Disclaimer:I do not own the Skyrim universe. Characters you do not recognize are mine and were created by me for the purposes of this story. Rated M for a reason!

I deleted the original "Know Why the Nightingale Sings" because there was just something about it that was not sitting right with me. I am much happier with this rendition, so I really hope it is to your liking as well :) It is shorter than the original, but it has more of what I felt the other one was lacking. Thank you for reading, and for all reviews left! – Fallon.

Chapter Three

"My soul has finally found peace, Doesn't matter that man has no wings, As long as I hear the nightingale sing..." - Nightwish "Know Why the Nightingale Sings"

He grabbed her chin and brought her lips to his, capturing them in a kiss that was searing with heat and unrelenting desire. The softness of his lips coupled with the roughness of his beard scratching her chin made for a breathless feeling Simone adored.

Brynjolf couldn't bring himself to break their kiss as he pawed at the delicate pearl buttons at the back of her nightgown. Having her so close to him after waiting so long made him desperate to explore more of her, this beautiful and loyal thief of his. He sucked on her bottom lip and jerked the fabric apart, splitting it with relative ease.

Simone whimpered into their kiss as his hands roamed over her bare back. The nightgown had been a favourite, but so long as he continued to touch her she was fairly certain she could find it in her heart to forgive him.

She watched him from afar, being sure to keep to the shadows to avoid being seen. A mission for the Guild did not bring her to the market on this quite afternoon, nay, her motives were far more selfish.

Brynjolf...

Simone watched from her hiding spot as he began to work his charms on another group of naive fools looking to purchase a miracle in a bottle. He wore his expensive blue tailored clothes, and his hair was clean and devoid of its usual tangles. He commanded the audience with the same confidence he had showed the first time they had met. She was just as captivated by him as any of the poor fools he currently held under his spell, perhaps even more so.

On numerous occasions she had fantasized about that voice, about how it could make her melt with honeyed words in the heat of passion. The thought of him whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he ravished her...it had kept her awake many a times, though she would never complain about that fact.

Brynjolf...

For a second she swore his eyes met hers, that he had seen her from her cloak of shadow she was currently shrouded in, but after a few tense moments she concluded that she was losing her mind.

He haunted her like a ghost, in both sleep and waking moments, and being near him gave her a feeling of such contentment she had wondered on more than one occasion if she was drunk.

Drunk...that's what she was, drunk on the very thought of him.

The thought did not upset her though. A devoted fan of San's Spiced Wine, she knew she could easily give it all up to have him to satisfy her cravings.

Brynjolf...

He understood her, appreciated her, and most importantly he never judged her.

But she knew she wasn't blessed by fate with enough luck to catch his fancy. Misfortune, after all, had hounded her for years since she left the safety of Whiterun. Alas, she would have to settle with her spiced wine and her vivid fantasies.

She groaned in frustration.

For another perhaps that would be enough, but Simone wanted the real thing – she wanted him.

He slowly traced a jagged scar down the length of her spine and gave her posterior an appreciative grasp that made her moan and push down against his hands.

Her moan made his loins tighten and he stood, hoisting her up with him, and took her to the bed. Simone peppered his neck with kisses until they reached their destination and he tossed her down unceremoniously onto the large, richly detailed bed.

She immediately felt the loss of his warmth, and looked at him with sad eyes.

He closed the curtains behind them, not wanting to chance unwanted eyes to venture up to the main level of the house and catch a glimpse of his woman, and returned to the foot of the bed. Spread out like she was, her nightgown ripped and hiked up to her thighs, made him nearly frenzied with need. Though little words had been said, he wanted her as his and his alone. That feeling was new to him, but as much as it startled him he did not feel inclined to ignore it.

She purred as he climbed onto the bed and loomed over her, his hair tickling the tops of her breasts as he passed.

"You're so beautiful, lass..."

She gasped as he began tugging the nightgown down over her shoulders, "Wanted this for a long time...haven't you?"

He paused to look her in the eye, "I want you, I need you..."

She smiled and cupped his cheek, "Then do not make me wait any longer, Brynjolf...that's an order."

Her eyes locked onto his and revealed the same heat he felt himself.

Brynjolf kissed her lips, "I need you out of this damned clothing."

A few more needy tugs, and she was bare before him. Brynjolf licked the curve of her neck before nipping her playfully and tossing the remains of her nightgown aside. He pulled her into his arms and ran his calloused fingers down and over her breasts, groaning as he did so.

Simone arched her back, frustrated by the feather light touch, "You tease..."

He pinched her nipples tightly between his fingers and grinned as she gasped, "Better?"

She nodded quickly, the huskiness of his voice and the neediness of his touch driving her wild.

Brynjolf propped himself up on his elbow to watch her. Her skin was pale and covered in scars, many of which were rough and jagged. The older ones were almost stark white, and crisscrossed over her stomach and thighs in layers. The longest one ran from her shoulder and ended at the swell of her breasts. It was thin, but considering its location would have taken time to heal properly and without warping her flesh.

When his fingers ran over it, Simone's eyes shot open.

"Gift from a bandit during my first year on my own," she explained quietly, "I returned the favour by roasting him alive."

Brynjolf grinned and flicked his tongue over her nipple, "You are lovely regardless of them, lass."

Smiling, she grasped his shoulders and pushed him back, "Allow me to see yours, so that we might even the score."

He allowed her to push him onto his back and bit back a moan as she began fumbling with his belt, "I wasn't aware the score was being kept..."

Simone slipped her hand under his trousers and grasped his cock, eliciting a strangled whimper from the Nord. But as suddenly as her hand touched him, it was removed. He looked at her with pained eyes and she merely smirked.

Little minx...

Knowing what she wanted, Brynjolf sat up enough to shrug out of his shirt. She pushed him back as soon as he was rid of the offending fabric and ran her fingers through the tight red curls that ran down the center of his chest. His stomach tensed under her light touch, as if her fingers were sending sparks of magic through his body.

His head was spinning.

Simone...

She straddled him, not nervous in the least about him seeing her in such an exposed state, and leaned down to plant a firm kiss on his lips.

Brynjolf was content having her atop him, and made no move to assert his dominance by pinning her under him. Perched atop him as she was, she was as strong and alluring as he always knew her to be, and he did not want to deprive himself of seeing her in her glory.

Simone bit her lip and eased his trousers down enough to free him from the confines of the fabric. The tip of his cock brushed against her womanhood and she jumped at the contact. The warmth that shot through her lower body was intense, and she had to reel herself back lest she give in so easily to her desires. Brynjolf wanted this as badly as she did, that was crystal clear, but she did not want to make it easy for him.

"Gods, lass..." He groaned as he arched his back and raised his hips, "Have mercy..."

She shook her head and grabbed his wrists and raised them up, pinning them down just above his head. He could easily break free of course, she was considerably smaller than he, but she could tell by the glimmer in his eyes that he liked her show of dominance. Very much enjoying the control she had over him, Simone pressed her hips down and began rubbing her slick folds against his shaft in slow, short movements.

Brynjolf trembled, but did not try to fight her hold.

Simone chuckled and rolled her head back as she nibbled on the corner of her lips, "I don't know why I ran for so long..."

His hips jerked up of their own accord and he hissed as she lifted her hips away from him, "Because...you were just as afraid of this as I was."

She smiled and looked down at him, "I'm still afraid."

"So am I," he admitted in his heavy accent, "but something this perfect can not be bad, can't it, lass?"

So perfect, Bryn...

Simone tightened her hold on his arms and began to sink down onto his shaft, her soft walls stretching to accommodate his girth.

"I...I...Bryn..."

His eyes fell from her face to the heat between them, and he watched as he slowly became sheathed inside her.

Brynjolf could not believe the grip she had on him, "S-Simone...gods!"

She whimpered as he filled her and rocked her hips against him, loving every spark of heat he sent flaring through her body. She released her hold on his arms, and braced herself by planting the heels of her hands on his chest before she began riding him in desperate, quick motions.

He grasped her hips and dug his nails into her flesh, causing her to wince but doing nothing to slow her frantic rhythm. Not bothering to take the time to be gentle, he pushed her down on him, adding an entire blissful new level of friction that made her mewl in delight.

Brynjolf groaned, a hint of a smirk on his lips, "Sing for me...my little nightingale..."

Simone fell forward, a hand on either side of his head, "B-Brynjolf..."

"Let it...go."

Her breasts swayed in time with the jerking of her hips, and he roughly groped them, pinching her nipples so hard she let out a soft squeak. It was his lips on her sore nipples sent her cascading over the edge, and she shook violently atop him as her climax rippled through her body in suffocating waves.

Brynjolf sighed as she went limp on him, but did not allow her more than a moment to recover. With one motion, he had her on her back and was thrusting erratically into her. Simone wrapped her legs weakly around him, sapped of energy but not wanting him to stop.

His lips latched on to her neck, she knew he was getting close himself.

She raked her nails up his back as she made sounds she wasn't aware she was capable of making. She had run from him for so long, watched him from a far and wondered if fate could be so kind, that the reality of their actual coupling made her want to weep for joy.

Brynjolf nipped her ear lobe and whispered in a rough voice, "My...my Simone...my nightingale."

She held him close, her legs keeping him from pulling out, "Yours..."

His thrust became shallow and rough.

Simone found his lips, and kissed him deeply as he spent himself inside of her.

"Papa?"

Her father had a warm smile on his lips and a tankard of ale in his hand, "Yes, Simone?"

"Did you love mama?"

"With all my being." He said without a moments hesitation.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, "How did you know?"

He thought for a moment, searching for a way to explain it so she would hopefully understand, "She accepted me for who I was, made me feel like I was invincible. It was like we spoke our own language. We understood each other better than anyone else ever could. Meeting her...was the best thing that could have happened to me. She gave me you, brought joy into my life."

Simone titled her head, "Weren't you scared?"

"Of what, dearest one?"

She shrugged, "Of feelings that big? It sounds scary, sounds like walking into a dark room...and I'm afraid of the dark, Papa."

He chuckled, "It's a lot like walking into the dark, dearest. But when you find someone worth taking that chance, you've got to take it."

She twisted the hem of her dress in her fingers, "I don't understand, Papa..."

He sat aside his tankard and knelt before her, "You don't have to, not yet. Just promise me you won't be afraid to leap forward when you're faced with darkness. I promise you it isn't as scary as you think."

Smiling, Simone wrapped her tiny arms around her father and inhaled the familiar scent of ale and smoke of the forge that clung to him. She trusted him, despite her lingering fears of darkness. If he said it was all right, she would take him at his word.

After all, her father was the wisest man in the whole of Skyrim.

"I love you, Papa."

He grinned, "I love you, my dearest one."

Brynjolf held her in his arms, a thin blanket covering them both.

The sweat on her brow had begun to dry and the flush in her cheeks was beginning to recede, but to him she was still so beautiful.

Her eyes fluttered open and she kissed his chest, "Thank you for staying."

He squeezed her close, "Why would I leave, lass?"

Simone glanced away and shrugged, "Thought maybe this would scare you away."

Brynjolf placed his hand over hers, "Whatever this is, whatever we've found in one another, I'm not going anywhere lass, I'm here so long as you'll have me."

She exhaled slowly and rested her leg over his. Relaxed in his arms in the after glow of their love, she felt truly safe and at ease for the first time since leaving Whiterun and her old life behind. It was like all of the trials in her life had lined up, and somehow everything was going to be all right.

This must be love...

She moved up on the bed so they were eye to eye.

"I'd like it if you stayed." Simone confessed softly, her eyes reflecting how much she cared for him and making him see the sincerity of her words.

Brynjolf lightly kissed her lips and watched as she melted away to sleep next to him.

As he watched her, a loving smile spreading over his lips, he wondered if this was what being a fool felt like.

Just as that though crossed his mind, she snuggled closer to him and made a strange sound he could only identify as purring.

Brynjolf kissed the top of her head.

If I am a fool...then so be it. I am the fool, and she is my Nightingale.