#gray-mane

"When you get to be my age, you don't remember why you did much of anything. Only that it happened."

What Ancano hears first as he approaches the Gildergreen is not Dayla's voice, but the bitter one of an elderly woman.

"Your behavior, dear child, is outright ridiculous, not to say dangerous for all of us! After all, that elf is a Thalmor. You know what they did to me. To my family!"

Ancano pauses and listens. He recognizes the voice; it's Fralia Gray-Mane. The old lady has been giving him poisoned glances ever since his arrival to Whiterun, sometimes spitting out when he passes her by. Nobody in this town has shown more open hostility towards him then she has.

Of course Dayla would listen to her now, Ancano thinks, swallowing hard. Carefully, he moves a little bit closer, still hidden from view by the Gildergreen's trunk.

He catches a hint of Dayla's voice as she replies to Fralia, but he can't quite understand what she says.

"You send him away while you have the chance to," Fralia answers, her words clear and sharp. "We do appreciate you a lot in this town, Dragonborn, but this esteem has limits. If you continue to mess arround with that Thalmor bastard, the day might come where you're no longer welcome in Whiterun."

Ancano freezes next to the tree, holding his breath.

I don't want to hear what Dayla says, he thinks. I couldn't stand to know …

But he already hears her voice, loud and clear this time.

"Trying to blackmail me, Fralia? You should know better than that. Don't make me choose between Ancano and Whiterun. Because if you do, rest assured that I wouldn't choose Whiterun."

Fralia: "When will you be makin' some more jewelry, love? Some silver lockets and amulets would fetch a nice price at the stand."

Eorlund: "Hrm."

Fralia: "Wonderful, dear. Thank you."

Eorlund: "Hrm."

Talk about a loaded question.