TITLE: To Take a Tree From the Forest

CHAPTER: 4, What Will You Sing Me?

FANDOM: Skyrim


"Hail to the Day
Hail His Sons
Hail Night, and her daughter!
Gaze on us
with loving eyes
and bring us victory.

Hail to the Gods
and the Goddesses
Hail the generous earth!
Grant us wisdom
and eloquent speech
and healing all our lives."

Sigdrifa's Prayer and Song


If Skyrim were a country dominated by civil war, Brynjolf and Sabrinda were unaware of it as they rode quietly side by side through the early morning ice fog. The icy mist swirled and eddied around their horses legs. With the tundra muffled and shrouded in ice fog, the land seemed at peace.

Although, as anyone who knew Skyrim understood, a peaceful moment could shatter with the arrival of a troll, a bear, a pack of wolves, or an Imperial patrol. Unbelievable reports about dragons and vampires had surfaced. The towns buzzed with the news and the guards watched the skies. If a dragon attack could happen in Helgen, no one was safe. And, of course, the name Ulfric Stormcloak was on everyone's lips.

Their night together brought them a new level of trust. Simply enjoying the beautiful morning and pointing out things of interest as they rode along in companionable silence. As the mist burned away, the colourful landscape deepened in hue and came to life as the animals moved out to find their breakfast. The day grew warmer as the road turned toward Whiterun. They gave the horses a chance to stretch their legs along an even track of road.

At mid-morning, Brynjolf shared a slice of eider cheese with her. As they rode along he sliced off apple for her and they laughed as he tossed the bite to her and she caught it in her mouth. Sabrinda tossed a bite of cheese to Brynjolf. As she watched Brynjolf try to catch it, he almost fell out of the saddle.

"You will go hungry very quickly this way," she said, giving him a playful shove to right him in the saddle.

"You've a good eye, lass. Will you let me teach you a few things about taking care of yourself?"

Sabrinda brought her horse to a stop. "That shot you saw me make back in Riften." She shook her head and smirked up at him from under her lashes. "That was just luck."

"Ah, I see the way of it now. Your hands are still so smooth. I wondered…"

"Will you teach me? She asked cutting him off before he began asking questions again.

Brynjolf nodded and guided the horses to where they could stand in the shade and drink their fill at a stream's edge. After helping Sabrinda down, he retrieved their swords. He often used a matched set of daggers, but she wasn't quick enough for close quarter fighting yet, so he handed her the old iron sword. There was blood on her sword. At least she'd blooded the old rusted thing.

"Now, lass," he began as he unsheathed his own blade and backed away from her. "One of the reasons you'll want to practice is to build your strength. If your foe sees you falter, they will move in quickly to spill your blood. So follow me and do as I do. Keep your back straight and your knees soft. Ken the balance of the blade and how it moves from hand to hand as you swing it around your body."

For several moments, she watched Brynjolf move gracefully through a series of thrusts, parry and lunges. His blade whistled in the air as he swung the blade in precise arches over his head and around his body.

She followed Brynjolf's movements and soon she'd memorized the routine and flowed easily from one movement to the next. With each repetition, her limbs grew suppler and her movements more controlled. Brynjolf watched in admiration at her natural beauty and talent.

"You move like you were born for this, 'Brinda."

She shook her head at him and shrugged away his words. "I have a good teacher."

The pleasure of her compliment comforted and encouraged him. After he put the weapons away, he walked toward her. He only meant to thank her and return the compliment, but the sun sets her hair afire with its light and she looked so strong and sure. The need to touch her overrode all other thoughts. He wove his bare fingers into her hair and tilted her head up.

While she caught her breath, she remembered how handsome and powerful he looked as he demonstrated the movements to her. She'd enjoyed the exercise and the moment of friendship between them. And it felt good to be touched this way. A comforting hand, strong presence and a friendly smile. She decided for the moment to trust the touch and counted slowly to ten while she allowed her head to lean against his large warm hand.

"There's other things I could teach you, lass."

Every muscle in her body tensed and she flung her hands up as if to ward him off.

Then she spun away from him, shouting, "No!"

"Lass, I dinna mean… what do you think I meant?" Shor's stone, he swore. There is real fear in her eyes. "I wouldn't harm you. You have no need to fear me."

"I'm not afraid!" She shouted in a nearly hysterical tone. Then, as if to completely negate the entire episode, she said, over her shoulder, nearly running from him. "I want to wash up before we reach Whiterun. "Do I have to worry about my privacy?"

"No lass." He hadn't meant to frighten her. Everything was three steps forward and two steps back with her. "Go, I'll take care of the horses and get us packed up."

While Brynjolf gathered the horses and their provisions, she shot him a look and moved further downstream.

In spite of what some people think about Brynjolf's womanizing, he is a gentleman. He turned his back on her, but kept his ears open. While he waited the clouds moved in and snow flurries began to swirl through the air. The horses began to stamp and toss their heads. Skyrim horses enjoyed work and movement. They get restless if kept idle too long. He thought about what kind of horse she owned back home. Last night she'd mentioned a pony. It set him thinking…

A sharp north wind pushed the snowflakes through the camp. The remains of their small fire sizzled out.

"'Brinda? We need to get moving."

"I'm coming. I-I, Oh!" She bit back a scream and called his name. Brynjolf dropped the reins and hurried to her side. What he saw there brought him to a stop. She'd backed out of the water. A dying slaughterfish lay twitching at her feet with an iron dagger in its side. She held her shift against her chest. But that's not what caught his attention.

He couldn't speak. There was nothing to say. No magic spell, or kind words, which might heal what he saw. Nothing would fix the welts crisscrossing her flesh. An old yellow bruise covered most of her left shoulder. He'd only seen those kinds of scars on prisoners from Cidhna mine in Markarth. Who had done this to her?

She didn't even try to hide the scars. It was too late anyway. He knew her secret... At least, one of her secrets.

He groaned in sympathy, "Oh love." Before draping her leather shirt across her shoulders.

"Don't call me that!" She twisted away and to his dismay cowered as if she was suddenly afraid of him. He'd done nothing to cause her to fear him. What had happened to this child? Then he had an idea, to make himself less threatening, he backed away and crouched down.

"Wee lass, I promise not to look," he said as gently as he could manage over the choking rage. "I'm not leaving you alone. Just get dressed and we can get back on the road."

It took her just a few minutes to pull on her clothes. Brynjolf silently shouldered her pack and carried her weapons as they walked back to the horses. After securing her pack to the saddle he retrieved something, which up until now, he'd kept hidden.

Perhaps it would lift her spirits? He waited until she'd mounted her horse. Then gently picking up one foot at a time, removed her worn and soaked leather boots and dried her feet. Then replaced them with new fur lined boots. When he pressed the fur-lined gloves in her hands, she finally raised her eyes. He'd been wrong. There was plenty of courage in her tear-filled eyes. Obviously, she'd learned to survive.

"It'll be okay, lass. I swear, by the Divines, nothing like that will ever happen to you again."

"Thank you, Brynjolf. And… thank you for the… for everything."

That was the first time she'd said his name. He wanted to thank her too. To say a hundred words which might take the memory of those scars on her back away. But all he could do was pat her foot. How could one young girl churn up such emotion in him?

Brynjolf was very glad Vex or Sapphire weren't watching this, because his Thieves Guild heart-of-stone credibility was shaky already and this girl was taking him down hour by hour. Brynjolf stood quietly holding her foot in his hand before he placed it in the stirrup. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. He knew now that she needed a friend more than she needed him interfering with her.

Once they were back on the road, she seemed to relax. Drawing his horse back a bit to give her some privacy, he let his mind wander from watching the forests to watching her. Thankfully, the roads were quiet.

After another two hours of riding he noticed she was still tall and straight in the saddle. She'd removed her helmet. Her long red hair glinted in the sunlight. He caught snatches of a song she was singing. Hurrying his horse to better hear it, Brynjolf recognized the song. He'd known it as a boy. How had she learned this Nordic counting song?

"Come and I will sing you,

What will you sing me?

I'll sing you one-o,

What will the one be?

One the World Tree all alone, up

ever more shall be so!"

~o~

He let her sing the first verse herself, then joined in.

~o~

Brynjolf: "Come and I will sing you,

Sabrinda: What will you sing me?

Brynjolf: I´ll sing you two-o,

Sabrinda: What will the two be?

Brynjolf: Two is Frey and Freya, down

One the World Tree all alone,

ever more shall be so!"

~o~

Brynjolf: "Come and I will sing you,

Sabrinda: What will you sing me?"

Brynjolf: I'll sing you three-o,"

Sabrinda: What will the three be?"

Brynjolf: Three the Nords who ward the

Well, up

Two is Frey and Freya,

One the World Tree all alone,

ever more shall be so!"

~o~

Then she picked up the lead and he followed.

~o~

Sabrinda: "Come and I will sing you,"

Brynjolf: "What will you sing me?"

Sabrinda: "I'll sing you four-o,"

And on they sang until their voices rang through the forest. It pleased Brynjolf that the sounded so good together. Perhaps when they returned to Riften there would more time for singing. The call and answer of the song provided an easy moment between them.

Where had she learned such a song? Not at the feet of her Ma or her Da. That was Skyrim song; a Nord song. Not a song fit for Imperial halls. Then she turned in the saddle to look back because Brynjolf had stopped singing. The smile she bestowed upon him and the back lit red-gold of her hair enthralled him. He remembered her impulsive hug and realized he would do almost anything to keep that smile on her face. Then in a flash of emotion-filled fire, which burned him and made him catch his breath, he knew that he was falling for her.

Brynjolf's horse jibed and gathered his legs under him to buck when he realized he'd white-knuckled the reins.

"Easy, boy. Easy, balach." He should have said the same things to himself. He needed to stop for a moment. A moment to catch his thoughts before they ran off with his desires. While he turned his horse off the road, he reminded himself what Runa had warned him about. Good advice, 'Bryn, she'd said, stay out of mischief.'

He didn't notice her ride up next to him until her hand lay over his.

"I'm sorry if I…"

"You did nothing wrong! Don't you understand, lass?"

"No, I don't understand."

With an exasperated sigh, he yanked her out of the saddle and across his lap. "You don't ken you're a young girl with beauty like a sunrise. All alone in this dangerous world? That you couldn't defend yourself against more than one wolf or a man? That a man has needs and… And, I've tied myself to a girl who I must protect against those dangers, but also myself? Ye must wake up, lass!"

Sabrinda pushed against him briefly then went limp. Her head dropped against his shoulder while she twisted a bit to get her arms around his waist.

Brynjolf turned his face into her hair. "May I hold you, lass?"

A small nod was all he needed to enfold her in his arms. She smelled of evergreens and fresh Skyrim air.

"Lass, I have an idea of what you're running from now. I'm grateful you've turned to me. I'll not trifle with you. That, I swear. T'was a man who marked you...wasn't it?"

He'd gone too far. She jumped out of his lap to the rough cobblestones and landed on her hands and knees. Brushing her hands off and pushing her hair out of her face, she looked up at him defiantly.

"I may not understand everything about what goes on between a man and a woman, Brynjolf. But I am awake."

"Sabrinda, I ask nothing from you that you are not ready to give. You can trust that, lass." He couldn't just let her walk away. Not now. "Will you think about coming back to Riften with me when you're finished here? I can make sure you have work and shelter. And, you will be safe. She mounted her horse, without responding and urged him into a canter.

By the time they rode out of the valley and onto a wide plain the snow had stopped. The low clouds lifted and Dragonsreach rose in the distance. The closer they got to the city the more people they met. They met no soldiers on the road and everyone was friendly and willing to share news. Sabrinda cheer up as people spoke to her, asked about their destination and tried to draw her out. She was obviously accustomed to speaking with strangers. She wasn't shy, just reserved.

While he watched her talk to the other travelers, his thoughts kept returning to those scars on her back. He'd already decided what he would do to the villain if he crossed his path. The man would know what was happening to him and why. A fierce need to protect Sabrinda rose in him again. Why? Was it her courage? Her willingness to escape what must have been a brutal existence by running away into an even more dangerous world. Did she remind him of his early days? When his heart ruled his head and more often than not he was running from trouble.

By mid-afternoon they turned their tired horses toward the Whiterun stable. Their ears pricked up at the smell of the sweet hay and sturdy legs stretched out to cover the ground more quickly. They were ready for a warm stable and some food. Just as Brynjolf was ready for the Inn, a welcoming fire and a tankard of mead. His only decision? Whether it shall be the Bannered Mare or the Drunken Huntsman.

While he paid the stable boy a guard walked by and took a long look at him. He said exactly what Brynjolf dreaded hearing.

"I know you." The Whiterun guard peered at him through the eye slits in his helmet and looking him up and down.

Brynjolf froze. "I'm escorting this lady to Whiterun to report to the Jarl. She needs protection. What will it take for you to look the other way?"

"I'll look the other way, this time, Master Thief. You still have a bounty, so keep quiet or we'll have to go through this dance again."

Brynjolf took her gently by the shoulders to speak quietly to her. They stood between the two horses. "I'll have to be careful, lass. They know who I am."

"You're a criminal?" She asked as if it hadn't occurred to her before.

"'Brinda, it's no secret. You knew the moment we met."

"I meant will they arrest you for a specific crime? You can't stay out here all by yourself. Come with me?"

"Don't fret about me, lass. Go on, get your business done and I'll meet you at the Bannered Mare. I'll have a good supper waiting for you."

"You've been kind..."

"Hush. Off with you." He gave her a push and she finally headed up the path toward the front gate of Whiterun. She looked back one more time before disappearing around the corner and into the outer bailey. Brynjolf had been to Whiterun many times, so it wasn't difficult to imagine where she was walking. Maybe he should have gone with her. He hoped the Jarl didn't keep her too long.

~oOo~