Krosa knows she's being unreasonable. She knows it. Her gut tugs at her, her lungs constrict, her heart stings. This is not a betrayal. She knows that. But it feels like one all the same. It's not even him that's the problem. There's no good reason she should be feeling this way. There was no good reason to get so comfortable so quickly. Because in the end she's always alone, disaster in her wake.
First was whatever happened to her family. Nazir always told her it was best for her not to know, and with the look in his eyes, Krosa knew that he was only protecting her from whatever tragedy it was. Then it was Nazir himself. Then Alesan. The college, Helgen, Sinding. It all ends the same.
Even this city suffered because of her— and it will continue to do so for as long as this war draws out. The once bustling, colorful, and prosperous city is now a shadow of its former self. There are more soldiers than citizens on its streets; there are buildings that have been turned to rubble.
Why Ulfric thought using trebuchets was a good idea is beyond her. She'd heard he only used it as a warning shot— firing one shot per day to intimidate Balgruuf into submission. Why his army sitting outside the walls wasn't enough, she'll never know.
Who knows what will happen next. Maybe it's a good thing for Brynjolf to keep his distance. Maybe it's a sign.
"Well hello, Krosa," someone says from behind. "You look like you need to give someone a good thrashing."
Krosa spins around, reaching for her sword only to grab air. Shit, that's right. Ulfric still has it. She glares at the three men instead. One is older and the two younger ones look related— and there's a faint sense of recognition.
"Then I would stay away if I were you," Krosa warns. Whoever they are, she's in no mood.
The old man laughs. "I like your spirit. Our training ground is open if you would like to spar. I myself would like to test your arm if you are willing."
Krosa studies them, their familiarity undeniable.
"Who are you?" she asks when no one comes to mind.
"My name is Kodlak Whitemane, and this is Vilkas and Farkas. We've heard a lot about you." Vilkas? Krosa freezes. He's the wolf-man from the tavern. Now Krosa really does want to be left alone.
"What did you hear?" she asks, staying alert.
"Well, there's quite a lot to choose from, but I believe we first heard of you after your fight with the dragon at the western watchtower. A few of us fought by your side."
"You're the Companions." Now that she says it, she remembers the Innkeeper or Vilkas mentioning that in the tavern. She's done her best not to relive what happened there.
"I thought you would've already known that by now," Vilkas states, eyeing her critically.
"Manners, Vilkas," Kodlak says, and Vilkas grunts an apology. "So, what do you say? Will you give us the honor of trying your hand with a blade?"
What's so honorable about sparring? Krosa wonders, sizing them up. But a friendly fight does sound nice. It's also a better way to be spending her time. She doesn't know when the last time she trained was, and there's no point wallowing in her own misery. There are more important things to worry about.
"Alright," she says, and they all brighten at the word.
"Excellent!" Kodlak says, leading the way. The big man, Farkas, is only a step behind.
Vilkas waits for her to catch up with them, then says, "Fair warning. Njada and Athis will likely want a rematch."
"I'm not worried," Krosa says with a shrug. She would love to beat the shit out of them again— more thoroughly this time.
The guards' training ground in Solitude is one of the best she's been to; the Companion's training ground is nothing special, but it's not the worst either.
The Companions do not use wooden weapons to practice with, but instead have what looks like older blades with blunted edges. They also have a raised wooden platform to train on. Krosa wonders if that's all they use. If so, then facing them in the wilderness would be to her advantage. Her training consisted entirely of sand dunes and rocky terrain.
It is decided that Vilkas will go first. Neither of them know much about the other. Vilkas knows she helped take down a dragon, and he was impressed with her ability in the tavern. He won't be underestimating her. However, Krosa knows he has wolf-blood, and he doesn't know that she knows. She can use that to her advantage.
Krosa goes with a sword and shield. If he's as fast as he looks, she'll need the extra protection. Vilkas chooses a two-handed sword, and they make their way up to the platform without a word. Maybe he's not so bad after all.
"Before you start, let's go over the rules," Kodlak says, looking between the two. "Anything goes— save for magic— and that includes enchantments," he says, giving Krosa the chance to speak up. Krosa's glad she hasn't had time to enchant any of her new gear. Though I probably should get back to it. The extra layer of protection is always nice. When Krosa gives a small shake of the head, he continues, "The goal of the fight is not to injure, though it is likely to happen. An opponent can continue to fight even if disarmed. The match goes until one of you either steps out of bounds or surrenders. I will only intervene if necessary."
"Come at me with everything you have. Don't worry, I can take it," the wolf-man says. Despite her annoyance, Krosa's glad he said it. It will only add to her deception.
"Alright," she says, and the bell sounds.
Krosa leaving like that is definitely no surprise, but it's still irritating. Brynjolf knows she has a lot going on, but so does he. Granted, his problems don't even compare to a dragon that wants to conquer the world and enslave them all (again(. Maybe feeling this way makes him an ass, but he can't help it. And in any case, Brynjolf has no idea what he should be doing while he waits for her to show herself again. He doesn't even know if she plans to see him before he leaves. Maybe he should just go and not look back; she does that to him all the time.
But he stays.
Krosa's wellbeing is more important to him than he realized.
Brynjolf sighs, taking a deep breath as he knocks on the door to Etienne's room. A servant came and told him that Etienne would like to see him, and to be honest, Brynjolf nearly forgot about him again.
"Come in," a voice from inside says, and Brynjolf enters, casting Krosa from his mind. Etienne deserves some focus. Hopefully the man is faring better than on their travels. He certainly looks better. His hair is no longer matted, his skin has more color to it, and even his eyes seem less clouded. Though, he's still nothing but skin and bones.
"I brought you some soup, lad," he says, setting it down on the bedside table. "Thought you might be hungry."
"Where's the girl?" Etienne asks, bringing the bowl of soup to his lips greedily.
"She… had something important to do," Brynjolf says, trying not to sound too bitter.
Etienne finishes the soup. "You two saved me. The two… I never thanked the two of you."
"It was her mission. I only ran into her while she was doing it," Brynjolf says, taking a seat. "Is there something wrong?"
"Time. So much time. You never wondered?" Etienne asks with a cock of his head. Brynjolf hesitates. He never thought what Etienne's side would be to all of this. Was he waiting to be saved this whole time? Waiting for someone to care enough to look into things and find him? Should I lie to comfort him? But a lie would do no good in the end. The result is the same.
"We assumed you bailed," Brynjolf says slowly, watching his reaction. "Many were doing so at the time."
"Failing? The Guild is… f—failing?" He may be able to carry on a conversation much better than on their travels, but his speech pattern isn't the same as what it used to be. The Etienne he knew was always well-read and eloquent. One of his favorite past times was asking convoluted and complicated riddles, always looking for a way to rub his intelligence into their faces. Save for Gallus, Brynjolf was the only one who could match him for turn of phrase.
"I would say it's more of a decline," Brynjolf says with false cheer, "but things have stabilized. And when I return with my current haul, things should be better. I have some plans worth looking into that could—"
Etienne's eyes go wide. "Plans? I don't know anything, I swear. I was only learning. There were no plans. Brynjolf, you have to believe me, I—"
Brynjolf places a hand on his shoulder. "I know, lad. I believe you." He feels the man relax.
"I'm sorry," he says, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "I did it again. I did, didn't I?"
"Yes— but you're doing better," Brynjolf says with a reassuring squeeze, then releases his shoulder and settles back into the chair.
"Good," Etienne says, rotating the bowl in his hands. "Good. I want to get better." The bowl makes a full circle, and Etienne looks frantically around the room. Another rotation is complete, and finally Brynjolf takes the bowl from his hands. Etienne looks sheepish.
"You will get better, lad. Just be patient," Brynjolf says, placing the bowl back onto the end table. He does not show any sort of judgement or emotion. Even if it is disturbing. What did they do to you? Etienne gives him a small smile, hands twisting the fabric of his blanket.
"Thank you. You're good at this. The others don't understand." His hands clench into fists, and Brynjolf struggles to keep looking chipper.
"Yes, well, I've had practice— and you don't sound much different than Delvin when he's drunk."
Etienne laughs. "Yes. He was always so much fun. Oh, I miss them."
He doesn't know if anyone in the Guild feels the same. It's been several months since he disappeared. Since the Thalmor got him, he says to himself. The correction may not be necessary, but still he finds the distinction important. To the others it certainly would be. None of them have a desire to allow anyone who ditched to come back if things get better. When they get better.
"You're welcome back whenever you want. I'll explain it to the rest."
"No. I don't want to go back," Etienne says, leaning forward. "They're nasty there. They hurt me and make me bleed. And the darkness, the pain—"
"Easy, lad. I meant the Guild, not the Embassy," Brynjolf says slowly, rising to gently push Etienne back down onto the bed. Maybe it's best for him to catch up on some sleep. Brynjolf has found on their travels that Etienne sleeps best when told to. Etienne allows him to do it, but Brynjolf can still feel how tense he is. "I can even work out a deal with Vex and Delvin so you'll only do jobs in Riften. You won't have to travel at all."
"Getting there is dangerous," Etienne murmurs, eyes closed. "Dragons… there's dragons. And fire and black and cold. No. I don't want to go anywhere. They're everywhere. Always watching. Esbern said they would be."
Brynjolf pauses, lifting his hands off the trembling man. "You knew Esbern?" He doesn't answer. "Etienne—"
"Secrets. So many secrets. I didn't give them any, I swear!" He rises up again, nearly colliding with Brynjolf.
"I believe you," Brynjolf says quickly, and Etienne slumps, falling back into the bed.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be, lad. It's only been a few days. You—"
"I don't trust her."
Brynjolf hesitates. "Who, Krosa?"
Etienne shakes his head. "The one with the questions. I don't like her questions. All she wants to talk about is them. She doesn't like it when I don't answer."
Brynjolf opens his mouth to reply, but Etienne keeps plowing forward.
"Trust. I don't think I can. Esbern said to only trust the Dragonborn, and she doesn't understand. I don't think I can."
Brynjolf gives it a moment before answering, "You knew Esbern, lad?" He hopes asking the second time around will be more successful.
"He's the one who told me."
"Told you what?"
"The secrets."
Well, that didn't work.
Etienne's head snaps up. "Footsteps. She's coming. You need to hide!" he whispers, gesturing under the bed.
"Surely she won't mind you having a—"
Etienne shakes his head. "I can't tell you, but you can see. If you stay, you can see. I trust you." Brynjolf hesitates. "Hurry!"
With a string of curses, Brynjolf launches himself under the bed. As soon as he's settled, the door bursts open.
"Who are you talking to?" the woman's gruff voice demands.
"The shadows."
"Are they talking back?"
There's a pause. "No."
"Good. Then you haven't completely lost it." Brynjolf hears the chair creak as she settles into it. This should be interesting.
The Companions are far from incompetent. Only three matches in, and Krosa feels herself tiring. All have lasted longer than she planned, and with everything going on she hasn't had much time to train. She calls for a break and leaves the platform to grab some water, studying those she fought.
Vilkas's speed and cunning exceeded her expectations and nearly cost her the match. He put her on the defensive for a while, and from her time in Skyrim, Krosa learned the Nords hate that. But Krosa isn't a Nord, nor has she trained like one. The Alik'r train to counter and react, relying on using their opponent's force and power against them. An Alik'r's opponent is a boulder, and the Alik'r themself a river.
Despite his skills, he was overwhelmed with her current. Once his sword was knocked out of his hands, he yielded.
The two drunkards were next, deciding to take her on together. Njada fights like a typical Nord, but Athis is more agile and limber. Krosa knows that if she faced them one on one, they wouldn't stand a chance. But together, they are more of a challenge. They seem to know each other well, and fight like one person. The match consisted of Krosa dodging and weaving between them, doing what she can to use them against each other. They nearly landed a hit several times, but ultimately Krosa was able to push them outside the ring before they could
Her eyes go to the big man, Farkas. His strength and stamina matches her own, but his hardiness far exceeds her. Defeating him in a full-on fight was out of the question. But once she changed tactics and focused more on outmaneuvering and using his own massive strength against him, he was outmatched.
Krosa brings the cup to her lips. Despite fighting better sober than drunk, Njada and Athis can't even hold a candle to the brothers. Ultimately, it was Vilkas's reliance on being cunning that cost him the match. If Krosa had to choose which of the brothers she would bet on, it would be Farkas.
"He also has wolf-blood."
"I know." It wasn't hard to guess that they both have it. She wonders if it's a secret kept between them.
"The elder one has it as well, though it's harder to tell." That she didn't know. Krosa eyes Kodlak, doing her best to keep her face blank. She never would have guessed. It could also mean more of them have the blood. Sinding always made it seem like a curse, but to them it may be a gift of some kind. Maybe they're not as unreligious as they seem. Sinding did mention a group who worshipped the blood.
If the dragon didn't say anything, Krosa would not have been able to even guess what they were— and Krosa knows there's more like them roaming Tamriel. Stories told of people's friends who turn out to be werewolves are only beaten by those who turn out to be vampires.
Krosa can see a pattern between the wolves. They're quicker than they should be, stronger, hardier, and their senses are uncanny. If she wasn't already prepared for it, she likely would have lost the first match. If she had run into anyone like them before, it could have proven fatal. Sinding surprised her a few times, despite being no good in a fight.
"Am I able to do that?" Krosa asks, taking another drink of the water. Being able to sense them would keep her from being caught unaware. Her dragon doesn't answer. Krosa tries not to be annoyed.
"Eventually," he finally says. Krosa waits for more, but he doesn't give her any. She puts her cup down and heads back to the training platform.
"I have time for one more match, if you want," Krosa says, looking Kodlak in the eye. He seems to be the leader, and despite his age, his body is as well-toned as the others. Njada and Athis express an interest in trying again, but Krosa wants to see what he can do.
"No, thank you," he says with a smile, "I'm sure you're feeling worn out and I want to fight you at your best."
"I'm always at my best," Krosa says, knowing she may eat those words. She doesn't doubt that he'd be difficult, but she can already feel the promise of victory pumping through her veins. Besides, her body longs for it and her mind is calm for once. She feels better than ever.
"Dragons love combat, so it's no surprise." Before Krosa can reply, Kodlak sighs.
"Very well," he says, and the glint in his eyes makes Krosa wonder if he was looking for an answer like that.
Krosa retrieves her sword and thoroughly dented shield. Making a split-second decision, she replaces the shield with another sword. The last time she fought with dual blades was in the Arena. These swords are not made for it like scimitars are, but she can make do. A shield only slows her down and draws out a fight, and her arms are tired enough as is.
Kodlak chooses a sword and full-body shield. Krosa smirks. He waited for me to choose on purpose. When they get onto the platform, he doesn't wait for the bell to sound. Krosa's muscles move for her, her brain a few steps behind. She's able to dodge the attack, but misses the opening he gave her when he lunged. For someone so concerned with honor, he certainly doesn't baulk at playing dirty. She stores that thought for later and counters his attack, managing to remain on the offensive.
Soon it becomes apparent that it's impossible for Krosa to outmaneuver him when he has the shield. She's tried from all angles, and still he persists in beating her off. Her attempts to push him out of the bounds like she did to Farkas also proves futile.
Krosa's glad that she decided to switch things up and replace her shield. In just a few matches, he has clearly been able to study how she moves. Despite the change in weapons, Krosa has yet to land a successful hit. Kodlak has yet to hit her, but so far he is winning the match. Krosa can feel exhaustion worming its way in, chipping away at her speed and strength. When he attacks next, she changes her rhythm.
The Alik'r are fond of dancing, and their fighting style reflects that. A snake is flexible and unpredictable, quick and decisive. That is the animal she chooses to emulate. Spinning is a risk, but it can be effective if done right, same with the wide stances, and arcing swings of the blade.
Speed. Momentum. Grace. With the change, Krosa also gains more of an advantage. He can no longer predict her movements, and despite Kodlak's shield providing excellent cover, there are some drawbacks. He moves slower, his footsteps are heavier, and Krosa finds her opening.
Dropping a sword and lunging under the swing of his blade, Krosa finally gets past his shield. She wrenches the sword out of his hand and stops behind him. He recovers, moving to counter-strike, but his foot lands on Krosa's discarded blade and he stumbles.
Krosa moves in for the kill.
Kodlak moves just in time, shield coming between her and him at just the right angle. Krosa's sword flies out of her hand, the impact still vibrating through her arm. Krosa curses. Either he had one last burst of speed in him or he was exaggerating his fatigue. Either way, Krosa is now weaponless. He slams his shield into her, and she's thrown onto her back. If this was a real battle, that wouldn't be a problem.
Kodlak doesn't press his advantage, instead motioning her to get to her feet. He doesn't even go for any of the blades. It seems he's intent on learning how she would get past his shield. This isn't a real match for him, Krosa realizes, this is a test of some kind. Or maybe it's just a Nord's sense of damn pride. Knowing he won't attack while she's on the ground, she takes her time.
Magic isn't allowed, but the Voice is not magic. The Greybeards drilled that fact into her, and Nords seem to respect it. She can already feel the power bubbling up inside of her. The rush, the adrenaline. The absolute— world seems to slow as it builds and builds. It would only be right. The words burn in her throat.
"Use it."
"He is beneath you."
"Show him the power you truly possess."
Well, that answers that. The words die, turning to ashes on her tongue, leaving her throat dry. She ignores anything that bubbles below the surface.
"Why do they want me to win?"
"You losing to anyone they consider beneath you would be an insult to them. If someone can beat you, it means that someone could defeat them as well. And if you give in to their demands, they're one step closer to taking control of you."
Krosa knows what she needs to do.
"I yield," she says, nearly choking on the words. The weight of disappointment is crushing. Krosa hasn't lost a fight in years. She comforts herself with the thought that this wasn't a real fight, but even so it damages what little pride she has. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before turning to get off the platform. She refuses to look at the others.
"I do not accept." Kodlak says, and Krosa comes to a stop. "Come at me one more time. Don't hold back."
Krosa will most certainly hold back, but there is one other move she could do.
"No," Krosa says before she changes her mind. "The only move I would try will injure you." Krosa's done it before in the Arena, but she destroyed the man's arm in the process. It was a risky and desperate move. His arm never healed properly, and he could never fight in the Arena again. The outcome would likely be the same, though that's only if it works.
"I am old, not frail," Kodlak says with a grin.
"I can see that. It may injure me too if I fail or don't do it right."
"Very well," He says, lowering his guard, "but I must admit I am curious."
"You've already learned a lot about how I fight. I don't want you to know all of my secrets." The fact does bother her, but the likelihood of ever seriously fighting them is low to nothing. Besides, this was fun. She's never fought for fun before.
"Yes, you did give us a good show. Tell me, is there anything you would do differently next time?"
"It sounds like you have something in mind," Krosa says, crossing her arms.
Kodlak smirks. "You are overwhelmingly talented, yes, but even you have a limit." He drops his shield and massages his arm. "You were fighting against that limit the whole match. If I were a real opponent, the smarter option would have been to retreat."
Krosa raises an eyebrow. "If you were a real opponent, I wouldn't have followed your rules."
Their spectators laugh at that, talking amongst each other. Krosa drowns them out again. The match may be over, but she has no interest in what they may say. It will be the same as always.
"That's true enough, I suppose," the old man says, "and I am impressed by your judgment and restraint, but I do encourage you to remember—"
"Lighten up, Kodlak, you don't need to turn everything into a lesson," a red-headed woman who was not there before says. Krosa recognizes her from after the dragon battle, but doesn't remember her name.
"Life is a lesson, Aela, and you should never stop learning from it."
Aela smirks, giving a small bow. "If you say so, Harbinger."
Kodlak only raises an eyebrow before turning back to Krosa. The group has already started to break up. Krosa moves to pick up her fallen swords, but Kodlak stops her.
"No. Njada and Athis will clean that up. They are still being punished with menial tasks," he says, and the two drunkards immediately move to do as he says. Athis even offers her a smile when they pass. Kodlak gestures to her. "Come, follow me. There is something I would like to discuss with you."
By the time they take a seat at the table, Krosa has a fair idea of what he would want to talk to her about.
"You're going to offer me a place with you," she says, and Kodlak smiles knowingly as the brothers come to join them.
"Strong and smart. You're a woman after my own heart," Aela says from behind. The others shoot her a look. "What?"
"Ignore her. She's drunk," Vilkas says, taking a seat. "Probably got into a fight with Skjor again."
Kodlak ignores them, his eyes boring into hers. "You're right. As I said before, we've heard a lot about you. Aela suggested it after the dragon attack, but we never saw you. Then Vilkas came to me after the tavern incident," he says with a knowing smile. "That was recommendation enough. He never likes new recruits, no matter how promising."
"Hey—" Vilkas starts, but his brother interrupts with a hand to his shoulder.
"It's true, brother."
"Yeah," Athis says from across the yard, "you're kind of an ass."
Kodlak sighs. "I suppose it's best to get to the point and stop wasting your time. Would you like to call yourself a Companion and join our ranks?"
Krosa's heart sinks. It should be flattering that so many people want her to join them, but that can't be farther from the truth. The idea of joining anyone has always been one Krosa has disliked. There's something different this time, but Krosa shakes off the thought.
"No. I— I can't."
"Is there a reason, if you don't mind my asking?"
"I have… other responsibilities at the moment. Even if I wanted to—" And Krosa realizes that she does want to. That's what is different. Why can't she make up her mind? Tears sting her eyes, and for once she succeeds in keeping them there. Kodlak is silent for a time, studying her. Krosa wonders if now would be a good time to leave, but he speaks before she can.
"I recognize your fighting style, and I detect traces of an accent. You come from Hammerfell, is that right?"
Krosa narrows her eyes. "So?"
"I was in Hammerfell for a time before my predecessor, Askar, found me and brought me here. I was working for some weak-necked lord out there. I believe I don't have to tell you how different the philosophies of Nords and Redguards are. I didn't know true honor, and I had no family to call my own… When Askar brought me to Skyrim, I realised he had brought me home," he says with a far-off look in his eyes. "Like most of our band, I found a family here. And no matter how far we go on our journeys or how long we are gone, that will never change."
When he finishes, he gives Krosa a look, expecting something.
Krosa blinks. "What does that have to do with—"
"He's saying that it doesn't matter where you come from or where you go. This could be your home, and maybe it was always meant to be that way," Farkas says, looking off at the setting sun.
"Well said, Farkas," Kodlak says, a tinge of surprise in his voice, and shock in his eyes.
Vilkas leans in, drawing her eyes to him. "To make it even simpler for you, we are offering to make you an honorary Companion. Whenever you're in Whiterun, you will be welcome to eat and train with us. There will also be a bed and jobs available for you, if you so please. When you're fully ready to commit, you will take the vows in a ceremony and have to follow certain rules. Then you can rise up within our ranks and earn more for each job."
"What are the rules?"
"It sums up to only doing things that could bring honor to us and yourself. I doubt we have to explain it all to you," Vilkas says, and Krosa tries to keep her face blank. She would like more of an explanation, but she's not going to push it. Not at the moment, at least.
"What do you get from this?" she asks, looking between the three of them. So far, there's no red flags, but Krosa doesn't want to take too many chances.
"The honor of your company, and your shield at our side," Kodlak states, and they all give her a small smile— save for Farkas, but his mind seems to be on something else entirely.
"What do you think? Should I do it?"
"You don't have to turn to me to make a decision," her dragon says, disapproval tainting his voice. "But it's always good to have allies. They may stink like a mongrel, but they seem to be honest."
Brynjolf did encourage her to try and make friends. His advice for the Ulfric problem could also ring true in this case. However, this is different from Ulfric's offer. There really is nothing more to this. Krosa does her best not to doubt it.
"I accept, but I— I may never do the… vow thing."
Farkas smirks. "That's what Skjor said," he says, then promptly gets elbowed by his brother.
"I am glad to hear it," Kodlak says, giving the two of them a look. "Now that that's decided, would you like to feast with us? I'm sure we've beaten a hunger into you, and we always have plenty to go around."
Krosa shakes her head and gets to her feet. "Thank you, but there's somewhere I need to be." If Brynjolf hasn't left yet, then he will be soon. Krosa doesn't want to risk missing him. She doubts he'll wait, not after all she's put him through these last few days.
"At the very least let us introduce you to the others," Kodlak says, "Then you can take food and go. It shouldn't take long… whenever food is involved everyone is punctual."
Krosa considers it. She is starving, and she can smell whatever's cooking from here. Facing Brynjolf on an empty stomach is also not the greatest idea. Her face flames at the reminder, and prays to whatever god that is listening that that doesn't happen ever again.
"Alright," she says, and they head inside.
"What," the voice says, taking a breath "is the music," another breath, "of life?"
"Silence, my brother," Nazir responds with a roll of his eyes. Babette's in charge of guarding the door today, it seems. She always uses the same password, and anyone else would have seen it was him and opened right up. They also don't try to disguise their voice. The door slowly opens, and the screaming skull is replaced with Babette's dark grin.
"You're back early," she says brightly. As brightly as a murderous vampire child can, at least.
"It's nice to see you too, Babette," Nazir says, pushing past her. She follows him, only a step behind.
"Astrid said I could keep him, but only for a little while."
"Good. He may be of use to me still." He doesn't need to turn around to see the triumph sparking in her eyes.
"See, Nazir? That's why you should listen to me more often! What would you have done if I didn't insist on keeping him alive?" Babette says as they reach the end of the hall, she stops there, having gotten in trouble one too many times for abandoning her post.
"Alive is a loose term," he calls back to her, not stopping. "I'm not sure it entirely applies to the state he's in."
"You know what I mean!" she shouts, before stomping back to the door in a huff.
"Oh, good. You're back!" a slithering voice says, and Nazir turns to see the glint of dark green scales emerging from the shadows. "I've been waiting for a rematch."
"Later, Veezara. I have more important things to do."
"Rude," the lizard says, before slipping back into the shadows. Nazir sighs. The Brotherhood is always less active in winter. Being in such close proximity to each other for extended periods of time is usually frowned upon. They have a tendency to want to kill each other, and Nazir's glad that hasn't happened yet. That he's heard of.
But that may change if they keep getting in his way. He has to fend off Gabriella and Festus as well, cutting them off before they even start. What is with everyone today? he wonders, scowling. Why can't anyone mind their own damned business?
Nazir passes Arnbjorn on his way to Astrid's office, and the man only gives him a grunt in acknowledgement. Arnbjorn always was his favorite, even if he is nothing but Astrid's glorified lap-dog.
"Back already, Nazir?" Astrid says when he finally reaches her office. "Did you get what you needed?"
"Almost," Nazir says, collapsing into a chair. "I have to question Babette's new pet again." It'll be more of a chore than fun this time around, but it needs to happen nonetheless.
"I'll save you the trouble," she says, kicking her feet up and onto the desk. "They're here in Falkreath— Helgen, to be more precise."
"What? How—Why—"
"You usually don't care about anything, Nazir. Much less children. We were worried— and some were bored," she adds with a smirk.
"How many of you were involved in this?" Nazir asks, not believing what he's hearing. Maybe that's why they were all eager to speak with him. And he shot them all down without a second thought.
"All of us." Astrid says, and Nazir doesn't know what the feeling rising in his chest is, but it better not be anything soft or fluttery. Astrid smirks again, then continues. "Not to mention the word of them has been growing, taking our fame with it. So you see, it's the Brotherhood's problem as well as yours."
"I—" Nazir tries, not knowing what to say. "Tha—"
Astrid laughs, waving him off as she gets to her feet. "Don't bother with thanks, Nazir. It doesn't suit you. Now, do you want to go in alone, or take some of us with you?"
"I was planning on infiltrating their ranks," Nazir says. He's been planning how he would do it the whole way back.
Astrid scoffs. "Do you have that much time to waste?" she asks, and Nazir admits that she has a point. Besides, the rest of them have blades itching for blood. It will be better for them to be covered in the blood of enemies than each other's.
"I need the leader alive."
"Done."