Harald stepped out of the Silver-Blood Inn and blinked into the bright sun. It felt good to be full of decent food, and the mug of ale had helped ease the aches from the battle inside Cidhna Mine.
And the one outside it.
He felt better, physically. His mind, though, was a different story. He couldn’t shed the revulsion of hunting down the nearly-defenseless Grisvar as he cowered in the mineshaft. He couldn’t get the sight of Madanach’s head flying away out of his mind. And then there was the strange sensation he’d had fighting the Forsworn escapees just outside the mine.
It was like I’ve done it before. Somewhere, somehow. But that’s ridiculous. I’ve only seen fifteen winters. He rubbed his hand over his chin, through the thick beard. I’ve only had this for a short time. And already I’ve taken the heads of two men.
He was conflicted, to put it mildly. He’d come here wanting to delve into a Dwemer ruin. He’d been asked to delve into a Dwemer ruin. And yet the experiences he’d had put such a bad taste in his mouth that all he wanted to do was leave.
On top of all that, he hadn’t reached a satisfactory conclusion about his father. What he’d learned had been completely contradictory. Ulfric was a hero. Ulfric was a monster. Ulfric helped give the city back to its people and yet somehow he simultaneously was guilty of graft and corruption.
I just wanted to know, for certain. I guess that’s not possible.
He shifted his pack into its most comfortable position on his back and breathed deeply.
So. I guess I’ll head back home. I can take a carriage, and…
“Wait. I have something for you. I was asked to get it to you, your hands only.”
Harald peered at the dirty man with the scruffy cap and shook his head. “Me? You can’t be looking for me.”
“Oh yes. I got your description, and it’s you alright. There aren’t that many people in the world who look so much like Ulfric Stormcloak.”
Harald winced. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want absolutely everyone knowing who I am.” He fished a few coins out of a pocket and exchanged them for the note the courier handed him. “Thank you.”
He watched the courier run up toward the main keep and shook his head. It was uncomfortable to know that people – many people, given the fact that some of the guards had known who he was without his telling them – could tell he was Ulfric’s son just by looking at him.
He flipped open the note and took a look at it.
I hope this letter finds you well, for Skyrim, Morrowind, and the great House Hlaalu are all in need of your strength. A grave threat from my homeland of Morrowind has migrated to Skyrim, and though I nip at its heels, I fear that I cannot bring it down alone. Please, if you care at all for this land and her peoples, meet me at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood as soon as you can. – Mandyn Hlaalu
“Hlaalu? And he wants me, of all people?”
Harald jumped when he realized he’d spoken aloud. A quick and furtive scan of the area told him that nobody had overheard his outburst. He shoved the note deep into a pocket and strode briskly toward the gate.
Once outside and down the stairs from the city, he took the note out and looked at it again. Riverwood, it said.
It made no sense that a Dunmer would be asking for his help. After all, the King was infamous far and wide for his supposed horrid treatment of the Dunmer populations of Windhelm.
And I suppose they don’t have very good living conditions there, do they. That’s why Mother is always after him to improve them. Still, that makes it all the more strange that one of them should be contacting me, of all people.
He’d been walking toward the carriage stop, pondering. The driver was looking at him expectantly when he stopped walking, a thought having demanded his attention.
I’ve heard Dardeh telling stories about Solstheim, though he never seems to explain exactly what happened to him there. But I remember hearing about the Dunmer there. There was something about the Hlaalu, I’m sure of it. Maybe he can help me figure out what to do. And I’ll go on to Riverwood from there.
He chuckled as he realized he’d already decided to go find the mer behind the note.
It’s better than having nothing to do. And maybe while I’m there, I’ll ask Roggi what he thinks about my father.
He started walking, shaking his head and waving at the carriage driver as he passed. It would take him a lot longer to walk there than it would if he went by way of Whiterun; but the exercise wouldn’t harm him and the time to think would be invaluable.
Harald heard the rhythmic sounds of axe striking firewood long before he could see the path into Mammoth Manor. He smiled. It was always good to see these two men who insisted on being called uncles even though they really weren’t. They had been sources of comfort and support, wisdom and love even during the times when his own father had been distant, far too busy to pay much attention to a young boy running around in his shadow. When his mother had been too lost in grief to give him hugs, Dardeh and Roggi had stepped in. Roggi could always explain his parents’ states of mind to him better than they could, and Dardeh – well, Dardeh was a bundle of happy contradictions, both fearsomely strong and emotionally soft, a fierce warrior and a loving, sympathetic ear all at once. Harald knew that Chip and Qaralana felt that way about them, too.
He’d almost always found Dardeh out here, chopping firewood, especially on a sunny day like this was. He was inhaling, readying himself to call out a greeting to Dardeh, when he reached the top of the path and abandoned the breath. It wasn’t Dardeh at the woodcutting block but Roggi, his dragonbone greatsword strapped to his back as always.
He’d kidded Roggi about that sword once and had been told, in a not-at-all-kidding way, not to laugh about it.
“First,” he’d said sternly, “Dardeh made this sword for me, from the bones of dragons he took himself. That makes it my most precious possession aside from our wedding band. Second,” he’d said, wiping a hand across his brow, “I’ve learned over the years not to take things for granted. I lost your aunt that way, Harald, and nearly lost my own life. And I’ve had enough dragons drop out of the sky in front of me that I know it can happen at any moment.” He’d grinned at Harald then, as if he knew his words had been overly heavy for a young man. “Keep it in mind. But probably don’t wear a spiked shield all the time. Makes getting a hug a bit of a challenge.”
Harald grinned at the memory as he finished walking up the trail. “Uncle Roggi!” he called out. “Uncle Dar keeping you busy today?”
“Hey there!” Roggi called out, his tone feeling light and welcoming. Sometimes it wasn’t, in Harald’s experience. Sometimes, whatever horrid things had happened to Roggi crept through his defenses and made it into his voice. Not today, though. “Give me just a moment and come sit with me. We have a lot to talk about, young man.”
Uh-oh. “Young man” usually means I’m in trouble.
I’ll bet Mother has been having an utter fit since they figured out I was gone.
Roggi threw the axe up over his head and brought it down in a single, devastating blow that broke the thick wood cleanly in two. Harald shuddered. Even though he was strong enough himself to remove the heads from two men in less than an hour, he could only imagine what the blow that could split wood that cleanly might do to a man if delivered by that greatsword.
Roggi propped the axe up against the block and straightened up, leaning back over his fists pressed into his spine, and groaned. “This back. I’m telling you, I’m getting old.”
Harald chuckled. “I don’t know about old, but you are something like forty-five winters older than I am.”
“And I feel it, today. Come sit with me. I need to bring you up to date.”
Harald couldn’t help but feel a surge of anxiety as he followed Roggi to the deck and took a seat opposite him. “So…” he started.
“Now, before you even ask, nothing’s wrong with your parents,” Roggi said. “And nothing’s actually wrong with anyone else. Dar’s…” He turned and looked toward the house for a moment, before sighing. “Recovering. He’s fine. But you’re going to be startled when you hear him speak, and I want you to be prepared.”
Harald stared at Roggi. “I don’t know if you meant to be reassuring, but if you were, it’s not working.”
Roggi chuckled. “Alright. I’ll try to keep it short.”
“I won’t hold my breath.” He tried, but couldn’t quite keep the smirk off his face.
Roggi grinned. “Well the first part of this story happened before you were born…”
Harald settled back. There was no way this would be a short tale. But it never was, when anyone was talking to Roggi. That’s why they missed him in Kynesgrove.
Dardeh did sound different. Harald was glad Roggi had prepared him for it; otherwise he might have made a fool of himself. He’d spent his whole life listening to this man with the huge, deep voice that held more power than his and his father’s voices combined, and then some. He’d never seen the entirety of what Dardeh could do. And now, he sounded like…
“You really can’t Shout anymore?”
Dardeh laughed. “Does it sound like I can? Trust me, Harald, you have a whole lot more power than I do at the moment.”
“Now Qaralana, on the other hand,” Roggi shook his head. “Who knows what she’ll be able to do?”
“Well, she brought down a dragon with a Shout the Greybeards don’t even know, Roggi, so I suspect she’s at least as strong as I am. Was, I mean,” he corrected himself with a tiny, sad smile.
“Dar,” Roggi said.
“Something tells me your sword arm is still as strong as it ever was, Uncle Dar,” Harald said.
“Oh, speaking of being an uncle,” Dardeh said, deftly changing the subject.
“Yes. We got a letter from Ulfric,” Roggi said, crossing his arms.
“I’m in trouble, huh.”
“It’s not good to run away without letting anyone know where you’re going, Harald,” Dardeh rasped.
Harald sighed and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t run away. I even went to tell them I was leaving and they were having an argument.”
Roggi and Dardeh exchanged a look, and then Roggi shook his head. “That doesn’t surprise me. Things seem to be pretty tense there lately, according to your father.”
“Maybe if you weren’t always there reminding her, Roggi,” Dardeh muttered. Roggi frowned.
“What? I don’t understand. Anyway, I didn’t run away. I left a note telling them I was going to Markarth to learn about the Dwemer from Calcelmo. Before he’s too old to remember anymore.”
He had hoped his joke might wipe the sour look off Roggi’s face, but it didn’t. “You need to remember who your father is, Harald,” he snapped. Then he turned to Dardeh. “He’s… tired, Dar. I worry.”
Dardeh nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, Roggi.” He faced Harald again. “It’s not just who your father is, Harald. You need to remember who you are, too. You’re the heir apparent. You’re probably going to be High King when your father isn’t, any longer. You have a lot of responsibility and that includes making sure you’ll be around when you’re needed.”
“Besides,” Roggi grumbled. “Your mother is completely capable of flaying me alive; and trust me, that’s saying something.”
“It is indeed,” Dardeh chuckled.
“And she’ll do it if I let anything happen to you, Harald.”
Harald was frustrated. “I know all that. Well, I didn’t know Mother could flay a person. But the rest…” He tossed his hands up. “Nobody asked me whether I want to be important. What if I just want to explore?”
“It’s partly where you went to explore, Harald,” Dardeh said quietly. “Markarth is dangerous for you. The whole of the Reach is probably dangerous for you. There are people there who really, really hate Ulfric, and they’ll hate you because of him.”
“Some of them seemed to know me,” Harald admitted. “I was a bit surprised by that.”
“Don’t be,” Roggi said. “You look just like he did when he was young. People will remember, even if many winters have passed.”
“Even more than that,” Dardeh added. “Your namesake, the first King Harald, and his son Vrage took the Reach along with all of Skyrim. We’ve talked about how it was out there when I was a boy. This happened hundreds of years before that and there are still those who resent Harald and everyone in his line for trying to rule them.”
“So what am I supposed to do, just wait for Father to die?” Harald knew he sounded like a petulant child by saying that, but he couldn’t help it. “Am I supposed to be bound by duty before I even have a chance to live my own life a little?”
Dardeh and Roggi exchanged another look that carried meanings Harald couldn’t decipher.
“I would just say yes,” Dardeh said, “if I didn’t know what it feels like to have something just pushed onto you without your say-so. And I’m sorry that’s the way it is for you. I was twice your age when it happened to me.”
“Besides,” Roggi added, “reports would suggest that you’ve done plenty of living your own life in the past little while.”
Harald felt a flush of alarm flooding him, making his cheeks redden. “What do you mean?”
Roggi smirked. “Word travels quickly, Harald, especially if it’s traveling to someone who has a network and is supposed to keep an eye on the High King. I hear that there are a couple of Forsworn who are about a head shorter than they used to be.”
Harald was mortified. He could feel himself flushing. He couldn’t look either one of them in the face.
“Yeah, I kind of got into a situation,” he said. “I didn’t plan on killing people. But I couldn’t let Madanach and his people get loose. I understand why they’re angry, in some ways,” he said, looking at Dardeh and wishing he had a better way to explain what he’d learned. “But they’re too angry. All they want is revenge. It was too dangerous.”
Dardeh nodded. “Right. And that’s exactly what we’re trying to tell you, too.”
“But you must have quite an arm, to do what you did, Harald,” Roggi added.
“I… wasn’t expecting it,” he answered. They spent a few moments in silence before Harald spoke again. “I have this other thing, and I wonder if either of you has an opinion.” He told them about the message he’d received as he left the city, and showed them the note.
“Dunmer?” Roggi said with a frown, passing the note to Dardeh.
Dardeh read it and shook his head. “The great house Hlaalu? Except that it’s not a Great House anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. I ran across some of them while I was on Solstheim and, well, it’s a lot like the Forsworn. They’re still angry. Too angry. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either,” Roggi agreed. “Especially because it’s you they contacted. It could be a trap, now that I think about it.”
“Right,” Dardeh said. “Draw Ulfric’s son out into the open and take revenge somehow.”
“Hostage, maybe.” Roggi shook his head. “It sounds fishy to me.”
Harald nodded. “Ok. I’ll go home and talk to Father before I do anything else.”
“That’s a good choice, Harald,” Roggi said. “But I don’t know that I’d mention the Dunmer thing to him. He’s worried enough as it is.”
Frina Stormblade was pacing in front of her husband’s throne when Harald arrived. He wasn’t certain what the situation was; they certainly didn’t seem to be having an argument of any sort, but she definitely didn’t look happy. He cleared his throat to get their attention.
Frina turned to see him and gasped. “Harald. Finally. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Mother. I’m sorry to have worried you.”
She approached and gathered him into an embrace for a long moment. Then she pushed him back to arm’s length and looked him over again. “Are you sure you’re alright? We heard there was a commotion out in Markarth and when I found your note…”
Harald smiled at her. No, I’m not really alright, but… “I’m completely unharmed. I helped clear the way to Calcelmo’s Dwemer dig site, so the next time I visit maybe I can actually get into a real Dwemer ruin!”
“And what about the Forsworn, son?” the deep voice asked from behind him. Reports have it that Madanach is dead, and his closest advisors as well. Is this true?”
Harald turned to look up at his father. He half expected to be the focus of the old man’s wrath, which could be considerable. Ulfric had lived too long and shepherded too many soldiers through too many conflicts to put up with much tomfoolery. But to his amazement, his father gazed down at him with an expression of quiet interest, concern, and…
And something else. I can’t put a finger on it.
His father looked…
“He’s… tired, Dar. I worry.”
Harald blinked in surprise at hearing Roggi’s voice in his head, but the memory of it was as sharp as a knife. He considered his words carefully, and then nodded.
“Yes, it is, and somehow I found myself in the middle of all that. I certainly didn’t intend to be anywhere near Madanach, but I was. I hope you understand, but I couldn’t let him get away.”
He watched as Ulfric’s eyes closed for a moment and a sigh escaped him. A cold finger of anxiety traced its way up his spine.
Ulfric opened his eyes then; and Harald couldn’t help but see the deep circles under his father’s eyes, the deep lines all over his face that somehow seemed even deeper on this day. His face looked thinner, more gaunt.
He does look tired. And old. Roggi’s right to worry.
“You need to be careful, son,” Ulfric said quietly. There was no trace of anger in his voice, nothing but concern. “Many in the west hate me because of the events of the Great War. They required a focus for their hatred, someone to blame for all of the suffering brought about by the Thalmor. I was, and still am, an easy target because I was, and continue to be, outspoken about the Empire rolling over and showing the Thalmor its belly like a subservient dog.”
He rubbed his chin for a moment before continuing. “And there are still others who hate me because of the situation of the Dunmer and Argonians who live here.” His gaze turned to Frina for a moment, and then returned to Harald. “There may be some truth in their assessment of that situation, I suppose. I bear them no ill-will, but my mind and my years have been filled with trying to prepare for, and perhaps prevent, the events that you will doubtless have laid at your feet when I am gone.”
The cold finger of anxiety was more like a clutching hand, now, in Harald’s chest, and for several reasons. He didn’t want to be saddled with the baggage of generations. That was something that might, or might not, be something he could influence when the time came. But something about Ulfric’s tone was frightening him.
“That was exactly what I found, Father,” he said quietly. “Some say you are a hero. Others … well, a person might expect you to have horns and red eyes, the way they talk about you.” He watched as his father nodded, slowly.
“This does not surprise me. And what did you learn?”
Harald blew out a breath. What had he learned, after all? It took him a moment to formulate words.
“I learned exactly what the carriage drivers told me: it depends on who you ask. I learned that nothing about the situation was clear-cut back then, and it surely isn’t now, either.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I also learned that I’m a lot stronger than I thought, in many ways.”
“Then your trip will have been worth the effort,” Ulfric murmured, “and your mother’s anxiety well-placed, and understandable, but ultimately unnecessary.” He stared at Harald, as though making certain that he was being heard and understood. “One of the most valuable lessons you could learn is that there is always more than one way to look at a problem. Always. There is always some element of truth to all of those different ways. Your task, and mine, is to be certain that we thoroughly understand our own motivations and to stand by them.”
Harald thought he saw his father wince with pain. He’s probably remembering how hard it was to arrive at that understanding. He was with the Empire, a loyal soldier. It must have been painful to break with them.
“Did I kill Forsworn, directly and indirectly? Yes. Did I do so at the direction of the Empire, thinking that they knew best? Yes. Did I then lead the effort to take back our own rule? Yes.” He took a moment, and continued. “Would I do so again, were I to have the chance to go back in time? Yes.”
“I… don’t know what to say to that, Father. All I can say for certain is that I saw and heard both sides of that old argument and acted out of concern for the people in Markarth, the people of the here and now. Because I can’t change the past.”
Ulfric smiled. “No. Nor can I. But you need to be very careful, Harald. I am grateful that you are here, and well.” He chuckled quietly. “You are more like your mother than you know. Running off to fight battles that are only partially understood, and which are far greater than you should have been able to handle.”
Harald heard a snort behind him.
“You’ll never let me forget that incident, will you, you stubborn old man,” Frina said.
“Be careful how you speak to your King, wife,” Ulfric said; but there was no anger in his voice. “But no. I will never let you forget.”
“I came home to you, though, didn’t I?” Frina said softly, turning to smile at Ulfric.
“Go get some rest, son,” Ulfric told Harald without taking his gaze off Frina. “You have earned it.”
Harald nodded. He wanted to tell his parents that he might be leaving again, soon. He wanted to tell them about the strange note calling him to Riverwood. He didn’t dare; he didn’t want to bring up the question of the Dunmer once more. But there was something he needed to share.
“There’s something else,” he said, drawing both his parents’ attention. “Have you heard about the situation with Uncle Dardeh?”
“No,” Ulfric said. “Tell us.”
He told them the story as best he remembered it. He wasn’t completely certain of all the details; but what had stayed with him more than the details was Dardeh’s conviction that he – and the Voice in general – was dangerous. Or had been, at least.
“Hmm,” Ulfric murmured. “I am sorry to hear this. There has always been some speculation that Qaralana was Dragonborn, but neither I nor anyone else knows what it portends.”
“So is he right, Father? Is Dardeh correct that the Voice is nothing more than a weapon?”
Ulfric smirked. “There are certainly those who would say so,” he said. “Many say that about me, and I have only a glimmer of the strength Dardeh has. Had,” he corrected himself.
“I don’t want to be a weapon in someone else’s hand,” Harald said.
“My teachers the Greybeards would have you believe that your power to Shout should only be used to contemplate the Divines,” Ulfric said with a smirk. “Clearly, I did not see it that way. It is up to you – and to Qaralana – to decide these things for yourselves. It will be all the more important for her; for, though I hate to say so, my son, you will never approach the power she now possesses, whether she realizes it or not. I am sorry I cannot give you a clear-cut answer. All I can tell you without doubt is that you must think, and decide, and prepare.”
Harald thought about these things as he rested in his cabin, later. He was confused and he was annoyed. He wasn’t prepared for anything at all, and the fact that his father had suggested such a thing bothered him; but more than that, he resented that he would have to carry the weight of his father’s decisions before he’d had a chance to make any of his own.
One thing had been clear to him, though, in all of the discussions he’d had in recent days. The High King was in no way the monster people made him out to be. He was a harsh man, certainly. He’d made decisions others would not have made, that too was clear. But he had good, solid, carefully-considered reasons for the things he had done, even though some of them were distasteful.
But I need a chance to make my own choices, too. And I have at least one opportunity to do that, right this very moment. I’m going to Riverwood.
This time, his note merely said that he’d been called away to help with a problem.
He walked into the Sleeping Giant and smiled at the friendly greeting from Orgnar, the old innkeeper. He scanned the letter he’d gotten once more to make sure he had the name correct, though there wasn’t exactly an abundance of Hlaalus in Whiterun Hold. Most everyone there in the inn’s common room was Nord, except for an Imperial boy and at least one Breton. Seated at one of the tables in the shadows was one Dunmer.
He approached quietly and stood beside the man, who looked up at him warily.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you Mandyn? I’m Harald. I got a note from you.”
“So I am. And now I am in the presence of royalty. Amazing. You have so much power, and only those who are very familiar with your sire would know by looking at you.”
Harald grimaced. “Let’s not discuss that.”
“Yes. My pardons. To business. Skyrim and Morrowind share more than a border. Our fates are intertwined. We must look out for one another.”
Harald peered at the Dunmer, trying to read his face, but he couldn’t. Another drawback to Father keeping the Dunmer in the Grey Quarter. I haven’t spent enough time with them to be able to recognize when someone is being evasive.
“I’ve always believed that to be the case,” he said.
“Very good. As such,” Mandyn continued, “when a famous criminal from Morrowind was spotted in Skyrim, I was dispatched by House Hlaalu to find him. He is too deadly for me to face alone. I need a hero’s help.”
“Yes, I wondered about that,” Harald said quietly. “I thought that House Hlaalu wasn’t in good graces any longer. And I’m hardly a hero. But if it’s a criminal you’re after, and it’s a matter of justice? I’ll be happy to help.”
“Excellent. You are as noble as they say.”
Harald blinked. Who has been talking about me, and why would they say I’m noble? I’ve never done anything. Aside from lopping off a couple of heads, I guess.
Maybe he just means my lineage.
“Nonetheless,” the mer said, “I would feel guilty without rewarding such valor. Five hundred septims await you if you succeed.”
That’s nice, but surely he understands that I have access to most of the wealth in Skyrim. If not through my immediate family, then through the extended one.
“I tracked the criminal to a village southwest of here called Little Vivec, but after that the trail went cold. However, you may have better luck.”
Maybe. I’m not sure why, but maybe.
“Alright,” he said. “Do you have any other information about him?”
Hlaalu nodded. “Not only is he a fearsome combatant, but he is silver-tongued. If he begs for his life, do not believe a word he says.”
“Noted. And what will you do in the meantime?”
“I’ll continue my investigations elsewhere. I have another lead I’d like to explore. I’ll contact you if it bears fruit.”
“Very well. I’d better get started.”
“Wait. Before you go, take this ring. The criminal is known to wield enchanted blades, and this may protect you from them. Happy hunting. And many thanks. You are doing both Morrowind and Skyrim a great service.”
Harald thanked him and left the inn. He wasn’t particularly concerned about enchanted weapons. He just tended to use his spiked shield to block them from reaching him. Roggi, though he used a greatsword, had come from a clan that specialized in shield techniques; and while he had no children of his body to pass them along to he’d insisted on teaching them to Harald.
There was something about this entire situation that bothered him, though. There was just something off about it. Why would a Dunmer from a disgraced House be hunting a criminal who, if he was from Morrowind, would likely also be a Dunmer? And of all the people in the world, why would he come to Ulfric’s son for assistance?
It smells funny. I want to help but I’m going to keep my eyes and ears wide open.