Frina made her way to the marketplace and found the enchanting table tucked against a wall behind the vendors’ stands. As she placed the sword Ulfric had given her on it she hesitated. Did she really want to destroy the thing? It had been a gift, after all, and from… him. She stared at it, chewing the inside of her lip, listening to the chatter about fresh fruits and vegetables and hearing the clang of hammer on metal. It was primarily moonstone, this sword, in the distinctive elven style; and in the end that was what made up her mind.
I’ll carry no tools of the filthy Thalmor on my person, no matter how Ulfric came by them. I will, however, learn this enchantment.
She mustered what small magical ability she had and studied the thing intently as it dissolved before her, noting the intricate pattern of energies. Eventually she would be able to add this ability to her own weapon. She nodded to herself; there was nothing quite like cold to slow an enemy down, whether it be magical cold or a robust Skyrim blizzard.
“Oengul, got any ebony for sale today?”
She turned in the direction of the distinctive, deep rumble and saw Dardeh hand the blacksmith some gold in exchange for a gleaming black ingot.
“Thanks. I just don’t think this cuirass will be solid enough anymore without adding material to it.”
The old blacksmith peered at the work Dardeh had done on the armor thus far and nodded.
“You’ve got a good eye, lad. See how thin that is there? That’s going to be brittle if it’s just hammered out flat. Add the ingot to it and it’ll be right as rain.” He chuckled. “You, eh, took quite the beating from the looks of it. Good thing it was solid.”
Dardeh ran his hand up over his braids and chuckled. “Well, I had to get between Roggi and a really angry Jarl. You know what? Those Jarls don’t just sit around on their thrones all the time no matter what it looks like, that’s what I’d say. He laid me right out flat.”
Oengul chuckled and turned back toward his forge. “Old Balgruuf may not be thinking straight about the Empire but he comes from good stock. Well it’s a good thing you did, then. We don’t need to be losing men like Roggi.” He inclined his head toward the armor once more. “Let me know if you need it hammered. I’d be happy to do it.”
“Thanks,” Dardeh said; but he was already at work heating the materials and working them together by the time Frina approached and asked Oengul for permission to use his grindstone. She’d put some significant nicks in her weapons chopping through barricades – and soldiers – and she wanted to smooth the edges out and sharpen them up before they all went south into battle again.
“So you’re a smith, too?” Dardeh asked her, grinning, without missing a beat as he hammered.
Frina couldn’t help but chuckle. When he was relaxed, not in a life-or-death situation, Dardeh had a friendly, pleasant manner about him. Standing in the bright sun, the most noticeable things about him were his very blonde hair and beard rather than his dark skin. His eyes – one gold, one green – crinkled at the corners and glimmered with good humor. She could almost see why Roggi was drawn to him.
“Yes, my sister and I were both taught once we were old enough. I’m not an expert by any stretch, but I’m good enough to keep my weapons in decent repair.” She worked the foot pedal for a few minutes, her eyes on the pick’s spiked edges, the rhythm of it letting her mind wander until something she was dying to ask bubbled to the surface. She waited until she heard Dardeh grunt and stop hammering for a moment, then turned to him just as he wiped an arm across his brow.
“Can I ask you something, Dardeh?”
He nodded before he spoke. “Fire away.”
“Well I was wondering. When I was in Solitude, I overheard some things, particularly things about Jarl Ulfric and High King Torygg.”
“Yeah?” He crossed his arms and leaned toward her.
“Yes. Everyone who talks about it – about what happened – says things like Torygg was ‘shouted apart,’ or that he ‘ceased to be.’ But Ulfric – Jarl Ulfric, I mean,” she added quickly, feeling herself blushing, “told me that he killed Torygg with his sword. And I just wondered… because of what you did…”
The sunny look on Dardeh’s face vanished. He leaned closer and gave her a harsh whisper, his face knotted up into an intense frown. “Don’t talk about that in public. It’s not safe. Understand?”
Frina shrank back from the nearness of him. She gulped, and nodded. “Right. Sorry. But, um, what do you think?”
He relaxed a bit and turned back to his cuirass, holding it up at different angles to check its surface in different lighting. Then he started hammering on it again, and Frina resumed pumping the grindstone’s foot pedal.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to come across so heavy-handed. It’s just not a thing I like to think about and I don’t want to frighten everyone,” he murmured. “But in answer to your question, no. He couldn’t have done to Torygg what I did to those guards. I don’t even know how I did it, to be honest, and the only other person besides me who might have had that particular ability is dead now.” He took a particularly fierce swing at the metal and missed, his hammer glancing off it with a clang and jumping out of his hand to skitter across the stones. He laughed at the stunned look on Oengul’s face from beside the forge.
“It has a mind of its own,” he called out, getting a chuckle from Oengul. Then he bent over, frowning, and retrieved the hammer. Once he had a rhythm going once more he spoke again.
“Ulfric is a powerful warrior, according to Roggi. I’ve heard him Shout once; he’s strong, but not strong enough to destroy a man. It seems to me that tales grow bigger with each telling, and it’s quite possible that he’s let that one grow on its own. It would be to his advantage to let it do so. If I were going to bet on it, though, I’d bet that he told you the truth of the matter, Frina.”
Frina nodded, and swapped out her war pick for the steel axe she’d been carrying in her left hand. It was in reasonable condition, but she did want to put a fresh edge on its blade.
Once more the rhythm of the work let her mind wander. Somehow it was comforting to think that Ulfric might have been completely honest with her on this matter. She didn’t like thinking of him as a cold-blooded murderer. It was bad enough that Dardeh could do it.
But I was right. He doesn’t even know how it happened. That’s terrifying.
“He likes you, I think.” Dardeh’s voice made her jump.
“He? Who?”
“Ulfric. He smiled at you. Several times, even. He’s only ever sneered or growled at me,” Dardeh laughed. “Well, I suppose I haven’t exactly given him any reason to smile at me. He doesn’t like me much. But still.”
Frina blushed furiously. The heat in her face was so intense that she could feel it radiating away from her.
I wish I wasn’t so pale! I must look ridiculous with my face this red!
She turned her head and found Dardeh grinning at her as he put away the hammer and cleaned up the work bench.
“Does that bother you?” he said, his eyes dancing.
“You’re teasing me.”
He nodded vigorously. “I am indeed.” He chuckled. “One of the few advantages to being half Redguard is that people usually don’t notice it when I’m blushing. It’s a good thing, too. If Roggi had seen how red I was the day I met him he’d have run away screaming.”
Frina blushed again, but this time for a different reason. She still couldn’t get used to the idea of Roggi being with another man. For that matter, she couldn’t get used to the idea of any two men being together. It just wasn’t…
“Frina,” Dardeh said gently, kneeling down beside the grindstone so that their heads were level with each other, “listen. I know this whole thing makes you uncomfortable. It’s… really obvious that it does.”
She looked down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
He put a hand under her chin and tipped her face back up. She cringed at his touch, in spite of herself, but forced herself to meet his gaze. He shook his head.
“No, it’s ok. I’m used to it. I don’t like it, but I’m used to it. I’m more than thirty winters old and it’s always been like this for me. But I want to tell you something. The fact that Roggi and I are married doesn’t change what he felt for your sister. Not at all. He loved her first. He was married to her first. He’d be married to her still, if she was still here. I’m certain of it. I’m just really lucky that he had enough love left in his heart to share after what happened to them, because he’s the only one in the world for me. I’m willing to be second best because of that. So, I guess…” he frowned, and it seemed to Frina that he was searching for the right words. “I guess I don’t want you to be angry at me for taking her place. I didn’t. Nobody can ever replace your sister. Ok?”
Frina suddenly found herself unable to speak. Her throat tightened and her eyes unaccountably filled with unshed tears. She tried, several times, to get something out but couldn’t; so she resorted to a nod. To her astonishment, she saw that Dardeh’s eyes looked moist as well.
Maybe he really does understand. I miss her so much, even after all these years.
He really isn’t a demon, is he.
Of course he isn’t. How could Roggi love a man who was a demon?
He nodded back at her and slid into his armor. “Well,” he said, moving his arms about and twisting side to side to check its fit, “this is better. I feel a little less exposed. Speaking of Roggi, let’s go find him. It’s a long hike to the part of Falkreath Hold where they want us next.”
Frina walked quietly through the city, following the broad man who led the way. Her mind was running in a million directions at once. First she was sad, thinking about Briinda; then she was angry at herself for making Dardeh feel bad; then she was angry at him because he probably didn’t really feel bad at all. Then she thought about Ulfric again, and the fact that he had actually smiled at her, and not just with his mouth but with his eyes. They reached the Palace of the Kings; Dardeh pushed open the big doors and let her slip inside ahead of him.
She heard him take a deep breath, and turned to find him frowning in an almost anxious way. He inclined his head toward a doorway to their right and headed in that direction, just in front of her.
It seemed to Frina that there was an atmosphere of tension in the palace that grew as they neared the doorway of what became clear to her was the castle barracks. The guards looked at them, but said nothing, and few of them revealed their thoughts; their faces were set in stony, neutral masks. Some of them, though, mostly the ones who were closer to her own age, looked pale, subdued. She couldn’t imagine why the Jarl’s own city guard would be looking shaken here in their barracks.
Then, as they neared a door at the far end of the room, one that led to a descending staircase, she found out.
Or, rather, she imagined. She didn’t get to see what was happening, for two of the guards stepped in front of them to stop her and Dardeh from descending the last flight of stairs into what had to be the dungeon. She couldn’t see past Dardeh, anyway, particularly not in the black armor that blocked any light. But she didn’t need to see what was going on. There was a series of sounds unlike anything she’d ever heard before, all slightly muffled because they were coming from the floor beneath them but all vivid and impossible to ignore.
There was a meaty smack accompanied by a shriek – a cry of pure fear – followed by a moment of exquisite silence. Then there was a longer shout, this one a sound of disbelief and shock, and pain. And finally there was a long, blood-curdling scream of agony. It rose and intensified, paused for a breath and continued, in waves of horror and suffering.
Frina flinched, stopped moving, a shudder running up her back as the screaming continued, but Dardeh still moved forward, crowding toward the doorway. The young guards nearest the door looked at her, their eyes round, wincing with each undulation of sound from below, and shook their heads. The hair rose on her neck. She’d made men utter their pain before, herself, in Whiterun and elsewhere. She’d heard men dying in battles, and crying out in fear, but she’d never heard anything like this. And then came the worst sound of all.
It was not a terrible sound, not in and of itself. It was a familiar sound, a sound that, under normal circumstances, would have warmed her heart and made her smile. But these were not normal circumstances.
A man was laughing.
Frina took two steps forward to where Dardeh stood, blocking the doorway. He was making some half-hearted movements toward the stairwell but the guards on either side of him were shaking their heads, telling him no, the Inquisitor does not want to be disturbed, the Jarl gave specific orders. The laughing continued; and as if from a far distant shore a part of her mind told Frina that she knew that laugh. It was a familiar laugh, a laugh that she loved. She reached out, tentatively, and laid a hand on Dardeh’s arm. He turned to look at her, and that was the most shocking thing of all.
Dardeh, the Dragonborn, the man she’d seen battle his way through a city and Shout three guards to ash, was crying. He made no sound, but tears were streaming down his cheeks.
Frina turned and fled, back through the barracks and into the keep. She found an empty spot at the table and sat, shivering, waiting for something to happen.
The first thing to happen was that Dardeh joined her. He was walking very slowly, almost dazed. He slid onto the bench next to her and stared blankly at the table for a long time. Then he gasped, almost as though he’d just jerked awake from a bad dream, and scrubbed roughly at his eyes with the back of his hands.
He muttered something she didn’t understand, three times in quick succession.
“What, Dardeh?”
“Dahmaan hin hahnu,” he whispered for a fourth time.
“Is that…” What do they call Redguard language? “Yoku?”
“What?” Dardeh said, vaguely, as if he was speaking from a million leagues away. “No, no, it’s not Yoku. I only know one phrase in Yoku. ‘Uetonga do Ueetonga.’ It means ‘Son of my son.’ The other, it’s Dovahzuul, it’s…”
“…so tell the Jarl that it was a success and his suspicions were correct, yes? Uh, there’s a bit of a mess to clean up down there. Sorry about that. I’ll see you all again soon, I would expect.” The familiar voice floated out from the barracks room, followed by a warm chuckle. Dardeh’s head sagged down toward his chest, and as she looked at him Frina saw several more fat tears escape from eyes scrunched tightly shut, run down the sides of his nose, and drop onto the table.
“Very good, sir,” she heard one of the guards say. “Um, sir, there were some people looking for you? They’re over there at the table.”
Frina looked behind them just in time to see Roggi peel off a set of bloody gloves and drop them next to the door. He nodded at the guard and crossed the room toward them.
I can’t believe what I just heard. And what I just saw. How is this even possible?
“Dar? I didn’t think you’d be back quite so soon,” Roggi said as he approached, as calmly as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He reached out to lay a hand on Dardeh’s shoulder and Dardeh flinched, visibly, shaking the hand off.
“Obviously not,” Dardeh said, his voice very quiet and even and, Frina thought, utterly terrifying.
I’d rather he was shouting again.
“What is it?” Roggi looked puzzled. “Are you ready to leave for Falkreath?”
Dardeh still didn’t turn toward him, nor did he make eye contact.
“Roggi…” Frina said, hesitantly. “What … did we just hear?”
Roggi’s eyes got very wide for a moment, and he flushed. Then his eyes narrowed.
“Nothing that you need to be concerned about. I was just doing my job.” He moved around the end of the table so that Dardeh would have no alternative but to see him. “Dardeh?”
Dardeh raised his head and looked Roggi in the eyes. Frina didn’t think she’d ever seen a man look so sad; and after what he’d just told her earlier his expression hit her like a knife to the heart. She slid closer to him and quietly slipped her nearer arm up around his.
“I thought you were finished, Roggi,” he said very quietly. “When you gave Sayma the tools.”
Roggi frowned. “You weren’t supposed to hear all of that.”
“Clearly.” The sarcasm and anger came through clearly.
Roggi brought his hands up in a frustrated gesture.
“I can’t be done with it, Dar, not if we’re in this war. It’s what I do. It’s…” His jaw muscles clenched and released. “It’s…”
“Who you are,” Dardeh said after a moment, nodding. He sighed, a sound of resignation to Frina’s ear, and then reached out to take one of Roggi’s hands in his. There was a long pause while the two men had an entire conversation with their eyes, a conversation Frina didn’t understand and knew she never would. Finally, Dardeh nodded.
“I understand, Roggi. At least I think I do. But I still need you to hold me together. Can you do that, too?”
Roggi reached out to stroke Dardeh’s cheek with the back of his fingers, and Frina saw Dardeh flinch, much the same way she had flinched when Dardeh had touched her earlier. Roggi’s eyes changed for just a moment; he’d felt the flinch and it hurt him. But he nodded, and smiled sadly. “I think so, Dar,” he said. “I go where you go. Nothing has changed that.”
Dardeh looked up at him again. “But this has changed you.” It was part statement, part question, part a desperate plea.
Roggi shook his head sadly. He hesitated a long moment before speaking.
“No. No, it hasn’t changed me at all. This is who I’ve always been. You knew that, if you think about it. What has changed is that I have you. And I won’t lose myself again, because of that. That’s what I think.”
Then it seemed as though he finally realized that Frina was sitting there beside Dardeh.
“Frina.”
Frina tried to meet his eyes but simply couldn’t hold his gaze. Every time she looked at him she heard that bloodcurdling scream from the dungeon and wanted to run away. How can it be? How can this possibly be the man I’ve loved as my brother for so many years?
“I don’t think I know you any more, Roggi,” she whispered, staring at the table. It suddenly dawned on her that she was still clinging to Dardeh’s arm, and she slowly disengaged herself from him and folded both hands on the table in front of her.
“You never really did, Frina,” Roggi said, quietly. “I was very careful to be sure that you didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“They called you Inquisitor,” she mumbled. Well there’s a stupid thing to say, isn’t it. He’s quite aware of that.
“Well,” he said, shrugging. “It is my job title, more or less.”
He walked around the table and sat down on its far side, looking at them both.
“Listen, I know this was really hard for both of you. I’d have preferred you not to have heard what went on. But we have a job to do. You made your choice to join in this thing, Dardeh, and it would be beyond dishonorable if we broke our word.”
Dardeh sneered, his face wrapped in layers of emotion that Frina couldn’t even start to comprehend. “Even to Ulfric?”
Roggi simply nodded. His eyes were sad, but his expression remained calm. “Especially to Ulfric. Either we believe in what we told him or we’re no better than he was.”
Frina frowned. There are so many other things going on here that I don’t know about. And I don’t think I dare ask.
Dardeh shook his head. “I’m sorry, Roggi. That was uncalled for.”
“It’s fine. I deserved it. Now I think we should go.” He waved toward the doorway. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be called on to do such a thing again but for some reason it was important to him that I prove I still can.” He grinned, but it was a grin that made Frina’s skin crawl. “And of course I still can. But I’m a lot more useful to him fighting beside you, Dar. He just doesn’t know it yet.” He rose from the table and started for the door.
“Come on,” he called back to them. “I think we should take a cart and stop in at home for a couple of hours before we meet up with Galmar. A good night’s sleep would do us all some good.”
Dardeh pushed himself back from the table, slowly, and Frina followed suit. They’d almost made it to the door when Dardeh’s low rumble surprised her.
“Thanks,” he said, not looking at her.
“Thanks?”
“For holding onto me back there. I needed the support. Just… thanks a lot.”
Frina smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Dardeh. I guess I did, too. I have a lot of thinking to do.”
Dardeh nodded. “And Ulfric has a lot to answer for.”
I don’t know what he means by that. I may never know.
She turned to look back toward the throne, just in time to see the familiar figure in blue-draped armor emerge from the map room. He was deep in conversation with Captain Lonely-Gale, and she decided not to try to get his attention.
Maybe I don’t want to know.
Outside it had turned to that kind of cold that would freeze the moisture in a person’s nostrils. The scent of smoke from the city’s chimneys and from the warming fires hung heavy in the air in spite of the sharp clearness of the sky. Frina and Dardeh followed Roggi’s receding form out through the gates and toward the stables, each of them wrapped in their own thoughts, their footsteps crunching on snow that had gone to near ice in the space of a few hours. They were just about to descend the last approach to Windhelm’s long bridge when Dardeh suddenly spoke up.
“Remember your dream.”
“What?”
“Dahmaan hin hahnu. You asked me about it back there and I never answered your question. It means ‘Remember your dream’ in the dragon tongue.”
Roggi, still well ahead of them, turned and smiled, waving them toward the cart. The driver was already climbing up into the front. Dardeh sighed.
“Come on. We’d best hurry it up. He doesn’t look it but he’s not the most patient man in the world,” Dardeh said, picking up his pace.
Frina shuddered. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at that beautiful smile in the same way again.