“Chip?”
Once again Brynjolf found himself unable to produce anything more useful than the name of the person he saw before him. It was such a startling difference from the younger Brynjolf’s usual clean-shaven, short-haired appearance that he hadn’t recognized him at first. And that was the least of it. He didn’t remember his son with such a solid build. Chip had always been fit, for certain, even as a child – but lean, not muscled with arms like a blacksmith’s.
“Yes?”
“You startled me, lad. You look…” He trailed off, not quite knowing how to phrase what was going through his mind.
“You look positively shaggy, Chip,” Qaralana said, finishing the statement. “What is all this?” She waved at her own face.
Chip snorted. “It’s hair. And a beard. What else would it be?”
She crossed her arms and tsk’d. “You know what I mean. And look at you! You’ve put on weight and all of it is muscle. And what happened to your armor?”
Chip ran a hand over his chin and grinned again. “Well, basically I outgrew it. Literally. It doesn’t fit anymore. I’ve been hunting and chopping down trees and pounding on nails and pegs and stuff since you left and I guess I bulked up. I wasn’t really thinking about hair.”
Qara peered at him. “Lots and lots of hunting, I’ll bet,” she said quietly.
“Oh absolutely. I’ve spent time running back and forth between here and Amber Creek, too, to get supplies and what have you, and hunting with the Hjorgunnars.” He smiled happily. “Lots of hunting, as you said.”
Brynjolf quietly listened to his children chattering with each other as they took seats before the fire, wondering at the emphasis on certain words that said the two of them shared knowledge of something he didn’t know. Maybe more than one thing, for that matter. Then, as though it had needed some time to fully register in his consciousness, a thought came to him.
“Wait. Did you say Hjorgunnars?”
“I sure did!” Chip answered happily. “Brothers. Ulgar and Svegard.”
“They fought with us against Yngvarr,” Qara said. “They’re both big and powerful. Like Chip,” she added, peering at him again with a question in her eyes.
Brynjolf frowned, puzzled. “Why do I know those names? If I remember them from more than fifty years ago they must have been grown men then or they wouldn’t have left much of an impression on me. But that doesn’t seem likely, that someone that much older than me would have been fighting in a war.”
Chip snorted. “You didn’t see your father. He held his own with the best of them on either side.”
“He’s really strong, Daddy,” Qara added.
“You don’t need to tell me that, lass,” Brynjolf said, frowning at the memory of Brunulvr’s fist crashing into his face. “He’s always been strong. But he’s so much older now. And so would those brothers be. It makes no sense.”
Chip grinned up at him. “Does it make sense that you look so much younger than you are? Does it make sense that Farkas and Vilkas look about my age? Actually, Ulgar and Svegard remind me of them in a lot of ways.”
“But if they’re the same people I remember hearing about when I was a child they’d be twenty winters or so older than I am. Tell me they’re at least gray-haired like me.”
Chip shook his head. “Nope. Like I said, they remind me of Farkas and Vilkas.”
Brynjolf sighed. He didn’t know what this meant, but he did know it didn’t make sense. Maybe these were the sons of the people he only vaguely recalled. Truthfully, it didn’t matter.
“I’m kind of surprised Qara got you to come,” Chip said. “Have you seen them yet?”
He felt himself smirking. “Yes, I have, lad. It was… odd. It’s hard to think of people you haven’t seen in fifty years as your parents.”
“I thought they were going to tear into each other right in front of me, Chip. Daddy got mad and used his Nightingale power…”
“Oh, you didn’t!” Chip exclaimed. “Really, Da? You let that cranky old man get to you?”
Brynjolf felt himself flushing. “Yes, I did. I shouldn’t have, but I did. And now everyone knows what I’m capable of. Including me.”
I didn’t realize how easy it would be to get someone to do themselves harm. I should have, after what Mercer did to me and Karliah. Now I know. I’ll never forgive Mercer, but I understand him a bit better.
Chip grinned up at him again. “That’s good. Grandda forgets, sometimes, that other people aren’t him.”
He examined his son once more. It was impressive, how much he’d grown in so many different ways. But he needed to give the boy a message before he forgot in the swirl of new old experiences.
“By the way, lad. Speaking of Farkas and Vilkas…”
Chip looked at him, eyes narrowed. “What about them?”
“Well it seems you’re more than you let on to me, the last time we spoke. Does the word ‘Harbinger’ mean anything to you?”
Chip frowned. “Don’t play with me, Da. If you know that word, you know it means something to me. I didn’t ask to have the job.”
“You’re not doing the job, according to Vilkas, and he doesn’t like not knowing where everything stands.”
A low rumble sounded from Chip’s throat. “I assumed he would be in charge. He’s the obvious choice. I guess he didn’t get the message.”
“Aye. I guess he didn’t.” He ran a hand over his chin and then shook his head. “I’m a fine one to say anything, lad, given how many times I cut out and left Delvin in charge, but you need to go back and either make it official or do your job. It’s not right to leave your second in charge without any definite word.”
He was just about to add something about his own experiences when Qara did it for him.
“I guess you were the one left hanging a few times, weren’t you, Daddy? I’ve heard about a couple of them from Karliah. About Mama.”
Chip looked at her as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “Yeah. About Ma – where is she? How come she’s not here too? I know the old folks were hoping for a full-on family reunion.”
Qara looked up at Brynjolf and sighed. “You’d best sit down, Daddy. We need to bring Chip up to date. Besides,” she added, waving up the road toward the guard, “I want to see what Chip’s done here and it’s not that long till daylight. We might as well have the discussion now.”
Brynjolf sighed. He’d been feeling better since they left Amber Creek but having the situation with Sayma – no, Dagnell – hit him full in the face again reminded him of why he’d been willing to leave Riften for a time, leave the Guild for a time, leave his side business for a time. And as soon as he thought about that business, the anxious, uneasy feeling in his body started up again.
Well there’s nothing for it but to tell the lad what he needs to know. I can’t very well do anything else now, can I?
He lowered himself to a spot next to the fire, opposite his children so that perhaps they wouldn’t see his pain so clearly. Maybe he’d be able to get through this unscathed.
He started talking, staring at the fire, and not looking up. If he had, he might have seen Qara and Chip exchanging glances, Qara shaking her head once or twice. He might have noticed Chip sampling the air once or twice, save for the fact that the crackling of the fire covered this sound of his discreet sniffing. But he didn’t notice those things; and before he knew it, the sun had risen.
They jumped down from the ledge where Chip had set up his camp and wandered into the town. Brynjolf again watched his children chattering away to each other as Chip pointed out Pinevale Hall, the largest building in the town and the one that, he said, served as a temporary home for the new residents as well as an inn.
“I’m pretty proud of that place,” Chip said. “We needed to get some kind of shelter set up so we could reopen the mine. No point in having a town if there’s no source of income. So we tore down all the burned and rotten wood and rebuilt on the same spot.”
Brynjolf looked around once more and smiled. “I really don’t remember much about this place except the fire. It seems as though you’ve done a good job, lad. It’ll keep growing, I’m sure.”
Chip grinned. “It wasn’t just me, of course, but yeah. I guess I needed to do something for Falskaar.”
“Besides helping win the war, you mean?” Qara responded, chuckling. “I think you really wanted an excuse to be out here with all the game. You were hunting last night when we arrived, weren’t you?”
Brynjolf watched Chip flush bright red, and wondered why. “Well, yeah,” Chip answered. “You must have heard me. And yes, I love this spot out here. I don’t expect to stay forever or anything. That’s why I didn’t build a cabin for myself or anything like that.”
“Just as well, Chip. Daddy’s right, you need to take care of things at home. And we need to get back to Amber Creek,” Qara said. “They’re waiting for us. Yes?” she added, her voice carrying the weight of authority.
Chip made a sound that sounded to Brynjolf very much like a growl. He peered at Chip, curious. There was something going on here that he didn’t understand, something that his children knew but he did not. He wanted to ask outright, but he had a nagging feeling that he knew what the thing was, if he would just still his mind, observe, and let the thoughts rise to the surface.
“Aye, let’s go. The sooner done, the sooner we can leave.”
He waited for a moment, watching Chip and Qara head down the road before taking a moment to quell the unease in his body and follow after them.
It was just about nine that evening when the near-catastrophe struck.
They’d been sitting around the fire while Gulmist fussed over all of them or worked at her alchemy table. Qara chatted with her the way she always had chatted to her mother. Brynjolf had been quiet, mostly, and for the most part so had his father and Chip. But the later it got, the more edgy the old man seemed to be. He’d stood and paced the room like a caged animal several times. Then Chip started doing the same thing. He watched them, again feeling as though he was missing something that should have been obvious but was just out of reach.
Chip rose again. It seemed to Brynjolf as though Chip’s breathing was faster, and his eyes wore an expression of near-panic.
“I, uh…” Chip said, looking at his grandfather. “I need to go outside. I, uh…”
Brunulvr stood, and placed a firm hand on Chip’s shoulder.
“Na laddie. Tis nae safe oot thare. Thay wilnae understand whit’s happening tae ye. Come wi’ me.” He headed down over the stairs with Chip at his heels.
Brynjolf looked first at Qara and then at Gulmist, confused. Qara hoisted herself off the floor and made for the stairs as well.
“Let’s go, Brynny,” Gulmist told him. “Your father has some things to tell you, and I think maybe Chip does as well.”
Qara and Gulmist bolted for the staircase, with Brynjolf not far behind them. He got to the bottom just in time to see the women disappearing through an opening in the house’s wall. It was impossible to miss the fact that a large bookcase that had been flat against the wall had been swung out perpendicular to it.
What in Oblivion…
He reached the roughly-carved tunnel just as a huge roar erupted from the space beyond its end. It was a familiar sound, the same one he’d heard near Pinevale, but he couldn’t place what it was, exactly. He took a couple of hesitant steps into the tunnel and then froze as a huge form bounded up the tunnel and stopped before him, breathing heavily. Brynjolf froze.
It was a werewolf. A werewolf with a deep auburn coat and greenish eyes. A werewolf that should have been his end, based on every other werewolf encounter he’d ever had – but this one was breathing, noisily but calmly, just staring at him.
The wolf cleared its throat.
“Da.”
For a moment, he felt as though he might pass out. He couldn’t grasp it.
My vision is blurry but I know what I see before my own eyes and there’s nobody else that could be! Besides…
He sniffed, testing the air. While his senses were in no way as sharp as they had been during the two periods in which he’d been a vampire, he had caught this scent before. His mind cast back, to try to remember where or when; but the huge beast blocking his progress down the tunnel took his mind away from the effort.
“Chip? Is that you, lad?”
The werewolf nodded. Then another word forced its way out through the long and frightening teeth.
“Come.”
Brynjolf nodded slowly and followed the beast down the tunnel. Much to his surprise, it ended in a large cavern with a pool at its back. A wooden platform to his right held an enchanting table, and downslope and to his left was a raised stone platform with two mannequins flanking a standing bear, taxidermy having preserved it in mid-roar. Chip had run past all the humans in the space, and was examining the mannequins as if he recognized the armor they wore.
“What is going on?” he asked as he approached Qara. “I don’t understand, other than the obvious.”
Brunulvr turned to face him. “So, ye dinnae ken aboot th’ laddie?”
“No, I didn’t,” he said, even as the memory arose. It had been the day he’d told Chip about having been a vampire. That’s when he’d smelled wolf. “Though the subject did come up once, and Chip promised me he hadn’t been scratched or bitten.” He glanced at the werewolf and felt a shudder rolling up his spine. It didn’t matter how long ago it had been: werewolves and vampires were not generally on friendly terms and he couldn’t help his visceral reaction. At that, the werewolf bared its fangs and its tongue lolled out of its mouth. It came down off the platform and moved toward them.
The brat is laughing at me! At least I think it’s a laugh. That’s what a dog does, anyway.
Brunulvr shook his head. “Na, tis nae lik’ that. Th’ laddie wasn’t bitten. That’s nae how this goes.” He turned to Chip. “Are ye a’richt, laddie? Kin ye turn back on yer ain?”
The great red beast bobbed its head. Brynjolf watched in horrified fascination as the furry body snapped, and contorted, shortened and compacted, and the red fur reverted to just a shaggy mop of red hair on his son’s head and a generous covering of body hair through which his almond brown skin showed.
Chip gasped, clutching his chest, as the transformation ceased. “Gods. I don’t care how long this has been going on; I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” He looked at his grandfather. “I’m not sure how you knew, but thank you for getting me to a safe space before it happened. I was getting more anxious by the second. Wouldn’t do to have people trying to hunt me down, and it would be a lot worse if the wolf decided to hunt people. I can’t always control it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, lad? Back when I asked you about…” Brynjolf began.
“I answered your question, Da,” Chip interrupted. “You asked if I was bitten or scratched. I wasn’t. It just happened one night, while I was out near Markarth. Roggi and Dardeh assumed that the massacre at the Imperial camp out on the tundra was done by the same werewolf that killed a little girl in Falkreath. I didn’t tell them otherwise, and they didn’t ask.”
Brynjolf sighed. “I guess you two learned from me better than I expected. Don’t lie, but don’t necessarily share all the details.” He frowned. “But that doesn’t explain it. How did this happen?”
Chip shook his head. “I don’t know, Da. That’s just it. I’ve been trying to find an answer ever since the first time it happened. I went to Solstheim to talk to the family there. I’ve talked to… well, people in Skyrim who knew from personal experience. Nobody could tell me anything.”
“Not even Hircine?” Qara asked.
“Not even Hircine,” Chip agreed. “Though who knows whether he would have said anything anyway. So here I am. It’s been long enough now that I can mostly control where and when I transform. Not always.”
It slowly dawned on Brynjolf that Qaralana’s question raised another, in his mind at least. “You knew about this, lass?”
“Yes, Daddy. It was hard not to know something was up, what with Chip running around smelling everything like a dog and hearing things I couldn’t begin to hear.”
“And that helped us out a few times, didn’t it?” Chip grumbled. “But I’m still no closer to knowing the truth.”
“I think your grandfather can help you with that,” Gulmist said quietly.
Chip turned toward Brunulvr, looking hopeful. “Grandda? What do you know? And is that why you led me down here?”
Brunulvr nodded. “Aye, laddie, this cave wis meant tae be secret, fur hunters or a’body else needing a safe steid ta hide. As tae how ah knew ye wur a shape-shifter, well, ah caught yer scent.” He paced back and forth for a bit and then moved closer to Gulmist. “Ye see, thare are times when lycanthropy runs in th’ family. Naught tae be done aboot it.”
Brynjolf’s mouth fell open. “Well the lad didn’t get it from me!”
Chip chuckled. “No, that’s for certain.”
Brunulvr shook his head. “Sometimes it skips generations; ye ne’er ken whin it’ll appear. Th’ ainlie way tae be sure it wilnae is tae end th’ bloodline, and none o’ us hae wanted tae do that.”
This makes no sense. I’m missing something obvious about it, but what? If Chip didn’t get it from a bite or scratch, and not from me, then…
“Brunulvr?”
He watched his mother smile at the old man, who smiled back. It might have been the first genuine smile he’d ever seen on his father’s face, and it filled him with an odd, bittersweet satisfaction.
“You may as well show them, dear,” Gulmist said quietly.
“Aye. That ah shuid.” The old man moved away from them, up onto the stone platform where Chip had been not long before. “Now dinnae be alarmed ‘n’ dinnae dae anythin’ rash.”
Then the most remarkable thing Brynjolf had ever witnessed took place before all of them. Brunulvr made a sound that was half groan, half roar. He hunched over, and it seemed to Brynjolf that Brunulvr’s body was going through the same process he’d just watched in Chip, only in reverse. The man’s arms lengthened to the unsettling sound of snapping and moaning. His torso thickened. Chip cried out, “Oh!” just as the transformation neared its end, and the old man stood and reached his arms to the ceiling and cried out himself.
Only it wasn’t a cry. It was a deep, full-throated roar. And it wasn’t a man standing before them, nor a vampire lord, nor a werewolf. It was an enormous werebear, white as the snow on the mountaintops and white as the hair on Brunulvr’s human head.
“Granddaddy!” Qara breathed.
The werebear panted for a moment, then plodded down the stone steps to approach Chip. It rumbled in its throat for a moment, clearly wrestling its voice box into compliance.
“Ye see, laddie? It somewhiles skips generations. Ye didnae sniff a wolf, fur ah’m net a wolf.”
To Brynjolf’s eye, his son was shuddering as the great white bear approached him. “Hrokkibeg?” Chip breathed, almost reverently. “You’re an aspect of Hircine?”
“Closer tae say ah wis touched by an aspect o’ Hircine. A lang time ago. A great lang time. Ah’m very auld, laddie. That’s how come ah kin speak in this form. A’ve hud a lot o’ practice.”
“No wonder,” Chip murmured. “I was drawn to a captive werebear and… That’s why?” Chip caught a shuddering breath. “Ever since it first happened to me all I’ve wanted in the world was to understand why. Why Hircine chose me to be his hunter, to take the shape of a wolf. And you’re telling me all along it was in my blood?”
“Aye, laddie,” the bear answered, bobbing its head. “Hircine chose ye tae be his hunter. Th’ wolf wis already in ye. It wid hae come oot even if ye hadnae met Hircine.”
Chip shook. When he spoke, even his voice quavered.“So I really am Hircine’s chosen hunter. It’s just not the way I thought.”
“According to your sister you’re quite the hunter, at that,” Gulmist said.
“Pretty much the best I’ve ever seen,” Qara said. “Not that I’ve seen everyone, but even so, Chip almost never misses.”
“Thanks, sis,” Chip murmured.
“Take pride in that, grandson,” Gulmist added. “You’ve got a level of skill most never reach. And if Hircine touched you…”
“Alrabeg,” the werebear rumbled. “The hunter. Ye’v likely met him, laddie. He carries a spear.”
Chip peered at the werebear and shook his head. “I met someone. In the Hunting Grounds. There were people with spears there, but this one didn’t speak. He just gave me this.” He brought the Totem of the Wild Hunt forward and showed it to his grandfather. “If I slam it into the ground I get all sorts of were-beasts to help in a battle. But I prefer relying on the bow.”
“Aye, laddie.”
Chip shook his head again. “I can’t believe it. This has been worrying me – no, hurting me – for the longest time. I thought there was something wrong with me. Now I know it was just – what I am. Thank you, Grandda. Thank you so much.”
Brynjolf’s mind swam, and he stared blankly at the floor. He was suddenly reminded of a conversation with Agryn and Vyctyna, when they’d been discussing how it was that he, Brynjolf, had taken on so much of Vitus’ vampiric power so easily.
“Good blood,” she said. I don’t think she knew exactly what it meant, but she knew it was something inside me that let me use so much power. And this is why. It may have skipped over me, but I still carry the blood. And it has power in it.
“By the gods,” Chip cried out. “I’ve felt like I needed to hide away from everyone else until I learned why and how this happened, and how to control it. I felt like I did something wrong. I knew Hircine wanted me for his hunter- that’s why I have this bow, and this staff – but the werewolf part…” He stopped and shook his head when he saw them all staring at him. “Sorry, it’s a long story. Just know that I thought I did something wrong. All this time. I couldn’t bear being around Farkas and Vilkas, especially now that they’re human again, and…”
“Wait,” Brynjolf said, holding up a hand. “You’re saying that Farkas and Vilkas were…”
“Werewolves. Yes,” Chip said, nodding vigorously. “They got it the way most people do. Through the blood of another werewolf. There were others in the Companions too, but only one remains now. Farkas and Vilkas were cured. With my help.”
“But you didn’t cure yourself,” Qara said quietly.
“No! Why would I?” Chip tossed up his hands. “I didn’t know whether or not I was being punished somehow but Hircine chose me for this. At least that’s what I assumed. And now you’re telling me that…”
“That it’s in your blood, grandson,” Gulmist said quietly. “Yes.” She walked over to the white werebear and gave it a pat. It grinned at her, and she returned to stand at the entrance to the cavern. “I’m not nearly as old as your grandfather, my dears. Not at all. He probably had a full lifetime before he met me but I never asked. I don’t want to know. He’s my grumpy old bear and that’s all there is to it. But we continued the line. We hoped it would pass over Brynny, so that he didn’t have to run from the rest of the world and hide in the dark forever, but now we see that the blood still runs strong.”
You have no idea.
“Huh,” Qara said. “That doesn’t explain me, though. Being Dragonborn doesn’t have anything to do with Hircine, I’m pretty sure.”
Brynjolf roused himself enough to address that issue. “That’s from your Ma, lass,” he said quietly, looking at Qaralana. “Dardeh and Roggi saw it. She couldn’t Shout and she couldn’t absorb a dragon’s soul but her side of the family has power, too. Just look at Dardeh. You absorbed a dragon through her before you were born. If it had just been my part of your building-blocks that wouldn’t have happened. I’m certain of it.”
A rustle of movement startled him, and he turned back to find the werebear standing directly before him. The beast was so close that Brynjolf could see the textures of its individual teeth. A part of him – the small, injured boy of so many decades in the past – wanted to cower in fear; but he steeled himself to stand perfectly still and to stare into the werebear’s eyes. It was almost too much to grasp.
How old is he, then? How can it be?
“Son,” it said.
“Yes?”
“Dae ye see noo? Dae ye ken?”
Brynjolf’s mind twisted up into knots as he watched the gigantic creature breathe. He didn’t understand the whole idea of lycanthropy, and why would he, after all? He thought he understood what Brunulvr was getting at, but to accept it meant discarding a lifetime of anger, fear, and resentments. He didn’t know what to do, so he cleared his throat and whispered.
“Tell me.”
The old bear nodded slowly. “I dinnae ken mah own strength. All ah wanted was tae teach ye right fae wrong, laddie. Ah was feart fur yer future. Ah didnae want ye tae turn oot lik’ me.” The beast heaved a great sigh. “But ye couldna help yer nature. Any more’n I can help mah own. Ah didnae mean tae hurt ye. I didnae ken mah own strength.”
Every word felt like a blade to Brynjolf’s heart, especially as he remembered the times he’d almost lost control with Dagnell. He stood silent, watching as the bear shimmered and bent backward, shrinking and changing back to the much smaller form of Brunulvr. The old man clutched his chest as the transformation ended.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Chip said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”
Brunulvr nodded, continuing to stare at Brynjolf.
“Dae ye ken? Ah didnae mean tae hurt ye.”
They stared at each other for what felt like an entire Era.
I remember using my claws, when I had claws. I sent people flying, even if I didn’t intend it. I can understand how that might have happened.
But he still hit me.
As though it came from a great distance, another voice arose in his mind.
You do understand. Just tell him that. It’s been more than fifty years.
He closed his eyes. I know, lad. I know.
He opened his eyes and heaved a great sigh. Then he met Brunulvr’s gaze and nodded.
“Aye. I ken.”
Well done.
Brunulvr nodded back at him. There wasn’t much emotion, if any, on the old man’s face, but his eyes glistened in a way that said everything.
He missed most of my life. He missed seeing his grandchildren born and growing. He missed meeting his daughter-in-law. I may not be able to forgive. Or forget. But at least I can give him this.
“Thank ye, laddie.” Brunulvr nodded again, first to Brynjolf and then to Chip; he then turned and left the cave.
Brynjolf started back toward the entrance to the house, but was stopped by Gulmist.
“Thank you, Brynny. You don’t know how much that means to him. And to me.”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Chip, standing next to his sister. He remembered the day Chip had come to him excited about killing a forest dragon outside the city walls, only to be spoken to sharply. And he remembered how it had stung to have Chip say “I know you just want me to do well, but sometimes it would be nice not to have to work around something negative to get to the positive.”
Chip forgave me for that. It seems a small enough thing for me to do. I’m just going to go home to Riften anyway.
He smiled at her. “Aye. I understand how it can be.” He shrugged. “I’ve got more things to share with both of you as well, I think, about what I do and how I got there. And then…”
Gulmist smiled. “Then?”
“Then I need to go home, Ma. I’ve got important things to do. People I don’t want to let down.” And some serious thinking to do.
I’m not going to tell them about being a vampire. I’m not going to tell Brunulvr how close I came to following him anyway. They don’t need to know that. But maybe this will make things a bit better.
Gulmist smiled sadly and nodded. Then they all turned to follow Brunulvr back into the lodge.