anyway,” Turseth said. “I have a buddy, though. He says he can get me a job laying cobblestone on the bridge. The pay won’t be great, but I’ll get to be outdoors, working with my hands.”
“That job is starting soon?” Jenassa asked.
“No, no. You can’t do that kind of work until it warms up a little. I’m thinking Rain’s Hand, maybe Second Seed. You know, springtime,” Turseth explained.
“It’s Morning Star,” Jenassa pointed out. “What are you doing for money now?”
“I’m relying on the kindness of strangers,” Turseth said with a smirk.
Jenassa frowned. She knew that relying on the kindness of strangers meant that Turseth was pickpocketing. As she recalled, he had never been especially good at that. Before Jenassa could think of how to respond, Fakhriya broke the mood by taking a seat at the table.
“I understand you’re family,” Turseth said after Fakhriya introduced herself to him. He held out his hand.
“Give me twenty septims,” he demanded. Before Fakhriya could react, he laughed.
“I’m just kidding,” he said. Then he added after a moment, “Unless you’re going to give it to me.”
“How about I buy the next round instead?” Fakhriya offered.
The New Gnisis Cornerclub was the center of Dunmeri social life, not just for the inhabitants of the Gray Quarter, but also for the Dunmer who owned or worked farms outside of Windhelm’s city walls. People came to drink and relax, but also to get news and gossip. The murder of a Nord woman in the city’s Stone District had dominated most people’s conversations for a few days. In the Gray Quarter, people were not concerned so much with the city guards’ progress in solving the case as with the frequency that Dunmer shoppers and merchants in the Stone District’s marketplace were questioned and harassed. At some tables, talk of the murder had been replaced with talk of a dragon that had attacked Kynesgrove. Some people speculated that Jarl Ulfric would have allowed the dragon to live atop the Palace of the Kings if the dragon had attacked anyone other than Nords. People often moved around from table to table to seek out information, to find their allies in the debates of the day and to mock the stupidity of the opposing viewpoint with like-minded friends.
Political resentments, social frustrations and alcohol are often a volatile combination. It was a rare night in the Cornerclub that an argument didn’t get heated nearly to the point of blows.
Belyn Hlaalu, a successful farmer in town for mead or two, drew attention to his viewpoint when he suddenly cried out.
“All I’m saying is that the best way for us to win the Nords’ respect is through hard work.”
“The only way you will get a Nord to respect your gray ass is if you kick his snowy white one first!” shouted Turseth as he stood up. He looked willing to settle for kicking a gray ass tonight if a snowy white one wasn’t around.
Malthyr, his broom ever ready to divide people who were getting out of hand, injected himself into their argument.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” he joked as he tried to take a position between the two men. “If you knocked a Nord’s teeth out of his mouth, he’d take the time to look down his nose at you before he bent to pick them up. As long as Ulfric and his clan sit in the Palace, most Nords figure they may have to pay their taxes, but they don’t have to pay respect.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Turseth yelled at Malthyr, who Turseth took to be his ally in the argument. “Ulfric Stormcloak doesn’t care about Dunmeri people. It’s about time we made him care.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Belyn asked. “Are we supposed to burn the city to the ground? Is that going to solve our problems? Too many Dark Elves in Windhelm complain about how we are treated. What good does complaining do? Do some work. Be involved in the city. Make them respect you because they respect what you do.”
“What?” Turseth shouted back. “Are you trying to say I don’t work? I work my ass off and for nothing.”
“By the Eights, brother,” Jenassa shouted in response. “You haven’t worked an honest day in your life. Why don’t you sit down and shut up for once?” She took a more menacing posture than Malthyr as she also got between Turseth and Belyn.
“By the Eights? Really, sister? By the Eights?” Turseth mocked. “Maybe you’ve spent so much time among the Nords that you’ve forgotten who you are. You just leave whenever things don’t go your way and then come back here like you’re something special. You’re still a Dark Elf, Jenassa, whether you think you are or not.”
Fakhriya got in front of Jenassa to stop her from getting in Turseth’s face. Malthyr put his arm around Belyn’s shoulder to lead him away from the conflict. Turseth stormed off seething. He stopped short of the door, but made a show of punching the wall near the exit.
Fakhriya backed away from Jenassa and indicated with her hands that she should calm down. When Fakhriya got close enough to Turseth, she put her hands on his shoulders.
“Hey, come on,” Fakhriya said to Turseth. “Nobody’s going to do anything about Ulfric Stormcloak tonight. There’s no point in getting all worked up.”
Fakhriya led Turseth back to a table where Belyn would be out of his line of sight.
“Why don’t we sit down over here? I think I can come up with enough septims for a couple Black-Briar Reserves. You wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of Sanguine by turning down a good mead, would you?”
“What does a Redguard from Cyrodiil know about Sanguine?” Turseth asked as he allowed himself to be led away.
“I may know a thing or two,” Fakhriya said. She thought back to the Sanguine Rose, a staff that stood in a weapon’s rack in her house in Whiterun. She won the staff in a drinking contest against a man in Falkreath who turned out to be the daedric prince of debauchery. It took Fakhriya over two weeks undo all the damage that had been done all over the province of Skyrim as a result of what seemed to be a single night’s bender. “I think Sanguine hangs out with my girl, Dibella.”
As people who had gotten up from their seats to get out of the way of the fight returned to their tables, the Dunmeri bard played the opening notes of a popular song in the Gray District about an evil landlord who got his comeuppance when the Red Mountain exploded. Dunmeri songs, even songs that have happy, bouncy melodies, are often about struggle, defiance and revenge. As the crowd got drunker, the most requested songs became more morose and melancholy.
But there was one song that was very popular at the New Gnisis Cornerclub that would have been recognizable to the Nords who drank to their successes and sorrows in Candlehearth Hall, the inn at the city’s entrance, although few of them would have agreed with the song’s sentiment.
Down with Ulfric, the killer of kings.
Avalon ⋅ November 07, 2013