Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the responsible parties. Anything you don't recognize probably belongs to someone else. The particular way I've filed off this tale's serial numbers, though, is totally mine, and I'll be a mite ticked off if someone tries to claim it as theirs. That said, please don't sue me over anything in this fic. I don't even own my own soul anymore, so all you'd get is a bunch of legal fees.

A/N: Finally we see the Dragonborn's POV.

Warnings: Same as for chapter one.


Chapter Three: Nick

Even over the shouting of the dragons, the only thing Nick could hear was the singular thought, It's done. It's done. It's finally fucking over and done with. She'd never felt so thrice-damned tired in her life, and she was almost positive she should have been broken, bruised, and bleeding from that fight with Alduin in Sovngarde, but she only felt tired.

She pushed aside the exhaustion, however, trading some conversation with Paarthurnax for her rapidly-diminishing last reserves of strength. Odahviing, too, had some words to trade with her, but neither dragon stuck around long enough for her to beg a lift back down the mountain.

Would it count as ironic or merely tragic to survive Alduin only to freeze to death? the thought flickered at the edges of her mind as she put one foot in front of the other, trudging down the mountainside, only pausing every so often to Shout the winds away.

Weighted down with snow and fatigue, it was nearly dark by the time she rounded the last bend in the path and spotted High Hrothgar – it had been midday when she'd set out. It took the last ounce of her endurance to pull one of the courtyard doors open. She took two steps inside, the door banging loudly shut behind her, and collapsed onto the floor.


She woke alone in the room she'd always been given to use when at the monastery. On the bedside table were a steaming mug of the herbal tea the monks preferred, along with a large bowl of thick stew – likewise still hot – and a half-loaf of bread, proving she hadn't been alone too awfully long. Whoever had found her had managed to wrangle her out of her dragonscale armor and into a thick bedgown. Six months ago, and I'd be offended. Now, I'm simply grateful.

She ate, more quickly than she should have, but couldn't help herself. The food, though bland, was hot and filling and did as much to restore her as the sleep had. She was just finishing when the door cracked open, paused, then opened more fully.

Master Arngeir stepped in. "You gave us quite a scare, Dragonborn."

Nick winced a little. "Sorry, sir. I don't really remember much about getting here, though." She sat the empty bowl back on the bedside table and met the old man's eyes with her own.

Arngeir blinked at her. "I can see it in your eyes – you've seen the land of the gods and returned. Does this mean… Is it done? Is Alduin truly defeated?"

Nick shrugged. "I removed the threat he posed to us all, but can such a being as he is ever truly be defeated? It's like trying to kill death, isn't it?"

Arngeir nodded. "Perhaps you are right, Dragonborn. He may be allowed to return at the end of time to fulfill his destiny as the World-Eater. But," he favored her with a small smile, "that is for the gods to decide. You have done your part, and for that, you have our gratitude."

"Has that irritating, paranoid, idiot-woman tried anything while I was gone?" she asked. "I didn't get the chance to ask Paarthurnax."

Arngeir chuckled at her description of Delphine. "No, Dragonborn. The last two fragments of the Blades have not returned since the peace conference ended. I doubt they will – you rather made your opinion quite clear to them, though I must ask: Was it absolutely necessary for you to break the woman's jaw? I'll admit I do not like her, but such an act seemed like overkill."

Nick grinned, the expression all teeth, and said, "She's lucky I didn't break her thrice-damned neck. The absolute nerve of that bitch! The entire time I'd been saddled with dealing with her had consisted of her doing nothing but getting in my way and causing problems, and then she had the gall to order me – not even ask, but order me – to kill someone who'd been nothing but helpful!"

"Peace, Dragonborn," Arngeir interrupted the rant before it could devolve into the farcical. "I will chalk the matter up to your draconic tendency towards extreme violence. One can but hope your reactions become less volatile with age and experience."

"I've said it before, Master Arngeir, but it bears repeating: I respect your dedication to peace, and regret that circumstances make it so that I can only rarely travel in your footsteps." She sighed. "Hopefully, now that Alduin's likely getting the granddaddy of all dressing-downs from Akatosh himself, circumstances will change and allow me to stay on your path for longer."

"That is my wish, as well, Dragonborn," Arngeir replied. "Will you be staying with us long?"

Nick shook her head. "I wish I could, but someone should go down and tell the squabbling children they can go back to what they were doing."

"I must admit that I'm surprised you didn't take a side in the fight."

"When I first learned about it, I wanted to. But the more I learned about what was going on, the less I felt I could support either side. The Stormcloaks, though I'm on their side regarding independence and the right to worship any god they wish, are inexcusably racist to my way of thinking. On the other side, the Empire is far too involved with placating the Aldemeri Dominion to ever be able to gain my respect." She chuckled, the sound dark and, frankly, draconic. "I'm half-tempted to start an army of my own. Follow in Tiber Septum's footsteps. What's the Dominion gonna do about it if I do? Cry?" She saw the alarm in the Greybeard's face and shook her head. "I said half-tempted. I'm not going to, not unless there comes a day when that's the only option left to me. I don't like leading. Never have. I'll leave that to the folks who enjoy it. I'd much rather be free to go my own way."

"And what way will that be?"

Nick's thoughts flashed over to the Guild waiting in Riften. "I don't know," she said, her heart aching to go home, but knowing that all that waited for her there was heartbreak as Brynjolf studiously avoided her. "With any luck at all, it'll be one that lets me fade into obscurity."

Was it her imagination, or did Arngeir seem relieved at that? He simply nodded, however. "Sky above, voice within," he said, moving to step out of the room.

"Breath and focus," Nick replied.

He paused just over the threshold. "Oh, I nearly forgot. You've got a visitor. They're waiting in the library." Arngeir didn't wait for her reply before shutting the door quietly behind him.

"A visitor?" Nick muttered, pulling herself out of the warm furs on her bed. She rummaged in the armoire, taking note that whoever had stripped her of her armor had likewise taken the time to hang it up properly. She found woolen leggings and a thick fishermans' sweater she'd purchased in Dawnstar and wasted little time in changing into them. The sweater – a light grayish-purple – had been knitted with a man in mind, and so it came down nearly to her knees. Shoving her feet into her sheepskin slippers, she ran a hand through her hair and figured that was good enough.

She grabbed the dirty dishes off of the bedside table, then headed out into the monastery itself. She deposited the dishes in the kitchen on her way past, exchanging a wave of greeting with Bolli, who was busy kneading a giant ball of dough.

I'm gonna smack Lydia right back to Whiterun for this, she griped to herself. I've told her and told her and told her that I don't need a tagalong, that she'd serve me best by making sure Breezehome stays occupied. But does she listen? Fuck no.

Her brain skipped tracks as she rounded a corner and emerged into the library.

Lydia hadn't followed her.

Sitting in a chair next to a brazier of hot coals, wrapped in a snow-bear pelt, and focusing intently on a beginner's book on Dovahzul, was Brynjolf.

Nick closed her eyes, convinced she was hallucinating, counted slowly to ten, then opened them again.

The scene remained the same, save that the man was now turning a page.

She was never sure if it was because she'd made some sort of strangled sound or if it was simply because he'd sensed her presence, but he looked up.

For an endless moment, all either could do was stare.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Brynjolf rose to his feet, the book he'd been studying falling to land on the arm of the chair. The snow-bear fur slid off his shoulders as he took a tentative step towards her.

That was enough to break the tension. He covered the intervening distance in three quick strides, fast enough that Nick couldn't have escaped, even had she wanted to.

Without a word, he pulled her into his arms. She felt him shivering even as her pulse quickened and her mind blanked out under a sudden flood of hope. He held her tightly, almost too tightly, with one arm around her waist, and the other up high enough its hand was tangled in her hair. A random thought that it was time to cut her hair flashed through her mind, but was immediately forgotten as Brynjolf buried his face against her neck and she realized he wasn't shivering. He was weeping.

He'd pinned her arms to her sides, so there was little she could do, other than speak. "Bryn?" she asked, trying to pack all her hope and confusion into that single syllable.

"You're alive," he breathed, raising gooseflesh on her neck. "You're alive," he repeated, his voice thick. "Thank all the gods that are or ever were, you're alive." It was all he could say for an indeterminably long time.

Eventually, her hope-fueled confusion had had enough. She wormed a hand between them and pushed, firmly but gently. Brynjolf took the cue and loosened his hold on her, allowing her to take a half-step back. One hand wound up on her shoulder, the other on her hip. Nick reached up and carefully wiped the tears from his face with her thumbs. Steeling herself for possible rejection, she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him.


A/N2: Again, I hope I've managed to convey things properly. Don't be shy, either, about pointing out if I've spelled something wrong. This is my first foray into this fandom, after all.