Sloan had been to Windhelm any number of times during her assassination assignments but only her first visit stuck with her. She had been so young, so naïve. She had thought she could not be so after four months of working at a brothel, but she had known nothing. The painful lessons of that night servicing the city’s beggars were lodged in her memory as if inscribed by a razorblade.

 

She had thought about seeking out those men on subsequent trips but unsanctioned murders had generally been frowned upon. And Sloan hadn’t really enjoyed killing in the first place.

 

The other reason her first trip stood out was the first place she went after she and her still-bickering companions entered the city. While Tihwen and Yek procured a room for them at the inn, Sloan went around the corner to Aventus’ house and let herself in.

 

Just as before, she heard the thumping and the muttering. This time, however, she was prepared when she turned the corner and found him doing his strange incantation.

 

Or thought she was.

 

“You can stop n…” The words died on Sloan’s tongue when she got a full look at him. “Aventus?” She frowned as he jumped as if hit by a stone and looked up.

 

“Whaaa…you! What are you doing here?” His voice was raw, as dry as paper, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He looked on the brink of collapse but the knife never wavered.

 

“So you are Aventus?” It was scarcely to be believed. The Aventus she remembered had been younger than her by a good six or so years; the boy – no, man – before her was somewhere around her age. 

 

The knife paused for just a moment as he gave her an amused snort. “It hasn’t been that long, Sloan.” He resumed his floor stabbing but kept his eyes on her.

 

“I…um…right. Well, you can stop doing that. Grelod is dead.”

 

The knife stilled again as Aventus’ eyes widened and he gasped. “What? When? How?”

 

“Grelod is dead. Nine days ago, give or take a few hours. Tincture of nightshade in her nightly glass of wine. I made it myself – I call it Grelod’s Fate.” She winked.

 

“But…how do you know that? The Dark Broth…”

 

“I did it on my way out of town.” At his incredulous look, she leaned forward and added in a dramatic stage whisper, “I went back to the orphanage and pretended everything was going terribly and I wanted back in. Then I slipped the poison in while she was laughing in my face. Oh, and by the way, the Dark Brotherhood doesn’t really exist.”

 

“Yes they do, Ted said so and he knows everything. She’s really dead?”

 

“Yep!” Sloan decided not to argue the Ted point.

 

“Ahhhh.” Aventus dropped the knife and flopped onto his back. “I am so tired.”

 

“I imagine so. Get some sleep – I’ll clean this up.”

 

“You don’t have…” the boy-man paused to yawn, his eyes already fluttering. “You don’t need do to that.”

 

Sloan smiled as Aventus passed out. “No. But I’m going to anyway.”

 

She studied him for a moment before moving. Another momentous difference between this timeline and the last. What could it mean? Had things been changed on purpose or was it just from some random shake of some sort of cosmic dice?

 

She shook her head. There was no way to know and nothing she could do about it anyway. The important thing was that he would need help. Last time she had sent him a stipend from her pay every month and had stopped by to visit him whenever she was in Windhelm. She had no source of steady income this time, so that would be difficult to replicate. She had no idea how he had managed to survive as long as he had before she had found him; he probably would have been out on the streets before too long without Sloan’s payments.

 

Something to think about. In the meantime, she started gathering up the bones of the skeleton while her brain switched back to the main reason she had come to this city.

 

***

 

The Stormcloak recruiter gave Sloan both an irritated scowl and a valuable piece of information as she approached: “I told you, we don’t take women! This is exactly why – you’re clearly too stupid to understand what I’m saying.”

 

A big puzzle piece dropped in her lap, just like that. Sloan had wondered how this reality’s views toward women in the military (or even having weapons or armor in general) would change Trendil’s plans. She thought back to those double whirling blades slicing through everything in their paths in Labyrinthian and allowed herself a small smile – the Stormcloaks were missing out if they had rejected Trendil!

 

“Of course.” Sloan feigned embarrassment. “I…I came back to apologize for my earlier rudeness.” She gave the recruiter the “you are the most special man I’ve ever met” eyes and the man melted.

 

“I see! No harm done, heh.” He smiled as he unconsciously adjusted to the typical “father with benefits” role, and Sloan mentally kicked herself again for pulling a knife on Yek. Men were so bloody easy to manipulate, physical weapons were almost never necessary.  “Have you changed your mind about helping out the cause by being a Camper? In that case, just go down the hall and talk to Tulmuk.”

 

Sloan blinked as her mind shifted tracks.

 

Of course. The fact that the man still had a head after suggesting Trendil, a professional warrior from a fancy sword school, should consider becoming a whore spoke volumes about her sister’s self-control. She allowed her mind a brief play with Trendil in the starring role as Sloan on that first night in the Vixen, with those intense golden eyes, habitually aggressive posture, and predatory gait. She would have scared half the crowd away…and got a truly amazing maidenhead price from somebody with deep pockets and very niche sexual tastes.

 

She laughed and, at the man’s tilt of the head, demurred, “Of course! I’m so stupid, how could I forget?” She looked down the hallway. If Trendil had found a way to join – and Sloan was willing to bet she had – here was a way to infiltrate. “I’m…I’ll do it!”

 

“Thatta girl! And don’t worry – like I told you before, the volunteers are restricted to the officers. You won’t have to worry about servicing the general population.”

 

Sloan very much doubted the veracity of that statement but she gave him a nervous smile and wave as she made her way up the hall.

 

She heard the sound of crying before she reached the room, then a loud slap. It wasn’t too hard to imagine what might be happening, and when she turned into the room, her suspicions were confirmed.

 

Only one other “recruit” was in the room – a pale blonde-haired Breton. What remained of her dress was in tatters and a giant naked Nord man held her in place bent over a table as he rammed into her from behind.

 

“What are you crying for? This is what you signed up to do, bitch!”

 

“Nnnnnnooo, it’s…please stop, this isn’t…”

 

Sloan sighed then turned on her Vixen voice and shifted her walk into a hip-swaying sashay. “Well, hello. I see I’ve come to the right place.”

 

Both looked at her, the man in surprise, the woman in tears.

 

“I don’t think she understood what she was signing up for.” Sloan undid her belt and tossed it to the side, then slipped out of the dress she had procured from Luthi’s cabin, letting it pool onto the floor. Her underthings followed on her next two steps as she sidled up to the Nord and placed a hand on his arm. “I do. Why don’t you let her go home to her mommy?”

 

He snorted and yanked out of the woman, who crumbled to the ground, sobbing, and stepped back.

 

“Oh my, you are a hungry boy, aren’t you?” Sloan ran a finger along his soaking, engorged dick. “Let me just help this poor thing and we’ll take care of that.”

 

“She can take care of herself, bitch.”

 

The Nord reached for her, but Sloan ducked under his grasp and knelt by the woman. “Take my clothes and go,” she whispered as she urged the woman to move with her hands. “Quickly.”

 

Then, as the woman scuttled away, Sloan turned to the Nord and found herself face to face with his cock.

 

“Ooh, you have a big one, I see!” It was, in fact, slightly larger than average. Sloan started to stroke it, cutting off his angry growls in a moment, then took it in her mouth.

 

It tasted like the Breton (Sloan sent a thankful prayer that the Nord had not chosen to use the woman’s ass), which was a much better flavor than many of the unwashed sweaty cocks she had had in the past. She was not particularly interested in extending this and, having had no chance to take the potion that would forestall pregnancy, she did not want to chance actual sex, so she used every trick she knew to get him to come before he decided to try something different.

 

It did not take long; after only a few strokes she slid him down her throat and he let out a guttural grunt/roar. She looked up at him and smiled and swallowed very drop and continued to stroke until his dick fell limp.

 

He grunted as she stood and said, “Finally, a woman who knows her place! You will be very popular in camp.”

 

“Whatever I can do to help the cause, sugar.” Sloan picked up the remains of the woman’s dress and wrapped it around herself.

 

“Good to hear.” The Nord yanked on his uniform then sat at the table and poured himself a mug of ale. “The next patrol leaves tomorrow at sunup. Be here in travelling clothes by then. Understood?”

 

“You got it, honey.” Sloan tightened her belt with her pouch (thank the divines the Breton had not taken that), then leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek while dripping two drops of Grelod’s Fate into his cup. “If you ever find yourself in my camp, look me up. I’ll make sure you have a very nice time.”

 

“Oh, you can count on that.”

 

Sloan left the room in a bad mood. She had learned nothing and accomplished little, save for saving a woman from rape (although not even that, since his dick had already been in her) and killing a single Nord. And now all she could taste was his spunk. She had assumed she would be sent to the barracks, where she would be able to look around and gather information. Instead, they actually wanted their whores in their camps. 

 

She shook her head and headed for the inn for a change of clothes and the largest drink they carried.

 

 

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