As I stood in the cleansing rain it occured to me that I was carrying the ashes of one Berit. I had promised to deliver them to a priest, and I was suddenly worried that I would be deliving Berit's sludge.
I ran into the smithy's covered work area and pulled the bowl of ashes out of my satchel... and breathed a sigh of relief. It was still dry. The oiled leather of my satchel had held against the rain. I tucked the bowl away again and looked up to find the smith watching me, warily.
"Where's the graveyard?" I asked.
He just pointed down a nearby lane with his hammer and kept his eyes on me as I set off in that direction. The graveyard was in the lowest part of the village and fog that not even the rain could dispel seemed to cling around it like a shroud. The sounds of life in Falkreath were muffled almost to silence and even the rolling thunder sounded distant. I began to grow uneasy and then I heard voices. Or at least a voice and a woman's sobbing.
"...that we find renewal and, in the end, peace. May the spirit of Lavinia and all those who have left this world and its suffering know the beloved serenity of Aetherius..." a white-haired alfar was saying. His audience consisted of two men and a very distraught woman. One of the men was comforting the woman, while the the other - a burly Nord in heavy armor - stood by respectfully.
Despite the lack of a cairn or burial ship, I recognized a funeral. The gold-skinned alfar was surely the priest I needed to deliver Berit's remains to, so I stood respectfully beside the armored Nord.
"...and may we one day rejoin them in eternity," the priest concluded. He gripped hands with the unarmored man and then made some sort of blessing sign before the woman. She thanked him, and then she and the man with her turned away and began slowly heading back toward the living part of Falkreath.
The armored man beside me turned and said, "You have the look of a killer," before hurrying after the departing couple.
I could not disagree with the man's judgement, for I had always taken pride in my skill at battle, but for just a moment I felt a touch of shame. I had killed often since coming to this Skyrim land, more killing than I was used to in a mere month and I was soon to leave Falkreath on a murderous errand for its Jarl. He said my targets were bad men in the same breath he admitted having dealings with them. I had no doubt of his underhanded dealings, but could I trust his word on the characters of those he so casually condemned to die?
A peal of thunder, louder and closer than before, broke me from my thoughts and I glanced up to see the priest standing a short distance away. His hands were folded before his robes and his eyes looked sad and understanding.
"You are the traveler who arrived last evening on the Helgen Road, are you not?" he asked.
"I am," I said, "and I have the ashes of Berit to deliver to you." I began to reach for my satchel, but I stopped short at the priest's next words.
"Then you are the man who slew Skyjoydis in Dead Man's Drink."
He had spoken neutrally and was watching me as calmly as before, but I had the sense that I should pick my next words carefully. "Yes, that was I. She drew her blade on me and when I had clearly defeated her, I gave her the chance to put it away again, but she refused. She fought well, too well for me to risk more leniency." I looked him firmly in the eye before finishing, "I did what I had to, to survive."
The priest held my gaze for a long moment before nodding slightly. Then he sighed and walking past me, said, "That sounds like Skyjoydis. I told her often that her hot and stubborn temper would see her in Aetherius while still too young, but even I did not think it would be this soon. Such a shame." He turned when he reached the door to the stone building in the middle of the graveyard and said, "Well, come in out of the rain. You young men may not care about being wet, but us old elves prefer a dry chair and a warm fire."
I must admit the warm air that met me when I entered behind him was pleasant.
"I am Runil, Priest of Arkay." He grabbed a hunk of bread from a table and sat in a chair. "By what name are you called, warrior?"
I introduced myself, without the bluster I showed before Jarl Siddgeir, and he invited me to join him in his meal. While we ate, he told me about the adventures of the man, Berit, whose ashes I was delivering. Before I left he insisted I take a few coins for the delivery. I thanked him, but before I could leave Runil spoke again.
"Word is that Siddgeir means to see you dead. Be careful on the road, and when you return from whatever dangerous task he has set you, seek me out. I would speak with you more, but now you should get out of Falkreath and as far away as you can before nightfall."
Outside, I discovered the rain had stopped. It was early in the afternoon and the sun was trying to burn away the mist as I returned to the inn, collected the rest of my gear, and set out for Bilegulch Mine. Two gold-skinned alfar... Altmer, my memory of conversations with Faendal supplied..., wanted to speak to me when... if... I returned. That made me uneasy. Both had warned me about Siddgeir, but I couldn't count either as friends. Whatever they wanted from me, it probably wasn't for my benefit.
Just as I was leaving town a guard ran up to me carrying a bundle wrapped in blue cloth. He was panting, and it took him a moment to catch his breath. When he had recovered, he thrust the bundle at me and said, "With the Jarl's compliments, so's they know who sent you."
I discovered the cloth was a cloak with Falkreath's insignia and it was wrapped around a wooden shield, also bearing the Stag of Falkreath.
Yes, I thought, they'll know who sent me.
Unbidden, I also thought, ...and I know who owns me.
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