Chapter 6 – Qaralana and Dardeh

 

“Harald! Wow.”

Qaralana had just taken out an aggressive wolf when the bandit emerged from a clump of trees. Harald tsk’d, drew his sword, and calmly beheaded the man.

“You didn’t think I had it in me, I take it?”

Qara smiled. “It’s not that, I just haven’t ever seen you do such a thing. You’re a lot stronger than…” She trailed off. That hadn’t come out at all correctly.

Harald chuckled. “Stronger than I look?”

Qara stomped her foot into the snow. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’ve just never been with you when you fought anything more than a bear or a wolf.”

Harald sheathed his sword. “Which you took care of easily, I see.”

“Yes.” She felt irritated. “I’ll have you know I’ve taken off a head or two myself. In Falskaar.”

Harald laughed. “I would expect nothing less of you.” He pointed westward. “Let’s go.”

They started walking. A few moments later he sighed.

“I really never expected to be able to do that, to be honest with you. When I was out in Markarth I discovered that I had… well.” He peered up toward the mountains, shaking his head.

Qara waited for a moment, hoping he would finish. He didn’t; she cleared her throat to get his attention. “You had what?”

“More power than I thought I had. Let’s just put it that way. Come on, let’s move. It looks like there might be a storm moving in, and I’d like not to get caught in it.”

Harald took off at a much faster trot than Qara would have expected from a large Nord in heavy armor. She stood watching him for a moment. That trip to Markarth really bothered him. Maybe it’s that he has the same pride that his mother and father have. There’s nobody in that castle who isn’t absolutely certain they’re the best at what they do; and if he didn’t succeed immediately at what he attempted…

Or maybe it’s just the whole situation out there. Or maybe…

She suddenly realized that Harald had disappeared around the side of a rock outcropping. She tsk’d at herself and started following him. Qara could run nearly forever, and Harald would need to stop for breath at some point. She rounded the boulder. She couldn’t see him, but he’d left a trail in the snow. By the time she caught up to him, Harald had reached the Shrine of Azura and was near the top of the first flight of stairs where the Nerevarine waited. The hero looked down at her as she approached, and nodded a greeting. Harald grinned at her from under his helmet and then turned back to the Nerevarine.

“Well met. I’ve come to see whether you’ve translated that text that I found.”

“I have,” the Nerevarine responded. “It’s a memoir. Memories of Dorana, it is called. Apparently, Kagrenar was the tomb of Lord Kagrenac’s wife, a woman named Dorana. Here, read it for yourself.” He handed a sheaf of papers to Harald. “Good luck to you, Harald Stormcloak. And to you, Dragonborn,” he said, turning to address Qaralana.

She squeaked.

And then she felt herself blushing furiously. “Sorry, I’m still not quite used to having people call me that.”

“There is a reason you’ve been revealed at this time. Perhaps it’s the same reason I was drawn back to Skyrim, and that the heir to the throne was led to Kagrenar. Time will tell.” He looked back at Harald. “I see you are wearing the ring. Keep wearing it. I feel certain it’s important to your future, although I do not know why.”

“Thank you,” Harald said simply. Then he sighed. “I suppose we need to get back to the Palace. The fact that someone was after me has my parents and relatives nervous.” He trotted down the stairs to join Qara, and together they began the trip back to Windhelm.

It felt to Qara as though something was weighing on Harald’s mind. He’d always been a bit hard to read, even when they were children; she was never quite sure whether he was distressed about something or simply had nothing to say. They ran in silence for quite some time. She had just opened her mouth to ask what he was thinking about when he cleared his throat.

“I don’t feel like going back to the Palace in the middle of the night,” he said. “Let’s just get back to my cabin. We can read the translation and get some rest, and head up to the others first thing in the morning.”

“They’ll skin us alive if they find out,” she answered. I feel as though I have to point that out. But the truth is that I don’t feel much like joining the elders, either.

“I don’t care,” Harald said. “They can worry all they like, but nobody is going to get into my house unless I let them in.”

Qara thought about how effortlessly any of her relatives could pick even the hardest lock. That had been a real benefit of growing up in the Thieves Guild. Even her Uncle Roggi – who steadfastly refused to become an official member – could pick most locks. It wouldn’t do to say that to Harald, though. When he had his mind made up about something he was at least as stubborn as his father, and nearly as stubborn as hers.

Harald had piles of furs in front of his bookshelves. They could have sat in his chairs before the fire, after they’d refreshed themselves, but somehow it had seemed cozier to plop down onto the furs. But even so, Qaralana felt her throat closing up and her eyes watering as he read the translation to her.

It was written by Lord Kagrenac himself, the High Craftlord and Chief Tonal Architect, one of the most important Dwemer in the world. Dorana was one of his guards. He spoke of meeting her and being drawn both to her straightforward, sometimes too-literal manner and to her sense of humor. While always respectful she’d seemed largely unimpressed with the magnitude of his status. He’d slowly – very slowly indeed – discovered that he’d fallen in love with her, in spite of what he described as her “unladylike appearance.” And they had married.

Qara couldn’t help but find herself warming to the story. Harald’s deep voice gave it an immediacy that added much to the reading, though legends would have the Dwemer’s voices even deeper and much more gravelly than his. She cast a few furtive glances at Harald’s face; he was clearly as engrossed in the reading as she was. Then he frowned.

“What is it?”

“No wonder he wanted to build her such an elaborate tomb.”

“Harald, tell me what it says!”

“Alright. Let’s see. It says that she got ill. Coughing all the time. For two years, even.”

Qara shuddered, in spite of herself. “Like Uncle Dar.”

“In a sense. I doubt that Dorana was Dragonborn, and Dardeh seems perfectly healthy now, even if he sounds odd. Let me read the next part.

‘If only I had worked faster. If only the Tools had been ready sooner. The Brass God, the Heart, it was all for you, Dorana. I wanted to bury the Tools with you here, for what good are they now, if they cannot restore your smile? But no, I will keep them with me, for one day they will take me to you. Without your light, this world is too dark. I don’t belong in it. No one does.’

That explains the replica tools I found. He wanted to bury them with her, so he made substitutes to symbolize how much she meant to him. Shor’s beard. Does that mean Kagrenac actually is the one who caused the Dwemer to disappear? ”

Qara couldn’t respond. It was just so unspeakably sad, to think of this greatest-of-all Dwarves losing his wife after taking so long to understand that he loved her. As she stared down at the furs, hoping that the dim lighting and her hair would hide her face, she felt a single tear start making a trail down her cheek. She reached up to wipe it away.

“Are you crying, Qara?”

She looked back up at Harald. He wore an expression that she couldn’t quite decipher. Was it a smile, or a smirk?

“Are you laughing at me, Harald Stormcloak? For being moved by such a sad story?”

“No, Qara,” he said. “Not at all. I find it quite wonderful that someone as tough as you are can still understand and appreciate someone else’s pain. Even if that pain happened so long ago that we can hardly imagine the expanse of time that has passed since.”

It was definitely a smile, she decided – a soft and gentle smile.

“It’s one of the things that make you special, Qara. And I’m glad that you’re my best friend.”

She thought about all the teasing Chip had given her while they were in Falskaar. As unsettling as that had been, Harald had somehow just made it right. She smiled back at him.

“Thank you, Harald. And you are mine.”

“I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver.”

Dardeh turned and reached for the letter the courier held out.

“Thanks. Here, this is for you.” He gave the man a generous number of coins. This would be an important message, and he was grateful that it had come so quickly and without incident. The courier smiled, bobbed his head, and ran back toward the road.

Dardeh waited until the courier was well out of sight and then opened the seal on the folded parchment. He recognized the handwriting. He could almost hear the sharp voice as he read the words.

“We have indeed noticed the increased number of dragons. But our position remains the same, Dragonborn. You are no longer welcome here and we will no longer help you.”

He crumpled the paper into a tiny, compact ball and threw it just as hard as he could out toward the lake. Thanks for nothing, Delphine. I wouldn’t have asked for your help if it weren’t important. Maybe even vital. Haven’t even approached you in all this time. And you couldn’t put aside a twenty-year-old grudge, finally? Even long enough to learn that I’m not the Dragonborn anymore?

I need someone to swap ideas with so I know I’m not crazy. And I can’t advise Qara unless I know that I’m on the right track. And I can’t Shout, and I can’t absorb dragons anymore, and there are so many showing up…

He found himself getting more and more distressed as the thoughts rolled along. His eyes stung; he slammed one meaty fist down onto the deck’s railing, hissing and shaking his hand out at the pain he’d inflicted on himself.

I don’t even know whether I still have any use at all left in this world. I don’t know why I’m still here. Maybe I should just…

He stood in the early-morning light, staring angrily out across the lake. It was just too difficult. After being arguably the most powerful mortal in the world for two decades he was used to getting what he wanted. He was used to being paid attention to. He was used to having some agency, to being important.

He shook his head and sighed heavily. This path of thought wasn’t helping him. In fact, it was probably making things worse.

I need to calm down and think.

I may want to die, but I can’t very well leave Roggi. Not now. It would ruin him.

I was the one who decided to fight Herma Mora. I had valid reasons for doing that. I was saving the world from him – and from me. I have to live with the consequences of that decision. I may not like them, but that’s how it is.

He dropped his head forward, closing his eyes and letting the tight muscles in his neck stretch out. He took a long, deep breath and blew it out.

That’s better, my sweet boy. You still have important things to do in your life.

He smiled, before opening his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d felt the comforting presence of his late mother, longer still since he’d heard her voice so clearly in his mind.

“Thanks, Ma. I needed to hear that. Well, then. Time to suit up and get on the road.”

He pulled on his armor, packed what he needed to take along, and closed up the house. Then he left, following the trail Roggi, Harald and Qara had taken just a couple of days prior. He was fairly fast, even at his age. Year after year of hard work and battle had given him conditioning beyond what he’d had as a miner, and his Redguard side gave him the stamina he needed to maintain a good pace. It was mid-afternoon when he slowed to a stop near Whiterun’s western watchtower.

He shaded his eyes and looked south, and east, and up, memories of a much earlier time nearly overwhelming him. This was where it had started, in many ways. He’d encountered both Ulfric Stormcloak and Alduin the World-eater earlier, in Helgen. He’d learned that he could understand Dovahzul not long after that, in Bleak Falls Barrow. But it had been here, outside the burning wreckage of the ancient watchtower, that he’d taken his first dragon and first felt the intoxicating rush of power expand his existence as it flowed into him and then explode as his first Shout.

And it was all the way up there, up at the very top, that I learned what I needed to know to defeat Alduin. It was both the best time of my life and the worst.

By Talos I miss it. I didn’t think I would, but I miss it.

Roggi had told him once of a conversation he’d had with Brynjolf. He’d asked the Guildmaster whether he missed it – “it” being the immense power he’d enjoyed as a vampire. “Bryn said he did,” Roggi had told him. “I don’t know why I even asked. Of course he did.”

And now I understand that.

Dardeh pondered the situation all the way to Windhelm. There had to be a reason for the sudden resurgence of dragons. There had to be a reason it triggered at the same time his relationship with his own power – and with Hermaeus Mora – came to a head. But all of those who had lived through Alduin’s return, and his demise, were older now.

We can’t all go running out to kill dragons. I can’t Shout. I can fight, but I can’t destroy them. Roggi and Brynjolf are in their sixties and Ulfric’s at least seventy. Sayma’s younger, and strong but not killing-dragons strong and neither is Frina, really. Not anymore. Harald is strong but he needs to be ready to take over if necessary. So it’s the perfect moment for someone, or something, to have triggered this situation.

And it might well be my fault, just like having Alduin show up was my fault.

And then there’s Qara. She’s strong, but so young coming into her power. It’s far too easy to make the wrong choices when you’re young because you don’t know all the options available to you. Well, if nothing else I can help her understand those. I just want to make certain I don’t overly influence her. All I can do is make sure she has all the information she needs. And then it’s up to her. It has to be.

“You have to understand, Harald. You’re my only living child and no matter how old you get I will worry about your well-being.”

“Mother…”

Dardeh grimaced as he approached the door to what he’d been told was his personal suite. Jorlief had directed him to it and told him that the High King and his family were taking a private meal there. Instead, it sounded like family bickering. He heard Ulfric heave a sigh, and frowned. Roggi had told him that Ulfric sounded tired, and so he did. Dardeh was genuinely sorry if the man didn’t feel well, but he’d spent much of the last two decades worrying about the well-being of Ulfric, who didn’t even like him very much.

Then he mentally shook his head at himself. It’s not that. Ulfric likes me well enough, even if we’ll never be close friends. It’s the feeling of being “other” that gets to me, still. Once I step into that room I’ll be the only man there who looks like a Redguard, in spite of being half Nord. Roggi and Ulfric look like they belong together. Roggi and I don’t.

“Listen to your mother, Harald,” Ulfric’s low rumble interjected. “I know that it chafes you but she will be here for much more of your life than I will. You will need your family to help you through.”

Roggi tsk’d. “Don’t talk like that, Ulfric.”

Dardeh stepped through the door, his heavy armor making its usual noise. He was gratified when Roggi’s attention immediately turned to him. Roggi’s eyes sparkled and his smile flashed before he composed his expression again.

“Dar. I’m glad you made it.”

Ulfric looked up at Dardeh and nodded. “As am I, Dragonborn.”

Harald cleared his throat. “Father.”

Ulfric looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened. “Of course. Welcome, Dardeh. Come have a seat.” He turned to Qaralana. “Please accept my apologies, Dragonborn. I haven’t yet become accustomed to the change.”

Qara waved a hand. “Don’t even worry about it. I have a hard time believing it, myself.”

Dardeh moved closer to the table and looked down at Qaralana. “I have to admit I’m still adjusting, myself. And I wasn’t able to get the help I’d hoped for. I wrote to someone who might help shed some light on this dragon problem.”

“You wrote to Delphine?” Roggi asked as Dardeh eased himself into the vacant chair between Ulfric and Roggi.

He chuckled. “I should have known you’d guess, Roggi.”

“What is this all about, Dardeh?” Frina asked him.

Dardeh sighed. This is going to be difficult. I need to tell them what I think and what I’ve done without unduly influencing Qara. I don’t know if I am subtle enough to do that.

“Well,” he said slowly, “it has to do with me, and dragons, and the fact that we’ve had peace for almost twenty years and don’t anymore. You see… back when Alduin was the biggest issue, before the war, I had two different groups trying to influence me.”

“The Greybeards and the Blades,” Roggi murmured.

“Exactly. And aside from agreeing that Alduin was the immediate threat, they wanted opposite things from me.”

To his surprise, Ulfric snorted a bitter laugh. “Master Arngeir agreed that you should slay Alduin?”

“Reluctantly, and only because Paarthurnax accepted my reasoning.”

“It makes sense that Arngeir would be reluctant,” Ulfric said, “because of the Way of the Voice that Paarthurnax taught.”

Qaralana, who had been listening intently, frowned. “When I talked to the Greybeards, Arngeir mentioned that. I was too confused and distracted to even wonder what it meant.”

Dardeh nodded. “Yes, and while I did talk to them about it, all I cared about was stopping Alduin from consuming more souls. Anything else basically went in one ear and out the other.”

“Well, Ulfric,” Frina said, “you studied with them. Tell us why Master Arngeir would have been reluctant to have Dardeh kill Alduin.”

Ulfric paused for a moment, his gaze far-away and almost pained, to Dardeh’s eye. “As you all know,” he began, only to be interrupted by Harald’s snort, “because yes, Harald, I have told you a great many times – I studied with the Greybeards.”

Ulfric smirked at Harald for a moment. Harald flushed, clearly embarrassed that his father had read his thoughts so easily.

“I was taught,” Ulfric continued, “that the order was led by Paarthurnax, who learned what came to be known as the Way of the Voice from Jurgen Windcaller. I was unaware that Paarthurnax was a dragon. I had no way to know this since Arngeir did not tell me and I could not reach the peak myself.”

“Arngeir didn’t tell you that basic a fact?” Roggi asked quietly. “I met him, later on when Dar took me, but…”

“He did not.”

“He didn’t tell me, either,” Dardeh added. “I had to Shout my way up the mountain to find out. So did Qara, so that I could take her to meet him.”

Ulfric nodded. “What they taught me – what Paarthurnax supposedly taught them – is written on the etched plates along the Seven Thousand Steps. When the mortals of this land rebelled against the dragons, Alduin and the other dragons, under his direction, started slaughtering them.”

“The Dragon War,” Harald said. “I’ve read some about it. Paarthurnax taught mankind to use the Voice.”

“Yes,” Ulfric said. “Including Jurgen. It was a weapon that allowed mortals to defeat the dragons. The burial mounds across our lands were the result of that great conflict.”

“And,” Dardeh interjected, “it was how they sent Alduin forward in time. They created the Dragonrend shout. They thought they’d gotten rid of him, but they only delayed the inevitable.”

“Ok,” Qara said slowly, “but I knew that. Vaguely. What does that have to do with the Way of the Voice, and what does it mean?”

“The Way of the Voice would never have come into being if not for the great wars of conquest in the First Era,” Ulfric said. “The Tongues – those with mastery of the Thu’um – used their powerful Voices to break into cities, to destroy the walls that surrounded them, and to conquer them. And then came the battle at Red Mountain. Of all the mortal men, Jurgen Windcaller had the strongest Thu’um. He and the other Tongues went into that battle convinced that their power would win the day.”

“The arrogance of their power,” Dardeh murmured in his raspy voice.

“Yes,” Ulfric continued. “They failed, as you know. And the rest is written in the etchings. Jurgen Windcaller retired from the world for seven years and determined that the Voice should only be used in times of great need, and in worship of the gods.”

“That’s not what we’ve done, Ulfric, neither one of us,” Dardeh said. “We’ve used our Voices.” I remember how angry Arngeir was when I told him I was going to battle Alduin. Maybe he was right.

“I have, as well,” Harald said quietly. “It was the only way I could see to stop Madanach.”

“And me, as well,” Qara said, frowning. “If we didn’t use our Voices people would have died! How could Jurgen Windcaller say that this great gift shouldn’t be used?”

“Because he was a coward,” Roggi said flatly. “He lost the battle, he couldn’t accept that he lost, and so he made up this elaborate excuse for himself instead of just admitting that he failed. If you’ve used a gift of the gods in battle and lose, it must be that the gods didn’t intend it.” His voice dropped to a grumble. “Couldn’t just admit that he wasn’t perfect.”

Ulfric peered at Roggi and gave him a small smile. “Indeed. That is the conclusion I have come to over time, my friend. But Jurgen Windcaller was strong in his beliefs and had an epic struggle against the other Tongues to gain primacy. Legend has it that he ‘swallowed the Shouts’ of the others for three days, until they had no power left.”

“Like you did, Uncle Dar!” Qara exclaimed. “Except that it was your own Shouts you were swallowing.”

Dardeh nodded. “Yes, but was that a good thing, or not? That’s the question. The Greybeards say the Voice should not be used as a weapon. The Blades think otherwise.”

“Wait,” Qaralana said. “I don’t get it. If the Blades agree that the Voice should be used, why won’t they talk to you now?”

And there it is.

“What was it that Delphine told you, Dar?” Roggi asked.

Leave it to Roggi. Well how do I explain this to Qara?

“Delphine said if the Greybeards had their way I’d – how did she put it – ‘do nothing but sit up there on the mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do. Power’s no good if you’re too afraid to do anything with it.’ I obviously agreed with her on that point.”

“And so did I,” Ulfric agreed. “But there is an argument to be made that by using that power I caused much of the strife that has disrupted our lands for the last, well, fifty winters or more.”

“That’s hardly your fault, Ulfric,” Frina said dryly. “Who taught everyone this tool in the first place?”

“Paarthurnax,” Harald muttered.

“That’s exactly the issue, Harald,” Dardeh said, quietly relieved that someone else had said it. “When we had the council for the truce, Ulfric, the Blades approached me shortly after you left and said they’d discovered that Paarthurnax was a dragon, and that he had to be killed as well as Alduin.”

“I remember that,” Roggi said. “I was glad you didn’t.”

“I just ignored the Blades. I had other priorities then.”

Ulfric nodded slowly. “I see. I should have known then that Paarthurnax was a dragon, but being preoccupied with the wars I did not. You’re thinking that the resurgence of dragon attacks is related to Paarthurnax.”

“And that’s why you wrote to Delphine!” Roggi exclaimed. “What does she say?”

Dardeh sighed. “She says that until I kill Paarthurnax she will not see me. She doesn’t know about Qara. I wanted Qara to have the chance to hear both sides of the story direct from the people involved and not get it from me. I’m too close to it.” He paused, thinking hard. “I’m not sure whether any of what I did was the right choice. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But she won’t talk to me.”

Frina said slowly, “Weren’t the Blades dedicated to the Dragonborn? I feel as though I’m forgetting something about this.”

“Yes, they were,” Ulfric said, “making it all the more vexing that they would refuse to help Dardeh.”

There was a single, very long moment of silence. Dardeh thought they might have reached a wall too high to hurdle. There didn’t seem to be an answer other than to force Qara to decide whether they were even right, much less whether she would do anything about it.

And then Harald cleared his throat.

“But before that. They’ve been around for a long time, and have had different purposes. Two hundred years ago, for example, the Nerevarine himself was a member of the Blades.”

Qaralana gasped. “Harald!”

“The ring,” Harald said, nodding at Qara. “The Nerevarine himself gave me a replica of his Moon-and-Star ring. Maybe, if the Blades were to see the ring, they might let us in? All of us, I mean, Dardeh? You’d have to show me where they are, anyway.”

Dardeh was stunned.

By Talos. It might actually work. If I can just get Delphine to listen long enough to meet Qara…

Frina stared at Harald.

“You’re going to lie to them?”

“No, no, Mother, I’m not going to lie to them.” Harald shook his head. “I’m not going to represent myself as the Nerevarine; I’m just going to show them the ring.”

Dardeh saw Roggi grinning at him, and tilted his head to one side. What is going on in your mind, love?

“Harald is a smart young man who has learned his lessons well. In this case, they’re the ones from Brynjolf. You don’t lie to people. You don’t deliberately tell them something false.”

“But you don’t necessarily tell them all of the details,” Qaralana finished, chuckling. “That’s one of the first things Daddy taught me.” She looked at Frina and smiled. “We won’t say Harald is the Nerevarine, because he’s not.”

“But I did get this ring from the real Nerevarine. He said it might be of use.” Harald looked across the table at his father, who was staring at the table.

“It is a good plan, son. Very good. You must all travel together – you, Dardeh, and the Dragonborn. Together you should be safe.” He raised his head up again and looked directly at Qaralana.

“Listen to the Blades carefully, if they allow you to. Consider what you’ve learned from Arngeir. Don’t allow the judgment of those who have been close to this issue to color your thoughts. I know that is difficult to do. It is difficult for all of us.”

“Let’s be on our way, then,” Dardeh said, shaking his head when Roggi started to protest. “I’d prefer staying here to make use of this fantastic room, love, but I think this needs to be done right away. Stay and watch the palace.” He exchanged a long look with Roggi. Ulfric does look tired. I’m concerned. Keep an eye on him. He prayed that Roggi would understand; and after a long moment, Roggi gave him a small nod.

“Will do,” Roggi agreed.

Harald led the way out of the suite. Just before they left the main trophy area, though, Qaralana stopped Dardeh with a hand on his arm.

“Uncle Dar. You think something’s happened to Paarthurnax, and that’s why all the dragons came back?”

He thought for a moment.

Brynjolf’s right. Never lie to them, but don’t necessarily tell them the whole truth.

“Yes, I’m afraid that may be the case. That’s why I want you to talk to the Blades.”

He followed her out of the room, hoping that he was wrong.