Recap of the last chapter: Brynjolf and Karliah convinced Natasja that becoming a Nightingale would benefit their quest for revenge greatly, Mercer's death being the result. She was apprehensive but trusted them, her love for Brynjolf being a strong factor in her decision. But while Natasja was deliberating, Vipir took an arrow to the side and was fighting for his life. Sapphire was visibly disturbed, her affection for Vipir obvious. The Guild's mage was summoned and she was sure Vipir would survive, but the idea of the Guild's luck running out soon had everyone edgy. This prompted Natasja, Brynjolf and Karliah to head off after Mercer in Irkngthand. But first, they needed to stop at the Nightingale Hall outside Riften to summon Nocturnal, who would hopefully accept Natasja and Brynjolf as Nightingales.

Dream Demon

A dense fog had rolled into Riften. The accumulated water dripped from the trees and moisture drenched every surface. Frogs croaked loudly, reveling in the wetness as Natasja, Brynjolf and Karliah made their way to the Shadow Stone near the Nightingale Sanctum.

Normally weather like this would have put Natasja in an absurdly foul mood, but her mind was so busy with thoughts of Brynjolf and their shared affections, she didn't see the large pillar as they neared it.

Keeping to the trail on her right, she wondered if this was the real thing, if he was "the one" and if he truly felt for her as she did for him.

He must think me a wanton fool though, all, "Brynjolf, why are you so sweet to me?" And "Brynjolf, I do love when you hold me like that." And "Brynjolf, put your hands right there and... Yes. Yes! YES!" An awkward little giggle left her feeling embarrassed, but she was determined not to let anything get in the way of their happiness now. Not Mercer, not her bloody past, and certainly not anything the Grey Beards might have to say about her destiny.

Tingling in all the right places, the landscape passed by in a fog even thicker than in reality, and not even the looming ancient Shadow Stone drew her attention.

"Lass, where are you going? It's over here," she heard Brynjolf say.

"Ah. So it is." Stopping in her tracks, she peered over her shoulder with a devilish grin on her face, the images of them together intimately as vivid as possible.

Brynjolf quirked an eyebrow, but when Natasja wiggled hers suggestively, his face grew solemn. He sidled up next to her, leaning in discreetly. "This is no time to be thinking about anything except that bastard, Mercer. I know where your head is at, but you have to stay focused. It's too dangerous otherwise."

"You're no fun sometimes, Bryn, you know that?"

"Acting like a love struck fool will get you killed."

"And acting like a-" She stopped, bristling, a puzzled look ghosting across her face as his eyes rolled up.

"Damn it, lass, you need to… Gods, you are a frustrating woman." Brynjolf's shoulders tensed as he stood and stared at her. His eyes spoke of something deeply personal, a fleeting pain, almost a silent accord. "This is not the time for idle fantasies. You and I have come too far to let everything fall apart now."

Frissons of irrational anger ran through her as she stood with hands on her hips and arms akimbo. "Do you mean us, or tracking Mercer?"

"Both," he said tersely. "I'll drag your smart arse back to Riften if you don't promise to keep your wits about you. No more daydreaming about your knight in shining armor, all right?"

"You're one cocky Nord, you know that?" Little did he know how weak-kneed his criticism had made her, but she wouldn't let him in on that little tidbit. "And how do you know who or what I'm thinking about?"

"I'm an expert when it comes to deciphering body language," he countered, smug in his authority.

"Oh, please." She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're playing with me now."

"Liars tend to avoid eye contact," he said. "And crossing one's arms usually suggests that person is in a bad mood, or feeling a bit… vulnerable." He shrugged, a half smile playing on his lips. "It's a skill I've honed well over the years."

"Bullshit. You guessed." He was an excellent judge of people, damn it, but she'd fancied herself one big question mark in his eyes. Self-centered, she thought, preparing her assault. Egotistical, melon-headed… How exactly did he always know what she was thinking? Men and their bloody instincts. The words were there, screaming to come out, but… Gods, I can't say anything mean to him anymore. She sighed. It seemed she truly was bitten, and beaten, by a love bug. Or maybe it was a rabid wolf.

Finding herself unable to curse the man she loved, she stopped the impending outburst and smiled sweetly. "Okay, I promise. But one last, small temptation for you."

He gave her a sidelong glance, sighing and furrowing his brows. "The absolute last one."

"It will be. Just don't forget that when this is all over, I'm to be your serving wench for a day. Remember the bet I lost when I couldn't pick Mercer's lock?"

"Aye," he whispered. "And you'll pay in spades, lass, but put those lustful notions out of your head now. Please, please stay focused. There's a right way and a wrong way to deal with this." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "And then there's my way. I'll protect you with everything I've got, but you've got to hold up your end as well. And follow my lead. Understand?"

"Protect me?" Her gaze narrowed as she studied him. "You're the one who needs my protection."

"Now, lass, don't take offense."

A little growl left her before she could stop it; deferring to Brynjolf was hard. Natasja hadn't given an inch in so many years, it was nearly impossible for her to follow anyone's lead. But Brynjolf wasn't just anyone now. She trusted him, respected his judgment, and reveled in his skills. Those things added up to a man unlike any man she'd ever known, and unlike any other man, she loved him unequivocally. That made all the difference. "Don't you worry about my end. The way I'm feeling right now, nothing in my path will be safe."

"I don't want you to get too arrogant. Just do what you do best. And I'm not talking about racing ahead half-cocked." When he stroked his eyebrow more than once, there was no mistaking the concern in his plea.

"I know what you mean, Brynjolf. For you, I'll weigh the choices carefully before striking out," she said in a low voice, and with a smile that meant everything had been said on the matter. Even so, her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. He did love her, and any doubts she'd had niggling at the back of her mind were just childish and unfounded. She had to stop this nonsense at once. Throwing her arms around him she hugged him with everything she had. "I don't need to see your body cut down to know you're willing to die for me. That's one reason I love you, Brynjolf." The hands around her waist tensed as she drew back and stared into his eyes. "I promise I will keep my head on straight for the rest of this operation. Thieves' honor." She smiled and nodded once.

"Good. Now let's go before Karliah changes her mind about us."

Natasja glanced up at the Dunmer. "Too late. She's already got that look on her face."

"Come on you two! Time is of the essence," Karliah said, impatience adding a curt tinge to her voice. "Have I made a mistake bringing you both here? I certainly hope not."

Natasja and Brynjolf shared a cautious laugh before walking toward to the Shadow Stone.

"I told you, Bryn, she's like a mother hen."

"That's all right, lass. I think you're in need of one right now."

Natasja protested with a sound that fell somewhere between amused and annoyed. Truth be told, he was probably right. Karliah cared about her, wanted the best for her, and if she acted motherly at times, Natasja honestly didn't mind. It made her feel special, secure. Along with most of the Guild members, Karliah embraced her as a sister, and this new family was all she had now. Brynjolf was the patriarchal head, albeit in theory, so why not look upon Karliah as the matriarch? Though that would mean Bryn and Karliah would have to be some sort of couple if they were really the parents of all us orphans. Okay, scratch that thought and-

"Natasja, get a move on," Brynjolf said, interrupting her thoughts with a tug on her arm. Karliah had already opened the entrance and was motioning impatiently for them to join her. "Our sweet Nightingale is getting downright bothered," he said.

Natasja smiled the sort of smile a petulant child offers her mother as an apology. "All right, Nightingales… or wannabes, in your case, Bryn. Onward!" She threw her shoulders back and strode confidently toward the entrance. "Let's get this damn ritual over with."

The interior of the Hall was in severe neglect and disarray. A bed lay crumpled under the debris of a collapsed roof, a bookcase was upended, and moss and weeds grew in the dampness, sprouting in darkened corners.

"No wonder you prefer to hang around the Cistern," Natasja said to Karliah. "This place is ten times nastier."

"Actually, I rather like it," Karliah said, her voice stronger than usual. "It has a certain… mystique."

"It also has a certain stench," Natasja whispered when she spied a dead skeever.

"I'd say this place has its charms," Brynjolf remarked with an odd expression. "But the Cistern, well, that's home for me. And you are welcome to stay there too, Karliah, when this is over."

"Thank you, Brynjolf. That's very generous of you to offer, but I'll be staying here when I'm in Riften. My memories are here, when I was with Gallus." She let out a wistful sigh and gazed off into the distance. "My poor Gallus."

Brynjolf gave a warm, fleeting look at Natasja. "I understand, Karliah. Still, you're always welcome there."

With a gentle, but not at all happy smile, Karliah led them past the overgrowth and tangles of vines until they reached a dimly lit alcove with several armor stands.

Karliah's arms spread open wide, proud of the sight before them all. "And here we are. Natasja. Brynjolf. The Lady will want you wearing the traditional armor of the Nightingale and not your Thieves' Guild attire."

"Of course," Natasja said with an air of annoyance. "Gods forbid she see us for what we really are."

"Natasja, she knows what we are," Karliah said. "But the armor is… well, it will help us greatly. Trust me. Your stamina will be increased, your steps will be muffled… We can't afford not to wear it."

"Fine, fine." Natasja grabbed her gear and was surprised by the lightness of it, but it felt thick and cloying. She had always preferred to wear roomy leather armor for the freedom of movement it offered. While the Nightingale armor was supple and lightweight, it did seem a bit too confining, too limiting. Too ominous. "On second thought, I think I'll stick with the guild's armor." She tossed the blackened leather back onto the stone, pursing her lips and squinting.

"It is of superior quality and enchanted for our safety," Karliah insisted. "Nocturnal, for her own reasons, just needs to see a gesture of good faith. She will not even consider a conversation with us if she sees you in anything but Nightingale armor."

"Lass, just put it on," Brynjolf said as he pulled the hood over his face. "We've committed to this already. Don't be difficult now."

Gods, why did the two of them always need to pressure her so? Karliah wore her most admonishing expression, and Brynjolf simply looked at her—his eyes peering through the little slits in the armor—as if he were waiting to see if she would obey without coming to blows.

Damn it all. She quickly peeled off her thieves' armor down to her underclothes and donned the supple leather of a Nightingale initiate.

"What is this?" Natasja asked as she pulled the hood down over her face. "It's almost like…a fluid metal of some kind." Her pulse quickened, rivulets of sweat forming on her brow. "It's so dark in here, so close to my skin. I never wear hoods for this exact reason!" She pawed at it, hoping that somehow the eye slits would expand and more light and air would flow in. The more she tried to move it around, the shakier her hands became. "I don't think I can do this, Karliah." Her breathing grew short and choppy, her words stifled. "I want… this …off."

"Relax," Karliah said, gently taking hold of Natasja's hand. "You will get used it, believe me. I know it seems rather confining, but try moving around. It won't hinder your movements at all."

Natasja didn't hear her. Panic was setting in, and her fingers fumbled as they grabbed at the hood. "Gods, I can't breathe in this. Bryn? Brynjolf, I can't… can't catch my breath."

"Hold it together, lass. Take deep breaths, not shallow." Brynjolf took hold of her shoulders.

"I can't… it's too dark, too hot." Warm tears stung her cheeks but had no outlet in the armored mask. They pooled at her chin, not even reachable with her tongue. "I can't see your face," she said, unable to speak above a whisper, her head swimming with shadowy thoughts as she swayed on her feet.

"Look into my eyes, Natasja. Look. I'm right here with you, and with you I shall remain. You've nothing to fear."

Nothing to fear….

Her eyes closed and her knees buckled, faint moans, almost cries coming from under the Nightingale hood. A desolate memory, long concealed in the deepest recesses of her soul, came to her as if in a dream.

"Please don't hurt my sister. I promise I won't tell anyone about you, about any of this." The ropes tied around her wrists and ankles chafe her skin as she writhes, trying to move away. "There's an axe in that chest and some silver in the drawer there! Just take it and go, before someone comes along and finds you here. I beg you, just leave us alone."

"Shut up, you little whore." The slap to her face stings, but her feeble begging scars a place much deeper within her. "You think you're so smart, do ya? We'll take what we want and run from no one. Your father's cheated me for the last time. Bah! Why am I even talkin' to you? Maybe this sack over your head'll shut you up."

"No, I need to … Please, I have to see. I'm afraid of the dark," she whimpers.

"Afraid of the dark?" A moment of silence, a crackle of embers from the fire as a log collapses, the light surrendering to blackness. "Aren't you a bit old for that rubbish?" Tears fall as cruel laughter echoes off the walls. "Didn't that bastard father of yours tell you about the darkness, about the strength ya get from suffering?"

And then the pain, searing flesh, white and hot. In the blackness, she no longer feels the blistering heat of the coin on her bare flesh as she slips into a fairy-tale, a handsome knight riding toward her, her savior growing ever closer by the minute.

"How does it feel after a few minutes in the coals, eh? Just another mark for you to remember what a pathetic urchin you are. You'd do well to tell that whoreson to pay up next time or worse things will happen to his kin. Understand me, girl? Understand?"

"Yes," she says, though she doubts he heard her.

"Docile as a lamb now, eh?" Filthy hands paw at her, yanking her arms up to his mouth only to spit on them. "Eh, too many marks, like damaged goods, you are. But I bet your father makes plenty of coin when you spread your legs for the soldiers comin' through town."

"He…he doesn't do that. I've never…."

"No? Never got it, eh? No one'll have her boys, the ugly bitch! And I'll not have ya either. No, I like my women soft and round, smooth, like a babe's bottom, and as pretty as my mum. Not a spindly, marked up waif like you. Now, tell me where that lovely, pale-skinned sister of yours is."

"No!"

Brynjolf's arms encircled her as she collapsed, catching her before she hit the ground.

"Snap out of it, lass!" He yanked the hood from her head, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Brynjolf," she whispered, unable to stop tears from falling. "I can't do this. I just… I can't."

"Yes, you can, Natasja. Look at me, look into my eyes, love." He held her in his arms, as tightly as a blacksmith's vise, worried distantly that he was hurting her but so desperate to make her understand. "Forget wearing the hood if you have to. But don't for one second tell me you can't fight at my side with everything you've got. I know you can. I know it, Gods damn it. I've seen that warrior's spark in your eyes."

"You're wrong. I'm not a true fighter. I just… I try, but that's not really who I -"

"The way you saved the little girl in Whiterun," he cut in, lowering his eyes to find Natasja's gaze locked on his. "The way you took out those mercenaries at Mercer's, the giants at Largashbur, the forsworn Karliah talked about—that all took guts. Balls bigger than any man I know."

Stepping back, she nodded, albeit weakly, his faith leaching into her veins little by little as she took deep breaths. "But you don't know…I haven't told you everything in my past, and some things are too hard to forget. Sometimes, when those voices get into my head, I freeze up."

"I know what you're feeling, lass. I've felt it too. But trust me, the only way to get past it is to put in its place, bury it now, even if it's only for a while." He held out his hand, palm up, and sighed in relief when her hand slowly rose. "You can do this. I know you can. Take my hand and l'll lead you."

She stared down at it, as if reluctant to accept it, but afraid not to. Emotions surged and swelled, and the pain of the past, the suffering and the loss, overwhelmed her. "Brynjolf," she said, barely above a whisper. "Please help me." A trembling hand took his, the ghost of a girl she once was surfacing. "I need help. Your help."

Her gaze drifted in a confused bewilderment toward Karliah, patiently waiting. A purple glow emanated from the doorway, bathing her friend in soft and soothing tones of lavender. Maybe it was the loving smile on Karliah's face, or the warm hand grasping Natasja's like a lifeline. Or maybe it was the sweet smell of lilacs thick in the air of a dream long past. No matter the reason, she held fast to her lover's hand, silently longing to connect and persevere.

"Trust me, lass. I won't let you wallow in this." Auburn locks tickled her cheek as he pulled her in, close to him, like a tide intent on carrying her to the shore. "I'll never let you drown, love. Never."

A/N: Gods, it's been so long. I hope you guys are still interested in the story! The usual excuses apply-Life's curveballs, hijacked muses, etc. This chapter is a little shorter than I usually write, but I think this may be the best way to proceed if I'm to update more often.

Many wet kisses to my buddy, Biff McLaughlin, and her wondrous beta stick and honest feedback. Tons of hugs to my other G+ buddy, Zute, for reminding me that show is better than tell. Without you two, I'm not sure I'd write at all some days. Love you guys.

Thanks so much for reading/reviewing/alerting, friends! And to all the anon reviewers, I'm sorry I can't reply to you individually, but know that your comments have spurred me and the muse on greatly.