(Syra)
"He's home."
I didn't look up at Gancolm. I had heard Shadowmere as he arrived.
"Thank you," I said and he left.
I stared at my wrists, at the healing scabs. Zeno had said the best armor he could come up with, given the lack of time, supply and my size, was leather. I suppose I could scrounge up coin to order some custom armor if I had the chance.
"Syra!"
Brynjolf was like a cyclone, sweeping into the room, a breathless cyclone at that.
"I've ridden from Falkreath to Windhelm. I know how long that took me on an old mare. Riften is closer, yes," I said. "You better not have run my horse ragged."
I stood and faced him.
"I assume that you've heard about the cult," I guessed.
"Lass, we have to move you," he declared.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Something he clearly didn't want to hear.
"Its not safe!" he insisted.
"Nowhere is. The Dark Brotherhood is amongst their ranks, some of the deadliest assassins know to the world. As good as I am, I can't beat them all," I threw back. "And it can't just be the Dark Brotherhood."
Brynjolf froze, taking a breath before he spoke again.
"What's that mean?"
"I tried breaking into Mercer's, back when I first started staying with him. Just to make sure I could. I couldn't break through any of his specialized locks. And they're all over the house."
I threw my arms up in exasperation at the memory before crossing them over my chest. Brynjolf's eyes had followed my movement and I could see his brow furrow in confusion. Did he not know about the locks?
"And yet, Astrid managed to do just that. And so did the Tong. Almost like they had a key."
"Mercer wouldn't-"
"Mercer hates me. He'd do anything to get me out of his house. What better way?"
Brynjolf's face was stone, as if he didn't want to believe. I didn't blame him. It was one thing to punch your Guild Master for being an ass, what was one punch between friends? But another to accuse him of being part of a cult that worshiped the one dragon prophesied to destroy the entire world.
"It doesn't matter," Brynjolf declared. "I'm going to keep you alive."
I pointed at him.
"I can't figure you out. I mean, Lilith's parents are a Divine and a Daedra, the world's continued existence benefits them, and her helping me, her involving you to save me, it makes sense for her to want me alive. And Farkas, he's with her. Where she goes, he goes. But I can't figure you out. Why have you stuck around? Why have you saved me, over and over again, especially after what I said to you?"
He didn't look too happy by my line of questioning but I had to know. I started towards him. This was a man with no ties or obligations to me.
"I don't have a cent to my name. All that was taken when I was held as a Thalmor prisoner."
I was right in front of him now.
"Did you want to sleep with me?" I asked.
"Syra."
His voice was was deep with anger. Something I didn't think he was possible of and the sheer surfacing of it should have made me back off.
'Push harder.'
So, I was shunned from his realm but Molag Bal wasn't one to leave me alone. And in this instance, I wanted to push.
"Well? Do you?" I asked. "Do you have a thing for broken things?"
He drew in a deep breath but said nothing. I shoved him back,disgusted, at least I tried to, but he caught my wrist with surprising strength. He yanked me towards him, catching my other wrist.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, trying to break free.
His eyes were on the scabs, a painful expression replacing the stone quality that he'd worn previously. "Is that how you see yourself? As broken?" he asked. "After all you've been through, you're getting ready to fight rather than run. And you're broken?"
He shook me a bit.
"You are anything but broken."
"What do you want from me?" I demanded again, meeting his eyes.
Brynjolf said nothing, slowly easing his grip on me. I noticed, though, that he didn't back up. And I wouldn't either.
"Syra, I-" he began.
"I hate to interrupt."
Zeno surprised both of us. He didn't blink at our close proximity though he zeroed in on Brynjolf's hands around my wrists. It was only then I realized it. Brynjolf was touching me and I wasn't reduced to a screeching child. There was some progress.
"I have informed the Jarl of what's coming," he informed me.
"Did she take your word?" I asked, pulling out of Brynjolf's grip.
He let me go, crossing his arms.
"She didn't have a reason not to," Zeno replied.
"Someone explain this plan to me," Brynjolf demanded.
I held up Babette's letter.
"My contact sent this letter with her messenger. I asked her to look up what she could about Dyre, my...one of the vampire in league with the Thalmor. Its all been lies. The Thalmor embassy, the ones residing there are part of Alduin's cult. That's why they captured me. And the ones who attacked the college? Thalmor cultists. The Tong? They have no idea I'm still alive and they're so far underground that they wouldn't risk exposure going after the Dragonborn."
"That's the thing, Syra!" Brynjolf was clearly exasperated.
"No one knows you're the Dragonborn,Syra. No one who would open their mouths about it at least."
"Except for Dyre."
I said that quietly but it was enough. Brynjolf backed off a bit.
"He's always known about my abilities. About what I was," I explained. "He's been in Skyrim awhile. He had to hear the stories, had to put it all together. No doubt this cult is his way of destroying me."
"What else does the letter say?" Brynjolf asked, choosing not to continue the argument.
He flopped into a chair, tossing a glance at Zeno, his look one of displeasure as well as a somewhat searching gaze. I'd address that later.
"Babette did more digging on Dyre, she found out some things. One being that he's a Vampire Lord of the Volkihar Clan. He's known as Harkon's son."
It was something I couldn't believe. For me, there would never be another Father. He was the one man in my life that had not done me wrong. And Dyre had stepped into the role of this creature's son so easily. He'd killed the man that raised him and that was inexcusable, no matter what mistakes Father had made.
"In the letter, she says that he's looking for something,investigating some cave near Dawnstar," I went on, waving one of the pages contained in Babette's letter.
It was a map of said region, a location marked on it.
"The plan," I said, gesturing at Zeno. "Is to make sure Riften is ready for whatever Dyre may send their way. And I'm going to find this cave."
"On your own?" Brynjolf asked, clearly not liking this plan.
"Yep," I replied.
He rose from his chair, clearly shocked. I smirked.
"I have years of training going unseen," I bragged in the vaguest way possible.
When,in truth, it was actually centuries.
"I'm going with you," he declared.
"Ha!" I sat, copying his earlier show of exasperation.
"You seem to be forget I'm one of the Guild's best. And more than decent. Saved your well shaped ass, didn't I?"
I rolled my eyes at his crudeness, trying not to laugh in his face. I did not doubt his skills and didn't want him thinking he had anything to prove. But I didn't want him at risk either. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Zeno snickering, hiding his amusement behind his hand. I looked at him, admittedly puzzled by his reaction.
"Lass," he said. "He's going."
I looked at Brynjolf. His jaw was set, his entire body ready to move. I had no doubts that he was, even before Zeno had spoken. I sighed.
"Fine," I relented. "He can come."
Brynjolf didn't relax, still emanating a stubborn boar but he gave a satisfied smirk. I had doubts I'd have ever been able to make him stay in the first place.

(General)
She knew the minute they crossed into Skyrim, knew from the taste of cold in the air and she couldn't help but smile. She'd had many homes in her life, lived in different lands but she'd always loved Skyrim.
"I'd almost forgotten how cold it was," Hekth remarked.
Why she wasn't below deck puzzled Lilith but she knew better than to argue with the Dunmer assassin turned vampire. Hekth looked across the sea, her hood securely tucked over her face and eyes.
"A nice change of pace from that island," she admitted, not for the first time announcing her hatred of the island in general.
And if it wasn't the island, it was the people, the places or the creatures that inhabited it.
"I give it a day before you're complaining that its too cold," Lilith chuckled.
Hekth crossed her arms.
"I've been alive too long, complaining too long with no one to listen. And Cicero, he's not in a state to listen to me now. His concern is only for the Night Mother."
"What about Ivana?"
Lilith had spent months digging into the mysterious girl, reading her thoughts and only catching glimpses of the here and now, as if she never thought of her life before meeting Hekth. She was a Nord, something not common place in Solstheim. She was a mystery and Lilith desperately wanted to solve her.
"Lilith."
Hekth's voice was different,as if she was done complaining, since the results were usually amusing and not at all serious. This time, her voice held a note of honesty and sorrow, emotions that Hekth had never displayed. Her red gaze was fixed on the horizon, as if she was looking past it.
"Yes?"
Lilith stood, joining Hekth at her side.
"She is... alright?" Hekth asked. "My daughter?"
"She was," Lilith admitted. "She was exhausted from fighting but otherwise, she was fine."
A smile ghosted Hekth's lips.
"She was always like her father. She preferred a good fight to stealth."
She gave a small laugh.
"She's still scrawny, right?" Hekth checked.
Smiling as well, Lilith nodded.
"She wanted to start using two handed weapons! I remember one of the Orcs in our fold, he was a master in two handed weapons and combat. Always had his massive battle axe on him. He let her hold it once, when she was being really cocky. She damn near took off Do'asuna's tail," Hekth laughed.
Lilith could only imagine how well that went over, laughing into her hand. They allowed themselves that small moment before they composed themselves. Hekth gave a longing sigh.
"When she vanished, when Molag took her as you said he did, I was lost. I'd lost my husband and my son and now my daughter was gone from me. I was so certain she'd been killed, her body hanging from some monster's castle gate as an example to thieves, assassins and his enemies," Hekth confided in Lilith. "Though this alternative, trapped in Coldharbour, it doesn't sound much better."
"She's haunted by it," Lilith said.
She wouldn't sugar coat it.
"I see it in her eyes. But she doesn't, she doesn't let it stop her or hold her back. She's fighting back."
Hekth had dragged her eyes from the horizon, fixing them on Lilith as she spoke.
"Lilith, I know my daughter, I know that while she fights and wins, she is very weak in many aspects. One of which is her inability to be a hero," Hekth explained. "I know that your husband's curse and the breaking of it relies on her actions but-"
"Hekth, no disrespect but you and your daughter have been apart 200 years. And last I saw her, she was doing a pretty good job at being a hero. Don't underestimate her."

(Syra)
"Ugh!"
Rossara's cry was right in my ear but I couldn't help but smirk.
"He hit me with his tail again!" she grouched.
"I heard," was my response.
I cast a glance at Brynjolf who rode next to us on a borrowed horse from the Riften was trying not to smile, trying to school his features into a blank face. I rolled my eyes at him and he gave me a wink. I guess he was no longer angry at me. I was glad. I didn't care much for apologizing.
"Horses are gross," Rossara mumbled, not for the first time.
"I find it hard that you've never been on a horse," I argued. "How do you get anywhere?"
"Wagons or walking. How else?" Rossara demanded.
I heard the sound of Shadowmere's skilled tail swatting at her again and she about hissed at him.
"Why can't you ride back here?" she asked.
"Because Shadowmere doesn't like having you at the reins."
And Rossara was terrible with horses. She was too uncertain in the saddle, holding the reins too tight and her nervous energy had unnerved Shadowmere. He was use to confident riders, assassins who knew what he was for, what he was made of. And what they were doing. I'd been hesitant to let her ride with me but Brynjolf's horse didn't have Shadowmere's strength and was unable to carry two riders. . A wagon would have slowed us down. As it was, we made good time, having followed the river from Riften and we were on the outskirts of Whiterun. I was taking pains to avoid Windhelm and any areas surrounding it. Rossara was grumbling to herself, probably cursing my name. Or Shadowmere's. Distracted by the goings ons behind me, I didn't notice Brynjolf draw his mount closer to mine.
"Lass, really, we should stop at an inn soon. It will do no good to get to the cave and be hindered by saddle exhaustion," he advised. "Besides, Rossara's nerves are frayed as it is."
"Fine," I sighed. "What do you suggest?"
"We're near Whiterun. Let's double back. The Guild has a contact there that can put us up for the night."
I couldn't argue and I really didn't want to. Even I was somewhat tired.
"Lead the way," was all I said to him.

I wouldn't lie. He'd made a good call. The Meadery was warm and clean, under new management if Brynjolf's greeting was any indication. He and the owner were talking excitedly, catching up on old times, I assumed. I chose to pay them no mind as I adjusted the leather armor Zeno had provided. It had been made for someone with a bit more bulk than I but there had been no time to adjust it. Hopefully it held up until we returned to Riften. I worried about the state we'd find it in when we returned though.
"Here, lass."
Brynjolf set down a bowl of stew on the table near me.
"I'm the one who ate today," I argued.
Brynjolf rolled his eyes, smirking at me.
"I can eat later," he insisted.
"Well so can I."
He let silence fall between us, not bothering to argue with me anymore. I returned to my struggle with my armor.
"I am perfectly capable of handling myself," Brynjolf said offhandedly.
He smiled, feigning innocent, when we both knew he was anything but.
"Oh, bug off," I grumbled, sitting to the table.
I hid my annoyance behind the stew Brynjolf had bought, knowing there was no real reason to feel this way.
"Where's Rossara?" I asked.
"She's outside, probably shooting down mammoths from afar," he replied. "She needs to stretch her legs."
Or else she really was that object to my company.
"Why is she coming?" I asked.
He tried to hide it but I heard him sigh, deeply, as if to avoid fully expressing his annoyance at the doubt I put in others' motives.
"Her reasons are her own," he settled on.
I opened my mouth to call him out but he beat me to it.
"For someone who carries her own secrets all the time, you seem to have a problem when others do the same," Brynjolf remarked.
"I have no problem with secrets. So long as they don't bite me in the ass," I replied.
"Rossara's secrets are harmless...in the grand scheme of things."
I tried not to show my surprise. Or my disbelief but he saw through me, quirking his brow at me.
"You doubt me?" he asked.
"I find it hard that such a dashing rogue would have any grasp of the grand scheme of things ," I explained sarcastically.
I kicked myself for my word choice when he smiled.
"You think I'm a dashing rogue?" he teased.
"Drop it and drop it now before I rip out your tongue," I threatened and he just laughed.
"Alright," he relented when I shot him a glare. "Tell me this, when we find Lilith, when everyone's safe, what will you do? Still planning to disappear?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation.
"And then what?"
I got the feeling his questions were going to be never ending.
"What's in the cards for the illustrious Dragonborn? A husband with two kids? A successful business in one of the cities?"
"Neither. I've never had the charm for mercantile work," I explained, determined not to let him in on the fact that I really didn't have a plan past disappearing.
"I find you rather charming when you want to be," Brynjolf remarked.
I made a sound even I didn't know the meaning behind before I stood, surprising him.
"I'm going to get some sleep," I informed him.
Brynjolf made a face, as if he wasn't satisfied by our conversation, looking as though he was going to say more but I walked away before he could utter a word.

(General)
It was hard finding a perch but she managed, balancing precariously, her legs wrapped around the fur tree. She didn't know what was worse. The sticky sap that practically covered her armor or the lingering traces of horse ass. She dreaded riding that accursed horse again. Why couldn't she have ridden with Brynjolf? Her attention was drawn again to the mammoth only a few yards away. If it wandered any further from its giant masters, it would be fair game and she was going to take it down. Its dead carcass would be great bait for the wolf pack she'd scouted out only a few feet away, gnawing on the scrawny bones of an elk. In the face of all that meat, they'd be lured, shot and she'd have enough pelts to tan into leather. She summoned her bow, the magic causing a tingling in her finger tips, briefly, before she sent an arrow right through the mammoth's eye. That was all it took and the creature cried out as it went down, its giant masters raging as they realized their majestic beast had been felled. Smiling, Rossara sheathed her bow and climbed down. As soon as her feet were on the ground, she decided that she preferred the sap to the horse At least the sap came with a prize.

"How goes your planning?" she asked, joining Dyre.
As soon as she entered, the high ranked officers filed out. They weren't as influenced as Ulfric but they knew power when they saw it. It was why they did not object to Dyre's presence any longer. And hers was tolerated.
"Well," Dyre replied, his red eyes on the map. "I've sent scouts to Riften, to confirm my sister's presence."
And?" she asked, sensing the annoyance in his tone.
"Sources say that one of her known companions purchased a horse but they didn't leave from the stables," he shared with her.
"A male compatriot?"
She stretched across the map, right under his gaze, furthering his annoyance no doubt as he was forced to place his attention elsewhere.
"If you must know, yes."
"Don't worry, dear heart. She'll be yours soon," the priestess assured him. "Molag Bal ruined her life originally. Stripped her of family and friend. He will easily do so again. But if it makes you feel better, when they're found, you can drink the male into death."
Dyre grinned, revealing the slightest hint of his fangs.
"Nothing would make me happier."
"Lord Ulfric!"
The cry, annoying as it was, allowed them a chance to melt back into their positions. Dyre returned to his place at Ulfric's side, acting as though he was merely an adviser rather than the very puppet master that was leading them to ruin. And she rose from the table, the picture of dedication and advisement as well. The young guard ran into the room, excited but also fearful, a courier on his heels.
"Well?" demanded the priestess. "What do you want?"
The guard looked to Ulfric, who's blank look was akin to some expression of stoic waiting.
"The great dragon Alduin is here," the guard informed him. "He wishes to speak with you. Both of you."
The priestess nodded, a smile hidden by her mask stretching its way across her face.
"And you?" she asked the courier, sure nothing could ruin her good mood.
"I have a letter for you," he informed her. "From someone named Garan Marethi."
She couldn't help it. She glanced at Dyre, seeking his advice. But he didn't give it, his face more a mask than the one covering her face. So, she would lead from his example. Turning back to her audience, she looked first to the guard.
"Return to Alduin, tell him I shall be with him soon."
The guard didn't hesitate. He scampered out, knowing what was coming. It was the fate that had befallen all couriers that entered Windhelm, at least the ones whose deliveries coincided with Alduin's visits. He seemed to sense it, when her attention went to him, that he was going to die. Rather than speak, she took the letter.
"You have my thanks, dear boy. Tell me, from what village do you hail?" she asked.
He was scared and she could smell it, the musk of it fresh in her nose and coating her tongue.
"I-Ivarstead," he replied, voice shaking. "Why do you want to know?"
She grinned, leaning forward, voice low and husky.
"So I know where to send your body."
As she predicted, the courier ran. Or tried to. She didn't go after him, letting Dyre move, let him stretch his muscles as he lunged on the courier, his fangs ripping into the flesh of the courier's throat.
"Oh Jorleif!" she called. "We've got another one!"

He knew it. She was avoiding him, tucked away in the private bedroom, sitting on the floor, her back against the bed. Her eyes were closed and he wondered just how aware she was as he sat next to her.
"I'm not in the mood," she groaned.
Ah, one question answered.
"Then its a good thing I didn't come here for sex," he replied, his joke delivered in a serious manner.
She sighed, her eyes opening.
"What do you want?"
"I don't want you to disappear," he admitted.
The time to tease her had ended. She was exhausted, emotionally at least.
"Brynjolf," she sighed.
"I don't know why I'm helping you," he hurriedly said. "I don't know why I stuck around. In all honesty, I was content flirting with you and when I first saw you, yes, I wanted nothing more than to get you into my bed."
He looked her in the eye when he said that, seeing a flash of anger in them.
"And then, Lilith sent me to save you and when I found you, like that."
He trailed off because she'd looked away from him, clearly trying to remain in control of whatever feelings those memories stirred up.
"I stopped thinking that way. It felt wrong just to admire your body. I felt guilty and I felt as though I needed to... repent for thinking like that," he went on quickly. "I needed to make it up to you."
"You stuck around because you pitied me," she accused.
"Yes, at first."
She made a sound of disgust and started to get up but Brynjolf caught her arm, holding her in place.
"La-Syra, only at first. My desire to protect you, the reason behind it changed."
She yanked out of his grasp and he scrambled to his feet as she squared off with him.
"I don't need pity!" she hissed, absolute hatred in her eyes. "I don't even need you."
Lurking behind that hate, there was hurt as well. Brynjolf stepped closer, catching her by the shoulders and pulling her, unwillingly, into his arms, pressing his lips to hers. It wasn't romantic or smooth, as was his usual style. It was just a bit desperate but he saw no shame in that. He was in a desperate position. His hold was loose and she could have broken it easily but she didn't. Instead, she froze and he prepared himself for an inevitable knee to the jewels. Instead, she relaxed, just for a second. And then realization hit her and she pulled back and he let her go, backing up as well so that she wouldn't feel caged in. Those blue eyes stared at him in shock and he couldn't help but smile.
"Syra, I-"
"No."
There was pain in her voice and fear. She stared him down, shaking ever so slightly.
"Don't say that," she ordered. "Don't say anything like that."
She reached out, grabbing at the wall.
"Please," she begged. "I can't, I can't, I can't love anyone. Never again."
"Syra."
"No! You don't get it. I am forever tied to Coldharbour. I will never be free. Already Molag Bal has orchestrated the destruction of the family I loved. I can't watch him destroy you or anyone else."
Realization dawned on him.
"That's why you want to disappear, isn't it? Because its alright if you're alone, so long as no one else gets hurt."
"Lilith helped me and it led to trouble. She and Farkas are gone, I buried their son. I'm attached, a life is being built for me here. I barely survived the first time I lost everything. I won't make it again," she confided in him.
Brynjolf caught her wrists, bringing her close again. For someone so object, she came easily enough.
"I won't say it," he promised. "But I won't let you be alone. So, if you have to disappear, then you best believe I'm going with you. And if you try to leave me, I'll come after you."
"Molag Bal will-"
"If he takes you, he'll have to take me too," Brynjolf said. "Because I'm just now getting to see you with your defenses down. And I don't intend for it to be the last time."
"I really hope defensive down is some clean innuendo," Rossara's voice rang out.
It was like falling into cold water and Syra drew back, once again breaking from his grip.
"Ross," he scolded with a sigh.
"What?" she demanded as he turned to face her.
She was holding strips of leather in one hand, the other resting on her hip.
"Last I checked, this was our room. I have a right to be in here, moreso than you do. And if you two intend to sleep together, take it anywhere but here. I've got something to work on."
"She's right," Syra said. "Besides, I'm tired."
Brynjolf turned his smile on her.
"Get some sleep," he instructed before he backed out.
He didn't miss Rossara's look, a warning for him to be careful as well as that this time, he might be getting a little too close. She was usually right, her instincts sharp for one so young. And Brynjolf usually heeded her warnings. But this wasn't a usual situation. And he chose to ignore it.