As they munched on a bit of bread and cheese the next morning, Dag and Roggi decided to take a southern route back toward Riften. They would continue circling south around the base of the mountain, then leave the road that ran back to Windhelm, instead taking a southern path through a town called Ivarstead. From there, they could turn east toward Riften. Ivarstead would be a good place to catch a meal and some supplies for the rest of the journey.
It was a pleasant day’s walk through the forest. For once, even the wolves left them alone, although they heard several bears at, thankfully, a fair distance. Dag marveled yet again at the size of a mountain that could take full days to circle. As they approached Ivarstead, the forest thinned and opened up, mixing with yellow-leaved deciduous trees and brush that looked much more like the area around Riften than like the plains outside Whiterun. The path they were on ascended in a series of steep switchbacks; from some of the ridges she could just make out a fairly good-sized lake near the mountain’s foot. Finally, the path became the main way through Ivarstead.
Ivarstead wasn’t much to brag about. The trail up the mountain – the Seven Thousand Steps — began just on the other side of a bridge; they stopped to look up. And up. And up.
“We could take a little side trip up there if you like,” Roggi chuckled. “Do a little sight-seeing? You know, since we’re right here and all.”
Dag shot him a mock-angry glare. “I don’t like the cold. I’m sure it’s very cold on top of that mountain.” Then she laughed. Looking up toward the cloud-obscured summit, though, she shivered. Dardeh had been up there. She couldn’t imagine why.
They headed to the inn to take a break and get a good meal. The innkeeper was a friendly sort who kept urging them to stay far away from the barrow on the east side of town. It was haunted, he said; he’d seen one of the spirits with his own eyes. Dag nodded, ordered up some food, and sat down at a table next to Roggi.
Roggi grinned. “I think he was looking for some brave adventurer to go clear out the barrow. Are you a brave adventurer?”
“Not if I can help it.”
They rested there for an hour or so, enjoying their meal and a couple of ales, then continued to the intersection with an east-west road. It was warm and sunny, and the air was full of the sounds of wildlife; deer and elk bounded through the brush, birds sang, and bees flew past them here and there. Roggi chattered away about nothing in particular, which made Dag happy. It’s kind of too bad that I have to get right back to Riften, she thought. I could enjoy this for a few days, for certain.
It was late in the afternoon when they rounded a corner and encountered a young Imperial man seated by the side of the road, leaning up against a rock. He looked at them with a pained, nearly panicked expression. “Are they gone? Please help. I can pay you.”
Roggi stepped up to him. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
The man winced, coughed, and said “Bandits attacked and ransacked my cart. Can you help me? My camp’s nearby, just over there in the ruins of Nilheim. If you can get me there safely I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.”
“Of course we can help you. Let’s go.” Of course Roggi would want to help out, Dag thought. But it felt like there was something just a little off about the whole situation, a feeling that was confirmed when the young man jumped to his feet, saying “thank you!” and started jogging across the bridge toward the tower. He didn’t look hurt at all. But Roggi was already in motion, following the man, who said “it’s just across the bridge and up that hill ahead.”
It really wasn’t all that far off the road, the tower in question. Dag’s unease was increasing by the step. There seemed to be no reason he should need help to walk this little way. He wasn’t in any danger at all. She drew one of her swords, feeling more certain by the moment that she might need to use it.
The path wound to the left and up several sets of stairs. “We’re just about there now,” the man called back to them. “I can almost see the camp.”
In a clearing just below the tower was a firepit with a healthy fire going, a table, and a cooking pot. There were piles of firewood, a tanning rack, fish drying on another rack, and even a chest. It was a camp that had been set up for awhile, not just an overnight stopping place for a travelling merchant. “Well, here we are,” said the man, turning around to face them. “Wait here for just a moment and I’ll be back with your reward.” As he scampered farther up the hill, Dag hissed.
“Roggi! This isn’t right. Be ready.” He turned to look at her, startled, just as three bandits erupted from behind the tower. “Well ain’t this a surprise!” one of them yelled.
Dag had no time to pull her second sword, so she launched herself at the first bandit, slashing and shooting flames at him. He hadn’t anticipated the flames; they blinded him for the moment she needed to run him through. Behind her she heard Roggi yell “You’re mine!” and turned just in time to see him utterly skewer the second man, lifting him completely off the ground with his sword. She had only a moment to be startled by his ferocity, because an arrow whizzed past her ear; she looked up the hill and saw their “injured” merchant firing at her. She sprinted up the hill toward him, angry, screaming. Her momentum and the angle of the hill allowed her to slice upwards, under his bow; he was open and falling before he could fit another arrow to the string.
“I’ll mount your head on my wall!” Roggi yelled from behind her. Dag spun around to see him in a deadly battle with the last man standing, a man much bigger than Roggi and attacking like a demon.
Mustering every ounce of power she had, Dag ran toward them and unleashed a flame attack on the bandit. “Aaaah! I’m burning!” the man screamed; and with that Roggi sank his sword into the man’s heart, all the way to the hilt. The bandit dropped, and Dag stopped, doubled over, and gasped for air.
In between breaths, Dag gasped, “Roggi. Are you ok?” He nodded, also panting, sliding his sword wetly out of the dead bandit. Then he grinned. “We sure showed them, didn’t we?”
Dag had to laugh. “We did. I shouldn’t say that was fun, but…that was fun. In a grisly sort of way.”
Roggi chuckled. “It was.” Then, as he looked around at the dead bandits and the camp they had set up, his face and his tone changed. “I’m telling you, this province is losing its grip. The bandits get more brazen every day.” His voice dripped hatred.
“They definitely asked for it,” Dag agreed. She looked around to see whether it was truly finished. She didn’t see anyone, but she had an uneasy feeling, of the kind she’d learned long ago to trust. “I’m going to check the tower,” she said, “keep an eye out down here.” She slowly and quietly approached the top of the hill and walked across a stone ramp to the Nilheim tower.
There was nothing on the lower level of the tower, but she heard snoring above her head. Pulling her dagger, she dropped into a crouch and crept up the circular ramp leading to the second floor. Inside were several crates of mead, a number of bedrolls, a bunch of empty bottles on the floor, and one passed-out bandit. “Sorry,” she muttered to herself as she drove her dagger into his heart, “but I can’t risk leaving you alive. To Oblivion with you and your kind.”
Dag dragged the dead man down the ramp, but he was too heavy to carry farther. She stood and looked around. The sun was sinking, there was a nice fire outside, mead to drink, and a river nearby full of fish for the catching. She nodded. “Hey Roggi!” she called out. “Come help me clean house a little!” He looked up, laughed, and headed toward her, shaking his head in amusement.
Together they moved the dead bandits down the hill away from the campsite. “Here’s what I’m thinking. I originally intended to push on for a few hours, but this will be a decent place to stay for the night. They had a bunch of bedrolls set up in the tower; it will be a lot more comfy than sleeping by the side of the road. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.”
Roggi smiled and said “Alright then. I’ll go catch us some dinner.”
A couple of hours later, they had eaten. Dag had brought one of the crates of mead down to the fire. They enjoyed it, chuckling over their fights with wolves and bandits and sharing stories. Eventually they fell into a companionable silence, watching the flames, each of them alone with their thoughts. She felt comfortable with Roggi, and it made her smile. Not much had made her feel comfortable since the attack on J’hall’s wagon, aside from the moments she’d had with him.
Dag stretched and took another swig of her mead. “I keep thinking about that bandit and his little scam. I don’t like being surprised. That was some fight.”
Roggi nodded, staring into the flames.
After a few moments, he spoke. “Until we know the limits of our courage, we don’t really know ourselves,” he murmured, almost to himself. That was an odd thing to say, Dag thought; but yes, coming that close to the wrong end of a fight really was testing your limits. They fell back into silence as they watched the fire.
A few minutes later, Roggi looked over at her with a smile and said, “We make a pretty good team, eh?”
She had to laugh. She reached over and squeezed his warm, calloused hand. “Yes we do. Everyone we’ve met seems to have thought so, too. You’re the best friend I’ve had in years.” And that, it dawned on her, was surprisingly and absolutely the truth. “I’m serious about that; you really are. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a true friend. And you’re still the best brawler I’ve met in Skyrim.” He laughed. “Hey, I’ve met several!” she responded, chuckling. “Don’t make light of it.”
He reached around to the back of his head and pulled the tie from his hair, then ran his hands through it and massaged his scalp. He sighed. “Ahh. That’s better.” His hair was long, longer than hers; a warrior’s hair, shimmering gold and orange in the firelight. Unbound, it fell into his face and down over his shoulders and arms, drawing her attention to them, as he bent to the side to slip the tie into his pack. Dag was startled. He has some serious muscles, she thought with appreciation and a sudden flush of warmth. Why on earth am I just now noticing? It’s not as though he’s been invisible, in that armor.
He looked completely, surprisingly different. Roggi the unremarkable miner seemed something else entirely, as though that tie had been binding more than just his hair. It suits him, Dag thought. It suits him really well. She had certainly seen hints of ferocity from him while they’d been traveling together, but just this simple act made him look the part.
She suddenly had an almost overwhelming urge to touch the muscles she’d never noticed before, remembering his warmth when he had been teaching her his shield techniques and when they’d bunked together in Whiterun, and his strength in holding her while he pulled the arrow from her arm. Dag was startled to realize what she was thinking. This time it wasn’t just the little voice in the back of her mind laughing at her. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. In fact, it had been a long time since she’d even had the urge to be with a man. She’d thought about Roggi, before, just in passing, but now… Clearing her throat, she forced herself to reach for the mead instead. No, Dag. Behave yourself just once.
“Damn, Roggi, you should do that more often,” she said, after she took a drink and caught her breath, trying to make light of the situation. “You look – you look like a…“ Damn it all, Dag, you’re stuttering, she scolded herself. “I don’t know, a soldier. A Stormcloak or something. A Nord. I’m … impressed.” And surprised, and having inappropriate ideas go through my head, she thought. Foolish.
Roggi shot her a sharp, surprised look. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Well I would hope I looked like a Nord, all things considered. But a Stormcloak, is it? That’s an odd thing for you to say.” He frowned, and chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment before sighing. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in admitting it. I was actually a Stormcloak for awhile.”
Dag was astonished, for just a moment. Then she started to laugh. “No wonder! Ever since I met you I thought you were too good a fighter to be a miner. If that makes any sense.”
Roggi grinned at her. “I told you it was something I picked up when I was younger. A true Nord fighting for his homeland, and all that. Well, I didn’t stay with them too long. Long enough to see a lot of fights, and other things, I guess. Some things I’d rather not have seen. I learned some things, too.” He stopped for a sip of his drink, then cleared his throat. “For one thing, I’m not so sure that Ulfric Stormcloak cares about anybody but Ulfric Stormcloak, in spite of his big words. I don’t much like the Empire telling people who they can worship, but I really don’t care for the way Ulfric treats the Dunmer. I saw things that… well, it’s just not right. Nobody deserves to be treated like that, and I can’t respect the man who does it and encourages other people to take that attitude. So I left. I’m not proud of it. I left some good men out there.”
He shook his head and sighed. “But now? No, I’m just a miner. And I like my mead a little too well.” His voice had changed with the last remark, his tone self-deprecating. There he was, making light of himself yet again, and she didn’t like it at all.
Dag frowned, looking back at the fire. She grumbled. “Why do you sell yourself short? Don’t give me that. You may not be a soldier right now but you could, easily enough, and from what I’ve seen, you could probably lead them. And besides, what’s wrong with being a miner? I couldn’t do that. I’d have the whole mountain down on top of us all in half a day. You shouldn’t listen to people who tell you you’re not good enough. I wish you would stop doing that.”
She was raising her bottle to her lips when Roggi quietly put his hand over hers and lowered the bottle to the ground. She turned to him, startled. He reached up to gently touch her face, running his fingers down her cheek, then tipped her chin up and kissed her.
It was a gentle kiss, not insistent but full of longing, his mouth soft and warm and tasting of mead, his beard and his hair brushing against her skin. It was truly one of the sweetest kisses she had ever tasted, and while she was surprised, she happily returned it for several delicious moments until he pulled back to look at her, waiting.
That was a kiss that had been waiting to happen for some time, not some sudden impulse like the one she’d had, to touch his arms. She very much wanted to know how those arms would feel around her, but this was Roggi and she wasn’t sure how to read him.
“That’s…” she began, trying to catch her breath, then trailed off and grinned. “That is also something you should do more often. You’re very good at it.”
Roggi reached for her and pulled her to him. This time it was not a tentative kiss but full of desire and urgency, one that demanded an answer. When he pulled back to look at her, his eyes were full of fire and she was nearly limp. This was the same man who had been worried about sharing a room in Whiterun? Dag paused for what seemed like an eternity but was probably just a moment. Answer the man already, her other voice snapped at her.
She smiled, as much to that other voice as to him. “It’s late and I think we should turn in, don’t you?” She nodded toward the tower.
He smiled and murmured next to her ear quietly, playfully, his tone warm and rich and every bit as seductive as Brynjolf’s could be. “Mmm-hmm. What do you say, if tonight we find a way to keep warm?” He ran his hand down her arm.
Dag wondered whether her legs were going to hold her up.
He stood and helped her to her feet. Then he chuckled. She couldn’t help but laugh too. Good, Dag thought. I wasn’t expecting this, but good. It was time to find out whether Roggi Knot-Beard was as lovely a playmate as she had always suspected he might be.
And, as it turned out, he definitely was.