A significant amount of mead later (Svala had lost count after bottle 5), she was stumbling drunk into the woods searching for a pond. She was warm (probably from all the alcohol she'd consumed) and Ralof and her other drinking companions had started brawling each other back at camp. Normally she'd participate in the fighting, but given her tumultuous mood she didn't trust herself not to take things too far. Besides, Galmar kept glaring at her, scowling each time she spoke or moved (and she really didn't trust herself not to attack him again) and had just informed them that come morning they would be taking Fort Sungard. A swim would help her clear her head.

There was a small secluded pond not too far from camp, luckily for her. After scanning the area and deeming it free of all threats, Svala peeled off her Stormcloak armor and sunk into the cool water. The frigid temperature made her gasp as it hit her skin, but after a few moments she could feel the tension in her muscles begin to lessen. She submerged herself fully, feeling various species of longfin brush against her feet and legs. It was the only moment of peace she had had to herself in as long as she could possibly remember.

And then the spell was broken.

There was the sound of snapping branches from the tree line and instantly Svala stiffened, alert once more. She listened intently- no growling, so she could rule out wolves or bears. Probably human then. Forsworn? Bandits? She swam to the water's edge to collect a weapon.

"I've been looking for you," she could hear a muffled voice say from the forest. Of course, a damn courier. Honestly, it would be impressive how they always managed to track her down, if it wasn't so annoying. "Got something I'm supposed to deliver to you- for your eyes only."

"Leave it on the ground and then go," she said, already placing her sword back in its sheath and descending back into the pond.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, lass." Svala straightened- there was something familiar about this particular courier. But no, it couldn't be... To her horror, he continued, reading her own words back to her. "'Bryn, I'm sorry. The road ahead is too dangerous and I must go it alone. Maybe in another life we will meet again. Your Lala.'"

She must've been drunker than she thought if she was imagining Brynjolf there, with her, in the Reach, posing as a courier. Her guilt, Ulfric's dismissal, her confusion, all rolled into one specter in the shape of him. "Go away," she slurred, shaking her wet head like a dog as she squinted towards the sound of his voice. "You're not real."

"Ah, someone's been hitting the mead." Sure enough, Brynjolf stepped out of the shadows, illuminated only by the light of the moon. He was dressed as a courier (she had never remembered seeing him without his leather Guild armor on) in a simple tunic and pants. Even in the dark, his smug smirk was easy to see. "Never could hold your liquor, lass."

Shit. He really was there. "You shouldn't be here."

"You left me alone in a field, Lala," Brynjolf continued on as though she hadn't spoken. "With that pitiful note. I don't see you for three years and you tell me you're the Dragonborn before, what? A quick shag and then a disappearing act?" Even in her impaired state she could hear the hurt seeping into his words. "And you really thought I wouldn't come looking?"

"So you've been what? Stalking me?" She went to stand up from the water before remembering her state of undress. Instead, she submerged herself deeper, leaving only her head visible.

"I prefer following," Brynjolf shrugged. "You made it rather easy by cooking those books in Windhelm- led me right to you. I knew I hadn't sent anyone down there to do those jobs."

"Windhelm?" Svala frowned. Had he been there when Corrium captured her? When she took in Sofie? Had he seen her with Ulfric? "I never saw you in Windhelm."

"Of course you didn't," he winked at her. "You were too busy in the palace. Friends in high places, eh?"

She could feel herself blushing and dipped her head underneath the surface to hide it. Maybe Brynjolf didn't know the full extent of her relationship with Ulfric, but he definitely suspected. She knew him well enough to know that. When she resurfaced, Brynjolf was sitting at the pond's edge, close enough to touch. "I'm in his army. I wouldn't call us friends."

He hummed thoughtfully before reaching out a hand to her. "Come on out now. Can't have you dying of fever."

"No," she mumbled petulantly. As Brynjolf went to grab her arm, she surged forward and grabbed him by the tunic, pulling him in with her. He let out a muffled sound of surprise before spluttering and splashing around her while she laughed wildly. "You got your letter all wet," he grumbled at her with a playful glint in his eye. "So don't go shooting the messenger now. You have quite the reputation among couriers, you know. They practically sobbed in relief when I offered to bring it to you."

"There was a real letter?" Svala splashed more water at him with a huff. "Huh. Who knew you were actually useful for something?"

"That's it," Brynjolf declared, grabbing her by the waist and dragging her to shore. She half heartedly fought him the entire (albeit short) swim, secretly too inebriated to push him away. She craved a pair of arms around her (and maybe more). Once upon solid ground, he threw her unceremoniously onto the dirt before standing up and removing his wet clothes. Before removing his trousers, however, he retrieved a wad of wet parchment from his pocket before pulling a face and tossing it onto the ground. "Well, that's not going to do us any favors now. But I remember what it said- someone named 'D' is at an old Blades temple with Esbern. You apparently need to learn the 'dragonrend' Shout to defeat Alduin, who if I'm remembering correctly, is the doomsday dragon. Does any of that mess make any sense to you?"

If anything could damper her spirits when she was lying naked in front of a man, thinking of Alduin and Delphine would be the thing to do it. She groaned internally, swearing she would sort things out when she was sober. "Yes, and that's the last I'll say on it." She eyed his naked form in front of her hungrily; he wasn't nearly as big as Ulfric (in all aspects) but he was lithe and strong (and large where it counted). His cock was already starting to swell from his eyes on her naked form- it made her grow damp. "I'm not in the mood for talking anyway."

Her hand slid up the expanse of his chest to his neck where she instantly paused. He was wearing some kind of a circular amulet. The question was, though, whose amulet? Zenithar? Maybe praying for some extra coin? That itself was odd- Brynjolf never cared much for religion or the divines. Hell, she had always felt the same until learning she was Dragonborn and feeling an odd kinship with Talos. No, not Zenithar. There was a tiny gem in the center.

"It's an amulet of Mara," He said softly. "We need to talk, lass."

The mead was still making her warm and relaxed and did nothing to quell her impulsive urges. In fact, the pleasant buzz of alcohol in her system only served to egg her on. As quickly as she could manage, she stumbled to her knees before surging forward and capturing Brynjolf's thickening cock between her lips. He let out a strained groan before placing a hand on her head, trying to push her away. "Damnit Lala, I want to do this-"

She removed herself from him with a wet pop before saying, "You wanted to talk, so talk. I'm listening," and then placing her lips around the head of his cock and sucking hard. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his shaft and she could feel his reverberating moan. He staggered backwards, and the hand in her hair pulled for support.

"There's a bounty- ah, fuck- out for you in Rif- yes, so good- Riften," Brynjolf managed to moan out brokenly as he lightly began thrusting his hips into her mouth. She could taste as he slowly began to leak into her mouth and she used her tongue to savor it- he started to whine in pleasure, his hips moving faster. There was something just so alluring about having the silver tongued Guild master become a babbling fool at her touch. Her hands idly stroked his shaft up and down while her mouth continued to suckle him. "Thal-thaaaal- fuck, Svala, I'm close, stop-"

She removed her mouth quickly, Trearil's image flashing to the forefront of her mind as Brynjolf let out a whimper of her name and came onto the earth around them. Suddenly she felt sick and wrapped her arms tightly around her quickly cooling flesh. "It's been a while since I've had someone service me that well," he said apologetically with a roguish wink, mistaking her silence as disappointment. "Just give us a breather and then we can continue where we left off."

"Which Thalmor?" She asked him, searching for her armor. "Was there a name attached to the bounty?"

"Elenwen I think," Brynjolf frowned at her sudden shift in mood. "Lass, it'll be alright. The Guild has put a stop to any and all who were dumb enough to try and take the bait, and if I catch wind of any that do come sniffing...well...Astrid owes Delvin a few favors. You're safe, lass. I couldn't protect you once, but I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you again."

She wanted to believe him, but Svala knew better. Sobriety was coming back to her with the force of a giant's club. It would make sense if Elenwen was looking for her since she had looted her embassy and killed most of her forces, but she knew that Trearil was still involved in some way. "Is that what you came here to tell me? To warn me about the bounty?"

"Yes and no," he said, watching as she dressed with her back turned to him before stopping her as she attempted to braid her wet hair. "Let me." His hands massaged the top of her head, soothing where he had pulled on her scalp just moments before, sending tingles down her spine. Brynjolf separated her long hair into sections before starting to braid, while speaking directly into her ear. "The amulet, lass. You showed me one once and I was a damn fool. I thought I was too old for you, that you deserved a proper husband who could give you a simple life. I thought that's what you wanted, what you needed. I didn't want you to be saddled with me just because I was your first roll in the hay."

Tears pricked at the corners of her vision. "And now?" She asked thickly, half dreading the answer. Leave it to Brynjolf to wait until she was not only fighting in a civil war, but also supposed to defeat a mythical beast who was attempting to destroy mankind to decide to settle down.

His hand pushed her chin upwards to meet his eyes. "Svala, come with me. We can leave Skyrim, start over. Somewhere we'll never be found- we can get a nice little farm in the country, I'll build you a nice big house...it could be nice," Brynjolf's blue eyes were gazing at her shyly. "I think it could be a good life."

"We're taking Fort Sungard at first light," she blurted out, too stunned to stop the thoughts as they poured out of her mouth. He wanted to leave everything, for her? Divines, it was all she had ever wanted as a youth... "And I have to defeat Alduin, and the Guild! They need you. We can't just leave, Bryn."

He pressed his forehead to hers, nuzzling his nose against her own. "The Guild will survive, Karliah is willing to take over. As for Ulfric's war, he's got plenty of other 'true Nords' to die for him. And Alduin...well, that beast is nothing we can't handle."

"We?" Svala pulled her face away from his. "Bryn, I already told you, no. It has to be me- it can only be me. Alduin would destroy you and I wouldn't be able to survive that. Please. I need to do this alone."

She pressed her lips softly and chastely to his before turning to depart back to camp. "I will be at the Vilemyr Inn, in Ivarstead," he called after her. "I know you're going to see the Greybeards once you're done playing the dutiful soldier," she could hear the smugness in his tone, and it infuriated her that he was right- after the battle she was going to tell Galmar she needed to go back to High Hrothgar. The Greybeards were the only ones who could teach her dragonrend. "When you're done with them, I'll be waiting for you Lala. Vilemyr Inn."

She nodded before disappearing into the darkness and trudging back to the Stormcloak camp, an awful headache brewing behind her eyes. Truthfully, she didn't know if she'd see Brynjolf again or not. War was funny that way.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

It was pouring.

Rain dripped into her eyes as she and the others began the assault. Ralof was somewhere by her side, barking out orders as arrows whizzed by them. A small group of archers had taken up their posts at the very top of the fort and the rest of the Imperial Legionaries were rushing to defend the entrance. A meager wooden, spiked structure barricaded them out but Svala quickly chopped through it, evading multiple swords slicing through the air at her. The smell of mud, blood, and death already hang rank in the morning air.

"Take out the damn archers!" Ralof called to her as he ducked and weaved away from a burly Imperial who was swinging a war hammer at his head. She took off running towards the wooden landings that led to where the archers had posted up. A small group of men broke off with her, silently questioning her if she needed assistance, but she swatted them away in irritation before continuing to sprint towards the platforming. They would only slow her down.

She was halfway up the second ladder before the wind was knocked out of her- she had been kicked in the chest and her assailant was standing over her with his axe raised menacingly above her. It was some kind of orc- she could tell by the way his bottom teeth curled up over green lips through his slotted helmet. Svala was able to curl onto her side and roll out of the way as he swung, the steel becoming buried uselessly in the platform, and plunged her sword into the orc's back with a cry. She climbed over his corpse and continued her path upwards, feeling multiple arrows imbed themselves in her arms and legs. Her flesh grew warm with the early signs of poisoning, but she could barely feel it in the heat of battle.

Once at the top, one archer turned her bow to point at Svala's skull- she rolled forwards and disemboweled the Imperial woman. Her intestines and blood gushed onto the already slick stones, and Svala slipped forward onto her knees as she tried to attack the other soldiers who were now rushing towards her. "Fus Ro Dah!" She Shouted and they went flying backwards, some cracking their skulls into the unforgiving stone walls of the fort, others flying onto the ground where their spines were crushed by the impact alone. The door to the muster opened and more soldiers issued out, weapons raised. She opened her mouth to Shout again when her throat seized uncomfortably- her fingers drifted to her neck and found it bare. Of course, she had given Sofie her amulet of Talos; damn thing must've contained some sort of enchantment from its namesake god that allowed her to be able to Shout more frequently. Assessing her current predicament, Svala glumly found her odds weren't good- there were at least 12 enemy soldiers rushing towards her and she was without her powers. She raised her swords and rushed forward to meet her fate.

Two of the Legionaries came at her with swords and axes and she was able to imbed one of her own weapons in one enemy while using their corpse as a shield to defend against the other. Still, even as they both lay dead at her feet, more came rushing at her like a never ending wave. "Take the Dragonborn!" One was shouting, waving his weapon in her direction. A tribune- she could tell by his armor. Svala went to charge towards him when suddenly the majority of the troops at the tribune's back fell dead from a barrage of arrows. Half a dozen Stormcloaks were climbing the walls led by Ralof.

"I think I'm killing more Imperials than you, I've been counting!" Ralof taunted her with a grin, swinging his warhammer wildly. Spots of blood and mud freckled his face, making him look rather deranged. "I have to admit, this is more fun than I thought it'd be!"

"I'm at 12!!" She called back, currently locked in a duel with three enemies- another orc, an Imperial who had lost his right ear, and a female Dunmer. The Dunmer was shooting lightning at her and each time a bolt connected Svala felt her muscles jolt, impacting her accuracy greatly- she needed to take out the elf first. Still, the orc was no picnic either due to his brute strength and giant broadsword, and it was taking most of her stamina to keep blocking his attacks while also fending off the Imperial. "I could do this alll day!" She bluffed with a cracking voice, silently hoping Ralof could sense the plea there.

"Can't let you have all the fun," He was by her side in moments, flattening the skull of the Dunmer mage with one deadly swing. The Imperial man cried out in horror as he was bathed in brain matter and Svala responded by beheading him swiftly, a silent scream still etched upon his face. The orc looked between both her and Ralof before holding his sword in front of him protectively, but it was no use- she slid her sword into his belly just as Ralof swung his warhammer into the orc's neck. "Alright, I officially owe you a drink when- Ralof!!"

The tip of the tribune's sword was sticking through Ralof's chest. Svala watched in horror as the blue of his Stormcloak cuirass grew black with the blood spreading from his wound, his eyes wide and his lips still moving in shock. With a scream of fury Svala pulled one sword from the orc's stomach as her second was already slicing the tribune's head from his shoulders. Tears mixed with the blood and rainwater already coating her face as she knelt beside Ralof's prone form slumped over the corpse of the tribune that had wounded him, pressing her hands firmly over the bleeding gash. "No, no, come on, damnit," she fished around in her pockets for one of Sofie's healing potions and pressed the vial to his lips, forcing the liquid inside his mouth. Thankfully, some color returned to his complexion, but his eyes were still large and unfocused as they stared at her.

"Svala...t-tell Gerdur..."

"Shut up," she commanded him, trying desperately to remember any healing spell (why didn't she have a damn Shout to heal another??) while cradling his head in her lap. "You're not going to Sovngarde, not this day. Tell her yourself."

The sounds of battle were dying away in the courtyard below them, followed by victorious shouts and whoops of laughter. Apparently they had succeeded in taking Fort Sungard. How pleased Ulfric would be. Their win brought her little satisfaction, though, staring at Ralof's labored breathing. He needed a healer- a real healer.

She remembered that one priestess in Whiterun, the one she had helped with the tree. Dortda? Drijard? No...Danica. She had offered to teach Svala some basic restoration magic (other than the simple self healing spell she already knew) in exchange for the Dragonborn's help in slaying a few hargravens, retrieving a mystical dagger, and healing some sacred tree. Of course, Svala was on her way to join up in Ulfric's ranks so why would she ever need to be bothered with advanced restoration magic in a war? (Or such was her flawed logic at the time.) Nonetheless, if anyone could heal Ralof it would be Danica. Gingerly, she helped Ralof to his feet and slung his arm around her shoulders, keeping a hand pressed steady on his wound. "Come on, we're getting you to Whiterun," she told him, entering the muster and using the stone steps of the fort to reach the courtyard.

Svala was greeted with cacophonous shouts and chants of her title "Bone-Breaker" which quickly died down when the rest of her comrades noticed whom she was carrying. A few men ran towards her, Vidbjorn and Styper (she recognized them as her fellow drinking partners from the night before, even though that now felt like years ago) and instantly helped her support Ralof's weight. "I need a cart and my horse," she told them at once. "Put some straw in the cart and bandage his wound with clean rags. Put them in boiling water first. I'm leaving for Whiterun at once. He needs healing."

"Bone-Breaker, we have a Battle-Maiden here who could help," Vidbjorn began but she attempted to silence him with a fiery look. She was well aware of the camp Battle-Maiden Fjossa, who had tried to heal Styper's broken nose during the drunken brawls from the night before, and had only succeeded at transforming it into a pig snout. However, Vidbjorn wasn't known for his intelligence, and continued on. "And Whiterun is nearly a days ride away, he might not make it that far."

"You'll do as I say or Molag Bol himself will blush at what I do to you," she snarled, grabbing the soldier by the collar of his cuirass. His face turned white and he nodded grimly before racing away from her.

She knew that Galmar would likely have her head for not reporting directly to Ulfric (as she had been ordered to post battle, in no uncertain terms), but she would be damned to let Ralof die because of her. Within moments her horse (whom she had started calling Nameless because she couldn't think of anything better) had been connected to a cart filled with a simple straw cot. Ralof lie upon it, his skin pale and clammy. She only hoped that fever wasn't setting in.

"May Talos guide you Bone-Breaker," Styper told her solemnly, handing her some provisions of dried horker meat, goat cheese and a few bottles of mead. She noticed he had also thought to give her a few minor healing potions as well.

"Tell Galmar I will report to Windhelm when Ralof is sorted," she told her shield brother before snapping the reins on Nameless and riding swiftly off into the setting sun.