It was a slow and very somber trip back down the road toward Windhelm.
Frina was stunned by how loud the conflict had been, how brutal it had been; and she hadn’t expected to be stunned. It wasn’t as if she was unaccustomed to fighting. She’d trained a long time to replace her sister, symbolically at least, in Ulfric’s army. Long after they had cleared Whiterun proper, though, her ears continued to ring and her mind struggled to make sense of everything. The battle for Whiterun was always going to be a series of disjointed images in her mind. Flaming projectiles taking out the roof of the stable. The beggar with golden eyes trying to escape the flames that were devouring his tunic. The trellis around the great tree groaning in agony as it slumped over to one side, half destroyed by the violence around it.
Roggi cleaving an Imperial soldier in half.
That one was going to bother her for a long time, she was certain. She’d always known Roggi as a soldier; he had been one of the reasons she’d wanted to be one herself. There was something, though, about having seen him kill the man so efficiently, especially after hearing him snarl at her and seeing the ferocious look on his face after the assassin’s attack the previous day.
I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. That’s become really clear.
And then there was the other thing. The thing that had taken her legs out from under her.
She didn’t speak of it, herself. Roggi was the one who brought it up as they set up camp halfway back to Windhelm.
“Dar,” he said quietly, feeding sticks into the beginnings of the fire. The air was still enough that the smoke hovered near them, and the smell of it reminded Frina once more of the smoldering city they’d left behind them.
“Yes?” Dardeh was hunched up with his arms resting on his knees, staring almost sullenly at the fire pit and not looking at either of them. He hadn’t said much of anything as they’d walked. None of them had, but Dardeh had been the one over whom a dark cloud seemed to hover.
“What happened, back there?”
“What do you mean? Which thing?”
Roggi paused for a moment and cleared his throat. “The guards,” he said quietly.
Dardeh sighed, and looked at him. He glanced at Frina, too, and shook his head almost apologetically, she thought.
“That,” he said, “was what happened to me in Apocrypha, Roggi. One of the things that happened. You wondered why I came out of there with my hair eight inches longer, looking like a guy who didn’t care anymore? Well, I found out that I really could do that thing everyone accuses Ulfric of doing. I read one of Hermaeus Mora’s Black Books and now, when I use that Shout, I can kill people. That’s one of the reasons he thinks he controls me now. Maybe he does.”
His face was a picture of misery. His eyes were unfocused, Frina thought, as though he was seeing those three piles of ash on the floor in front of him again.
“I didn’t want to do it, Roggi. I didn’t intend to kill them. I just wanted them to back off so that we could talk to Balgruuf.” He looked away from them and shook his head. “Or maybe I did want to kill them and I didn’t even know it. Stranger things have happened. Usually they’ve involved flames.”
Roggi’s eyebrows furrowed but aside from that he didn’t react. He just kept feeding the fire.
“I can’t imagine you intended to kill them, Dar. Not unless they were hurting one of us. But in that situation, well, we were there as soldiers after all. It was our job to take care of them one way or another.”
Dardeh’s head dropped forward so that he was staring at the ground between his knees. When he spoke again Frina had to strain to catch his words.
“I’ve been trying to stop this war ever since I came back from searching for Dag. Since the day Alduin appeared, the day I met Ulfric for the first time. So long. And it just keeps circling around and starting up again.”
Frina glanced at Roggi just then and was taken aback at the expression of pure anger that passed across his face for just a moment. His eyes flared and his mouth sneered; his brows nearly met for the depth of his frown. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the look left him; he took a deep breath and spoke very quietly.
“Dardeh. I’ve been involved with this war one way or another for a dozen years. I never thought I’d be back in the middle of it again. And think of Ulfric. He and Galmar have been at this for twenty years. Longer than that, if you consider the time Ulfric was in the Imperial Legion while his father was Jarl. All of us have seen more death than anyone should ever have to witness. Every time we think it’s done it flares up again.” He opened his mouth as if to say more and then snapped it shut again and shook his head.
Dardeh looked at Roggi, sadly.
“I’m sorry, love. I should remember those things. It isn’t all about me.” A moment passed. Then his voice became hard again. “Except that it is. You weren’t there when Alduin snatched the souls of dead soldiers right out from under my nose while I was trying to save them. You didn’t hear Ysgramor himself speak of not wanting to leave the Hall because of that dragon. I wanted this to end, Roggi, when we arranged that damned truce.”
The muscles in Roggi’s jaw were working again, Frina noticed, before he finally answered. He’s angry. They’re both angry. Dardeh’s saying things I don’t understand at all, but Roggi understands them and he’s angry about them.
“I know that’s the case, Dar, but nobody else does. You can’t expect them to. And even if you were to tell them, people won’t believe you. Most of them never saw Alduin. Almost none of them have ever been to High Hrothgar. You and I were part of something very, very important; but the rest of the people in the world don’t know that and they don’t care about that. They are important too and they have their own views on life. To them, this war is about them.”
He nodded at Frina.
“Frina has her reasons for fighting. I expect they’re a lot like her sister’s reasons were. They’re a bit like my reasons were. Right now, I’m back in the war because you wanted to be in it, Dar; but I was a Stormcloak long before you were.” He ignored the fact that Dardeh was glaring at him as he laid several larger branches on top of the fire.
“What I’m trying to say is that this thing is a vicious cycle that has been going on for many more years than you’ve been involved in it. I love you, Dar, and I think you have the best chance of anyone alive of breaking the cycle. But you can’t underestimate the contributions of all the other people who have been involved. Some of us paid very heavy prices. I did. Ulfric did. Briinda did. And so did those soldiers whose souls Alduin grabbed away from you.”
He reached out and grabbed one of Dardeh’s hands, and squeezed it gently.
“Understand?” he asked quietly.
Frina watched the two men gaze at each other for several long, tense moments before, finally, Dardeh’s shoulders dropped. He nodded.
“Yes, I do. Nobody else will ever know how very strange my time in Apocrypha and in Sovngarde was. That’s a good thing.” Then his voice started to shake, and his next words were not much more than a whisper. “But it frightens me to know that I can kill men with my Voice, Roggi. I want to be just a miner again.”
Roggi looked at him for a long moment, with an expression of regret and resignation. Then he scooted closer to Dardeh and put an arm around his shoulders.
“I know, Dar. So do I.”
Frina watched them, and chewed on the inside of her mouth. She still felt her skin crawl whenever she thought about the two of them being married, or remembered hearing them speaking of love to each other; but it was clear that they did love each other. It was more obvious than the Throat of the World looming over them. They were sharing something she had no way to understand.
Roggi’s still a very caring man, isn’t he, even if it’s not my sister he cares for. He’s the one who is keeping them both whole right now.
And Dardeh saved his life, by jumping between him and Balgruuf’s sword. That was a very brave thing that he did.
He looked so sad when Balgruuf turned away from him. I do believe he cared about the Jarl. He’s not a demon after all. He’s just a very powerful man, and he’s almost afraid of his own power.
The three of them prepared a modest meal and ate it, largely in silence. Frina watched them, saw how their body language changed as they relaxed, and marveled over how gentle Roggi was with this large man who wielded power unlike anything she’d ever seen. She thought about everything they’d said. There was one thing that kept going through her mind, poking at her, until at last she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Roggi, can I ask you something?” she finally said.
He smiled at her. “Of course.”
“What did you mean when you said Ulfric had paid a price?”
Roggi’s smile faded. “Well it’s pretty tough being in a war for more than twenty years; don’t you think that’s plenty?”
“It is, but that’s not what you meant, and don’t try to tell me it is.”
Roggi stared at her, looking uncooperative. She stared back, unflinching. I’m not going to back down, and if he remembers who I am at all he’ll know that. She saw the moment when his eyes changed, when he realized he couldn’t win; and she watched him shrug.
“You know the Thalmor took him captive a long time ago, right?”
“Yes. During the Great War.”
“Well, they tortured him. It was pretty bad. He’s told me about it, before,” he said, his eyes shifting away from her and back to Dardeh, who had clearly taken a fresh interest in the conversation.
“Physical torture?”
“Um… yes. The rack, beatings. Blades. The usual. Bad enough that he told them things. They all do, sooner or later, if the pain is bad enough. Even Ulfric. But it wasn’t just that. The Thalmor also lied to him. Told him that what he had given them was the reason the Imperial City fell to the Aldmeri Dominion.” He frowned. “It wasn’t. What he told them didn’t even matter. The city fell before Ulfric cracked.” He stretched his shoulders. “I don’t believe he’s ever really gotten over that. It’s a pretty high price to pay, for anyone, don’t you think, to believe everything is your fault?”
Frina shuddered. She couldn’t think of anything but the sad, sad eyes she’d seen looking back at her from the man about to declare war yet again. No wonder, she thought. No wonder he hesitated to start the battle for Whiterun. No wonder he was so passionate about the lives that had been lost before. He didn’t want anyone else to go through what he’d gone through.
I want to… give him a hug.
Frina flushed. Because she wanted to do more than that, no matter how hard she tried to think about something else. She tried to distract herself.
“Yes, I do. That’s just awful. You…” she began, her sentence dribbling off into nothing as she struggled with what she wanted to ask.
“I what?”
“You know him a lot better than I thought you did.”
Roggi and Dardeh shared a look that Frina did not understand. To her complete astonishment, one corner of Roggi’s mouth rose into a hint of a smirk.
“Yes. I know Ulfric a lot better than most people think. I know him very well.”
Frina was confused. She was confused by the look on Roggi’s face, the grin he shared with Dardeh. She was confused when Dardeh chuckled and poked him in the arm.
“I thought you didn’t care for him, Roggi,” Dardeh rumbled.
“I don’t,” Roggi said. “Not in the least. But that doesn’t stop me from being sorry that the man was tortured, especially under the circumstances. Don’t you agree?”
Dardeh’s face darkened again, for a moment. Then he nodded.
“You’re a better man than I am, Roggi.”
“That remains to be seen, Dar.”
Frina went to sleep that night in one of the strangest states of mind she could ever remember. Between flinching from the memory of exploding missiles around her, jumping at every sound, and wondering what Roggi and Dardeh had meant she took a very long time to relax. And she kept wanting to give Ulfric a hug. She didn’t know exactly what happened to people when they were tortured, but the way Roggi had spoken of it being bad, she was sure she never wanted to find out.
—
Ulfric was happy to hear their report, the following day. Dardeh gave him a quick rundown of what had happened, with Roggi filling in a few details. Frina stood quietly to the side and said very little, at first.
“And what is your take on this, soldier?” Ulfric asked her, turning his piercing gaze to her.
“It’s as they’ve told you, my lord,” she said. “Jarl Balgruuf surrendered, after a short fight, and is likely on his way to Solitude even now. Galmar and Vignar Gray-Mane were securing the city as we left. It will take some time to repair the damage and bury the dead, but I think the worst of it is over.”
He nodded slowly. “We’ve driven the Imperials out of Whiterun. This is good. Very good. We now control the center. It’s a powerful position, one I aim to keep.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “And we needed a powerful position, since the Dragonborn here gave away our control of the Rift.”
Dardeh sighed. Roggi snorted.
“Now wait just a minute, Ulfric,” he spat. “You wouldn’t have the center if not for Dardeh. He rallied the troops so that we could get to the keep. He was the one who managed to subdue Balgruuf. We wouldn’t be standing here giving you good news if not for him.”
Ulfric turned a cool stare to Roggi. “Is that so. And I suppose you were instrumental in the battle yourself.”
“He was, my lord,” Frina interjected. “I watched him clear a path through to the gates. And he was first to reach Balgruuf. That almost cost him his life. But Dardeh stepped in between and took the blow himself.”
Dardeh ran his hand up over his braids. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t about to let Balgruuf kill Roggi. There’s a nice deep dent in the back of this armor that needs fixing now because of that.” He took a step closer to Ulfric. “Everyone did their part, Ulfric. Especially Frina. I would not have been able to lower the drawbridge if she hadn’t cleared the way for me. She ran ahead once we got into the city and took out all the barricades they had in our way. It was really something.”
“And Galmar and Ralof were like madmen,” Roggi added. “All the troops were, really. It was impressive.”
Frina watched them interacting, and was both confused and amazed. The mutual dislike among them was so thick she could nearly taste it; and yet each of them admired the others’ strengths. That was clear, as well. She didn’t understand what had happened among these three powerful men in the past but the fact that they were all focused on a common goal made them a force to be reckoned with here and now.
I’m really out of my depth, aren’t I? Well, I suppose that’s a good thing to know. Maybe it’ll keep me alive.
“Very good,” Ulfric said. “Take a few hours, Dragonborn, and repair your gear. Then head out to our camp in Falkreath Hold. Galmar will have gone there after securing Whiterun.”
Dardeh nodded, turned on his heel, and left the keep. He was almost to the door when Ulfric turned to Roggi.
“Roggi, I have a special task for you. It’s waiting in the usual place. The guard will fill you in. Let’s see whether you’re still as good as I remember.”
Frina watched in confusion as Roggi’s face changed. His eyes narrowed and took on a cold look the likes of which she’d never seen, an even more frightening aura than he’d had after the assassin’s attack. He looked eager, almost hungry, it seemed to her, and it made a shudder run down her spine.
“That I am, Ulfric,” he said. “I’ll take care of it right away. But remember. When Dardeh leaves Windhelm, so do I. Don’t forget about that. It’s important for all our sakes that I be with him.”
He turned and walked toward the front of the great hall, heading to a door in the side and disappearing into it as Frina watched in confusion. She couldn’t seem to make sense of everything she had heard and stared blankly, not quite able to focus.
“And what do you suppose he meant by that, Frina?” Ulfric’s deep voice startled her out of her daze and had her whipping around to look at him again.
“I… I’m not sure, my Jarl,” she stammered. “Unless, well…”
“What is it?” His voice lowered, and was softer.
“He – Dardeh. He killed three of the guards in Dragonsreach with a Shout.” She watched in amazement as Ulfric’s eyes widened and his brows rose, if only for a split second. “They ended up piles of ash on the floor. I’m not certain we would all have survived the keep if not for that and…” She stopped again, surprised, as her mind reached a conclusion it had been churning toward for the past day.
“And?”
“I’m not convinced that he can control it, sir. He was very upset, afterward. Very distressed. I’m not sure he would be settled even now if Roggi hadn’t been there.”
Ulfric ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath, then blew it out. He started speaking, quietly and quickly. He addressed Frina, but it almost seemed to her as though he was speaking to himself. His eyes stared blankly into the middle distance, not focusing on her or anything else.
“This is indeed important information. I’m often accused of killing High King Torygg with my Voice but I assure you that it was my sword that delivered the killing blow. I was not aware that such a thing could actually happen. I always assumed it was simple hyperbole, like so many of the other legends. That makes Dardeh a very dangerous man.” He shook his head. “I should have known that already, without needing further evidence. He tossed me head over heels into the map room with his Voice. He is much stronger than any of us gave him credit for.”
There was a long pause. His eyes wandered back and forth across the space before him. Frina could almost hear his mind working, weighing this new information against a million other details he needed to keep straight and work out. She struggled, herself, to grapple with the idea that Dardeh had thrown Ulfric aside with a Shout. That certainly would explain some of the tension between them. But why he would have done such a thing – that part escaped her entirely.
Finally, Ulfric shook his head and brought his focus back to her.
“Well. I thank you for bringing this information to my attention. And for everything you did in Whiterun. We shall call you… Ice-Veins now, I think. For the thick blood of our land has seeped into your heart.”
He reached down beside his throne and pulled up a sword, which he handed to her. It was of elven make, which made her lips curl back in distaste; but it radiated cold, and magic.
“Here,” Ulfric said. “Take this.”
She looked at it, and back up to him. “You’re giving me a gift?”
He smirked. “It’s an Imperial officer’s sword. A fitting weapon to use against our enemies, don’t you think?”
Frina nodded, not daring to say how much she loathed having anything elven near her but overwhelmed that she had just received a gift from Ulfric Stormcloak. I can disenchant this, though. I can keep the materials, or sell them, and use what I learn from it to my advantage, maybe on my war pick.
“Thank you, my lord,” she finally managed. “What is our next move?”
Ulfric smiled at her, and her stomach started dancing with butterflies.
I wish he wouldn’t do that. It makes me have thoughts that no soldier should be having.
“I suspect you will be of greater use to me with greater freedom, so you are free to engage the Imperials as you see fit. But I also want you to go to our base in Falkreath. Accompany Roggi and the Dragonborn, and keep your eyes on what they do. Galmar will have need of you, and may give you special tasks. Cause as much mayhem as possible for the Empire and any Jarl that supports them.”
“Yes, my lord,” Frina said. She couldn’t help but grin. “It will be my pleasure.”
“I can see that it will be,” Ulfric answered, grinning back at her with his eyes twinkling. “It’s a shame that I must be here to supervise the whole war. You make me want to join the fight myself. Talos guide you.”
She had no choice but to smile. We understand each other, I think. He’s enjoying taking the battle to the Imperials as much as I am, everything else be damned. What I wouldn’t give to see him fight.
She stood there, just smiling at him, for what felt like a very long time but probably was only a moment or two. While she might have expected him to dismiss her he didn’t. Instead, he smiled back, his eyes warm and twinkling.
It’s the excitement of the war, surely. Nothing more than that.
She felt herself blushing yet again and turned to rush for the door, to the sound of Ulfric’s chuckle behind her. Time to get this sword taken care of, she thought. I’ll head to the forge. Maybe that’ll distract me.
—
A tall figure in a black, hooded robe strolled casually down the main road through Solitude. Even though the night was very dark he kept to the deeper shadows hugging the city’s buildings. Once or twice he passed near the other night-owls walking the streets, and he nodded to them but did not speak. He walked up the long ramp toward Castle Dour and headed through its courtyard toward the Temple of the Divines, looking very much like just another of the many priests who wandered about the area at all hours aside from the color of his robes. He didn’t go into the Temple, though; instead, he veered right and exited the castle’s courtyard heading down the hill toward, one might have presumed, the Bard’s College or perhaps the Blue Palace itself.
Not far past the foot of the hill the man stopped, looked around, and dropped into a crouch. He slipped into a darkened garden area off the street and waited, silently, for the nearest city guards to clear the area. Then he crept back out onto the street and up a half flight of stairs to the landing between two of Solitude’s most substantial homes. He approached the door of the home nearer the Bard’s College and began working at the locked door. It took only a few moments before he turned the door handle and slipped inside.
He wasted no time on the main floor, instead creeping up the stairs to the second. In this area, near an enchantment station, was a collection of powerful weapons of all make: bows, staves, swords and axes. Some were Daedric, some Elven, many more of simple ebony design; but all were enchanted, filling the room with energy. The man brought several large sacks out from his pack and began carefully taking the weapons down from their displays and stowing them. He did the same with the armor on the home’s mannequins, then opened each of the display cases and took the various gleaming daggers they held. As each of the large bags was filled he took them down two levels, along a corridor that passed near the home’s bath and smithing areas, and out into the darkened garden, placing them in the deepest shadows he could find.
After the last of the large sacks was safely outside the man went back into the house. He stretched, and pushed the hood down off his head and the mask he had worn down and away from his face. He went back up to the top floor, grinning as he made certain that each and every display case was left wide open. He stopped for a moment in the bedchamber, checking in the cabinets before stepping into the study just beside it.
“Ah yes. Almost forgot these,” he whispered as he spied the four gleaming Paragon stones on the bookshelf. “Never did go back for the rest of them, did we, lad? Ah well. I’ll hang onto these for safekeeping, just the same.”
Next to them was a mask humming with energy. He scooped all five items into his backpack and sighed.
He adjusted the mask back over his face, pulled the hood up over his hair, and made his way carefully down to the lowest level and out the door. There were two men waiting in the garden, one in black leather and the other in brown. He picked up one of the heavy bags and both of them took one in each hand.
The three men watched for the guards patrolling the streets and left, one at a time, each by a separate route. The man in the black robes walked calmly back up the hill toward Castle Dour. As he passed through the gate he chuckled.
“Enjoy Proudspire, Lord Wickham.”