At least I don’t have people chasing me, this time.
Nobody had been home at Honeyside when Dardeh knocked; at least, nobody answered the door. He remembered the last time he’d been inside, with Roggi and Delvin Mallory, when they were closing in on certainty that Sayma was really his sister Dagnell. It seemed like another lifetime ago with all that had happened since. It seemed even longer ago that he’d first come to Riften alone, while looking for Esbern. But here he was, once again making his way through the dim and dingy passages of the Ratway, heading for the Ragged Flagon. If nobody was at Honeyside there was at least a decent chance that someone in the Flagon could tell him where she was.
He squinted into the lighting in the Flagon, looking for people he knew. A man with a clean-shaven pate sat at the round table nearest Vekel’s bar. Delvin Mallory. Good. He usually knows where everyone is. It was hard to tell whether he saw a shape at the small table behind the stone pillar or was just seeing shadows; but once he rounded the corner past the tavern sign a familiar face looked up at him.
“Good to see you, lad. How are things?”
The quiet voice made Dardeh heave a mental sigh of relief. Brynjolf had been with Sayma the last time he’d seen her, even if things had been fairly tense. If nothing else, Bryn would know where she had gone.
“Well, things have been better, Brynjolf,” he said as quietly as he could manage and still be heard. “That’s why I’m here. I was hoping someone could point me to where my sister is. Nobody answered the door at Honeyside.”
Brynjolf pushed back his chair and rose, nodding his head back toward the door Dardeh had just come in. Dardeh raised one eyebrow, but followed Brynjolf anyway. As they reached the door Brynjolf leaned a bit closer to Dardeh and whispered “we need not to look interesting. I don’t want to be followed.”
Oh. So there’s something up? Alright.
They left the Ratway and walked up the wooden stairs to the marketplace level of Riften; then Brynjolf made for the north gate. Dardeh followed, mystified.
“It’s been an exciting few days around here,” Brynjolf said quietly as they passed through the gate and turned right. “Maven left the keep rather suddenly, and it seems that Laila is back in it. I’m guessing you and Roggi had something to do with that?”
“Um, yes,” Dardeh said, “but I’m confused. Where are we going?”
“One moment,” Brynjolf murmured, leading Dardeh along the perimeter of the city walls. Once they were out of sight of anyone else he stopped and turned to face Dardeh.
“Sorry for all the secrecy, lad,” he said. “We’re not at Honeyside anymore. It was getting to be a bit too obvious that the Guild had connections with the place, and with the war going on I wanted us all to be in a safer spot. Sayma and the children are there. She’s… staying with me, now.”
He paused; and when Dardeh glanced at him he saw the smile on Brynjolf’s face. I know that look. That’s the look Roggi gives me when he’s happy. By the Nine. Seeing that is the best thing to happen in the past long while.
“We have to go all the way to the south gate again but I don’t want anyone getting used to me coming and going through that gate every time I leave so I vary my route,” Brynjolf said. He continued around the city toward the south, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Dardeh followed, sighing as his armor clanked, knowing that if they were seen he would be the reason.
“Oh, I see. Good idea, Bryn. And yes, we were part of why things changed fast. Fort Greenwall. Ulfric wanted the Rift back, so we took it for him. I hope there was no bloodshed here?”
“No. There was plenty of yelling, though. Maven’s not happy at all, as you might imagine, but she’s spent a lot of years posing as Laila’s friend and ally. She made it sound as though she’d known all along that she was just safeguarding the city until Laila returned. Honestly? This will be better for business in the long run, I think; people are used to this arrangement. She doesn’t agree with me at the moment. Now that I’m Guildmaster she’s learning there are quite a few things we don’t see precisely the same way.” He grinned, and then paused, waiting until the guard at the south gate was looking the other way. He waved Dardeh forward and slipped out of sight to the left; Dardeh followed only to find that Brynjolf had disappeared into a narrow cleft in the rock.
It was a short tunnel, and very dark. He lost track of Brynjolf but pushed slowly forward toward the thin ribbon of light he could see near its end.
He reached the end of the tunnel and gasped. It opened onto a beautiful hidden canyon flooded with sunshine, with a large one-story house dominating the area. A warm, gentle breeze moved the aspens and wafted the scent of mountain flowers past him. He couldn’t see where Brynjolf had gone, but he could hear the laughter of children and the lower rumble of adult voices coming from the other side of the house.
I can’t believe all of this was back here! Smart of Brynjolf to move the family.
He circled around the end of the house and smiled at the scene that greeted him. Brynjolf had taken a seat on the stoop and was talking with his son, who seemed to have grown a full head taller since the last time Dardeh had seen him. Sayma stood nearby, watching Lucia and a woman Dardeh didn’t recognize. It seemed so peaceful, and pleasant, and normal – so far removed from the horrors and desperation of battle, and from having powers from beyond the living realm insert themselves forcefully into his life. He just watched for a moment, smiling, and breathing the crisp air; and he felt a semblance of peace wash over him.
Then he called out.
“Lucia!”
The small form turned. Her eyes widened, and so did her smile; and she hurled herself at him, running as fast as she could.
“Papa!!”
Dardeh scooped her up and held her close, while she hugged his neck so fiercely that he thought he might choke. He didn’t care.
“It’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” he murmured next to her ear.
“I’m so happy, Papa. You’re here!”
The door banged open and Sofie flew out, nearly colliding with Brynjolf in her hurry to get down the stairs.
“Pa!” she shouted as she barreled into him. Dardeh could feel her shuddering as she clung to him, and gently pushed her back, squatting down to be at her level.
“You’re not crying are you, my big girl?” he said, grinning.
Sofie shook her head no even as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I missed you,” she sniffled. “I was worried.”
Dardeh wrapped one arm around each of his girls and held them close again. “I missed you, too,” he whispered to them.
Sofie wiped her face with her hand and gave him an intensely serious stare.
“Is Papa Roggi here too?”
He tried to keep his face from falling as he shook his head. “No, sweetheart. He’s with Jarl Ulfric up in Windhelm, and I’ll have to go back there soon, myself. The war’s not over yet, but we both are trying to end it.” He smiled. “Did you know that your Papa Roggi is a really good fighter?”
Lucia grinned. “I knew it! He was teaching me how to use the sword. I knew he was good.”
Dardeh nodded, smiling. “And there’s something else, too. Do you remember that we told you how he was married once before, a long time ago?”
Sofie nodded. “To a lady in the Stormcloaks.”
“And then she died,” Lucia added sadly. Dardeh ruffled her hair.
“Yes. Well, her little sister is all grown up now, and she’s joined the Stormcloaks and is fighting with Roggi. Her name is Frina. And she’s a pretty amazing fighter, too.”
Lucia frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Papa Roggi isn’t going away with Frina, is he?”
For a moment, Dardeh was stunned. An icy tendril of doubt slipped around his heart for a moment. Oh gods, please don’t let it happen. He says I’m the love of his life and I know he’s mine, but… It’s not Frina I’m concerned about. It’s Ulfric. He and Roggi are still so bound up with each other… Then he shook his head and laughed. It was a forced laugh, but the children wouldn’t notice. At least he hoped they wouldn’t.
“No, don’t you worry about that. We’re going to be your papas forever. We promised, remember? Besides, Frina is only a few years older than you are. She’s probably got her eye on one of the young soldiers.” He waggled his eyebrows dramatically and grinned.
Lucia giggled.
“We have to go help Iona tend the gardens now, Papa. OK?”
“Is that Iona in the armor?” He looked up and smiled as the woman on the other side of the clearing waved at them.
“Yes,” Sofie said. “She takes care of us, like Lydia used to take care of us.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s not really as nice as Lydia but it’s ok because Mr. Brynjolf and Sayma have to be gone a lot. She lets us swim in the pond, too. It’s not as nice as Lake Ilinalta but it will do.”
Then both of the girls ran toward Iona. Dardeh laughed. They’re in good hands. I knew they would be.
“I can’t picture Roggi with anyone else besides you, anymore,” came a husky voice from behind Dardeh, and he turned to smile at Sayma. She looked different, he thought; calmer, maybe. The last time he’d seen her she had been tense, even uncomfortable around Brynjolf. There was something else, too, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Sayma,” he said, reaching forward to give her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you. I hear that you and Brynjolf are…”
“On better terms than we were the last time you saw us, yes,” she said, grinning. “Much better.” She waved her left hand in the air, and Dardeh grinned as he recognized the Bond of Matrimony that matched Brynjolf’s. She reached out with that hand and grabbed Dardeh’s.
“But there’s more than just that. Dar, we did it. We got the Cowl and took it to Nocturnal. Dynjyl’s in the Evergloam now.”
Dardeh smiled. “Wonderful. That must have made Brynjolf really happy.”
She nodded. “Yes, it did; but there was something that made him even happier. She took Andante, too.”
Dardeh was stunned for a moment, utterly confused. Did I hear that right? He peered more closely at her face, trying to determine what he’d missed in the situation.
“Wait, what? Andante? I thought he was … gone.”
She nodded. “So did we. But what he said is that the ring he made for Bryn anchored him somehow. He ended up in the Soul Cairn – a spirit, like Dynjyl – and Nocturnal brought him out to the Evergloam because of Bryn. It’s all rather confusing but the important thing is that they got to say goodbye, Dar. It was really something.”
Dardeh stared at her for a long moment. He suddenly remembered Roggi turning to him in Kynesgrove on the day he’d returned from Sovngarde, saying “I thought you were dead.” He remembered the look of utter sorrow on Roggi’s face, and found himself swallowing a huge lump in his throat. Imagine never getting to say goodbye. That’s how Brynjolf must have felt, all this time. What a gift for him that he got one more moment with Andante.
Finally he cleared his throat and forced himself to smile. “That’s really good. It must have been difficult, but it’s good.”
She nodded, and looked over at the two Brynjolfs laughing at each other. She smiled. “It was a bit of an adventure getting to that point. I thought I’d lost Bryn at one point, but I hadn’t. There’s nothing like being in a life or death situation with someone to remind you of what’s really important.”
Dardeh remembered that awful moment when the Miraak cultist’s sword had pushed through Roggi’s chest, and he nodded. It wouldn’t have mattered if we’d never shared a hug, much less anything else. I already knew he was the one for me, but that was when I knew I’d shift the world, if I had to, to keep him safe.
“There’s something else, too,” Sayma said, a tiny smile playing about the corners of her mouth.
“Oh?”
Dardeh watched in astonishment as Sayma ran a hand down over her stomach. It finally dawned on him what it was that looked different about her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in the form-fitting uniform of the Dark Brotherhood. Now she stood before him in a loose, almost shapeless robe much like those worn by the mages. It was belted, true; but as her hand passed down over the belt he could see the curve that said it wouldn’t be long before the belt would need to go away.
“Are you…?” he said, smiling as her eyes met his.
She nodded. “Yes. Young Bryn is going to have a sister. Don’t even ask me how I know, I just do. I didn’t even know I was pregnant with wee Bryn until my mother told me but this time I knew right away.”
The elder Brynjolf rose and went inside, motioning for Sayma and Dardeh to follow. They started toward the house; but Dardeh’s mind was whirling, and he reached for Sayma’s arm.
“Your… mother? I thought she was dead, long ago.”
Sayma nodded. “Yes. It was a dream. Or something like a dream. She appeared to me and talked to me for a good long while.”
“Like our father did, with me,” Dardeh murmured.
Sayma stopped, and gave him an odd glance. “He did? Actually appear, not just speak to you?”
“Several times. The last time,” and he grimaced, remembering the sound of their father telling him he was not worthy to carry the scimitars he’d been so attached to that he’d rescued them from the smoking rubble of Helgen, “he was in Dark Brotherhood armor.”
Sayma’s brow furrowed. “He’s only ever talked to me. Since he died, I mean. Just a voice in my head. Maybe it’s because I already knew what he looked like.” She sighed. “I miss him, Dardeh. I miss both of them.”
Dardeh felt a twinge of anger and disappointment mixed with a bit of jealousy, as he always did when he thought of their father.
I’m sure you do miss him. But he left my Ma and never bothered to even come meet me when he was alive. All I know of him is someone who looks like me who disapproves of me.
“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured. “I miss my Ma, too. On the other hand, I’d have never met you if she hadn’t decided to tell me you exist at the very last moment. It would have been nice to know earlier.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I guess he wasn’t a very good father, not really.”
Dardeh was rolling a sarcastic remark around in his mouth, trying to decide how to say that he agreed with that assessment but not able to simply say it. He was spared the need to do so by Brynjolf, who had seated himself before the fireplace and looked up as they moved toward him.
“So what is going on, lad?” he asked without preamble. “I know something’s wrong if it brought you to us without Roggi alongside, to say nothing of pulling you away from the action. You look like you’re about to kill someone.”
Dardeh laughed.
“You have such an eye, Brynjolf,” he said grimly. “That’s exactly what it is. It’s kind of a long story.”
“We’re not in any rush, Dar,” Sayma told him. “Iona will care for the children if we’re busy.”
Dardeh nodded, and sank onto a bench. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. In order for it to make any sense I have to start back before I even met you.”
He started talking; and once the words began they flooded out from him in a torrent. There they sat, while the day waned, with Dardeh spilling the entirety of his experience with his father. While Iona fed the children, and herded them into the bath, and then shuffled them off to bed, he found himself reliving his mother’s death and the trip he’d made through Hammerfell. He described the matched scimitars, and how even though they’d not meant much to him as a boy he found himself growing into a greater affinity for them, to the point at which they’d felt like an extension of himself as he killed those who tried to kill him first on his journey through Hammerfell. How he’d been desperate to get them back after the catastrophe at Helgen.
Brynjolf brought them all tankards of mead at some point while he was talking, and Dardeh drank without being truly aware of it. Iona appeared with plates of food and disappeared, silently, and Dardeh nibbled on bread and cheese without thinking about what he was doing because the words kept coming.
He told them about the horrid things he’d done in Riften while trying to get Esbern, the Blades’ archivist, back to Sky Haven Temple. He found himself with his head in his hands, eyes closed, remembering aloud what he’d needed to do on Solstheim, telling them how he could kill without even realizing it, particularly if he thought Roggi was endangered in any way. And he described each of the times Dadarh had appeared to him in a dream, and how he’d been dressed, and what he had said.
He found his throat tightening when he got to the final time he’d spoken with his father.
“’You’re not worthy to carry my swords.’ That’s what he told me,” he choked out. “Just before I went to Sovngarde to kill Alduin. So I made my own…” he trailed off, remembering how bitter he’d felt, stowing the scimitars away in the chest at the foot of his bed in Breezehome. Sayma had been walking about the room; and as he paused she came up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, lad,” Brynjolf’s low rumble interrupted him. “I know what it’s like to have a father who doesn’t respect you. It’s hard.”
Dardeh blinked, and looked at Brynjolf in surprise. How little I really know about him. “You too?”
Brynjolf nodded. “The man was a true bastard. He treated my mother like royalty but nearly beat me to death. He didn’t care for the idea of having a thief in the family. Haven’t seen him since I was just a boy and I can’t say that I miss him. But this isn’t about me, lad. All of this has been hard to hear but it’s all in the past. What’s happening now?”
Gods, I don’t know how to say this.
“It’s Ulfric. I want to kill him.”
Sayma made a surprised noise.
“But we all talked about this, in Dawnstar. And you and Roggi are fighting for the Stormcloaks. Yes?”
He nodded, miserable. “Yes. I think that of all the current Jarls Ulfric has the experience and the best temperament to be High King. Maybe he won’t have that role long, I can’t tell; but the alternative is a weak king or queen who bows to the Thalmor and that just can’t happen. It just can’t.”
“But you want to kill him?” Sayma asked again.
“I know, it sounds crazy. I’ve never liked him but I want him to win. But it’s the voice, Sayma. The voice in my head. Dadarh. All the time. ‘Kill him. Kill Ulfric. You have to finish it.’ He told me once that he was going to use you, Sayma, and not me, but… I can’t stand it anymore. If I go back there… I’m so afraid of what I might do.”
They’re going to run away screaming any second now. I do sound crazy.
“Don’t you think he’s able to protect himself, lad?” Brynjolf suggested quietly. “I’ve seen the size of the man; even at his age I’d hate to go up against him and he has the Voice, too.”
Dardeh grimaced, feeling the mounting heat of the arrogant dragon blood within him at Brynjolf’s words and trying to damp it down. Don’t be angry at him. He doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen.
“Yes, he does. But he can’t disintegrate men with his Voice. I can. That’s why I’m afraid.” He closed his eyes again and shook as he described the battle at Whiterun and what had happened in Dragonsreach. “They were there, and then they were just – gone. Ashes on the floor.”
He opened his eyes then, and looked at Brynjolf, knowing that the visual image must have cut deep; but it also was a picture of finality that would mean more to Brynjolf than almost anyone else. “Ulfric can’t do that. I know it sounds arrogant but I’m much stronger than Ulfric. And the worst of it is that I don’t know how it happens, or when it’s going to happen.”
He stood and paced. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid he’ll make me angry and I’ll kill him by mistake because Dadarh keeps telling me I must.”
“’You have to end it?’ That’s what he’s been telling you?” Sayma asked. “He says that to me but I’ve been ignoring him. He was Dark Brotherhood. He knows where targets come from.”
“Yes, that’s what he says,” Dardeh said. He stopped and made sure that he had their attention. “It’s even worse than that. You know what passed between Roggi and Ulfric before we knew him. Ulfric’s made Roggi take up his tools again.”
“What?” Brynjolf’s question was sharp, and his gaze piercing.
Dardeh nodded. “Ulfric made it clear that he needed Roggi’s ‘expertise’ as an interrogator. We heard it, Frina and I, coming back into the castle one day not long ago. It was…” He paused, wracking his brain for a word that would encompass the horrible sounds of that man screaming and Roggi laughing at him. He couldn’t find such a word. “It was awful. He’s so good at it, and it’s terrible. It’s why I left him at Fort Greenwall, to come here. I can’t face Ulfric with my father in my head all the time. I’m really afraid I’ll kill Ulfric for making Roggi do that.”
He sat back down and gazed up at Sayma, miserable. “That would be the end of me and Roggi. I’m sure of it. I don’t know why, but I’m sure of it.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Brynjolf cleared his throat and spoke quietly.
“Is it safe to have left Roggi alone with Ulfric?”
“Red!” Sayma gasped.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But it has to be said. They do have this past, and Roggi is…” He trailed off, lifting his hands in a frustrated gesture as he also failed to find the word he wanted.
Dardeh felt tears welling up in his eyes and blinked them away, angrily. I’ve imagined it more times than you know. Roggi needs to be touched. He responds to being wanted. And Ulfric was important enough to him for him to keep going back even when he was going to be married to Briinda.
He tried to speak but found his voice cracking. “I hope so, Bryn. He tells me there’s no need to worry but I see the way Ulfric looks at him when we’re there. If I were to hurt Ulfric by mistake I don’t know what would happen. I… I’m losing my mind. I’m losing my mind. I’m even imagining things that nobody else can see.”
He told them about Fort Greenwall and the ethereal figure in Dragon Aspect that he alone had seen. “Roggi didn’t even pretend to have seen it. He acted worried about me. I’m losing my mind. Help me?”
There was a long silence in the room as Dardeh looked back and forth between Brynjolf and Sayma. He watched them look at each other, having a silent conversation. But he could not tell what they spoke of in that long glance, not even when Brynjolf nodded.
Sayma shook her head. “Roggi is not going to leave you, Dardeh. And you’re not going to kill Ulfric. But there is something you’re going to do, and you’re going to do it just as soon as I can get myself ready to travel.”
“You’re taking him to Ben Erai, yes?” Brynjolf asked.
“Yes.” She turned to Dardeh and gave him a small smile. “We knew that eventually you’d end up here. He said you would. We talked to him, Bryn and I, while we were getting the Gray Cowl and he said…”
“…you must end it,” Brynjolf finished.
Dardeh felt his scalp tingle, felt the hair on his neck and arms rise. He could almost hear his father’s voice urging him on.
“You saw… our father?”
“No. We saw Jine af-Avik. He told me that I needed to bring you to him. ‘Son of my son,’ he called you.”
“Uetonga do Ueetonga,” Dardeh murmured. “Jine is alive? He must be ancient.”
She shook her head. “No, he’s not. He’s a ghost. He’s tied to the place where his bones lie. Listen, Dar, I don’t know why it’s important to him that he sees you but it is. I have a feeling that he’ll be able to help. I’ll take you to him.”
“Are you sure? Will it be safe for you to travel?”
Brynjolf laughed. “I can tell you haven’t seen this woman fight recently, lad, or you wouldn’t be worried about it.”
They smiled at each other, Brynjolf and Sayma, and Dardeh’s heart warmed at the sight. Look at that. They truly do love each other. Bryn seems so much more secure than he did, so much happier. I want…
“I want that, too,” he murmured.
Both Sayma and Brynjolf turned to stare at him, and he felt himself blushing. “I… I want Roggi and I to be as happy as you two look right now. If going to see Jine will help at all, I think we need to do it. Soon. I don’t want to be the cause of a catastrophe and I’m afraid that I will be if something doesn’t change.”
It took Sayma only a few minutes to gather her weapons, and waterskins, and a small amount of food. Dardeh stood by the door as she kissed her husband goodbye, smiling at the sight and wishing that he could be doing the same. Whatever possessed me to leave him? It felt important; it still does, in a way, but I’m worried about what’s happening right now.
“Take care, lad,” Brynjolf told him. “I hope Jine is able to help you.”
They hired the carriage to Falkreath; and on the way Sayma described the place they would be visiting and how they would get there. Even so, when Sayma cast the spell revealing the portal to Ben Erai, Dardeh felt a bit numb. Even after having stepped through a portal nobody else would ever see – the portal to Sovngarde – the idea that his sister could create a link to another place was unsettling.
Dardeh followed silently as Sayma led him through the streets of Ben Erai and out onto the first of many dunes they would need to cross.
“Well, here we are,” she said. “Hammerfell.”
Dardeh stared out over the empty expanses of sand and stone, and crossed his arms. “It’s my second trip to the desert,” he murmured. “The first was when I was looking for you. Never thought I’d see it again.” He chuckled. “Almost makes me feel like a Redguard.”
Sayma grinned at him and pointed across the landscape. “Let’s go.”
She broke into the trot that covered ground while conserving stamina. Dardeh followed suit, and laughed. I hope I can keep up with her. I’m only half Redguard.
