The farther along the road Dagnell walked, the more the scenery changed. The air smelled sharply clean as the road rose through increasingly rocky terrain, a welcome change from the stench of rotten eggs. There were mountains in and around most of Skyrim, and her path was taking them up into some of them.
Her first night passed uneventfully enough, as she found a niche at the base of an outcropping that gave her some shelter. She didn’t much more than nap intermittently, but the apples from deep in that barrel had put at least something in her stomach so that between them and a bit more healing magic to soothe the aches she wasn’t too uncomfortable. At dawn, as chickadees started their daily discussions, she found a trickle of a stream, had a drink, splashed a bit of water on her face and rinsed out the matted spot in her hair, then set out again.
She began seeing trees, mostly spruces, first just a few clinging to the steep hillsides and then greater numbers of them, until she found herself walking in a full forest. Her bow would have come in handy if she’d still had it, for the elk and deer that sometimes wandered out onto the road. It was definitely getting colder, as well, a fact that made Dag crankier by the moment. She’d always heard that Nords had some degree of natural immunity to cold. They’d almost have to, to live here.
It seemed she’d been walking for an eternity when the road she was on topped a hill and turned left, downwards toward what looked and sounded like a large river some distance away, rushing down over the rocks. Straight ahead of her was a smaller cobble path with just the roof of a large building visible, smoke rising from it. A road marker read “Kynesgrove.” Civilization, perhaps? She walked along the path, intending to find out.
It wasn’t much in terms of civilization, this Kynesgrove. The sole large buildings were an inn and a smithy. Just past them were a few tents and outbuildings, a farm, and what looked like the entrance to a mine, just up the hill. There were a couple of very old homes just around the corner from the inn, but that was it. Disappointing, really, she thought, but it was at least a place to rest and get warm, perhaps exchange some work or her gathered herbs for a bite to eat, and get some directions to …anywhere else.
It was the Braidwood Inn, according to the sign swinging from a post just outside. Inside, much to her delight, it was downright hot.
A pleasant Nord woman smiled and called out “Come in and shake the cold off. I’ve just stoked the fire.” The perfect greeting; the fire felt good indeed, and sitting down next to it, on a real bench rather than a stump or a rock, felt even better. “Let me know if you want anything. I think I’ve got a clean mug around here somewhere.” Dag smiled in return, wondering how well she would do with bartering in a place that obviously didn’t see a lot of traffic.
There were only a few other souls in the place: a young Nord with strawberry blonde hair helping stock things behind the bar, two others talking and eating a meal at one of the tables, and a Dunmer – a dark elf woman, a mage judging by the gray robes that matched her skin — in the corner by herself. After flexing her feet a few times, trying not to emit a full-throated groan in the process, Dag sighed and walked over to the bar intending to ask what she could get for the herbs she’d gathered.
The woman was busy sweeping the floor, but began chattering away amiably.
“I’m Iddra. I run the inn. I hope you’ll stay awhile; we could use the business.” Before Dagnell could get a word in, the woman continued “Poor Roggi. If you’re feeling charitable, buy the Nord a mead. He’s good for it.”
Dag glanced around the room, wondering which one she was referring to. “Who’s Roggi?” The young man was busy and didn’t look like he was in any particular need of a drink, the Dunmer woman had one already, and the boys in the back were busy eating. Iddra nodded toward the door.
“He’s been in Kynesgrove forever. Great storyteller. Keeps everyone’s spirits up.” She sighed. “Owes me a lot of coin for drinks. I tell him not to worry about it but he’s got the stubborn Nord blood. He doesn’t have the coin to pay me back. Then the damn fool beats himself up over it, gets thirsty, and it just cycles all over again.” Tsking, she reengaged herself with the broom.
It seemed little odd to Dagnell that she’d be spilling all of this to a complete stranger, but she was clearly a gossip and it was intriguing. “What if I talk to him?”
Iddra didn’t miss a broom stroke, but answered “If you can get him to stop worrying about his tab it would certainly make me feel a lot better.” Roggi Knot-Beard worked in Steamscorch Mine, she said, the one Dag had seen just up the hill. She decided to go find him. Why not. It might make Iddra think more kindly about doing some trading later on.
Two guards patrolled the stretch between the inn and the mine. They looked her over, but neither of them attempted to stop her in spite of her being a stranger in dubious, worse-for-wear attire. Letting herself into the mine, she followed the main shaft down an incline that had tiny patches of malachite embedded here and there in the walls. It was as tidy a mine as she’d seen, and surprisingly much cooler.
After a moment she came to a side branch with a rough table and benches, at which a man with his back to her was having a meal. Dagnell made sure to make noise walking up to him. There was nothing worse than being startled, especially from behind.
“Are you Roggi, by any chance?”
He turned and smiled at her, a large, open, warm smile that crinkled the corners of his clear blue eyes and his curious, peaked eyebrows. “If you bring mead, you’re welcome here!” he boomed, then chuckled, standing to lean against one of the support beams and face her. “Aaah, even if you don’t, you’re still welcome!”
She couldn’t help but smile back. Roggi was a trim, pleasant looking man with even features, neither young nor old, fit as one would expect of a miner. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a neat tail, and his beard was equally tidy and, true to his name, gathered into a knot at the bottom. This wasn’t the image that had sprung to mind of someone deep in debt over drink.
“I’m here with a message from the inn. Iddra says you should stop worrying about all that coin you owe her,” she began, intending to explain how genuine that wish appeared to be.
But just as quickly as Roggi had offered a friendly smile, now his face flushed and his eyes flared. “What do you think I am? A beggar? My family has always paid back every cent it owes, going back to Tiber Septim’s time!” He stepped toward her, in a move that might have been meant to be threatening.
Roggi wasn’t at all a big man; built like a man who swung a pickaxe all day, to be sure, but not big. She didn’t feel threatened, just annoyed. Iddra had been right about him. A stubborn Nord. She didn’t care much for all the racial slurs one ran across in Tamriel but this one was more often true than not, and here was a fine example.
“Come on,” she said calmly, trying to damp down her annoyance and be persuasive. “Don’t be stubborn about it.”
“No.” He glared at her. “I have my pride.” That was obvious; he was clearly upset.
Dag’s ire was rising. She was tired, and hungry, and was trying to do this man she didn’t even know a good turn, and she didn’t feel like being diplomatic about it any longer.
“What do I have to do, beat some sense into you?” she snapped.
Dag was a good brawler. She’d grown up on the docks, where the boys liked to steal her food and see what else they could get away with, and she’d learned early on how to lay them flat on their behinds when needs must. She was pretty sure she could handle a slender Nord not much larger than herself and, well, if she couldn’t, not much was at risk but a bruise or two. She already had plenty of those; a few more wouldn’t hurt much.
“I don’t have to take that from you!” he shouted, red-faced. “Come on! Let’s see what you’re made of!” and started throwing punches in her general direction.
It didn’t take long. Roggi landed a few solid blows, and they hurt; but she landed more. He stumbled back and blustered “it’s…nothing!” He grunted and yelped and punched until the perfect opening allowed her to clock him in the jaw, driving him to his knees. He knelt there, panting, for a moment and then staggered to his feet.
“Ugh. You throw a mean hook. And I’m really out of practice.”
“Are you ready to listen to reason now?” she asked, trying to catch her breath.
“Okay, okay. I get your point.” He rubbed his jaw, opening and closing it a few times. Dag did the same, grinning in spite of what was going to be a fine bruise on her chin. He looked at her grin and laughed, the good humor returning as though he’d not been bellowing at her a few moments earlier.
“Ahhh, tell Iddra I’m sorry about being so stubborn about the coin.”
“I will,” she said, and then suddenly found she needed to sit down at his table. Her legs were betraying her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, sitting beside her.
“I will be. It’s just been a bit since I’ve eaten anything.”
Roggi pushed his plate of bread and cheese across the table. “Eat up.”
“Are you sure?”
He grinned. “Yes. That fight was worth a plate of food,” he said with a laugh.
She started in on the bread gratefully, startled at how ravenous she was, but between bites mumbled “I take it you’re something of a mead expert?”
His eyes sparkled. “Well, I’ve had a lifetime of study, you might say.” She then learned why Iddra had called him a great storyteller. He made a mug of mead into a wonder worthy of a bard’s talents and for a longer time than a song would last. It was a real art, brewing mead. Had she ever tried to make her own? It wasn’t easy, he should know. The best, he told her with great gravity, came from the Black-Briar Meadery in Riften. You could smell the honey on the wind. But he hadn’t been there in years. “Ahh. How I wish I had their talent,” he sighed happily, and there was nothing for her to do but smile. She liked Roggi.
“So, tell me, are you from Kynesgrove?” she asked around a mouthful of cheese.
“Yes. I’ve wandered a bit, but I always come back to Kynesgrove. My clan was one of the first to settle here. Legend says that my forefather Lenne discovered the mine after he stumbled into a dark cave to relieve himself.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Too much mead.” He laughed, and Dag snorted, giggling.
“Is there such a thing as a Nord who doesn’t like his mead? I haven’t met one so far.”
Roggi laughed. “Maybe not, maybe not. Of course, there’s another story of Lenne losing the ancestral shield, in a different cave. So it depends on who you believe.”
Most of his chatter had washed over her without drawing her attention too far from her food, but that caught her ear and gave her a twinge of sadness.
“Your family shield is missing? That’s a real shame,” she replied, pushing the now-empty plate away from her. Heirlooms were important; she’d have given anything to have something from her parents, no matter how small or insignificant.
“It is. At least my grandfather believed in that version of the tale. Even thought he found the right cave. The shield looked something like this.” There was a book on the table; he turned to a blank page at the back and sketched out a rough drawing of the thing. It was a plain iron shield by the looks of it, but it had a distinctive knotted design on the front.
“Hey, if you ever stumble across the shield I’d sure be happy to have it back. I’d even show you some of the clan’s favorite fighting moves. They’re all shield techniques. This is where my grandfather said the cave was, but if you go, be careful. They say Lenne was eaten by monsters.” He made another sketch, showing its general location in relation to Kynesgrove.
Roggi’s smile was a delightful thing to behold, Dag decided. He was even rather handsome when he smiled like that. She had no idea why he would imagine her to be an adventurer like his forbear Lenne, and she certainly wasn’t equipped for a caving expedition at the moment but it would do no harm to humor him. Besides, she liked him and maybe, eventually, she’d be able to recover his shield. When he tore out the page and handed it to her, she nodded and put it in a pocket.
“I’ll sure keep an eye out for it, Roggi. And thank you for the food. I really needed it, it seems.” She looked at the plate regretfully. “I’m sorry I ate it all. Maybe I can make it up to you, but right now I have about as much money as you do.”
“Never mind,” he boomed. “I’m happy to have the matter with Iddra settled, and that was a fine brawl. I haven’t had such fun in ages.”
“Neither have I, actually,” she replied, grinning.
He stretched and grinned back, warmly, his eyes twinkling. “Well, back at it then. Working in the mines is hard work, but Dravynea keeps it going. Well, Dravynea — and the promise of more mead.” She chuckled and started up the mine shaft. Roggi had a talent for laughing at himself. She liked him a lot.
Iddra was happy to see her when she returned to the inn. “I’m relieved,” she chirped. “It’ll be good not to hear him whining about his debts.” She reached down to the shelves behind the bar and pulled out an iron greatsword and a nice pair of hide boots. “Roggi pawned a few things when he still had things to pawn. Here, take them.” Dagnell was more than grateful; Roggi’s feet were nearly the same size as hers and his pawned boots were going to make her feet much happier than they’d been in J’hall’s boots.
Iddra didn’t want J’hall’s boots, but was delighted to buy the berries Dagnell had collected, for a decent price. Jazbay grapes, she called them; they were hard to come by, and she knew someone who was always looking for them to use as fertilizer for her nirnroot crops. She could make a good profit on them.
“Thanks again for helping out with Roggi,” Iddra said after they’d finished their trading. “He’s really a good man. Just about the only one in town who treats Dravynea half decent,” she said, inclining her head toward the Dunmer mage. “Look, I’ll give you a room for half price if you’re going to stay the night.”
“It was no bother, but you’re welcome. He seems like a nice person. And I’ll gladly take you up on the room. I haven’t seen one in a while.”
She headed to her room nodding to herself. Dag was good at judging people accurately and quickly, had needed to be from the time she was left alone, but it was always good to have her instincts confirmed.
The room wasn’t much to talk about. There was a bed; plain, it was, but it would be welcome. There wasn’t much else in the room other than a side table. She sat down and kicked her boots off, yawning, and looked into its drawer simply because it was there. Some previous occupant of the room had left behind an iron dagger. Dag stared at it for some time. She truly needed that dagger; but it belonged to Iddra now and she shouldn’t just take it. After several minutes of considering the dagger, though, she shook her head, sighed, and slipped it into her boot. One did what one must do.
The bed felt divine, a real luxury. She found herself drifting off, thinking about wolves, giants, and Roggi Knot-Beard’s fine smile and mellow voice. She was happy to have met him. A tiny voice in the back of her mind – one that she was used to, a sarcastic pest of a voice — wondered idly whether it might be fun to share her sheets with Roggi. In her experience it was hard to find a better bedfellow than someone you’d just had a fistfight with. But her eyes closed before she could consider the thought more deeply.