The arrow leapt the space between Frina and the Orc atop the Rift Watchtower and buried itself in him. She saw him drop; then she heard his groan as the sound reached her. She waited for another moment or two with her bow drawn, squinting into the fog for signs of movement anywhere near the place. Finally she started slowly down the side of the rocks, making her way toward the bodies of the two other Orc bandits that had fallen to her arrows outside the tower itself.
A few of her stray arrows littered the area, and she picked those up. The dense fog had turned everything gray – stone tower, wooden ramps and stairs, and bandits alike – and while she had gotten the two she’d seen moving it had taken a long while. These bandits had nothing much on them worth hauling all the way to Riften; but she did take their few coins, a couple of lockpicks, and a dagger or two, and crept quietly up the stairs to the top of the tower. The Orc bandit chief had taken a long time and a great many arrows to defeat. He had a substantial sack of coins on his belt; she took those and opened the nearby chest to find the stolen copper and onyx circlet she’d come for.
Frina smiled, and then took a seat at the bandits’ table. It was time for a snack before making her way to Riften. After the last few hours, she was ready for a moment or two of peace. She dug a red apple out of her pack and started munching on it, its perfect tartness waking her mouth and its sugars refreshing her energy.
Peace. It’s hard to come by, isn’t it? I thought we might have achieved that, Ulfric and Galmar and all the rest of us, but I guess there are a lot of things I didn’t really understand.
Elves, for example.
It hadn’t been until she met Nurelion that Frina had given much thought to the matter. Elves were the enemy. They were to be hated. They were a blight on Skyrim and were to be gotten rid of. She had believed those things all her life; it was the other reason, aside from her sister Briinda’s example, that she’d been so eager to join the Stormcloaks to drive out the Empire that bowed to the Aldmeri Dominion’s demands.
But seeing Nurelion painfully lowering himself onto his deathbed had shaken her. The old alchemist had spent several of her human lifetimes searching for the Phial, only to be unable to test its properties because it was broken. As she mixed potions in her apartment she imagined what she might have felt like, after having spent all of her short life preparing to fight beside Ulfric, if they’d lost in Solitude – if Ulfric or Roggi, or even Dardeh had been killed. That thought had set her back, as well. Dardeh was one of the people who didn’t look like a Nord, and at first she’d thought of him just as she’d thought of the Dunmer – except that Dardeh had become her friend, and he was Roggi’s husband, and she would have been heartbroken if he’d been killed.
I might have wanted to lay down and die, too.
She’d noticed, after that, how many elves there really were in Windhelm. Nurelion had been one; but there were the stable owners, and the woman who sold miscellaneous goods in the marketplace. The Gray Quarter, of course, was populated mostly by Dunmer; and the docks had a wide assortment of people of all races.
And Ulfric let them all stay. He could have driven them out, but he didn’t. He was the Jarl of the city and the future High King, and he could have cleaned out Windhelm of all but Nords; but he didn’t.
Maybe, she’d decided, it wasn’t the fact that they were elves that was the problem. After all, most of them were just scrabbling about to keep bread in their bellies, just like everyone else, and were hardly a threat of any kind. Maybe it was specifically the Thalmor that were the problem, not mer in and of themselves.
After a few more days had passed with no further contact with Ulfric, Frina had decided to search the bulletins posted outside Candlehearth Hall to find something to do. One notice, oddly enough, was from the Jarl of the Rift asking for help ridding the ruins of Bthalft of a bandit group that had been harassing travelers. Another was a request from Aval, one of the Dunmer merchants, to retrieve the circlet from the Rift Tower bandits she had just dispatched.
She had pondered the Bthalft job for a long time. Ulfric had asked her to help the people, after all. He hadn’t put any kind of conditions on that request; and even though this job was in the Rift it was posted in Windhelm. And maybe, just maybe, doing something to help one of the Dunmer would make her feel the tiniest bit better about the attitude she’d had for so long, that she was beginning to feel a bit guilty about. So she had headed south, and up into the Rift to Ivarstead to rest for the night before taking on the bandits.
The fog had been thick and heavy all day. Approaching Bthalft was like walking blind into the sea. And because the sound of her weapons carried so well the bandits had found her before she found them. She scrambled to take out the first of them with an arrow, but could see the next just behind, running toward her with a warhammer at the ready. Frina grabbed her staff and conjured a wraith, distracting the man for a moment while she ran back down the hill and away from him.
“You’ll be so much easier to rob when you’re dead!” he yelled from just behind her. She turned just in time to see the wraith stagger and drop to one knee.
Uh oh. I’m in trouble now.
And then the fog turned to her advantage for just a moment. She hadn’t seen the giant frostbite spider coming out of the woods until it was almost on them. Neither had the bandit. The spider took a giant leap into the air; Frina rolled aside, and the bandit had no way to prevent the gigantic fangs dripping with venom from sinking into him. He’d already been wounded at the hands of the wraith; the combination of lingering poison and physical trauma by the spider crumpled him into a ball in the leaf litter. Frina attacked the spider with both weapons, hammering away at it as fast as she could, and the wraith recovered its feet and joined her in the struggle.
Once they’d brought the creature down she returned to the ruins to look for signs of more bandits. Frina saw nothing other than the crates and sacks of food they had arranged in the area; but she frowned as she heard voices and the clanking of a hammer on metal. She crept forward, through the ruins and up to the top of a rock outcropping on the far side, and fought the urge to gasp at what she saw.
Below her, nestled up against the edge of the mountain and given some small cover by the aspens nearby, was a military camp. She watched and listened for a few moments, and then the fog thinned enough for her to see the red and brown of Imperial uniforms on the people moving about. As clearly as though he’d been hunkered down beside her, Frina heard Ulfric’s voice: “If you come across any Imperials in your travels – well, I expect you’ll know what to do.”
Yes. I know what to do. I’m still a Stormcloak, even though the war has ended. I will always be a Stormcloak. It may be about the Thalmor in the end but these are the people who were trying to kill us. They need to leave.
Frina pulled out her bow and took careful aim at one of the soldiers walking back and forth near the campfire and cooking spit. In spite of the fog, in spite of the distance, the arrow shot straight down across the brush and between the trees and caught the man squarely between the shoulders, his light armor doing nothing to keep him alive.
She spent a few moments taking potshots at the soldiers who ran to his position in a fruitless effort to help him, and took down at least one more of them. Then she ran back to Bthalft and climbed the hill behind it to find a different vantage point. As the Imperials swarmed up the slope toward the ruin she picked them off, one after another, until only the commanding officer was left. Just as she was fitting an arrow to the string she heard the unmistakable snorting of a bear nearby.
Damn. Need to run. This bear could kill me before I had a chance to draw my weapons.
Frina had scurried away from the camp, away from Bthalft, down the road and across the river through the fog to the Rift Watchtower where she now sat. It was still cloudy, but the fog was beginning to break up and the light breeze brought birdsong floating up through the trees.
She finished the apple and stretched. It was a long way to Riften, still. That was where she needed to go to collect the reward for having destroyed the bandit camp at Bthalft. She didn’t expect a reward for routing the Imperials; but she hoped she would see Ulfric smile when she reported it to him later on.
__
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look a little sickly,” the woman told her just inside the gates of Riften.
“I feel it, too. Rockjoint. Where’s there a shrine?” Frina asked her. There had been dozens of wolves on the way from Rift Tower to the city, and she’d gotten nipped several times.
“Just over there is the Temple of Mara. Go underneath the arches and out by the gates. There’s a …” the woman dropped her voice and leaned in closer, “shrine of Talos.” She looked around. “I still never know whether it’s safe to say that out loud or not. Or I suppose you could go into the Temple but they’ll try to sell you an expensive amulet before they heal you. It’s ok if you want to get married, I suppose. But the shrine in back is free.”
“Thanks,” Frina said, smiling. “I’m not looking to get married quite yet. I’ll go find that shrine.”
She made her way down the boardwalk and turned left at the Temple. So this is the place. She stopped for a moment and looked up at the bright red banners and the stairs leading up to the temple door, and sighed. This is where we were all coming, to watch Briinda and Roggi have a second wedding ceremony here in Skyrim. I wish we’d been able to see it. Briinda would have been a beautiful bride. Roggi would have been a… She stopped herself in mid-thought as the image in her mind shifted, and she imagined Roggi standing before the priest of Mara with Dardeh instead. She shook her head. Undoubtedly it had been a wonderful occasion. And there was no denying how much the two of them cared for each other.
She spotted the shrine of Talos, behind the temple grounds and beyond the open archway, past the small graveyard. In spite of its bleak surroundings the shrine made her smile. It had stood the test of time and the Thalmor ban; and when she knelt before it she felt her illness wash away and her sadness lift.
Perhaps it was meant to be. Perhaps Talos knew that Dardeh would need to fight the dragons, and that he would need Roggi by his side.
She rose to her feet and made her way out toward the marketplace. Somewhere nearby was the keep where she’d need to go to report that the bandits had been taken care of, but she didn’t know where. Undoubtedly someone would be able to tell her.
Frina spied the blacksmith first, just beyond the circular cluster of market stalls. She had a few things to sell, items that had been too good to leave behind on the bodies. She started toward him and then stopped short as one of the vendors caught her attention.
“Make love like a saber cat…”
The voice – strangely familiar and yet not familiar at all — pulled Frina toward the central area. I know this voice. Who is that?
She walked slowly around the edge of the marketplace and peered at the man standing in the stall, calling out extravagant claims about whatever he had in the large red flasks before him. He hadn’t been in fine clothing standing beside Roggi that night in Windhelm, but there was no mistaking the tall man with red hair and a scar. She snickered, and approached him from the front.
The man glanced at her, and then away; and then did a double-take. His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he never stopped his patter.
“Learn a library’s worth of knowledge in moments with my Falmerblood Elixir!”
My goodness, even I am not foolish enough to fall for that kind of line. And I’m pretty foolish!
“Hello, ‘Brunulvr,’” Frina said, unable to keep the grin off her face. “It’s good to see you again.”
He heaved a sigh.
“Ugh,” he muttered, setting the flask down in front of him. “Caught like a rat in a trap. I can’t say that I ever expected to see you here, lass.” In spite of his words, his mouth curled up into a small grin.
“And I never expected to be here, especially not so soon after the end of the war. So what is your name, really?”
He tilted his head to one side as if weighing his options and opened his mouth as if to speak, but suddenly Frina had a flash of a memory. Roggi and Dardeh, in a moment when it had seemed as though events might be tearing them apart. Roggi had said he hadn’t ever expected to meet Dardeh, or…
“Wait! It’s Brynjolf, isn’t it! I heard Roggi and Dardeh talking about someone named Brynjolf. It has to be you!” She smiled, feeling proud of herself for having remembered what she heard.
The red-haired man chuckled. “Aye. Brunulvr was my father, and he really did speak like that. It makes for a handy cover if I need one sometimes; and, well, it wasn’t truly a good time for me to be Brynjolf in Windhelm right then.”
She looked him over. This was definitely the same friendly face she remembered from that night in Windhelm, when she’d been practically beside herself with excitement for having Ulfric’s war axe in her hands. My how things have changed since then. I’m not sure whether it’s for the better or not.
“So what exactly is it that you’re selling out here?” she asked with a grin, nodding toward the large flask.
“Well,” he said, looking around to see whether or not anyone else was listening, “a load, if you want the truth of it.” Both of them laughed.
Then he leaned closer. “Listen, lass, I have a question for you. Are you still in Windhelm now that things have settled?”
Frina nodded. “Yes. Ulfric gave me a place to live, but I’m still trying to find a landing spot as far as something to do is concerned. That’s why I’m here, actually. I did a bounty job for the Jarl here.”
“Well,” Brynjolf said, “maybe you can help me out if you’re on your way back there. Meet me in the Bee and Barb after the market closes down and I’ll fill you in. You would be doing me a big favor and I won’t forget it. After all, we are almost extended family.”
Frina was confused, and must have looked it; for Brynjolf chuckled. “My wife – the wee Redguard lass,” he said, dropping into Brunulvr’s accents for a moment, “is Dardeh’s half sister. And since Dardeh’s married to Roggi, and Roggi used to be married to your sister, that makes us practically related.” He grinned widely, and Frina snorted.
“It makes us nothing at all, but I will be happy to come find you in the inn anyway,” she giggled. “I need things to make me feel useful. And if Roggi trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”
Brynjolf pointed her toward the keep. As she left the marketplace she heard him calling out “Grow back that missing limb with my genuine Falmerblood Elixir!”
__
“Here’s the situation,” he said quietly.
The bar was buzzing. There were people yelling at the waiter, and yelling at each other. Others laughed riotously or coughed as though they had swallowed a fish whole. The noise made for excellent cover, though Frina had to stand right in front of Brynjolf to hear what he was saying.
“My organization works fairly closely with the East Empire Company. Not directly, you understand,” he said smoothly when Frina raised an eyebrow, “but we – how should I put it – help facilitate all sorts of business, all through Tamriel. Well, as you might imagine, the war put a bit of a damper on some of that.”
Frina nodded. “I’m sure it did. Not much having to do with the Empire is welcome in Windhelm these days.”
He shook his head. “No, don’t confuse it with politics. This is a company, and it’s strictly business. Here’s the thing. Someone or something has been interfering with the shipment of goods all along the seacoast. You know what’s been going on in Solitude. I assume you were there.”
Frina just nodded.
“That leaves Windhelm as the major trading port in Skyrim until Solitude is back in shape. And something’s been scuttling shipping in Windhelm, too, even though there were no battles there.”
Frina frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. What does this have to do with me?”
“Based on everything I saw, and things I’ve heard, I would wager you have Ulfric’s ear – at least on a good day.”
His ear and not nearly enough of anything else as far as I’m concerned. She felt herself blushing as she realized what she’d been thinking, and was grateful that the light in the Bee & Barb was fairly dim. She nodded. “I guess I do.”
“Talk to him, lass. Convince him to look into it. He needs the shipping lanes to be open as much as anyone else does. Right now, in particular. Skyrim’s been through a lot and is going to need trade in order to set things right again.”
“You’re right,” Frina said, smirking at him, “and something tells me that you’re not putting me up to this task for purely altruistic reasons.”
Brynjolf’s eyes twinkled, and he grinned. “Ah, see, there it is. I knew you were a clever lass after listening to Roggi talk about you. Never mind about that; it’s just as well that you don’t know the details, but I promise you that we’ll all be better off if things get back to normal on the waterfront. Will you talk to him? I think the suggestion will carry more weight if it comes from you than from me.”
Frina stared at him for a few moments. The man was clearly as unscrupulous as the day was long, but she knew that Roggi and Dardeh held him in high esteem. And he did have a valid point. She’d even heard Ulfric and Galmar talking about trade being important to the recovery efforts.
She smiled. “Sure, Brynjolf. I need to report in anyway, as soon as I get back. He’ll want to know what I was able to accomplish on this trip. I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “Now then, I have about enough time for one drink before I have to get home to my family. My treat.” He gestured toward the bar and waved at the Argonian waiter.
“You’re on,” Frina said, smiling.
__
Frina could hear Ulfric’s voice coming out of his map room as soon as she entered the keep. She smiled to herself as she headed in that direction, trying to keep from becoming too excited. He might well be too busy to spend time with her, and she would understand that. The fact of the matter was, though, that she’d barely thought about anything else but him since leaving him the night he’d given her the apartment. Even when other things had been foremost in her mind – such as surviving the draugr that guarded the White Phial – everything she’d pondered had been colored by its relationship to Ulfric.
She’d thought about Roggi, too; in particular, she’d recalled his pleas for her to be careful around the Jarl. She didn’t know Ulfric the way Roggi did; she’d only known him for a short time. She knew that he was much, much older than she was, that he was a veteran of many battles, that he probably had no time for a young, if earnest, woman to hover around him. But it didn’t matter. When she thought of Ulfric she thought of his stirring speeches, and his gifts to her, and his company as they shared a meal, and his sincere concern that she not feel pressured in any way. And she thought of the kiss they had shared, and how very much she wanted to know whether it would ever be repeated.
She turned the corner to the map room.
I’m sorry, Roggi. I know you’re worried about me – and it makes you all the more dear to me that you are – but I think that I …
“Stormblade,” the deep voice greeted her. “It is good to see you. I was beginning to wonder where you had gone.”
Frina looked up to see Ulfric’s eyes smiling at her even while his face kept a neutral expression. She saw that Jorlief and Captain Lonely-Gale had been talking to him, and some part of her awareness took note of the fact that both of them quietly left the room without a word; but she didn’t take her eyes off Ulfric. It was just so very good to see his face again.
I missed you, too.
“I’ve been trying to do as you suggested, my lord, and help the people.”
“Have you indeed? And what do you have to report?”
“Well, sir, I…” She began to tell him about all of it, and the words tumbled out of her in a great rush. Nurelion, and the White Phial. Yes, he said, he’d heard of that and was saddened to report that the old mer had died within the last day or two. Frina’s throat tightened, and she found herself wiping her eyes; Ulfric took her by the hand and led her to one of the chairs flanking the small table at the back of the room. Her words followed her travels up to the Rift, to Ivarstead, and to the ruins of Bthalft. Ulfric listened, nodding from time to time. He poured her a cup of wine from the flask at his table and took one for himself, and sipped, and listened more.
“And then! Then I found an Imperial camp. I almost managed to get them all. Almost. But there was this bear, and I was just me, and I’m afraid I left the Legate alive.” She looked at his face, worried that he would be upset with her.
“Indeed. Where was this camp?” Ulfric asked quietly.
“Here,” she said, jumping up and pointing to its location on the map that had once been adorned with both red and blue flags but was now covered with blue. “Just here, behind the ruins. The bandits were really nothing, in comparison. But I got lucky with my bow.”
“That was well done,” he said, nodding. Then he took her hand again, and led her back to the table. “I was certain you would know what was to be done. Go on.”
Frina heaved a sudden sigh of relief and took several swallows of her wine, then realized what she’d just done. Easy, Frina. That isn’t water.
She told him of the Rift Watchtower, and retrieving the circlet for the very appreciative Aval.
“Good. It is good for you to help all of the people of Windhelm. I’m certain they will all know of your gesture before long. The people love you, Frina.”
She had been staring down into her cup but her gaze flew up to meet his at those words. The people love me, Ulfric? He’d said a similar thing to her once before, in the context of the war. The people love me. But how do you know that to be the case?
She paused for a moment, considering how to proceed. “Whether they love me or not doesn’t matter, my lord. What matters is whether they love you. All of them, not just in Windhelm. And they will love you even more if you are able to help them rebuild, now that the war is decided in our favor.”
Ulfric clearly hadn’t been expecting something so direct from her. One eyebrow went up; he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Is that so.”
“Yes, it is,” she found herself saying, rushing forward regardless of the wisdom of it. “There’s a problem with trade. I learned about it from an acquaintance in Riften, someone Roggi knows and trusts.” She saw Ulfric’s expression tighten, wary but attentive, and explained everything as quickly as she could. The words kept coming.
I’m babbling. But he hasn’t interrupted me yet.
Finally she found herself at the end of her tale. She took a breath and looked directly at him.
“So I think I should go talk to the people at the East Empire office and see what is going on.”
“Out of the question.” Ulfric rose from his chair and paced the room, shaking his head.
Frina was stunned.
“What?”
Ulfric didn’t look at her; he merely waved his hand in the air. “I spoke clearly enough for anyone to understand. It is out. Of the question. It is definitely worth finding out what is going on, but that woman will never tell you, and it would be dangerous for you to attempt it. She will require persuasion. I shall send a courier to fetch Roggi immediately and he can get to the bottom of it. He is better at that type of work than almost anyone else I know.”
Frina stared at him for a moment, confused; then a cold chill started at the bottom of her spine and ran, tingling all the way, up to the base of her skull. That type of work. That meant the work that resulted in the horrific things she and Dardeh had heard from the dungeon here at the keep.
“No, you can’t!”
Ulfric turned slowly to stare at her. “What do you mean, I can’t?”
“You can’t make Roggi do that anymore. It’s not good for him. It’s not good for anyone. He needs to be at home. With his children. And with Dardeh.”
She watched in astonishment as Ulfric sneered. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“Yes, of course. The Dragonborn. He is without doubt the most important person in Tamriel.”
Frina felt the chill that had passed through her change, slowly, to anger. She knew that she should keep her mouth shut, but she wasn’t able to do it.
“What, are you jealous of him? Because he’s the Dragonborn? I don’t know whether he’s the most important person in Tamriel, but he’s the most important person to Roggi. And Roggi was my brother. I love Roggi. I don’t like what it does to him when you make him…” She waved both hands in a frustrated gesture. “Of all people, I would think that you would know better than that. You don’t torture people! It’s an evil, evil thing!”
There was dead silence in the room for a long, dreadful moment.
“Thank you for bringing this matter to me, Stormblade,” Ulfric said quietly; too quietly, she thought, and too formally. “I will be certain to give it my close attention, as the Jarl of Windhelm and rightful High King of Skyrim!”
By the time he reached the end, he was shouting at her.
Frina turned and ran from the room, and down the long hallway of the audience chamber.
“Frina!” he bellowed from behind her; but she just ran to the doors and pushed them open.
She ran to her apartment, and paced back and forth, wondering whether or not the guards were now going to burst in and take her back to the Jarl in shackles. But nobody came. She paced, and she paced, and the more she thought about it the angrier she got that he hadn’t listened to her, had shouted at her, had pulled his rank on her that way.
Eventually she opened the door again. The sun was on its way down, but it was still early enough that people would be about their business.
And she headed for the docks.