Chapter 3: The Fear and the Needs

A thundering roar shook the ground beneath Aislinn's feet. A shade came across her face as a dragon cut through the sunlight, his mighty wings tearing through the air with a humming sound. Brynjolf drew his bow in a flash but she put her hand on his.

"It's not going to attack," she said calmly. "You don't have to tempt it."

"Is that fine with you? Aren't you the Dragonborn? The one who's supposed to kill the beasts?" he asked with a bit of uncertainty in his voice.

"I was supposed to kill one beast in particular. No prophecy or contract stated that I was supposed to kill all the dragons." She said it as if it was a given thing. The Dragonborn is not the same as a dragonslayer. "And, you know, technically I should treat them the same as people. There is dragon blood running through my veins, after all. I'm killing my own kind."

"Quite the fella now, aren't ya," Brynjolf chuckled. "I never noticed you had a problem killing people before."

"Hey!" she snapped. "I actually differentiate between them. I only kill those who try to kill me… or those whose name is on my contract at that moment."

"Right. When are you gonna start differentiating between dragons then?"

"You know… I barely get the chance to talk to them. They're not so communicative. And," she added sheepishly, "I don't actually understand their language all that well."

"Of course. They're beasts. Why would you understand a beast language?" Obviously, Brynjolf didn't see her lack of knowledge as a problem. It irritated her. She had been questioning herself many times about how she cannot speak in the dragon tongue, always coming to the conclusion that this was a weakness of hers she absolutely had to take care of. Alduin had mentioned it himself once upon a time and although she did not want to admit his point, it did plant a seed of doubt in her and that seed kept growing into a fine plant and spreading its roots and branches far and wide.

"Right. Then you might agree with me that those beasts are an important part of the food chain." She averted her gaze and fixed her eyes on a snowy mountain top located south-west from their location. He rolled his eyes.

They had been traveling for a day now, trying to avoid the main roads in case the Thalmor were searching for Aislinn there. She was sure they were and grateful that Brynjolf accompanied her. He would keep watch when she slept and guard her back on the road, always watching out, informing her of the slightest details she could have missed. Even in the wilds, his thief instincts were legendary. A bear guarding its young ones, barely visible from their point of view, a lurking sabre cat lying in ambush, silently waiting for its prey, which he recognized by the way a nearby bush had been broken. A treacherous pit covered by a set of wobbly rocks, leaves and soil, almost looking like a natural part of the scenery. He made her feel safe and secure. It was a nice change. She was used to traveling alone since most of the people offering her help just kept getting in the way when things got rough, but it sure was nice to have someone watch her back when there was a whole nation searching for her, although they had not met a single high elf so far and she would prefer it to stay that way.

She was not surprised by the fact that the Thalmor were after her. In fact, she would have expected them to hunt her down a long time ago. But that was the problem. Why now? What had changed? And why all the aggression when the White-Gold Concordat was still in effect? Or was it?

That's right, she had killed the Emperor. If the Thalmor took the murder of Titus Mede II. as an act of aggression against themselves, it might be possible for them to take action against Skyrim. Who would they blame? The Dark Brotherhood? Skyrim citizens? Or everyone outside the Aldmeri Dominion?

"Just what have I done…" she muttered to herself. It took Brynjolf's surprised stare for her to realize she'd said that out loud. She turned red as she looked at him.

"Don't… don't mind it. Just thinking out loud."

Brynjolf's gaze was full of suspicion. I don't buy that, it said.

"You're not usually one to regret things." No question mark.

"I don't usually have time to regret things," she replied, a slight undertone of sarcasm in her voice. "Sometimes I don't even have time to make proper decisions. It's just so strange… we keep waiting and waiting for the right time… and when it comes, we don't manage to make the right call. What kind of world is that?"

"Hah," he snorted, half amused, a pair of tiny sparks dancing in his eyes. "Give it a break. You think too much."

"I get that a lot," she stated abruptly.

Yes, Dovakhiin. What kind of world is that? A voice echoed in her head, filling her with countless thoughts and emotions. She wasn't sure if it was one voice or many of them. It was mighty, a roaring thunder pressing itself to the flanks of her shaken mind, filling her with strange energy, anger and anxiety. Maybe you'd like to make it better? Maybe you'd like to make it fairer? More balanced? Anything you want, Dovakhiin… anything you want. You do have the power. Almost.

Aislinn gasped, shivers running down her spine. She would have tripped if it wasn't for a birch tree standing right next to her. She clung to it, breathing heavily. The last bit of color vanished from her face as she caught a glimpse of Brynjolf's concerned expression.

"What happened?" he asked. "You don't look too good. Are you all right? Do you feel sick?"

"I…" she took a deep breath. "No, I'm not sick. It's probably nothing. A daydream, maybe. Illusion. Or something like that. Maybe I'm just a little tired."

"We've been on our feet all day long. It's no wonder." He gave her an understanding nod. "Let's set up a camp."

Beyond his deep turquoise eyes, there were those words again. I don't buy that. She noticed how he tried to hide them. So he was the kind of guy who would respect the others' privacy. Should she appreciate it? Or did she actually want him to care more? She wasn't sure.

They set up a camp near a cavern where it seemed safe enough. The sky was clear, its blue spreading from one horizon to another interrupted only by the scattered tree branches standing in their view, but both of them knew that Skyrim weather could be treacherous. Neither of them bothered burdening themselves with a tent so Aislinn picked up a few pine branches and made a cheap-looking roof supported by three oak trees which served as pillars while Brynjolf prepared some food.

"Spruce would be better," said Brynjolf with a criticizing look, nodding in the direction of their artificial tent.

"Well, if you can pull out some spruce branches out of thin air, go ahead. Otherwise we'll have to stick with what we can find," Aislinn said with a razor-sharp voice. She was sitting on a wide boulder near the cave entrance, gazing up at the sky and at her red-headed companion in turns. "And, just for the record, it wouldn't hurt if you just put a tiny bit of salt on that meat," she said just critically as she bit into a piece of plain boiled hare meat the thief had handed her a while ago.

"If you can pull salt out of thin air, go ahead. Otherwise we'll just have to stick with what we got," he mimicked her pointed voice.

She chuckled. He did too. Both of them finished their meal, got up again and once more searched the area for any kind of danger that could threaten them during the night. Everything seemed to be in order. Brynjolf insisted that he take the first watch so Aislinn lay on a piece of cloth spread over a pile of oak leaves. She felt exhausted. Her dragon blood usually didn't let her get this tired but this time it seemed it was the dragon blood that drained energy from her, replacing it with a different kind that made her tremble. Still, the comforting slumber did not come. She was scared to sleep. Scared that the voice from before might return if she falls asleep.

How pathetic, she thought to herself. Send a horde of angry draugr after me, send a giant spider, a dragon, a dremora, I'll defeat them all. I let mages use my body for experiments and I went as far as Sovngarde or the Soul Cairn… but right now, the thing I'm scared of the most is actually me… or something inside me. I can't run away from myself. There's no place to hide. Just what in Oblivion am I supposed to do?

She curled up, facing the outer wall of the cave. Suddenly, she noticed a movement nearby. She turned around but before she could even draw a weapon, a silver arrow made its way through Brynjolf's collar. She gasped before noticing that the arrow had missed his neck. Drawing her bow, she sent a black arrow blindly in the direction where the one shot at Brynjolf had come from. There was a thud and then silence. Aislinn jumped on her feet, both hands at the hilts of her two swords. She drew them the moment a bear attacked. Slaying it with three fast hits, she jumped over it and proceeded to the corpse behind it. It was a young huntress. She lay there with her arms cast about, dark hair spread all over in a cone of strands and curls, her bow beside her. Aislinn shook her head. A life taken in vain, another one among the many that she had taken and she would probably take in the future.

"Can you believe a hunter's arrow almost got me? Just because it missed the bear it was supposed to hit." Brynjolf sounded more surprised than shaken. Aislinn slapped him in his face.

"Don't you dare die on me!" she snapped. "You… you… oh gods…" She exhaled. "A hunter's arrow, Brynjolf. Just what were you doing there?! Here I got scared we got ambushed!"

"Sorry," he said simply.

Sorry, she shouted in her mind. Sorry! Is he serious?

She examined his collar.

"I think you need better protection," she said, slowly regaining her composure. Maybe he did know the arrow wouldn't hit him. Maybe he had calculated its path. Or maybe Nocturnal had decided to display her whimsy, rewarding him for his unconditional loyalty.

"What? You trying to say I can't take care of myself?" he grunted. Aislinn could not tell if he was serious or meant it as a joke, but the thief seemed calm, inspecting his collar with an innocent curiosity in his face.

"That's not what I'm saying but you got a point there," she pointed out ironically. He gave her an aggrieved look. "But if a mere hunter's arrow can go through your collar, then it means your armor is pretty much useless." She pointed at his rather old beige belted leather thief armor ragged in several places to the point that it looked like it was going to turn into dust.

"Don't you dare start me on that," he raised his voice slightly. "I've had this since I was… well… I've had it for as long as I can remember and I'm not giving it away."

"You don't have to give it away, for Talos's grace," she gave out an exhausted sigh. "Just put it to rest and wear something safer. If it's that precious to you, you wouldn't want it to get destroyed on the road anyway, right?"

He raised a brow. "Now you're trying to sweet-talk me? You're a hundred years early to do that, my dear lass."

"Fine!" she snapped again. "Just do what you want, die and have the skeevers eat off your corpse for all I care!"

"All right, all right, I'll change my armor, okay?" He raised his palms in a defensive gesture. "It's just that I don't have any with me."

"I have plenty at my house near Falkreath and there's also a pile of stuff we can use to make one. We're going to pass it anyway so we might as well stop by."

"Isn't that too dangerous? The Thalmor are looking for you, you know."

"Oh come on. We're heading for Markarth, the safest city in Skyrim. Meaning that if they catch us there, the chances that we'll manage to escape are close to none. And you think my house is dangerous? Besides, they have no reason to look for me at my houses. I barely visit them anyway and it would be pure madness to stop by there."

He stared at her. "Do you realize what you just said?"

"Yep. Where's the problem?"

"You're just going to perform an act of pure madness, as you named it yourself."

"Of course. Isn't that brilliant?"

He rolled his eyes.

There was a fear Aislinn did not dare to express. She was filled with anxiety just thinking about the state she could find the house in. Screw the house for all she cared. But the two little girls who lived there… her only family. Two girls she had picked up, one on the streets, the other one in the orphanage. Her sweet darlings, the very center of all the innocence in her life. She made daggers for them, the best kind there was. But she doubted that a dragonbone dagger in the hands of a small girl would be enough to stop any potential attackers.

Rayya, she prayed, thinking of her Redguard housecarl and her curved sword. I'm counting on you

The next morning the two of them headed to the mountains south of High Hrothgar. The weather seemed to work against them. Strong wind from the mountains made them lose their balance several times, mercilessly whipping their faces, drawing occasional tears from their eyes, and myriads of snowflakes flew about violently biting their skin wherever they touched it. Aislinn did not risk Shouting to clear the skies. She wasn't the only one capable of using the Thu'um but she didn't want to provide her enemies with any clues on how to find her if she could help it. They kept floundering breathlessly through the relentless drifts of freshly fallen snow which gave way under their feet whenever they least expected it. Most of the day had passed when they reached Helgen.

"This brings back memories," Aislinn murmured, her gaze sliding from one destroyed building to another, studying the fallen roofs, burned walls, dark stains marking the spots where the heat from Alduin's breath got the better of them, and remains of pillars sorrowfully aspiring to the skies they could never reach.

Brynjolf kept silent, looking around cautiously. They walked side by side through the ruins of what should have become Aislinn's execution site. She shivered. Time seemed to have stopped at this place. It was just as she remembered. And it was quiet. No birds chirping on the roofs, even the wind seemed to have ceased its advance. Aislinn sped up. She heard Brynjolf take a deep breath when they'd finally reached the end of the ravaged town.

"You want to ask me something," she said to him. It wasn't a question.

"Well…" he hesitated.

"Go ahead."

"Just… is it true that they wanted to behead you here?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I… don't remember. I guess I was just in a wrong place at a wrong time. But I only remember glimpses of my previous life. It's like I didn't even exist before. I remember feelings… emotions… fragments of the things that might have hurt me or pleased me." She looked frightened for a moment, waiting timidly for his reaction, but he didn't comment on that. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or if it deepened her fears even further.

"The Imperials wanted you dead, right? How come you joined them afterwards?"

She stared at him, startled a little by his question.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…" he started apologizing.

She shook her head and smiled reassuringly. It was she, after all, who insisted that he asked.

"I think I was scared of Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Scared? You were scared?" Pure disbelief reflected in his eyes.

"Well, not exactly scared. But he was too greedy and too powerful. What if he became the High King? Would he drive out everyone who didn't belong to the Nord race? Would he try to take down the Emperor just like he took down king Torygg? He fought for the right thing but chose the wrong way. And just so you know," she added with an apologetic expression, "I don't quite agree with the Empire's way either. It's just that I chose the side I considered less bad."

He nodded. "It must be hard to play the part of the hero."

"I didn't have to. At least not in this case. But even I sometimes feel the urge to fight for the right thing."

"An honorable thief."

She laughed.

The night passed without anyone disturbing their sleep. When they set out for the next stage of their journey, the sun was flooding the horizon behind their backs with golden light. It felt pleasant after the terrible weather that had been slowing them down the previous day. Soon they arrived at the Lakeview Manor, Aislinn's house. She knew right away something was wrong. Her stomach tumbled as she reached out her hand to stop Brynjolf from advancing.

It was quiet, no humming or swishing sounds of the wings, no buzzing when a bee decided to tend to a blossoming flower. The air was still and the tree branches refrained from their usual whispers.

No… gods, please no…

She crouched and sneaked past the stables. There lay the corpse of her horse. The cow's corpse was not just a few feet away and a lot of chicken feathers covered the ground. She climbed the wooden stairs to the terrace facing the lake down below the slope underneath and discovered a body. Her eyes widened when she realized the man before her was still alive. She recognized her bard, a dark-haired Nord with a gentle face and the voice of a nightingale by whose name he was called. She put her hands over him and released a healing spell. A sound of coughing came from underneath.

"You… my lady…"

"Llewellyn. What happened here? Where are the others? Please, tell me they're not dead!" Aislinn resisted the urge to shake his body, gulping slightly to get rid of the rough bundle that had decided to settle down in her throat and make her choke on her own words.

"The Thalmor. They came so suddenly…" the bard could hardly breathe. Aislinn used a second healing spell and handed him several potions. "I couldn't do anything. They used an odd spell. Some kind of mist. It didn't really affect us but it did throw us in disarray. Rayya took Runa and ran for it. We were supposed to meet in Whiterun but I never even managed to get on my feet. I pretended I was dead just to save my life." His voice was overflowing with pure despair, the feeling of regret reaching Aislinn's senses.

"Lucia," she pressed him for answers. "Where is she?"

A tear slid down the bard's cheek. "They took her with them."

"Alive?"

"As far as I can remember, yes."

Aislinn closed her eyes in horror.

"I have to go save her," she said resolutely.

"Have you gone crazy?" Brynjolf hissed, his brows knit to form a two wrinkles in between, a sign of warning and cautious fear. "You want to play their game? Don't let them have it their way!"

"Brynjolf, this isn't about letting them. I don't have a choice. They will hurt her!"

"Okay, let's just calm down now–"

"For the Nine's sake, how do you expect me to calm down?!" she cried. "They kidnapped my daughter!"

Brynjolf blinked in surprise. "Your what? No… never mind. I can ask some other time. But I can't have you storm in their ranks, even if you are the Dragonborn. They probably want to use her as a hostage. Which means they can't hurt her that much until they find you. Your best shot is to stay hidden for the time being."

"Can't hurt her that much?! You… you're not serious, are you?" she exhaled.

"Dead serious, lass," he replied softly. She winced at his expression, not being used to seeing compassion in his gaze.

"I have to admit I agree with your friend here, my lady," Llewellyn said. The healing potions apparently took effect as he finally sat up and looked around carefully, his eyes stopping at every trunk and boulder, searching every bush to find potential perils. "You are important for the people of Skyrim and if the Thalmor get you, we lose our hope. I know Lucia is precious to you but you might as well have both of you killed if you take some rash action now."

Aislinn clenched her fists. "I will get her back, I swear."

"Aye," Brynjolf agreed. "When the time is right for it."

"Are Rayya and Runa going to be safe in Whiterun?" Aislinn turned her head back to Llewellyn. "The Thalmor are everywhere. If what we heard is true, they're searching all the Rift and probably all Skyrim."

"Whiterun is going to be safe. Jarl Balgruuf will not let the Thalmor take over."

"I'm not too sure if he can hold up against them for long," came a doubtful reply. "If I can ask you one last favor… please, get there as fast as you can and tell Rayya and Lydia to hide. A cave, a mine, an ancient fort, anywhere outside of the towns and cities is fine. You can go with them if you want to. Just don't let the Thalmor get you."

"It will be my pleasure," he bowed as he stood up. "Just promise me you won't do anything reckless. These are dark times and it's becoming worse. You are the last beacon of hope for us, even if you're just there, watching over us. We need you, Dragonborn."

We need you. Those words again. People always need her. As if the world couldn't do without her. How can it be that the fate of the world rests upon the shoulders of a single mortal, an insignificant being with no more power than a single dragon out of the many that roam the skies? She shivered. I have needs too, you know. I have a life and a family… I worked hard to create all this. How can you just rid me of them so easily?

"The bard's gone," she heard Brynjolf's voice. It sounded distant but awfully close at the same time. "Shall we look if we can still find an armor for me?"

She almost forgot. Together they entered the house quietly and headed to the storage room.

"I take it you prefer light armor over heavy?" she inquired, her eyes scanning the room thoroughly, stopping at the dusty showcases and chests that scattered all around in a disorderly manner. Occasionally she would open a lid and inspect the insides.

"If I can help it, aye."

"Not good," she said and left the room. There was a breathtaking set of daedric armor on a wooden figurine in the main hall, wrinkled by elegant lines of crimson color that gleamed slightly even if no light was cast upon them. One of the figurines in the cellar wore an astonishing ebony armor enchanted with a strange magic whose shape Brynjolf couldn't really tell as it seemed to blend into the surrounding air in steams of dark mist.

"They're remarkable, I'll admit. But I don't think I'll be able to wear this."

"Then I guess we have to make one. It doesn't seem like the Thalmor took anything at all from here, that's good. There should be a bunch of materials to make a whole new set in those chests over there. Hold on."

She opened one of the chests lying along the walls and searched through its contents. Then her eyes widened and a sudden gasp made Brynjolf almost jump in the air.

"What is it?"

"I collected a bunch of dragon bones and dragon scales here. I thought they might make a good armor… but these… I've never seen anything like this. They went bad."

"What? How can a skeleton go bad? Let me have look at them…"

He crossed the room and took a peek in the chest. The same gasp escaped his lungs when he examined the contents. It was barely visible that the things inside used to be dragon bones. They fell apart as he grabbed them. Some kind of strange greenish matter covered most of their surface and he could see through the unnatural holes in them which appeared to have been made by some kind of acid.

"Just what did they do to them?" he asked, holding his breath unconsciously.

"It doesn't make sense. Everything else seems intact," she opposed in denial, perplexed and confused. There was barely anything that could compare to dragon bones when it came to sustaining any kind of damage from outside. Just what in Tamriel could have caused them to crumble apart?

"But the dragon bones don't just rot away, do they?"

"I don't know… anyway, we need to make you an armor. I could make you a stalhrim one if you don't mind looking just like me."

"Can't you just change the design a little?" He winked at her.

"What, would you feel ashamed if you looked just like me?"

"More like too honored, my lady." He bowed.

"Stop it. You're freaking me out."

"Haha. Make it your way then, lass."

She smiled to herself as she turned away from him and searched another chest for the right materials. I must have gone crazy. The thought of Brynjolf bowing to her and calling her "my lady" seemed strangely appealing to her. Not that he would ever mean it.

Carefully she placed a set of ingots, leather strips and other materials next to each other on an empty shelf situated in the alcove in the wall opposite of the chest she had just almost emptied. Then she opened another one beside the alcove. A simple fur armor lay there along with a pair of bracers, a silver necklace and a ring. She could feel the enchantment magic vibrating through them as she grabbed them.

"Would you mind waiting upstairs for me?" she asked Brynjolf a little shyly. "I need to change into a more suitable outfit."

"Can I come back after you change? I'd very much like to see you working on it." His curious gaze was back. That was Brynjolf, always studying everything, always gaining new knowledge.

"All right but don't you dare criticize my working methods." She pointed a finger at him as a warning.

"I solemnly swear that I am going to be a good boy."

She raised a brow. He backed away to the ladder leading upstairs.

She called to him when she had changed. The moment he climbed the ladder back down he froze.

"This thing is pretty… revealing," he muttered, feeling at loss of the words. Her brows furrowed at the statement as she took a hammer in one hand and a piece of stalhrim in the other and turned to the small forge in the middle of the room. Focusing on her work, she did not notice him staring at her. He didn't manage to grasp even the basics of what she was doing. Unable to concentrate, his head was overflowing with images of her in this simple attire. Looking at her slender arms and her beautifully curved body, her pale skin which contrasted with the dark brown leather, he would have never guessed she was a fighter. She must have been a mirage, an illusion that Dibella sent as one of her pranks. He started noticing details. A darker spot on her chest which emerged from the hide as a tender slope of fair skin, the way she leaned a little to her left, the shoulder a few inches below the right one, her curvy thighs with elongated muscles indicating regular exercising. Her smooth movements which sounded like a whisper of the spring breeze.

Damn it, lass, this is not fair. Not in the least. I'm a filthy thief, here on business, coincidentally helping you with your mission for higher purposes. You can't do this to me. Thieves have needs too, you know…

He closed his eyes. It didn't help. Seeing it once was enough for his mind to carve the image into his memory.

He jumped in surprise when Aislinn suddenly touched his shoulder.

"Just what do you think you're doing here?" she asked with a demanding voice. "And here I thought you'd be interested in smithing. If you find it so boring, you can just go sleep upstairs. There are beds available you know."

"Uh, yeah, sorry 'bout that, lass," he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

"Anyway, your armor is ready. Try it on."

"Wait, seriously? So fast?"

"We spent quite some time here if you didn't notice, but I did learn some tricks. Especially with this." She tapped the icy surface of the armor with her fingers.

He took it from her and examined it carefully. The shimmering blue icy matter which formed most of it seemed harder than any steel he'd seen before but much lighter at the same time. The waist and the joints were made up of several layers which allowed them to bend according to the needs of its wearer. Several parts were joined by pieces of fine leather and soft fur filled the inside to make the armor comfortable.

"Sorry," she apologized hesitantly. "I'm not really good with decorations so this is about all I can do." She pointed at a small carving on the left side of the armor, right under the arm.

The word "Brynjolf" was scribbled there along with something in the Dragon Language.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing at the Dragon Language carving.

"The first Shout I'd ever learned," she said, a bit of pride in her voice. "This is how I found out I was the Dragonborn."

"You carved a Shout into my armor?"

"I did."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Should I be offended now?"

"Who knows," he chuckled again. "You'd do well to get some sleep now. I'll keep watch. Oh, and don't forget to change before you leave here or you're gonna freeze to death." And freeze me for an entirely different reason.

"You don't say," she replied in a sweet voice.

He left the room and she changed back to her own stalhrim armor. She then climbed up the ladder and had a quick dinner. Brynjolf waited for her upstairs. They agreed that the bedroom downstairs wasn't a good choice for a rest since there weren't any escape routes in case someone attacked them there so she used one of the smaller beds upstairs, close to the door leading to the terrace where they had found Llewellyn. Brynjolf sat down on the other one, watching his Dragonborn companion slowly fall into the dreamland. As the night shifted, the two of them switched places and Aislinn kept watch until the morning sun climbed up the eastern horizon. Neither of them got much sleep but they both knew time was working against them.

They left the house feeling worn-out and weary. It was a long way to Markarth and there were sure to be many obstacles waiting for them. And for the first time in her memory, Aislinn was fighting a real fear in her heart.