Come away where they can't tempt us
With their lies

And I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come

Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you

Norah Jones - (Clapton, Patrick/Bramlett, Lynn)

The Madness of Love

Natasja struggled to lift her head from the pillow just before dawn. As predicted, she awoke with a formidable hangover, and shifted uncomfortably beneath the warm weight of Brynjolf's arm, careful not to wake him. He was sleeping so peacefully. She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through his hair, to kiss the scar on his cheek, but she was too afraid he might awaken. She scrubbed her hands over her face, but the uncomfortable truth did not dissipate. Natasja slipped out of the Cistern unnoticed, her heart heavy.

Mercer was waiting impatiently at the stables, and before she could say good morning, he mounted his horse and headed north. Within an hour, Riften was a distant memory. Too bad all the pain can't be a distant memory.

Galloping next to Mercer somewhere near Shor's Stone, the little men with daggers were still working away in her skull, all stabbing in unison. Even through the throbbing, she would see a grassy field and think of the picnic she'd had with Brynjolf, or Mercer would shout some inane observation and she would remember the look on Brynjolf's face when he saw her pawing at Vipir in the Flagon, another disturbing memory of the previous night, a night sadly devoid of intimacy. She felt a little guilty, a little immoral having flirted with Vipir as she had, but re-focused her thoughts on what had to be done today, convinced she had done the right thing in brushing Brynjolf aside the night before. Yet she still loved him. The feeling was wonderful, and terrifying. When I get back, this has to be sorted out. I cannot live this way.

Brynjolf had been right about Mercer's relentless pace; they made it to Snow Veil Sanctum in less than two days.

"Get a move on, girl, and tie up your horse. Karliah is in there and I have a taste for blood."

"I don't usually tie up Saturnalia. She'll stay in the general vicinity."

"If she runs off, you're walking back to Riften," he said firmly.

"Are you always such a gentleman, Mercer? No wonder the women clamor for you."

"I give the orders, and you take them. One more snide remark and I'll hogtie you and gag your smart mouth," Mercer threatened.

"Promises, promises," she whispered to herself. If she could have killed him, she would have done it. Natasja had just dismounted near the entrance to the ruin when Mercer quickly slaughtered Karliah's horse, and if Natasja was insubordinate once more, she thought he might have done the same to her too. Eager to finish this matter with the Dunmer, she jogged down the stairs leading to the Sanctum and tried to unlock the heavy door.

"Out of the way, girl. There's a trick to these old doors." Mercer pushed something and poked something else, and the door opened with a great whoosh of air blowing out. "Now let's end this. You lead."

"Of course. It will be my pleasure to take all the hits while you stroll behind me."

For all she knew she was going to her death, yet she did not hesitate for a moment. Regrets were harbored deep in her heart and if the worst were to happen, she would take them to her grave. At least she'd felt like the Guild members were her family for a time, brief as it was. Her one true regret was leaving Brynjolf without saying she loved him and damn the consequences. In her heart, and contrary to what she told him, she was his more completely than he realized. She felt a tightness gathering in her stomach as a sense of urgency came over her. Getting back to Riften as soon as Karliah was taken care of was critical.

As they pressed on through the tomb, Natasja was impressed with Mercer's skills, battling the draugrs and avoiding the trip wires of the ancient tomb. She'd thought he might stay further back and let her clear out the threat, but he was right there, fighting at her side. I don't understand this man at all.

"We're getting close to Karliah. I can smell her."

"Really? And what exactly does she smell like? Cinnamon, fruit, rotten meat?"

"A figure of speech, girl," he sneered as they reached an ancient puzzle door.

For a second time, Mercer managed to unlock it by knowing the secret, and again, he didn't fill Natasja in on exactly what the secret was. Once over the threshold, Natasja saw the Dunmer woman standing high atop a ruin, an arrow knocked and aimed directly at Mercer.

"Watch out, Mercer!"

Karliah shifted ever so slightly and Natasja dove and tumbled to the left. The arrowhead didn't puncture her skin but grazed along her thigh. Bracing herself, Natasja put her palms on the cold stone ground and pushed, but she was too weak; the poison took effect almost immediately. Every muscle seized and Natasja felt no sensations as she collapsed, the darkness filling in around her, her vision blurry and lopsided.

She heard a deep, mocking laugh. "Well, well, Karliah. At least you made this easier for me by taking care of the girl."

Mercer… a traitor! Gods, Brynjolf's in danger…. As Natasja lay immobile on the ground, all she could do was listen to Karliah and Mercer. The Dunmer spoke, her voice drifting down from the pinnacle, her voice like that of a bird, not powerful, but expressive, with a lilting air.

"I know what you are, Mercer. Nocturnal knows what you are. You must pay for your crimes, and pay for Gallus's murder."

"Gallus could have looked the other way, but he was too honorable, too noble-minded to be guilty of such deceitful conduct."

"And you expected him to ignore your methods? Did you forget the oath you swore as a Nightingale?"

"Enough talk, Karliah! Let's finish this and reunite you with your precious Gallus."

"I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence." Karliah disappeared in a sudden swirl of black smoke, her voice echoing through the ruin. "But I promise you, the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

"Come for me in your own time then, Karliah. I'll be waiting for you."

Natasja lay in a daze, addled, confused, and able to think of only one thing. Brynjolf….

"And as for you, girl…." Mercer's dark shadow moved toward Natasja. "Karliah has provided me the means to be rid of you finally. A pity Brynjolf wasn't here to see your failure. I'll be certain to rub it in his face while he grieves for you."

You will get what's coming to you! The words echoed in her head, but no sound came from her lips.

"What's that? Oh, you can't speak. Well, allow me to end your suffering." Mercer drew his blade back, trained eyes centering on the target, and he thrust forward, the tip of his blade piercing her femoral artery. "I hope you like your final resting place, girl." Her vision ebbed away as Mercer disappeared.

When Natasja awoke, Karliah was at her side. With what little energy and strength she had, she moved to sit up but flopped onto the ground once more, her features contracting in agony. "By the Gods, my body is half numb and half on fire. What did you do to me?"

"Don't try to get up so quickly." Karliah tilted Natasja's head back and forced more antidote into her mouth. "Tell me exactly how you are feeling"

"I'm sure you can imagine since you tried to kill me."

"My arrow was tipped with a paralytic poison which kept you from bleeding out." Karliah looked at Natasja as the antidote worked its way into her blood, counteracting the paralytic agent. She was recovering faster than most, Karliah noted; color bloomed on her cheeks within minutes. "You are alive because of me."

"That's one way to look at it," Natasja said softly. "I think you just wanted me out of the way so you could bring down Mercer on your own."

"I couldn't fight Mercer alone. The poison was meant for him, but I didn't have a clear shot, so you ended up on the receiving end of that arrow."

"Why did you save me then?"

"Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he's done." Karliah knelt close to her and gently wiped her wound with a medicated cloth. "Now I can only hope you are willing to help me bring him to justice."

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" Steadier now, Natasja blinked but she couldn't shake the vague nausea that clung to her system. She didn't have the energy to argue either, barely had the energy to stand on her wobbly legs, but she did.

"Even with our combined fighting skills, Mercer would have bested us. He has… remarkable powers, stolen powers that would have ended us quickly."

"What is your plan then?"

"We need to go to Winterhold and have Gallus's journal translated by a friend of his named Enthir. Then I can prove Mercer's betrayal to the Guild. They won't simply take my word for it."

Anxiously, Natasja searched for her weapons but only found her sword. The dagger she'd had sheathed on her belt was missing. "Damn Mercer! He took my dagger."

"To prove your death, no doubt." Karliah watched as Natasja closed her eyes and mouthed a word silently. "What are you thinking?"

Brynjolf…. "Just… nothing. And Gallus? I was told you killed him."

"Mercer stole from the Guild and Gallus found out. I was too late when I arrived here all those years ago, and Mercer had already killed him."

"And so you drew Mercer out by trying to bring down the Guild and angering Maven?" Natasja took a deep breath and blew it out. "You should have gone to Brynjolf. I know he would have weighed all the evidence before passing judgment on you. He is a reasonable man, Karliah."

"You know Brynjolf well, it seems. However, without proof, I doubt even Brynjolf would believe me. No one had any reason to be suspicious of Mercer, but I was a Dunmer thief who rose through the ranks quickly. It was quite evident that I was not trusted by the other members."

"So you and Gallus were lovers and he died protecting the Guild from Mercer, leaving you on the run all this time." She shook her head. "Gods, just another reason not to be involved with that thief."

"You say that as if you are already involved with someone. Brynjolf, I presume?"

"He's been a good friend to me." Tamping down her temper, Natasja met Karliah's gaze. She was reluctant to discuss her relationship with Brynjolf, but was already feeling a kinship with this woman, a connection she couldn't readily explain, but one she trusted all the same. "We are involved, or were involved. Gods, I don't even know what to call it, but I care for him very much. Mercer will go back to Riften and he might…." The mere thought of Brynjolf caused her heart to skip a beat.

"Mercer will do nothing rash or violent. But you cannot alert Brynjolf. Mercer will have every resource available actively searching for me, and it's safer if he assumes you are dead."

"Safer for you perhaps. No, there must be a way." She wandered a few feet away, searching the snowy fields for an answer. "Saturnalia…."

"And who is that?"

"She's my horse." Natasja whistled and from deep in the woods, Saturnalia appeared and ran to her. "I want you to head for Riften, to Brynjolf. Riften!" The horse whinnied and stomped her foot. Natasja took out her dagger and scraped away several patches of hair from the horse's thigh. "Only Brynjolf knows what this means. He'll understand. He has to," she whispered.

"Your horse is our quickest way to Winterhold and you need healing once we're there. You'd risk dying on the way just to let Brynjolf know you yet live?"

"If it were you, and Gallus was waiting, what would you do?" There was sweetness in Natasja's voice, an unbearable tenderness that spoke of love and loss, which Karliah understood all too well.

"You love him then, as I love Gallus, even now."

"Please, Karliah." Natasja smiled a smile of desperate appeal. "Please don't fight me on this. I owe him. I know he won't come looking for me. He cannot with his responsibilities to the Guild. I just want to give him some measure of comfort in all this."

When she contemplated her life without Gallus, Karliah nodded solemnly. "Do what you must then. And I'll pray your horse has the sense to do what you tell her."

"So long as she evades bandits, she'll find her way back." Natasja slapped Saturnalia's rear end. "Run now! To Riften!"

"Drink this." Karliah handed her a vial as they watched the horse gallop away. "It will ease the pain and slow the infection. If we push, we might make Winterhold by sundown. I'll explain what the Nightingales' role in this is on the way."

Natasja limped alongside her, following the Dunmer northwest. She embraced the pain, a reminder of not only what she must accomplish, but also of what she had gained that day in the ruins - her life, and another chance at love.

One long, miserable week had passed, and Brynjolf awoke from another fitful sleep to find Mercer standing at his desk and looking no worse for the wear. Relief washed over him. Karliah was taken care of without incident, but Natasja hadn't come to him upon her return. She must be angry with me still, he thought. I think I can change her mind, if I could only find her. As he peered throughout the Cistern, he saw no sign of her.

"Mercer," he said gruffly as he approached the desk.

"Ah, Brynjolf. I was wondering when you'd rouse yourself from sleep to speak to me."

"I had no idea you were back," he said, his gaze continuing to sweep the room in search of Natasja. "Why didn't you wake me last night?"

"There was no reason to. The trip was… unsuccessful on several levels."

"Did you not find Karliah?"

"Oh, we found her all right. But she got away again, although not before injuring both of us." Mercer shifted his weight, leaning away from the desk. Brynjolf caught a look of edginess in Mercer's dark eyes, but nothing more.

"You were both hurt? Nothing serious, I assume."

"I'll live."

Brynjolf looked around the Cistern as his heart began to race. "So, where is she, Mercer?"

"I don't know where Karliah went, but we'll find her soon enough. She wants me dead as much as I want her-"

"Not Karliah," he said, growing impatient. "Natasja." Again, he saw no sign of her, and he felt the knot tighten in his stomach.

"Oh, the Nord girl. Like an impulsive child, she ran up the stairs to get to that bitch, and had a run in with one of Karliah's toxic arrows," he said dismissively. "But Karliah realized she couldn't best me, and she took off. That was the only reason I walked out of there alive."

Brynjolf had a moment of panic, then cleared his throat and spoke with more confidence than he felt. "So Natasja is with the healers at the temple then."

"When have you ever known Karliah to let anyone else escape with their life once hit with her arrow?" he scoffed. "With my injuries, I had no choice but to leave her there."

"'Leave her'?" His mouth had gone dry, his palms sweating as he gripped Mercer's desk. "You didn't try to get her to a healer? Did you administer any treatment or healing salves?"

Vipir and Rune heard Brynjolf's raised voice from the alcove and moved closer. Rune whispered to Vipir. "Have you seen Nat? I think Mercer is saying she hasn't returned."

Vipir shook his head, Brynjolf's expression saying more than Vipir wanted to know. He held up his hand to Rune. "Quiet now."

"I had no treatment for her injuries," Mercer said to Brynjolf.

"So you walked away and left her alone? Tell me where she, Mercer, or I swear, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Mercer interrupted, his steely eyes staring at Brynjolf. "If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought you had inappropriate feelings for your protégé. You weren't foolish enough to fall for her, were you Brynjolf?"

"Damn you, Mercer, tell me what's become of her!"

"Aren't you listening, man? Her body is still in the Sanctum. She is dead."

"You can't be serious. She must have escaped somehow. She's a survivor, she's a…." Dragonborn. His mind was racing with thoughts of the events leading to her can't be dead, not like this, not so fast, not when he'd sworn to keep her safe.

"I'm sure you recognize this dagger," Mercer said, handing it at Brynjolf. "Proof enough for you?"

Brynjolf stared at the blade in his shaking hand. Flipping it over, he saw Natasja's initials on the handle, and he closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around the hilt. "No," he gasped, "It can't be true." He held fast to the desk, bracing his other arm.

Vipir's jaw dropped and he looked at Rune. "Go get Delvin." Rune blinked, then he blinked again and nodded awkwardly before sprinting off.

Mercer looked Brynjolf right in the eye. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have plans to make."

Brynjolf glanced at the impassive face of the man in front of him before bowing his head again. "Did she… suffer?" he finally asked without looking up.

"The arrow didn't kill her. Karliah's dagger across her throat finished that job."

Mercer's callous attitude infuriated Brynjolf, but at the same time, the cruel truth was beginning to take root in his mind. "And what of her belongings? Her horse?"

"Her horse? Why would I care about what happened to her horse?" For a moment, Mercer looked like a child caught with his fingers in a pie. "Look, it was an unfortunate loss for the Guild, one that will likely cause our coffers to suffer greatly, but her death was inevitable. You need to think about what's best for the Guild."

"She was one of us, Mercer. Have you no feeling at all? She was one of your own! When did you turn into such a cold bastard?"

"I am not renowned for my patience, Brynjolf. Do not overstep your bounds," he snarled. "My first and only concern was ridding us of the poison that is Karliah. And since I failed at that task, I'm not really in the mood for a pointed argument with you."

"You lying son of a bitch!" Brynjolf gripped the dagger and raised it as a burning anger built up in his body.

Almost without thinking, Mercer's hand moved to his sword, fingers tightening in anticipation of dealing a quick death. There was a long moment of silence and neither man moved.

"Think before you act, Brynjolf. I do not intend to lay down my life for anyone."

A sound from deep in Brynjolf's throat broke free, as though a red-hot iron were piercing his heart. Brynjolf swallowed hard, but his mouth was still dry. There were no words left to speak, no details left to hear. He had to leave before the argument got hotter, while he was still in shock and before grief consumed him. Heavy legs carried him toward his room, his feet moving of their own accord.

Brynjolf pulled out his dagger, replacing it with Natasja's as Delvin ran up next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Brynjolf?"

"Back off, Delvin."

Delvin's hand didn't falter, his gaze didn't waver, as he looked into Brynjolf's eyes. "Let's get some drinks, and we'll see this through with you," he said as he motioned toward Vex.

"Leave me alone, Del." Brynjolf shrugged off Delvin's hand as memories of Natasja came flooding back. "For fuck's sake, just leave me alone."

Vex moved to stop him, but Delvin grabbed her arm. "Let him go, Vex. He needs to think it through on his own."

"Don't you remember the last time?"

"He's not that man anymore, Vex." Delvin watched his friend leave with a grief-stricken twinge in his own heart. "He'll be all right. We all will."

Slamming the door of his room, Brynjolf tossed his old dagger aside and lowered himself slowly onto the bed, feeling older than he ever had, wearier than he'd been when he lost Anabel. His head dropped into his hands. Natasja was dead and all he could do was sit there with absolutely no idea what to do next. She was dead and he didn't know how it had happened. He would never see her again, never feel his heart melt from the warmth of her gaze, or hear her soft, uncertain laugh, or feel her fingertips caress him with infinite tenderness. He was already mourning that he had not done all he could to make a life with her; instead he was left alone to hustle, to make money for the Guild, and to grieve. The heart in which he had hid away all his secrets, all his hopes, was now stone cold. She was dead, and he felt himself as much the cause of her death as Mercer.

How can this be happening? She can't be gone. Not yet… not yet.

"I'm sorry, lass," he whispered. Even though he sat, he was dizzy. He fumbled for the bottle of mead on the floor, his hand shaking and his fingers stiff. A long acidic mouthful of mead proved ineffective. So he drained more, and then more, until it was empty. Tears welled up in his eyes as his gaze swept the room, searching for something else of hers, anything he could hold to remember her by, to remind him of the last months of tranquility, every moment spent with her a strange mix of pleasure and torment. No woman had ever affected him as she had. But there was little to remind him of her now. The room was empty except for a pile of wrinkled clothes and a pair of old boots, even the shirt she had worn no longer carried her scent, replaced with the musty odor of the Cistern.

His eyes fell on the nightstand. There was his strongbox, and inside, her journal, the only real proof he had left that she'd existed at all. He turned the key and the lid flew up. The sight of the journal from her first days in Riften mocked him, the thing she was happiest with when a quill was in her hands. He almost couldn't touch it, knowing her death would become reality. But he willed himself to grab it, vowed to turn the pages of her handwriting, swore to read the black ink on the parchment paper. Would he read of her aspirations and her failures, or perhaps her dreams? All her vulnerabilities a distinct part of her charm, and all cut short by the Dunmer's blade.

He rushed from his room, heading for the exit to the city and ran straight to the stables. His knees gave out as he stood in the space usually occupied by her horse, Saturnalia. Clutching the diary with trembling hands, he caressed the book's fragile cover. For as long he'd known her, she'd written passages about her days in Riften.

As he turned to the first page, there across the top, it read, The private journal of Natasja Black-Nail. If you are reading this, I must be dead. Walk with the shadows, my friend, my beloved thief. I regret nothing, Brynjolf.

"Oh, lass…." He took a deep, ragged breath and turned the page. It began with her first day in Riften.

What was I thinking coming to this sleazy town? And now this guy keeps calling me "lass" and he wants to recruit me into the Thieves Guild? He must be daft.

"Daft indeed." He let go a sad laugh.

The pages turned quickly but he was not missing a word, only pausing to ponder from time to time.

Goldenglow was far from an easy job. Those idiots actually sent me with no one but Lydia to help, and by the grace of the Gods, I managed to escape with my life. Not so for Lydia. Gods rest her soul. But Brynjolf has been very attentive while I heal. I admit he is quite attractive, perhaps a bit old though. I wonder if he can keep up with the young ones in the Guild. Maybe that's why he never leaves the Cistern. Too old and rickety to run from the Guard. Still, he seems competent enough. And he is very well built. Well, he is a Nord. We are all built as such.

"Ah, so you did think me too old. But young enough at heart to capture your attention, lass."

Damn that man. Bryn wanted me as much as I wanted him tonight. He kissed me at the stables and I saw stars. I don't blame him for being hesitant though. He did lose someone he loved so it's only natural he'd be afraid to get involved again. But I don't want any commitment, just his company. I think we could both use some affection. Time will tell I guess. Maybe I should have stuck with Delvin.

"Delvin would have loved properly. I hope you knew that."

Why is Brynjolf teasing me so? Why does he affect me at all? And why in bloody blazes do I care? Gods, I hope Farkas will talk to me after how I treated him. I need a friend now. I hope we make it to Whiterun by sundown.

Guilt settled in his heart. Farkas was just her friend, a needed friend, but he hated him for it. "I didn't make it easy for you, did I?"

I take it all back! Every single disparaging word I've said about Bryn. After last night, I can hardly think straight. And he was so sweet and gentle and so loving. Any woman could fall for a man like Brynjolf. And maybe he could love me someday. No, no. Best not to think in those terms. The gods have plans for me and I'm sure they don't include a happily ever after. Even so, I've never felt so at peace as I did in his arms last night.

"As did I, lass. As did I." With a somber heart and a heavy sigh, he bowed his head. He flipped a page back and noticed a sheet had been torn out. He thought back to that day but couldn't remember exactly what had happened between that night and the meadery, other than Natasja telling him to leave her alone. "A mystery not to be solved."

Damn skeevers. I had to suck the venom from his leg! It was disgusting, and I hated him for it. Well, I hated him for about one second. Truth be told, I would have cut off my own leg to save him.

"Why didn't you tell me, lass?" He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I suppose I wasn't making it easy, once more."

Now he knows what I am, and I'm extremely relieved. He was so calm about it all. I was foolish to wait so long, but he said it didn't matter to him, that I've stolen his heart. I'd rather he gave his heart to me freely though. I don't like to think that I've somehow manipulated his affections. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Damn semantics.

"I did give it freely, but I didn't make it plain enough it seems. Gods be damned for taking her away before I could say it."

When he reached the last page, he ran his fingers over the writing, pausing over the center section, then continuing on until he reached the bottom. The lines were slightly blurry, as if drops of water had fallen on the page. He touched the spots lightly with his fingertips. "Tears shed, but why?"

Last week I told him the Cistern was my home now, but that wasn't quite true. He is my home. Wherever he is, be it in a stable or in a snowstorm, Bryn is my home. I'm in love with him. I know this to be the truth with my whole heart and soul. There. I confessed it.

"She loves me… loved me. Sweet Divines, I should never have read this." The very last thing she wrote hit him like a punch to the chest, the air rushing out of him.

I shouldn't leave without saying goodbye to him, but he doesn't love me. I'm just a body to him, just a plaything to idle away the hours, and if I stay here, I'll be reminded of that all the time. Maybe I'm destined to be alone.

He felt it snap in his chest, felt the numbness replaced with grief as it swept over him. The fact that she died alone was the worst part. Her whole life she felt alone. As a young girl, after everything that happened to her family, and then roaming Skyrim in search of her sister, all she ever wanted was a home again. The Guild members were much more than her friends. She had a family within the Cistern, and they all made her feel special. Brynjolf had failed to do the same.

Finally, he closed the book, stroking its vellum cover as if it were Natasja's hair. When he looked up, his eyes met the smiling eyes of a boy.

"It's not like your friend to leave her horse roamin' about."

"What?" Brynjolf blinked at the boy, surprised he was not alone. "What horse?"

"This one here. The Nord woman's pinto."

"Nord woman….? Saturnalia?" Brynjolf jumped to his feet. "Is it really you, girl?" He looked at the stable boy, dumfounded. "Did she have a saddle or pack on her?"

"No. Naked as the day she was born. But she seems healthy enough."

"This is incredible." Brynjolf closed his eyes and dropped his head. The horse nuzzled into him, whinnying low and mournfully. "Aye, she'll be missed by us all." Natasja's horse was one of the best mounts he'd ever seen. Saturnalia was dependable, even-tempered, intelligent, and meaner than a rabid dog when needed. He looked her over, noticing several jagged scratches but nothing serious. As he smoothed his hand over her thigh, he felt a rough patch of hair. Looking closer, he could see that her hair had been shaved in an irregular pattern, like symbols, or… letters. Brynjolf stared. Were his eyes deceiving him? They must be. This had to be pure coincidence.

"What do you see there?" the stable boy asked, thinking something was wrong.

"I think…" He fell silent. These are letters… they spell…. His heart skipped a beat, then raced. "Omak," he whispered, too low for the boy to hear.

"What's that you say?"

A flash of hope sprang from his heart. "Nothing, nothing. It's just an old scar," he said quickly. "Here's a little extra for your efforts." He handed the boy some coins and then grabbed him by the shoulders. "And extra for your silence in this matter." The boy knew Brynjolf's reputation and nodded eagerly. "I want you to take this horse to the Merryfair Farm and tell Dravin Llanith I will be by later to pay him to keep her for a while. You can get a saddle for her, lad. I'll see to her for a little while and get her fed and watered."

"Yes, sir. And thank you, sir!"

Omak means trouble. Could Natasja have done this? Brynjolf took out his dagger and shaved the area completely. Gods, is she alive? Is this a message of some sort? Trouble. "If only you could talk, Saturnalia. Where is Natasja? Did she send you here?" The horse snorted and bobbed its head up and down as if answering Brynjolf. "I can't believe I'm about to have a conversation with a horse. Did you see Natasja? Did she send you back to me?" he asked for a second time.

Again the horse repeated the gestures, moving her head up and down and snorting, only more impatiently this time. Holding Natasja's journal in his hand, Brynjolf held it to Saturnalia's nose. The horse sniffed it, licked it once, and then nuzzled Brynjolf's neck with his nose. When Brynjolf looked into her eyes, he knew, as crazy as it seemed, he knew Natasja was alive. Somewhere. Gods, it was too fantastic to believe, but there was no other explanation for the horse's return with "Omak" etched into her thigh. Brynjolf was the only person to know of the hated moniker her father had given her as a child.

Now undoubting, Brynjolf reined in his elation and thought to seek advice from Delvin before he accused Mercer of any wrongdoing. When he found him in the Flagon, he dragged Delvin away to a quiet corner and told him of Saturnalia's return. The joy on his face confirmed to Delvin that his friend was not insane, but overjoyed with the truth.

"You won't be able to track her though," Delvin said, seemingly as happy as Brynjolf. "I'm sure the snow's covered any sign."

"Maybe she left another clue there. By the Eight, Del, I'm having a hard time understanding any of this. Why would Mercer lie?"

"He's hiding something and it ain't good." Delvin shook his head. "But if you confront him, you'll get no further information from him. How 'bout I ride up to Snow Veil and check things out?"

"I don't want anyone put in danger's way because of this. Let me handle it. I just need a plan."

"I already have a plan. You can't leave here without raisin' suspicions, but I can. Mercer pays me no attention and won't care if I'm not around for a few days."

"Del, you can't do this. She's my responsibility."

"Now you're gonna tell me where I can and can't go?" He crossed the distance between them and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Look, Bryn, I haven't left this bloody mess of a town in years. It's high time I get out and do some explorin' of my own before I start hobblin' like a lame dog. I see how travellin' has changed you, so I'm gonna go and you can't stop me. Sit down and hear me out."

"And just what are we to tell the others?" Brynjolf asked as he sat down in the rickety chair next to Delvin.

"Tell them I'm going to Windhelm. That rival guild is still trying to set up shop there. Murderin' thieves are givin' our Guild a bad name. Two birds with one stone, eh?"

"You'll not go alone, Del." Brynjolf reached into his pocket and held out a pouch of coins. "Hire yourself a couple sword arms."

"I've got more coin on me right now than you've earned in a year, Bryn." Delvin waved him off. "I'll cover it. You'll be needin' your own funds to make amends with Nat, no doubt. Women are more forgiving when they're offered expensive gifts. Or have you forgotten that bit?"

Brynjolf couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You ought to be charming your own woman, Mallory. Life is too short, you know? I owe you one."

"Bah! You owe me nothing. Just keep your head around Mercer and watch him closely. Here." Delvin handed Brynjolf a parchment with a list of names and locations. "Give these out to the others and keep 'em busy. Less time for idle chatter among the Guild will keep Mercer out of your hair if he sees the profits rollin' in."

"I understand what an awkward position you're in. Thanks, Del." Brynjolf clapped him on the shoulder. "I have to admit seeing you on fire like this is a nice change."

"It seems Nat has brought out the best in both of us." Brynjolf shrugged, and Delvin saw the slight frown of worry he wore. "Brynjolf, she'll be back with us soon enough. Then you can get back to fawnin' over her like a lovesick pup."

Brynjolf nodded slowly. "All right then. I'm heading to the Merryfair Farm."

"You know, I'm thinkin' maybe a little recklessness is in order as well. I wonder if Viola Giordano is still hangin' around the Candlehearth. She was a right good shag back in the day. Wealthy too."

"One hand in her pocket and the other up her skirt, eh?"

"Now you're talkin' my language, friend."

"Just don't forget to come back," Brynjolf joked, then he grew serious. "Be careful, my friend. And thanks again."

"Get lost already, would ya? Before I shed a tear."

"Right." Brynjolf rose from the chair where he sat, and his eyes were shining with a newfound purpose. Heading to leave through the Ratways to avoid Mercer, he smiled.

Soon, lass, you'll be home with me soon.

A/N: Poor Brynjolf. I couldn't torture him for long though. I hope it tugged at your heartstrings a little bit. Some may think the song lyrics are a bit corny, even I do at times, but every so often, a song has an effect on a chapter or inspires me in some way, so I put it up there. I don't know how many times I listened to Come Away With Me when I wrote this, but it was certainly more than twenty times. Yup, hopeless romantic. That's me.

Thanks for reading! I appreciate all the alerts and favs, and thank you to those who have reviewed. Reviews brighten my day more than sunshine. Hugs to my friend and fellow writer, Biff McLaughlin, for her remarkable beta skills and for keeping these characters and their story in line. Any mistakes are my fault from messing with the text after her edits. Thanks to Zute for her support and for the laughs.