Chapter 23 – Qaralana and Chip

 

Roggi got home the next morning.

Qaralana was just about done cleaning up after the morning meal, and reassuring herself that Dardeh actually was drinking the tea she’d made, when the door opened. She looked up just in time to see Roggi enter and stepped briskly in front of him, purposefully blocking his view. She knew he would be checking, instantly, sizing up the state of his husband’s health. That state hadn’t improved a whit overnight. If anything, she thought that Dardeh was worse, his breathing labored and his voice hesitant and raspy.

It’s a good thing Mama sent me, she thought as she stared at her other uncle, trying not to gasp at the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of worry on his face. She’d never seen him look so worn. He must have traveled all night and not gotten any sleep.

“Uncle Roggi!” she said, trying to make her voice as cheerful as it could be. “You’re home earlier than I expected. Mama sent me with a bunch of herbs and instructions to look after Uncle Dar. You know Mama. She worries.”

Roggi tried to look past her; but she side-stepped enough to block his view again and made sure to engage him. She watched him realize that he wasn’t going to get past her immediately and sigh in frustration.

“Yes,” he said in a cheerful tone that was as obviously false as it could possibly be. “I delivered the news to Ulfric and then caught a ride to Falkreath. I couldn’t see any point in dallying in Windhelm.” He dropped his voice to the smallest whisper. “How…is he?”

“Not great,” she whispered back, “but I gave him some herbal tea to help.” Then she raised her voice again. “You didn’t want to have a visit with Queen Frina?”

Roggi smirked; his chuckle was real. “Frina was in a mood. A bit of a snit, you might say. I decided that it might be best if I removed myself from the area once my business with Ulfric was done.” He moved to the side, then, giving Qaralana a piercing glare that said don’t even think about stopping me, and stepped around her.

Qara watched as he took in Dardeh’s condition. She saw him wince, and then put a faultless expression of happiness and comfort onto his face as he approached his husband. He leaned over, and kissed Dardeh on the cheek.

“Dar. See, you didn’t have to worry about me getting into trouble I shouldn’t. I came right back home. How are you doing?”

Dardeh had told Qara that he’d slept well; but as soon as he’d gotten up and started moving around the coughing had returned. Qara had hoped maybe he wouldn’t look so ashen today, but he did; the circles under his eyes were possibly worse than they had been, and he’d done well to squeeze out a word or two between fits of coughing. She’d given him more of the tea; and while it hadn’t put him completely to sleep this morning he wasn’t moving around much. It wasn’t paralysis poison she’d made him drink, but it was as close to that as a person could consume and still be coherent.

“I… could hear you… you know,” Dardeh said with a tiny chuckle. The words were weak, and it almost seemed as though he was trying to hold them in, rather than trying to force them out past his raw throat. “I’m… fine, Roggi. How…” He stopped to cough for a few moments, then took another sip of his tea and shook his head. “Damn cough.” He smiled up at Roggi. “Afraid I couldn’t chop… any wood.”

“Dar.” Roggi looked down at his husband, and Qara could both see the pain on his face and feel the great love he had for her blood uncle. It radiated from him like heat from a fireplace.

He looks afraid. He’s afraid their time is running out. So am I, truth be told. Her eyes started to sting with tears. I don’t want to lose my Uncle Dar. He’s far too young still.

It was startling to her to see them like this. Dardeh, while he’d never been a tall man, had always been large, and robust, and a man who filled a room just by his presence. Roggi, on the other hand, had always seemed to follow in Dardeh’s shadow somehow even though he had a presence of his own. But just now Dardeh looked small, and shrunken, and diminished; and Roggi towered over both of them, his emotions filling the room in the place usually reserved for Dardeh.

“You don’t have to chop wood, love,” Roggi said quietly. “I can do that for both of us.”

They stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch out to a near eternity. Qaralana felt as though another heartbeat would be too much – that she would break down sobbing. She blinked back the tears as a different emotion started to fill her: anger.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all!

“I see Qara’s been learning her alchemy,” Roggi said then, with a grin, breaking the mood. “I can smell the ingredients. Good choice. That’ll keep you planted on that chair, though, won’t it?”

Dardeh chuckled weakly again. “Sure will,” he said, smiling back at Roggi. “Helps. I got sleep last night. I needed it.”

Roggi put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “About time. You haven’t slept in weeks. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Now then…”

He was reaching for the buckles on his gauntlets, to take them off, when there was a sudden pounding on the door. Qaralana went to answer. As soon as she had the door cracked open just a bit a breathless man burst in.

“Dragon!” he cried, panting as though he’d been sprinting as hard as he could. “There’s another dragon, out by the mill, again. Dragonborn…”

Qara looked to her uncles, who were exchanging dismayed looks. Dardeh shook his head.

“I… can’t, Roggi. You go.” He stopped to cough for a moment. “I can go… absorb them… later.”

Roggi nodded, slowly.

But Uncle Roggi’s not Dragonborn! What happens if he gets hurt?

“I’m coming with you,” Qaralana blurted out. “I missed my chance to kill a dragon on my way here, and I’m mad.”

“Qara…” Roggi stared to object.

She stomped her foot on the floor and snapped at him. “Uncle Dar can’t fight right now. I’m coming with you. I’m not letting you get killed!”

Roggi stood frozen for a moment, staring at Dardeh. Finally, Dardeh nodded.

“Go,” he said, waving his hand toward the door.

Qara ran for her weapons and then followed Roggi and the messenger out the door and toward the sawmill. The messenger was slow, crouching in fear every few paces; so they ran past him. It was obvious where the dragon was. While she couldn’t see it yet, Qara heard its howls and shrieks echoing in the bowl-like valley across the way from the mill. She pulled out her bow and readied it as they got nearer.

“Over here again?” Roggi grumbled. “I swear this is the fourth time I’ve had to help take down a dragon here.”

“Where are they all coming from?” Qara shouted at him to be heard over the dragon, as they neared the hillside.

“I don’t know! I thought they were mostly gone!”

They crossed the road and dashed down the hillside onto the grassy slope. Qara swiveled this way and that, looking for the dragon; but it wasn’t until Roggi started shouting “Come on! Come on!” that she spotted it. It was a beautiful creature: silver and white, with vertical spines extending out from its tail and up along its back. It circled around them and dropped heavily onto the ground just behind Roggi.

Qaralana got in one shot on the dragon while Roggi was turning to face it. Then she sidestepped, getting out of the way of its frost attack. She watched in horror as Roggi’s armor turned white from the cold. It didn’t seem to slow him down, though; he stepped forward as he swung and the weight of his dragonbone greatsword pulled him along, striking the dragon’s snout and leaving a large gash. Qara shook herself back into action and started firing at the dragon as quickly as she could while it and Roggi distracted each other. She’d landed three or four solid hits when it rose back up into the skies.

“Uncle Roggi! Are you ok?”

Roggi laughed. “I love a challenge!” He raised his sword and turned as the dragon banked and circled around behind him, hovering for a moment and blasting him with frost yet again. Qaralana tried to get another arrow into it, but it flew off again, strafing Roggi and then thundering to the ground in the same spot it had landed before.

Qaralana kept firing at the beast while it and Roggi fought each other, their nearness bringing her heart up into her throat with fear. She’d heard Dardeh scold him more than once about getting too close to the dragon’s head, and now she knew why: the snapping fangs barely missed him at least twice, even as he opened gash after gash in the dragon’s face. She nearly called out to him again, but stopped herself.

Uncle Roggi’s fought so many of these things! He knows what he’s doing. I need to focus on my bow!

She managed to bury several more arrows in the dragon before it rose into the sky again. Qara turned and ran up the hill toward a small patch of trees, looking around frantically to try to see its whereabouts but not able to locate it.

Suddenly she found herself struggling to regain her footing, as the enormous creature landed directly behind her, shaking the ground beneath her. She gasped. She’d known that dragons were huge, but there was a difference between knowing such a thing intellectually and having one close enough to see its individual teeth as it opened its mouth to roar-

And started approaching.

Qaralana shrieked and fired an arrow into the beast’s open maw. She couldn’t tell whether it had landed, looking through the cloud of agonizingly-cold frost that billowed out of the dragon’s mouth toward her. She tried to turn and run, but her limbs felt frozen; and for a moment she wondered whether she was breathing her last.

“I’ll carve you into pieces!” She heard Roggi’s shout and the impact of his sword on the dragon once again. That was all that was needed for the dragon’s attention to return to the big Nord, giving Qara time to roll aside and heal herself for a moment.

The dragon rose again and circled the area. She watched Roggi down a healing potion and then raise his greatsword up to a blocking position once more.

She heard the rush of wings just overhead and backed up, finding herself in the space between a large boulder and one of Falkreath’s huge pines. As the dragon crashed to ground again she began firing at it. Its attention was still firmly fixed on Roggi, who valiantly swatted at it over and over in spite of the pain of the frost attack showing clearly on his face. One of her arrows struck deep into its flank, then another. Then, to her complete horror, the dragon turned to stare at her.

She had nowhere to go. She was trapped between a rock and a tree trunk and was going to die.

Mama, Daddy, Chip, I’m so sorry…

To her utter astonishment, the dragon took one more step toward her and vaulted upwards once more, leaving her trembling with both cold and fear. She forced herself into action and ran farther up the hill. When the dragon came to ground again – as it did after just a few moments – she was able to put a tree between herself and its muzzle, deflecting most of the frost attack. She thought that she could then step to one side, loose an arrow, and duck into the tree’s shelter once more if she needed to. Unfortunately, a moment later when she stepped out into the clear to take another shot she was struck full-on by an arctic blast.

Qaralana cried out in pain and scrambled backward, sliding down the slope again until she could run behind the boulder that had boxed her in earlier. She cast healing for a moment or two, listening for Roggi’s voice as he taunted the dragon. She also heard the thwap of a bowstring; she emerged from behind the rock, confused, and saw that one of the Stormcloak guards had joined the battle.

Thank the gods. He may make the difference!

The guard advanced on the dragon and drew his sword and shield, delivering a massive, backhanded power attack on the creature. Qara began firing at it once more, a part of her mind saddened by the bloodstains marring the beautiful creature’s skin. Surely they must be close to defeating it by now, she thought. She drew her ebony daggers – one sharply pointed and the other curved and wicked – and ran forward to attack; but just as she reached the dragon, the Stormcloak guard’s blade sank into its skull and it crumpled to the ground, dead.

Roggi ran toward her, stowing his blood-drenched greatsword as he ran. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Did it…”

He stopped short, his eyes growing wide in astonishment. Qara had been about to nod, to tell him that yes, she was fine – to ask him the same question, given how close he’d been to the business end of the dragon – but something started to happen that she’d never seen before.

The dragon’s corpse began to smolder and then burst into flames. She cried out, more in surprise than anything else, and took a step backward. She heard a muffled boom; and then, as the flesh slowly disappeared from the dragon’s skeleton, a rush of glowing energy swirled around her and, to her amazement, into her. She felt its warmth, its power; felt it filling her up to the point where she was afraid she might burst – and she cried out again, fearful for what this might mean. She was shaking, certain that her legs were going to betray her and leave her sitting here in the steaming grass. When the energies finally dissipated she looked around for her uncle, who put out a hand to steady her.

“By the Eight, Uncle Roggi, what just happened?”

“I…” Roggi started speaking and then closed his mouth, shaking his head. “I’ve seen this dozens of  times,” he finally managed. “This is what happens when your uncle Dardeh kills a dragon. I never imagined…”

Qaralana had been trying to comprehend what he was saying, what he meant by it; but suddenly she heard a sound that made her blood want to run cold. At first she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her, replaying the distant echoing of the dragon’s roar in her head. But as she turned her head from side to side she realized that the sound she heard had directionality to it. It was coming from the other side of these foothills, beyond Mammoth Manor. It was faint, but it was real; and it represented danger for anyone traveling in or near Gavrostead or the fort on the next hillside over.

“Uncle Roggi, there’s another one! Come on, we have to kill it!” Without waiting for him to respond, Qara trotted up the grassy hillside to the road, sprinting forward once she’d reached the open cobblestones. She stopped for just a moment when she came alongside her uncles’ house, and listened; it was silent for a heartbeat or two and then the dragon’s roar echoed clearly from just below the hillside. She bolted down the roadway.

I don’t know what just happened but I do know that Uncle Dar can’t come out and chase a dragon right now. He just can’t. He’s too sick. And Uncle Roggi and I can kill it. I’ll do it by myself if I have to.

She’d almost reached the place where the road made its final drop from the plateau that held Lake Ilinalta to the western edge of Whiterun’s grasslands when she came across the bodies of three Stormcloak soldiers. It was obvious that they’d tried to take on the dragon, and had lost. She felt anger welling up inside her, hot and fierce; and she cried out in an inarticulate scream of rage as she readied her weapon, scanning the horizon to find the creature that needed to die for what it had done. She sensed Roggi’s presence just behind her, and heard the sound of his greatsword being unsheathed.

As the gates of the village came into her sight, Qaralana spotted the dragon. This one wasn’t a stunning beauty like the frost dragon. This one was a mottled greenish-brown, the muted color of lichen on stone; and as it flew overhead back up toward the lake, Qara could see arrows protruding from its neck. It was already injured. That would definitely work to her advantage. The beast passed directly over Qara and Roggi, turning in midair to land on the roadway and charge them. She fired at its head, not knowing what to expect as it opened its mouth.

To her amazement, this dragon did not have a loud, roaring attack. What emerged was a huge stream of green, a substance that splattered as it struck the roadway well out in front of the dragon’s snout.

Poison. It has to be.

She buried three arrows into the dragon’s hide and then ran uphill toward it. It leapt into the air; and as she snarled her anger at it, the creature glided downhill just past Roggi and landed on the roadway again. Roggi had started toward her, and didn’t see how very close behind him the dragon was as it advanced on him, snarling and spitting.

“Look out!” she yelled. Roggi turned, barely dodging the trailing edge of the dragon’s poison. The creature jumped into the air, just enough to hopscotch over them and land uphill once more, just beyond their position. Roggi howled incoherently and made for the dragon’s head.

“Die, dragon!” Qaralana heard behind her. Once again, a passing Stormcloak soldier had joined the fray and was shooting past her as fast as he could. She joined him in launching arrow after arrow at the beast. Then she pulled her blades and ran forward, intending to get a physical blow in, this time.

The dragon jumped back into the air.

“Get DOWN here!” she shrieked as she had done in Ivarstead, the anger she’d felt building since then growing hotter and hotter as this beast played leapfrog with them.

It flew downhill just a bit and then turned. But rather than landing, the dragon hovered over the Stormcloak soldier and Roggi, who she couldn’t see but could hear from behind a tree.

Get DOWN here! she screamed in her mind.

“JOOR- ZAH FRUL!”

An enormous sound split the air, and as Qara watched, confused, a visible cloud of energy shot from in front of her toward the dragon. It struck the beast, bathing it in a cloud of blue magic. The dragon, clearly dismayed, thundered to the ground directly in front of her.

What…?

She fumbled for her bow again, backpedaling away from the monster as quickly as she could, and fired at it. It opened its jaws and Qara found herself squarely in the middle of a fountain of poison. Nauseous, she cast healing on herself and scrambled uphill away from the dragon; and as she did so she heard the sound of swords striking its scaly hide, capturing its attention. It turned to face Roggi and the Stormcloak. Qara drew her blades and ran forward, slashing and stabbing as fast as she could move her arms.

This time, she got the last blow. The dragon crumpled into a heap and began to burn.

As it had happened with the frost dragon, this beast gave up its flesh and its power in a fiery, muffled explosion. As it had happened before, the energies rushed toward and into Qaralana. She stood nearly frozen in place, trying to comprehend what had happened to her, while Roggi watched, stony-faced and silent. As the last of the energy flickered around her and subsided, he pushed his hood down and shook his head.

“Dragonborn,” he breathed – almost to himself, it seemed to Qaralana.

“What… what are you saying, Uncle Roggi?”

“You’ve just absorbed two dragons in the space of half an hour, niece. I’m saying that you’re Dragonborn.” He nodded up the hill toward his home. “We need to get back, but then we’ll be able to talk about it more. It’s…”

“DOVAHKIIN!”

The ear-splitting, percussive word crackled through the air with a force great enough to shake the very ground on which they both stood. For a split second, Qara and Roggi stared at each other. Then Roggi’s eyes grew round.

“Dar! No!!”

Before Qaralana could ask him what was wrong, Roggi was barreling up the road at a clip she’d never seen from him before. She didn’t know what was going on. Her head was reeling from the events of the past half-hour. Her ears were still ringing, whether from the sound they’d just heard, or the dragons’ roars, or whatever it was that had happened when she had screamed at the second dragon, she didn’t know. She didn’t have time to wonder about it. All she could do was sprint up the road behind Roggi, hoping beyond hope that whatever he feared had not actually come to pass.

The drizzle was finally tapering off by the time Chip walked up the hill toward Valtheim Towers. The road was still wet, though; so he’d made certain to walk, rather than run, as he trudged along. Falling flat on his face onto the hard cobbles was just about the last thing he needed.

He’d taken his time making his way back from Riften to his home, and then across the fallen tree bridge to the White River valley. He’d done it on purpose. It wasn’t that he didn’t take his father’s concerns seriously – he definitely intended to get to Whiterun and deliver Brynjolf’s message to Lydia as quickly as he could safely do it. It was the “safely” part that was the issue. The bloodbath he’d created on the previous night was all the reason he needed to be sure he wouldn’t be around others when the moons rose and the possibility that he would turn arose with them.

So it had been a relief that there was a steady drizzle as night fell. He was wet and uncomfortable, in spite of the heavy cloak he wore over his armor; and yet he was grateful that he hadn’t been in Riften, or even in Ivarstead, when darkness had overtaken Skyrim.

It’s not that it’s such an awful thing, turning like that, if it’s bandits I’m eating. I don’t know quite what I’d do, though, if I hurt someone innocent, or someone I care about.

There was a bandit standing just inside the doorway at Valtheim. It was a place that always attracted bandits, and mercenaries, and people who enjoyed preying on other people. Even his father had told him about his own adventures clearing the place out, though his own motives had been somewhat suspect – as might be expected from a thief. The bandit who stepped out of the towers to block Chip’s way on this night was a girl, probably a few years older than him but not much more than that. She used the same old tired ploy his father Brynjolf had told him about, claiming that it was a toll road and he should hand over two hundred or so septims to pass.

He looked at her and laughed.

“And what’s so funny about it?” the girl snapped.

He grinned. “Well, first of all, it’s not a toll road. Second of all, if I wanted to, I could just trot down the hill to the river and pass upstream without stepping foot on this road, and there’s nothing you could do about it. But third,” he said, taking a step closer to her and leaning in, “…and most important, is that I’ve killed dozens of people like you.”

He felt himself licking his lips, and was secretly a little horrified that he’d done so, but it seemed to help underscore his message. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten the feeling that something about his being a werewolf gave him an aura that was supremely intimidating. Tonight, it definitely worked to his advantage. The girl peered at him and swallowed hard.

“You know, now that you mention it? You’re right. It’s probably not worth it. Just… shove off, before the others notice. I don’t want to get in trouble.” She stepped back into the shelter of the tower and waved him on his way.

He turned to look back toward the mountains as he passed the spot. The mist had cleared out, and the moons rising into the night were brilliant and just past full. He blew out a deep breath. It was safely past the time in which he would have turned if Hircine had willed it that night. He resumed his trek toward Whiterun, picking up his pace. No animal attacks would be reported tomorrow morning – at least none that he had caused.

Chip stood before the door of the house known as Breezehome, waiting for a response to his knock. It was the third time he’d knocked, and he was getting impatient that nobody was answering. Surely this Lydia would have heard the sound – he had made plenty of noise, on purpose.

“What did Da say? If she’s not there, try Jorrvaskr?” He looked up the street and frowned. He didn’t feel comfortable just barging in there in the middle of the night, unannounced, on the basis of his father’s hunch. He could, however, go to the inn and ask around for Lydia without being out of place. Besides, he was thirsty, and tired from the travel even though the moons were not likely to let him sleep. He knocked on the door of Breezehome once more time and waited a few moments. Then he heaved a sigh and trudged along Whiterun’s main thoroughfare to the inn – the Bannered Mare.

He pushed the door open and slipped inside, grinning at the volume of noise even at this late hour. There was a Nord man with massive muscles sitting at the bar and a middle-aged Redguard woman carrying a drink tray, circulating among the customers. A bard played a jaunty tune on a flute, and several obviously intoxicated people danced and clapped along mostly but not completely in time with his playing. He smirked.

Can’t find the beat, eh?

Chip stepped up to the counter, and a Nord woman who was wiping out tankards smiled at him and stepped forward. She nodded toward the noisy customers and sighed.

“I like this work well enough, but I have to say that I’m ready to retire. I’ve been telling people that for years and years, but I’m really quite ready. What can I get for you, young man?”

Young man, Chip thought. I like that better than young whelp. He grinned back at her.

“Mead, if you would,” he said, pushing several coins across the counter toward her. “And maybe some directions?”

“Of course,” the woman said, filling a tankard from a nearby cask and placing it down in front of him. “What do you need to find?”

“Who, more like,” Chip said, taking a sip of his drink and smiling in contentment as it refreshed his road-weary self. “I’m looking for someone named Lydia. She’s needed at my uncles’ house, but nobody answers at her house. And I’ve never met her, so I don’t know who to look for.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” she said, shaking her head. “Lydia’s left town. She’s been gone probably a month now. Went to High Rock to visit one of her girls. Well, one of the Thane’s girls, that is, though she used to take care of them.”

“Oh!” Chip said, dismayed. “Yeah. Lucia. She’s my cousin. A lot older than me, and I’ve only met her once or twice, when I was a little kid and they came to visit. They came with Uncle Dar, though, so I never met Lydia. Damn.”

“Come on now, Hulda,” the big Nord rumbled. “You sure she’s not up at Jorrvaskr? She used to spend…”

“Ulfberth War-Bear! Hush!” the woman hissed at him. “You should know better than to be spreading gossip like that. Old gossip, to boot. If Lydia ever had a beau in town, it wasn’t either of the twins, and you know that as well as I do!”

The man cracked a sheepish grin at Chip and chuckled. “It may be old gossip, but it’s still juicy. Worth a look anyway, if you ask me. You never know. Besides, they’re always looking for new meat up there in Jorrvaskr. You know, younger, stronger fighters. Some of ‘em are starting to get a little long in the tooth, if you catch my drift.”

Chip felt the hair on his neck rising at Ulfberth’s turns of phrase. I’m sure he meant nothing by it, but under the circumstances it’s a bit creepy.

“Thanks,” he managed to say. “I’ll head up there first thing in the morning. Have you got a spare bed I can rent for the rest of the night, Hulda?”

“Of course. It’s yours for a day. When you’ve finished your drink, I’ll show you to your room.”

Chip busied himself with his tankard for a moment or two as Ulfberth pushed himself off the barstool and plodded toward the door. He was watching the man leave when Hulda leaned over the bar and whispered.

“Between you and me, I don’t know what his wife sees in him. Her muscles are nearly as big as his.”

It caught Chip completely by surprise. He tossed back his head and laughed before allowing Hulda to show him to his room.