What Doesn't Kill Us

The rain had subsided to a drizzle by the time Natasja eased out from behind Brynjolf, but the sky was still gray. A chill crept under the door, and Natasja shivered. Carefully, she rearranged him on the couch, resting his head on a pillow and allowing his legs to hang off the edge. She stood and stretched, then wrapped a light fur around her shoulders, smiling at Brynjolf's peaceful repose. If only we could stay like this….

Sighing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the promissory note she'd lifted at the meadery.

Within the enclosed crate, you'll find the final payment. As we discussed, Honningbrew Meadery should now begin brewing mead at full production. In regard to your concerns about interference from Maven Black-Briar, I can assure you that I'll do everything in my power to keep her assets and her cronies at bay. This is the beginning of a long and successful future for both of us.

At the top of the note was the same symbol she had seen on the Goldenglow Estate's bill of sale, and on the back, a name was scratched almost illegibly. Gajul-Lei. "Must be an Argonian," she mumbled, louder than she intended, causing Brynjolf to stir.

"What have you got there?" He rolled his head around his shoulders and stifled a yawn.

"Oh, Bryn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you yet." She walked toward him with a relieved smile on her lips.

"I feel fine now. No worries, lass." He shot up from the couch and shook out his arms and legs.

She waved the document at him. "It's the promissory note from Sabjorn's office."

"Let me take a look at it." He took it in his hand, and then scanned the note quickly. "The same symbol again." Tapping the parchment, his mind labored for a possible recollection of the emblem, but none would come.

Natasja peered at the note again. "I've seen just about every seal from the guilds and associations throughout Skyrim, but that one does not ring a bell."

"No, it's not a guild I know of either," he said, his head snapping up to look at her. "But there is mention of a Gajul-Lei on the back here. He's an old fence the Guild has been allied with for years. His real name is Gulum-Ei, that Argonian snake. Mercer is not going to be surprised to hear this either."

"Mercer is never surprised or impressed by anything."

"You impressed him, lass. Never doubt it. But he needs to know about this. I expect he'll want you to chase after Gulum-Ei too. We should leave for Riften tomorrow at first light," he rattled on with a glint of triumph and pride in his eye, and an almost giddy lilt to his voice.

Natasja wondered how he could be so keyed up about any of this. "Gods, Bryn, are you really that excited to go back there?"

"We're so close to the truth behind whoever is trying to drive a wedge between the Guild and Maven. Doesn't that get you all fired up?"

"Not if it means I'll have to go without you," she pouted. "And I'm sure Mercer will not let you go anywhere with me again."

"Well now, lass, you've come a long way in a short time." He poked her arm. "I'm moved by your admission."

"Don't tease me, Bryn. I said it without thinking." A shy smile came to her lips. "Even if I do mean it."

"And I'm serious as well." He leaned in to her and swept a tender kiss across her lips. "You'll need to very careful with that lizard. There are thieves and then there is Gulum-Ei. No honor, no code at all. He'd shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time."

"Great. That's the type of person I always seem to run in to these days."

"Are you speaking of me, lass?"

"Of course not, Bryn. Why would you say that?" Her voice rose in pitch, and confusion. She bit her lip, as if considering saying something more. He smiled at her, a flash of white teeth, and something fast and wolfish making her catch her breath. "Oh, you're teasing me again!"

"Why so serious?" he asked as his hands kneaded her shoulders, but he stopped short and raised an eyebrow. "Gods, Natasja, you feel so tense. Are you all right?"

"I am tense. Can you blame me after what happened today?"

"Look ahead, lass, not back. You have to learn to let things go."

"I know," she sighed. Thinking it over, she realized she needed an outlet to express some of these feelings in an atmosphere where other people made no judgments. "Bryn, would you mind if I went to visit the folks at Jorrvaskr in a little while?"

"Not at all." What few friends she had were like a security blanket, protecting her, and keeping her grounded. How could he deny her that? "I know you promised to visit them."

She smiled in relief and placed her hand atop his on her shoulder. "I want you to come with me, Bryn. Just promise to keep it civil with Farkas."

"I am nothing if not diplomatic," he reassured her. "In the meantime, is there anything I can do to help you relax?" He ran his thumb along her jaw line, his gaze caring.

His gentle touch shook her more thoroughly than if he had done anything else. "Maybe… How are your massage skills?" she asked, her voice grown small yet needy.

He stood looking at her for an interminable moment, his face very unreadable.

"Do I detect a bit of frustration in your tone?" He dipped his head and murmured into her ear. "I have many skills, Natasja, massage being one of my finer talents. These hands right here," he whispered as he wiggled his fingers in front of her eyes, "are worth more than their weight in gold."

She laughed at his boast. "Then what do you propose doing about my current condition?"

"I think a little afternoon delight is order."

"But you must be famished."

"Likely to perish, in fact." Starving for her, as he hadn't for any other woman in so long, he pulled her close to him. "I will always make time to properly care for your… aching muscles." Enclosing her in his arms, he kissed her so softly and tenderly, she moaned. "Now, follow me, lass."

Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs in silence, and didn't kiss her again until they reached the top landing. This time, it was long and lingering, a kiss that spoke of the depth of his feelings. With a haste borne of their earlier perils, they stripped off each other's clothing and dove onto the bed.

"I don't want the first course to ruin your appetite for supper," she teased.

"Don't you know the meaning of insatiable, lass?" His gaze was fierce, piercing even. He lowered his lips to hers for a kiss that was no less powerful, no less intense, than before.

Natasja closed her eyes and fell into the blissful abyss where nothing existed but their tender whispers and their joined bodies.

As the rainstorm blew out, Natasja and Brynjolf ate a small meal to tide them over until supper. Near the day's end, Brynjolf found himself with his arms crossed and leaning against a column, watching Natasja as she sparred with Vilkas in the Companion's training area. Natasja made eye contact with Brynjolf, and he acknowledged her with a lift of his chin and a small smile. Like everything about him, it was a restrained gesture, but it was comforting as well.

"She'll never be as skilled as Vilkas, no matter how hard she tries," Farkas said, sneaking up behind Brynjolf.

Startled but remaining motionless, Brynjolf spoke calmly. "I'd wager she may die trying."

Farkas harrumphed. "I couldn't get her to see reason where danger was concerned either."

Best to make friendly talk with this one. With a sidelong glance, Brynjolf said, "You know her well. Do you think she has a death wish?"

Farkas watched Natasja and pondered on the question, briefly wondering about the Nord's apparent fondness for her. "Considering what she is, I'd say no. Then again, maybe that's why she risks her life so often."

"What she is?" Brynjolf asked with knitted brows. "Aside from a skilled warrior, what else is she?"

"Come off it, thief. It's not every day someone with the special skills of the-"

"Farkas! Did you see that, brother? She almost bested me!" A proud grin spread across Vilkas's face as the student boldly smiled at the teacher.

Brynjolf was still staring at Farkas, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "Farkas, finish what you were saying about Natasja."

"I think you'd better ask her about it," Farkas said while holding back what he really wanted to say. "Go get him, Tasja!" he shouted with a huge smile. "He deserves a proper ass kicking!"

"And I need a rest," she said, huffing as she climbed the stairs to the dining alcove. "I'll let him think he's won for now."

"I did win!"

"Blow for blow, I had more points than you," she asserted with an amused chuckle. "But I know how fragile your ego is, Wolfy." She rolled her eyes and glanced at Brynjolf with a caring smile. "You want to have a go at me, too, Bryn?"

"No, no," he said distractedly, his hands held out in front of him. Brynjolf had become totally confused; he had no idea what Farkas was talking about.

Natasja waited for a teasing quip, but it never came. "That's all? No jokes?"

"Ah, well… given my earlier injuries, I make a much better observer than a fighter right now." It was good to see her so happy and relaxed. And to a degree, it was selfishly comforting to know he was more capable of putting that smile on her face than any other. However, he couldn't stop thinking about what Farkas said, and didn't say.

"You're just chicken," she whispered jokingly, but she was looking at Farkas with a barely concealed admiration in her eyes that stabbed at Brynjolf, until she turned to face him.

Natasja wanted to embrace Brynjolf, but thought better of it with Farkas standing by and looking so protective. Instead, she squeezed his forearm until he met her eyes, letting her hand linger for an extra moment. It did very little to reassure him, but a great deal to arouse him.

"So," Brynjolf started, pushing back the urge to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to bed for a second time. "What are your plans now, lass?"

"I want to check on the Lindgrens' daughter, Serena, and make sure her mother knows my threats were very real. And then I believe I owe you supper," she said, smiling at Brynjolf. "Hey Farkas, would you like to come with us?"

"Sure I would," Farkas said agreeably, although his eyes were wide.

Brynjolf sensed Farkas's surprise at her offer. Despite feeling uneasy about Natasja being around the werewolf, and having questions of his own he wanted answered, Brynjolf knew she needed some time alone with him. "You know, I think I'll head to your house for a while, lass. You can catch up with your friend without any interruption from me."

Pleased with his generous support, she did embrace him this time, and whispered in his ear. "That's sweet of you, Brynjolf. I promise I won't be long."

"I'll hold you to that," Brynjolf said.

Farkas watched as they looked into each other's eyes, their familiarity obvious as if they had been lovers for years. Natasja continued to stare at Brynjolf as he walked away, a reverent smile on her lips. Farkas sighed.

"Are you sure about him, Tasja? I can see he cares for you, but still, that Thieves Guild has powerful enemies. Is he worth the risk?"

For some reason, Natasja didn't bristle. Maybe it was the seriousness, the genuine concern in his tone. "You and the Companions were worth the risk. The rewards are always greater when risk is involved."

"You're still as stubborn as the day we met." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "And I'd have you no other way." For a scant moment, their eyes met and he saw the regret washing over her, the awkwardness—and he hated it. Damn, he wished things were different. And once more, he wished he were different. He nodded to her. It's going to be okay, he thought, and hoped she would read his mind or at least his expression. "Don't worry so much, Tasja. It'll make you look like an old hag before you hit my age."

"Ah, you're not so old, my friend." The silence dragged on for almost a minute as they walked toward the Lindgren's home, a long grind of time where she refused to meet his eyes again.

"So, tell me," he said, breaking the quiet between them. "What's this threat you had the guard give the Lindgren woman?"

"I said if she ever raised a hand to Serena again, I'd lock her in the dungeons and take Serena away from here. I'll be damned if I let her suffer under the rule of a woman like that."

"You've always had a soft spot for children."

"Who better to protect her than me, right?"

"Aye. The mighty Dragonborn. You'd have to find a suitable family for her if it ever came to that."

"Please, Farkas. Keep your voice down," she scolded. "I don't need to be reminded of it either."

"It's not much of secret around here, you know." The instant he stopped walking, she knew what his next words would be. "Your thief doesn't know that you're the Dragonborn, does he?"

"No, not yet," she sighed. "And don't say anything, Farkas. I'm just not ready to tell him yet."

"He doesn't seem the type to run off just because of that. What are you afraid of?"

"I want some time before I have to face that future. I want to live a little, have some fun. Is that so wrong?"

"Nothing wrong with having fun, but if I were him, I'd consider it a pretty lame excuse for hiding the truth."

"I know it's lame. But how do I tell him? Oh, by the way, I have the blood of a dragon and I suck out their souls when I kill them. So I'll be busy saving Skyrim from destruction for a while. Thanks for the good times, but I have to go now." She sighed again, so heavily Farkas felt his heart constrict.

"Tasja, if he means anything to you, anything at all, you owe it to him to tell him the truth. He's been around long enough to understand."

An idea struck her as she looked at him. "Maybe if he heard it from you or maybe if he heard a whispered rumor…."

"Come on, you have more balls than any woman I know," he scoffed. "Maybe even most men. But if he doesn't hear it from you, there's a chance he'll hear it around Whiterun and that'll piss him off more than your waiting this long."

"Do you remember how you reacted when you found out?" she asked. "You didn't speak to me for two days."

"Because you were intentionally misleading and I thought our friendship meant more to you at the time."

"It did! It still does." She rubbed her temples, her eyes closing briefly. "I'm worried he'll only see me as a Dragonborn and not as just a woman."

"Give us men some credit, Tasja. We're not all block-headed."

"I should have stayed here. Perhaps I…." She slumped against a tree, lost in her recriminations. "I am sorry about... well, you know."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Tasja. Tell him and be done with it." He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. The gleam in his eyes turned to something that looked like fear. "And then promise me you'll take care of yourself when you leave here."

"I will. Anything else, Father?"

"Yes. Don't get mixed up with the Dark Brotherhood. I guarantee they'll learn about you in time, and they'll send someone to bring you in to their lair. The coin will be tempting, but blood money is not worth the guilt that will affect you forever. Don't fall for their murderous cloak-and-dagger routine."

"Oh, Farkas, you're such a good and sensible man, more so than you ever get credit for."

"Nah. I just know common sense isn't all that common these days."

Then her mood shifted. "I'll be leaving for Riften tomorrow morning. The information I recovered is very important to the Guild. But the next time I travel near Whiterun, we'll see about getting you the cure. I am sorry."

"Will you stop apologizing already? I've lived with it this long. I can wait."

"Gods, I've missed you, Farkas," she told him quietly. "You've been a friend to me always, and I want you to know I'm eternally grateful."

If he blushed, she couldn't see it under his dark skin, but there was a slightly embarrassed hesitation in his response. "Just… don't let those thieves push you around, Tasja. I'd wager there are rats among them. People are always looking out for their own interests, so you'd best keep your wits about you."

"Brynjolf isn't like that."

"No, I don't suspect he is. But mark my words, somewhere down the road you're bound to find out a dirty secret or two among them."

"I hope you're wrong, but I'll keep my eyes open," she said as they reached the Lindgren house.

"Natasja!" The young girl ran out from behind a bush, slammed into her, and threw her arms around her waist.

"Well hello, sweetheart." Natasja pulled back and looked her over, happy to see her in good spirits. "And how are you faring, little princess."

"My hen laid an egg today and Mummy says I can keep the chick this time. I'm going to name her Natasja, after you!"

She laughed at the girl's innocent joy. "I've never had a chick named after me. I'm honored. So tell me, where is your mother?"

"Oh, she's inside making me some treats. Would you like one?"

"I'd love one. But why don't you show my friend your egg. His name is Farkas," she said, pushing him toward Serena. "I'll call you inside in a little bit."

"Okay," she chirped, and led a smiling Farkas toward the chicken coop.

Natasja stood before the front door, rapping twice. As the door opened, a bony woman with a wear-worn face invited her inside with a short wave of her hand.

"Go ahead and say it," Gerda said. "As if I need to hear your damn threats again."

"Threats that will come to pass if you don't properly care for that child. I have no interest in a conversation with you either. So are we clear here?"

"Very. Now get your fat ass out of my house."

With wild eyes, Natasja pushed the woman against the door and held her there. "You are a foul-mouthed shrew who doesn't deserve a child. Make no mistake, woman, I will take Serena away from you if I hear of any wrongdoing on your part. I may not be staying in Whiterun, but I have eyes everywhere. You'd best not forget that." A terrified look crossed Gerda's face and she nodded vigorously. "Smart woman." Natasja backed off and flung open the door, storming out in search of Serena and Farkas.

"Farkas!"

Serena dragged Farkas toward Natasja, giggling along the way. Natasja had to smile at the expression Farkas wore. He was way out of his element, but managed to act like a doting parent somehow, poking Serena, and whispering silly things only meant for her little ears.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go now." Natasja gazed at Serena, and for a moment, saw herself as a child, full of life and hopefulness. She took her hand and held it. "Promise me if you are ever afraid or need anything at all, you'll go and find Farkas at Jorrvaskr. Promise me right now, Serena."

"I promise, Natasja."

"I'll visit you again someday. Take care of my namesake, all right?" Natasja's throat closed up and tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't even understand why. Or did she?

She fled from the yard with a wave for a solemn Farkas and the smiling girl, falling back into the role of the restless drifter she had become, a woman fleeing from a reputation, from a curse. She ran back to Breezehome, back to Brynjolf, hoping that with him, she could find some measure of peace—if the gods let her.

Brynjolf was reading when she walked through the door. Putting the book back on the shelf, he stood at her approach, and held out a hand. "Come and tell me how your visits went."

"Farkas and I did have a nice long talk on the way to the Serena's house."

"And how is the little lass faring?"

"She seemed fine, happy even."

"Glad to hear it." Brynjolf was secretly thrilled the girl was well, knowing Natasja would make good on her promise to take her away. "And what of her mother?"

"She called me a fat ass," she said irritably.

"What?" he asked, somewhat amused by the disturbed expression on her face. "Did you beat her senseless?"

That made her laugh. "No, but I think she got my point."

"You are not fat, by the way. You are-"

"Don't tell me I'm big boned or I'll slap your face."

"I wasn't going to say that. But you're a Nord, so you are naturally larger than some waifish Breton, and you have more muscle than most women. She must have been a scrawny little thing, eh?"

"She was at that."

"Well, I like my women solid and strong, and capable of wielding more than a broom. And I especially like the fire in a certain woman's gaze." He traced his fingertips over her arm, and his touch made her shiver. For a few moments, all they did was stare at one another. "You are just right in my eyes, Natasja."

"Hardly perfect."

His darkened eyes flashed. "If I think you are perfect, then you are perfect."

"And your word is law?"

"As a matter of fact, it is." He brushed some hair from her face, tucking it behind her freckled ear. She leaned into him and held her breath when he kissed her on the neck behind her ear. His tongue was warm, wet, and when it swirled along the shell of her ear, she moaned.

Natasja grabbed his hand and held it tightly. Every bit of her disbelief melted away. She was no longer upset. She was stunned, and completely lost her train of thought. She now felt proud and… loved? Gods, I have to tell him.

"Bryn, I… I want to tell you something."

"Oh? My ego has been sorely neglected lately."

She laughed. "Okay, I can take a hint. Your skills as a lover are unsurpassed." He nodded once, with a smug grin. "How about we have the conversation over supper though? I'm hungry." Revealing the truth in public would certainly keep him from making a scene. "Let's go to the Drunken Huntsman just across the way. It's lower key than the Bannered Mare, and I like the crowd better."

"You like anyone in particular?"

"You dare to question the Thane of Whiterun about who she socializes with?" she asked, feigning insult.

"And just what are you hiding, my fair Thane?" He ran a few tentative fingers up her side, watching her for a reaction. "Knowing you, I suppose my superior interrogation techniques would prove fruitless."

"I am not ticklish," she said, a tad too straight-faced.

"Oh really?" He slid his nimble fingers higher up, feather light and fast. She twitched, her lips trembling slightly. "Not even if I do this?" His fingers moved higher still, reaching just under her armpit. A repressed smile broke loose, and she began to squirm away from him. "Is something funny, lass?" And then he tickled her until she cried out for mercy and begged for him to stop.

"Stop! You win! You win," she submitted. "You found my weakness. Do with me as you must, Sir Thief."

She stayed still and watched him, drank in the sight of him. Laughter danced in his eyes, and on his face, a lightness drew her toward him and made her feel as if she didn't have a care in the world, like anything was possible. He dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her to him, kissing her with deep, hungry kisses that tasted of raisin bread and jam.

"Seriously though, Bryn," she said a little breathless from his kiss, "I do have something important to discuss with you over supper."

"Then let's get going."

As they left her house, Brynjolf asked her a question, which had been burning on his tongue for an hour. "Farkas mentioned something about your special skills when we were interrupted. Which skills was he speaking of, lass?"

"Oddly enough, that's what I want to talk about."

"Before you say anything further, let me just say one thing." She nodded. "I want you to know how pleased I am that you're willing to confide in me now. Remember, I'll not judge you."

"You say that now, but as I told you this morning, you may not like what you hear."

He shook his head. "I think you are actually the control freak among us. Let me be the judge of what I like and don't like, please."

"All right," she said in nervous, high-pitched tone. "Well, not so long ago," she began, looking at the ground, "I discovered something, quite by accident, and well… Jarl Balgruuf brought it to my attention after a dragon was killed near the watchtower and-"

A loud squeal shattered the quiet and Natasja lifted her head to see a scruffy dog being kicked by a local noble.

"Hey! You there!" Brynjolf rushed away from Natasja toward the noble and pushed him to the ground as the man was drawing a dagger. "Back off! Only a coward would kick a dog like that. Did you mean to kill him?" Brynjolf spoke with an outrage Natasja hadn't seen from him yet.

"And just who are you?" the noble said as he stood up and brushed himself off. "I'll have you arrested for assault, you cut purse!"

"Norgran! Stand down!" Natasja interrupted. "You'll do no such thing to my friend."

"Your friend?" The man backed away. "Why yes, Thane, of course. My apologies."

"Get out of here now, Norgran, before I have you arrested."

Brynjolf was cradling the dog's head when she knelt at his side. "Bryn? Is the dog all right?"

"That damned fool kicked him in the head! But I think he's just stunned," he said, glancing at her with kindhearted eyes. "He looks like a stray. Kind of thin, don't you think?"

She glanced around and no child or man appeared to claim the dog. "Seems that way. You should take him with you, Bryn."

He laughed. "I don't think Mercer would see this mongrel as an asset to the Guild."

"Why do you give a shit what Mercer thinks?"

"I don't actually. Imagine? He could be our mascot," he said, half-jokingly.

"He could be," she said, seriously. "You saved the dog, Bryn. That means he's yours now."

"Mine?" Is she comparing herself to the dog?

"Yes. Yours," she said with a point of her finger. "I'll train him for you if you like. He'll be the best fighting dog you've ever seen." She whistled to the dog, walking backward toward her house and it followed at her heels. As soon as she opened the door, it ran inside and jumped onto the sofa. She looked at Brynjolf, smiling smugly. "See? He just wants a home."

"You surprise me, lass. I like that about you."

Closing the door, she grinned, and he took her hand as they headed for the Drunken Huntsman again. Once inside the quiet tavern, roving eyes fell on Natasja, her keen ears hearing the word she had come to hate spoken in low tones.

She pointed to secluded corner and pulled him along. "Let's sit over there, Bryn." She saw him eyeing the customers, straining to hear their whispered comments. Shit, shit, shit.

And as he listened, he caught the same word several times. She watched his expression, and waited, forming a defense in her head as a server placed a bread and cheese platter on their table.

"Why is there so much talk of a Dragonborn?" he asked her. "I think I've heard that word more in the last two days here in Whiterun than I've heard in my lifetime."

"Well, you know the dragons have returned, so along with them comes the…." She swallowed hard, failing at keeping a cool demeanor. "…the Dragonborn." Her mind raced with thoughts of him leaving her and storming back to Riften. The prospect was enough to make her feel physically ill.

"Lass, you've gone pale," he said with a frown. "What's wrong?"

"Brynjolf, I… I am…."

"You are what?" He laid his hand on hers. "You're trembling, Natasja. Tell me what's going on."

"It's me. They're all talking about me."

"You? I don't understand what you have to do… with…." Farkas's words came back to him then. Someone with the special skills of the.… "Sweet Divines. You? You're the Dragonborn?"

"I shouldn't have waited this long to tell you but I was afraid you'd leave me. I'm so sorry."

"No, you shouldn't have waited." His mind was reeling with the implications. Reflexively, his hands dug into the table before he jerked them away and dragged them through his hair. Whatever he'd expected she would say, whatever he'd imagined didn't come close to the shock that had his heart beating faster than a drum.

"They may know what I am, but not who I am," she said desperately. "Not like you do."

"Did you honestly think I would run off and abandon you because you're a Dragonborn?"

Of course he was offended, she could hear it in his voice, and her heart ached. "I didn't know how you'd react. People have often looked upon me as if I'm some sort of… creature, a mythical being."

"But you know me, Natasja. Have you not believed a word I've said to you?"

"Brynjolf, you have to understand it was not a lack of faith in you that has kept me silent. All I wanted was to forget for a while."

He very rarely felt lost in his life, but this conversation had him turned in different directions and none of them pointed in the right direction. "So this is why you joined the Guild, as an escape?"

"Yes. But it's been more rewarding than I thought it would be, mainly because of you. All the unpleasant things in my life have faded from my mind because of you."

"And now you're only staying because of me?" He shook his head and she didn't know if it was frustration, regret or plain anger she saw on his face. "Something doesn't make sense here."

"If we hadn't… if we were just friends, I probably would leave after a while, like I did with the Companions."

"And is that why you never got closer to the werewolf? Because you knew you would leave him one day?"

"No. Farkas is a true friend and I love him dearly, but he wanted more from our relationship, and I couldn't give it to him. I didn't have romantic feelings for him. You and I have so much more than mere camaraderie, Bryn."

"Do we?"

"I... I thought so. Maybe I'm wrong." She felt the sting of tears in her eyes as her throat constricted. She squeezed her eyes shut, determined to push back the emotions rolling through her. "Am I wrong, Bryn?"

"What do you feel for me, Natasja?" He looked at her, anguish written all over his face. "And be honest. I don't think that's asking too much."

She did not answer. Could not, because she could scarcely draw breath as she stared into his questioning eyes.

His gaze faltered and his voice dropped. "Since you are remaining silent, I will tell you a story that might spur you to answer." He took a deep breath and began as she stared at him, dumbstruck. "After Anabel's death, I went crazy for time. Drinking, carousing, all manner of debauchery that I hoped might do me in somehow. Delvin found me one night, piss drunk and throwing up outside the city gates. He dragged me back home and tossed me into the cistern water and then he pushed me around some in front of the other members. I was humiliated, but it wasn't the pushing around that embarrassed me, it was the way they all looked at me. I had let them down, selfish prick that I was. Anyway, I got myself together and a few days later, Delvin preached to me, as he is wont to do, and said one day another woman would stroll into town and steal my heart, just as Anabel had. I didn't believe him, but I did resume my duties in the Guild. From that day forward I took care of my family and never forgot my purpose."

"And so what?" she said, keeping her eyes on him, a hint of alarm into her voice. "You're saying I should embrace my role as Dragonborn, right?"

"Yes, but there is more to it. That day I saw you in the marketplace," he paused. The truth was he was frightened, too. More frightened, maybe, than she was. "I knew it was you then, only I didn't want to believe it, but I do now."

"Pardon me, Bryn, but… what exactly are you saying?"

His heart beat heavily in his chest, blood pounding in his ears. He was about to speak more openly of his feelings than he had in years. "Natasja, you take my breath away. You know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. You've stolen my heart, lass. And the truth is, I didn't even think I had one to steal. I can't make it any plainer."

Her entire life and its new direction depended on her next few words. She had to choose them wisely. What do I say to that? "Brynjolf, I worry we're being too quick, too rash. What if-"

"Forget the 'what ifs'. Here and now is all that matters."

"The problem is... it's that I…."

"What? Just say it already!" he pressed her.

"I don't want to fall for you."

"What? I don't understand you, lass." His teeth clenched and every muscle tightened with frustration as his blood pounded hot in his veins.

"It will always be one-sided with us," she asserted. "You will never see me the way you should, the way it's meant to be for a man and a woman. You'll always see me as the Dovahkiin first and a woman second."

"Now hold it right there, lass. Do not speak for me." She shrank at the overt insult in his voice as he shifted to sit up straighter. "All I have ever seen was the woman before me. If I have any thoughts about you being Dovahkiin, they are strictly out of concern for the perils you face in that role and nothing more." She looked stunned. Totally and utterly stunned, as if she'd just heard the worst news in the world. "Natasja? Say something."

"I don't know how to say this without sounding… trite. Maybe if I told you a story of my own, as cliché as that is."

"Of course." Did she just call my story cliché? Gods, she's a pain in the arse. "Tell me whatever you're thinking," he said in a most encouraging voice.

"Well, when I was a young girl, I enjoyed tending the garden for hours at a time. Every day when I took a break, I would imagine a handsome man riding on a beautiful black charger coming toward the garden, looking at me as if he had found a great treasure. He would scoop me up and take me away to his castle, where servants would wait on me and I would wear fancy clothes and have nothing but dessert treats for every meal. I think every girl has that dream though." She laughed, gazing past him for a moment, then looked into his eyes searchingly, her own just about swimming with tears. "My home is in the cistern now, surrounded by thieves, eating soggy bread and wearing this weathered armor. That is my reality."

His heart sank like a stone. He was by no means unprepared for this as he had spent hours on end reflecting on her motivations for joining the Guild. But he had to know everything, every painful detail. "So the Guild is not enough for you. I am not enough for you."

Her feelings for him were so new, so fragile and uncertain, yet she could not deny them. "Brynjolf… I'm trying to tell you it is enough, more than enough. Since I've met you, you are the man I see on that charger now. I never asked to be Dragonborn. I don't want to be Dragonborn, especially if it means losing you."

"You haven't lost me, lass." He reached his hand across the table, lacing his fingers through hers, sending a flood of warmth right through her. "Yes, I'm worried about you. I'm worried about what this all means in regard to your future, but you haven't lost me at all."

Relief flowed over her like a fresh breeze, followed swiftly by eagerness. "Oh Gods, Bryn, I can't tell you how worried I was." She closed her eyes and breathed out loudly. "And you're sure?"

"You're skeptical, as usual." He turned serious, leaning forward and staring intently. "I can't promise you anything beyond what you already know I have. But what I have, and what I am, are yours."

"You can't imagine the loneliness and isolation," she said quietly, "the long nights I used to lay awake listening to only my heartbeat and wondering if that was all I had to look forward to day after day. But I don't want promises you can't keep," she said, grasping his hand tighter. "Promises are what my father gave my mother, and I don't want them. I just don't want to be alone. I want you to be with me." Her stomach rumbled and she let go a small laugh. "And apparently my stomach wants some food now." She tore of some bread from the loaf and stuffed it into her mouth.

"So you can live without a castle and servants? I suppose we could count Vekel as a potential servant."

She laughed at his comic relief. "Vekel is far from the subservient type."

"Aye, just ask Tonilia."

"Speaking of her, Dirge says you and Tonilia have a thing going on, that she's cheating on Vekel with you."

His lips twitched and then he laughed. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn this way. "Dirge has nothing better to do than to make up stories, lass. Bored thieves gossip like old fishwives. And Tonilia is not my type."

"I didn't know you had a type."

"Eh, I don't really. But my mind has been occupied by a certain Nord woman who also happens to be a Dragonborn," he said, then kissed her hand. "I'll never feel in danger again while you're around."

"Oh, so you mean to use the Thu'um to protect your own ass? Smart man."

"I think so. Only a village idiot would walk away from a woman with that kind of gift."

"I can hardly imagine a more self-serving statement than that," she teased. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you think of me, Bryn. And spare me nothing."

"Well, for starters I think you are often foolish and impulsive, but well-intended." Then, with the note of seriousness in his voice again, he said, "I also think you'll come to embrace your role as Dragonborn sooner than you think."

"All right, enough of your assumptions." She tipped her head and grinned at him. "We should finish eating, and then make the most of our last night here. Maybe see what that dog is really made of?" Wide-eyed, she waited for his answer.

"I think we should fit in some wild sex when we get back to your house first."

She tried to stifle a laugh. "Oh. Well. I'm so relieved to hear that."

"I knew you would be. And as for the dog, whatever Mercer thinks about him, I'm sure he'll be out-voted by the others."

Giddy didn't describe her then, a beaming smile lighting her face. "I'm so glad you're agreeing with me on his."

"He does sort of remind me of a dog I had as a young lad." Brynjolf held her gaze as he offered Natasja his hand. "Let's go see if that mongrel has destroyed your house yet."

"He needs a name, you know. Maybe we should call him Mercer! And then I'll introduce the real Mercer to the dog and then maybe I can train the dog to pee on his desk."

"I hope you're not serious. Mercer would bust a vein." He leaned in and whispered. "Have you no control over your tongue, lass?"

"None."

"Mmm, good." He nipped at her ear before pushing her out the door.

"Oh Bryn, I'm so excited about the dog," she said as they hurried toward her house. "I know he will be worth it."

Pausing at her door, he tilted her chin up and peered into her eyes. "Just know that if you ever have to go, I won't regret anything, because you are worth it."

"As are you. You're worth any risk. Every risk," she told him, their lips getting closer before coming together in a kiss.

She opened the door at once, and there was the dog with eyes big as saucers, and one of Natasja's favorite gauntlets in his mouth. Or what was left of it.

When Brynjolf saw her angered expression, he held back the laugh that wanted to come out. "Is he still worth it, lass?"

"I wouldn't throw you out just because you chewed up one of my very favorite gauntlets!" she shouted pointedly at the dog. The dog dropped the gauntlet and quickly fetched a length of wood. "See?" She threw her arms around Brynjolf and hugged him with all her might. "He's smarter than he looks. Just like someone else I know." She placed her hand gently behind his neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him. "So, what was that you mentioned about wild sex?"

Her words sent lust pounding through him, forgetting about everything but making love to her, everything except the dog. "What about Mangy Mercer over there?"

"I don't care if he eats every piece of furniture in this house, Bryn." She took a breath, and smiled boldly. Bravely. "I want you. Now." She traced her hand down his chest, the hair sprinkled over his hot skin rough on her fingers, and then along the curve of his hip. She felt his back stiffen and his breath catch as she caressed him and felt him instantly harden. "And I think you want me too."

"I've never wanted anything more, Natasja."

With hearts possessed, they gazed at each other, both under the other's control and no one else's. They stared at each other and in that moment, they were as close as two people could be.

Natasja eyed the dog dangerously. "Stay!"

Then she and Brynjolf sprinted for the stairs.

A/N: I'm thrilled with the amount of visitors this story has received, not to mention the story and favorite alerts. Thank you all very much for reading and a special thanks for those who take a moment to review. Reviews are better than chocolate and definitely motivate me to write faster and more often, so don't be shy.

Hugs and kisses to Biff McLaughlin for her beta work, advice and her humor. Props to my fellow writers Zute and massivelyattacked.