Horse Sense

In the early evening, Natasja woke with a groan and a throbbing ache in her thigh. When she glanced over to the chair beside her bed, Brynjolf was still there. He had nodded off, his head tilted to the side, wisps of auburn hair across his forehead. He was peaceful in his sleep. Natasja squinted to examine his face. He possessed a rugged handsomeness, typical of a Nord, but there was something soothing about his features, something almost… innocent. There was no doubt in her mind; he was a good man, loyal and protective of her new family. She wondered how many initiates had crossed him in the past, and how he exacted revenge. Was he a merciful savior or a ruthless avenger? The thought made her shiver. Natasja had no interest in finding out what ends he would go to if she were to betray the Guild. She would pay her dues, do what was asked of her, and then decide if the Guild was her future. A part of her yearned for a normal life, though: a loving husband, children, perhaps a small horse farm. It was a dream she had often. A distant dream.

She placed her fists on the bed and pushed to sit up. She cried out, more loudly than she would have liked, and Brynjolf's whole body twitched.

"Hm? Oh, lass, you're awake." He stifled a yawn and scrubbed his face, watching as Natasja recoiled and slumped back onto the bed. "Hurts does it?"

"Yeah… don't you have a healer around here?" she asked with a groan.

"Delvin was to bring her. He must have been sidetracked." He stood and peered around the Cistern. "Sit tight, lass."

"Psh. I don't have much of a choice, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Glad to see your cheery disposition hasn't diminished," he teased, then shook his head. "Delvin! Blast, where is that scoundrel?" He sprinted to a near-by chest and snatched a vial, returning quickly. Then he threw off the sabre cat skin covering her thigh, thus exposing her body a bit more. Brynjolf smiled when she flinched. "Fear not, lass. I've seen many a curvy thigh in my time. Right now I'm acting as your healer and not a wanton admirer." His eyes rolled up and he grinned roguishly. "I'll save that performance for another time." Then he continued his ministrations, absently wondering what she thought of his remark.

He applied the ointment carefully, with tender strokes, and Natasja felt like a child under the care of a parent. That would not do at all. "I imagine you've seen every thigh from here to Markarth," she said, cringing at the sudden sting.

"Hold still, lass. I know this hurts, but the alternative is much worse." He glanced at her, evaluating her statement's real intention. "The thighs I had when I travelled to Windhelm, now those were... well, a story for another time, perhaps."

Natasja's heart skipped a beat. A bitter or perhaps possessive streak she'd always hated emerged from deep within her, and tamping it down was proving to be difficult. Imagining him as a capable lover, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, one-night stands the only way he knew… no, she wouldn't revisit that kind of heartbreak again. But… by the Divines, he was handsome. "Everyone here seems… friendly that way."

"Brief pleasures only, lass. Relationships of an amorous nature never last in the Guild. We're too close, too… wary."

"Wary?" She shifted and moved to sit upright, the pain diminishing under his care. "What is there to be cautious of? I suppose a lover's knife at your throat in the dark of the night is bothersome, but most likely worth it for a night of passion."

"You know of passion, do you?"

She gave a short laugh. "I know what people need to get by."

His heart began to race, hoping she would understand what he was about to say. "Then you also know life is short for people like us, lass. The pain of losing someone so close to your heart is more than enough reason to keep things easy and uncomplicated. Don't get me wrong, we all watch out for each other, like brothers and sisters, but a long-term lover or a spouse? No, it's not fair to either person involved."

"So no one here is married? Even to someone outside the Guild?"

"It happened once, but…." He looked away for a moment. "It didn't end well. I won't tell anyone what to do with their personal life, but when a member gets it into their head that hearth and home should be in their future, I tell them the story. Works like a charm."

"And what is the story?"

"The story, lass, is a well honed blade kept sheathed until it's needed. I don't think I have to pull it out for you just yet."

Judging by the somberness of his voice, she figured it had something to do with him personally. If she had her way, that story would be unsheathed sooner than Brynjolf realized. "I have no interest in a relationship of any kind other than business."

He nodded, but the gleam in his eye didn't match his tone. "Good," he grumbled. "Then you will do well here. Watch our backs and we'll watch yours."

"I'll watch more than your back, Brynjolf," she tantalized with a wink. "Your armor is quite form fitting you know."

"Don't, lass." He resisted the urge to fire off a joke, opting to crush any hint of interest she thought he had in her. "Save your flirtations for another. Or better yet, when they're needed during a job."

He's so full of it, she thought angrily. "Surely you can't be that pure-minded, Brynjolf. I've seen the way you watch me."

He took a deep breath and watched her squirm, uncomfortable with her own bold words. How far was she willing to take this? "You don't have to prove anything to me," he said, calmly placing a hand on her shoulder. "If you're looking for some… fun, why don't you ask the other, more willing candidates down here?"

Damn this man. I'll show him how I have fun. If he only knew…. Foul language was at the ready, but she said nothing.

"Silence, lass?" he teased, his voice low. "That's not your typical style."

The scandalous words moved to the tip of Natasja's tongue just as Delvin appeared with a blindfolded woman, saving her from further inadvertent embarrassment.

"It's about time!" Brynjolf blew out an exasperated breath and leapt from the chair, taking the arm of the mage Delvin had procured to heal Natasja.

"Sorry, Bryn. Seems our regular mage up and left for the College. Had to convince Marya it would be worth her while."

Brynjolf motioned to Delvin to remove the blindfold. As he did so, the woman blinked a few times and then glared at Delvin. "If you had said we were going to this rat infested cistern, I would've asked for more coin, Delvin Mallory!"

"And you shall have more coin," Brynjolf cut in. "Heal this woman and we'll send you off with your pockets full."

The woman harrumphed and sat on the bed, knowing she was not in danger. She and Delvin were old acquaintances, since the Guilds' glory days. As the mage laid her hands on her injured thigh, Natasja immediately flushed, the sickly pallor fading from her face. "Nasty gash you had there. Lucky you had someone skilled enough to sew it up and stave off the infection."

Without thinking, Natasja offered a kindly smile to Brynjolf, and he smiled back, genuinely happy to see her gratitude. Then, unexpectedly, her mouth set in a firm line as she silently cursed herself for allowing any appreciation to show. Natasja kept her eyes on the floor, and swung her legs off the bed to stand up. Arms and legs were held out as she stretched, and she could feel the eyes of her brethren upon her, Delvin in particular. It was then Natasja realized she had nothing on but a long shirt scarcely covering her hips, her legs exposed to anyone looking her way. Rather than seem uncomfortable with her bareness, she opted to pull on a pair of trousers casually, her back to the men. She heard Delvin take a deep breath, but no sound came from Brynjolf. When she spun around to face them, Delvin sucked in another breath between clenched teeth, but Brynjolf had averted his eyes, gazing off toward the practice area. Now he's acting like a gentleman. How amusing.

"Here, Marya," Brynjolf said, handing a pouch full of coin to the mage. "Thanks for your time. If we need your services again, I assume you will be available?" She shook the pouch and nodded once. "All right then. Hey, Dirge! Get her back home, won't you?" Dirge tipped his head and Marya walked away with him, smiling as she fondled the bag of coins.

Delvin was still staring, unblinking, and Brynjolf cleared his throat loudly. "Del!"

Snapping out of his daydream, he noticed Natasja didn't seem to mind his ogling. When she winked at him, he almost laughed at his luck. Maybe she's easier than I thought. "Glad to help you, Nord."

Reenergized, Natasja took her armor out of the foot chest, securing and fastening the buckles as fast as her fingers would allow. "I need some fresh air. I think I'll head out to the Bee and Barb for some food and drink. Care to join me, Delvin?" Wiggling her brows suggestively, she laid her hand on his chest and felt his heart beat race. Her palms were sweaty, but her confidence was convincing. "I'll buy you a pint as thanks."

"Absolutely, Nord. The dankness in here gets to me sometimes, too."

"Delvin, please call me Natasja," she said, in the sweetest voice any of them had heard from her yet.

"Sure thing." He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Natasja… lovely."

She slowly turned her head to look at Brynjolf, smirking at the shocked expression he wore. "How about you? Care to try to drink us under the table?"

"Ah, no thanks." What have I gotten myself into with this woman? Her cheekiness was bothersome to him, but alluring all the same. He hadn't felt such a strong desire for a woman in ages, and he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from or why. He knew she would be a thorn in his side at times, but the challenge, the idea of cracking her facade and wiping the smug simper from her face would be more exciting than any job he'd had recently. But he had to tread carefully. Better to let Natasja have her fun with him now. "I have some business to attend to, business I've neglected while caring for a wounded sister."

Sister! she thought. Never. Sudden panic overrode her ire. She wanted to choke out please come with me, throw herself at his feet, and beg him to go along. "Your loss then," she said, her tone brittle with indignation. As Delvin turned to leave, Natasja reached out and smacked his muscular backside, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Oi! You're a cheeky girl, aren't ya?"

"So I've been told," she said as she pushed him toward the exit. "Come on, Del. Move it!"

Brynjolf wasn't sure what to make of her at first. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized Natasja was pretending. She wasn't interested in Delvin. She was interested in Brynjolf's reaction to her sassy behavior. And who was he to hold back? She'd see his reaction, in due course. Patience was, after all, one of his strongest qualities.

He gave them a few minutes head start before he left the Cistern. Slipping in between the shadows of the moonlight, he kept well hidden in alleyways and behind statues. Delvin would sense him following, and he'd gloat about it the next time he had Brynjolf alone. As for Natasja, he wasn't so sure of her subterfuge skills yet. Brynjolf watched them enter the Bee and Barb, amused with Delvin who was putting his most pleasant foot forward and holding the door for her. However, his amusement was tempered by thoughts of Delvin's wily ways. The last thing Brynjolf wanted was Delvin influencing his new protégé with flirting and overtures of pleasure. A ladies' man when he wanted to be, Delvin also fancied himself an educated thief. He was no stranger to smooth lines and clever tricks of speech. He is a rascal. Maybe too much of one.

Brynjolf waited, impatiently fussing with his belt buckle. After half an hour, he ventured toward the door, cracking it open just enough to peer inside the establishment. Delvin and Natasja were at the bar, tossing back their ales, and laughing. They sat close, a little too close for Brynjolf's liking.

Sneaking in and rounding a corner, Brynjolf perched himself on a tall stool behind a column where he was able to see them and hear their conversation. He saw Delvin twist his neck and quickly look over his shoulder before huddling closer to Natasja, unabashedly letting out a laugh, pretending it was for her instead of for Brynjolf's attempt at sneaking. Slyly, she peered over Delvin's shoulder and her eye caught a flash of auburn. Brynjolf was sunk. But she didn't move, didn't acknowledge him in any way.

What made it worse was that she seemed to be enjoying Delvin's company, laughing at his childish pickpocket jokes. When Delvin's hand began creeping up her thigh slowly, she put her arm around his shoulders and took the offending hand in hers, but there was no affection there. Brynjolf noticed every slight hesitation she made, every time she looked away and closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, an almost pained look on her face. He knew then she was terrified of what might happen with Delvin. Was she expecting something different from Devlin? Was she expecting Brynjolf to jump in and whisk her away? Everything she'd done had been an act, and Brynjolf's heart had broken a little each time.

Delvin motioned to Keerava and leaned toward her, but Brynjolf couldn't hear the muffled voices. When Keerava slid a key to Delvin, Natasja smiled slyly and looked toward the staircase, fear mingled with curiosity in her gaze. Delvin took her hand, and Brynjolf watched as Delvin led her up the stairs, disappearing out of sight.

Brynjolf sighed, hoping that maybe a good roll in the sack was all she needed to change her outlook. If Delvin had her tonight, he'd be sure to have her every night until he got bored and moved on. Brynjolf's only consolation was that he knew Delvin would be kind to her. He would be gentle or rough, chivalrous or crude; whatever it was she asked for and needed, Delvin would be more than happy to comply with. It would have to do for now.

Brynjolf left the Bee and Barb, too restless to head back to the Cistern. It was a clear night, and he looked at the full moon, large as a wagon wheel. A perfect night for a ride to clear his head, he decided. He made his way to the stables and found his horse, Hammersteed. He hadn't ridden in a week, and Hammersteed was in need of some grooming. Picking up a brush, he began to flick it up and away from the horse's coat, dirt coming off in a slight cloud of dust with each soothing brushstroke. Brynjolf's strokes fell into a rhythm and soon he was mesmerized, staring blankly with thoughts of Natasja and Delvin drifting through his mind. When he heard the rustle of leaves beneath feet, he went still, his hands clenched and ready to launch a blow.

A lilting voice split the quiet night air. "Lovely night for a ride, isn't it?"

"Hm?" He turned. His fists were held up, but then they dropped when the moonlight stole across her face. "Lass? Is that you?"

"Better me than an assassin, no?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I felt like a ride." She walked to the horse next to Hammersteed and began to stroke its nose, and then she spoke in a low voice, greeting the horse in between coos. Brynjolf's frown turned into a smile when he saw the animal didn't seem to mind her. In fact, the horse began to nuzzle her shoulder. She spoke into its ear, and then looked at Brynjolf. "While you're at it, would you mind grooming Saturnalia here? I've been neglecting her lately."

"I didn't know you owned a horse."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Brynjolf."

"Aye, you're right, lass. Maybe you can enlighten me some time." He approached her, unable to tear his eyes from the tender sight of her affection for Saturnalia. Then words fell from his lips before he had thought to stop them. "Bit of a short interlude with Del, wasn't it?"

"I don't kiss and tell," she said, smiling. She didn't look at him, and continued to run her fingers along the horse's nose, waiting, her breathing erratic as Brynjolf drew closer. "Why do you care anyway?" she managed to ask. When he leaned in to whisper in her ear, she held her breath.

"I care because…." His mouth was on her ear then, his teeth nipping at her.

"Because?" she whispered.

"You're new to this game, aren't you, lass? You are… not as experienced as you'd like me to believe."

She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "It seems you've caught me in a lie of sorts. What do you… intend to do about it?"

"What do you want me to do about it, lass?"

She sidestepped away when he put his hand on the small of her back. "I… I don't…."

"Tell me to stop then," he purred, stepping closer. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Of course I do." She took another half step, backward this time and straight into a stone column. She was trapped.

In that moment, he was right in front of her, his breath hot on her bare neck. "What am I doing that bothers you so?"

Standing too close sounded so foolish she dismissed it immediately. "Don't you have something better to do? Train your horse, perhaps?"

"There is only one creature here in need of training, lass."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Natasja," he murmured. He kissed the side of her neck, his touch sweeping through her like waves of magic. Almost roughly, he took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. His eyes stared into hers, and then his mouth flew down to take hers with a hunger and a passion that dizzied her. His mouth moved on hers, claiming it, teasing it with masterful seduction, filling her with an ache somewhere between ecstasy and madness.

She couldn't have resisted him if she wanted, and she did not want to resist, now or ever. His lips, his tongue, his hands, each extracted secrets of their own. They told her she was his; she no longer had any choice.

With the moonlight glowing, there was a dreamlike quality to the moment, and he dropped to his knees before her, worshipping her calves, her knees, his squeezes and kisses weakening her. Finally, her legs gave out, and she, too, fell to her knees. "Brynjolf… by the Gods, I want you." Breathless, she took his face in her trembling hands, kissing him full on his lips again and again.

He caught her waist and pulled her close, his strength overpowering her. Pressing on her back, his arm pulled her against him so tightly she thought she might faint from lack of air. His other hand kept her face trapped in his strong fingers, his mouth continuing its sweet ministrations. He slowly placed one kiss on each eyelid, on the scar on her cheek, her nose, and then a chaste kiss on her lips, lingering as his hands threaded through her hair.

At the edge of his memory, he sensed something that felt wrong, perilous. Suddenly, he stilled and moved away. Standing abruptly, he pulled her to her feet, looking at her with eyes both desirous and haunted. He looked away as if he'd changed his mind, although she could see his pulse leaping in his neck. He let go of her hand, lightly brushing a finger against her skin.

The slight touch made her burn with desire, but he was withdrawing from her too fast. "Please, Brynjolf, let me in."

"I'm sorry," he said, his face cold and without emotion.

"Are you?" she asked, hurt, but not sorry at all.

He nodded. "I am. You are used to men's… attentions, I'm sure."

He thinks that's all I am, a flirt and nothing more. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suddenly feeling exhausted, almost sick. "I… I'm not sure what you mean, Brynjolf. I thought we… that you…." The words wouldn't come, and she just stared at him.

"I'm no better than any of those men. But another time, the right time, in the right way… not like this. And not now."

"What do you mean? I don't understand…." To her surprise, he took her hand and led her toward the city gates. She went along in confusion, comforted only by his strong fingers entwined with hers. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice quavering.

"To the cemetery."

His simple answer didn't ease the knot building in her stomach. Hoping he would provide a tidbit of information with his response, she said, "I already know the secret passage, Brynjolf."

"Just follow me."

With a heavy sigh, she did. But the hopeful flame in her heart was dying fast.

Once through the gates, she could feel her heart racing as she navigated puddles and loosened cobblestones along the path. The city was quiet; only the sound of their boots plodding forward broke the silence.

She followed willingly, looking at him as they made their way past graves long forgotten. Nervously, she asked, "Why won't you tell me where you're taking me?" Then she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, willing her pounding heart to calm.

"Almost there." He gripped her hand tighter.

"Damn it, Brynjolf, you're crushing my fingers!"

As they approached an ivy-covered grave, he glanced behind him to look around. They were alone. He only heard the wind softly whistling through the trees, rustling the leaves. Natasja looked at him with a suspicious glare, sharp, but lovely all the same. However, his expression was somber, and he looked away as he let her go.

He bent down and brushed some leaves and cobwebs off the inscription. Rocking back on his heels, he sat and stared at the gravestone. "Hello, Ana. It's been a while." Brynjolf dug into his pocket and pulled out a skeleton key, laying it on the stone gently and whispering a prayer.

The bright moonlight peeked through the clouds and shined down upon the grave. Natasja's feet began to sink into the mud where she stood in a puddle, a chill running up her spine. Looking through curious eyes, she was able to discern the inscription.

Anabel Berglund

Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, to a young doe upon the mountain.

Natasja understood now. A woman he had once loved lay beneath the grass-covered ground. Not a mother or a sister, but a lover or a wife. Her heart sank as a sad grimace crossed her face.

Brynjolf looked up at her, mournful, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Come sit with me, lass. I have a story to tell you."

A/N: Some parts of this story will be a bit outside game canon. I needed a reason for Brynjolf's inability to marry the PC, which for my purposes will be seen as disinterest for a particular reason and not complete unavailability. Also, I'm fiddling with the events of the Dragonborn's life pre-game to forward my story.

Comments and reviews make me a happy girl and keep the muse inspired. Please tell me your thoughts, short or long, good or bad. I can take it!

Thanks for reading! I appreciate the alerts and thank you to those who have reviewed. Hugs to my friend and fellow writer, Biff McLaughlin, for her awesome beta skills. Any mistakes are my fault from messing with the text after her edits. For those looking for more Skyrim goodness, she has a new story, The Chronicles of Isobel Navale, based on the Skyrim adventures of her PC.

* Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, to a young doe upon the mountain. This is a modified bible verse, Song of Solomon 2:17.