In searching for substance
We're clouded by struggle's haze
Remember the meaning
Of playing out in the rain...

"Never Die," Creed

She didn't want him to stop.

His kiss, oh, gods- his kiss was so deep, so passionate- rough, wanting, yet...somehow gentle at the same time. He was like a wave: a cool rush of water refreshing her dry and parched mouth. He called forth the strangest bubbly sensation from within her. It started deep in her toes and slowly spread upwards. And his hands...oh, his hands, so smooth, hitting all the spots that made her head buzz like a thousand hummingbirds. Touching spots she swore she never wanted anyone to touch- spots that, in truth, hadn't been touched until then.

Through the haze, she belatedly wondered if Ulfric would have ever kissed her like this.

That thought sobered her quickly, and she remembered a few very important details which made her pick his pockets as she originally planned- forcing herself not to enjoy caressing his body on the way – and get him off of her, as quick as she could.

Detail 1: He was a playboy; his expertise came not from some divine blessing, but experience. Detail 2: She was a virgin, planned on staying one indefinitely, and even if she didn't plan that, she wouldn't have her virginity lost to a playboy. Detail 3: If and when she had sex, it wouldn't be with Ulfric's face in her head. She would wait until she forgot about him completely; forgot the lines on his face, forgot the intense color of his eyes when he was angry; forgot how brilliant his smile was- the way it lit up his whole face as well as the room around him.

Why couldn't life ever be simple?

So she sent him away, convinced him that hadn't enjoyed it at all, and laid back down, thinking that this-her life-was far, far too complicated. And it had too many handsome, infuriating men in it. Why couldn't they be handsome without infuriating? Or infuriating without being handsome? One was tolerable, but both...

It was driving her crazy.

She didn't sleep well- but then again, she didn't usually- and it took her forever to even attain that blessed state. She was starting to think of rest as a myth, this unobtainable ideal that only existed within fairy tales. Though, to be honest, lately, she was constantly seeking the truth in fairy tales. It seemed like she had only been asleep for minutes when she smelled the smoke of a re-lit fire and some roasting meat or other.

She tried to return back to the warm blanket of sleep; tried to recall what it was she had begun to dream about (the glimmer of wings. Gleena's voice). But she could not call it back to her: it would not come. Instead, she relented, and, with a sigh, sat up and resigned herself to yet another almost-sleepless night and the annoying optimism of morning's light.

"Not a morning person, eh, lass?" Brynjolf asked. The handsome thief was wearing his trademark coy smirk- his stubble starting to form a light beard. He hadn't shaved in a while. She wondered what it would be like to run her palms over that stubble; feel the coarse hair like wheat beneath her fingers, tickling her palms. Enticing her.

"No," She muttered, and then started to rummage through her pack for a brush.

"That's too bad. I always liked the mornings, myself. The promise of a fresh new day. I always wake up energized."

"Fuck you," She said grumpily.

Brynjolf laughed. "I tried, lass. Maybe later, when my ribs and ego are a bit less bruised."

She growled at him, and he laughed again. She finally found her brush and pulled it out, running it through her massive hair. It would take a while to untangle, she knew that. But she didn't necessarily have the energy for talking, and this was a good distraction from her annoyance. Stupid mornings.

She took a long time to brush through her hair, and while she did, she watched him. She didn't reply when he asked if she wanted anything, but noted that he set aside some food for her anyway. She watched him eating, and even though she could tell it was making him uncomfortable, he said nothing about it. He was unnerved around her, she decided. A natural reaction to being studied, she supposed.

"...The way you look at me, lass..." Brynjolf said, softly. "..It's a little..."

"Well, you are by far the most interesting thing I have here to study. If you'd like me to stop, either find me a book, or stop being interesting."

Brynjolf grinned sheepishly. "I don't know if I can help you there, lass. Interesting is subjective."

"Only by definition."

"In truth. Perhaps there are people out there in the world who don't find me as interesting as you do."

"There are various things you can do to stop being interesting to me."

"But, lass," He turned his eyes to meet hers, then, and said, softly, "What if I don't want to stop being interesting to you?"

"Then you are wasting your time and desiring that which you cannot have," She said plainly.

"Never say never, lass."

"Brynjolf," She growled, "I'm giving you a warning. There are many other places in Tamriel that I could go, many other places I could take my business...there are even more places I could hide your body. If there was anything left of it."

"You wouldn't hurt me, lass. Not as it stands now."

"If you gave me a good reason to, I'd kill you. And I'd never once feel bad about it. Don't forget that."

He stood then, and walked forward. He knelt before her, looking her right in the eyes. "Then I promise," He said, softly- so softly that she strained to hear him, "That I will never give you a good reason."

She stared at him for a minute, then turned away, unable to take his soul-searching gaze any longer. They weren't so different. He, too, was a people-watcher; he, too, was perceptive. Just like Ulfric had been. Of course it would be, that the two most perceptive people people she'd ever met, would have to be during the only part in her life where she actually wanted to be alone. And of course she would have to meet them at just about the same time...

He didn't press her, and for that, Gaella was glad. He stood up and went back to the camp, packing up some things. "We'd best be off soon, lass. I saved you some meat. You can eat it on the way."

Gaella nodded, putting her brush away and gathering her things. She stood up and took the meat he was offering her; but she wouldn't look at him as they pressed on.

Now, he thought, Now I'm getting somewhere.

He tried not to think of it as strange, as they pressed on. Those things he had said...they were automatic. Predictable. The right thing to say at the right time. Why did they work on her? She was too smart for that. But, he thought, noting how she refused to look at him now- they were working. He tried not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. It's not like he was lying; he wouldn't give her a reason to kill him. At least, not on purpose. At the same time, though, he had no idea what she considered 'a good reason' in the first place.

He tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach that told him he had actually meant what he said. Instead he continued to play the game he was best at, and reached to take a stray leaf out of her hair; smirked when she batted his hand away. "You have a leaf," He explained.

"Maybe I kept it on purpose," She said.

"Did you?"

"I tend to prefer plants over people. You'll never find me complaining when one decides to tag along."

He laughed softly. "Alright, lass. I'll leave your leaf be, for now."

"You'll leave my leaf alone until I say otherwise."

"If you say so." He turned his eyes forward for a moment, to check their location. "We're almost at the Windhelm stables. I take it that you-" When he looked back to her, she was gone. "...Invisibility. Of course. One step ahead, like always..."

Once they were onboard the carriage, he used a blanket from the back to cover the ground, so that Gaella could slip under it when her spell or potion or whatever it was- he knew nothing about magic- wore off. The ride to Riften was uneventful, and mostly quiet but for the occasional conversation he could get from the driver.

Or at least...it was until they met the dragon.

He had heard a weird noise echoing off the mountains, but, seeing nothing, paid it no mind. That was his first mistake. The dragon- a massive, black, terrifying thing- landed several yards in front of the carriage and let out a monstrous roar. The carriage horses reared back and the driver screamed louder and higher than any Nord- man or woman - ever should.

Brynjolf was momentarily blinded by the blanket he'd placed over Gaella flying off as the girl took off. Not, he realized – as he would have suspected, after his vision was clear again- away from the dragon, like a sane person.

No, the girl was running to the dragon.

"Lass!" Against all of his better instincts, he took off after her. "Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?"

The dragon's attention immediately turned to the girl, and she began to fight it. As Brynjolf ran forward, he could almost swear that the dragon was having words with Gaella, the noises that came with their attacks starting to sound far too much like an actual...shouting match.

"FRO KRAH DIIN!"

"YOL...TOR SHUUL!"

And their breaths met, ice and fire, each battling for supremacy.

Brynjolf knew he wasn't nearly as impressive as that, or as flashy. But he was agile, and he knew how to use that to his advantage. He ran forward and jumped, using his force to propel himself onto the dragon's back, driving a dagger into a spot between scales, into weak flesh. The dragon roared and turned its head to try and snap at him, and he barely got out of the way, falling off the dragon and losing his dagger in the process. The dragon was focusing on him then, and rearing back for an attack, when-
"STRUN BA QO!"

The sky turned dark, rain falling down in a sudden storm. Lightning struck the dragon, stunning it and allowing Brynjolf to fall back behind its wings. He only had one dagger then, but he made as much use of it as he could, hacking and slashing away at the delicate wing joints, at anything soft that he could injure.

Gaella managed to keep the dragon's focus off of him the rest of the fight- and he would be furious with her for it, if he thought he was really capable of taking a bite from it and living. He was just a simple thief- his expertise in daggers and hand to hand. What did he know about fighting dragons?

Then, there was a loud chomp, and a shriek. He turned and saw that the dragon, as a last ditch- effort- had finally taken Gaella in its mouth, and was rearing back- to do what, he didn't know. Eat her? Toss her? Either way, he couldn't let it happen. He took his last dagger, aimed, threw- and hoped with all of his might that it would aim true.

Thank the Gods- it did. It landed right in the dragon's eye, causing it to burst, and the thing to drop Gaella as it finally began to die.
Brynjolf ran as fast as he could to retrieve her before she hit the ground. He grunted when he caught her, and sprinted a fair distance away with her in his arms before he even dared to look back at the dragon.

It was doing something most bizarre. Or maybe, this was how all dragons died (he'd never actually seen one before today). The flesh was simmering off its skin, as if flame, and its skin was disappearing into smoke, leaving only bones. And then there was a great wind, blowing towards them, and Brynjolf turned his back to shield them from it. It was hard to stay upright, and then, for some reason he didn't understand, the wind was bending around him and blowing forward into Gaella, her form glowing lightly. The wind didn't last long, but the glow around her took longer to fade, and he was transfixed. It was the most brilliant color, almost like a dull rainbow.

But...once it had faded...he could see how badly she was wounded.

"Lass," He called. "Lass, talk to me. How bad are you hurt? Do you have any potions?"

She was shaking in his arms and that killed him; the dragon's teeth had sunk deep and blood was staining her robes in much the way the glow had just a few seconds prior.

"My pockets," She wheezed, "Pour the porions on the wounds...on them...aahhh, Talos, it hurts.."

He knelt down and braced her gently against one knee, going through her pockets and pulling out anything that even remotely resembled a potion. But which of these potions was it? "By the Nine," He muttered, "Talk about a fish out of water..."

"Dark red!" She shouted, and normally he'dve been annoyed- but she must be in an awful lot of pain. To get bitten by a dragon. He couldn't even fathom that. Of course, most of the time he spent in her company seemed to be in situations he was in no way equipped to handle. He picked up the dark red potions as bidden, and opened them, pouring them on all the bite marks he could find, until eventually there were no dark red potions left.

He didn't think the wounds looked any better. "Lass, are you feeling any better?"

"Only a little," She wheezed, "That'll keep me from dying for now, but I need to go to a temple...my magic is absolutely spent, and I can't heal myself like this."

Brynjolf looked up, studying their surroundings, and was unfathomably grateful that they weren't too far from Riften. He gathered the woman in his arms again and stood up, searching for the carriage and its driver- both of which, of course, were gone. It'd be better, easier, and faster to steal a horse, he thought, setting out in the direction of a nearby farm. "I'm going to get a horse, lass," He murmured softly, "It'll get us there faster."

"No."

He almost stopped, but urgency kept him from halting completely. He settled for looking down at her incredulously. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, no. The Empire kills people for stealing horses."

"This is Stormcloak territory."

"I don't care. You're not stealing a horse."

"Lass..."

"No!"

He sighed heavily, and ignored her. She wasn't really in a situation to do anything about him stealing a horse- she couldn't even open her eyes, it looked like- and she would have to get used to things like this, anyway. "If you're planning to run with the Guild, lass, we steal a lot more expensive things than horses."

She was silent.

Yet another piece of a puzzle he had to shuffle away for later. He didn't press her further, allowing her to conserve her energy. He laid her carefully against a tree outside of the village, and stole the horse in broad daylight without much trouble. He'd been doing this all his life, damn it, and it felt good to finally get back to doing something he knew how to do. He brought the horse around and helped the girl stand up.

"You're going to ride behind me. Can you get on the horse?"

"Why did you steal a horse? I told you not to steal the fucking horse."

"Because, lass," He snapped, finally losing patience with her, "You're my apprentice, and you don't get to order me around. I am not going to indulge you over something this ridiculous when you're close to death."

She was quiet for a second- for once. Then, she murmured, "Fine, you dumb asshole. I'll get on the horse."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. He helped her stand up, her eyes finally opening, and helped her brace herself against the beast temporarily. As he mounted himself, he heard her talking to the horse.

"You're a pretty Mister Horse, aren't you?" She murmured into its flank, rubbing the horse's midsection. "I bet you get all the Miss horses."

He then started to worry if she was getting delirious. If she was, that wasn't a good sign. "Lass. Come up here. Stop talking to the horse."

"Horses need to be talked to, too," She said stubbornly, but took his hand and accepted his help up.

He is so warm, She thought, as she hugged Brynjolf around the waist and pressed herself into his back for support. So warm that it was making her sleepy. Her head was clouded with pain and the fatigue that accompanies blood loss, but somehow, hearing the breathing and heartbeat of another living being was relaxing. She thought for sure she'd hear more snarky comments from him, but he said nothing. It was painful- horses were a bit jarring to ride in the first place, and the rocky terrain made it worse. With almost every lurch the pain intensified; despite herself, she was groaning in agony.

She was barely clinging to consciousness by the time they reached the gates.