Dragonborn Rising Ch. 18

"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 ear 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 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.