#kmda

           A few didn’t, though. Some were worthy, and those joined their ranks. Farkas knew that each and every one of them had earned the title Companion. But he still felt distant from them. He didn’t know them. Everything was different now. Skjor still guided the Companions with his firm hand and solid wisdom, but much of the leadership fell to Vilkas, Aela, and himself. He didn’t have as much time to get to know the new bloods. And he was okay with that. They listened when he spoke, they cast awestruck glances at him when he walked past. Once they learned that he trained the Dragonborn, he was different to them.

           That was fine too. Farkas had always been different. He knew it. Never bothered him much. As long as Vilkas and Aela were there with a friendly face and a mug of mead, there wasn’t much that could shake Farkas. Except for when Kjolti left.

           It took him months to shake that gloom. It was strange, the sadness that took over him. It wasn’t sharp or quick, like when Kodlak died. That sadness was like the slice of a blade. When Kjolti left Jorrvaskr, it was quiet and smothering, the pain. It was like climbing too high up a mountainside and fighting the trolls there; there was not enough air to fill his lungs. It was like the days after being hit too hard in the head; nothing seemed to focus, and time passed in funny ways. It was like when he had come down with Bone Break Fever; and all he wanted to do was sleep, and no matter how much he slept he was still tired.

           Those things faded with time. He still missed her, they all did. But slowly, eventually, breathing was easier, and the days were less fuzzy, and he found energy to do what needed to be done.

           Farkas set down the now empty tankard. He was tired, and was ready for sleep. He had cleansed himself of his beast blood months ago, and he never looked back from that choice. Being free of the wolf was like waking up from a daze he didn’t know he was in. He and Vilkas had gone together. They made the choice together that the wolf blood was not how they wanted to live, and eventually die. Aela had kept hers, and that was fine for everyone. That was what the Companions were about. Everyone gets to make the right choice for themselves.

           He lifted his bulk off the bench. A few people gave him nods of acknowledgement as he dismissed himself to the sleeping quarters below. He descended the steps, his footfalls heavy with his exhaustion.

           He walked past the room that had once been Kjolti’s. Watching someone else take Kjolti’s room had been one of the hardest steps. He held no grudge with the new Companion that filled it; Hromir was a fine fighter. But seeing someone else there had been hard.

           Farkas rounded the corner to the hall that held his room. He wearily pushed open the doors to his room. He turned to light the lantern on the table, shutting the doors behind him as he did. Once he turned around again, his heart jumped and he reached for his weapon.

           There was a figure sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed. It wore black, serious looking armor. They wore no helm, and as the face turned toward him, Farkas’s heart stopped.

           Two beautiful silver moons gazed up at him.

           “Hey, Farkas,” Kjolti said quietly.

           Farkas fell to his knees and swept her up in an embrace. Their metal armor clinked and scraped, and Kjolti made a soft surprised sound as he wrapped himself around her, but she fell into the hug, resting her head on his shoulder.

           They sat like that for a long moment, tangled together on the floor, probably looking for all the world like a pile of scrap metal. Farkas gripped her like she would slip out of his arms if he didn’t hold tight enough; he knew she could. He pressed his head against hers, dug his fingers into her hair. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.

           For several moments they remained like this, before eventually pulling away to look at one another. There was trepidation and uncertainty in Kjolti’s eyes, but also softness, and her slight smile was friendly. Farkas’s eyes held concern and wonder.

           He cupped her face with his hands. “You’re still alive,” he whispered. “You’re here.”

           She lifted a hand and stroked his cheek. “I’m alive, and I’m here.” She grinned as she ran her fingers over the coarse hair on his cheek. “You have a beard now.”

           Farkas grinned boyishly. “Yeah,” he said. They both chuckled softly before their faces grew more serious again. “I’m not a werewolf anymore.”

           Kjolti cocked her head. “Truly? I’m…surprised. Impressed.”

           Farkas nodded. “Me and Vilkas, we both did it. Decided we didn’t want it anymore. But Aela still is. She likes it that way.”

           Kjolti still stroked his cheek. “How do you feel? Any regrets?”

           “No. It is better this way. I prefer my head clear and my instincts my own. The Inner Circle does not require the wolf blood any longer. Some still choose it, and Aela has been a forebear for two more members since you left, but it is their choice.”

           Kjolti smiled and leaned into his touch. “Well, I’m proud of you. It is a hard thing, I know, and you were with your wolf spirit much longer than I was.”

           Farkas felt himself grow warm and tingly. His heart rate had not slowed down since discovering Kjolti in his room. “You’re here,” he breathed again, his eyes shining in the dim light.

           This time Kjolti’s face faltered slightly. “I’m here. For now.”

           Farkas’s face fell. “When are you leaving? Why are you here?”

           Kjolti looked down. “Just for tonight. I have to go in the morning.”

           “Where are you going?”

           Kjolti’s face broke and trembled. “I—I,” She began to tear.

           Farkas pulled her in again. “Shh. Shh, it’s okay.”

           Kjolti fell upon him, this time holding him tighter than before.

           Farkas stroked her hair. “Let us be more comfortable. May I help you with your armor?”

           Kjolti pulled away and looked like she was about to refuse, but then quietly said, “Okay.”

           Farkas helped her to her feet and began to unclasp her armor. “By the Gods,” he whispered. “Where did you get this armor?” It was black as night, and sinister in its design. “Is this ebony?” It didn’t look like ebony.

           Kjolti shook her head. “No, its—actually, the less you know about this armor, the better, probably.”

           “I will take your word for it.” Piece by piece, Farkas removed the heavy plate from Kjolti’s body and gently set it aside, admiring it all the while.

           Kjolti removed the rest herself. She was wearing thin deerskin leggings and a long sleeve cotton shirt beneath, the front laces open and loose. She turned to him. “May I?”

           Farkas was certain his face was red. To have Kjolti in his rooms, having helped her out of her armor, and her offering to help him out of his, was a lot for him to take in. But he didn’t care if the emotion showed on his face. She was there with him, and that’s all he cared about. He nodded.

           Kjolti began to deftly undo the fastenings on the wolf armor Farkas wore. He knew she was familiar with it, knew its workings. He knew she would care for the armor properly.

           Soon, Farkas stood in his quilted breeches and plan homespun tunic. Kjolti stood behind him, having undone and set aside the last pieces of his armor. She reached up and traced the line of a scar on the back of his neck. He shivered at her touch. “Is this new?” She asked.

           Farkas nodded, turned to her. “Sabre cat,” he confirmed. He noticed the skin on her forearm was pink and shiny and puckered. He gently took her arm and inspected it. She flinched slightly. “What happened?”

           “Nothing. It’s just a burn.”

           “Let me see.” Kjolti looked at him, unsure for a moment, then pulled her shirt off. She had a form fitting leather vest protecting her modesty, that ended just below her bust. Farkas was sure his ears were bright red. He didn’t care.

           The burn went up her arm to her shoulder, and covered much of her side as well.

           “How did this happen? How did you get burned like this?”

           “How do you think?” She looked at him sharply.

           It’s from a dragon, he realized. “Oh.” He pulled his own shirt off. “This is new too,” he said, pointing at a long series of scars stretching across his bicep. “This is from a troll.”

           Kjolti’s brow furrowed as she inspected it. “How did it get through your armor?”

           “I wasn’t wearing any. It attacked while I was sleeping.”

           Kjolti nodded with understanding. The light caught a mark on her midsection. Farkas reached out and gently stroked it, his hand trembling. “What is this from?” The top of the scar was just under the leather vest covering Kjolti’s chest, and stretched diagonally across her body to her hip.

           Kjolti turned away. “That’s very old.”

           “When did it happen? What is this from?”

           “Before I became a Companion.” Farkas was once again reminded that Kjolti had been a thief before joining the Companions, back when she was called Aerisif. It was hard to picture her as anything other than the fierce fighter who came into her own in Jorrvaskr.

           “What happened?” Farkas sounded grave.

           “Nothing. It’s fine.”

           Farkas caught her face and turned it to his. His eyes were full of worry.

           Kjolti tried to smile, to play it off and break the tension. “Someone tried to kill me a long time ago. They almost did, but someone else saved my life, with a poisoned arrow, of all things. Not the only time I’ve nearly died.” She began to get shifty.

           Farkas clasped her hands and pulled her to sit next to him on his bed. “Why did you come?”

           Kjolti wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I wanted to—I wanted to see you again. Before I go.”

           “Where are you going? I will come with you.”

           “You can’t come with me, Farkas.”

           “I would follow you to the ends of the world, Kjolti. There is nowhere I wouldn’t follow you.”

           She looked at him now, tears pooling in her eyes. “You can’t come with me, Farkas. Not where I’m going.”

           “Kjolti,” Farkas’s voice dripped with worry. “Where are you going?” He gripped her hands tighter.

           She sniffed. “To Sovngarde.”

           Farkas’s heart sank. “What?” He said, alarmed and panicked. “No, no. You can’t die.”

           Kjolti shook her head. “That’s not how I’m getting there. There’s a portal. A secret door, that Alduin has been using. Odahviing is going to fly me there.”

           “Who?”

           “The dragon we caught up in Dragonsreach.”

           Farkas nodded thoughtfully. “I should have known that you would have been involved with that.” He contemplated a moment. “The dragon will just have to fly us both.”

           “No, Farkas, you can’t come.”

           “A dragon should easily be able to carry both of us.”

           “The portal, Farkas. Only the dead or one with a dragon’s spirit can enter. If you tried, you wouldn’t make it. You can’t come.” She was crying now.

           Farkas gently wiped away her tears. “But you’ll come back?”

           Kjolti’s chest heaved for a moment as she tried to resist her grief, but she was overcome and fell into Farkas once more, sobbing. He held her tenderly as she cried. He had never seen Kjolti this vulnerable before, and she had been going through a lot of grief when she was with the Companions. It frightened him to see her this distraught. Farkas wanted nothing more than to hold her forever, to keep her safe in his arms. He became intensely aware that neither of them were wearing a shirt, and the intimacy of their skin pressed against one another was consuming.

           “I don’t know, Farkas.” She whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll make it back.” She sniffed. Then, so so quietly, she breathed: “I’m scared.”

           Farkas completely scooped her up. They had never been so physically close, ever. He had held her in his arms before, yes, but usually with armor on, or in different circumstances than this, in his bed, barely dressed. He held her completely in his arms, and she wrapped her arms around him, shaking. Farkas breathed in the scent of her hair, felt her soft skin beneath his calloused hands.

           He held her there for a long time, waiting for her breathing to calm and the sobs to subside. He stroked her hair all the while, pressed his head against hers. Farkas drank in the minutes, becoming intoxicated with the intimacy. This was everything he had wanted. To hold Kjolti, to be her comfort when she needed it. His heart soared and fell in equal measures, to have this desire fulfilled but to know it wouldn’t last.

He held her anyway.

           Soon Kjolti lifted her head from Farkas’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. He gently wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry to just show up like this and be such a miserable mess. I don’t mean to upend your life. I should go.” She made no motion to leave.

           “Don’t go,” Farkas pleaded. “Stay with me. Please. Stay with me tonight.”

           Kjolti nodded. “Okay.” She sniffed. “Thank you, Farkas.”

           “Why did you come here? To me?”

           Kjolti hesitated a moment before meeting his gaze. “Because,” she began. “Because if I don’t make it back, if this is my last night alive—” she took a steadying breath. “I wanted it to be with you. It’s selfish, I know. But I was scared, and nobody else cares that I’m terrified, they all just care about what I have to do, and I understand—that’s all that matters to them, for me to save the world. I know I have to. It might kill me. I’ll do it anyway. But I know that you,” she paused. “You cared about me before you knew I was the Dragonborn. And I knew you would care that I’m scared. And I—I just wanted that comfort before I go. I wanted to be with someone who saw me, not the legend.”

           Farkas brushed her hair out of her face, taking in her words. “And you will not let me go with you?”

           “I cannot, Farkas. Even if I could, I wouldn’t ask it of you. No.”

           He nodded. “Then let me be the comfort you seek.” He cupped her head in her hand and brought her face to his, drawing her in for a kiss.

           To his surprise, Kjolti reciprocated the intent. She did not pull away, but rather, pushed in closer. When he broke their kiss for a moment, giving her the chance to stop if she wanted, she simply waited for him to come back, and pulled him to her when he did.

           A fire awoke in Farkas. His whole body was awake with sparks. He thought his heart would burst from his chest. Each time their lips met, again and again, his head spun and his heart raced. Kjolti burrowed her hands deep in Farkas’s hair, and pressed her body against his.

           They crashed into the soft furs of his bed together, tangled in one another. Hands entwined in each other’s hair, bare skin pressed close, they drank in one another’s breath like it was their last.

           Kjolti knew it might be.

                                                                       ***

           Farkas softly combed Kjolti’s hair with his fingers. Such a clumsy motion, with sausage-like fingers better suited to swinging steel than brushing hair, but he moved as gently as he could. His thick arms were wrapped around Kjolti, who was likewise wrapped around him, her head nestled against his chest. He watched her eyes grow heavy with sleep. His own eyes struggled to stay open.

           “Rest now,” he whispered. “You are safe with me.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

                                                                       ***

           Kjolti slept like she hadn’t in years. The deep slumber that took her was warm and soft, and dreamless.

           But not very long. She woke a few hours later, knowing she had to be back in Dragonsreach by dawn. And she really didn’t want to deal with the new Companions gaping and clamoring.

           Farkas slept soundly next to her. Seeing him in such restful sleep gladdened Kjolti; she knew the restlessness that came with the beast blood, and was relieved that Farkas was free of it. She gently stroked the hair out of his face. In another life, Farkas, we could have been. I would have been happy to be Kjolti of the Companions with you.

           Slowly, so carefully, Kjolti untangled herself from Farkas and the furs on his bed. She rose and dressed. She found a scrap of paper on Farkas’s desk, and wrote a few words on it. Looking around, Kjolti spotted what she was looking for. An ornately engraved tankard sat on a shelf. She retrieved it, and found the scrap of paper she had left within last time. It was unfolded, and had clearly been held and touched many times. She smiled sadly.

           Kjolti placed the new piece of parchment in the tankard, and left it on his desk. Then she leaned back in to where Farkas was sleeping, and delicately kissed him on the forehead. He stirred slightly, but did not wake.

           “Thank you,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

           She picked up her armor, and silently left.

                                                                       ***

           Farkas knew she was gone even before he opened his eyes. He felt it, her absence.

           He eventually blinked his eyes open. Farkas knew why she didn’t say goodbye, he understood, but it grieved him anyway. His eyes landed on the tankard that he had stolen all those years ago. It wasn’t where he left it.

           Reaching over, he grabbed the mug as his heart pounded with hope.

           Inside was a scrap of parchment that read:

           If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone, just know I’ve loved you, loved you as I could in my broken way, loved you all along.

           ----

“I am being careful,” he said with a wink. He struggled down onto one knee before his daughter’s bed. With soft grunts, he caught the apples, extended his arms out wide and shouted “Ta da!” to the amusement of his wife and daughter.

Gardimor gently took the plate from his head and offered it to Aerisif. “A sweetroll for my sweetroll?” 

Aerisif grabbed the plate with joy.

“Make a wish!” Her parents encouraged her.

After a moment of serious contemplation, scrunching her face up in thought, Aerisif took a huge gasping breath and blew out the candles before her. Her parents let out a gentle cheer and her mother hurriedly pulled the candles from the sweetroll before the wax could reach the delicious pastry.

“Eat up, Aerisif, and hurry about your chores. We’re going to Markarth today!”

Aerisif let out a delighted sound, muffled by a mouthful of sweetroll. 

Dressing quickly, Aerisif did as she was bidden. She completed her chores with haste. The chickens indignantly clucked at the manner in which their breakfast was thrown to them, but Aerisif couldn’t be bothered. She stomped toward their cow, her tiny brow furrowed in determination.

“Now listen here, Ulga. Today, you’re going to come with me without a fight. It’s my ninth birthday and we’re going to Markarth. Not you, though. You’re going to go over to the pasture. Without a fight. You got that?” Aerisif’s tiny voice was filled with fire.

Ulga blinked slowly with lazy eyes. 

“Hmph.” Aerisif took the rope in both her hands and pulled. Ulga could not be bothered to move. 

“Come on, move!” Aerisif yanked at the lead again.

Ulga moved a single hoof forward.

“Lets go, Pot Roast!” Aerisif moved and started to push the cow’s flanks.

Finally disturbed, Ulga lazily walked toward the indicated pasture.

“Yes! That way! Go! Faster!” Aerisif slapped the cow’s rump for good measure. If Ulga noticed, she gave no indication.

Animals fed, Aerisif raced back toward the house. Her parents were waiting for her in the wagon. Gardimor bent to pick up Aerisif to lift her up, when she violently shook her head. 

“No! I can climb in myself! I am nine, after all!”

Gardimor straightened, surprised. Then he grinned. “Forgive me, Wildflower. I am, after all, not yet used to having a big, grown, nine year old!” His blue eyes twinkled.

Aerisif hoisted herself into the back of the wagon, struggling and gasping, but she made it. Once she stood in the back of the wagon, she smoothed out her skirt and hair, trying all her best to look as dignified as her mother.

The journey to Markarth was just over an hour by wagon. Her father, sitting up front and driving the horse, sang the songs he had learned from his parents, who had learned them from their parents, all the way back to the Nords that travelled with Ysgramor. Aerisif’s mother busied herself with some mending she had brought along. Aerisif stared at the sky, watching the clouds drift by and amusing herself by seeing fantastical shapes in them. She called out the animals she imagined, getting particularly excited at the vague shapes of a unicorn and a dragon.

They arrived to the city by mid morning. Aerisif’s cloud watching was forgotten as she gaped in awe at the stone gates. The magnificence of the towering stonework always captivated her. 

Gardimor pulled the wagon off the road and stabled the horse. The trio walked up to the monolithic gates, open wide to accept travelers. Aerisif’s eyes grew wide as she stepped into the city.

It was not her first time into Markarth, but Aerisif was stunned every time she laid eyes on the city. It was the vastness of it, the looming, ancient towers of stone, the mysterious to be discovered in its nooks and crannies. She was captivated by it. Aerisif skipped toward the stream. She immediately jumped with both feet and landed with a splash in its shallows.

“Aerisif!” Her mother chided. “Your shoes!”

“Ah, her shoes will dry, Kjolti,” Her father placated. “Let the girl have her fun.”

The marketplace was buzzing with shoppers. Never one to miss an opportunity, Gardimor had brought with him a large basket of produce from the farm. He went about trading it to the vendors while Kjolti led Aerisif around the market, looking at each stall’s wares.

“Ooh, mother, look at the jewelry!” Aerisif ran toward the stall. She pressed her face as close to the glass as she dared. A Redguard man smiled down at her.

“Perhaps a lovely trinket for the lovely girl?” He gestured at his jewelry. “Fine Redguard craftmenship, all made by me and my kin!”

“Don’t touch the glass, Aerisif,” Her mother warned. “Your work is fine indeed, silversmith.”

“Mama, look! Isn’t that a sapphire?”

“Yes it is, Aerisif. Those are very rare.” She smiled apologetically at the silversmith.

“I’ve got a delicate silver chain that would be just right for a girl her age!” the smith offered. He picked up a thin necklace. It was plain, and it bore no pendant, but it gleamed in the light nonetheless.

“Oooh,” Aerisif admired the chain, and it was clear in her eyes that she wanted it, but she knew her parents couldn’t afford it.

“Made by my boy, there, my Endon,” the Redguard gestured to his son across the marketplace. “A fine apprentice, he is.”

“How much for it?” Gardimor walked up to his family.

“Only sixty septims!”

“Gardimor, don’t be silly. We can’t afford that. And Aerisif doesn’t need a silver necklace, she’s nine.”

“A divine age!” The silversmith offered with a grin, waving the necklace in the air.

“It’s my ninth birthday!” Aerisif declared.

The smith raised an eyebrow. “Is it now?” He turned to Gardimor. “I can give it to you for fifty.”

Gardimor considered it. “Could you do forty?”

The smith worked his jaw, pondering. “Forty-five is as low as I can go, else my wife will have my hide.”

“How about forty two and the rest of my produce? It’s fresh, picked from the farm this morning!”

The silversmith looked over into Gardimor’s basket. “A fine crop you have there. Yes, that’ll brighten my Adara’s day. Sold.” The two men traded coin and good, and Gardimor took the thin chain and knelt before Aerisif.

“It matches your eyes,” he said as he clasped the chain around his daughter’s tiny neck.

“Thank you, father,” she replied, her eyes glowing with pleasure.

The rest of the day was spent with Aerisif pulling at her mother’s hand as they explored the city. Aerisif demanded they have their lunch on one of the walkways high up in the city, where the view was most stunning. 

When the market closed for the day and all the stalls locked up and pulled their carts aside, a troupe of entertainers took over. Aerisif and her parents joined the crowd gathered, eager to see what they had in store.

There were dancers who claimed to have traveled to Valenwood and Elsweyr, musicians who boasted of studying on the shores of Auridon.

“Rubbish,” Gardimor muttered under his breath. “Not with Tamriel in this state.”

Kjolti said nothing but nudged him and gave him a reproachful look.

The entertainers performed and the crowd was pleased, shouting their approval. There was an occasional flash of gold as a coin was tossed through the air.

“Alright, little wildflower, time to go home,” Gardimor began to scoop up Aerisif, who was tired but trying very hard not to show it.

“Aww, not yet, father!” Aerisif pleaded. “Just one performance more?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

Gardimor muttered something under his breath, then relented. “One more,” he warned. “Then we leave.”

Aerisif grinned and scooted closer to the front of the crowd.

A wisened old man took the performing area. 

“I am Jos The Storyteller. Listen close, young ones, and listen well! This is the tale of our past, and our future.” He nodded to a drummer, who began to pound out a rhythm. The pulse was steady and vigorous. Many of the crowd began to stomp in time with it. The rhythm made Aerisif’s blood burn.

Satisfied with the drum, the old man began to call out, chanting:

“Dragonborn! Dragonborn! By his honor is sworn,

To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout, when they hear triumph’s shout,

Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!”

Some of the other performers emerged, and began to shout and sing, joining the storyteller.

“Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago,

and the tale, boldly told, of the one!”

The storyteller’s voice changed, then, and become gravelly and restrained.

“Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man, 

with a power to rival the sun!”

The pounding of the drum filled the air. It felt as if the whole of Markarth was watching this performance.

“And the Scrolls, have foretold, of black wings in the cold,

that when brothers wage war come unfurled!

Alduin! Bane of Kings! Ancient shadow unbound, 

with a hunger to swallow the world!”

Aerisif looked around in surprise as many of the men in the crowd joined in the shouting, the performance now woven with shout and chant and song. Her jaw dropped as her father’s deep voice was among them. 

“But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon’s lies,

will be silenced forever and then!

Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin’s maw,

Dragonborn! Dragonborn! By his honor is sworn,

To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout, when they hear triumph’s shout,

Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!”

The drum beat ended with a triumphant cadence. Aerisif found she was breathing heavily, and that several others were as well. She looked up at her father. Gardimor stood tall with his chest puffed out and his hands in fists.

“Father, what’s going on? What’s the matter?”

The sound of his daughter’s voice broke him of his reverie. He knelt down in front of her. “Nothing, my wildflower. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Why does everyone want to fight? Why do I want to fight??” Alarm creeped into her voice.

Her mother chuckled softly and bent down as well. “It’s in your blood, dearest. That was the Legend of The Dragonborn, Aerisif. An ancient Nordic tale, very dear to Nord hearts.”

“That tale has been passed down for generations and generations. It is well loved with our people, which is why so many in the crowd knew the song.”

“Oh. So, we want to fight because we’re Nords?” 

“You assassins and your riddles. It really does get very annoying, you know. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Kjolti politely inclined her head, already feeling the Blade of Woe itch for blood. She turned to the door and opened it, but slunk into the shadows and closed the doors again without leaving the room, but giving the impression she had. The assassin was too well suited for the shadows, too masterful a killer to be seen in the dim light of the small room. Motierre hummed happily to himself, no doubt already envisioning himself upon the Ruby Throne. 

What a fool.

Kjolti slipped unseen to Motierre’s flank. She withdrew the Blade of Woe from its sheath, poised it over Motierre’s neck, and whispered to him.

“Hail. Sithis.”

She relished the look of fear in his eyes as she opened his neck. 

Willpower; Temple; 

They had been completely blindsided by the attack. The road was dark, the moon providing little light. Foolishly, they had ignored the rumors. They knew it had been unwise to travel at night, but they had their wisdom stripped from them, drunk on mead and victory.

The heist had been a complete success; the mark had been absent from their home that evening. Brynjolf, always better with the lockpicks than Aerisif, had unlocked the door for them in a heartbeat. Aerisif had sunk into the shadows, as no one could the way she did, and slipped through the house without a sound.

The trunk did not disappoint. It was teeming with gold and precious gems, family heirlooms and rare books. It was an excellent haul.

And so they celebrated. They didn’t dare so much as look at each other until they were outside the city walls, but once they had left range of the guards, they exploded with giddy pride. 

But their celebrations were quickly dampened. A figure sprung on them from the darkness, eyes glowing red. Sinister necrotic magic emanated from their hands. The vampire rumors were indeed true.

Brynjolf unsheathed the sword he usually carried in a flash, and Aerisif’s daggers were drawn with equal speed. The vampire’s dark magic struck them both, draining them of their life force. Brynjolf charged the monster, and Aerisif’s daggers whirled. 

By bad luck, Aerisif had been closer to the vampire when it emerged from the trees. It bore down on her first, with magic and fang. It seemed not to notice the gashes Aerisif opened in its’ chest, but continued to lunge forward with disturbing speed. Aerisif lashed out with steel in her hands and her eyes, but her energy was draining. The vampire was upon her. 

Brynjolf watched with horror as it bit of her neck, its malevolent fangs breaking into her skin. He used this distraction to plunge his blade through the vampire’s chest, and watched with satisfaction as the monster crumbled. Aerisif slumped.

“Woah, woah, stay with me, lass,” he said as he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“That was…that was dumb of us,” Aerisif whispered. Her face was pale. “Do you have a cure disease potion? I think I sold my last one to Tonilia.”

“Aye, I’ve got one,” Brynjolf helped Aerisif to the ground so he could rummage through his pack. He grabbed the small glass vial and handed it to Aerisif.

She held up the bottle, squinting in the dim light. “This is just a minor healing potion, Brynjolf.”

He frowned. “No, it should be a cure disease potion. That’s what the man I stole it from was saying, at least.”

She shook her head. “It’s the wrong shade of red. Cure disease potions are darker, from the charred skeever hide.”

“Blast it,” Brynjolf cursed. He spat on the body of the vampire. “We have to get you to a temple, then.”

Aerisif was poorly hiding her fear. “But…we’re in the middle of nowhere, Brynjolf. It will be days until we get back to Riften. We don’t have…I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Then we’re going to have to be quick about it. Can you walk?”

Aerisif nodded faintly. Brynjolf extended a hand, which Aerisif took. She was grateful for the lack of moonlight, as it hid the flush that came to her cheeks from his touch.

The pair of thieves took off, much more cautiously this time. They moved at a slower pace, but hardly stopped. Long rests were out of the question; short naps were the better choice. 

The first day since her bite passed, and they hadn’t covered nearly enough ground. Mid afternoon on the second day, they came across a lone farm. The farmer was nowhere in sight. Aerisif was looking paler and frailer, though she would not admit it. 

“Stay here,” Brynjolf ordered.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“Just stay here.”

“Answer me, or I’ll follow.”

“Gods, Aerisif. I’m going to steal a horse for us to ride. We have to keep moving, and we aren’t going to make it on foot.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, lass. Normally I’d be grateful for your help, but, and no offense, right now your footfalls are as loud as a troll’s. Stay here.”

Aerisif opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it, to Brynjolf’s surprise. He had expected to have to go round and round with her.

“Fine. But don’t get caught.”

Brynjolf laughed as he walked away. “Get caught,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Like I would get caught.”

“Bastard is gonna get us both killed,” muttered Aerisif as Brynjolf walked away. But internally, against her better judgement, her heart fluttered.

With shocking ease, Brynjolf returned a few moments later with a gray mare who eyed them both with suspicion. She was munching on an apple, which Aerisif assumed Brynjolf stole to appease the mare.

“Up you go,” Brynjolf said as he lifted Aerisif into the saddle.

“What the—I can do it myself!” Aerisif argued weakly.

“No, you can’t. Let’s go.” He mounted the horse behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He was grateful she couldn’t see his cheeks turn a light rosy color. 

“What, no lewd comments? No off-color quips?”

Brynjolf grinned. “Why, if that was what you were waiting for, lass, you should have said so.” He chuckled and leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Don’t worry lass, that’s just my sword hilt pressing into the small of your back.”

Aerisif laughed. “That’s the Brynjolf I know.” The laughter seemed to exhaust her. 

Brynjolf frowned. “Hold on tight. We’ve got to go.”

Now on horseback, the two made considerably better time. They rode nonstop through the rest of the day and night. The third day dawned, and still they were far from Riften. 

Aerisif’s condition was worsening. She wouldn’t admit to it, not even with her dying breath, which Brynjolf feared he would witness. As the sun grew hotter on the third day, Aerisif was squinting and covering her eyes. Hours later, she was leaning forward in the saddle, draped across the mare’s neck. 

“Stay with me, lass.” Brynjolf held the reins in one hand and wrapped the other around Aerisif’s waist. He was worried she would fall out of the saddle. 

Dusk fell, and Brynjolf was worried. Aerisif was barely awake, often hallucinating. 

“Maybe Mercer will be happy to have a vampire in the Guild,” she muttered sleepily. “I’ll be that much stronger at night.”

“I highly doubt that lass. Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the temple.”

Night fell. Aerisif was catatonic. Both were sore and tired from nearly a day and a half in the saddle. Brynjolf continued to push the mare, despite her indignation. Aerisif grew cold in Brynjolf’s arms. He had heard that those inflicted with the bite of a vampire died before undergoing their transformation. He urged the horse onward.

Finally, Riften came into sight. Brynjolf breathed a tense sigh of relief, but it was fragile. Without knowing exactly when she had been bitten, it was hard to tell how much time was left. The crescent moon was rising in the sky. Brynjolf dug his heels into the mare once more. The horse was foaming at the mouth from the exertion. 

Arriving at the gates, Brynjolf leaped off and gently pulled Aerisif from the saddle. She slumped into his arms, unresponsive. Swiftly, he scooped her up into his arms, relishing the feeling.

“Stay with me, lass. Don’t fade away. You’re too strong.”

Brynjolf ordered the guards to open the gates with such command they didn’t even try to shake him down. He moved as fast as he could, trying not to jostle Aerisif. The streets of Riften were empty at this hour. He knew he was almost out of time.

“Maramal!” He roared at the temple doors. “Dinya! Open up!” Not daring to release Aerisif from his arms, he used his foot to kick the door. “Let us in!”

Moments later, a sleepy eyed Dinya opened the door. “What do you want, Brynjolf? This better not be a ruse.” Suspicion filled her sleepy eyes.

“She’s been bitten by a vampire. Nearly three days past. Please, you have to help her.”

“Come in, come in,” the priestess ushered him inside. “Set her here,” Dinya instructed.

Brynjolf gently lay her down before the shrine. Aerisif’s eyes had started to gently glow. Dinya knelt before her, praying to Mara. Brynjolf heard her speak but did not listen to the words. His focus was on Aerisif. Dinya placed her hands on Aerisif brow, and prayed more. Brynjolf held his breath.

Divine magic swirled around Aerisif. The color returned to her skin, and the ominous glow vanished from her eyes. She blinked and sat up, confused.

“We made it?” she asked Brynjolf.

Aerisif began to pat down the pockets of her leathers, hoping for some trinket or oddity that she had stolen that could pass as a gift for Brynjolf. Yeah, real romantic Aer, she chided herself. Before she could formulate a plan, Brynjolf and Delvin walked into the Flagon. She took one look at them and knew something was up. She could smell it.

“Good morning, lass. I see you found the first part of your Heart’s Day gift!” Bryn said, grinning.

Aerisif crossed her arms. “What are you two up to?”

Delvin feigned shock. “An’ what makes you think we’re up to somethin’?”

Aerisif sniffed again. “The fact that you’ve both bathed.”

Now they were both grinning suspiciously. 

“And you best clean up too,” Brynjolf said with that damn charm about him. “We have a party to get to.”

Now it was Aerisif’s turn for shock. “A party?”

“Aye, and a fancy one at that. Go put on those fine robes of yours, and that jewelry you had Madesi make.” He winked at her.

Divines, she cursed. “Fine. I’m still suspicious of you two, but I’ll play along for now.”

Brynjolf clutched a hand to his heart, but portrayed no true pain on his face. “Lass, I’m hurt. Can’t a lad plan a romantic evening for his love?”

Aerisif only eyed him carefully, but grinned and went on her way.

How long has it been since I put on my finery? Aerisif though as she inspected her garments. She was fortunate that they were still in good condition. Holding up the small, cloudy mirror she owned, Aerisif tugged at the runaway strands of black hair trying to escape. She hoped her hair was presentable. 

Aerisif took care to avoid the puddles and mud as she walked through the Cistern toward the mausoleum exit. Sapphire whistled playfully as her Guild Master passed, which was returned with a teasing glare. 

Upon arriving topside, Aerisif turned the corner to the designated meeting place Brynjolf had described, and stopped short.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the scene: Brynjolf had procured a ornate carriage, the fancy kind nobles used that were entirely closed in, and he proudly stood before it in the nicest robes she had ever seen him in. His boots were not worn and ripped. His clothes bore no trace of mud or blood. They even included fine fur trimming. The thick red hair that normally hung loose was tied back in fashionable braids. Gleaming jewelry adorned his neck and fingers. In sum, he looked very un-Brynjolf-ish. He does look nice, though.

But then she saw Delvin, and was once again caught in laughter. Delvin sat in the driver’s seat, wearing absolutely the most foppish coachmen’s uniform they could have found.

“What is this?” She asked through her giggles.

Brynjolf stepped forward and took her hand. “Why, My Lady, it is our appropriate transportation to our formal engagement this evening.” While his charming accent still shone through, Brynjolf spoke with a more highborn affection. He eyed her up and down. “And My Lady, if it is not too bold for me to say, you look absolutely dazzling.” He raised her hand to his lips and delicately kissed it.

Aerisif felt herself blushing. “Not too bold at all, My Lord, as I find you are equally handsome and handsomely dressed,” she replied in a highborn tone matching his. 

Delvin coughed from the driver’s seat. “If you lot are done ooglin’ an’ droolin’ over each other— I mean—“ he coughed again “My Lord and Lady, your carriage awaits to take you to your most esteemed location.” 

Aerisif giggled again. 

Brynjolf raised a jeweled finger to Delvin, “In just one moment, my good sir.” He gently took Aerisif’s chin and brought her face towards his, placing a tender kiss on her lips. She pressed her body to his and returned the kiss with passion. When they both withdrew, her silver eyes sparkled and his emerald eyes gleamed.

Delvin made a disgusted sound.

“Silence, peasant, and consider yourself grateful to be in the service of two of Cyrodil’s finest nobility!” Brynjolf’s trademark smirk had returned. Delvin grumbled a long string of profanities, and something that sounded like “last time I ever do you a favor”.

Aerisif raised an eyebrow. “Cyrodil?”

But Brynjolf only grinned at her. “Come, we must be away!” 

The whole carriage ride, Brynjolf refused to answer any questions regarding the party, the location, or anything else about the evening ahead. He would only smile and say something else in that absurd highborn accent he was faking.

Not long after their departure, the carriage rolled to a stop. Aerisif pulled aside the small curtain covering the window to see where they were. She recognized the location with apprehension.

“What are we doing here?” 

Brynjolf winked. “By the way, for the duration of the evening, you are Lady Alessandra and I’m Lord Ovidious,” he whispered in his usual voice.

Aerisif had an inkling of what was going on now. “And where are the real Lady Alessandra and Lord Ovidious?”

“Halfway to Falkreath, probably. Their driver wasn’t very intelligent.”

Delvin hopped down from his seat to open the door. He swung it open and bowed deeply. Aerisif raised her chin snobbishly, playing her part, but winked at Delvin as she passed by.

“Remember the plan,” Brynjolf whispered.

“You remember the damned plan, boss,” he hissed.

A guard walked up to them, clearly suspicious. “This party is only for invited guests. Show your invitation or leave immediately.”

Brynjolf puffed up his chest. “There’s no need to be so rude, sir. You’ll find our invitations here, certainly matching the names on your list.”

The guard took the invitations and inspected them closely. He glanced up at Brynjolf and Aerisif, then back down at the invitations and the list. 

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Ovidious, Lady Alessandra.” he nodded to them each. “You were simply not what I was expecting.”

“Well you mist simply raise your expectations when it comes to Imperial nobility,” Brynjolf huffed and snatched the invitations back. “I will be informing our hostess of your behavior.” He sniffed and took Aerisif by the arm and lead her up the path to the stead looming above them.

Black-Briar Lodge. 

“Have you ever been in here before?” He whispered to her as they approached the lodge.

“Not by invitation, or through the front door.” she whispered back. “You?”

He chuckled softly. “Same.”

They arrived at the front door and showed their invitations again. A servant bowed low as she greeted the pair of supposed nobles. They walked through the threshold.

As one would have expected, Maven threw an elegant party. There were finely dressed servants placed strategically throughout the home, with trays of food and drink for her guests. A talented bard strummed quietly in the corner. The guests were extravagantly dressed, representing Tamriel’s finest.

The bard in the corner began to play a dancing tune. Brynjolf turned to Aerisif.

“May I have this dance, Lady Alessandra?”

She smiled at him. “You may, Lord, Ovidious.”

He took her hand and placed his other at the small of her back, pulling her close to him. Aerisif closed her eyes and breathed in the closeness. Together they swayed and danced around the room.

“Keep your eye out for an old Breton.” Brynjolf muttered. “She’ll be wearing a purple hat.”

Aerisif smiled and kept dancing, eyes scanning the room for their mark. Her eyes found a different figure, who was less pleased at their appearance.

“Uhh, Lord Ovidious?”

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Was our gracious hostess informed of our appearance this evening?”

“Nay, she was not.”

Maven had pulled aside the servant who greeted them and was whispering angrily to her.

“And why, praytell, did we not inform her?”

Brynjolf whispered low and dropped the highborn accent. “Seemed better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” He carefully spun Aerisif away from where Maven stood with arms crossed.

The dance ended and Maven appeared. She smiled coldly at them. “Lord Ovidious, Lady Alessandra, I presume?”

Brynjolf bowed slightly. “At your service, My Lady—“

“Oh, cut the coyness, would you? I don’t know what you two are playing at, but if it in any way jeopardizes my business here, I’ll have your heads.”

Aerisif smiled sweetly. “Never fear, My Lady,” She spoke in the Cyrodilic affection. “We are simply here to enjoy your most glamorous party!”

Maven glared at her. Aerisif stared back. Someone called to Maven from the across the room, and Maven left them to attend to the matter. Brynjolf and Aerisif resumed dancing.

“Yeah, she’s mad.” Aerisif whispered to Brynjolf.

He chuckled softly in her ear. “Aye, but that’s half the fun.” He was close enough his stubble grazed Aerisif’s cheek. 

“Purple hat!” She whispered urgently. 

Across the grand hall, a stodgy, wrinkled old woman with a hideous purple hat sat down on a bench. She looked insignificant at first glance, but Aerisif’s trained eye easily saw why she was the mark.

“So, what’s the plan?” Aerisif whispered in Brynjolf’s ear.

“Plan? Lass, what makes you think I’ve got a plan?”

She pulled back and glared at him. “You’re joking.” She assessed his features. “You’re joking? Gods, I can’t tell.”

He winked and pulled her close. “Isn’t that why you love me, lass?”

Aerisif felt her heart thump at his embrace. She nuzzled close to Brynjolf, soaking in his scent. The bard began to play a faster tune, intended for a more lively dance. Aerisif and Brynjolf adjusted their steps accordingly.

“A heist for Heart’s Day,” she whispered in his ear. “You do love me.” She kissed his neck. They stepped in time, dancing around the room, spinning further and further from their starting place.

Brynjolf let out the softest moan he could manage under his breath. He twirled her away from him, then pulled her back close. “Do you remember the heist we pulled at that party in Bruma, lass?”

“It was similar circumstances to this, if I recall.”

“Excellent, then you’ll know exactly what to do!” Brynjolf smiled and suddenly dipped Aerisif low, so low that her back arched and her head tipped back.

Aerisif found herself staring at the upside down face of the purple hatted Breton. She looks even older up close! With a gliding hand, Aerisif pulled the heavy, multi-jeweled amulet off the neck of the crone.

And just as quickly as Aerisif had been dipped down, she was pulled back up by Brynjolf and twirled away.

“We have about three seconds before she realizes what we’ve done,” Brynjolf whispered as they both twirled toward the back door.

“Then let’s use them wisely,” Aerisif dug her fingers into Brynjolf’s hair and pulled him close, pressing her lips to his.

They used up a little more than three seconds.

“My amulet!” The crone warbled.

“Time to go,” Aerisif whispered. They pushed through the doors and into the night. The stables were a few paces away. Delvin stood there, with three horses ready to go.

“You got it, boss?”

Aerisif held up the shimmering amulet for him to see. Delvin whistled low.

“Imposters! Take them down!” The shout came from the mercenaries by the door.

“Let’s ride!”

All three jumped on their mounts and sped off into the night.

“Well lass, what did you think of your Heart’s Day adventure? Did you like my finery?” Brynjolf was back to his usual charming self.

Aerisif grinned. “A perfect Heart’s Day.” She looked him over again. “And I think you look rather dashing.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” he smirked.

Aerisif grinned devilishly at him. “That’s okay, I prefer you in leather.”

Brynjolf’s eyes widened and glimmered, and he spurred his horse on faster. Aerisif laughed and urged her horse to follow.

Delvin scoffed. “Those two. You lot are a mess, you know that?” he called.

Several High Elves were bent over a table, but looked up at Brynolf’s arrival. Two wore full sets of golden Elven armor, gleaming in the reflected torchlight, and put their hands on the hilts of their swords upon seeing the thief enter. The third, wearing immaculate Thalmor robes, waved them off.

“If it isn’t our favorite associate,” Veladar’s voice was cold and condescending. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Brynjolf pulled the hot amulet from under his armor and held it out. “You know damned well why I’m here, Veladar. What’s the job you summoned me out here for at this ungodly hour?”

Veladar sighed disdainfully. “You Nords and your lack of manners. Is this how you greet your patrons? Its no wonder your “guild” has been in such dire straits. No, you will use the proper respect when addressing a Thalmor official.” With the last statement, Veladar release a bolt of lightning from his hand at Brynjolf.

The thief cried out and fell to his knees, panting.

Veladar’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “That’s more like it.” The elf clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to the table. “Now, as you are so eager to get to business, let us move on to the details. You will steal the Jarl Siddgeir’s Circlet, and plant this note and this ring as evidence. Go now. You have one week to complete this task. If it is not done, or done incorrectly, expect our full force.” The Thalmor officer turned his back and returned to his business.

Brynjolf regained his breath and stood. He picked up the forged letter and the ring bearing the Stormcloack sigil from the top of the barrel that Veladar indicated. He opened the letter, scanning the words quickly.

It’s time we taught that petulant fool sitting on the Falkreath throne his place. Steal his circlet, and watch how the child throws a tantrum at the loss of a shiny trinket. You will be rewarded generously for your efforts in freeing Skyrim and her people.

In place of a signature, the Stormcloack claw mark was inked at the bottom of the page. Fixing the Thalmor with a poisonous look, Brynjolf turned and left the cave.

***

Aerisif stirred and stretched. She had slept so deeply and so comfortably. Rolling over to kiss Brynjolf, she found the space next to her empty.

She sat up and looked around the room. No sign of him. Her heart began to pound. Where did he go? Did something happen?

She slid from the soft sheets and began to move across the room. Something was off, she could feel it. Aerisif felt her skin chafe against her leathers and regretted sleeping in her armor.

The sound of the front door closing made Aerisif draw her dagger and crouch low. She crept out of the bedroom and sidled along the hall. Someone was in the house and trying hard not to be heard. Her heart pulsed. Danger, danger, it beat. Someone was approaching the stairs.

Aerisif tucked into the shadows and waited. The person climbed the steps slowly and quietly. Aerisif tensed, and then pounced.

“Gods! Aerisif, its just me!” Brynjolf cried out.

She managed to shift her weight in time to sink her dagger into the wood rail instead. Aerisif crumbled.

“Fuck, Brynjolf, I’m so sorry!” She shook. “I didn’t see you when I woke, and I thought the worst, and—“

Brynjolf crouched down next to her. He was wearing the fine robes he usually wore topside, and looked weary. “No harm done, lass.” He smiled weakly. “Glad to see your instincts are still up to snuff.”

She nodded. “Where did you go?” Her gray eyes were like wide moons.

Brynjolf held up a basket of sweet rolls and ale. “Breakfast!” He said cheerily. “I assume your tastes haven’t changed?”

Aerisif smiled and grabbed a bottle of ale in response.

The two ate breakfast in a compromised peace. Aerisif felt awful for nearly attacking Brynjolf, regardless of what he said. Brynjolf was glad to have a reason not to talk.

Hunger satisfied, Aerisif stood. She took a shaky breath. “You were right, last night. The Guild will find out one way or another. You’ve trained them too well to not notice the presence of a stranger in Riften, and I can’t hide in here forever. I’ve got some business to take care of, but I’ll meet you all in the Cistern soon.”

Brynjolf examined Aerisif’s face. It was stony with resolve. He nodded. “I’ll gather the lot.”

Aerisif exhaled, then nodded to herself. She turned and walked back up the stairs, and out to the back balcony.

The morning air was dewey and fresh. Aerisif closed her eyes and breathed in. She could catch a hint of the perfumed blossoms from the trees.

It’s nice to be home.

Carefully standing on the rail, Aerisif pulled herself up to the roof. She looked over its peak at the market. A few shoppers around, but the city was still waking up. She crouched low to the tiled roof as she crept across the neighboring rooftops, toward the city’s edge.

One leap had Aerisif on top of the stone wall, and a second dropped her lightly on the ground outside of it. She stood and got her bearings. The Riften Stables were just ahead, and Shadowmere stood lazily in one of the stalls. A gray and white dappled mare stood a few strides away, looking quite disgruntled at her eviction but clearly too afraid of the newcomer to do anything about it.

Aerisif laughed and walked over to the dark horse. “You aren’t playing very nice, are you?” She tickled Shadowmere’s chin. The horse stomped a heavy hoof in response.

Aerisif loosened the straps of the saddle and took her enchanted pack and greatsword. She scratched Shadowmere’s neck and stood on her tiptoes to get closer to the horse’s ears. “We’re going to stay, Shadowmere,” she whispered excitedly.

Shadowmere looked at Aerisif, blinked, and turned to munch on some fresh hay in the corner. Aerisif chuckled again, then ducked behind the stables to change.

When she reemerged, Kjolti Stone-Vein was decked out in a a full set of ebony armor. Her crimson and ebony greatsword strapped to her back completed her intimidating appearance. Aerisif swung her pack over her shoulder and pulled her helm over her head. She adjusted the metal so she could see properly, then walked into the small structure that housed the stable master.

He looked startled at the visitor. Aerisif dropped a bag of gold onto his table. “This is to board the black mare, and to see that no harm comes to her.” She dropped another coin purse in front of him, heavier than the first. “This is for the trouble she’ll cause you. See that she’s well cared for, and there’s more where this came from.”

Wide eyed and speechless, the stable master nodded. Aerisif turned and left. Once outside, she headed toward the gates.

The pair of Riften guards exchanged a glance. One stepped toward her.

“Halt, traveller. Before I left you in, you must pay the visitor’s tax.”

Aerisif smiled under her ebony helm. “No, I don’t think I will be. Open the gates.” She commanded.

The other guard nervously pulled his partner aside. “Hjarn, I don’t think we want to do this—“

The first guard put a hand on his partner’s chest. He turned back to Aerisif. His voice became more threatening. “I’m warning you, traveller, pay the tax or do not enter the city at all.”

Aerisif sighed, and drew her scarlet and crimson greatsword. She held it firmly, but did not take up a fighting stance. Instead, she slowly walked up to the offending guard, till she was right up in front of him. She could see his wide and jumpy eyes through his helm, like cornered prey. A slight tremor became visible on the guard. She smiled under her helm.

“Move. Or be eliminated.” She said in a low, deliberate voice.

The guards scrambled to open the gates for her.

Aerisif smirked, sheathing her massive blade, and strode confidently through the Riften gates.

Now that’s far more like it. The dragon in her chest hummed greedily.

Finding the taste of power pleasing on her tongue, Aerisif strut into the city with her head held high. She noted Maul at his usual post, eyeing her with suspicion. She ignored his gaze and carried onward.

A few heads in the marketplace turned to look at the dark stranger in their town. Some sensed danger and immediately looked away. A beggar gaped. Mjoll perked up at the murmurs and assessed the heavily armored woman. She stood fierce, unsure if the newcomer was friend or foe.

Aerisif descended the wooden steps to the canal. She could enter the Cistern through the secret mausoleum entrance, but that would likely incite instant attack, as she looked a like an enemy. Instead, she would enter through the Ratway. And if her blade tasted blood on the way, that was fine too.

She found the Ratway to be mostly deserted of life. Only a few skeevers disrupted her path, and were dispatched with lazy swipes of her blade. Aerisif traced the steps of a younger woman, searching for the Thieves’ Guild for the first time. How different a person she was now.

It wasn’t long before Aerisif reached the door to the Flagon. She hesitated a moment, then pushed the door open.

***

“Wake them all up.” Brynjolf’s command rang out.

Delvin and Vex shared a sleepy, perplexed glance. “What the fuck is so important at this damnable hour, Brynjolf?” Delvin yawned.

“You’ll see. Guild Meeting in the Cistern. Trust me.”

Delvin scratched his chin. “Whatever you say, boss.” He stood and began waking the other thieves.

Vex looked mutinous, but growled compliance and went on her way.

Brynjolf’s heart was pounding. How would they take the news? Would they be as glad and receptive as he, or angry and hurt, like Aerisif feared?

In a matter of minutes, sleepy thieves stumbled into the Cistern. Some had only come in from jobs a few hours before. Others had risen earlier, to pick the pockets of the morning shoppers.

Brynjolf was surprised to see Karliah stride towards him.

“Karliah,” he called. “So glad to see you.”

The Dark Elf nodded solemnly. “I had a dream. Nocturnal spoke to me, told me I should come to the Cistern this morning. Not the way she usually contacts me, but I wouldn’t dare ignore it.” She surveyed the room, crossing her arms. “What’s all this about?”

Brynjolf shifted. “Guild meeting. You’ve got good timing.”

Thieves were swapping groggy stories of the previous night’s victories, breaking bread, passing bottles of mead and ale. The mood in the room was friendly, but curious.

Get here soon, lass. Brynjolf paced in the shadows.

***

Aerisif entered the Flagon and breathed it in. It did not smell as refreshing as the Riften air did, but it bore the sweetness of familiarity to her.

It’s good to be home, Aerisif smiled.

Dirge stood looming at the edge of the Flagon, shifting impatiently, waiting to deny access to this newcomer. Aerisif strut towards him.

“You have no business here, stranger.” Dirge barked. “Leave now.”

Aerisif stopped just a pace from the mountainous man. Her proximity made him nervous, she could see it in his eyes.

“Night among strangers. Secrets in the dark.” The silky words dripped off her tongue.

Dirge blinked, surprised and uncertain, but he uncrossed his arms and stepped aside. Aerisif strode past him a few paces, stopped, and turned her ebony clad head toward him.

“Come. Don’t keep your Guild Master waiting.” She continued on. Dirge stewed a moment, but followed.

The handful of thieves still lingering in the Flagon looked at the dark stranger with intrigue. Vekel shrugged and ushered them into the Cistern behind her.

The Cistern was ringing with conversations, but silenced when the stranger entered and wordlessly took her place on the center platform, in the only natural light the room had. Brynjolf joined her. She nodded to him.

Brynjolf cleared his throat. “I have worn the title Guild Master for several years now, since the day you all decided it should be mine. But as of today, right now, I will no longer serve you all as Guild Master.”

A murmur spread through the cavern. Some cried out in surprise. Vex blurted out a “what the fuck?”

Delvin stood. “Brynjolf, mate, what are you going on about? You didn’t pull us all from our beds just to tell us you quit?”

Brynjolf shook his head. “I know no life other than this, Delvin. I’m a thief through and through. But its time I return to my post as Guild Second. I present, your Guild Master.”

At that, Aerisif pulled the ebony helmet from her head and shook loose her raven locks.

Cries rang out from all around. Echoes of “its Aerisif!” and “she’s alive!” spread through the Cistern.

She silenced them with a hand. Taking a shaky breath, she began to speak.

“When Brynjolf and I were captured in Falkreath, I was taken to Helgen. To be executed. I thought Brynjolf to be dead, and I responsible for the death of your Guild Second. The guilt alone could have killed me. As you can clearly see, I did not die in Helgen, as so many did. But I was reborn. I emerged from that massacre Kjolti Stone-Vein, Dragonborn.”

The gathered thieves murmured in surprise. Aerisif continued on.

“If you’ve been topside at all since I disappeared, you’ll likely know that name. If you know the Nord legend of the Dragonborn, you’ll know that it was my destiny to destroy the World-Eater, Alduin. I spent the years since I left doing that. The dragon crisis is over, and my job as Dragonborn is done.”

The dragon in her chest ruffled its wings and snorted indignantly.

“I am sorry. I was afraid of returning, of being blamed for Brynjolf’s death. I was afraid of being the downfall of the Guild. I have wronged you all. I promised to lead this Guild into prosperity. I promised riches and gold and gems. I didn’t follow through on that, and I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, a gangly youth in ill-fitting brown Guild leathers burst into the Cistern. He ran up to Brynjolf, out of breath. “Boss!” He gasped. “Boss, I found her. Kjolti Stone-Vein is here in the city!”

Aerisif smirked. “Gods, Bryn, did you even let this one grow out of Honorhall first?” she jabbed just loud enough for him to hear.

Brynjolf shot her an exasperated look and then impatiently turned to the youth. “Does she look something like her, lad?”

The footpad turned and looked at Aerisif for the first time. He nodded. “Yeah, kinda like her!”

Aerisif chuckled. Brynjolf sighed. “Go sit down, lad.”

“But Brynjolf—“

“Sit. Down.” The young man did as he was told.

Aerisif turned to the crowd again. “You have a choice. I’ve laid my mistakes out on the table. I don’t share my other identity with you lightly. I trust you all with my life, and I’m handing it to you. There are those that are looking for me, to either take advantage of or eliminate the power I hold. You could sell me out, and I would understand. I messed this all up. Or, you can give me another chance. If you’ll forgive me, if you’ll trust me, I would be Guild Master once again, and finish the job I started here.”

Delvin stood and walked toward the illuminated platform.

“Are you really th’ Dragonborn?”

Aerisif turned toward some target dummies. “Fus, Roh, Dah!” She shouted. The dummies clattered against each other, smashed against the stone wall, and splashed into the water.

A chorus of “Gods!” and “Fuck!” and “Shor’s Bones!” echoed around the Cistern.

Delvin raised his eyebrows and nodded, impressed. He turned back to Aerisif and extended his hand, and she shook it. “Welcome back, boss.” His voice rang through the Cistern.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Vex launched herself from the shadows into Aerisif, fists flying. Aerisif let herself roll into the shallow waters with Vex, dodging punches and throwing some of her own. The two women grappled fiercely.

The gangly youth took a step toward them. “Should we do something?” He said in a panic.

“NO.” Brynjolf and Delvin both placed a hand on the youth’s chest to keep him from the fray.

“Don’t need anymore bloodshed than necessary here.” Delvin muttered, not taking his eyes off the scuffle.

In the water, Vex and Aerisif continued to fight. A fist to the side of a head. A knee to a stomach. Aerisif’s ears rang after a well placed blow. Vex had a steady stream of blood flowing from her nose. They splashed and rolled. Aerisif pulled Vex under the water, allowing her head up for desperate gasps of air. Th ebony clad woman had the extra weight on her side. She had Vex pinned down, head barely above water. Vex struggled against her, but Aerisif was too strong. Aerisif had her. Vex snarled at Aerisif. Aerisif growled back.

A tense moment passed, both women panting. The Guild was watching with bated breath.

Vex’s bared teeth eased into a smile. “Welcome home, sister.”

Aerisif released Vex and stretched out an arm to help her up. “It’s good to be home.” Vex took her arm and pulled herself out of the water and into an embrace.

“We need to talk,” she whispered into Aerisif’s ear. Aerisif frowned, but gave a subtle nod. They separated, and sloshing, pulled themselves out of the water.

“Anyone else care to challenge me?” Aerisif roared, but the broad smile on her face was disarming.

A few laughs, a few “hell no’s” were heard around the room. “Good, then back to business as usual. Go steal something!” Aerisif called after them.

Aerisif turned to Delvin. “Thank you, back then. The Guild trusts your judgement. Your accepting me went a long way back there.”

Delvin brushed it off. “Ah, its nothin’. Just glad for things to get back the way they were. Oy! Does “business as usual” mean that we’re still pretending that you and Brynjolf aren’t fuckin’?”

Aerisif whipped her head to Brynjolf. “You told him!”

Brynjolf raised his hands apologetically. “I thought you were dead, remember?”

Delvin chuckled. “Ah, forget it. No one cares.”

Aerisif was distraught. “But isn’t it weird—“

Delvin cut her off. “No, its not weird and no one cares. Dirge and Vipir have been fuckin’ for years, and you know what? No one cares.”

Dirge shouted from a shadow of the Cistern, while Vipir looked just as shocked.

Delvin called out, “Yeah, I know about you lot too!” He chuckled. “Why does everyone think they can keep secrets in this damned hole?” He walked away, still laughing.

Aerisif caught Vex standing in a dark doorway off of the Cistern, and saw her slip inside.

“I’ll be back,” She pushed past Brynjolf, who seemed confused but carried on regardless.

Once she entered the dark room, Vex slid the door bar shut behind her. Aerisif remember another time long ago when Vex had locked her in this room. She shook off the memory and turned to the thief.

“What is it?”

Vex wore a disgruntled look. “Something is up with your lover.”

Aerisif stammered.

Vex cut her off. “I really don’t give a damn what you two do or call each other. This is serious. Brynjolf has been dealing in some shady business, even for us.”

Aerisif frowned. “What kind of shady business?”

“I’m not really sure. He goes on mysterious jobs all across Skyrim, and won’t tell anyone else where he’s going or what the job is, let alone who the client is.”

“What’s the big deal about that? As long as he’s bringing in coin, who cares who the client is?”

“That’s the problem. He’s not bringing in coin. I’ve been keeping careful track of our coffers ever since the Mercer incident. There’s not a coin that goes in or out of that chamber that I don’t know about. Brynjolf comes back from these jobs empty handed. I confronted him about it once and I’ve never seen him so defensive. He nearly threatened to kill me if I asked him about it again. An empty threat, of course, since we all know I could take him, but its the presence of the threat that’s concerning to me.”

Aerisif nodded, trying to take this all in.

“What’s more, I think he’s tangled up in something big. I don’t have any proof, but I think that he’s been stealing from those under Guild protection. Some of our guys topside say Maven is getting complaints. And we all know Maven won’t stick her neck out too far for us. You have to set this straight. You’re Guild Master, you have to fix this.”

Aerisif met Vex’s glowering stare. She had long ago stopped being intimidated by the pale woman. “I will.”

Vex appraised her, nodding. “Then get to it.” She slid back the door bar and the two women left the room.