“Roggi, no!”
Dardeh’s heart constricted with a familiar, sickening fear as the dragon he had just Shouted down thundered onto the snow-covered road and Roggi – as he always did – ran straight for its snapping jaws. I should be used to this, he thought, drawing his bow. It’s his way. It’s what he always does; he runs headlong into the danger and takes it out by brute strength and sheer force of personality. But the dragon, a magnificent creature of shimmering blues and purples, was angry at having been contained by a Shout and was snapping wildly at the much smaller adversary carving painful gashes through its face.
Dardeh peppered it with arrows, watching closely for signs that the Dragonrend effects were waning. Just as Roggi whirled in a complete circle and brought his greatsword across the creature’s neck with all of his considerable strength, Dardeh sank a final arrow into its head. It jerked back in its death throes and crashed to the ground again.
Dardeh heard a cry of pain and ran forward toward the dragon corpse. He couldn’t see his husband anywhere.
“Roggi? Roggi! Are you alright?”
As he neared the spot, the dragon began to smolder and smoke. Tendrils of flame appeared at the edges of its scales. Dardeh began to panic; there was nothing he could do to stop this process once it had begun, and he still didn’t see a Nord with a greatsword.
“Roggi!” No, no, Shor, you can’t have him yet! He’s mine, do you hear me?
Dardeh heard a muffled groan; then a familiar booted leg appeared just beneath the curve of the dragon’s shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Give me a second. Stupid thing landed on me.”
Dardeh’s legs nearly gave out from under him from relief. “Well move it; it’s starting to burn.”
Roggi, bent in half, scooted himself out from under the dragon’s neck and jumped clear of the flames. He immediately dug into his pack, pulled out a healing potion, and downed it.
“Damn, that hurt,” he grumbled. “I don’t know why they have to grow so big.”
Dardeh closed his eyes and spread his arms as the intoxicating process of absorbing the dragon’s power reached its height. “Yeah, well,” he said, fighting to focus on his conversation in spite of the overwhelming sensations coursing through him, “I’ve told you before. You get in too close. I don’t want to lose you, Roggi.”
“Bah,” he heard. “It’ll take a lot more than a lizard to kill me, Dar. I’m too stubborn. Besides, I have my own personal dragon to take care of me.”
The sound he always heard during these moments happened; a muffled boom that indicated the dragon’s power was now entirely his. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled at Roggi.
“You know, I really wish there was some way I could share this with you. It’s…”
Roggi strapped his greatsword across his back and tossed Dardeh a sideways grin. “Oh, you do, Dar. Let’s just say that I can always tell when you’ve just taken a dragon. Speaking of which, let’s get to Winterhold. I’m looking forward to a night at the inn.”
Dardeh found himself blushing furiously; he could feel the heat in his cheeks, heat that had nothing to do with the last moments of the dragon’s dissolution. “Roggi! Good grief!”
Roggi just grinned at him again and started down the road toward Winterhold, whistling as he went. Dardeh shook his head and laughed, then scurried to catch up to him.
___
Brynjolf and Agryn weren’t too far behind Edwyn, even having taken a few moments before leaving the castle. He could see the tiny speck of black moving eastward along the shoreline even as they made the crossing to the finger of land outside Northwatch Keep.
He had insisted that they make as little noise as possible and stay unseen, if they could. Agryn had confirmed to him that Edwyn’s immediate goal was to scuttle Ulfric’s bid to become High King; and now Brynjolf wanted to gather as much information as he could about that before taking care of Edwyn for good. It would do nobody any good if they killed Edwyn only to have Ulfric be surprised – and humiliated – at the Moot.
“He really made a stand-in just to get a child?” he asked Agryn as they crept along.
“More accurately, Tyna made Edwyn a stand-in,” Agryn said sourly. “Tyna and your face-changing friend down in the Ratway. You couldn’t possibly tell them apart. At least not until Geor Mandel speaks. He’s a Breton, like us, but he’s a very ordinary sort of person and his patterns of speech are very simple.”
“Unlike our friend Edwyn and his…”
“Overly pompous and wordy discourse?” Agryn chuckled. “Yes. I keep wondering about Geor, actually. Since Tyna and I abandoned Edwyn… Well, let’s just say that I’ve never been one to make thralls. I don’t truly know how it works if you’re not near them to exert influence.”
“Hmm.” Brynjolf’s mind was racing. “I certainly don’t know. But I’m curious. Are you really going to be able to do this with me? Kill him, I mean.”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’ve been with him a long time, lad,” Brynjolf said, casting a glance at the Breton. Agryn’s face was drawn into a tight, angry frown.
“And he tried to force himself on Tyna,” Agryn spat between clenched teeth. “I would kill anyone who tried to hurt her.” He looked at Brynjolf and shook his head. “I had started to doubt him some time ago, Brynjolf. He’s not the same man I have been friends with for all these years. But that was the end. You have to understand. She’s my most important thing.”
Brynjolf nodded. I looked up to Mercer Frey for so long. Considered him a friend and a mentor. And he was lying to me the whole time. He was the one who killed Gallus. The Guild was the most important thing to me then. I understand how Agryn must feel.
He realized that he’d not been paying attention to their whereabouts when Agryn suddenly stopped him with a hand on his arm and pointed. Not far ahead of them, a dark figure stepped out from a cave and scurried eastward.
“He must have ducked inside to heal up,” Agryn whispered. “He’s hurt, Brynjolf. Or ill. Something’s wrong with him. I’ve never seen him act the way he did when he came into the castle.”
“Well he didn’t get very much rest, if that’s why he went in there. He wasn’t that far ahead of us.”
“We can get him, right now,” Agryn said, his tone excited. “Let’s go.”
“No, lad. I still want to watch him, see what he’s up to.”
Agryn sighed. “If you insist.”
They stopped for a moment to refresh themselves with blood potions. All the while, the figure ahead of them got smaller and smaller, until Agryn was practically vibrating with tension.
“We have to go, Brynjolf.”
“Yes, alright. I’m sorry, lad. I know this is hard. But I’m thinking about the politics of the situation as well as the need to get rid of him. We need to know as much about what’s going on as we can learn.”
Agryn heaved a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, I know. And I agree with you. I’ve never harbored any ill-will toward Ulfric Stormcloak, and somehow I didn’t think Edwyn would actually try to become High King. I thought he’d just influence Elisif. But now… He’s lost himself, and I just want it over with.”
“I understand,” Brynjolf said. They started down the shoreline again, the figure in black just barely visible in the distance ahead. They followed him up over the rise next to the cave Edwyn had used, and down the far side into a sheltered spot where the sun kept the snow melted back from the grasses. Edwyn’s footsteps were easy to spot here, and they started their pursuit of him once more.
Edwyn was far enough ahead of them that they needed to move more quickly or lose him. After a few moments of scuttling along in a crouch, Brynjolf tsk’d and shook his head. He stood and indicated to Agryn that they should run. They’d gone only a few dozen paces when there was a snarl from their left; and a snowy saber cat hurtled at them across the shallows, from a small mound of land just offshore.
It wasn’t that the cat was especially difficult for them to take care of. Both of them were accomplished fighters, vampires equipped with the life-draining magic that could damage even the most formidable foes. The beast took only a few swipes at them before crumpling to its side. But when they looked ahead, they could no longer see Edwyn.
“Damn it!” Agryn snarled. “He’s gotten away!”
Brynjolf was just as dismayed about the situation as Agryn was, but felt it was important to remain calm. “We can still get him. There are only a few places he’s likely to have gone, now that he’s been run out of Volkihar Castle. Right? He either went to Proudspire, or he’s heading to Winterhold.”
Agryn frowned. “Or he could have headed inland and gone to Markarth for all we know. But I think you’re probably right. Let’s hurry and see if we can at least find his prints.”
They broke into a run. Even with the slowness of daylight, they made good time. It wasn’t long before they picked up Edwyn’s trail again. He’d run all the way down Haafingar’s peninsula rather than cut up through the forest; and he’d run through snow, leaving a visible track.
He has to be getting tired, if he’s hurt. He’s going to make for the city, for certain.
They’d made it around the end of the land before they spotted him again. Agryn grabbed Brynjolf’s arm and pointed.
“I see him, lad. He’s not moving very fast.”
“He was having a hard time to keep his eyes open, in the castle,” Agryn responded. “Like he hasn’t slept in days. Even as strong as he is that’s going to take its toll.”
The snow-covered coast gave way to warmer, greener surroundings as they neared the fjord between Solitude and Morthal. Brynjolf expected to see the tiny figure before them turn inland. He fully expected to see Edwyn make for Proudspire. But he didn’t. Instead, he cut straight across the water for the marshes.
“How is he doing that?” Brynjolf asked, squinting to get a better view.
“It’s a conjured horse,” Agryn said sourly. “And he has a spell that allows horses and people to run over water.”
Brynjolf sighed. “Ok. Let’s run to the stables, in that case, and take the carriage to Morthal. He’s got to pass through there.”
It was much later than either of them would have liked when they started scouting the area around Morthal for signs of Edwyn’s passage. Nobody had seen him come through town, so they went along the edges of the marsh, listening for heartbeats and watching for footprints. Nothing revealed itself.
“Well, we know he didn’t go to Solitude,” Brynjolf said.
“He’s heading for the College, Brynjolf. It’s the most logical choice.”
The sun was sinking as they headed out to the shoreline to make the long trek east. “I’m sorry, lad,” Brynjolf said. “Now I wish I hadn’t waited. We should have taken him out at the castle.”
They ran for a few minutes. Agryn cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Brynjolf.”
“For what?”
“Edwyn would never have apologized for making a bad decision. And it wasn’t even a bad decision. Just not the absolute best one.”
Brynjolf chuckled. “Well, lad, you’ll have noticed by now. I’m not Edwyn.”
“Thank the gods.”
___
“Yes, I know that the Moot is approaching,” Jarl Korir said with a snarl. “I don’t know why more of you are here to strong-arm me. I’m still not changing my mind. My support is behind Ulfric Stormcloak, and no amount of intimidation is going to change it!”
Dardeh struggled to close his mouth, which had sagged open in astonishment.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Jarl Korir. I’m certainly not here to strong arm you. I was fairly sure you were going to support Ulfric, but I wanted to make sure you knew the Moot was coming. Was someone else here before us?”
“That damned mage. The Arch-mage. Seems he married Elisif of Solitude, and he thinks that ought to give him some kind of say in the matter.”
“Edwyn Wickham was here?”
“Threatened to unleash more of that damnable magic on our city. Well, I told him what I thought. And the same goes for you – if you’re with the College, you have no reason to be talking to me.”
“I don’t think you know who you’re talking to,” Roggi said, in that quiet voice that always raised the hair on Dardeh’s neck.
“Easy, Roggi,” he said, not shifting his gaze from the Jarl’s. “It’s alright. Jarl Korir, I am Dardeh. I’m known as the Dragonborn. I’m here on behalf of Ulfric, and, well,” he hesitated, looked at Roggi’s stormy face, and broke into a grin. “I guess if you had said you were for Elisif I might have been here to do a little strong-arming, yes. But you needn’t worry. I’m delighted to know you’re with us.”
“Dragonborn is it?” the Jarl said. “I’ve heard about you. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, both during the war and since. And you,” he said, turning to glare at Roggi. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are. And don’t think I care about that. You’ve no call to get on your high horse with me. I’m not one to take threats well.”
Dardeh had a hard time to keep himself from snickering. He managed to keep a straight face, though, and nodded at the Jarl. “Very well, sir. I don’t suppose you know where Edwyn went?”
“No. But he’s attached to the College, so I’d look there, if you’re looking for him.”
“Not so much looking for him as looking out for him,” Dardeh said. “He’s more or less working against us. But thank you. And take care. I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.”
“Don’t worry about us,” the Jarl said. “We’ll be at the Moot, ready to cast our vote.”
They left the Jarl’s longhouse, and Roggi turned toward the east. “Come on, Dar. It’s a long way to Windhelm. At least we have good news for Ulfric.”
Dardeh shook his head. “I want to stop in at the college first.”
Roggi frowned. “I’d rather not. Something about this feels wrong, Dardeh.”
“Oh, come on. I want to talk to Urag. I mean, I left a note for him about Septimus, but I don’t know whether he got it.”
“And is that really important with everything else that’s going on?”
Dardeh smiled, leaned over and kissed Roggi on the cheek. “Don’t be a mother hen, Roggi. It’s fine. We won’t stay too long. Humor me.”
Roggi frowned. “Dar…”
Dardeh nibbled on Roggi’s ear and whispered. “I humored you last night, didn’t I?”
Roggi turned bright red. “Dardeh, you are not fighting fair.” His eyes twinkled, though, and he grinned. “Alright, alright. We’ll go see Urag. Let’s get going.”
They made their way across the narrow bridge to the College, through the courtyard and up the stairs into the Arcanaeum. Urag gro-Shub was resting at the very back of the room, in a chair beside his desk. He looked up with a scowl, as though he was quite prepared to flay whoever it was that was intruding into the peace of his library. When he realized that it was Dardeh, though, his expression softened.
“Dragonborn. It’s been some time.”
“It has indeed. I just wanted to make sure you’d gotten my note about Septimus. Gosh it seems like such a long time ago now.”
Urag gave him what passed for a smile. “I did. And thank you. I appreciated knowing what became of him. Old fool wasn’t quite in his right mind, but he was my friend once. I’m glad he found some kind of peace in the end.”
Dardeh nodded. “He did. I almost wish I’d seen what he saw, because he said it was marvelous.” Before he was consumed into a pile of ash, poor misled fool. Just thinking about Hermaeus Mora made the embers of anger begin stirring in his core, and he felt his jaw tighten as he fought to damp it down.
“I hope you found your Elder Scroll.” Urag seemed genuinely interested.
“I did. It helped me kill Alduin.”
“Alduin! Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” Urag rubbed his chin, and then frowned.
“What is it?” Roggi asked. Dardeh glanced at him. Roggi was hovering near him, moving back and forth in front of Urag’s desk. He looked very uncomfortable, as if there was something just out of sight that he could feel but not see. Easy, love. It’ll be fine. Once we’re in Windhelm and we’ve talked to Ulfric I’ll help you relax. He shot a grin at Roggi, but Roggi didn’t seem to catch it.
“It’s the whole business of you being Dragonborn,” Urag said. “People have been asking and asking for books on the dragon blood and the Empire, and so forth.”
“People?” Roggi said.
“What’s the problem, Roggi?” Dardeh asked him.
“No, not ‘people,’ really,” Urag said. “Mostly the Archmage. He seems to be obsessed with the whole business of the Empire and the succession,” he said, his brows furrowing. “Are you the reason for all this interest?”
“Dar,” Roggi hissed, pulling Dardeh aside. “Something’s wrong. We need to leave. Now!”
“Roggi, what’s wrong with you today? You would think we were being hunted or something.” Dardeh was about to return to Urag’s side, but Roggi once again grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind one of the substantial stone pillars.
“Yes! Well done, Dragonborn. You would think that, wouldn’t you?” The exclamation was followed by loud laughter. Dardeh reached for his swords, and whirled to find the source of the voice, but he couldn’t see anything.
“Where are you?” Roggi growled, pulling his sword out in front of him. “You can’t hide from me!”
“And yet I am doing just that, am I not? It’s altogether too convenient that I should find you here, Dragonborn,” the voice said. “I have had the longest of all possible days traveling from here to Solitude, to Volkihar Island and then back here. Finding you here is an absolute gift. And I am most grateful to both our esteemed Jarl and Urag gro-Shub here for confirming that you are in fact the Dragonborn. It was rather dark the last time I saw you, and I wasn’t certain I would recognize your face when I saw it again.”
There was a shimmering at the far side of Urag gro-Shub’s desk, and a figure appeared, dressed entirely in black, slightly bent over but with his arms wound tightly up against his body.
“Archmage,” Urag said quietly, looking more than a bit distressed.
Roggi growled.
“What are you doing here?” Dardeh hissed.
“What am I doing here? Why, this is my domain, my dear Dragonborn!” He started walking toward the two of them, slowly. “Well, more accurately this particular space is Urag’s domain, of course. My quarters are above. As to my current task, I am looking for information on the dragon blood, as our honored archivist mentioned.”
Dardeh’s mind flashed back to the night when Rayya had lured him out onto the tundra near Broken Fang Cave. He remembered the cry of the man who, he was certain, he had burned badly – the one who had welcomed him to his new life. But he remembered hearing another voice, too; deeper, smoother in some ways and harsher in others.
“You were there that night, weren’t you?” he snarled. “It’s your fault that Rayya died!”
The Archmage laughed. “My fault? I believe you were the one who burned her to a cinder, Dragonborn. I haven’t the power. But you do, and that is exactly why I am so pleased that you’ve come to me, rather than making me search longer. It will be so much easier to research the effects of Dragonborn blood first-hand rather than through books and scrolls. Time is of the essence, after all, as it seems that the Moot is imminent.”
“You’d better not harm any of this collection,” Urag growled. “I don’t care whether you’re the Archmage or not!” Urag and Edwyn Wickham glared at each other for a moment. The old archivist rose from his chair and faded to a corner of the room from which he could observe but not be reached.
“Dar,” Roggi whispered. “We have to get out of here. Back up toward the stairwells.”
They were right. They were all right. He’s after my blood.
He’s not sane.
Dardeh did start edging backwards, one hand extended out behind him to help him find the walls and avoid tripping over furniture. Roggi stood between him and Edwyn, holding his sword horizontally before him. Edwyn advanced on them at the same pace. Dardeh couldn’t help but notice his glowing copper eyes and the fangs he wasn’t bothering to conceal; that, and the fact that he seemed to be favoring or protecting his hands for some reason. His mind raced, trying to think of what to do.
Fire is the most obvious choice but I can’t very well Shout in here. It doesn’t matter how well treated this wood is or how carefully preserved the books are; this room is nothing but flammable materials and if I Shout I’ll be killing Urag and centuries of research. I can’t do that.
“You do realize you can’t become Dragonborn just by getting my blood, don’t you, Edwyn?” he said. I have no idea if that’s the truth or not but I need to stall him.
“I don’t realize any such thing,” Edwyn said, taking another step toward him. “My theory is that, as with my own power, yours came to you in your blood. We went to great lengths to see whether we might test that theory without killing you. But you thwarted that effort.”
Suddenly Dardeh remembered a conversation he’d had with Arngeir. “But your working theory is wrong, Archmage. The Dragonborn is sent into the world by the gods themselves, during times of great need. The Greybeards taught me that.” He nearly tripped over a stack of books on the floor; looking behind himself for a moment he saw the dark opening that must be the staircase. I’ll run as soon as I’m there. Roggi will follow.
“There are always two potential Dragonborn,” Urag said quietly from the shadows. “At least that’s what the old tomes say. The current one and his successor. You can’t remove the Dragonborn from the world, Archmage.”
Edwyn laughed. “And who exactly would this other Dragonborn be?”
Roggi gasped.
Dardeh frowned. “I killed the only other Dragonborn.” Roggi was shaking his head, but Dardeh had no idea why.
“Then you are in fact the one I must have,” Edwyn said, grinning.
Dardeh reached behind him and felt not reassuring stone wall, but an opening. Roggi glanced back at him.
“Go, Dar! Go!” As Roggi pivoted back to face Edwyn, Edwyn lunged at him. Dardeh heard a loud smack and two nearly matching grunts as the flat of Roggi’s sword connected with Edwyn’s armor.
Dardeh turned into the stairwell, feeling Roggi’s heat directly behind him, and groaned.
The stairs went up, not down.
Damn it! I can’t get past them from here. We’re going to have to fight him on the roof! Well, so be it. And besides… He grinned as a thought occurred to him. Dragons work better in the open, don’t they? Well let’s go, then.
“Come on, Roggi!” he yelled. “Up here! Follow me!” He raced up the stairs and through the door, the sounds of footsteps behind him reassuring him that Roggi was right behind him.
They spilled out onto a round platform – the roof of one of the College’s towers, no doubt, Dardeh thought. Both he and Roggi backed away from the door until he was standing in the center of the space, atop one of the massive seals in the shape of the College’s symbolic arcane eye. Roggi stepped a pace or two behind him, raising his sword to the ready position.
Edwyn Wickham came through the door and raised his hands. Dardeh watched the blue spheres of magical energies gather in his palms, and frowned as the man winced.
“Something wrong with your hands, Edwyn?” he asked, lifting one of his ebony scimitars up before him.
“Nothing worth speaking of, Dragonborn. I have survived many centuries and many injuries far more grievous than this one,” the Archmage told him. “Now then. Would it not be simpler for you and your…” He paused, looked at Roggi, and made an expression of utter distaste. “Your husband, to simply lay down your weapons and allow me to sample some of your blood? Nobody needs to die, and nobody will be further harmed if it appears that I do not become Dragonborn by taking part of you into myself.”
“And what do you plan to do if you do happen to absorb some of my power, Edwyn?” Dardeh said, trying to stall him while he considered what to do next. He didn’t want to attack while Edwyn was between them and the stairwell; that would make his escape far too easy. And if someone else should come up to investigate, he would run the risk of injuring or killing them if he Shouted. He shifted to the side a bit, circling around the ceremonial seal and quietly praying to Talos for some sort of inspiration.
“Why, I intend to become Emperor. Surely you’ve had no confusion on that. You, of all people, know that you’re currently the one, true, divinely-appointed Emperor. But if your blood is taken…” Edwyn tsk’d and shook his head, his coppery eyes glittering madly. “It would be such a shame to kill you for it, you know. Far better if you just allow me to make you my thrall, the way we had planned to do before that unfortunate accident with Rayya. At any rate, I will have the blood, I will have the power, and I will rule Tamriel forever, just as my lord and master Harkon planned.”
He made a motion with one hand – a motion Dardeh recognized as the start of a conjuration spell. Once again, he winced.
“No!” Roggi shouted. “You can’t have him! He’s mine, do you hear me?”
Time seemed to slow to a crawl for Dardeh. So many things happened so quickly that he had no time to react, or move, or intervene.
For a brief moment, part of him marveled at how often he’d had those very same words form in his own heart, when they were around Ulfric Stormcloak. You can’t have him, Ulfric. He’s mine.
Then Roggi leapt forward, slashing with his greatsword. For a heartbeat, it looked as though he was going to cleave Edwyn Wickham in two as he had so many bandits, and Imperial troops, as well as beasts and dragons. But Edwyn Wickham was an ancient Volkihar Nightlord. His reflexes were finely-honed. He merely stepped aside, and Roggi’s blade crashed to the stones in a concussion that made Dardeh’s arms ache with sympathy, knowing what that blow would have done to every fiber of Roggi’s arms.
Roggi grunted, and took one step back.
Edwyn raised his hands, groaning. The energies he was holding turned from blue to red, and a spinning red disc formed around him, extending outward.
“I’ve had enough of you,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You and your sword, and your blind devotion to something you don’t even understand – a man you don’t even understand. You Nords are all alike. Honor, and glory, and besting your foes with blades and brute strength. Stupid, brute strength. And what did that blow get you, eh?” He hissed, clearly in pain himself to Dardeh’s eyes, as he advanced on Roggi step by step, the disc spinning faster and faster.
“Well, you’re right, that blow hurt,” Roggi said. “I wasn’t taking your speed into account. But I have plenty more where that came from. And once we have you tied up, Edwyn Wickham, you’ll find out what else I’m good at besides stupid, brute strength. Something tells me it’ll be a real eye-opener for you. You see, I like blood too. I just tend to extract it more… slowly. It’ll be a real experience for me, too, to find out just how much a vampire actually holds.” Roggi grinned at him; and Dardeh saw the darkness rise in his eyes, even from as far away as he was.
Roggi, no! Dardeh felt frozen. He tried to call out but his voice refused to sound.
“Enough to do this, Nord,” Edwyn growled, stepping closer to Roggi. The edges of the disc reached him. “Enjoy your experience.”
Roggi suddenly dropped his sword. His eyes grew wide. He started to scream.
Roggi, no!
Roggi dropped to the stones. He didn’t move.
Dardeh screamed.
“No! No!! ROGGI!”
He rushed forward, toward Edwyn Wickham, one of his swords held high.
“You. Will. Die.”
___
He could barely hear. He was in so much pain. Too much pain. Nothing would move, not even his eyelids. He was vaguely aware of his heart beating, very slowly, barely sustaining the movement of that blood that Edwyn Wickham had tried to pull from him with his magic. Air flowed sluggishly in through his nostrils and then back out again; but he couldn’t feel his chest moving and knew there was no way for him to move, to rise, to attack.
Then an enormous sound filled the air.
“MUL- QAH DIIV!”
He focused on his eyelids and willed them to open, just enough so that he could see. Through his lashes shapes appeared, bare shadows on his consciousness. He saw a man in black, standing just above him. It wasn’t Dardeh. He’d heard the Shout; Dardeh would have been wreathed in the colorful magic of Dragon Aspect if it were him. No, this was Edwyn Wickham.
He frowned; or at least his emotions comprised a frown, though he could not feel his brows shift in any way at all. For high in the air, over Edwyn Wickham’s shoulder, appeared a shape. His hands ached to grab his greatsword; his legs ached to rush into battle – for such were the responses his body knew to the sight of a dragon flying overhead.
But he could not move; and he could not see Dardeh. His eyes closed, exhausted from the effort of vision. And he listened.
A great, deep voice spoke. It was a voice he knew; and a part of him burned with love for that voice. But the voice was full of power. It hummed with power. There were overtones to the voice he loved that he’d never heard before. Oh, he remembered hearing something like it, once before, when the voice had proclaimed No and shaken the very rocks beneath their feet. But that had been only a poor echo of what he heard now.
“Edwyn Wickham! Dreh hi Mindoraan him Daan?”
The words were meaningless to him, for a moment; and then from somewhere it was as though a whisper repeated them to him. Edwyn Wickham. Do you understand your fate?
He heard Edwyn Wickham’s dry laugh, then, and his hoarse voice trying to form a reply.
“Speaking to me in the dragon tongue are you, Dardeh at-Dadarh? Pretend to be a dragon if it makes you feel important. Soon I will have your blood and I will fly among the dragons as well.”
There was a chuckle. And then the deep voice that he both loved and feared spoke again.
“What, can you not even understand our language, Edwyn Wickham? Is that what this is about? Simple jealousy? You are not Dragonborn, and you will never be Dragonborn.”
He heard footsteps. Shuffling, as though the two of them circled each other. Then the rooftop shuddered.
“Hin tiid los Oblaan. Zu’u him dan.”
Your time is at an end. I am your doom.
He had to see. He had to witness what was happening. He forced every iota of energy he could muster into his eyelids, once again, and slowly, slowly, they fluttered open just a crack. He gasped.
Or, rather, he would have gasped if he had been able to form a sound.
Above him stood Dardeh, wreathed in Dragon Aspect as he had known would be the case. But beneath the helm of the Shout were horns – solid horns, protruding from Dardeh’s skull, on either side of the unruly curls of blonde Redguard hair he fought with every day. And to either side of his body were wings.
Roggi stared in wonder, and in awe, and in fear. Dardeh had wings. They were huge, of brilliant yellows and blacks; the long fingers of their structure covered in orange scales and ending with wicked black claws of the type Roggi had seen so many times before, fighting dragons. The oranges and blues of the Shout’s energy against the black of Dardeh’s armor echoed the oranges and blacks of Dardeh’s wings, and Roggi marveled at it.
He’s been a dragon all along. I’ve just never let myself see it before.
Then his eyes settled on Dardeh’s face. If he’d been able to shudder, he would have shuddered. For Dardeh stared coldly across the space to wherever it was that Edwyn Wickham stood. He didn’t look angry. He simply looked like the personification of his words – Do you understand your fate? Your time is at an end. I am your doom. He stood above Roggi in the fullness of his power. Not arrogant, not angry. Not evil. Simply knowing.
“Dir nu.” The words had the roof shuddering once again.
Die, now.
“What is it that you think you can do to me, Dragonborn?” Edwyn Wickham croaked. As if from far away the part of Roggi’s mind that could think in such terms told him yes, that spell worked with his own blood and he was already hurt. He has injured himself more. And it is daylight.
“YOL- TOOR SHUL!”
The force of the Shout was such that Roggi was thrown from his side onto his back, both arms flung wide. He needed no translation to know what this Shout had been, but he needed, with all his being, to see what was happening. He forced his eyes to focus, as much as they could focus from the strange angle at which he now rested, and gasped at what he saw.
Yes, Dardeh had Shouted fire breath at Edwyn Wickham. There was no fire wisp around him, not this time; but the wings were held out to either side, as if to shelter Roggi from any backlash of the flames. He could see clearly the wicked claws at each wingtip, and the rack of horns on either side of Dardeh’s skull. Most shocking of all, though, was that between the Black Book and the mask of Miraak that Dardeh always wore on his belt there extended a long, scaled tail, firmly pressed against the rooftop – for balance, no doubt, Roggi thought.
His eyes closed. He heard Edwyn Wickham scream. He thought he heard the man call out for Lord Harkon. Or maybe he called for Serana. Roggi wasn’t certain. All he knew, as the darkness filled in around him, was that his husband was a dragon.