The Demands of the Divines Chapter 5 in The Demands of the Divines

After Fakhriya revealed herself to be Dragonborn in Kynesgrove, Delphine, a Blade who had been in hiding in Skyrim since the Great War, instructed Fakhriya to return to Riverwood where she would get instructions to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy to learn if the Thalmor had been in some way responsible for the return of Alduin, the World Eater. Fakhriya traveled with Jenassa from Windhelm to Whiterun and then to Riverwood. Delphine promptly sent the women to Solitude with instructions to meet a Wood Elf there.

There was a nip in the air if she stood still for too long, but Fakhriya was enjoying the warmth of the sun on a bright First Seed afternoon in Solitude. She had only recently graduated from the Bard’s College, so Fakhriya was still a recognizable figure among the merchants who sold specialty items in the open air market in the shadow of Castle Dour. She was particularly pleased to get herself a couple of bottles of locally made spiced wine. Of all the things Fakhriya missed whenever she left Solitude for long, she missed the spiced wine the most.

It was still several hours before sundown when Fakhriya returned to the Winking Skeever, the inn located just inside Solitude’s city gates. She inhaled deeply to enjoy the light smell of lavender at the entrance followed by the warm aroma of freshly baked bread as she moved towards the bar directly opposite the door.

“I see you’ve had quite a successful day,” said Corpulus Vinius, the inn’s proprietor, as Fakhriya passed him. She stopped and smiled.

“I have plenty of spiced wine,” Fakhriya said as she held up her basket for the Imperial innkeeper to see. “I hope you have the cheese and bread I need to go with it.”

“I have a goat’s milk cheese flavored with just a hint of honey that I think you will love,” Corpulus offered. “It’s made right here in Katla’s Farm. They started raising bees there a few summers ago. I wouldn’t recommend it with your spiced wine, though. You might consider a bright, mild ale to accompany the cheese. For your wine, I have a winter sausage I’m sure you’ll enjoy. When you come down for your supper, I will include a few samples and you can let me know what you think.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to those samples,” Fakhriya said as she walked away.

The Winking Skeever was the largest inn in the province of Skyrim. Solitude was not only a major port city, but also the seat of the Jarl of Haafingar and the High King of Skyrim. Since the days of Tiber Septim the two offices had been occupied by the same person, but historically that hadn’t always been the case. The Empire’s presence in Skyrim was situated in Castle Dour. The walls of the fortress divided the merchant district at the southwestern end of the city from the residential district that terminated at the Blue Palace. With a constant influx of people from all over the Empire, Solitude was a city where a person who didn’t want to be found could get lost.

In the more intimate corners of the Winking Skeever was where those lost people found the each other when they needed to be found.

Fakhriya noticed a fidgety Bosmer sitting alone at a dimly lit table in an area off the bar where the bread oven blazed. There were only a few tables in that area, which mostly served as overflow seating during the Winking Skeever’s peak service times. Most people seemed to prefer sitting in the bigger, brightly lit common room on the opposite side of the inn. The Bosmer had made himself sort of conspicuous in his attempt not to be. Fakhriya was pretty sure he was her contact.

“Malborn, right?” Fakhriya asked softly as she took a seat opposite the Bosmer. “Delphine sent me.” She placed a large bag as far under the table as she could. Fakhriya had gone up to her room to collect the things in the bag and to change her clothes before she met Malborn. The hooded cloak she wore over a simple peasant’s dress was not much in the way of a disguise, but if it meant someone she knew who happened to be in the tavern didn’t notice her until after she concluded her business with the Bosmer, it was disguise enough.

“Lady?” Malborn started to protest as Fakhriya sat down, but he stopped short as he realized that she was the contact he was waiting to meet.

“Delphine picked you?” Malborn asked as he sized Fakhriya up. “You’re not what I expected at all.”

“Well, she picked me,” Fakhriya replied flatly.

If the Bosmer actually reconsidered his role in Delphine’s scheme in the next few moments, a deep sigh suggested that he had resolved to go through with it. He glanced around the room quickly and then leaned across the table so he wouldn’t have to speak much above a whisper.

“You are to give me whatever you think you will need to complete your objective in the Embassy. I will keep your things safe and I will make sure they are available to you when you need them,” Malborn shot a look in the direction of the bar in reaction to a hearty laugh shared by the innkeeper and a patron. “We will not meet again and you will not be able to bring anything else into the Embassy with you. The Thalmor take security very seriously.”

Malborn gave the bag under the table a nudge.

“Is that everything you intend to bring?”

Fakhriya nodded.

“You’re certain?”

Fakhriya nodded again.

“Very good,” Malborn said. “I will see to it that Delphine learns that we have made contact. You are to meet her at the stables at Katla’s Farm as soon as possible. Starting tomorrow, she will wait for you from midday until sundown, but of course, the sooner she meets with you, the less likely it is that she will attract any unwanted attention. She will give you further instructions.”

The Bosmer sat back in his chair and looked around the room one last time. He reached under the table for the bag and then stood.

“Divines guide you,” he said softly as he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.

The next day was cloudy, but Fakhriya was happy about it. She wore the same hooded cloak she had worn when she met Malborn the afternoon before. On a sunny day the cloak might have seemed unusual, but on a day when rain seemed likely, a hood appeared to be a prudent precaution. Fakhriya had worked as a farmhand at Katla’s Farm the summer before she started her first classes at the Bard’s College. It had been a couple of years since she had been back down there, but as with her meeting with Malborn at the Winking Skeever, Fakhriya hoped the hood would prevent an innocent friend’s interference with delicate plans.

No one appeared to be at the stables as Fakhriya approached. She was startled when Delphine suddenly emerged from an empty horse stall.

“Sorry,” Delphine said as she brushed hay off herself. “I wasn’t sure it was you. You weren’t followed, were you?”

“No,” Fakhriya said. It was a lie. She wasn’t sure if she had been followed or not. It hadn’t occurred to her to check.

“Good,” Delphine replied. She rummaged through her things and produced two envelopes. “This voucher will secure a carriage for your trip to the Embassy and here is your invitation to the party. Don’t lose it and make sure you remember to bring it with you. If you forget it, our plan is dead at the door.”

Fakhriya took the voucher and the invitation. The invitation was addressed to Fakhriya, Thane of Whiterun. She smiled. That small detail, Fakhriya’s title, would do much to bolster her credibility. The invitation was for the First Planting Reception.

First Planting was a holiday celebrated in most Tamrielic provinces as a day of good will and renewal. Held on the seventh of First Seed even in regions where the ground would still likely be frozen, the holiday was marked by the real or symbolic sowing of seeds. In keeping with the symbolism of new crops in the ground, people traditionally made efforts to settle their debts or differences and vowed to give their work and relationships fresh starts in the coming year.

The Thalmor Embassy used the holiday as an opportunity to promote good will with the noble and wealthy of Skyrim by hosting the first major event of the social calendar. Given the Embassy’s proximity to Solitude, it was customary for the High King and members of his court to be in attendance as well as Imperial dignitaries from Castle Dour. The opportunity to mingle with Skyrim’s power elite attracted merchants, thanes, and jarls from all over the province.

The Bard’s College customarily provided entertainment for the Reception. Fakhriya had not been selected to play the year she had been eligible.

“You’ll need this as well,” Delphine said as she handed Fakhriya a bag. It contained a sheer green sheath dress. The dress was well constructed and made of light, expensive material, but it left little to the imagination. There should have been a lightweight caraco to go with the dress, but there didn’t seem to be one in the bag. Further down there was a pair of white strappy sandals. At the bottom of the bag was a brown fox fur coat. Fakhriya laughed.

“You don’t expect me to wear this to the Reception, do you?”

“Yes, I expect you to wear that to the Reception,” Delphine replied sarcastically. “You can’t go to the Thalmor Embassy dressed like a milk maid.”

“I also can’t go to the Thalmor Embassy dressed like I’ve never owned a mirror,” Fakhriya retorted. “You do realize you’ve given me most of a summer dress and a winter coat. This is a spring festival. Here in Skyrim, I can make the coat work, but this dress is ridiculous. You want me to look like I belong there, right?”

Delphine shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Yes, I want you to look like you belong there. I thought the dress was pretty.”

“It is pretty, but frankly, I can’t imagine how you got a hold of it. I don’t think it ever gets warm enough in Skyrim to wear a dress like this.” Fakhriya could see that Delphine was embarrassed.

“Look, I’ll take care of the outfit,” Fakhriya offered. “Is my contact in the Embassy expecting me to wear green?”

“Your contact is Malborn, the Bosmer you met yesterday. He’ll recognize you regardless of what you wear,” Delphine replied.

With less than a week before the Reception, it was no easy - or inexpensive - feat to procure the help of a seamstress or a hairdresser. There also wasn’t enough time to commission a brand new outfit, but Fakhriya was able to leverage the relationship the Bard’s College had with the local fashion community to have an outfit she had in storage reworked for the Reception. Luckily the dress Delphine had provided was a recognizable piece from one of Imperial City’s finer fashion houses. Even without the caraco, the dress pulled a good price. Fakhriya hated to let the dress go, but the proceeds were enough to pay for the last minute alterations she needed.

The results were makeshift, but not entirely unfashionable. The ensemble started with a cream colored long sleeved V neck dress with a fitted waist that opened into an A-line bottom that nearly reached the floor. The V neck was deep and broad enough to be daring, but not scandalous. A forest green jacket that cinched at the waist before opening at the hips and extended past the knee with mottled fox fur trim at the sleeves and the collar was a little more wintry than Fakhriya would have preferred, but the cotton/wool blend was light enough to wear indoors while still providing a necessary layer of warmth for the carriage ride. A pair of low cut leather boots were trimmed above the ankle in the same fox fur as the jacket. Fakhriya decided to keep the overcoat Delphine provided and she purchased a pair of white gloves to wear with it. She arranged to have a corsage of hearty yellow mountain flowers made and arranged to meet with a hairdresser who would pull Fakhriya’s hair back and work a series of similar flowers and human hair extensions into a broad braid that would rest halfway down Fakhriya’s back. Fakhriya reasoned in considering the final look that appearing a little rugged was probably more in line with her status as a recently named thane in a Nord hold even if her more refined Imperial sensibilities cringed a bit at the final result.

The evening of the reception was cold and blustery, although the flurrying snow didn’t begin to fall until Fakhriya’s carriage reached the gate of the Thalmor Embassy. From the number of carriages already parked just inside the gate it was clear that many of the invited guests had already arrived.

When Fakhriya disembarked, she was surprised to be confronted by a middle aged Redguard man wearing the clothes of a well-to-do merchant but no overcoat sitting on a stone planter near the entrance of the embassy building.

“Are you here for this ridiculous thing, too?” the man slurred. “You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve seen come by this way in quite a while. Aren’t you too young for a party as boring as this one? You should be out doing something more exciting than this.”

“Aren’t you coming inside?” Fakhriya asked as she took the man by the arm to lead him. The man pulled his arm back violently.

“I don’t need any help,” he insisted. “There’s no point in going inside any sooner than I have to.” The man showed her a bottle a whiskey he had been holding between his legs. It was nearly empty.

“I’ll be in soon enough, Little Missy. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Fair enough,” Fakhriya said as she backed away from him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, you will,” the man said as he grabbed hold of the planter to keep from falling off.

At the base of a staircase that led up to the Reception stood an imposing Thalmor soldier who asked to see Fakhriya’s invitation.

“Fakhriya, Thane of Whiterun,” the Thalmor read.

“Yes,” Fakhriya responded even though she wasn’t sure there had been a question.

The soldier looked her over and looked again at the invitation. He turned the invitation around to look at the back and then handed it to Fakhriya.

“You may enter this way,” the soldier said as he indicated the adjacent staircase with an extended arm. “The Thalmor Embassy extends its hospitality to you. Please enjoy the reception.”

About halfway up the short staircase Fakhriya released a deep sigh of relief. She was pleased to have passed the first hurdle.