Frina made her way down the castle’s long throne room. She had butterflies in her stomach not only because she was coming to bring momentous news from Whiterun, but also because she had been anticipating seeing the Jarl of Windhelm yet again. She’d been thinking about him all the way back from Whiterun, picturing what it would be like to have him praise her efforts in getting the message delivered. She could almost hear the deep voice calling them all to go into battle once more. In one unguarded moment she’d caught herself daydreaming about what it might be like to have the Jarl take her into his arms; but a wolf had come hurtling out of the bushes nearby and interrupted that thought, and she’d been too embarrassed to realize what she’d been thinking to allow herself the luxury of thinking about it more.
She blushed, as she moved through the great hall, the thoughts once again taking shape without her leave. He would speak to her, gently, and call her forward; then he would descend from his throne and pull her into his arms, lean forward, and kiss her. She could picture his nearness, his scent, his warmth. But because Frina had never been kissed, much less anything else, her imagination didn’t know where to go from there.
I’m a silly girl. I’m here as a soldier and nothing else. Time to behave like one. Use my weapon the way I’ve been taught to do.
She shook her head and gave a silent thanks to Talos that the Jarl was not, in fact, seated on his throne, giving her a few moments’ reprieve before she had to interact with him. Stopping and taking a few deep breaths helped her bring her mind back to the here and now before she continued on her way. She’d almost reached the doorway to the map room when his unmistakable voice emerged from it.
“Calm yourself, Galmar. Save it for the battlefield.”
“Our men are getting massacred out there and you take on two of the most unprincipled recruits we’ve ever had. How you could let them speak to you like that is a mystery to me.”
“And how you could be – surprised – by a simple Shout is a mystery to me. How long have you fought by my side, Galmar?”
She heard Galmar snort. “There was nothing simple about that Shout,” he grumbled.
“Perhaps not. But surely you can see that having that kind of power on our side is much better than having it used against us. While you were indisposed I talked to him privately. He’s willing and more than capable of doing anything we need him to do and I’m certain that the Dragonborn is as well, so indulge me in my decision to let them enlist with us, my friend. At any rate, we can’t march on Solitude. Not yet. One thing at a time.”
Solitude? Is he really going to take Solitude?
Frina stopped just outside the doorway, her heart pounding. She could see it already, Ulfric walking up the long curved stairway in the Blue Palace to take his rightful place as High King of Skyrim.
Oh, I want to be there with him when it happens. Even if I’m at the very back of the room, peeking around one of the columns to get a glimpse of it.
“We need to move faster, Ulfric. Keep them off-balance,” Galmar grumbled as she entered the room.
Ulfric was seated at a small table at the side of the room, across from Captain Lonely-Gale, a retired seaman. The captain glanced at her and at the axe in her hands, then rose from the table and moved to stand beside Galmar, pointing at the battle plans here and there. As much as Frina had hoped he would, Ulfric didn’t even glance in her direction as she approached holding the axe before her.
“No. It’s working, Galmar,” Ulfric said, shaking his head. “Our patience has won us friends and allies, and our armies are…”
Frina cleared her throat. Patience was well and good, but the Jarl of Whiterun had shown her that he had very little of it and what he did have had run out. Even Jarls deserved to be interrupted if they were being foolish, in her view.
“Yes?” Ulfric asked, staring at her.
“My lord, er… my Jarl,” she stammered. “The Jarl of Whiterun returns your axe.” She extended her arms to hand the axe back to him. He took it; and in the process of doing so one of his large, very warm hands covered hers. He stared at her, his gaze direct and piercing, and it seemed to her that he let his touch linger for a moment longer than it might have needed to. Her heart started pounding. Again.
Frina didn’t quite know what to do. He must be staring at her because she looked so much like Briinda, she thought; but how surprising it was that he had known Briinda that well. She was nervous but excited. She didn’t want to pull her hand away; it would be rude and one wasn’t rude to their king.
I don’t want to pull my hand away at all. I want to know what these eyes are saying to me.
She didn’t know what to do, so she blurted out the only thing she could think of.
“When I left he was writing a letter. He’s making battle plans right now. I got back as quickly as I could.”
He sighed, then, and nodded and let her go. She stepped back several paces.
“Then I was wrong about him. We had similar news from our two newest recruits.” He stood and paced toward the map table. “You were right, Galmar.”
“Again.”
Ulfric frowned and his eyes flashed. “I’m in no mood to joke.”
“Aye,” Galmar said. He wasted no effort on apology; rather he turned back to the business at hand. “Give the word, lord, and Whiterun is yours.”
“Whiterun is only a means to an end,” Ulfric murmured, pacing beneath the high, narrow windows and the crisp blue banners with the Stormcloak bear. Galmar followed Ulfric’s movements with his eyes. Frina thought he looked like he was about to burst, like he knew that Ulfric was nearly convinced but that he could ruin everything if he pushed too hard. His voice, when he spoke, was as gentle as it was raspy and hard.
“I’ve toured our camps. We’re ready, Ulfric, whenever you are.”
Frina watched the great man’s face as he paced. He was clearly distracted, and not simply by the impending war. There was something else preying on his mind as well, she was certain of it; but then she doubted herself as he stopped and shook his head.
“Is any man ever ready to give the order that will mean the deaths of many?”
“No,” Galmar replied quietly. “But neither is every man able to give that order when he must. But you are that man. You have been before, and you will be again.”
“I’m happy to hear you say that, Ulfric,” came an intensely deep voice from the doorway. Frina turned to see a short, blond-haired Redguard in black armor enter the room. “It’s good to know that you do not value those lives lightly. I can’t say that I always have believed that was the case. But at least we can all take some comfort in the knowledge that the souls of those who are lost will rest easy in Sovngarde.” He smiled grimly. “It is a beautiful place, you know, now that Alduin no longer haunts its skies. Knowing that is what makes this possible for me.”
Frina recoiled from him for just a moment, as she always did when she was near a Redguard. Their darkness, their otherness made her uncomfortable. She struggled to keep from being too obvious about her reaction.
A Redguard. Who is this man? And what is a Redguard doing in Ulfric’s war chambers? And how dare he speak that way to the rightful High King?
And what in the world is he talking about, as though he knows what Sovngarde looks like?
“Listen to the Dragonborn, Ulfric,” Galmar said. “He knows. These men and women, they call themselves Stormcloaks because they believe in you. They’re the meanest, toughest sons of bitches Skyrim has to offer. And they want this. They want it as much as you do! Perhaps they want it more.”
“Yes!” Frina found herself yelping. Ulfric turned to look at her, and gave her the smallest of smiles. She could feel her cheeks turning hot and knew they were probably bright red.
There was a chuckle from the door behind her, a familiar chuckle, and a familiar and beloved blonde head poked its way around the Redguard’s bulk. “Frina has yet to learn just how mean some of the sons of bitches can be, Ulfric, but I have no doubt she speaks for a great many of us,” he said with a smirk.
“Roggi?” she blurted out, and then mentally cursed herself for being so unprofessional. She wanted to run to him and give him a hug, but she forced herself to stand fast, blushing furiously as Roggi grinned at her and nodded.
Ulfric glanced at Roggi, and back at the man Galmar had called the Dragonborn, and Frina wondered what it was that she saw on his face. It almost seemed like unease. These were clearly the two “undisciplined” recruits Galmar had been talking about, though she had a hard time reconciling that notion with what she remembered of Roggi, proud in his Stormcloak uniform. They knew Ulfric. They knew him well, that was clear, for them to address him so informally. They knew him at the same level Galmar knew him. And Ulfric … just accepted it, that familiarity, whereas he’d stopped her the first time she’d met him with an almost caustic reminder that he was a Jarl, not just some ordinary man.
Ulfric ignored their comments and returned his attention to Galmar. “You’re certain we’re ready? Whiterun’s army will no doubt be bolstered by Legionnaires.”
“Yes,” Frina said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth for a moment, embarrassed beyond belief. “I’m sorry, lord, it’s just that… yes, I heard him say that as I was leaving. Balgruuf, I mean. He was getting ready to let General Tulius garrison his troops in the city.”
It seemed to Frina that the tiniest wisp of a smile crossed Ulfric’s lips as he glanced at her and then turned back to Galmar. He shook his head.
No? What now? Why can’t you be decisive, my Jarl, the way Balgruuf was?
“Those walls around Whiterun are old, yet they still stand.”
“We are ready. And I might be old myself, but I’ll kick those damn walls down with my bare feet if you would only ask me to do it!”
“Hah! And I’m sure you could do it, too.”
Ulfric rotated his shoulders, and it seemed to Frina that he stood up a bit straighter.
“Alright. This is it.”
Yes! Finally!
Roggi and the Redguard man, the Dragonborn, looked at each other with grim expressions and then back at Ulfric.
“Yes!” Galmar shouted.
Ulfric nodded at him. “Send the word. A new day is dawning, and the sun rises over Whiterun.”
“Aye,” Galmar replied. “And the sons and daughters of Skyrim will meet that dawn with teeth and swords flashing.”
“And may Talos protect us all,” the Redguard murmured.
Frina was going to go to Roggi, but Ulfric’s movement stopped her. He stepped forward and laid his hand on her arm. Her heart rate practically doubled, but she managed to keep as calm an exterior as possible.
“So it begins. Make haste to our camp in Whiterun. I want you on the front lines.”
What?
“Me, lord?”
He smiled. “I have a feeling about you. Your place is on that battlefield. I need you there. Go with Roggi and the Dragonborn. I am certain that many will die by your hands. I commit them to whatever gods they still believe in.”
Frina felt faint for a moment. He wants me to be there. Me! I couldn’t have asked for anything better. And all because I was lucky enough to be the one to bring him the news about General Tulius. Who would have imagined that something good would come of being shipwrecked!
“Yes, sir!” she shouted.
“We’ll bring you back a victory,” the Redguard murmured.
“We will,” Roggi agreed. “If we can kill dragons, we can kill a few Imperials. And we’ll put the fear of Oblivion in the ones we don’t kill in the process.” He gave Ulfric a smile that Frina found oddly disquieting.
“Talos be with you!” Ulfric cried. Galmar nodded, grinning from ear to ear, and bent over the map table.
“Talos be with all of us,” the Redguard said again, quietly, and walked out into the main hall.
Frina followed him, in a daze. She wasn’t happy about the fact that she was going to have to travel to Whiterun in the company of a Redguard man but Ulfric seemed to trust him, even respect him, and so she would grit her teeth and do whatever she needed to do. Then she realized that she hadn’t seen Roggi emerge from the room, and she’d never asked Galmar what she should do to get a Stormcloak uniform to replace the one that had been ruined in the Sea of Ghosts on the way back from fighting his ice wraith. She turned to go back to the war room but voices behind her caught her attention.
There were people seated at the long table in Ulfric’s throne room, people having a relatively lavish meal for wartime, she thought, but looking very unhappy about the entire situation. The Redguard approached a woman at the far end, a woman wearing fine clothing and an expensive tiara, someone who didn’t look like she necessarily belonged in Windhelm. With her were seated two men, a warrior and a desperately unhappy-looking man in fine clothing, and, to Frina’s disgust, a Bosmer woman.
“But surely you understand,” the Redguard was saying.
“Get away from me, you dog!” the woman snapped.
Really? What is going on here?
Roggi had entered the main hall, and was glaring at them. He took a step toward the table but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Roggi, who is that?”
He answered in short, clipped tones, not looking at her but staring at the feasting table.
“That’s the former Jarl of Riften, Laila Law-Giver. And her son Saerlund, her housecarl Unmid Snow-Shod and her steward Anuriel at the end there. Or at least they were her housecarl and her steward.” He called out to the Redguard man.
“Dar, leave it. Come here.”
Frina was surprised at the sharp authority in Roggi’s voice, but it was definitely effective. The Redguard man – Dar, he called him – left the table rather reluctantly, she thought, and came toward them looking distressed.
“Did you hear that, Roggi? She called me a dog. What are they doing here, anyway?”
Roggi reached toward the man and took him by his upper arms. Frina thought the gesture a bit odd, but couldn’t figure out exactly why.
“You gave Riften to Tulius, Dar. Did you really think that Ulfric would leave some of his staunchest supporters out in the cold when he agreed to the terms of the truce? Of course he brought them here. They may not be happy, but at least they’re being well cared for and they’re safe.”
“But Roggi. She called me a dog. She doesn’t even know me.”
“And she doesn’t understand what you did or why you had to do it. Most people don’t. Leave it, my love. We have to go to Whiterun now.”
Frina froze. Her head buzzed, as though someone had struck her with a heavy object. It felt as though something unpleasant was crawling up her spine.
My … love? Did he just really say…
“I know, but…”
“But nothing,” Roggi said, slipping his hands down the man’s arms and squeezing his hands. “You had to negotiate the truce so that you could get to Alduin. You know that. I hate to be the one supporting him, but give Ulfric some credit for doing a decent thing, and don’t worry about Laila. Of course she’s upset. But this castle is a fine, comfortable place. We’re going to go fight, and if we’re lucky all these people will get to go home, eventually. But we have to go, Dar. Now. This is what you wanted, and it’s too late for us to turn back.”
She stared at Roggi, the man she had always thought of as her brother, and then stared at the Redguard man he had called Dar and Galmar had called Dragonborn. Through what felt like a thick fog she lowered her gaze to Roggi’s hands, to the wedding band she’d been somewhat sad to see when she had met him and his red-haired Nord friend. Then she forced her eyes to the Redguard’s large, brown hands.
A matching ring. And Roggi just said…
“Roggi?” She forced her voice out of her throat, but it sounded faint even to her.
“What, Frina?” he said, somewhat impatiently she thought, and without taking his eyes off the other man’s face.
“Who… is this?”
Roggi dropped his hands and turned to face her, his mouth slightly open. It seemed to her that he went just a bit pale, unusual for this man who, even as a pale Nord, tended to have a slightly ruddy complexion.
“Frina. Oh. By Ysmir. I’m so sorry.” He swapped a glance with the other man. “Well. This is Dardeh at-Dadarh. He’s the Dragonborn. You know what that means, yes? You remember the stories? Well, Dar’s the Dragonborn. He also happens to be…”
Roggi and Dardeh swapped a glance, and a smile; and Frina watched all the coldness of care and worry in their eyes melt away at each other’s gaze, and felt her heart drop. Roggi turned his gaze back to her, still smiling.
“Remember I told you I’d gotten remarried? This is Dardeh. He’s the Dragonborn, and he’s the newest Stormcloak recruit. He also happens to be my husband. That makes me just about the luckiest man alive.”
Frina was sure that her face must be frozen into the most unpleasant expression she’d ever had, and she felt powerless to do anything about it.
Roggi is married to a Redguard.
Roggi is married to … another man.
She stared at Roggi, feeling tears start to well up behind her eyes. She could see her childhood, passing in front of her – this big, kind, funny man who always treated her as if she was his own sister, the man she’d heard calling her sister “my love,” the man who would kiss her sister tenderly when he thought nobody was looking, but she, Frina, was peeking around the corner giggling to herself that her sister had such a wonderful boyfriend – this man, her Roggi was married to a Redguard man. She found herself speaking, but it was as if she was floating somewhere above the people in the room, watching and hearing herself speak, and she didn’t know what was going to come out of her mouth.
“You’re kidding, right? The two of you are playing games with me because you know I’m worried about going into battle. Right?” She looked back and forth between them. “Right?”
Off to her side, Frina heard a growl. She knew who it was but couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him.
“And who is this, Roggi? Another old girlfriend I never heard about?” Dardeh’s voice was very deep, and very quiet, and carried a power like Ulfric’s only greater, she thought.
Roggi’s eyes flashed anger. Frina had never seen such a look on his face and it frightened her in a way she had never expected to feel around him.
“That’s low of you, Dar. You know better than that. This is Frina. She’s Briinda’s kid sister.” He looked back at her and gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, hardly a kid any more, given that she’s the one who delivered Ulfric’s war axe to Balgruuf, wouldn’t you say? And she didn’t deserve that.”
To Frina’s amazement – and delight – the massive, dark man to her right seemed downright chastened. He looked down at the floor for a moment and shook his head.
“I’m… sorry, Roggi. You know I get jealous.”
“Of a person who I consider my younger sister. That’s disgusting, Dar.”
“As disgusting as two men marrying each other?”
Frina stopped, in shock, as she realized that it had gone silent and both of them were staring at her with what looked like flaming fury. I said that out loud. I really said that out loud. I can’t believe I did that.
A few very long, very painful moments passed.
“I’m…” she started.
“Don’t. Even. Speak,” Roggi spat out. She could see the muscles in his jaw working, and the veins on his temples swelling, and she knew she had made a very big mistake.
“Never say a thing like that again, not if you ever want me to speak to you, war or not. I hope that’s clear. I know your parents would have had a fit about this but I had hoped for better from you. Your sister has been dead for a dozen years. I loved her dearly, and you know that, but hear this and understand it: I love this man standing next to you more than anyone or anything else in the world. Yes, we are married. Yes, I am over-the-moons happy about it, Frina.”
She gulped and tried again. “Roggi, I…”
He slashed a hand in front of her face, cutting her off, and she jerked backward reflexively.
“No. You don’t say a single word unless it is to apologize to Dardeh. I’ll catch you up while we’re on the road. Suffice it to say that you would. Not. Be. Here. To be engaging in a civil war on Ulfric’s behalf if not for Dardeh. Neither would I. None of us would be here.”
She turned her head, slowly, and looked Dardeh in the eye. She didn’t know him, and didn’t know how to read his expressions, but she was terrified by the look on his face. To Frina, he looked like a demon with his dark skin and the red war paint that emphasized his intense odd colored eyes, like some creature from a plane of Oblivion. She steeled herself to keep a calm expression, but inside she was preparing herself for an attack.
“My pardons. That was impolite of me. I was not expecting Roggi’s new spouse to be male, much less Redguard.”
“Oh that cuts it,” Dardeh hissed. “That just absolutely tears it.” He turned around and walked a few paces away, and Frina could see his beefy hands clenching into fists.
“Dar,” Roggi said quietly.
Dardeh pivoted on his heel and came back to them. He looked like a storm about to break.
“Let’s get a couple of things straight since the great Jarl Ulfric wants us to travel together,” he said, glaring at her, his voice that sort of quiet that said danger. “First, I don’t care whether you like it or not: Roggi’s my husband. He knew you a long time ago. I didn’t. I do not care what you think. Clear on that? Good. Second, I’m Nord. I may not look it, because my gods-damned father was a Redguard who left my mother to raise me on her own, but I am a Nord in every single way except for the color of my skin. Don’t like it? I. Don’t. Care. Got that? Good. Third,” he stopped and looked at the floor, grinding his teeth.
“Dar, don’t,” Roggi murmured.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Roggi,” Dardeh replied quietly. He looked back up at Frina and shook his head. “Frina, I was just about to tell you what else I am, and every word of it would have been true, and I would have sounded like the world’s biggest ass saying it. But know this. I’m the strongest man in this room. I’m the deadliest man in this room. And this man,” he pointed at Roggi, “can lay me low with a word. I would do anything for him. Anything. So be disgusted, all you want. I don’t care. I’m used to people who think they know who I am and what I am passing judgment on me, up to and including Ulfric gods-damned Stormcloak. I’ve been dealing with that longer than you’ve been alive. All I care about is Roggi.”
He took a deep breath.
“And we have to go to Whiterun. All of us. Now.”
Dardeh stomped toward the door of the keep. Roggi shook his head at her.
“He’s right. We have to go.”
Roggi turned to leave as well, and Frina found herself standing alone, shuddering.
Roggi turned and glared at her.
“If you consider yourself any kind of soldier at all, get moving. We have to get to Whiterun. Or if you want to stand around sniveling like a little girl, you can do that. Your choice.”
Tears stood in her eyes, and she wasn’t certain whether they were tears of sadness, or horror, or fear. What she did know was that at least in this one moment she loathed the Redguard man who called her brother husband, and that she wasn’t certain she knew her brother any more.
She felt as though she was being watched. She looked around and realized that, at some point during their encounter, Jarl Ulfric had quietly moved out into the great hall to take his seat in the throne. He was watching her in silence. Frina panicked for a moment.
By the Nine, we’re supposed to be gone. How much of that did everyone hear? Is the Jarl now angry with me, too?
But it was clear that, as heated an exchange as it had been, none of the dinner guests had heard what had transpired. They’d all kept their voices low, if intense, and only Ulfric’s expression said that he had noticed anything was unusual at all. She stared at him, trying to read him; and as he waved his hand toward the door, telling her to go, she had an overwhelming feeling that he was concerned for her.
I must be imagining things.
Maybe I just imagined this whole thing. It certainly feels like a bad dream.
Reluctantly, she left the Palace of Kings.
I need to pray. I’ll find them ahead of me or I won’t, but I need to pray.
She scurried down the steps from the Palace doors, blinking away tears, and turned to her right to find the door of the Temple of Talos. She would spend some time in meditation, find her center, and be reassured that Talos was guiding her actions.
The interior of the Temple was very dark this day, and her eyes didn’t quite want to adjust to the darkness. As she made her way down the side aisle she could see that there were people seated in some of the pews, but not make out who they were. At the front of the chapel, backlit, was a dark figure kneeling before the altar, his hands uplifted in supplication. Frina frowned, feeling as though she should know who this was.
It wasn’t until she got to the very front of the temple that it finally dawned on her. It was Dardeh, the Dragonborn, kneeling in prayer to the almighty Talos.
She stared, pleased to see what he was doing, but struggling with a thought that began in the back of her mind and refused to be silenced.
Talos was Dragonborn, too.