Chapter 31: On the Playground of Sithis

It was snowing again, and the countless flakes of silver-white frost were dancing fiercely in elegant spirals, swinging back and forth rapidly as the wind played with them. Brynjolf was watching the fluttering veil of snow covering the land in shades of murky grey from under an overhanging rock, Shadowmere standing just a few feet from him, right next to a cave entrance where Lucia was sitting, wrapped up in a blanket. It was almost impossible to see anything through the thick curtain of white, the storm raging to its fullest. The thief watched the scenery bitterly, thinking of how they were going to get from this fix. They had met a number of elves on their way from northern Hjaalmarch, and had been forced to take an unexpected turn in order to escape their eyes, which had led them where they were now, to the snowy realm of northern Pale. As the Pale was now an enemy territory, Brynjolf had no idea what he could do to leave unnoticed, especially with a huge black crimson-eyed stallion and a young girl who happened to be the Dragonborn's adoptive daughter, her face most likely known to the Altmer. So was his, as a matter of fact.

The said girl crawled to the thief, still in her blanket, a slice of freshly cooked venison wrapped in some leaves in her hand, and sat on the ground beside him, watching the raging snowstorm with the same disconcerted look as the red-haired man next to her. He looked at her, shaking his head in disapproval.

"You're going to freeze to death here," he told her sternly.

"I'll be fine," she opposed. "I take after mama and mama is tough."

"You don't even have common blood," he chuckled softly, but sat beside her nevertheless, with his legs crossed.

"Where are we going after this," she nodded towards the impenetrable curtain of swirling white and silver, "is over?"

Brynjolf sighed at the question and his eyes trailed a snowflake which winded its way into his lap, landing on his knee and melting into a tiny drop of water, murky in the grey weather, without responding. Where were they going anyway? Initially he'd had no idea where he would go, but he had thought of traveling back to Riften so he could drop Lucia off there and leave her in safety, maybe even provide her with a chance to study some magic. He was sure that the Thieves Guild had gathered a decent amount of literature on the subject, having collected all sorts of things over the hundreds of years of its existence. However, since the elves had thwarted their plans, he was unsure of what to do next. Technically, Winterhold was not too far from here, especially considering that the remaining options included only Whiterun and Riften, the latter, incidentally safer as well, being situated across all of Skyrim, but who knew what was going on in Winterhold.

He frowned at the thought a little. As far as he knew, nobody had ever mentioned Winterhold when it came to the events of this war. It was true that there were no merits in occupying the nearly deserted settlement whose only point of possible interest was the college of the arcane arts that most of the Skyrim citizens were terrified of. Maybe if the elves got a hold of the college itself, it would be another story, but even if it was the Aldmeri Dominion with its presumably unlimited resources, he was not convinced that they would manage to even get close to the place. He had heard Gallus talking about it countless times, describing the academy as an impenetrable fortress where unknown forces worked against anyone who would try to disturb its peace. Magic literally soaked through every wall and crevice there was, and perhaps this was the reason why it had withstood the Great Collapse which had brought down most of the city of Winterhold.

"If only you were still here with us, old friend," Brynjolf muttered, staring into the grey distance, and earned himself a curious look from the little girl sitting next to him.

"Ah, it's nothing," he told her with a shake of his head. "Just thinking of a friend of mine whom I lost because of my own ignorance."

"Was he a good person?" Lucia asked, tilting her head to the side. A soft blanket of snow coated her head now, and he thought she looked like a princess from a country of eternal snow. A crown jewel of Atmora, he chuckled in his thoughts.

"The best you can imagine," he replied quietly. "I am proud to have been his friend."

She studied him attentively, her eyes roaming from his stiff frame to the distant look in his face, and for a moment, he thought he saw the same pain in her eyes as he felt when he remembered the way his comrade and the beloved of Karliah had died.

"So, where are we going?" she then asked again, crunching on the last bit of the meat. "Are we meeting with mama somewhere?"

"I don't know," Brynjolf said. In his thoughts, he scolded himself for not having stopped Aislinn to discuss the matter before she had gone away. Of course, this might have been a part of her plan so she wouldn't drag him with her all the time and drive him out of his comfort zone.

Silly lass, he thought to himself grumpily. This was my choice, and besides, who isn't driven out of their comfort zone in this war?

"I swear on my love to you that I will return safely," she had said. He would very much like to rejoice at the memory of what she had told him, at the sweet word of love that had been included in that sentence, but what would love mean in her interpretation? Would she want to keep him close to her, or rather away from pain, suffering and maybe even discomfort?

"We didn't talk about it," he informed Lucia with a helpless undertone in his voice.

"Mama doesn't like to make people do things they don't like to do," Lucia stated as though she read his thoughts and curled her lips to a subtle smile.

"She sure doesn't," he nodded. "Even though she does plenty of those herself just so she could help others avoid that necessity."

"She also gets uneasy around men," she continued with a chuckle and Brynjolf gave her a curious look.

"Does she?" he wondered, leaning now back to the cave wall to support him so he could sit more comfortably, if the word comfortable could describe sitting on the hard frozen ground in a violent blizzard which blew the cold in their faces and kept them from seeing what was right in front of them.

"Do you remember how I told you about uncle Vilkas and uncle Vorstag?"

"Of course," he scowled. How could he not remember her talking about possible rivals?

"Well, I've never seen mama talk to them openly, and she was always so shy when one of them came for a visit. She didn't want us to know, but we always did. And she never discussed anything beside her work with them. It was different when aunt Lydia came. And she visited us a lot more than all the guys mama brought with her together."

Brynjolf was watching Lucia inquisitively. This was definitely the first time he had heard of this part of the lass's personality, and it surprised him that he had never noticed a thing. But maybe that was a part of him being a man, and one interested in her no less.

"Do you know why?" he asked.

"Hm… I think she's met too many guys who just want to protect her," Lucia mused, clasping her hands together and rubbing them against each other to warm herself, "and she doesn't like to be protected. At least not the way they imagine it."

Brynjolf winced. Ah, now it all made sense. He felt a little embarrassed, considering he was exactly one of those men who cared too much for her and were terrified at the mere thought of something happening to her. Then again, maybe he had sensed the mistrust from the lass, for deep inside he had decided to overcome this helpless feeling and just follow her wherever she would go, helping her in any way he could.

"But that doesn't justify her trying to commit a suicide every now and then," he muttered under his breath. Lucia laughed at that.

"Mama is strong," she said with a smile. "She doesn't talk too much about her ways, but she always has a backdoor."

"How would you know?" the thief inquired with his brows raised.

"I'm her daughter. Of course I know!"

Brynjolf sensed that there was something else to it, but the girl did not seem willing to talk about it and he decided not to press her. In the end, she was probably right, although he wondered how much time Lucia had spent in Aislinn's company, considering the lass never stopped anywhere for more than a day before disappearing for what seemed like an eternity.

"The wind is getting yet stronger," he said with a frown as a wild gust whipped his cheeks, dying them bright red, and his eyes narrowed and misted upon the impact. "We should head inside for now."

They both rose and walked into the cave, leaving Shadowmere on watch, as the black stallion refused to enter the confined space inside. From time to time, Brynjolf secretly thanked Sithis for blessing the lass with such a companion. He felt secure with the horse, knowing that he never rested, always guarding them like an ever watchful sentinel. His senses were perfect and he never failed to register the slightest movement. Even in this storm, Brynjolf trusted him to notify them of any potential menace soon enough.

They spent most of the day in the cave, mostly resting and gathering energy for the upcoming journey. The blizzard subsided by the evening, turning into a mild snowfall, and eventually the skies had cleared, exposing the darkening sea of blue as the sun had hidden beyond the western horizon. Brynjolf thought that this would be a perfect time to set on the road again, but sudden glow of lights passing several hundred feet from the cave entrance made him reconsider. He strained his eyes to see what the source was, and recognized three figures with torches, two hooded and one of them wearing a set of light armor. He could swear they belonged to the Altmer, if not by their attire and the height of their frames, then at least by the way they carried themselves. Slender, soft step, swinging their hips rhythmically while pacing steadily with their backs straightened. Then the group stopped and the light of the torches fell on a small figure kneeling in the snow. Brynjolf couldn't help himself and crawled closer to them, curious as to who it was.

His mouth opened wide as his sharp eyes spotted a young girl, probably about ten years old, sobbing quietly with her face buried in her hands. She looked up when the elves approached her, and by the soft lines in her face and her short, slim frame he judged her to be a Breton. He froze, dreading what the merciless elves would do to this young girl. There was no-one to stop them from slaying her at the spot if they decided for it. Instinctively, his hand reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Now now, little one, what's wrong?" one of them asked with apparent concern. Brynjolf exhaled deeply. Maybe some of them had a heart, after all.

"Please, help me," the girl wailed, wiping the tears from her face before they managed to freeze there. "My dad wanted to help the Thalmor in the war but didn't return. I went to look for him but somehow I got lost and ended up here… and I don't know how to get back home. I'm so tired and hungry… please, help me!"

"Your dad wanted to help us?" the Altmer asked, a trace of doubt crept in his voice. "Who is your dad?"

"Brendur, from Dawnstar," she replied between the sobs. "Will you take me there?"

There was a short silence while the elves exchanged looks, clearly hesitant about how they should respond to her.

"Never heard of any Brendur," a female voice uttered and one of the figures shifted on the heels. "Has any of you read the lists from Elenwen?"

Her two companions shook their heads.

"I'm not from that department," one of them said.

"He is a miner, at the Iron-Breaker mine," she sniffed pitifully. "Please…"

She stretched her arms, trembling and obviously looking for support. Brynjolf frowned at the scene, unsure if he should trust his own senses. The whole situation seemed ridiculously unreal to him, and yet he couldn't bring himself to simply deny that there was a small girl in front of him, asking a group of Thalmor for help, and coincidentally she was a daughter of someone who had decided to join the Thalmor. Maybe she was just trying to get on their good side to make them help her? If so, then he felt sorry for her, knowing that the elves would kill her and her father the moment they learned that she had deceived them.

One of the elves leaned down to her, stretching his arms to help her stand. She rose shakily, propping herself against his body and hugging it tightly. The elf patted her head hesitantly and some of the tension left her body. Then she stood on her tiptoes and everything that followed happened so fast it left Brynjolf gasping and breathing heavily in shock.

The girl's arms curled around his scruff and she raised her chin, reaching for his neck with her mouth. In the next moment, most of her face was hidden from Brynjolf's sight behind the elf's nape, but his body slid down in an instant, revealing a bloodthirsty expression emphasized by a series of dark red stains sprinkled over her lips and cheeks. A carmine trickle came down from her mouth, contrasting her ashen skin. The two remaining elves shrieked in horror and drew their weapons.

The girl was faster. She repeated the process in a blinding speed, aiming for the woman before she could react. Her second victim dropped down motionlessly, leaving only one to face the hungry vampire. The girl laughed maniacally, exposing a set of sharp, canine teeth which clearly dominated the rest of her oral cavity. She pulled two daggers out of her shoes, dancing like a hoofer around the terrified Altmer. Brynjolf, now gritting his teeth, could not decide whom he should support. There really wasn't much to choose from between a Thalmor and a mad vampire.

The elf, holding a mace in his right hand while trying to protect himself with a shield in his left, put up a good fight. He made the girl jump backwards several times, using the range provided by his weapon, but he couldn't crush the girl unless he let her closer to himself, and the moment he would, one of her swirling daggers would find his flesh for sure. His shield was rather small, made to protect him from larger and more distinct weapons, and his armor did not allow him the speed that the girl clad in simple linen clothing demonstrated.

In the end, she had worn him out, exhausted the poor man by constantly making him back away, until he could raise his shield no more and his own legs failed him. She then hopped around him briskly, stabbing him in his back. Knocking his mace and shield out of his hand, she kicked him to the ground, her sharp teeth penetrated his skin and her lips closed around the wound, sucking the hot blood while the elf screamed in pain. Brynjolf wanted to avert his eyes from the horrendous sight, but found himself unable to do so, drawn to this display of sheer perversion.

At last, the girl finally ceased her feast, rubbing the blood from her lips with her sleeve. She looked up and sighed with content, smiling to herself. Then Brynjolf's heart skipped a beat as he realized she was looking right at where he was crouching.

He held his breath, his mind screaming at him to run, but the girl simply shrugged and walked away with a song on her lips. He exhaled deeply, realizing he was shaking heavily. He rose slowly, feeling as if a pair of weighty metal spheres were attached to his feet, dragging him down as he walked back to the cave. Never in his life had he seen anything like that and he would be happy if he did not have to again. Luckily, even during that time when he had been chasing Mercer Frey along with Karliah and Aislinn, the Falmer had already performed all the atrocities on their victims and the three of them had not been forced to look at the process. Now he was just glad that the poor Lucia had not had to watch the frightful scene.

He made his way back to the cave, deciding to leave as soon as possible. If the girl lived in this area, there was a high chance of meeting her again, and he would not want to face his lass when her daughter had told her a story about meeting a bloodthirsty vampire.

They had been traveling most of the night and were now very close to Dawnstar. Brynjolf had decided to wager on Winterhold, as he doubted that the Thalmor had taken control over the college. He was familiar with the area below the college itself, as there were quite a few secret passages that Gallus had discovered and showed to him, and there was very little possibility that the elves had found them. The huge rock beneath the city of Winterhold was interlaced with caverns and tunnels, some of them very difficult to locate even if one was aware that they existed, and Brynjolf knew of a few hidden behind secret doors which he intended to use if the situation called for it. After all, even if all Skyrim fell under the Dominion menace, he could probably live there comfortably for the rest of his days, catching fish and picking Nirnroots for his meals.

He was now mounted on the back of the huge black stallion, his left hand gripping the reins tightly while the right held onto Lucia who sat before him. She was awake but kept quiet most of the time, watching the passing land around them, shrouded in darkness. Brynjolf couldn't help but look at the sky from time to time so he could admire the glittering performance of countless stars which shone through the colorful aurora, accompanying a pair of huge spheres sprinkled with craters as though infinite curly ornaments were carved into them. Regardless of the situation he found himself in, he could never get tired of Skyrim skies. In the end, he was a Nord and Skyrim was his home, and even the unpredictable weather and the harsh land had their own savage beauty to them that only a true Nord could appreciate. For a moment he wondered how the lass, being the Imperial she was, felt about life in Skyrim, but so far he had not heard a single complaint on the subject from her. Somehow it seemed that she just didn't care.

The capital of the Pale lay just an hour's walk from where they were now and Brynjolf scanned the land for potential danger. A deserted campsite lay nearby, its ragged tents now blanketed in a thick layer of snow. He spotted a snow fox walking around it, sniffing for potential feast, but the poor animal found nothing except several empty barrels. The thief could imagine that even Skyrim animals suffered under the Thalmor rule, as the caravans and bandit groups used to always leave something behind.

Aside from the campsite, nothing interrupted the raw landscape, a quiet valley ascending into rather gentle slopes on both sides while a view to the Sea of Ghosts opened between them on the north. Shadowmere continued to the summit on the east in a steady pace, zigzagging between the frost-covered boulders without a trace of hesitation. And then the city of Dawnstar appeared before them, the lights of the torches carried by the patrolling guards reflected in the still water of the Dawnstar bay. Surprisingly, it seemed to Brynjolf that most of the guards were men, not elves, supervised by only a handful of tall figures in robes or gilded armors. Lucia rose in her seat, pressing her calves against Shadowmere's sides to support herself, and fixed her curious gaze on the city.

"The air feels nicer here," she stated. Brynjolf raised his brows, wondering what she meant by that.

"We'll need go round, though," he said, the quiet tone of his voice underlining its hoarseness. "The Thalmor are still the Thalmor, we don't want to risk getting caught."

"Say, uncle Brynjolf," she asked suddenly, "did something happen?"

"Why are you asking?"

"You look scared. Are we running from something?"

Brynjolf sighed. The Dragonborn's little daughter was getting scarier every moment, and she had this strange talent to see beyond people's facades, as though they were simply transparent. Then again, if someone wanted to live with Aislinn, they would have to develop this kind of skill sooner or later. He scowled in resignation.

"We are always running from something," he responded with a sour grimace. "I saw a vampire a while ago and I don't think I want to deal with that kind of menace."

The girl didn't answer, but the thief had the feeling that she smiled at his reply. He frowned, tugging at Shadowmere's reins to guide him right, away from the sea. The path they were taking seemed vacated, concealed in shadows. He remembered Farkhali and a clump of envy settled in his heart for a brief moment when he thought of how the sneaky Khajiit could use the shadows to her advantage. She never talked of her skills openly, so no-one in the Guild had any concrete idea about their extent, but he suspected there was something more to it than simply being able to hide well. But, truth be told, sometimes he would welcome to possess skills like hers, and now was one of such moments.

They strode down the slope, circled the city cautiously, studying their surroundings attentively for any sign of life, and then continued towards the rocky shore, proceeding along the mildly splashing floe-covered water. A path to the bleak Winterhold plains opened before them, lined by a few scattered pine trees. Then, passing a solitary grove, Shadowmere suddenly froze in place and Brynjolf held his breath.

"Someone's over there," he whispered almost soundlessly and waved to the group of tree trunks. "Oblivion take it, how come we didn't notice them sooner?"

He was afraid of making a single move, straining his ears to estimate the number of people present and what they were doing. Unfortunately, they appeared to be fairly skilled in hiding their presence. The thief looked around cautiously, weighing his situation and possibilities, trying to detect any and every presence possible, and finally he chose to take a risky move to gain more information.

"Wait here. Don't you dare make a sound," he breathed. Then he raised his hands and cast a muffle spell, choking the sounds of his feet as he dismounted the black stallion and crept closer to the grove. His brows furrowed with concentration as he tried to focus both on the group of people before him and the little girl he had left behind. Then he heard silent voices, like mere rustle of the breeze.

"…someone else must have been there," one of them whispered, presumable a male but Brynjolf couldn't be certain. "I studied the place thoroughly but some things just don't match. The corpses of Marilis and Renadil were up there in the tower and I found Timreth down in the foyer, also dead. All three guardian Squires down in the lab, along with one other Altmer whom I later identified as certain Sinawen. She was pretty much nobody to Elenwen and the Thalmor, but somehow she managed to set this whole thing up so I don't think nobody applies there.

"Elenwen tries to cover up as much as possible, setting up some propaganda to motivate the exhausted elves who have been running back and forth without much success, or even without actually encountering any kind of diversion at all, but rumor has it that an Altmer woman accompanied the red-hair who came to save the Dragonborn. She was probably a traitor to the Thalmor, but I can't imagine her working alone. She wouldn't have managed to do this while summoning most of the Citadel occupants to the meeting."

"Who killed Marilis?" someone else asked, a woman this time, and the thief could sense that the voice belonged to a refined lady, polishing every syllable to pure perfection with beautiful articulation. Even whispering like this, her speech sounded very cultivated. "I am positive that Ren and Tim were fighting him, but I cannot imagine those two winning over the champion of Mehrunes Dagon."

"A good question. I don't know. The guy had been Shouted to the wall, some of his bones were in pieces, but I went through the place several times and nothing indicates that the Dragonborn even set her foot in the corridor leading to that tower. She had no reason to, there were traces of her daughter down in the lab, so they must have met there. And he had been killed by an ice bolt. The Dragonborn doesn't use magic and neither does her companion."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Believe me, if they could, I would have noticed back in Markarth. They were practically unarmed there, but mostly relied on daggers, Shouts and good reflexes."

"Should we assume that there is someone who can use the Thu'um as well then? Even if it's an ally of the Dragonborn's, this is quite disturbing."

"I don't know, but we need to be careful."

"We always need to be careful," the refined voice said, and an undertone of urgency made itself apparent in her whisper. "I think you may go now. I have to meet someone else here and I have a reason to believe that this someone would like a bit of privacy."

"I will excuse myself then," the man said politely and Brynjolf heard a pair of silent footsteps, treading lightly in the snow until they faded out in the night.

There was a silence then, and the red-haired thief did not dare move an inch in fear that he would draw unwanted attention to himself. The air was still, only the silent murmurs from the sea disturbed the peace occasionally, dulling senses as they muffled the sounds of the ambient creatures. After what seemed like half an hour, another pair of footsteps made their way to the grove, and Brynjolf assumed a slight figure in a dress or a robe, probably female by the tempo of the step and the way she carried herself. She stopped by the first pine tree and her silhouette leaned to it leisurely.

"I believe you were the one who performed the Black Sacrament," she breathed and Brynjolf froze. The words "Black Sacrament" as they were would be enough to make his heart stop, but before he could even process what he had just heard, his mind went blank at the recognition of the voice. Although it was barely audible, he identified the childish soprano of the vampire he had seen this very night, the one who had made him leave his resting place in a rush, uneasy and concerned.

"That I was, although I didn't expect an underage girl to show up" the other one uttered dryly. "And you took your sweet time."

"I apologize," the little girl breathed with a bow and it sounded surprisingly sincere. "Our Listener is currently… unavailable, and therefore it takes us some time to respond to the calls. But I am here at last, at your service."

"Good. I want you to go and kill a certain man here in Dawnstar, but I also need you to take some things from his house and hide them well. Throw them into the sea or whatever, just make sure nobody finds them. Especially the Thalmor must never come into contact with them. I'll pay you extra for this. Can you do that?"

"Of course, my lady. What is the name of this man?"

"Silus Vesuius, an Imperial. Mage, red robes and he is rumored to be a member of the Mythic Dawn. And I need you to take the shattered pieces of the dagger he has in one of his showcases and get rid of them. Ideally make them disappear from this world completely."

A clinking sound of coin rang through the air, reminding Brynjolf of his own occupation and the good old times when all he needed to do was to get a client, rob someone they loathed and then collect the gold.

"Consider it done, milady," the child said gleefully. "Although, next time you might want to choose a place where no-one would listen to our conversation."

There was a sudden movement, the crunching of the snow under the feet, a humming sound of a spell being cast, and then red light shone through Brynjolf, exposing him to anyone and everyone present, just as it exposed the young girl sitting on the huge black horse a few hundred feet away. His heart sank as he stared into a face of an Altmer woman, looking at him furiously, her sharp features underlined in the moonlight as the shadows darkened the slight hollows of her slender face.

And here I'm getting mad at the lass for always getting into trouble, he thought to himself bitterly.

Cliffhanger, yay! Although I'm positive that you know how this one's going to continue. :D

I apologize for the late update (although I must say I'm doing a pretty good job compared to most of the authors here… especially the authors of my favorite stories *cry*). The past two weeks have been terrible for me, I've been drowning in schoolwork, I've had some health issues (probably thanks to overworking myself) and also some personal stuff to worry about… fun times, really. I want to thank Dart a lot, since he not only beta-read my chapter, but also supported me sincerely. There are some other people I'm infinitely grateful to, but since you don't know them, let's just stick with the "I'm happy to have such great friends" version. I also found out that my new schoolmates are amazing so that's a good thing to add to the list. :)

Pietersielie: You're making me blush! Thank you for your amazing review!

Twillin: Yep, Farkhali FTW. She has a way of getting out of control (of my keyboard, I mean) and just doing as she pleases. I wonder what she's going to do next, really. She's sort of writing her own story. :D

No more boring monologues from me. Thank you, everyone, for your support, I'm really grateful!

Stay tuned!

Mirwen