“That wasn’t the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had, Harald. We should have stayed in Windhelm, like you suggested.”
Harald grinned at Qaralana. “Not only that – you could have stayed at the palace. I really don’t know what Mother does with all those rooms. You could probably house all of the refugees in there and still have room for visiting dignitaries.”
Qara risked a glance at him between cautious steps down the icy slope. His grin had faded into a frown. His mother had spent his entire lifetime renovating the cold, ancient palace, and opening formerly sealed-off areas within it. Those projects – like the ones to spruce up and fortify Skyrim’s towns following the civil war – were all that kept Queen Frina from losing her mind, to hear Harald tell it.
“Well, I’ll listen to you the next time. Winterhold’s inn really isn’t that comfortable.”
“I suppose we’re that much closer, though,” Harald said. “Mind the footing.”
They were on the well-trodden path down from Winterhold’s southern exit, the gateway that led away from the once-great city toward the ruins of Saarthal and points beyond. From the top of this hillside, the Shrine of Azura was more than just the statue one could see from almost anywhere in the north half of Skyrim. From here it loomed over the land like the powerful being it represented.
All we need to do is get there in one piece, Qaralana thought as Harald broke into a run – a surprisingly fast run for someone so heavily armored – and dashed past her, up the slope toward the next row of mountains. A frost troll snorted and jumped in place, waving its huge paws about and looking as though it couldn’t wait to get its claws and fangs into Harald.
“Wait a second!” she called out, in spite of knowing that he couldn’t hear her. She drew her bow and fired one shot that stuck in the troll’s arm, but before she could ready another arrow Harald was nose-to-nose with the creature, making a bowshot too risky. The last thing she wanted to do was wound or kill her best friend. Instead, she readied her blades as she accelerated up the slope to join the battle.
Harald was doing an admirable job with the troll. His heavily-spiked shield had punctured the beast over and over, leaving spots of darkening blood all over its white coat. The problem, of course, was that frost trolls healed so very rapidly. Even the damage Harald caused with his heavy sword only lasted so long. Their odds would be much better once she started slicing at it too, but even then these creatures were tough to kill. There was one thing that trolls were weak against, though; and Paarthurnax had taught her one word of it. She waited until Harald stepped back a bit and then Shouted.
“YOL!”
The beauty of fire was that it lingered, continuing to damage its target even after the initial burst of magic was done. The troll staggered, howling in rage; both Harald and Qara used that moment to lay into it as hard and fast as they could. Finally it sank to one knee, and Qara’s blade Grabber finished it, pulling the creature’s soul into an empty gem in her pocket.
“Good work!” Harald said, grinning at her. “I don’t know that one. It would be handy to have. So I guess I’ll just have to keep you with me.”
Qara laughed. “I guess so!” she said. Inside, though, she felt a little flustered. Damn it, Chip, why’d you have to go setting my mind on that kind of thing? He’s just a friend!
The Shrine of Azura perched atop the peak, just up a steep slope from where the troll had attacked. They trudged up the slippery path toward it and then around toward the left, where Qara stopped and gasped.
“What is it?” Harald asked her.
“It’s beautiful!” And it was. Not only was the statue itself a beautiful thing, but the structure beneath it – a series of tall staircases with platforms – was both much larger and much more imposing than she’d ever suspected. I’ve just never seen it up close before this. Wow.
Harald took the lead to the base of the stairs and up to the first platform. There was a rough campsite set out there, nestled up against the base of the next-taller level. As they neared it, a figure swathed head-to-toe in light-colored chitin armor that looked as though it had been weathered for eons stood and walked toward them. Qara wondered for a moment why the man didn’t remove his helmet but then it dawned on her. This was the Nerevarine. It wouldn’t do for people to know who was beneath that helmet. Harald had said this person was being hunted, and that’s why Harald had met him in the first place.
“It’s good to see you again, Harald Stormcloak,” he said, his voice deep and calm.
“Thank you,” Harald answered. “Likewise. And this is Qaralana, the Dragonborn.”
“I see,” the man said, swiveling to look at her. “It’s good to meet you, as well. That sheds a bit more light on why the Morag Tong agent contacted you, Harald. Perhaps he was looking to kill several important birds with one stone.”
Qara tried hard not to gasp. Morag Tong? He didn’t tell me that part!
“Perhaps so,” Harald said. “I’m grateful that you’re here, because I do need some guidance, and you may be just the person to help. But I’m curious. Why here? This is hardly the most hospitable place in Skyrim.”
“Azura guided me on my quest to defeat Dagoth Ur,” the Nerevarine said calmly. “She still offers me guidance and aid from time to time. In turn, I pay her my respects when I can. Besides,” he said, turning to look up at the enormous statue, “have you seen this Shrine of Azura? I assumed you had. It’s an easy place to find.”
“Indeed,” Harald said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a very old tome. “Now then. In one of the rooms near where we killed that centurion titan I found this. I’m wondering whether you could translate it.” He passed the book to the Nerevarine, who started examining it even as Harald continued. “There was an interesting hammer near it, as well – Dwemer make and very heavy, or I’d have brought it with me rather than leaving it at Qara’s house. It had an enchantment on it. Fire damage, I think.”
“Interesting,” the Nerevarine said, looking up from the book. “This appears to have been written by Lord Kagrenac himself! Quite a find. I’ll translate it into the common tongue and have a copy ready for you when next we meet. As to the hammer, perhaps the book will tell us what it is.”
“Thank you,” Harald said, taking a breath and opening his mouth to continue when Qara cleared her throat and interrupted.
“May I ask a question? You told Harald he could come for advice, but… I could use some, as well.”
“I see. Very well, Dragonborn. I’ll help if I can.”
“What…” Qara wracked her brain for the best way to ask the question that had been weighing on her since she and Roggi took her first dragon. She thought about everything Dardeh had told her about learning that he was Dragonborn, and everything he’d had to go through to defeat Alduin. “What is it like, being a hero chosen by the Elder Scrolls?” He’s one of those people, maybe he can help.
The Nerevarine gave a quiet chuckle. “It can be very empowering at first, to know with certainty that you are important. That your life means something. It can go to your head if you let it.”
Qara nodded. “That’s what Uncle Dar has been telling me,” she murmured. She hadn’t quite realized she’d spoken aloud until she saw Harald give her a sharp glance, frowning.
“But it can also be a great burden,” the Nerevarine continued. “And what’s more, it makes you a target. Many will try to take advantage of you, or tell you what your destiny is.”
She had a sudden, almost audible memory of her father saying “so many people have thought they knew better how I should conduct my existence.” Then she heard Harald’s sharp intake of breath.
He knows this feeling, too.
“That’s what I feared,” Harald said quietly. “Why else would Mandyn Hlaalu have contacted me, specifically? It makes no sense unless I was a target. Or my father.”
“How will I know who to trust?” Qara burst out. “I’m not even sure why this has happened to me!” Please, please tell me why Uncle Dar isn’t still the Dragonborn, if a Dragonborn is needed right now!
“You are the only one who can control your fate, Dragonborn, and so was every Dragonborn before you,” the armored man told her. “And you too, as well, Harald Stormcloak. Those who understand that may be friends. Those who would take that away from either of you may simply be misguided – or they may be hidden foes. It’s hard to say.”
But I wanted answers! And all I get are more questions.
Harald must have been thinking along the same lines, judging by the disgusted grunt he made. But true to his upbringing and his training, he sighed and bowed his head briefly to a man so much his senior that it was hard to fathom.
“Thank you for your insights, serjo,” he said, using the Dunmeri honorific for those of much higher status.
Of all people to say such a thing – Ulfric Stormcloak’s only son.
“And you are most welcome to them. I will look for you once I have completed the translation. In the meantime,” the Nerevarine said, reaching into a pack leaning against his tent, “I want you to have this. It may prove useful.” He pressed something into Harald’s palm.
Harald took a look at what he’d been given and sputtered. “This… is the Moon-and-Star ring?”
Qara gasped. She knew the legends surrounding this person, and this object. She reached for Harald’s arm. “You can’t put it on, Harald! Only the Nerevarine can wear it! If you put it on you’ll die!”
The Nerevarine chuckled once more. “It is a likeness of the Moon-and-Star ring, surely,” he said. “I would not give you something to kill you, not after your aid in dealing with what might have been another Numidium. The real ring is on my hand. I believe you may find this of use, however. Perhaps it will help you tell your friends and enemies apart.”
Harald peered at him with his brows deeply furrowed. “I assume it has some kind of enchantment on it? It feels as though it does.”
Just as he was finishing his sentence a muffled but distinctive sound came from the ridge beyond. Qara peered over the Nerevarine’s armored shoulder and caught a glimpse of wings silhouetted against the steel-gray skies. She tugged on one of the plates of Harald’s armor to get his attention.
“Dragon, Harald! Over by Mount Anthor. We need to go!” She turned to the Nerevarine. “I’m sorry to interrupt, and even sorrier to run away, but…”
“But you must go, Dragonborn,” the man said. “This is your fate and only you control it. Go, and with good fortune we will meet again one day.”
Qara smiled broadly and then took the stairs two at a time, landing hard and rolling before leaping to her feet and jogging toward the dragon. She heard Harald behind her, calling for her to slow down, but the excitement was too great and she felt the dragon’s challenge too strongly to stop.
The path ran through a gap between two steep boulders on the mountainside, the one to her left looking as though it might topple down into the gap with the next shaking of the north. Beyond the boulders the area opened up, and atop a pillar of rock in the next set of peaks the dragon had perched. She slowed for a moment, startled, for it was the same type of dragon she and Harald had fought on the tundra just a day before.
“Another one of those?” she heard him say as he reached her, panting to catch his breath.
“Yes. The thing is that I know Uncle Dar and Uncle Roggi took down a dragon here, once before.”
“But that was a long time ago,” Harald protested.
“Yes, and we haven’t seen dragons till just recently, have we?” She looked over at Harald, who was rubbing his beard absentmindedly.
“No. I wonder why they’re back all of a sudden.”
“I don’t know, but I do know we need to get this one.”
“There’s your answer,” he said.
“Answer to what?”
“The question of why you’re Dragonborn. The dragons are back, and Dardeh can’t kill them anymore. Someone needed to take over.”
Qara was about to argue with him when the beast spotted her and pushed itself into the air, roaring a challenge and swooping down the slope and over their heads. It circled around the open space and, as Harald ran toward it, closed in on him.
I’m not letting it attack him.
She looked up as the dragon slowed to hover directly in front of them. It turned its gaze from Harald to her, and if she’d been able to decipher a dragon’s expression she would have sworn it was grinning. She growled and inhaled.
“JOOR – ZAH FRUL!”
There was a kind of natural rock bridge just behind her, affording at least a tiny bit of cover from this type of dragon’s nasty energy attacks. She ran under the lip of the overhang and drew her bow, waiting for the beast to come to ground. As soon as it landed she sank an arrow into its thick hide, and followed with two others. She couldn’t see Harald, but she could hear the resounding smacks of his sword and shield slicing and bashing into the dragon’s scales. When it rose into the air, Qara Shouted at it again, but her aim was poor this time and the energy bounced harmlessly off the rocks that sheltered her.
It had its sights set on Harald, for some reason; when it landed to snap at him again Qara moved out from under the stones and Shouted once more to keep it grounded. She peppered it with arrows, amazed at how many hits a dragon could take and still be seemingly unscathed. Harald was up at the dragon’s head, doing a masterful job of taunting it into snapping at him, stepping back just out of reach and then forward to land either a solid swipe with his sword or painful punctures with his spiked shield.
He fights like a madman. Like Uncle Roggi, except quiet.
A few moments later the dragon flew uphill, just out of her bow’s reach. She chased it high enough on the slope to use her Voice, and Shouted Dragonrend at it once again. The dragon landed in a cluster of stones just downhill from her; as she took aim at it she saw Harald dashing across the open space with sword drawn. She watched as the creature belched its nasty energies at Harald, and admired how deftly the big man moved, ducking the attacks only to step out and deliver another blow the next moment. Again the dragon lifted off; again she Shouted at it.
This time, it flew uphill, past her, and settled on the side of the mountain just out of range. Qara scrabbled her way up the slope toward the glow of energy, listening for Harald’s footsteps behind her but not hearing them. Nervous, she wanted to stop and look for him; but she desperately needed to kill the dragon before it could hurt anyone else.
It was too steep and too slick underfoot to reach the dragon, which had maneuvered itself around to a place where its energy could reach her. She Shouted once more, to keep it grounded, and then spent the next several minutes firing arrows as rapidly as she could, ducking behind a boulder every time it seemed the dragon would breathe its attack. Even so, she found herself needing to down at least one healing potion.
And she still hadn’t seen or heard Harald since the dragon flew uphill.
Her anxiety grew as she continued filling the beast with as many arrows as she could launch up the slope. At last, in the least-elegant death she’d ever seen, the dragon toppled over the side of the peak and tumbled downward, head over tail until it crashed, belly up, into an undignified pile near the foot of the nearby word wall that called enticingly to her.
“Harald?” she shouted as she neared the carcass and the burning began. “Harald, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m over here,” he called from just out of sight, near the word wall. “I was hoping it would land here but it didn’t.”
“I’ll be right there,” she yelled back, closing her eyes in apprehension and delight as once more a dragon consumed itself in flames, giving up its energy and filling her with its power. Once it was finished she turned and ran to Harald’s side, stepping forward to learn and absorb the word from the wall that dragon had been guarding.
“Ice.”
“Ice and fire, eh?” Harald said with a grin.
“So it would seem. Let’s go, though. I’m worried about how many dragons are showing up, and I want to ask Uncle Dar about them.”
“Yes. So do I. And I want to ask them about the Morag Tong, as well. Dardeh’s been to Solstheim. Maybe he knows something that will be useful.”
They crossed through the mountain pass near Mount Anthor, heading south toward Windhelm. They decided to forego taking a carriage to Falkreath; neither of them spoke of it in so many words but Qara knew that where there had been one assassination attempt, there might be more – and Harald was a target with bright blonde hair. There was no interference, though. Not even so much as a wolf impeded their progress west along the snow road; Qara was almost relaxed as they crossed over the river and headed up the hill past Anga’s Mill, toward Lake Yorgrim.
And then there was a sound. To anyone else – even Harald, with his limited knowledge of Dovahzul – it would have sounded primarily like a roar. To Qara, it was a challenge, leveled directly at her: “I am Viinturuth. I have outlasted even he who raised me from death. Now I will send you to yours.”
She wasted no time in Shouting Dragonrend at the beast just as soon as she was near enough, and then gasped in disbelief as Harald, slamming his helmet down over his head as he ran, bolted directly at the grounded dragon. It was supremely foolhardy of him, as the probable future High King, to put himself within a snout’s distance of the business end of a dragon. All Qara could do was push herself through the fear that wanted to freeze her solid, and fire at the beast over and over, watching for the slightest signs that Dragonrend was about to wane and Shouting again as it did. Eventually, though, she was able to get close enough in that there were three blades and a shield full of lethal spikes hammering at the dragon, and it went down. For the second time in a day, Qara found herself being enlarged by the life force of a powerful dragon.
“Well done,” Harald said, coming around the huge skull to meet her. “No wonder you were the hero of Falskaar.”
Qara shook her head. “It wasn’t just me, Harald. It was me, and Chip, and our grandfather, and Jarl Agnar and his closest advisors, all working together.”
“That makes what you just did all the more impressive, in that case. Two dragons in one day!”
She frowned. I’d love to think that. I really would. But…
“What is it?” Harald asked, picking up on her mood.
“This shouldn’t be happening. That’s two, in one day, and just us! What about the one we got yesterday? What about all the dragons Chip saw? What about the ones I saw that flew away? What about the two Uncle Roggi and I killed? I don’t think there are supposed to be that many dragons left, Harald, and I don’t think they’re supposed to be attacking people even if they exist.”
He frowned as well. “Well, we’re going to see the one person who is most likely to have an answer for us. So let’s get going.”
They ran on through the night, stopping only briefly in Riverwood early the next morning to get a quick bite to eat. Harald kept looking around uneasily. This was where he’d met the man who sent him on the mission to Kagrenar, he told her, and that man had been Morag Tong in spite of looking like any other Dunmer in Skyrim. She thought Harald looked a bit haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. It had to be at least as unsettling to find yourself a target as it did to find yourself possessed of a power you’d never asked for. She wasn’t surprised when he pulled her up to her feet after barely enough time to swallow the last of the bread and cheese.
They’d not gotten too far past the crossroad north of Helgen, heading west along the shores of Lake Ilinalta, when it happened again. A mighty roar split the air, and a great green shape flowed down from the peak near the great barrow and across the lake. This time there was a patrol of Stormcloak guards from Helgen walking the road; all of them began unloading arrows, crossbow bolts and magic at the dragon as it strafed them with fire. Qara ran toward the battle, readying her Voice. Behind her she heard Harald rattling his sword against his shield, taunting the creature to leave the guards and come for him instead. But just as she got near enough to have her Shouts reach the dragon, it turned and inexplicably sailed back to the north, disappearing over the crest of the mountain.
She shrieked. “NO!” she cried out. But what the others heard, or so Harald told her later, was a huge word in Dovahzul. “NID!” she had Shouted, and ripples flew out across the lake from where she stood as if she’d tossed a stone into the water. She stomped her feet and raged until Harald came to stand beside her, patting her on the shoulder and pointing west.
“We’re almost there, Qara. Let’s go check in at Little Vivec. Then we can relax at Roggi’s house.”
She turned to him, scrubbing a few tears of frustration out of her eyes. “That’s four, Harald! Four dragons in two days! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” She turned back toward the lake and shook her fist at the sky. “And when they get away I just hate it!”
“I don’t know, either,” he said calmly. “But we won’t figure it out standing in the road and making ourselves into targets.”
Qara glared at him. “I know, Harald. I know that. But it doesn’t make me happy!” As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted the snippy tone they’d carried.
It’s not Harald’s fault I’m Dragonborn, any more than it’s my fault. And he’s my very best friend. He won’t be for long, though, if I keep yelling at him.
She stole a quick glance at him as he turned to lead the way to Little Vivec, and couldn’t help but smile at the familiar, calm profile that was so like his father’s. They shared rugged facial features including a long, prominent nose that tended to give each of them a solemn expression. Harald even looked subdued when he smiled. Still, she thought he was handsome, and she always enjoyed seeing him even when he was frowning. That thought made her blush, thankful that he was in front of her and couldn’t see it.
Well, if I’m cranky enough that Harald gives up on me at least I’ll be able to tell Chip he was wrong.
Somehow, that didn’t make her feel any better.
Qara had never been to Little Vivec before. She’d looked at it in passing, of course, but like Harald she’d never had a good reason to visit. But here they were; and Harald strode down the bridge and across the first of the small islands to their left just as though he belonged there. The people they passed nodded and greeted Harald, which to Qara was stunning. It seemed almost incomprehensible that the son of Ulfric Stormcloak would be treated that way in a Dunmer town.
She followed Harald across to the next island, the one holding a tiny shack with a tanning rack and a cooking spit over the firepit. A Dunmer man sat on the far side of the fire from them.
This must be Bal-Ran. He’s mentioned this guy several times now.
“Hello, Bal-Ran. Let me introduce you to my friend, Qaralana. The men at Mammoth Manor just beyond the mill are her uncles.”
Bal-Ran nodded to her, but said nothing, and Harald didn’t seem to think that was a problem.
“I’ve returned,” Harald said, “to let you know that I found the man I was looking for at Kagrenar, as you suspected I would. But I have to ask you something. Did you know who he was?”
Bal-Ran’s expression didn’t change a whit, but he nodded just slightly. “Nerevar, born anew,” he said, his voice low, almost a monotone. “The light of Azura given flesh, and a hero to my people and the world. Yes. I knew. No Ashlander would not.”
Qara half expected Harald to interrupt in some way, to speak up about having been surprised thus, but he didn’t. He just waited and watched as Bal-Ran crossed his arms and continued speaking. “When I was a boy, my mother would sing me to sleep with songs of the Nerevarine. I am not ashamed to say he was my hero. And to have met him!” One of Harald’s eyebrows rose at the sudden excitement in Bal-Ran’s voice.
I’ll bet that’s the first time he’s sounded excited about anything in Harald’s presence. He doesn’t seem like an overly excitable guy.
“He told me that someone would be looking for him. Someone with a warrior’s spirit. I am glad to have sent him the right person. I would never have expected it to be Ulfric Stormcloak’s son.”
“Hmm. Let me show you something.” Harald pulled off his left gauntlet, revealing the Moon-and-Star ring the Nerevarine had given him. Bal-Ran’s eyes grew very round, and his mouth opened slightly before closing again. He clearly recognized the ring, but he said nothing.
“I would never have expected to meet the Nerevarine and to fight at his side,” Harald said quietly. “I have been trying to learn about my father, Bal-Ran, and perhaps to heal a few of the wounds his actions may have caused. I don’t know whether I have succeeded. But I hope maybe this is a sign.” He pulled the gauntlet back on and then, to Qara’s surprise, gave Bal-Ran a small smile. “If you, or anyone else here in Little Vivec, ever have need of someone with a warrior’s spirit again, you can get word to me via Dardeh and Roggi Knot-Beard at Mammoth Manor. They’ll know where I can be found – whether I want them to or not,” he added with a wry grin.
“Very well,” Bal-Ran said. “Travel safely.”
Qara waited until they were back on the road and approaching the mill crossing before she spoke.
“I didn’t expect any of that, especially not your showing him your new ring.”
Harald grinned at her. “I figured it was a good time to test the reaction I’d get. Bal-Ran knew I wasn’t the Nerevarine. He’s met – and heard – the real person, and I sound nothing like him. I met Bal-Ran when I’d been sent to look for ‘a criminal,’ not knowing who the criminal was. But any Ashlander worth his salt would have to have some reaction to seeing someone wearing the Moon-and-Star ring. It would have to be a sign of favor, don’t you think?”
Qara nodded. It would have to be. Almost like Chip’s ring showing the favor of Hircine.
“That little town was started by people who specifically wanted to get away from Father. Or at least from the treatment they got in Windhelm, which may or may not be directly because of Father. I hoped that maybe if I showed him that I had this token from the Nerevarine, well…” Harald shrugged.
“Maybe he’d know that you are not your father, and that you are sincere?”
Harald smiled at her. “Something like that. I don’t know whether I’ll end up saddled with the troubles of this province or not. Maybe someone else will be High King. Maybe Dardeh,” he said, pointing at the manor house as they approached. “He’d be more suited for it. But if I am, I want to be High King to all of the people here. Not just the Nords.”
Qaralana smiled at Harald. “I know you do. You’ve always said that. You’re a good man, Harald Stormcloak.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Qara laughed as she knocked on the door of Mammoth Manor and pushed it open.
“Uncle Dar? Uncle Roggi? Are you home? We have to talk to you.”
