They made decent time heading north out of Riften. They weren’t in any hurry, but neither of them was used to walking slowly. There was a heavy mist and the sky was gray. Brynjolf sniffed at the air. Rain soon.
“What sorts of information are we looking for, then?”
“Anything. He didn’t specify. But my guess would be that Dar really wants to know what’s going on in Ulfric’s mind.”
Brynjolf snorted. “It’s a little cruel to send you for that sort of work, isn’t it?”
Roggi frowned. “No worse than it would be to send you scouting at Volkihar Castle.”
Brynjolf winced. “Yeah. I suppose so.”
“Sorry, Bryn. And yes, I’m the one who’s been closest to Ulfric of all of us, not that it does us much good. That man’s mind is closed up as tight as the best vault in the world. But Dar is almost completely incapable of stealth. He’s just big. And loud. And in Windhelm he’s conspicuous just standing around and breathing.”
“And we’re a couple of Nords.”
“Exactly. Listen, Bryn. How well do people know you in Windhelm?”
Brynjolf thought about it. He had been there a number of times with Andante, but he’d always had his hood pulled well forward. Before that… Before that I mostly behaved like a proper Guild second and stayed put, unless it was to go to Solitude on business for Maven or Mercer. Before that, I would send someone else to do my work for me. And the times I did come north I did it in the shadows. Mostly. Except when I was a young fool trying to steal cheese out from under the guards’ noses. I wonder if I still have that bounty for that damned cheese.
Bah. I’m turning into a regular idiot, wandering around like this.
“They know my name for certain. Or at least some of them do. As far as knowing what I look like, I doubt it. I don’t even think our fence would know me if she met me face to face. It would be different if we were going to Solitude, but Windhelm? I’m not well-known.”
Roggi grinned at him. “Oho, a fence in Windhelm? What am I saying? Of course there’s a fence in Windhelm. Let me guess…”
“No, don’t. Unless I can convince you to join the Guild there are still some things that need to be kept separate from the rest.”
It started raining, a cold, driving rain that made Brynjolf happy for his Nord blood. She’d be complaining already, wouldn’t she, about the cold.
“Good point. I just don’t want there to be any trouble because you’re from Riften and it’s under Imperial control. We don’t need them accusing you of being a spy. Even though that’s exactly what we’re doing.” Roggi frowned and pulled his collar in tighter around him. “I hate this kind of weather. I can just hear Dag complaining about the cold.” He stopped short and stared at Brynjolf, with his eyes wide. “Uh…”
Brynjolf laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I was just thinking that same thing. ‘I’m cold, Red. Come over here and share some of that heat, Red.’”
Roggi nodded, looking uncomfortable. “I’m, uh… glad you understand.”
It’s awkward, but it’s time we got this cleared up, I think.
“Look, Roggi. It’s time to stop worrying about this. You knew her before I did. I know what she was like. You’ve got Dardeh now. And I’m…”
“Yes?”
What am I trying to say here? I don’t even know what I feel about her. There’s no point in poking at an old wound.
“I’m not even sure how I feel about things. I’m missing Andante right now. But I do know that you’re my friend, and I’m not going to hold it against you that you know she hates to be cold.”
“Fair enough,” Roggi said, nodding. “Thanks, Bryn. I think you know that the whole thing still bothers me.”
“Aye. But it’s done. In the past. We’ve been through a lot together since then, haven’t we?”
“We have.”
“So unless you’re planning on going after Sayma behind Dar’s back, it’s a closed subject as far as I’m concerned.”
Roggi laughed. “No.” He smiled at Brynjolf. “No need to worry. Even as much of a pushover as I am it would take something monumental to take me away from Dar.”
“So you admit it, then, Pushover.”
Roggi chuckled. “Never tried to deny it.”
Fort Greenwall emerged from the mists, down the road from them. Brynjolf squinted ahead and saw shapes rushing back and forth in front of it. He pointed. “Some kind of skirmish going on up ahead. Maybe we should head around it.”
Roggi nodded. “Seems like they’re always fighting there. That’s one of the reasons Dar is worried, I think.”
They dropped off the road, onto the well-worn path that went directly north, skirting the fort. They’d made it almost to Shor’s Stone when the rain let up for a moment. Not that it will let us dry out, Brynjolf thought as he pushed through the hip-high, dripping wet brush. He was trying to avoid the soggier spots on the trail, not really paying attention, when he heard Roggi cry out. Behind them, a group of three bandits had emerged from an unused wolves’ den; one had struck Roggi hard enough to knock him off his feet, and Brynjolf couldn’t tell whether he was alright or not.
He had packed away his Daedric shield in one of Honeyside’s chests because it reminded him too much of his days with Andante. While he had his sword with him, what he carried immediately at hand was a matched set of ebony daggers. They were excellent weapons, but he couldn’t strike a man’s head off with them, or throw him off-balance the way he could with the heavy shield. He grabbed the daggers and made for one of the bandits who, he saw too late, was gathering magic in his fists.
“I’ll give you a quick but painful end!” Brynjolf shouted, stabbing in a dual attack that would have, not very long before, been the end of the mage.
A moment later he was regretting having made any noise at all. The mage had a shock spell ready, and fired it at him. He grunted with the pain of it and forced himself forward to press the attack. He got a few more solid blows in on the man; but all of them were swipes rather than stabs, and the fur cushioning on his armor absorbed much of the force of the blows and thus limited their damage. Just behind the mage, Brynjolf could see that Roggi had handled the man who had attacked him, and was heading for the third bandit, a man swinging a massive battleaxe in wild misses. They’d be able to take him out, he was certain, just watching the way Roggi swung the dragonbone greatsword he carried. But first he had to get through the mage.
Then he regretted having taken his attention off the mage at all. He was blasted with another shock that drove him to his knees, gasping for breath. He struggled to get at least one foot under himself, because if he didn’t, he was going to die.
That would be something, wouldn’t it. Survive being undead all that time and go down to a common bandit in the end. I just really need to adjust for being mortal again. And I need to do it soon.
He heard, in his mind, an echo from days long gone by. A deep, harsh echo.
Yer a damn fool, laddie! A cocksure, impulsive, worthless thievin’ brat and yer gonna get yerself er someone else killed wi’ it one of these days! Ye need to grow up and act like a man, do some actual honest work fer a day and stop worryin’ people half to death!
He grimaced. Because he remembered the tremendous, brutal, stinging blow across the face that had preceded it just as clearly as he remembered the words themselves.
Gods damn. Enough of that noise.
“Over here!” Roggi yelled.
Brynjolf looked up to see the mage turn. Roggi had his hands full with the axe man, but his shout had distracted the mage just enough.
Good man.
He grinned and flung himself at the back of the mage. At the last second, he did something uncharacteristic and probably risky because he wasn’t practiced at it. He reached around the man’s shoulders and drew the dagger across his neck. To his surprise it felt easy, natural, almost as though his hand was being guided.
The mage dropped to the ground. Brynjolf had no time to ponder his success; he circled around behind the final bandit and laughed to himself watching Roggi taunt him. This is a man who fights dragons, he thought; he’s not intimidated by a lone bandit. He took two steps forward and slit this man’s throat as well.
“Well!” Roggi said, sheathing his sword. “That went well, all things considered.”
“Aye, it did. But I need to be more careful before I get someone killed. Someone… else… killed.” He cleaned his daggers in the wet grass and put them away, then checked the bandit’s pockets for valuables.
“Stop that, Bryn,” Roggi said. “Stop it right now.” His voice was very low, and quiet, and carried overtones that caught Brynjolf’s attention immediately. It made him think of the neatly packaged torture tools Andante had taken away from Fort Dawnguard.
Oho. So this is what he’s like, is it? I see. Best not get on the wrong side of that.
“Sorry, Roggi. I’ve got a lifetime of practice taking the blame for other people’s problems. It’s a hard habit to break.” He turned and started back down the hillside, north toward Eastmarch. “Especially when you see the problem happening in front of your own eyes.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Roggi said in a tone that left no room open for negotiations. “I think we should stop off at my house in Kynesgrove. Warm up, dry off, get something to eat. Let me get myself ready for Windhelm.”
“Alright.”
They walked in silence for a time. The weather couldn’t decide what it wanted to do: for a time there would be drizzle, then a full, pelting rain, and then the sun would break out for a few minutes. It was during one of the sunny breaks, just as they were about to make the final descent onto the volcanic tundra, that a pack of three wolves hurtled out of the undergrowth and attacked them.
They made short work of the wolves, standing side by side. When they were all down, Brynjolf chuckled.
“I probably put more energy into that than I needed to. I’m still trying to find my feet again now that things are different.”
“Well, we make a pretty good team,” Roggi said, starting down the hill again. “I’ve never really watched you fight before, Bryn. I can’t decide what style that is but you do it well.”
“I usually carry just daggers. For the last – while – I’ve carried a sword and a shield, and I got really good at it. Don’t know why I decided to leave the shield behind…” he trailed off. Yes I do. It was part of my vampire kit and I can’t bear looking at it any more.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t fool you, can I. I miss him. He gave me the shield.”
Roggi nodded, and walked along quietly for a time.
“So you don’t usually use an assassin’s move across the throat like that,” he said finally, in that same quiet inquisitor’s voice he’d let slip once or twice before. The hair on Brynjolf’s neck rose.
By the Eight, Roggi, that tone.
“No. Not usually. I’m more inclined to strike their heads off with a sword. In fact, that’s the first time I’ve ever done that specific thing. Purposefully, anyway.”
‘It’s silent. That’s why.’ That’s what she told me.
“And twice in a row, too. Well done, Bryn. Strange, but well done.” He stopped and peered down the road ahead, his head tilted to one side.
“Listening for something?”
“Yeah. Dragons. Dar killed one by himself out here and the two of us killed another one. I don’t know where they’re coming from, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not up to dragon-slaying at the moment.”
“I’d just as soon avoid them myself. You’re the dragon-slayer, not me.” Not that I haven’t fought them before. Gods. He frowned, remembering the twin dragons that had burst upward through the frozen lake. Three vampires and two fire-breathing dragons. He was right to be angry with me; I nearly died, prancing around out on the ice like I thought I was invulnerable.
Roggi snickered. “Nah. I’m just the backup.”
Brynjolf pointed to Roggi’s dragonbone greatsword. “That blade says otherwise.”
“Well it has done some work, to be sure. I’m still concerned about something, though. Enough people in Windhelm know me that there’s a chance they’ll stop and ask how I’m doing. Oengul, the smith, for example.” He glanced sideways at Brynjolf. “And they’ll look at you.”
Brynjolf laughed. “And unless someone recognizes the armor, they’ll see an act put on by a con man. I’m good at a sell, Roggi. That’s why I was Second all those years. It was my job. That’s what I’m good at, not the leadership business.” He paused to think for a moment. “Hmm. I have an idea, something that we can use in case someone asks. Let me introduce myself.”
He grinned at Roggi, cleared his throat, and held out his hand as though he was doing just that.
“Name’s Brunulvr, laddie. Gud te meet ye.” He’d dropped into a thicker, darker, and deeper version of his own natural accents.
Roggi stopped walking and fell a few steps behind him. Brynjolf turned to look at him and grinned.
“What’s that face for?”
“I’m just surprised. You sounded completely different. Like…”
He chuckled. “Like my father. From Falskaar and you’d have known it if you spoke to him. Nobody in Windhelm would know the name. And I won’t forget the name I’ve picked if I use his.”
“You’ve never talked about family.” Roggi had started walking again, catching up to him quickly.
“No.” Brynjolf frowned. “And the less said about him the better, the bastard, but it’ll make for a good diversion.” They continued down the road toward Kynesgrove.
By the time Roggi unlocked the door to his house, Brynjolf was ready for a break. He took a seat at Roggi’s small table and watched silently as he built a fire and stood before it, warming his hands. There was something about him that told Brynjolf he wanted to talk. Here’s a man, he thought, who has at least as much going on inside as I do at the moment. It may not be quite as strange, but it’s just as deep.
He was about to say something about it when Roggi cleared his throat.
“Do you miss it, Bryn?”
He didn’t even bother to ask what “it” was.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” He stretched and yawned. “I couldn’t possibly describe why. It was a hunger. Not just a needing-to-eat hunger, but something else.”
“Mmm,” Roggi said. “I do too. Miss it, that is, the thing I did. It doesn’t make me proud to admit that I enjoy making people suffer. But it does make me proud to say how good I am at it, and there’s something wrong with that.”
“I know just what you mean, my friend, believe it or not. I’ve done a lot of thinking about it. It seems to me that if you’ve spent a lot of time being at the bottom of the heap, having some kind of power over other people is pretty…”
“Addictive.”
Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. Roggi was facing the fire, not looking at him, but everything about him was radiating tension.
“Aye. I wonder if I’ll be able to move past it. Maybe. Maybe we both will.”
“Dardeh has told me a bunch of things about how it was while he was out there, well, saving the world and all that,” Roggi said. He stopped for a moment and chuckled. “That still makes me laugh, to think that we can say that about him and not have it be ridiculous. Anyway, the leader of the Graybeards. Paarthurnax. He said a lot of things to Dar that have stuck with me, and one of them was this: ‘There are many hungers that are better not to feed.’ Dar says that a lot. Especially when he’s getting angry.”
Brynjolf nodded, slowly. “I hear the wisdom in that.”
That was something Andante – no, Vitus – would never even have understood. He wanted to feed every hunger there was.
Maybe that’s why he was so exciting to me.
“Well,” Roggi said quietly, “any time I think about Ulfric, or hear about him, or the war, or anything of the kind, that hunger comes back. Because he’s the one who taught me to do what I do.”
Brynjolf turned to look at him, and Roggi met his gaze unflinchingly.
“Really?”
“Well, not directly. He taught me many things. But he was the one who made it happen.” Roggi rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I don’t think it’ll ever pass. And here’s the worst of it. Dar hates him, you know that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Dar will take his side if it comes down to it, Bryn. He’ll join the Stormcloaks.”
“What?”
Roggi nodded. “Talos.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He’s always made that clear. So did my wife, Briinda, and you don’t even want to know about her little sister.” He sighed. “And all of the things that happened to him – on Solstheim, going to Sovngarde. He says he met Ysgramor, Bryn, can you imagine? I don’t know whether it really happened or it’s just in his mind but I don’t care. It’s all wrapped up with Talos for him and that means he hates the Empire. He hates the Thalmor. And it feeds his hunger, the one that would be better not to feed. Because he can kill a man with a word.”
Brynjolf hadn’t given much thought to the religious leanings of his extended family, because it wasn’t a subject he thought about much to begin with. “What about you? You were a Stormcloak once, you said. Why did you…?”
“Because I didn’t like the idea of people like Dar and Briinda being told who they could and couldn’t worship, Bryn. For me, it’s not the most important thing. I’ll go visit the Temple while we’re there. I always do. It’s what I was brought up to do. But I don’t know enough about things like that to know whether or not Tiber Septim turned into an actual god. It… doesn’t really matter to me. He was a great war hero and that’s good enough for me. What’s important is people being able to do what they want. I wanted us to be free. I don’t hate the elves, I just want them to keep their own religion to themselves and let the Nords do theirs. Does that make any sense?”
Brynjolf laughed, a dry, sarcastic sort of laugh.
“I’m not a religious man, Roggi. So yes. It makes sense to me.” He stretched out his shoulders.
“What about Nocturnal?”
He laughed again. “Nocturnal isn’t a god, she’s a Daedric Prince. You know that. And besides, it’s not religion. It’s business.”
Roggi nodded and sat down before the fire. “But you got married in the Temple.”
“So did you.”
“Yeah. I did. Twice, even. It just… it’s what people do, Bryn, that’s it. And if there is some good fortune that goes along with that, I figured I’d be happy to accept it. It certainly felt special.”
“Aye. And that’s exactly why I did it. I wanted to give that to her. I don’t know if Mara is real. But it’s a ceremony. A contract, almost. A deal, to stay together…”
He was struck with a sudden surge of emotion, and he had to clear his throat. “It just seemed important. At the time.”
Roggi sighed loudly. “I’m sorry, Bryn. I know what it’s like. I felt that way the whole time I was married to Briinda. It was so special for her. It was for me, too, but here I was trying to hide this gods-awful thing that was going on with Ulfric.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Gods. I don’t know what I’m going to do if Dar decides he has to fight.”
An awful prospect dawned on Brynjolf, and it was his turn to rub his eyes against a headache that threatened from behind them.
“Damn.”
I don’t know what I’ll do, either. Because like it or not, Maven is with the Imperials and I’ll be damned if I let anything harm the Guild. Damn.
Out of nowhere, Roggi changed the subject.
“They were drunks, Bryn.”
“What? Who?”
“Sorry. We were talking about family, sort of. I come from a long line of them. My father, his father, our ancestor Lenne. All good men with one big weakness.” He looked at Brynjolf and grinned. “I thought maybe I could break the chain. We know how well that worked out.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Roggi. You’ve done pretty well.” He gave a half-hearted grin. “We really do have a lot in common. Mine were… mean. Physical. I thought I’d break the pattern too, and…” He shuddered. “Do you know, that’s one of the toughest things about finding out I have a son. What would I do? What do I do if I end up hitting him the way…”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear about that old story. I almost hurt Dag once. You’ve seen me kill people. I’m a thief and it was a near miracle that I’m not just a common murderer too like some of the bandits.”
Roggi frowned, and Brynjolf could see the muscles in his jaw working.
“So what am I supposed to do about that? I didn’t even know I had a son and he’s already walking and talking and has his own personality. I don’t know how he’s been raised so far. Except that I know where, and that’s not a good thing.”
“Well, as it happens, Dar and I have talked about that. We’d be more than happy to take him on if you don’t think you can. I…” He paused to make sure he had Brynjolf’s full attention. “I don’t want him growing up next to a torture chamber, Bryn. Everything bad about me? Everything bad about you? Those things are what he would get from that. Don’t let that happen.”
He’s right.
And that means we have to deal with Sayma. Again.
A feeling washed over him that was part regret and part anticipation.
I have a reason to see her again. I want to see her again. I don’t know what to make of that.
“I can’t decide about that right now, Roggi, but I know you’re right about Dawnstar.”
Roggi nodded. “Well at least come back with me after we’re done with Windhelm. See the boy. He’s really something. Funny, and smart, even if he sounds like a toddler. I love him and he isn’t even mine.” He smiled at Brynjolf. “It would be a strange thing for the boy, being brought up by a bunch of half-broken men but at least… at least we all know what’s right and what’s not. And we’re trying.”
There was a long, peaceful pause in the room as a slow smile crossed Brynjolf’s face.
I’m lucky. I’m lucky to have this man as part of my family.
Then he thought about Ulfric Stormcloak.
I hope I can keep him.
___
It was late when they arrived at the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm. Rather than approach it head-on, they made their way through the marketplace. As Roggi had suggested might happen, Oengul recognized him and greeted him warmly; Brynjolf introduced himself as Brunulvr, and Oengul seemed pleased to meet him.
When they passed Niranye’s general goods store, Brynjolf noticed her staring at him.
So she recognizes the armor, and now she knows what I look like. Well, now we get to find out how well we can count on her discretion.
He met her gaze and nodded. She nodded back, slowly; and it seemed to him that she swallowed hard. He continued past her stall and grinned.
Something changed me when I was a vampire, and that part of it I haven’t lost, it seems. It’s uncommonly fun to intimidate people just by looking at them.
He took stock of the goods and wares on display in the market. They were poor, of second-rate materials. As he and Roggi rounded the corner and approached the Temple of Talos he saw the poor repair of the streets, and the threadbare condition of the peoples’ clothing. Even the beautiful Temple, once they got inside, was much shabbier than it had been the one previous time he’d seen it, as an earnest young thief looking to see what he could take away from it.
Windhelm’s hurting. The war is hurting it.
He waited quietly at the back of the temple while Roggi spent a few moments kneeling quietly before the Shrine of Talos. I suppose, he thought, a person can do worse than to hedge his bets if he isn’t sure whether a god is really a god. Some people might look poorly on such a thing but I understand. Roggi’s being respectful and there’s something to be said for that.
I suppose I could go touch the shrine, too. I’m a Nord after all. But I’m not a hypocrite, and I would be if I were to do such a thing. At least that’s one decent thing I can say about myself.
They left after a few minutes and approached the Palace.
“Grab me if I start shaking out of my boots, Bryn,” Roggi joked.
“You won’t. Just remember to keep your eyes open and walk with the shadows.”
Roggi grinned at him. “Are you praying over me, Brynjolf?”
“In a manner of speaking. As you keep reminding me, we’re family.”
They pushed the door open as quietly as they could and slipped inside. Brynjolf recognized the deep voice coming from the front of the room instantly; the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak and would-be High King of Skyrim sat uneasily on his throne. His gravelly-voiced right hand man, Galmar, stood before him and while his words weren’t clear, his tone was: he was arguing with Ulfric, urging him to do something. There was a slightly smaller figure standing there as well; a woman, judging by the long curling tail of hair falling from atop her head. She wasn’t speaking, but nodded vigorously every so often as Galmar made a point.
Roggi went right and flattened himself against the wall, slinking forward in the deepest shadows he could find. Brynjolf followed suit. He also scanned the room and saw that, while there was a façade of wealth in this space it was just that, a façade. Riften was poorer to the casual eye, its buildings old and made of wood; but Brynjolf knew very well the size of the coin purses between its walls and there was no question in his mind. Windhelm was hurting, and so was its Jarl.
He moved up close behind Roggi and strained to hear what was being said. It was important to Dardeh to find out what Ulfric was planning. And it’s important to Roggi to see Ulfric and remember that he’s a much stronger man than he used to be.
Finally, they were close enough to the throne to hear Ulfric clearly. He turned to the blonde woman and spoke to her.
“Imperial spies are everywhere. Never forget that. Now then.” He paused, and it seemed to Brynjolf that, just for a moment, Ulfric’s gaze was almost hungry as he looked at her. “I’m glad you’re here. I have a message I need delivered to the Jarl of Whiterun. Deliver this axe to Balgruuf the Greater.”
“An axe, my Jarl?” the woman asked in a light, musical voice.
Brynjolf saw Roggi tensing, just in front of him, and fought the urge to move, to touch him in reassurance. Obviously they both had realized what Ulfric’s war axe was meant to convey: an ultimatum. Ulfric was saying “you’re with me, or you’re against me. Make your choice.”
“Yes, an axe,” Ulfric said, sounding annoyed. “How long have you been in Skyrim? Give. The man. My axe. If he keeps it, I will bide my time. If he returns it to you,” he paused and exchanged a glance with Galmar, “it means war.”
“Should I say anything to him? Have you any special message for the Jarl of Whiterun?”
Ulfric looked at her and smiled. “Men who understand each other often have no need for words. There are but a few simple truths behind one warrior giving another his axe. Balgruuf will know my meaning.”
The woman nodded, and took Ulfric’s axe, almost reverently it seemed to Brynjolf. And Roggi reached backward and waved toward the door. He was silent, but his message was clear: “Go! Go!”
They slipped back to, and out, the door as fast as they could. Once they were outside, Roggi turned to him and grabbed him by the arms.
“This is bad, Bryn. This is very bad.”
“Yes, I know it is. We’ll have to get to Dardeh right away.” And I will have to warn Maven, but I can’t tell you that.
“Yes, but it’s not just that, Bryn. I have to tell you…”
They heard the creaking of the door behind them. Roggi pointed to the far corner of the stairway and hissed “Get out of sight! Just for a moment! Do it!” He ran to the corner beside the nearer door and found the deepest shadow.
Brynjolf had no idea what any of it meant, but he was willing to humor Roggi; so he followed suit and found a dark spot on the opposite side of the doors. He didn’t have time to hide, but he did know how to look like a person who just happened to be in the area and did that. Behind them the doors opened, and the blonde woman who had been speaking with Ulfric Stormcloak stepped out, smiling.
She was beautiful. In the dark he couldn’t tell how old she was, but guessed that she was perhaps Dardeh’s age, Sayma’s age, some ten years younger than Roggi. She was a lovely woman, with hair of an even paler blonde than Roggi’s. Dressed in sturdy but unpretentious leather armor she nevertheless carried herself with a fierce confidence that Brynjolf recognized immediately. She carried Ulfric’s axe proudly, but on her own hip she carried a Nordic pick, a brutal-looking weapon with sharp spikes attached to a mace-like handle.
This one is a fighter. If she is any good with that pick, I’ll be staying out of her way. Ulfric has chosen himself a fierce ally, unless I miss my guess.
She walked past Roggi without noticing him. But Brynjolf heard Roggi’s sharp intake of breath.
What is going on here?
Roggi cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, but…”
The woman turned back toward him as he stepped out of the shadows. Brynjolf took several steps forward, to be closer in case he was needed.
“Oh.” Roggi’s voice was thick with some emotion Brynjolf couldn’t quite place.
The woman stared at him for several long moments, her expression changing from confusion, to disbelief, and finally to joy. Roggi, on the other hand, seemed wrapped in deep sorrow.
“Roggi!” she shrieked, and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. “Roggi! By Talos it is so good to see you! It’s been so long! What are you doing here? Are you come to rejoin the Stormcloaks? Will you come fight with me?”
Roggi gave the woman a hug, and then took her by the shoulders and pushed her gently away from him.
“Hush. Hush now. No, I’m not here to rejoin. Jarl Ulfric and I did not part on the best of terms. You mustn’t tell him that I’ve been here. I…” he paused and looked her over, and it seemed to Brynjolf that he wore an expression of exquisite pain. “I’m happy to see you again. But you have to understand that things are very different now.”
“Yes, yes, I know!” the woman said, clearly excited. “You’re older, I’m grown up, and…” she suddenly realized that Brynjolf was standing to her side, watching them carefully. “And who’s this?”
Roggi motioned him over, and Brynjolf approached. He held his hand out and, as they’d rehearsed, spoke quietly.
“Name’s Brunulvr, lass. Gud te meet ye.”
Roggi cleared his throat. As nervous as he’d seemed to be near Ulfric again, he seemed worse at this moment, and Brynjolf couldn’t imagine what the problem was.
“I’d like you to meet Frina. She’s … the sister of Briinda. My late wife.” He smiled, weakly. “She’s my former sister-in-law.”