Chip sighed as he trudged through Whiterun’s market area. It had been a frustrating trip to Riften and back. He knew he had needed to do it, but a big part of him wished he’d been able to skip the whole thing.
First, there had been the very uncomfortable carriage ride. The carriage itself wasn’t so much of a problem, but Qara had been. And of course she had been. Why wouldn’t she? Her life had been turned utterly inside-out, and then her brother had ended a battle using a staff that had multiple lycanthropic creatures running about to rescue them. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing a person saw every day.
“I can’t tell you all of it,” he’d said. “Not yet, anyway. I’m… not comfortable enough with things right now.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she’d snapped at him. “I just found out I may have some Daedric Prince trying to claim my person and you aren’t comfortable telling me that…”
Chip had sighed, leaning nearer to her, forward over his knees so as to speak as quietly as possible. It wouldn’t do to alert the driver. “That I also have a Daedric Prince claiming my person?” He’d looked up at his sister and watched as, not unexpectedly, her eyes had widened. “Remember I told you I got this bow at a shrine? It was a shrine to Hircine. It’s a really long story, Qara, and I can’t go into all the details right now – but this is Hircine’s bow and that staff is Hircine’s as well.” One of them at least; there are others.
To her credit, Qaralana had merely stared at him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “Uncle Dar said it was something about our blood line. And you said that Daddy would understand being different, because…” She tilted her head to the side. “Because why? You didn’t finish that story.”
Chip had taken a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “Ok. I’ll tell you. I just found out about this a little while ago. Da said there are enough other people in Riften who know about this that it was only a matter of time until we knew. So, given what just happened to you, I think you deserve to know it too.” He’d spent some time telling her, to the best of his knowledge, about the fact that their father had at one time been a vampire, not long before she’d been born. She’d simply nodded, over and over, taking it in.
“But he’s not, any more.”
“Nope. Not for a long time, he said. But, Qara, that means there’s something different about our family. If there was any reason to doubt it, what’s just happened to you took that doubt away.”
Qara had sighed. “I hope they’ll understand better than I do.”
That had been the start of it. He’d been happy that, with as much to think about as she had at hand, Qara hadn’t pressed the issue of his affiliation with Hircine any harder. Vampires could make their way in friendly society; he knew that was the case. But not werewolves. There was nothing that could make him look like a human when he transformed; and as far as he knew there was nothing that could ever make him human again. He didn’t dare risk telling her about it.
Then they’d arrived in Riften. As soon as they walked through the north gate, Chip had gotten the feeling they were going to have trouble.
It was early evening; the light was beginning to fade. They’d been nearing the marketplace when a familiar voice called “Don’t miss out! Purchase a bottle of my genuine Falmerblood Elixir!”
Chip and Qara had grinned at each other. “Some things never…”
An older man walked in front of them, clearing his throat loudly. “Don’t listen to an old man,” he muttered, in a way that made it clear he wanted attention. Chip and his sister swapped glances, and Qara nodded, grinning.
“Are you alright?” Chip said, as earnestly as he could make himself sound in spite of being less than interested.
“Huh?” the man said, running his hand down his very white beard. He had no hair to speak of on top of his head, but enough in the back to have it pulled into a luxuriant tail. For a moment Chip had to stifle the urge to snicker, thinking that this was what Roggi might look like in another twenty years.
“Jalamar,” Qara said patiently. “What is the problem today?”
Today, she says. Hilarious. Jalamar didn’t seem to notice Qara’s subtle sarcasm, however; he turned to her with an eager expression on his face.
“Well, you see, I was taking an evening walk like I always do and I saw some men outside the Echo Deep Mine. The thing is, they looked like mercenaries. Up to no good.”
“Mercenaries aren’t always doing something bad,” Chip said gently. “They’re just being paid for a job. What makes you say they were up to no good?”
Jalamar frowned. “I’ve never seen them around here, and they looked real tough. In addition, Echo Deep Mine is not a place people go! There are myths about it.”
“Myths?” Qara asked. Chip couldn’t blame her for being interested. They’d certainly had enough of a wide variety of strange things happen just in the past few weeks.
“All sorts of stories!” Jalamar exclaimed, in a way that made Chip cringe. This was the sound old people made when they were about to monopolize your time for the next hour or two. But he tried not to react.
“Some say it’s haunted by ghosts,” the old man continued. “Some say a wealthy bandit lord hides out in it, quietly contributing to the crime in Riften.”
They were standing in such a way that Chip was able to make eye contact with Brynjolf, who stood as usual in his stall. Brynjolf rolled his eyes, and Chip nearly broke into a laugh. Undoubtedly that set of myths was a conflation of stories from people who’d seen the Guildmaster slipping into the cave that led to Riftvale and people who’d seen something rustling about near the mine.
“Some even say that deep within the mines there are Dwemer ruins, full of all sorts of automatons just waiting to slay whoever enters,” Jalamar said, earning a look of genuine interest from Qaralana.
“Really!” she said. “I have a friend who’d be interested to hear that. But then, what’s the problem?”
Jalamar turned to her. “On my way back from my walk I passed the mine entrance again. I heard all sorts of horrific noises! I reckon something happened to those men. Anyone going into that mine is up to no good. I’ve asked the guards to take a look, but they just ignore me.”
He turned back to face Chip. “I need someone to see what’s happened. Would you go look for me? Please! If they’re planning something, the city guard needs to know! Please, go check for me!”
Chip had been about to shake his head no – especially after having seen Brynjolf’s amused reaction to the old man – but Qaralana stepped in. “Of course we will!” she said. “Don’t worry about it at all. We’ll find out what’s going on.”
“Thank you! But be careful,” the old man said, turning to leave the area. “We still don’t know what’s in there.”
Chip stared after him for a moment and then turned to shake his head at his sister, in amazement. “I can’t believe you just agreed to that old coot’s request.”
“Well of course I did!” Qara said, stepping over to their father’s booth. “We should find out, shouldn’t we, Daddy?”
Brynjolf was packing away his potion flasks, and looked up with an affectionate but amused smirk at their approach. “No, lass. Jalamar is just what Chip called him, a crazy old coot. No need to go running headlong into an old abandoned mine. You never know what kind of beasts may have taken up residence inside.”
“Daddy!” Qara said in her most exasperated tones. “How could you? He’s not crazy, he’s just old. He’s probably not even that much older than you. And he’s worried!”
Brynjolf had ruffled her hair affectionately. “Aye, lass. That’s me, the old white-hair. Well I’m glad to see you both made it back, and your faces tell me that Dardeh’s still alive and well. Let’s go find your Ma and we’ll get all the news in one sitting.”
They headed to their family home, with Chip and his father swapping grins and Qaralana sputtering in anger all the way. Sayma was delighted to see Chip, even though she’d scolded him about never coming to visit when he was in the area. She smiled, though, and gave him a tight hug. Then they all gathered in front of the fireplace and caught each other up.
“So did you find Lydia, lad?” Brynjolf asked.
“No, but I did find Farkas and Vilkas. Farkas sure seemed to…” he cleared his throat and caught his father’s gaze. “Remember her. Really well.”
Sayma stared at him for a moment of perfect silence. Chip struggled not to smirk; it was serious business, after all, and not something to snicker about, and yet…
“Farkas… remembered Lydia?” Sayma said slowly, as though the implications were dawning on her a bit at a time.
Brynjolf stared at him for a moment and then began laughing; at first it was just a chuckle, but by the time he got himself under control he was wiping moisture away from his eyes. “And I’ll bet the lads – your uncles – were as amused as I am,” he said as he caught his breath. “They’ve been trying to figure that out for at least a decade. We’d all figured it was the former Jarl.”
Chip snickered. “Well Farkas did say that she moved up in the world after him.”
Qara swatted at him. “Is that all you men ever think about?”
Chip nodded vigorously. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“That and food,” Brynjolf added.
Sayma snorted. “Does it really matter? The real question is about Dardeh.”
Chip chuckled. “Lydia’s in High Rock now, it seems. But you can stop worrying about Uncle Dar, Ma. He’s fine. Or…” He hesitated, wondering how to fill in the gaps.
“He will be fine, in a little while,” Qaralana said. “He was pretty sick when I got there, but by the time we left he was feeling much better. Uncle Roggi is taking good care of him. Except for one thing. He’s, um…”
Sayma and Brynjolf looked back and forth between their children waiting for them to continue. Qaralana caught Chip’s attention with a desperate, silent plea for help; he sighed and nodded.
“He’s lost his voice. He can still speak, of course, even though it sounds really funny; raspy and … gurgly, I guess. But he can’t Shout any more. He told us that he’s no longer the Dragonborn. I… think Qara should tell you the rest.”
And so she had done, telling them about the dragons and the fights with Roggi present, and how she’d somehow unconsciously channeled her internal cry of frustration into a full-fledged Shout, using words she’d somehow learned from direct contact with Dardeh. Brynjolf had watched her, attentively. Sayma, though, had stared forward, almost blankly.
“We heard the thunderous noise,” Brynjolf said. “So that was the Greybeards announcing a new Dragonborn?”
“Yes,” Qara said. “That’s what Uncle Dar told me. Uncle Roggi, though…” she trailed off, waiting until Sayma met her gaze.
“Roggi what?” Sayma asked.
“Said you suspected this for a long time now,” Chip filled in.
“Yes,” Sayma said, faintly. Then she’d confirmed the story that Roggi had told them, filling in details that only she had reason to know. “I’m sorry I never told you about this before, sweetheart,” she finished, looking at Qaralana. “It’s been so long, and things have been so quiet. It was completely unsettling at the time and I’ve tried to put it out of my mind as much as I could.”
“And now there are dragons everywhere,” Chip sighed. “Something’s up, but we don’t know what. Not yet.” He sighed, running one hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t mean to be antisocial but I have to get back, and I’d like to be there during the day. I did a job for Farkas and I need to let him know it’s finished.” And, he thought, I still don’t trust myself not to turn right in the middle of our house, or in the city – either this one or Whiterun. I need to go now.
“You did a job for Farkas, did you?” Brynjolf asked, peering at him.
Leave it to Da to cut right to the heart of the matter. I’m getting out before he gets too much closer to the truth.
“Yeah, I was right there trying to find Lydia, and he started talking about needing to take care of a problem out at the west end of the hold, so I offered. Listen, I have to go. I really do. Qara was with me; she can fill you in on the rest.” Besides, I suspect both of you have things you need to explain to her.
Amidst the sharp glances from his father and his mother’s protestations, Chip had managed to give everyone a hug goodbye and had darted out the door. It was dark, and the moons hung ominously overhead; and yet he’d managed to make it back across the Rift without turning. It hadn’t stopped his emotions from roiling and his mind from racing.
Sorry to leave you holding the bag like that, Sis. But you aren’t ready to see my alter ego.
It wasn’t as though the journey back to Whiterun had been problem-free, either. First there had been another dragon – this one a blood dragon, alongside the river and not too far west of Treva’s Watch. He’d helped fight it, alongside some of the bandits that poured out of the old tower as well as the small group of men camped on the roadside near the bridge. It was as he and his family had agreed – there had to be something about the increase in dragon sightings that was important enough for Qara’s power to manifest itself.
Then he’d spied a strange thing on a hillside near Ivarstead as he approached in the early morning light. With a mammoth’s ribcage, a deer skull, and a bird’s nest resting atop the curve of the ribs, it looked like something the Forsworn would build out in the Reach – or something hags might create to scare folks off one of their ritual sites. It also reminded him of his own bow. If not for the bloody human skull next to it he might have thought it some kind of primitive shrine to Hircine. Not far from it he found a shimmering pile of ash; but there was no indication what that ash might have been previously. He’d continued on his way after circling the odd effigy several times, not knowing what it was at all but feeling a pervasive unease. It was almost as though he’d been drawn to it as some kind of signal.
He was thinking about that structure as he made his way up to Jorrvaskr. The old, crazy priest, Heimskr, stood before the statue of Talos, shouting the same admonitions to the public that he’d been screaming as long as Chip could remember – and even longer, according to his family.
I wonder what it all means? Things certainly seem to be changing right now. I wonder if it’s a warning of some kind.
He pushed open Jorrvaskr’s doors, hoping to find Farkas inside; but the only person wandering around in the upper level was the old caretaker, Tilma. She was busy straightening up the long tables and sweeping the floor, and ignored Chip as he made his way across the area and down the stairs to the Companions’ living quarters. Neither Farkas nor Vilkas seemed to be in this area, either.
“Huh,” he murmured. “Where the heck are you, Farkas?”
He poked his nose into the private rooms as uninstrusively as he could, finding nobody in any of them. He was about to leave when he heard a voice that he vaguely remembered from his first visit to Jorrvaskr.
“Do you think I could be a member of the Circle someday?” the man asked. “If I work hard?”
“Don’t worry about such things,” a voice Chip recognized as Kodlak’s responded. “Just focus on your own honor. Bring glory to the Companions, and that glory will return upon you.”
Interesting, Chip thought, making his way toward the voices. The Circle. I wonder what that means. It doesn’t surprise me to hear Kodlak speaking of honor, the way he was talking to Vilkas the last time I was here. But I don’t know what the Circle is.
“I just wanna make sure I’m movin’ up,” the man said, sounding a bit slurred, as if he’d had a bit too much ale. Chip approached them from behind and stopped, listening quietly. He saw Kodlak seated at a desk in the far end of his quarters.
“This is not the military, son,” he said. “There are no ranks.”
“But aren’t the Circle in charge? And don’t you lead them?”
Kodlak’s voice held a smile. “I guide the Companions. The Circle advises me. But we are all free warriors. Only our honor binds us together.”
Hmm. Free warriors. That’s good to know. Not that I think it would be especially easy to lead a pack of wolves. Although this poor man doesn’t seem to have a complete understanding of the organization he’s part of.
Casing the place and getting the lay of the land. I guess I learned more from Da than I thought.
The man Chip hadn’t met yet turned to leave, and Chip tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, Chip recognized him as the person he’d seen watching the fistfight upstairs on his first visit to Jorrvaskr.
“Hey, have you seen Farkas? I need to report in to him.”
“Yeah,” the man said, and introduced himself as Torvar. “Last I heard he was headin’ for the stables. Hey, wait. I know you. The latest recruit, right?” Then his voice dropped, and he looked a bit embarrassed. “Wait. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Thanks for the tip, Torvar. I didn’t see him on my way in but I’ll go check again.”
Chip plodded up the stairs and out through the front doors of Jorrvaskr. He was truly tired, and between the upheaval with Dardeh and Qaralana and the long trips back and forth from Riften he’d not had much time to rest. He found himself grumbling all the way back through Whiterun and out the gates. Through the increasing fog of his fatigue, he searched the area in front of both the stables and the farmhouse across the street from it; there was no sign of the big Nord, and nobody around who could even potentially be confused for him. Chip was beginning to feel his inner wolf growl angrily when he finally broke down and approached the man leaning up against the stalls, beside a handsome black horse saddled and ready to ride.
“Hey have you seen Farkas? I’m supposed to meet him, and they said he was down here. He hasn’t left, or something, has he?”
The man shook his head. “Naw, he hasn’t left. He’s out back here, brushing his horse last I saw.” He pointed toward the only place Chip hadn’t looked – directly in back of the stable office.
Chip snorted. “Figures. Thank you.” He made his way to the corner of the building and past a great pile of crates bearing the insignia of the East Empire Company, and there, just as the other man had said, was Farkas. Farkas looked up from his mount – a huge dappled gray warhorse – and grinned as Chip approached.
“I’ve taken care of that little problem,” Chip told him, stifling a yawn.
Farkas nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “A job well done. Your payment is secure, and you have my thanks. Check with one of the others if you want more work.”
Chip nodded. “I will. I’m pretty tired after all that so I’ll probably sleep awhile, too. Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Farkas said, smiling.
“What’s the Circle? Or maybe who is the Circle is a better question.”
Farkas grinned. “Oh that’s easy. Kodlak, of course. He’s the Harbinger. He guides us. Then there’s me, and Vilkas, Skjor, and Aela. You’ve met all of us I think. We’ve been around the longest and are the strongest warriors. Not that the others aren’t strong, you know, we’re just the oldest.”
And you’re the ones who smell like werewolves to me, Chip thought. He nodded, thanked Farkas, and turned with a sigh to make his way back to the mead hall.
He was about to push the doors open when a faint sound caught his ear and turned him to the side. Something seemed to be happening in the yard where Vilkas had tested him; so he made his way around the far side of the building, past the ivy-covered side of the Skyforge’s mound. To his right under the porch’s roof he saw Skjor seated at the table nearest him and, at the far side of the area, a woman he didn’t recognize. Both were enjoying tankards of something and watching the efforts of Vilkas, who was training.
Chip stopped and watched for a moment. Vilkas was using a greatsword this time, not the sword-and-shield combination he’d had when Chip fought him. It was clear that anything that stood in the path of that sword would have no chance of survival; and yet it seemed to Chip as though Vilkas’ swings were maybe a bit overpowered, maybe lacking in control just a bit as he took several large recovery steps after each power swing. Still, he wouldn’t go out of his way to get into a skirmish with this man. He approached slowly, and cleared his throat to get Vilkas’ attention.
“Vilkas.”
Vilkas stopped swinging for a moment and looked at Chip. “Whelp. You can come to me with questions. I know our history almost as well as Vignar, at this point. Of course, I can remember it,” he added with a chuckle.
“Thanks,” Chip said cautiously. I really don’t think you’re amusing, Vilkas, but whatever you say. I can tell you’re a lot stronger than I am. “Farkas said I could come to you for work.”
It seemed to Chip that Vilkas’ eyes lit up; and as frosty blue as they were – almost silver – it was an eerie sight indeed. “Actually, yes. We’ve received a desperate missive. A citizen of Whiterun – Faendal, from Riverwood – has been kidnapped, and they’re holding him in Silent Moons Camp. The Companions have been asked for assistance and we shall answer! Particularly,” he added in a tone that set Chip’s teeth on edge, “when the pay is as good as this. Get moving. I shudder to think what will happen if you’re too late.”
Vilkas grinned, turned, and walked toward Jorrvaskr. Chip seethed quietly.
Desperate? How desperate is the situation when you know where the guy is? And you didn’t even know when I’d be back. Here you were, playing in the yard and Skjor watching you, to boot, and you waited for your newest recruit to come back to deal with the situation? You just wanted to stick me with an unpleasant task.
I see how it is, now. So be it, Vilkas.
Chip decided that no matter how desperate the situation, if the Circle could lounge about in the yard, he could take a nap before throwing himself into a conflict once more. He made his way back into the mead hall and down the stairs to the room Farkas had told him was the bunk room for non-Circle Companions.
It was a pleasant enough space, to his eye. The central area just before him had a low chest with food on it; to his right was a room with four beds and two males near them – Torvar and a Dunmer. To Chip’s left was the same setup, but clearly the women’s side of the bunk.
He approached the women, smiling. The woman who he’d seen engaged in a fistfight the first time he entered Jorrvaskr turned and glared at him.
“I’m still trying to figure out why Skjor let you in, in the first place,” she said angrily.
“Skjor isn’t the one who decides, Njada,” the other woman said, turning to face Chip. “Hi. I’m Ria. I was the newest Companion until you came along.” He thought her voice sounded a bit wistful. “I … guess that’s ok.” Then her mood picked up. “Just means I can show you the ropes.”
Chip could tell that neither of these woman was a werewolf. While Ria was really very pretty, and Njada might be if she stopped glowering at him, he couldn’t help but remember Rakel, the girl he’d met on Solstheim. There was something about the fierce energy of the werewolf just beneath the pale, flawless skin of her shoulders against the snow, in the sunlight, that had…
Good grief. This is just not the time, nor the place.
“So why’d you join the Companions, Ria?” he asked, to distract himself.
“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to be with them since I was a little girl!” She looked astonished. Chip smiled, thinking of Queen Frina, who had said over and over in his hearing that she’d wanted to be fighting beside King Ulfric and Roggi since she was a child. Ria continued speaking, clearly baffled that anyone would ask such a question.
“Haven’t you heard the stories of Kodlak and Skjor fighting off the hundred and one Orc berserkers? Skjor says it was more like forty, but he’s just being modest. Where else would I want to be but here? Learning from them. Fighting at their sides.”
“I have to admit I hadn’t heard those stories. I’m impressed.” He stifled a yawn. “I’m also completely beat. I’m going to do what Farkas suggested – find a bed and fall in it. I hope we’ll get to fight together some day.”
He turned back to the men’s side and grinned as he recognized Torvar. “Time for me to find an unused bunk. So tell me, Torvar, why did you join the Companions?”
Torvar had impressed him as a man who perhaps enjoyed his drink a bit too much. When he spoke, his voice tended to confirm that impression, even though he seemed to have a certain amount of pride in himself.
“A man of my station has many debts. I’m not much use at labor, or learning, but I can throw a punch with the best of ‘em. The Companions let me fight for gold. So I fight.”
Well, Chip thought, that’s not a very noble reason for joining, but it’s a fair one and an honest answer. I can appreciate it.
He moved past Torvar and approached the Dunmer, who was seated at the small round table at the end of the chamber. This was the person he’d seen fighting Njada, upstairs; he was having a snack and seemed truly annoyed at Chip’s presence. He looked up, sneering.
“I never thought they’d let me join the Companions.”
Chip was about ready to make a conciliatory remark, having seen the man fighting, but the Dunmer continued: “But now it looks like they’re letting anyone in these days.”
Chip stood there with his mouth open in astonishment. It had been such a rude thing to say that he could feel his temper flaring; and he found himself needing to fight his own nature. The last thing he needed was to have his inner werewolf come out here, inside, amongst people who were supposed to be his peers.
Torvar, standing nearby, laughed nervously. “Aw, don’t let old Athis bother you. He’s always a jerk. Comes from being a Dunmer and having lots of the Nords look down on you. But if you want some training in one-handed weapons, he’s your guy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chip said, nodding at Athis, feeling his anger die back as quickly as it had flared up. He really couldn’t fault the sarcastic and defensive attitude that came to some on account of being a Dunmer – he’d seen even the High King dismiss them as if they didn’t exist or, even if they did, weren’t important enough to warrant attention. His Uncle Roggi, though, was a different story. Chip had gotten several sharply-worded dressings-down over the years for parroting racial stereotypes. Roggi wouldn’t stand for it. Instead of pressing the matter further, he asked Athis a different question.
“So what does it mean to be a Companion?”
“It means signing on for the Nord ideas of how to live your life. Honor, battle, glory, all that.”
Chip couldn’t tell whether Athis was being sarcastic or genuine. Something told him, though, that he could make a friend with the right move at this point, or an enemy with the wrong one.
“Hmm. I can appreciate that,” he said. “You can probably tell, I’m a half-breed. Half Nord, half Redguard. My Ma’s Redguard. Da is Nord, and sometimes it’s just easier to go along with that end of things even though people look at you and think Redguard.”
Athis was still acting suspicious by the time he finished his statement, but Chip thought it looked as though he was giving the admission serious consideration, and maybe even some grudging respect.
“And right now I’m a really tired half-breed. I need to get some rest before I tackle the job Vilkas gave me.”
Athis nodded, and pointed to the cot farthest away from him. “That one’s free,” he said.
Chip sat down on the cot, gratefully, and kicked off his boots with a groan. Then he looked up at Athis and grinned. “Ever get the feeling Vilkas is just handing out the jobs he doesn’t want to do himself?”
Athis’ eyebrows rose for a moment, and then a small smile cracked his face.
“All the time, brother. All the time.”