Roggi knew he would never have asked an Argonian if he'd been entirely sober. On the day Quez-Ja had stuck her scaly snout into the Braidwood Inn, asking for work, he'd been feeling particularly sour. His mead debts were mounting, and the thought of the days of mining – once something he took pleasure and pride in – that stretched unbroken ahead of him meant even the sweet spirits weren't lifting his mood.
She'd asked him what was wrong, and to his surprise, he'd told her. She tapped one of the little horns above her eyes then, something Roggi later learned meant she was recalculating her travelling time, and then she'd bid him farewell. He hadn't thought much of it until the next day, when she simply walked in and handed him his family shield, as if he'd asked her to pass the salt.
He had no money to repay her with. He had less than no money, Iddra was taking a large slice of everything he earned at the mine to pay his drinking debts.
"If you see fit to bring me along with you," he found himself saying, "I would dearly love to get away from this place."
She shrugged, "Come on then."
"Seriously?"
She didn't answer him directly, she simply stuck out her gloved hand, "Quez-Ja."
"Roggi Knot-Beard." He shook the proffered hand, secretly glad it was gloved. He'd honestly never seen an Argonian this close before, and it was a little unnerving.
"Ah, named for your beard," She nodded understandingly.
"Erm. No. It's a family name, but it seemed like the obvious thing to do to grow one."
"So you weren't born with the beard?"
"No." Okay, fair enough, he had no idea what baby Argonians looked like either. Or even if they were hatched from eggs or not.
Quez-ja didn't mention it again until he'd collected his meagre belongings – his shield and an old bow he used for hunting – and they'd left Kynesgrove behind.
"I feel sorry for your mother," she said.
Roggi could only imagine what his mother would have made of that.
And so they'd travelled. Roggi hadn't cared too much where they were going, he just wanted to get away from the mine, and that was a good thing because Quez-Ja didn't seem to have a plan in mind. She went in whatever direction took her fancy, offering help to anyone who looked like they needed it – or she took mercenary work; they had to eat after all, and Roggi found himself slowly paying off his debts via courier.
He'd asked her why she went around helping people, and wondered if there was some dark past she was atoning for.
"I like helping people."
Apparently not.
He found himself scowling whenever someone hissed a slur at her back or refused her service, but that didn't seem to bother her that much either.
"Nords are not so popular in Black Marsh either," she pointed out.
Roggi hunted game for them, and insisted on cooking it. He gathered herbs and tried to remember what his mother had taught him about combining them. Quez-Ja never asked him to, but if he was honest he felt he was taking advantage of her.
For all her cheerful demeanour, Quez-Ja was fierce in battle. She wielded two maces mercilessly, and apparently fearlessly. She had the knack of a bit of healing magic, and apparently she liked it better than a shield. He thought she was a member of the College of Winterhold, but she never mentioned it, and she never did anything remotely wizard-like, other than the occasional healing spell. Which was a relief, really.
But all this meant that Roggi found himself in debt again, although he was sure Quez-Ja would tell him he owed nothing. But he owed everything. From the boots on his feet, to the gold in his pack to the new strength and cunning with which he pulled his bowstring. He just wanted, just once, to make it worth his friend's while having him along, for something more than friendly conversation and an extra pack to carry things in.
"Are you really sure we should be down here? This is a sacred place."
"And it's full of these horrible dead things. If my ancestors were down here, I'd want to look after this place a bit better."
"What do Argonians do with their dead anyway?" Quez-Ja answered his questions so easily, if not always truthfully, Roggi had lost his initial awkwardness regarding Argonian culture.
"They return to the marsh-shh! I think I heard something."
"You're looking for something specific, aren't you?" Roggi asked, some time later, as Quez-Ja examined a strange stone door, lining up the engravings carefully.
"It's an old story," she said, stepping back with a satisfied look as the door lowered itself into the floor. "There were three evil sons. Here, read this." She handed him a book, one of only a couple she carried in her pack.
"This is, I mean, where we are now is Geirmund's Hall," he said, his eyes going wide once he'd reached the end of the tale. "You're looking for the amulet!"
"No," Quez-Ja shook her head and regarded him with pale, reptilian eyes. "I'm looking for the sons."
"Why?"
"Evil should be cleansed. Not left to fester underground and grow stronger. Look." She handed him two scraps of paper. "Two of the sons have been laid to rest. Permanently this time."
A breeze, cold and smelling of dead things, ruffled the furs Quez-Ja wore. She unslung her maces, "Are you coming?"
"I'm right behind you, but this gives me a bad feeling."
Roggi's feelings didn't get any more optimistic as they waded through the dank, icy water towards the tomb. He was still on the stairs when the lid was flung aside by the creature within. Quez-Ja was already in motion, covering the ground in long, bounding strides, her maces raised to strike.
She swung through empty air.
"What the?"
They were confronted by not one but three of the creatures, each on a raised platform in the water, and each wielding a bow. Roggi ducked as arrows flew, but he wasn't the target. Quez-Ja staggered as the missiles found their target, and he could hear the hum of her healing magic as she turned and leaped into the water, flinging the arrows aside as she did so.
Roggi picked one of the undead at random and let his arrow fly. To his surprise, the creature vanished, just as Quez-Ja pulled herself up onto another platform and dispatched another.
Encouraged, Roggi aimed at the third. It barely seemed to feel it as the arrow buried itself in the creature's neck. Quez-Ja could swim like nothing else, she leaped from the water in front of the creature like a spawning salmon, maces swinging. And again, the dead prince vanished. This time he appeared right behind Roggi. He didn't have time to draw his sword; he wasn't very good with it anyway. He fired point-blank, a detached part of him amazed that he hadn't frozen in sheer terror, because the evil prince's glowing, undead eyes were perhaps the most horrifying thing he'd ever seen.
This horrifying vision, however, was quickly eclipsed by the sight of an arrow, its feathers dark and ragged, protruding from his chest. The draugr prince had fired point-blank too before he'd vanished again. Roggi staggered, dropping his bow as he fumbled for one of his potions.
He raised it to his lips with trembling fingers when something big crashed into him, sending the precious vial rolling away on the floor.
Quez-Ja.
Three arrows protruded from the wall in front of which he'd been standing. She dragged him behind an outcropping of rock, and they huddled out of sight.
"I can't get near him," she said, her hands aglow with magic. "Don't look, don't breathe."
Roggi looked. And nearly fainted as she yanked the arrow out of his chest.
"I told you. Feeling better?"
She didn't wait for him to anwswer. "There are two fakes and a real one," she said. "If we get close, he just runs away." She risked peering around the rock and arrows streaked past her nose. "We're pinned down."
"I need my bow," Roggi said.
She looked at him, "I'll get it for you. Sit tight."
Roggi's heart was in his mouth as she broke cover. She was so brave. He would be brave. Not just a miner. Not just a mead-drinker. Come on, he told himself. She tumbled, snatching the bow from the ground as she rolled and hid behind a rock on the other side. Several arrows littered the ground in her wake. He saw her sharp teeth as she smiled.
She slid the old bow across the ground to him and he stooped and picked it up. He took a deep breath, notched an arrow, and stepped out of cover. Keep moving, he thought, as an arrow whistled past his cheek. He released his own, and a one of the draugr vanished. Next arrow, smooth, calm, take that one down too.
Pain bloomed down his leg.
"I got it." Replaced almost instantly with numb warmth of healing. Roggi forced himself to be calm, and stepped back the other way, as the illusions returned. Now he knew who the real enemy was, however, and took aim again.
He ran out of arrows.
His quiver rattled as Quez-Ja dropped handfuls of missiles she'd collected from the walls and floor into it, and he sent the ancient wooden arrows back to their source. His arms ached, sweat trickled into his eyes and he blinked them clear, furiously. His hands were raw; they'd blistered and the blisters had burst in his gloves. He would not give up. The draugr prince looked like a pincushion.
And then the illusions vanished, and the creature fell with a cracking of old, dried bones.
"Ah." Roggi said, and fell to his knees.
He remembered Quez-Ja slapping him on the back, and retrieving the third amulet and the scrap of paper from the corpse, along with a dozen of his arrows. The prince had a dark, gleaming bow clutched in his bony hands, and Roggi found it resting across his back when sunlight and the smell of grass and freshwater brought him back to his senses.
They sat on a slab of rock, Roggi drinking one of the bottles of mead he always carried, and Quez-Ja poring over the scraps of paper.
He heaved a sigh and examined the weapon, "Are you sure you don't want this bow? It's beautiful."
"It's pretty clear you'll get more use out of it than I will," Quez-Ja said. "I can't hit the broad side of a mammoth."
"Thank you," he said quietly. He lifted his head and felt sun on his face.
"I couldn't have done it without you," she said.
He looked at her. "I..."
"We both know it's true. I'm glad I had you along."
"I'm glad you gave me a chance."
"So we're all glad! You can take that serious look off your face now." She held up the three amulet fragments with a toothy smile, "I think I've worked out how to put this together. What do you think? Should we give it a try?"
Roggi pitched the empty bottle into the lake, where it sank with a few bubbles. "Yeah, why not? At least find out what it does."