A/N: Well, good morning, everyone. I hope anyone who's started classes this past week or is starting today is doing well and that this semester is a good one. I'm working with 3 hours of sleep after a rather disastrous closing shift last night, but I have a lot of coffee to try and get me through the day, and posting/writing always puts me in a better mood, so I'll push through it. No notes for this chapter, but hey, Drogo's back! So that's cool. Anyway, thank you as always to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Except for Dar'Jazha.
Rating: T for some references to violence and death, but nothing too graphic.
As the city guards cleaned the streets of blood and Thonar Silver-Blood answered for his crimes, Drogo and Dar'Jazha sat at the inn, each on their third flagon of ale. After downing the last few drops, Drogo sighed.
"Perhaps now you can consider your debt to me fully paid. You did serve a fortnight's time in Cidhna Mine for something I got you mixed up in after all."
Dar'Jazha chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "The mine was not so bad as they say. Dar'Jazha made it out in the end, no? And some said such was impossible."
There was a distant look behind the laughter in his eyes and Drogo hesitated, but ultimately decided not to press the matter. He was sure that more had occurred in Cidhna Mine than his partner had let on, and if Dar'Jazha ever decided to share the full story of his time, then he would listen.
"We're already behind on our route," he said, changing the subject. "If we spend much longer away, we might begin to lose customers. I wrote to some on the matter of our troubles while you were locked away, but their patience and loyalty will only extend so far."
Dar'Jazha nodded in agreement and set aside his mug, absently licking the drops of ale from his whiskers. "And yet Madanach may not stay long at the Redoubt. He is a man with much ambition."
Drogo sighed and gestured for Kleppr to refill his drink. "Daenerys deserves to return to her home, and the Forsworn may be the only way. But I was a caravan master long before I was a husband, and I have families whose livelihoods depend on the success of our trade." He took a long drink of ale and shook his head in defeat.
After a moment, Dar'Jazha spoke again. "Might Dar'Jazha make a suggestion?"
"Please do. I need all the help I can get."
The Khajiit nodded and then frowned slightly before continuing. "Ahkari ran her own caravan for long before she joined with ours, and Ri'saad and Ma'dran looked to her for their commands. Perhaps it is time that she leads again. She can keep the caravan in motion while Dar'Jazha and his Khal go to Druadach Redoubt."
Drogo drank in silence for a long moment before responding. "We cannot know how long we will be with the Forsworn. Do you truly wish to be away from your family for what could be moons?"
Without hesitation, Dar'Jazha replied. "Long before Ahkari and Daenerys, it was Khal Drogo and Dar'Jazha who made their way across this land. Now, you are without your Khaleesi, and so I will be at your side again, no matter the cost."
Nodding solemnly, Drogo put a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Then let's hope it won't be so long this time."
Although they were all eager to return once more to the road where they belonged, the caravan and its two masters delayed their departure from Markarth for a few days, ensuring that nothing had been overlooked before going their separate ways.
As Dar'Jazha bid his family goodbye, Drogo checked their saddlebags once more. They had enough food to last them for several weeks if they ate sparingly, and if the Forsworn did not offer them anything from their supplies.
After a fairly extensive search, he had found a historian in the keep who knew of the Redoubt's location and he had assured Drogo that if they left early and kept a steady pace, they could reach it before the next sunrise. For that, at least, he was grateful. All Markarth held now was memories of Daenerys, and each day that passed without word made the ache in his chest grow tighter.
"We are ready, my Khal, yes?"
Shaking himself from his thoughts, Drogo nodded. "Yes."
They watched the caravan depart in silence, waiting until the last wagon had disappeared from view before spurring their horses onward and following the western path from the stables. Vigdis Salvius looked up from his crops and waved as they passed, and Drogo returned the gesture with a smile.
Just beyond the farm, the path forked once more and they stayed left, following the sign to Karthwasten. Assuming that the historian had marked their map correctly, they would be forced to veer from the road beyond the small mining town and make the rest of the journey on foot.
As they rode, a distant roar echoed across the hillside and Drogo reached warily for the bow across his shoulders. Just before their departure, a courier had arrived with news from Helgen, of Ulfric Stormcloak's near execution and subsequent escape, and the return of the dragons. Though he was skeptical of the news, the sound made his hair stand on end and he couldn't help but imagine a winged beast descending upon them.
The sun rose steadily as they walked along the road, sparkling off the crests of the nearby river and scattering off the scales of the fish that made their home there. Markarth had just faded from view behind them when a small homestead appeared on the horizon.
"Kolskeggr Mine," Drogo noted absently as they continued toward it. It was one of the few places in Skyrim with veins of pure gold ore.
Dar'Jazha nodded in reply and then squinted into the sunlight, his ears flattening.
"My Khal..."
His tone was one of warning and Drogo tensed as he caught sight of a body beside the road. Though it was badly mangled, the armor of the Markarth guards held what was left of it together. The serrated pattern of the corpse's wounds was all too familiar, and as Drogo moved a hand to the knife at his hip, Dar'Jazha reached for the helmet hanging from his saddle.
In the end, neither violence nor Madanach's helm was needed, as it was Kaie that they found leaning against the porch railing of the cabin that had once been owned by the mine foreman.
"Madanach was expecting you sooner," she called out as they passed. "Perhaps you aren't quite as desperate as he thinks."
Drogo bristled at the slight, but Dar'Jazha ignored it. "Dar'Jazha and his Khal had business in Markarth still," he replied smoothly. "But it is good to know that Madanach is impatient for our arrival, yes."
Kaie scowled at the insinuation, but by the time she would have been ready with a response, they had left the mine behind, crossing the bridge before them and moving up the mountain path to Karthwasten.
There was a group of people gathered in the center of the town when they arrived, and after exchanging a glance, both men dismounted. As they approached, the general murmur of conversation grew distinct, and heated.
"I want you sellswords out of my land!" It was Ainethach who spoke, the leader of the mining town and owner of both Sanuarach and Fenn's Gulch Mines.
The muscular Redguard that stood opposite him moved a hand to the hilt of his sword. "Watch your tongue, native," he spat. "We'll leave when we're sure there's no Forsworn here."
"Oh, and when would that be, I wonder?" Ainethach retorted. "When I sell my land to the Silver-Bloods?"
"The Silver-Bloods have made you a very generous offer for this…pile of dirt," the Redguard sneered. "I suggest you take it."
Without bothering to wait for a reply, he stalked away toward the mine in question, his men following behind him.
Ainethach watched as Drogo and Dar'Jazha walked over, sighing heavily. "What brings you two to our part of Skyrim? We aren't due for another shipment for moons now."
Drogo shook his head, stopping beside the Breton. "The caravan is making its rounds without us. We're here on our own business, just passing through on our way north."
The older man nodded and didn't question their destination, for which Drogo was grateful. "Well, since you're here, no matter the reason, maybe you could help us out. Those bloody sellswords have been here since the last Forsworn attack moons ago, and now they spend their days threatening us, hoping I'll turn over Sanuarach by way of payment. We never even asked for them to come here! It was the Silver-Bloods that sent them and now they're trying to use these fools to bully my mine away from me."
"We could speak to them for you," Drogo offered. "It may not do much good, but we'd be willing to try."
"May not do much good?" Ainethach echoed incredulously. "That Khajiit of yours has the smoothest tongue in Tamriel. I still believe he was the one who truly convinced my wife to marry me, gods rest her soul."
Dar'Jazha chuckled at that and shrugged slightly. "Dar'Jazha will do his best."
When the Breton nodded his thanks and pointed out their leader, Atar, the Redguard, they departed, approaching the ill-tempered sellswords.
"Good day, men," Drogo called out amiably. "What brings you to Karthwasten?"
Atar regarded them suspiciously for a moment before softening slightly in the company of a fellow Redguard. "Forsworn attacked a while back and the Jarl had no men to spare so the Silver-Bloods generously offered to send us to clean things up. We just want that old native to hand over his land in payment for our services. Then we'll leave, and everyone can get back to work."
Drogo nodded in understanding before looking sideways at Dar'Jazha. The Khajiit met his gaze before turning to Atar.
"It is good of you to try to secure this mine for the Silver-Bloods, yes..." he purred, teeth bared in a grin. "But Dar'Jazha believes the Silver-Bloods have far more on their mind than seven veins of silver. We came here from Markarth, the latest victim of a Forsworn attack. Madanach himself escaped from Cidhna Mine and it's said that he's coming here next..."
The other men looked skeptical, and so Dar'Jazha shrugged. "You do not believe what the Khajiit tells you, no?" He held up his paw, displaying the Silver-Blood ring that Thonar had given him.
A look of panic washed over the faces of the sellswords before their leader managed to suppress his terror. Thonar Silver-Blood was well known for his greed and ambition. If his ring was no longer on his finger, then that was because it had been pried from his corpse, or so many in Skyrim believed.
"Perhaps we're of better use in Markarth then," he bluffed, stammering slightly over his words. "This tiny little horseshit town isn't worth our time anyway. Good day, gentlemen."
After a brief conference, the three men all but fled to the road, and Drogo chuckled. "Entertaining as that was, it would have been far more amusing had most of it not been true."
Dar'Jazha nodded in agreement, watching as Ainethach cautiously approached them once more.
"So...that's it then?" he asked incredulously. "They're gone for good?"
"Yes," Drogo replied. "You won't be seeing them again anytime soon."
"You two are a godssend," the mine owner said gratefully, reaching a hand to the pouch at his waist. "Please, take some coin for your troubles."
Shaking his head, Drogo pushed aside the offered hand. "Keep your coin, Ainethach, we have no need of it."
"At least stay and eat with us then," he offered. "I won't take no for an answer."
Nodding by way of acceptance, Drogo followed after him as he led the way to a common table beside the miners' shared quarters.
"Perhaps it's good to make the King in Rags wait," he murmured to Dar'Jazha as they sat at the table.
The Khajiit shrugged by way of reply, smirking slightly. "Perhaps."
The food was bountiful in light of the sellswords' departure and due to the insistence of their hosts that they stay the night for celebration, it wasn't until the next morning that Drogo and Dar'Jazha found themselves able to return to the road. The rest of the journey was to be made off the beaten path, and so they left their mounts with Ainethach and his miners before setting off into the nearby mountains.
The trek was tiring, but by no means treacherous, and they were able to easily make their way among the rocks and brush toward their destination, avoiding the local wildlife as best they could.
As they approached the crest of one of the higher hills, a large and intricately carved shrine came into view, and the Khajiit that stood below it waved in greeting.
Drogo and Dar'Jazha waved back before the latter spoke, musingly. "A shrine to Peryite. Perhaps it is good that the Khajiit hides himself in these hills. Daedra are not viewed fondly, and Peryite less so than some of his brethren."
His partner nodded absently. Drogo didn't know much of the Daedra, as his father hadn't thought such knowledge was imperative to the trade of caravan mastery, but what he did know was rather interesting, and quite compelling. Often, the Daedra were said to show their power more than the Divines, making it easier to both believe in them and to fear them.
The sound of Dar'Jazha's voice broke him from his thoughts. "Dar'Jazha believes we are close, my Khal."
Drogo looked up to find that they were at the bottom of a valley, a small pool of water and plants at its center. The water, once clear, he was sure, was cloudy with blood and a bloated corpse floated idly on its surface, pierced through with Forsworn arrows. Yes, it did seem as though they were nearing their destination.
Wading into the water, Drogo dragged the dead woman to the grass, his stomach twisting at the sight of her mutilated body. Kneeling, he shut her eyelids, and as he rose, he couldn't help but imagine the palace in Wayrest littered with butchered bodies. As repulsive as the image was, in the end, it was what he wanted. And for Daenerys to return home to her rightful throne, it was a price that he was willing to pay.
After Dar'Jazha removed his cloak and covered the body, they set off once more, climbing up to another rise in the hills. As they neared the top, the view below sprawled out before them. A river bubbled and ran through the massive valley below, casting its shimmering light on the small figures that moved about at its edge. All throughout there was movement as hide tents were pitched and logs were sharpened and mounted with the heads of men and animals alike, still bleeding as they were forced into the ground.
Drogo let out a heavy sigh.
"Welcome to Druadach Redoubt."