TITLE: What is Hidden in Snow

CHAPTER: Epilogue

AN: Thank you for following the story. While I tried to think of a name for Brynjolf and Ingun's son, I suddenly remembered my own grandfather's name was Sigurd.


Generous and brave men live the best. - Hávamál st. 48


"Someone get this bloody Skeever away from me!" Brynjolf shouted causing little Einarr to scream in fear and his own son to cry.

The nurses came running and scooped the two boys up in their arms.

Almost a year and half old, his son enjoyed pulling at his father's beard and now that he could sit up on his own, he especially enjoyed riding on his father's shoulders. Brynjolf groaned silently at the big blue-eyed tearful stare his son cast at him from over the nurse's shoulder.

"Sigurd, you're naught but a trickster."

That got a toothless grin out of his son.

"Come here, boy."

Sigurd clapped with glee when his father put him on his shoulders.

"You're only spoiling him, sir. He'll be that much hard to handle when he's older."

"Bah! Give me the babe, lass. I know how to handle men." With one child in his arms and the other on his shoulders, Brynjolf headed outside. These boys didn't get enough fresh air. The damn nurses were always worried about one of them catching a lung sickness or an infection. Nords were tough and he was determined to raise these boys as proper Nords.

His wife met him at the door. "Vika wishes to see her son and it's time for Sig's nap."

"That's it boys. We're caught. We'll do our time and then it's a wild adventure for the three of us."

"Stop talking to these two as if they were members of the thieves' guild and stop terrorizing those dark elves," Ingun said, shaking her head. Brynjolf handed his son to her and kissed her soundly on the lips. Their little boy clapped his hands.

"I'll take Einarr to his mother. I'll see you at supper, lass." With three-month-old Einarr in his arms, Brynjolf headed to his daughter's room. He found her sitting up in a chair by the window reading.

"Lass, it's good to see you up."

She greeted him with a smile and held out her arms for Einarr. "I feel so much better today."

"Aye, the color is back in your cheeks and I can see the gold shining in your hair."

Brynjolf had to hide his face by looking out the window, when it hit him just how close to losing her they'd come. The pregnancy went perfectly. No one had seen a lovelier mother to be. Both parents were happy and looking forward to a child to liven up the somber walls of Windhelm. Vika appeared prettier everyday as if she glowed from within.

Then early one morning, about nine months into the pregnancy, she knocked on her parent's door asking for her mother. Doubled over in pain and drenched in sweat, Brynjolf took one look at his daughter and lifted her into his arms. Together they carried her back to her room. When he lifted her into the bed, he noticed the blood on the sheet, soaking the back of her gown and the blood on his sleeve. Brynjolf set her on the bed as if she were precious cargo and dropped to his knees.

"Lass…"

Ingun fled the room and returned with the court mage and a tray full of bottles, jars and a mortar and pestle.

She tried to smile, but the cramps hit her and she reached for him. "Da, I don't know what's happening to me.

"Everything will be okay, daughter."

"Is Ralof back from the Imperial City?"

"No, lass. The messenger said he was delayed because of the weather."

"Da, if I die. Please tell him…"

"You won't die. You can't," Brynjolf gathered her up in his arms and helped her through the pain. When she cried out, he rocked her like a child, when she wept he used a cold cloth to keep her face cool. He kept talking to her to keep her mind of what Ingun and the Mage were doing.

Not even her attempt to smile could calm the rising fear as he watched her face drain of color. Light and thin in his arms he held her tighter to keep her from floating away. He could not have said how he might live without her presence in his life, but it was happening, she was dying in his arms. Burning, painful emotion boiled out of his chest and Brynjolf groaned against her hair. He had no idea how long he stayed that way, holding her in his arms. The alternative of letting her go and facing her death was unbearable.

A hand on his shoulder, "Bryn, she's just asleep. Look, it's a fine boy." Into his arms, Ingun placed a small bundle that was his grandson.

Eyes opened in a tiny wizened face. Then he screwed up his face and sneezed. The sound made him laugh. Then looking around he found Brynjolf's thumb and began to suck on the end.

Brynjolf let go of the air stuck in his chest and released a shuddering breath of relief. Next to him, Ingun wrapped her arms around her husband. "It's okay. We stopped the bleeding and here's our first grandchild. He's healthy and beautiful."

"Aye, lass. That he is."

"Da?" A faint voice turned his attention to his daughter. "Can I see my baby?"

Brynjolf carefully held up the newborn.

"Ma? Should I nurse him now?"

"I don't know why not, if it would give you some peace. Please hear me, both of you. Vika, you lost so much blood. We'll feed you good meat and broth and fatten you up again. But it might take a while for you to recover."

"I understand, Ma. I feel like I could sleep for a year. Please let me hold him."

Brynjolf watched Ingun pull the sheet aside and lay the little boy next to his mother's breast. Vika yelped in surprise when the hungry little boy latched on to her nipple.

"That's a good sign, Vika."

Brynjolf didn't hear anything else, because the sight of his daughter nursing her first child brought tears to his eyes that he didn't bother trying to wipe away. The same thing happened to him when he watched Ingun nurse Sigurd. By the Nine, he was turning into an emotional old man. Brynjolf stumbled from the room in search of a cup of mead and found Delvin waiting for him in the war room. Brynjolf didn't hesitate to allow Delvin to embrace him.

"Ye always were a sentimental old softie, Brynjolf. Saving one lost animal after another and bringing 'em down to the Ratway to nurse back to health." Then in a choked voice he murmured, "I'm so proud of you, Bryn…As if you were my own."

"Then let's go find some mead, you sentimental old man. We'll need some fortification for our grandfather duties."

"I hope Vika will let me hold her son. Ingun lets me hold, Sigurd. Did I tell you that?"

That had all happened three months ago. It was spring again and Brynolf turned from the window to see his daughter nursing his grandson and felt the tears start all over again. Tears of joy were a strange thing for a orphaned master thief raised to a life of crime...

~o0o~