Chapter Text
Muiri was seven months pregnant when…
If I hadn’t shared those drinks with Sam, maybe it wouldn’t have all gone wrong. It’s my fault. Everything that happened is my fault. But I guess I have to start at the beginning. That fateful night in the Bee and Barb…
Muiri was now quite large carrying our child, and while she still endeavoured to do everything she’d always done, it was now far more tiring, and she took more naps than usual. I certainly helped out where I could to ease the strain. She would generally head to bed earlier than usual the longer the pregnancy went on, but she kept her word about our love making. Some positions were clearly out of the question the further on her pregnancy, but we found her riding me worked well for both of us. She would then want me to hold her until she fell asleep, though was happy for me to leave and perhaps head out if I wanted to.
That fateful night, I wandered into the Bee and Barb with the intention of just having a tankard, perhaps catching up on some local gossip, while I received plenty of questions about how Muiri was and how long until she would give birth. Sitting at my usual table, I was content to sit back against the wall and just sip my tankard when I was approached by a stranger. In his hand was a strange looking staff. Offering his hand, he introduced himself as Sam, and I returned the favour.
Then he offered a challenge, a drinking contest for the staff he held. “I’m not a mage,” I said.
“Oh, this staff is special, Ragnar. Trust me, you’ll want this staff.”
“What does it do?”
“Hmmm. How can I put this simply? If you use the staff, you’ll always have a friend at your beck and call.”
“What are we drinking?”
“Just ale. You up for it?”
“Sure. I can handle my ale.”
No, I could not handle my ale last night. I remember enjoying three before everything turned black. I’m fairly sure my drink was spiked by something because I can usually drink double that amount and still return home, get hard and enjoy some time with my wife.
I woke up later, I have no idea how much later, my head pounding so badly, I wanted the sweet release of death. Instead, after groaning to myself, I found myself under verbal attack. “Wake up! That's right, it's time to wake up, you drunken blasphemer!”
Managing to drag my body into a sitting position, I was surprised to see I was now dressed in my scaled armour. My sword and shield were on the ground next to me. Looking around, nothing looked particularly familiar, though I had a bad feeling I was in Markarth. And that left me wondering just what in oblivion I’d done.
“Blasphemer?” I had to ask.
“I see. So you don't remember fondling the statuary, then?”
Looking around, I recognised quite a few things, particular the aforementioned statue. I was in a Temple of Dibella. The only one I knew of was in Markarth, so that was clarification of where I was. So the next question to myself was ‘How the hell did I end up here?’
“I don’t remember that,” I muttered.
“I'm guessing you also don't remember coming in here and blathering incoherently about marriage or a goat. Which means you don't remember losing your temper and throwing trash all over the temple.”
Marriage? Was I talking about Muiri or… The same question of what had I done floating through my mind. “I'm sorry, I don't even remember how I got here.”
It must have been something in my tone, as she surprisingly relented. There was no smile, but her tone softened. “Well, you were deep in your cups when you got here. You were ranting but most of it was slurred. You said something about Rorikstead.”
Managing to stand up, taking a few moments to stop swaying and prevent myself being sick, I helped the priestess clean up the mess I’d made, offered her a few coins, admitting that I did worship Dibella myself. She was surprised at that, as males generally worshipped one of the other Divines, though I wasn’t going to go into great graphic detail about why I did.
During my clean-up, I’d found a note signed by Sam, stating that to fix the staff I was promised, I needed a list of things, all of which I’d collected inside the temple. I had a small pack I could throw those things, and again thanking the priestess for her understanding, I headed out into Markarth. No-one recognised me as I walked towards the city gates and I was left wondering how I’d get to Rorikstead.
I thanked the Eight when walking towards the stables and noticed my horse was there, leaving me even further confused, as all my camping supplies were tied to its rear as usual. I asked the stable-hand, “Do you remember seeing me last night?”
He laughed. “Oh yes, you and your friend were very drunk.”
“Friend? Do you mean Sam?”
He shrugged. “Never got his name. But he wandered off as you walked into the city.”
Shit, that’s what I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t care about the staff, I just wanted to know what else I’d done, and only he could answer my questions. I had a queasy feeling I’d done some rather stupid things, and wanted answers. The other part of me figured I should just head back to Riften and forget about it. Though I also worried about Sam. If he was as drunk as I apparently had been, then who knows what condition he was in.
Mounting my horse, I still felt rather woozy, though I found some dried meat in my supplies, so chewed on that as I rode along. The ride to Rorikstead took most of the day, though it was still light when tying up my horse outside the inn. Walking inside, I’d barely approached the bar when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“You bastard!” the voice stated angrily, the hand turning me around. “You've got a lot of nerve showing yourself in this town again. What do you have to say for yourself?”
It came as no real surprise I’d pissed someone off, though I didn’t recognise the man at all. “Look, I don’t even remember being here. What in oblivion are you talking about?”
The fact I was clueless just seemed to rile him even more. “Is that so? Does the name Gleda ring a bell? The star beauty of my farm? Kidnapped by a drunk lout and sold to a giant? So you'd better remember her right fast, before I call the guards and have you hauled away.”
“Well, I don’t really want that…”
“You're damned right you don’t. I'll never breed another prize-winning goat like Gleda! And don't you think of coming back to Rorikstead until you get her back from that Giant.”
“Well, I’m not doing that. But, you see, I need to find my friend and his staff to get your prized goat back. No staff, no goat.”
He remained silent for at least a couple of minutes, no doubt thinking about what to do with me. Finally, he sighed before replying. “I suppose that makes sense. You didn't mention a Sam and nothing you said about the staff made sense. You left a note but it was mostly gibberish, the only bit I could make out was ‘after repaying Ysolda in Whiterun.’”
Crap, what else had I done?
Thanking the man for his understanding, I headed outside and mounted my horse. It was getting dark, and it was a few hours to Whiterun, but I was closing in on an answer to everything I’d done, all apparently in one night. A fine mist was descending by the time I made it to Whiterun stables, glad I’d packed a coat to wrap around myself. It had been a while since I’d been out on the road, and I was already feeling saddle sore once I’d dismounted. The city was deserted at this time of night, but Saadia was still awake when walking into the Bannered Mare, and I paid the few coin required for a room.
I felt much better the next morning, particularly after gorging myself on the breakfast offered. Wandering outside, I took a deep breath of fresh air. My mind was working once again, and the aches and pains of the previous day had most disappeared. Better yet, Ysolda was busy at work in the market, so I headed straight for her, though I was taken aback when her face fell upon seeing me.
“So, you're finally back. Look, I've been patient, but you still owe me.”
“Ysolda, can I be honest? I have no idea what I owe you for.”
“It's not even about the money, really. I wouldn't have given you the wedding ring on credit if you weren't so obviously in love. But if there isn't going to be a wedding, the least you can do is give the ring back. That was one of my best pieces.”
“Wedding? Ysolda, I’m already married.”
“From what you were saying, Muiri didn’t even exist. Don’t you remember who it was for?”
“Well, Muiri already has a ring.” I groaned, wondering who in oblivion I could have been talking about. “Okay, let’s just forget about who it was for. This wedding ring, do you know what I did with it?”
“You went right out to give it to your new fiancé! Don't you even remember where you left her? And after you told me that sweet story of how you met in Witchmist Grove! I can see why she left you.”
“Witchmist Grove? Where in Skyrim is that?”
“Eastmarch, I believe.”
“Eastmarch!? By Ysmir, how long was I on this bender for?” I grabbed one of her hands. “Please, Ysolda. Obviously my memory of last night, or however long all this has gone on, is rather fuzzy. I’m having trouble remembering a lot of what happened. Can you do me a favour and tell me everything you know? Please?”
She relented easily, a smile forming. “It’s a good thing I like you, Ragnar. If I didn’t…”
“I’ll get the ring back for you, I just want to know everything that happened.”
“Okay, apart from your fiancé in Witchmist Grove, you said the ceremony was going to be at Morvunskar.”
After consulting a couple of maps up at the inn, I figured I could get to Witchmist Grove within a day, and then head north to Morvunskar. Thanking Ysolda for the information, and assuring her I’d return with the ring, I headed out straight away. The map hadn’t given a precise location of the grove, but it was within the area of the hot springs. Arriving around mid-afternoon, I approached a couple of bathers and asked about the grove. They at least knew of it, and managed to point me in the right direction.
Finding the cabin wasn’t too difficult. It was what was greeting me outside the cabin that caused my stomach to lurch, and I near enough threw up all the food I’d consumed that day. My blushing bride was what I knew to be a Hagraven. I’d never seen one before but I’d been told about them before. My hand was immediately at the hilt of my sword as I cautiously approached. What made me feel even worse is that she recognised me.
“Darling! I've been waiting for you to return, to consummate our love!”
“That’s not happening, whatever your name is. Give me the ring back and we can just forget all about this.”
“What? You want it for that hussy Esmerelda, with the dark feathers, don't you? I won't let her have you!”
No idea who Esmerelda was. Didn’t care. But I knew Hagravens had magic and could be utterly vicious when provoked, so before she could even think about attacking me, I struck first. It was a lucky strike, as it spun her around and she hit the ground face first, and she didn’t rise after I put my sword through her back. I wasted little time searching her body to find the ring. Once I had that in hand, I mounted my horse and headed to Windhelm. I knew Morvunskar was close by, but with night falling and the weather closing in, I needed to relax before heading to the fort. If they were like every other fort in Skyrim, they would either be full of Imperial or Stormcloak soldiers, who I’d have to persuade to let me in, or full of bandits, who I’d just kill.
Heavy snowfall had blanketed the landscape overnight and the wind was bitter, cutting through my coat, I was mounted my horse the next morning. I had asked about Morvunskar at the inn the previous night, and had been warned that the place was infested with mages, who performed all sort of nasty experiments on those unlucky enough to fall into their hands. I managed to find someone to tie up my horse at the bottom of the hill leading up to the fort. There were guards on the walls, lining those up with my bow. I managed to take down two, drawing their attention, the rest deciding the best course of action was to head in my direction. Lining them up and taking each of them down was too easy. I was left thinking mages were idiots.
Inside the fort, I put away my bow, figuring that working a sword and shield would be better inside the confined spaces. There were still plenty of mages, and it was only when having to take on more than one at a time that it was a problem. Those who were experts in fire were a real concern, laughing off those who used frost attacks. Those who used sparks or lightning were bastards, and I made sure to decapitate them when I got close enough.
With no real idea what I was looking for, I ended up wandering the empty halls, looking for any sign of Sam, but I didn’t find a thing. At least, I didn’t until breaking into a room, where I was greeted by… I’m not sure what it was. Some sort of magical sphere. It glowed brightly when I approached it, and figuring I had no real choice, it was either this or just heading back home, I stepped into the sphere.
As always, there was a bright light, and I found myself somewhere else. Where? No idea. But there was a serenity, a calmness about the place, that made me feel completely relaxed in seconds. I could hear music playing, the bubbling brook nearby, and I heard conversation in the distance. The path was lit by lanterns, following it along, feeling a smile creep across my face as I strolled along.
Walking out into an open area, there was a large table, at which plenty were sat eating and drinking. And standing at the head of the table, as if waiting for my arrival, was Sam.
“You're here! I was beginning to think you might not make it.”
I strode forward to shake his hand. Any anger I might have felt about having to traipse across Skyrim had disappeared. “Bloody hell, what a few days that was. But where are we?”
“I thought you might not remember your first trip here. You had a big night. I think you've definitely earned the staff.”
“Ah, the staff. To be honest, I wasn’t that worried about it. I just wanted to find you, make sure you were okay…” I held up my small pack, “Though I did grab everything needed, just in case.”
“Oh, the Hagraven feather and so on. You can throw all those out. You see...” He was enveloped by a black mist, it disappearing in seconds. “I really just needed something to encourage you to go out into the world and spread merriment. And you did just that! I haven't been so entertained in at least a hundred years!”
“Who are you?”
“I am Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery! I know, I know, how could I lie to you? Well, how could I trust you until we've shared a few drinks? But it wasn't long before I realised you'd make a more interesting bearer of my not-quite-holy staff than this waste of flesh.”
“Ah, I guess you’re aware of my hunt for artefacts?”
“Most of us are, Ragnar. So I figured I’d have some fun with you at the same time. But, no, you’ve more than earned my staff.”
“Well, thanks… I think…”
“My pleasure. But I think it's time for you to go. No fun keeping you locked up in here with the staff.”
Before I could reply, there was the usual bright light, and I found myself back outside Morvunskar, holding the staff. I looked at it, intrigued as to what it was and what it would do, though I wasn’t going to mess around with it. Looking around, it appeared not a minute had passed since I’d taken down the first mage, so I mounted my horse, pointed it in the direction of home, and off we went.
It was night by the time I dismounted at the stables outside Riften. It had been a long few days, crossing from the far west of Skyrim before turning north to Windhelm. It had been quite a few months since I’d properly hit the open road, and despite being left to wonder what else I might had done, I did find myself enjoying it most of the time.
I headed straight home. I’m not sure how many days it had been since I’d headed out for what I had intended to be a solitary drink. I expected my wife to be a little unhappy with me, as I would assume I’d disappeared without a word. Walking into the house, I was greeted by a few people. Aranea. Ingun. Maven. Brynjolf. Vex. Delvin. Brynjolf rose to his feet, and he looked…
“What’s wrong?” I asked, a bad feeling immediately nestling in my stomach.
“Where have you been, lad?”
“It’s a long story. What’s wrong? Where’s Muiri?”
Brynjolf opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything. Aranea rose to her feet and walked towards me. “I found her this morning, Ragnar.”
“What do you mean ‘found her’? Where is she? Where is my wife?”
I brushed by them and headed upstairs, calling her name. Walking into the bedroom, there was no sign of her. I walked into the nursery, no sign of her there either. I looked around the entire house, my calls becoming ever more frantic. It felt like some sort of sick joke was being played on me. ‘Found her’? Of course they’d find her in our home. Where else would she be?
Walking downstairs, I strode towards Brynjolf and grabbed him by his collar. “Where is she?” I shouted into his face.
“She’s not here,” he said quietly, face full of sorrow, “She’s gone, lad. She’s gone…”
And my life fell apart in an instant.
Ragnar of Riften had his heart ripped out. Where it once rested, there was only a black void. I knew I’d never love again. My wife and child had been stolen from me. And I knew she’d been murdered. I had spoken with the lady who tended the Hall of the Dead, a woman by the name of Alessandra. She had performed all the usual checks. She confirmed Muiri’s sex, age and other distinguishing features, including the fact she was heavily pregnant. She also confirmed the manner of death.
Murder. She’d been poisoned. There was the tiny hole in her neck, where someone had likely used a needle to dispense the poison. She confirmed death would have been in seconds.
There was only one group responsible for murder in Skyrim. The Dark Brotherhood. I knew I would be going to war with them after the funeral. I was going to find Astrid, kill her, then wipe the rest of them out. The Dark Brotherhood would cease to exist in all of Tamriel by the time I was done with them.
But first, I had to lay my wife and child to rest. The Temple of Mara, the site of the happiest day of my life, where I had married her, was now the site of my saddest. I had shed enough tears between hearing the news and the funeral. Now I was just left feeling angry and bitter. And, I’ll admit, a little confused. I had no idea who would want to kill her. Was it her? Or was someone trying to get at me? I had asked around, and no-one could give me a straight answer.
Like weddings, funerals were simple affairs in Skyrim. Maramal spoke a few words and I wasn’t capable of adding anything. Thankfully Aranea spoke for me, and her words were beautiful, and it was then that I was finally able to cry. I hugged her tightly afterwards, thanking her profusely. Carrying out the coffin afterwards, a grave had been dug for her in the lone graveyard the city had. Maven had bought an exquisite gravestone for me, and it was next to the grave that we placed the coffin down, before four of us used ropes to lower it into the ground. I insisted I would fill the grave myself. It took a while, but it was therapeutic at the same time.
The grave full, Ingun approached and dropped some seeds, as flowers would now grow on the grave, a symbol of Muiri’s love for alchemy. Asking for everyone to meet me at the Bee and Barb in a few minutes, I was left alone as I stood in front of the grave. “I’m sorry, Muiri. It’s all my fault. Maybe if I’d been home…”
“It’s not your fault.” The voice made me jump, turning to see Nura, the priestess of Talos I often saw praying at a nearby shrine. “It’s not your fault, Ragnar. And if you’d been home, you would perhaps be dead too.”
“Being dead would be better than feeling like this,” I muttered.
“Those feelings will disappear and your heart will mend eventually.”
“I just want whoever did this. I will find them. And I will kill them.”
“You want revenge?”
“I would say justice, but no, I don’t just want revenge. I want blood. I will find whoever did this. Track them down to the ends of Tamriel if necessary. And when I have them cornered, I’m going to take their heart and show it to them before they die.”
“That is a dark path you approach, Ragnar.”
“I feel a heart beat in my chest, but it has otherwise been ripped out. I now feel only two emotions. Anger, or rage to be more accurate, and hate. I’m not sure who I hate just yet, but I can make assumptions as to who is responsible for why my wife is now lying in the ground instead of standing next to me. I will walk that dark path if necessary.”
“Talos guide you regardless, Ragnar.”
“Thank you, priestess.”
The Bee and Barb was far more subdued than normal. Little wonder, considering the circumstances. I received plenty of sympathy from everyone I knew. Haelga was in floods of tears when she offered hers. I had seen her at the service, but she had stayed back. “If there’s anything I can do,” she started. It wasn’t an offer that required a response, so I just thanked her.
I got drunk. I can admit that freely, as that’s all I wanted to do. Sure, that’s how the whole business started, at least in my mind. I’d got drunk, ended up traveling from one side of Skyrim to the other, and back again, and while I was away, my wife was murdered. But getting drunk seemed like the best thing to do, so that’s what I did. I got so drunk I barely remember being carried home, though I’m sure I was probably weeping, or maybe angry at everyone, or perhaps critical of myself, as I’d feel forever responsible for what happened.
Waking with a massive hangover the next morning, Aranea cooked me some breakfast before I headed down to the Guild and the Flagon. Taking a seat across from Delvin, I asked one simple question. “Where is the Dark Brotherhood located?”
He was ready to argue but decided being honest was the best course. “West of Falkreath. There is an entrance just off the main road. Did Astrid tell you the secret phrase?”
“Yes, I made sure to remember that. But her description was vague otherwise.”
“What do you plan on doing?”
“Asking a few questions. My wife was murdered. The Dark Brotherhood will be held responsible unless Astrid assures me that they were not responsible, and more importantly, I believe what she says.”
“Careful, Ragnar. You’ll be dealing with a bunch of assassins, and they do have talent.”
“And I’m a bereaved, heartbroken husband to a murdered wife, nothing more than a vessel of hate and rage. Who do you think should be more scared?”
He nodded, replying, “Just make sure you go armed.”
I didn’t leave immediately. I took a couple of days to get my affairs in order. Part of me wanted to sell our house, her house, and just leave Riften behind. I could leave the Guild, that wouldn’t be a problem. They didn’t really need me. Brynjolf or Karliah could run it. I had no real idea of what I’d do. Selling the house would earn me plenty of coin though. Maybe become a mercenary?
I departed Riften a week after the funeral, with more warnings ringing in my ears from those who were aware of what I was going to do. I appreciated their concern but ignored them all. If the Dark Brotherhood wasn’t responsible, then they would have nothing to fear. Haelga was the last to see me, and I knew she was thinking things. Personal things. I didn’t blame her. Both of us were now widows, but she was smart enough to not even start broaching that subject. But I appreciated her company as I didn’t want to be lonely. Going to bed was difficult enough without the presence of my wife. Pottering around an empty house was enough to drive me mad.
Leaving final instructions with Brynjolf and Karliah, I suggested I would eventually return, but not to expect me to show much interest in Guild business for the foreseeable future. So, as far as I was concerned, they were both in change until then. Neither of them were particularly happy about it, but I left them with next to no choice in the matter. I was going, and that was that.
My mind was still in turmoil as I rode along, almost hoping something, someone, would try and attack me so I could release some of the rage that was still building inside. I needed to explode, release some of it, so a few bandits or a bear would be the perfect valve. But nothing did, the road to Falkreath clear of anything dangerous.
Avoiding Falkreath itself, I managed to find the door with ease, and camped down the road a little further. It had been another long day in the saddle, and after building a small fire, I opened a bottle of wine and got plastered again, crawling into my bedroll sometime later. Considering I had a near constant hangover lately, I woke feeling fine the next morning, and after a quick breakfast, readied myself for whatever was to come.
I left my horse at the campsite, cautiously walking the road back towards Falkreath, turning off where I knew the entrance to the Sanctuary was. I watched it for at least an hour, though no-one came or went, so figured I might as well just try and enter.
Standing in front of the door, the sinister looking skull looking back at me. I knew there was magic involved when I touched the door and heard a whispered voice ask, “What is the music of life?”
I knew the answer. “Silence, my brother.”
“Welcome home,” the door replied before it swung open for me.
Unsheathing my sword, I walked slowly down the stairs, turning to see a larger room. There were a couple of shelves, a table, but otherwise the place looked in a rather sorry state. Waiting at the other side of the room was Astrid. Her eyes met mine and my hand moved to my sword as I walked towards her. Coming to a stop a couple of metres back, I didn’t let her speak. Raising my sword, pointing the tip at her neck, I said, “You will answer my questions. You will answer them truthfully. If not, then you had better believe…”
“We didn’t do it, Ragnar. Trust me, I wouldn’t have taken the contract if it had been offered.”
“Then not you, who? Who else would commit such a flagrant murder in Skyrim?”
To my surprise, she stepped towards me, moving the sword out of her way with her gloved hand, before she hugged me. “Calm down, Ragnar. We’re not your enemy,” she said softly, “And I’m definitely not your enemy. Put your sword down and we’ll talk.”
“But…”
“Trust me. Please.”
I sighed. Did she have any reason to lie to me? Perhaps. But I also believed her. Maybe I was being foolish, but for some reason, I believed her. So I sheathed my sword before she finally released me. “Good. Now, we should talk about what happened.” She let me go and walked to the other side of the nearby table. “I did hear about what happened, Ragnar. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Now, as for who did it, do you truly believe we didn’t do it?”
“I believe you personally didn’t do it. But would anyone in this organisation do it on their own initiative? Perhaps hearing a rumour?”
“No. If they would have heard something, I’d have heard it. And, to be honest, I would have let you know, Ragnar. I know it’s been some months since that night, but I still remember it fondly. I’ve been waiting for you to show up. But I learned you were married, so I understood why you never arrived.”
“Any idea who might have done it?”
“I think the right question you need to be asking is who would have wanted your wife dead? Would it be someone after Muiri herself? Or is it someone trying to tear you down?”
I grabbed a chair and sat down, racking my mind over everything we’d done. “Well, I can be honest. I don’t have many enemies, and most I do have are dead. Add to that, most people don’t even know what I do with my life. As for Muiri, the only person who might have had an axe to grind is…” I looked up at Astrid. “But how could he have known about…”
“You killed Nilsine, Ragnar. What you wouldn’t know is that his wife committed suicide a couple of weeks later. Torbjorn Shatter-Shield would have had every reason to find the woman he’d hold responsible for everything that had happened to his family.”
“So you think it was him?”
She opened the drawer of a nearby chest and handed across a book. “I’ve done some investigating, Ragnar. I believe he probably hired Argonians to do it. I’ve asked Veezara, an Argonian who works for us. Although he states he is the last Shadowscale, Argonians do make talented assassins, so it’s possible there are some working freelance. The other reason I suggest it is an Argonian is that there is a community who lived outside the city walls. It’s possible there are some living inconspicuously amongst their ranks, and Torbjorn was able to approach them there.”
I was about to ask ‘Are you sure?’ but reading through the information she’d managed to gather, I could only ask, “How did you get all this?”
“I knew you’d show up here asking questions, if not ready for a fight. Call it self-preservation.” She paused, before asking, “So what do you intend to do now?”
Rising to my feet, I said I would be heading straight for Windhelm. Before leaving, I thanked her for the information. “What will you do after?”
“No idea,” I admitted.
“You will always have a job with us. Consider what you’re about to do. Is doing work for us any different?”
I didn’t need to really think about it. “No. No, it’s not. The only difference is this is personal. I’ve already killed for love. Is killing for money better or worse?”
“Neither. It just is.”
“I might wander through the door again someday soon, Astrid.”
“Be safe, Ragnar.”
After packing up camp and tying everything up on my horse, I headed west and north, eventually turning onto the road towards Whiterun, knowing I couldn’t make Windhelm in a day from Falkreath. I still carried the ring for Ysolda, and she was pleased that I returned it, though it appeared news had spread about the murder of my wife. She offered her condolences as we shared a drink in the Bannered Mare.
Walking into Windhelm late the next day, I headed straight for the house of the Shatter-Shields. I wasn’t going to waste any time. Looking around to ensure no-one saw me enter, I knocked on the door. It was opened by Torbjorn. “Yes?” he asked, “Who are you?”
“We need to speak, Torbjorn. About my wife.”
He sighed, nodded, and opened the door wider. I gestured for him to walk in front of me, not wishing to turn my back, ensuring the door was closed and secured before I followed him. He took a seat, gesturing to one opposite as we sat in front of the fire. He poured us each a glass of wine, though mine would remain untouched. He took a sip as he stared into the fire. “I suppose you’d like to know why.”
“I can take a good guess.”
“She’s responsible for everything… What was your name?”
“My name isn’t important.”
He nodded again. “Very well. As I said, she’s responsible for everything. Not for the death of Friga. I can’t pin that on her shoulders. But she was responsible for our heirloom beings stolen. If she’d not been such a floozy…”
“Careful, Torbjorn. Be very careful about what you say about her.”
He glared at me. “Frighten me all you want, young man. I know my end is near. Just shut up, let me speak, then you can do what you must.”
“Very well. Continue.”
“She was responsible for the loss of Aegisbane. That weapon had been in our family for generations. If she hadn’t met that man and brought him into our lives, maybe none of this would have happened. I know she ran away to Markarth to escape. I kept tabs on her, just in case.
Then Nilsine was murdered, and I knew she was responsible.”
I leaned closer to him. “I did that. For Muiri. Want to know how your daughter died?”
“No. I will sit here knowing I will join them all soon enough. But Muiri asked you to kill her?”
“She asked me to kill Alain. If you hadn’t thrown her out of Windhelm, forced her into exile, maybe your daughter would still be alive.”
He nodded before continuing, perhaps wanting to argue, but probably not seeing the point. “After we buried Nilsine, my wife was beside herself with grief. I did what I could but…. I found her returning home from work about a month later. She’d taken poison. She left a note for me, absolving me of any fault. She blamed your wife, of course. That’s when I took action.”
“How did you find her?”
“As I said, I knew she was in Markarth. If she’d remained there, as miserable as I knew she was, I’d have let her be. But no, she had to find happiness, a man who loved her, and a child on the way. There was no way I would allow her to have that. So I did what I needed to do. It was a clean job.” He met my eyes. “But I did it knowing you would one day arrive on my doorstep. I hide nothing. I’m glad to have done it.”
“I will give you a choice of how you die, Torbjorn. You can pick up a weapon and fight me, or I will make your ending quick. You will not suffer, much like my wife, who I was assured had died within seconds as she slept.”
“I can’t fight you, boy. Just let me finish this cup and you can then do what you want.”
I let him finish his cup. I gave him that much. Then he stood up, straightened his clothing, then met my eyes as I stood in front of him, sword already in hand. I was polite enough to put it through his chest, aiming for his heart, killing him almost instantly. He collapsed to his knees, and I took his head for good measure. Once satisfied, I wiped off my sword before sheathing it, and I walked out of the house. I assumed someone would find him soon. If not, the smell would attract someone eventually.
It was rather dark by the time I left Windhelm, intending to ride to Kynesgrove, where I would spend the night in the local inn. The next morning, I returned to Riften and my empty house at Riftweald, with absolutely no idea of what I was going to do next.