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They ride on in mostly silence, with the occasional comment or acknowledgement as they continue down the road. Eventually, they stop for a break at the side of a river. Iris grabs the packed lunches from her bag and joins Brynolf on the blanket he spread out. She hands him his lunch without a word and starts on her own, watching the clouds roll by.

Brynjolf watches her in concern, noting the glazed look in her eyes and the slight furrow of her soft brow. He wishes he could help her with everything. But there's no way to make someone's death easier, he knows this. Still, he wishes he could take her pain from the loss of her priestess away. She's been much more reserved during their trip so far, and he hates it. He hates seeing her like this.

Sighing, he sets down his lunch and scoots closer to her. She flinches when he takes her hand, and she tears her gaze from the clouds to look at him.

"Do you want to talk about her?" he asks in a soft voice.

He watches as tears spring to her eyes but she gallantly tries to blink them away.

She takes a long, shuddering breath and looks back to the sky. Her shoulders sag as she covers her eyes with her other hand.

"Bryn, I–I need to tell you something—"

But the spell shatters when an arrow soars through the air, barely missing Iris's ear.

"Get down!" Brynjolf pulls her down onto her stomach, both of them laying on the blanket.

"Where is that coming from?" she yells, squinting across the river as arrows fall around them.

"It's a bandit across the river! Come on!" He begins to crawl behind a tree motioning her to follow. Crouching behind the tree, he grips his dagger.

"What are you doing?" she asks, eyeing the weapon.

"Come on. We need to get across." He peeks out at the river.

"What—No, let's just wait it out. He's bound to run out of arrows soon."

"I'm certain he's not the only one over there. The others are probably on their way now. We need to cross the river." Without waiting for her response, he crawls toward the river, using bushes as cover.

"Bryn, wait!"

But he continues on, stopping once he crouches behind a bush on the river's shore. Iris joins him, twisting her hands.

"I think the archer is right behind those trees, probably standing on that small ledge." He points across the churning waters. "Let's go."

"Brynjolf, wait."

He's surprised when Iris's small hand wraps around his arm. He turns to find her eyes widened in something like fear.

"What's wrong?"

She drops her gaze, shaking her head, seemingly ashamed. "I–I can't do it, Bryn."

"Do what, love?"

Her violet eyes raise to watch the water behind him.

His mouth opens without a sound when realization strikes. She's afraid of water.

"I–I can't go in there. Not after—"

"Lass," he takes her face in his hands, "this isn't Irkngthand. It's just a river. You won't drown. I won't let you."

At his words, he hears the distinct sound of footsteps stomping toward their picnic spot.

He curses under his breath. "There's at least ten of them, bandits. They're coming down the road. We need to get across now."

But she shakes her head again, biting her lip. "I–I can't do it."

"Yes, you can," he tells her gently. "We have no choice. Unless you want to fight ten bandits while avoiding arrows."

"No. No, I—"

He carefully takes her arm, guiding her toward the shore as arrows rain down upon them.

"Brynjolf, no, I can't—I can't go in there—"

"I've got you, love."

"No, I can't—I can't do it—Bryn, please—" Her words turn into a scared squeak when they finally enter the cold water.

"It isn't far. Straight across." He points to the opposite shore. "We'll get rid of the archer."

The bandits shout at each other, probably looking for the two hiding thieves.

"Come on." He takes her arm, pulling her deeper into the water.

"No, no, no, Bryn, please stop—I can't—" she panics as the water reaches her chest.

"We're almost halfway—"

He feels her beginning to strain against his grip.

"Lass, we can't go back there. We don't stand a chance against ten of them. No, listen to me." He wraps his hand around her other arm. "This is the only way. I've got you. I won't let you drown. I won't even let you go under, alright?"

She nods, squeezing her eyes shut as a tear drips down her face. "Okay," she sputters. "Okay."

Brynjolf whips his head around when he spots the bandits at the shore. They've found them. A choice word spews from his mouth as he turns back to Iris. "We have to hurry." Without waiting for her response, he tugs her further into the water, now halfway across the river. He pulls her along as the frigid water deepens; he hears her cry out.

"I can't touch," she cries.

"I still can. Hold onto me." Her cold hands find his shoulders, and she holds on as if her life depends on it. Eventually, he finds that he can't touch the bottom anymore. "Iris, I'm going to have to swim the rest of the way, alright? Keep holding onto me." He feels her readjust her grip, wrapping her arms around his upper body, her face burrowed in the crook of his neck as she nods.

He can feel tears dripping onto his skin as her body trembles behind him. Dear Gods, she's terrified.

"We're almost there." His strokes are long and assured…

Until the current grows stronger.

"Fuck!" he bursts out, reaching out to hold onto a rock. His body twists, nearly pulling him under, and he knows, with a twist of his stomach, that Iris was dunked.

She coughs and sputters when she surfaces, smacking his shoulder. "Bryn!" she squeals in terror. Her grip turns to iron around him, and he hears her whimpers in his ear.

"I've got you." With a grunt, he pushes off the rock with his feet and propels through the strong current. He sighs in relief when he finds he can touch the ground once more. "Iris, we're okay. I can touch, and the shore is close."

She nods, her face still buried in his neck as she shivers.

He notices that the arrows have stopped and looks across the river to find the bandits have left.

With their horses.

He curses again, smacking the water with his fist. But there's no way he's turning back now. Not with a terror-stricken Iris on his back.

Finally, they reach the shore, and Iris collapses onto the grass, burying her face in her knees.

Brynjolf straightens up, his eyes roving around the landscape to be sure that the archer is indeed gone. Shaking his head in frustration, he realizes that the archer has left.

"That archer must have been a distraction while the others took our stuff," he growls, finding the ledge upon the archer was standing. "They played us perfectly, Gods damn it." He turns to find Iris quivering on the ground. His frustration evaporates and turns into worry as he crouches down next to her. He wraps his arms around her, and she turns to cry into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, love."

And then she surprises him by pulling away and smacking him across the face, hard.

"Don't you ever fucking do that to me again!" she cries, her wet hair sticking to her cheeks.

"What—" He rubs his jaw, a little bitter that her slap actually hurt. "Iris, we had no choice! And I had no idea you were afraid of water—"

"Of course, I fucking am, Bryn! How can you not be afraid after everything that happened at Irkngthand?!" She pushes him away, getting to her feet, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"What else could we have done? We had to get away, Iris."

"We could have found another way," she says through tight lips, her back to him.

"And what would that have been? Why didn't you say anything?" He approaches her back.

She whirls around, tears in her eyes. "Because I was scared!" she shrieks. "And you pulled me into the water before I could even suggest something else—"

"They were right behind us by then! We had no time to do anything else—"

"You didn't even give me a choice!"

"You could've said something at any time! I'm not your bloody master!" he roars, his anger getting the better of him. "And you're the fucking Dragonborn! You're the most stubborn person I've ever met! Don't give me this 'I didn't have a choice' bullshit."

Suddenly, he hears the pounding of horses approaching. Spinning around, he finds—who else?—the bandits riding past them on their own horses. A flash of light brown hair appears in front of him, and he realizes Iris means to run after them.

"Iris, stop!" He grabs her arm, turning her around. He gasps when he finds the fire in her eyes, her body shaking in anger.

"Let me go, Brynjolf," she growls.

"Iris, you can't fight them—"

But then, she does the unthinkable. She Shouts at him. "FUS!"

Her Voice pushes him backward, sending him falling to the ground as she dashes off.

"Damn it, Iris!" he bellows, pushing himself to his feet as she whirls away in a flurry of snowflakes. Feeling betrayed, he pushes himself into a dead sprint, following the sound of horses and footsteps. He dashes down the path, turning off onto a overgrown trail, following the bandits. He almost topples off a ledge, panting. But then, he finds the bandits' camp right below him.

And Iris is surrounded by bandits.

She holds no weapon; she doesn't even have flames summoned to her hand. She just stands there, in the circle of bandits, her chest heaving.

"I believe you have something of ours," she says in an even voice. But Brynjolf can detect the underlying rage.

"Oh? Are you here to take it back? All by yourself?" a bandit sneers, laughing along with the others.

Iris nods slowly. "Yes. I am."

Brynjolf frantically scans the ledge, looking for sturdy hand and footholds so he can climb down and help her.

The bandits bark out raucous laughter at her words, their hands on their weapons. "Bring it on, woman."

Iris's mouth spreads into a menacing smile, and Brynjolf knows what's about to happen.

"Iris, no!" he screams.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The bandits' laughter turns into bloodcurdling screaming as Iris's blistering flames scorch and envelope their bodies. Surrounded by a ring of fire, Iris lifts her eyes, staring at Brynjolf with an emotionless expression, seemingly unaware of the wails of agony.

And, for the first time in his life, he's terrified of her. He stumbles backwards into the trees and back onto the trail, finding another trail branched off from the other. He forces himself to follow it, and, sure enough, it leads to the burning camp where Iris picks through the charred bandits' belongings. He carefully steps over a burnt corpse and gasps when she hears him and turns around.

"Our horses are on the main road tied to a tree," she tells him almost nonchalantly. "Our bags are still on them, too." She straightens up, her wet hair and bloodshot eyes giving her a slightly crazed look.

"Iris—"

"Come on." She tosses a dagger back onto its corpse and starts down the trail back to the horses.


Whoa. Iris has kinda lost it, don't you think?

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