Chapter 28 – Horizon
Ralof and Brynjarr said their goodbyes and headed back to Riverwood. Fjornir and Eirin sat down with their daughter.
"'Narah, what do you mean, 'Ghost Man'?"
"The man who talks to me," Nehenarah said.
"Who talks to you?" Fjornir asked. He had the sudden urge to punch whatever man was secretly talking to his baby girl.
"I don't know," the girl answered.
"How do you not know who talks to you?" Eirin was growing frantic.
"Because I can't see him," Nehenarah said.
"Are you hearing voices, 'Narah?" Fjornir asked.
"Just one, Papa, the Ghost Man."
Eirin frowned. "What does he say?" she asked.
"Umm, my name, and, some things I don't know." Her small feet kicked the air nervously as she sat on a chair.
"What you don't know? You mean things you don't understand?" Fjornir asked.
Nehenarah nodded. "Not our words."
Eirin and Fjornir exchanged worried looks.
"Alright, 'Narah, we'll talk about Ghost Man a little more later. But first I need to talk to you about those sparks. You need to be very careful with them," Eirin said.
"You already said," the girl replied.
"Yes, and you know that they can hurt people. And rats. And all other living things, in fact. But you need to be careful how often you use your talents. Using them can make you very tired."
"No they don't," the girl said.
"They don't?" Eirin asked.
"Nope!" Nehenarah stood. She held out her palms and let both hands glow, then sparkle, then alternated glowing and sparkling. She danced around the room, a play of light encircling her. Then both hand glowed brighter. The right hand, the hand with the sparks, crackled loudly, and then a bolt of lightning shot up to the ceiling, singeing the wood. Eirin and Fjornir stood, frozen in panic. The light from Nehenarah's palms dissipated, and she stood there, grinning at her parents. "See? Fine!"
"What news of the rioting?" Ulfric asked Galmar.
"Increasing in intensity, I'm afraid," Galmar replied.
Ulfric wanted to toss the map table across the war room, but restrained himself. "I've had enough..." He sighed. His large body hunched over the map table, knuckles white from gripping the sides. "Write to the Stormcloak veterans. Ready the standing army. And don't forget to write to the Dragonborn, as well."
"We can't fight the elves, Ulfric," said Galmar. "What message would that send?"
The King sighed. "It's just a preemptive measure, Galmar. If we're going to negotiate with the Dunmer, I need protection."
"But an entire army?"
"Don't worry, some veterans... some won't be able to come, nor fight... I was actually thinking of using the soldiers to help rebuild the Gray Quarter, or at least fix what is in disrepair," Ulfric said.
"We barely have enough gold as it is, we can't afford to rebuild the Gray Quarter right now," Jorleif chimed in.
"We can still hear them out," Ulfric scowled. "We'll find the funds, somehow. What we truly cannot afford are more riots. I heard a Dunmer merchant was killed by trampling a few weeks ago. That cannot happen again."
"Since when are you so concerned about the welfare of elves?" Galmar asked.
Ulfric gave his second-in-command a stern look. "Since I became King, Galmar." Ulfric ran his fingers along his strawberry-blonde beard. "I also had another thought that may help quell the riots."
"And that is?" asked Galmar.
Ulfric looked at his two advisors. "We need to somehow get Brunwulf Free-Winter allied with us. I think I may have an idea how."
"What? No, Fjornir, I'm due any day now," Eirin said as she waddled toward Jorrvaskr from Arcadia's shop.
"I'm not saying I'll go immediately, but I can at least send some gold along." Fjornir offered his right arm to his wife, and held the letter from Windhelm in his left hand.
"How much gold?"
"I don't know. Some. And I can take more with me when I go."
Eirin thought a moment. "What is the elves's problem, exactly?"
"Cramped, dilapidated living quarters, mainly. That, and a general dislike and distrust of them by the Nords."
"Hmm," Eirin said.
Fjornir looked over at her. "What are you thinking?"
"Why not give them Helgen?"
"Helgen? But it's in ruins."
"Yes, it is, now... But it was once a wonderful little town." Eirin smiled at the memory of her childhood. "Give the elves the town. Help them rebuild it, or help them help themselves, financially."
Fjornir smiled. "That... that is a brilliant idea." He stopped walking, pulled Eirin to him and kissed her. "You're brilliant. I'll send word to King Ulfric and Jarl Dengeir. Perhaps between the three of us, we can make your plan work."
"Perhaps then the elves won't loath the Stormcloaks any longer, won't try to have you killed..."
"Perhaps," Fjornir said. They continued walking. Later, Fjornir said, "Do you think 'Narah is hearing Dragonspeak?"
"Mm, I was wondering that, actually."
"It may have something to do with her being Dovahkiir. I should sit down with her to see if she remembers any words."
"When are we going to be told what the Dovahkiir is, anyway?"
"I don't know, Dyra."
Eirin sighed. "She can manipulate energies without tiring. How is that even possible?"
Fjornir shrugged. "It likely has something to do with who she is. Who you and I are."
"I'm not surprised she can Heal, all the women of my line can, but... I tired, my mother tired... If she doesn't tire from Healing or creating lightning..."
"She'll be unstoppable," Fjornir finished her thought.
Eirin's fingers dug into the flesh Fjornir's forearm. "I need to make her understand that she can't just... whip it out. I don't want her to be used as a weapon."
"Like me," Fjornir said.
"Like you," Eirin confirmed.
"Umm, 'brit', he says 'brit' lots. And... 'keem'... Oh, I remember, 'dee brit keem'. Yeah. He says that lots, but I don't know what he means. Why don't I know those words, Papa?" Nehenarah was eating a sweetroll while Fjornir asked her about what the Ghost Man says to her.
"Because they're not from our language, my girl," Fjornir answered. "Do you remember anything else?"
"Hmm...," the girl licked her sticky lips and thought. "'Saran', and, um, a long word, um, 'al... alloooonteeeed', yeah, 'alloonteed'. And...," she bit her lip, "'zee'..., um, 'zee mo na', I think... then, 'say dove'. He says those lasts words lots, too: 'zee mo na say dove'."
"Very good, you remembered a lot," Fjornir smiled at his daughter. "Now why don't you go outside and play, hmm?"
"Okay!" Nehenarah ran from her parent's bedroom in Jorrvaskr and out the front doors.
Fjornir stood, then walked over to the bed where Eirin was resting. "Did you get any of that?" he asked her.
"No, except for brit. You call me that enough it should be my name," she winked, but then frowned. "Who is calling our daughter beautiful, Fjornir?"
The Dragonborn sat on the bed at Eirin's side. "I don't know. I suppose we'll find out, in time. I'm just glad it's Dragonspeak and not some Daedra wooing my daughter."
"Hmph... What were the other words?"
Fjornir sighed, then looked to Eirin and grasped her hand. "I don't think you're going to like my answer," he said.
"Just tell me, Fjornir."
He frowned, but obliged. "Dii brit kiim. Saraan aluntiid, Ziimonahsedov." He kissed Eirin's hand.
Eirin stared blankly. "I admit, I'm getting a bit rusty with my Dragonspeak..."
Frown lines deepened around Fjornir's mouth. He swallowed hard. "It means, 'My beautiful wife. Await the future, Spirit Mother of Dragonkind'..."
Eirin's water broke.
END PART 2
(Stay tuned for Part 3!)
