Notes: Thanks so much for the feedback! In particular: eep246( who read the whole thing in a day!); DAloverGirl (Sorry, not planning any crossovers. My cup overfloweth with projects already.); Myrielle (whose own work is awesome, read it!); TheOtherLachance (another great author); Jacob shives(Yes, the scrying bowl, a staple of interdimensional communications!); Inuyashagirl2015 (Sorry about all the confliction – what a great word!); Biff McLaughlin (another awesome writer); Zevgirl (fabulous writer as well); x_Janelle_x (Those darn dots just don't work in , why is that?); Heiwako (an author whose Diana Dragonborn and Cicero have inspired many, many artists because they're damn good!); Nightlain (Yes, the Night Mother is being a little selfish); TS Hills (Thanks so very much!)
I started working on a chapter on another story I'm working on and got seriously stuck, so I returned to this story. Then… you know… life happened. Got busy. Had a few nights where I couldn't write at all due to time constraints. That seemed to muzzle the muse and it took another few nights to really get her blabbering to me again.
~o~o~o~o~
Stone grinding against stone created the familiar rumbling sound of a brother returned. Or a sister. Arnbjorn, seated at the whetstone, stopped his work, trying to determine whose footsteps it might be coming down that long hallway. He glanced to see if anyone was watching, but he was alone in the common room. No one could see the anticipation or worry that crossed his face as the footsteps neared.
It was Veezara, alone. "I'm back, my brother." He looked around the hall, trying to spot the sister he'd been sent to help. "Is Nessa back yet?"
"No." Arnbjorn put the axe down. "Did she get away?" It alarmed him that Veezara had returned without her.
"I do not know, my brother. I created a distraction and most of the guards came after me, but I know some followed her. I couldn't see what path she chose."
The Nord paced a little. "She had Shadowmere. She should have beaten you back. Did you hear anything? Any rumors?"
Shaking his head, the Argonian looked apologetic. "I did not dare to stay around. The guards had a good look at me. I'm sure they were questioning any Argonian they didn't know. I am sorry, but staying around Solitude would have been unhealthy."
Veezara tilted his head, wondering about Arnbjorn and why he didn't ask if the contract had been fulfilled successfully. "The assassination was well done. An arrow to the throat. It made a statement."
"Oh yes, of course." Arnbjorn turned to walk away, but recalled his manners. "Thank you for taking this on, Veezara. I appreciate it."
"It was my pleasure."
He picked up his axe and looked at it closely, but only saw the vision his mind fabricated: Nessa locked in a prison, being tortured for information, or already dead. But Shadowmere hadn't returned. He wouldn't, not if she still lived. He held onto that slender hope.
~o~o~o~
It was late when Brynjolf woke. He glanced at Nessa's bed and saw only a bit of pale hair, tip of a nose, eyes, and forehead peeking out from under the furs. She looked very deeply asleep.
Brynjolf undressed quietly and bathed while she slept. When he finished, he peeked at her again. She was still deeply asleep. Well, that was fine. He could buy some more healing potions for her; perhaps something for her stamina would do her good. He left her and found his way to the general store.
The sun had been up for many hours when it finally angled through the curtains and a strong beam fell directly into Nessa's eyes. She rolled onto her back with a groan, her arm flopping out from under the furs covered her eyes. Little by little awareness came to her.
The first thing she noticed was that rolling onto her back hadn't caused a sharp stab of pain in her shoulder. That was something to be grateful for, she supposed. As her eyes cracked open, she looked around the room wondering where she was. For a long moment she was entirely disoriented and then her memory returned.
"Brynjolf?" She sat up and looked around the room. He wasn't there, but the bed next to hers looked like it had been slept in and his bag was there. No use lying about in bed. She got up and stretched, feeling the tug on her wounded shoulder. It hurt, but it was bearable. The sore ankle was better too, but that sort of wound could take a long time to heal.
Seeing the tub in the corner of the room, she smiled. There were a pair of sluices and she bet hot water came out of one of them. Rummaging through her pack, she found her blue dress was still clean, even if it was terribly wrinkled. She laid it in the bathing area, along with some towels. There was a bar of dragon's breath scented soap in her pack too, so she took that out.
Pulling the drape closed on the bathing area, she filled the tub and undressed. One thing she could thank the Imperium for was making boilers and hot running water popular. At the moment it almost made up for them nearly slicing her head off... almost.
Moaning gratefully, she carefully got into tub, dipping in a toe, then a foot, then an ankle. "Hot, hot, hot!" She carefully sat down and watched her skin grow red with the heat, but it wasn't long before the water grew murky with the days of sweat, blood, sickness, and dirt she'd acquired. Disgusted by the cloudy water she emptied the tub and refilled it after her first scrubbing. Then she scrubbed herself again, this time washing her hair as well. The scent of dragon's breath filled the room and relaxed her. She let her mind wander as she basked in the hot water.
Thinking back over the days since she'd woken up in the old thieves' guild under Solitude, she reflected on all that had happened. Brynjolf had saved her, taken care of her, done everything he could do to see her restored to health. Why had he cared? He'd been disappointed that she was an assassin now, but he didn't blame her. She remembered how he'd fed her, wiped away her tears when she'd cried from humiliation, brought her a healer, and how she'd very nearly kissed him. Then she thought about the hours it took to get to the inn, his arm looped loosely around her waist while they rode. She remembered him taking the reins when she'd begun to get drowsy. Leaning back against him, he'd held her more tightly, securing her to him. She had felt so safe she had fallen asleep. When had they gotten to the inn? She didn't remember that, or going to bed. Warmth suffused her cheeks and that wasn't from the bath water.
When she'd been at the thieves' guild, she'd been a child, or so it seemed now. Certainly the events of the last six months had changed her. She barely recognized herself as she was back then. Life kept tumbling her from one thing to the next. When had she ever made a decision for herself? Going over her life, she came to the startling realization that she'd only really made two significant choices in her life. She'd chosen to leave that so-called adopted family that had practically enslaved her. The other choice was to kill Grelod. Everything else had been someone else's idea. No one had asked her what she wanted, they just carried her along in whatever plans they had made, just like she'd been swept up in that ambush and nearly executed.
She was sick of being buffeted about by the whim of gods and men. Even her affair with Astrid hadn't been her idea. She'd been caught up in Astrid's dance, seduced and enthralled. Arnbjorn hadn't been her idea either. Not that she was complaining. But if she hadn't been such a child perhaps she could've seen where this would inevitably lead.
"This has to stop," she muttered to herself. I've got to take more control over my life. But how? Even now she found herself given a role in life she hadn't asked for: The Listener. Maybe the best place to start was with the truth. She slid down the bathtub, internally flinching away from the truths she needed to acknowledge.
Astrid no longer loves me. She is angry with me for being the Listener. All my pleading and trying to reason with her isn't going to change it.
Saying that to herself finally made the truth sink home. It was like pulling an arrow out. It hurts. You bleed. You think you're going to die, but you get better eventually. Right now… she was still bleeding.
There was more, but this one hurt even more.
Arnbjorn is Astrid's. They have each other. They always have. I haven't changed that between them. I can't have either of them.
Another arrow drawn. Another painful truth acknowledged. It might be healthier to acknowledge the truth, but it hurt like hell. She wanted to sink down into the water and cry. No! I'm not a child.
After the heat went out of the water, she finally got out of the tub. She dried off, put on the wrinkled blue dress, and sat in front of the fire to dry her hair. Combing through it, she mused on her painful self-analysis.
~o~o~o~o~
Brynjolf regretfully handed over most of the remainder of his money to purchase healing potions for Nessa. He might need to stop in a hold on the way back to Riften to pick a few pockets. Hopefully, Nessa would agree to return with him, and they could work out something together. With her looks all she'd have to do is smile sweetly and purses would fly open. She just needed a little training. He imagined them traveling from hold to hold, perhaps even leaving Skyrim, and earning a good living selling his nostrums and lightening a few purses along the way.
It'd be an adventurous life for the lass, and not nearly as dangerous as this assassination business. He even stared out over the hills for a moment, lost in his daydream. Camping under the stars, the red light of the moon, Masser, illuminating them as…
"Sir?" The apothecary interrupted his reverie.
"Oh, right." He took the potions and carefully packed them into his bag.
It was a pretty sight he returned to. The lass sitting by the fire, dressed in a rumpled blue dress, her hair unbraided for once, damp and drying to a rich shade like golden wheat, or flax. It'd been a long time since he'd thought of such things, but for a moment he longed for a life he'd always shunned, a life of simple domesticity with a loving wife and perhaps children. The thought made him chuckle with its ridiculousness.
The low chuckle interrupted Nessa's reverie as she combed through her hair, drying it in front of the fire. She turned to the door, even as she reached for a dagger she wasn't even wearing.
"Easy, lass. You didn't hear me enter?"
"Ah, I was wool-gathering, I suppose." She settled back into the chair and began to partition her hair into sections for braiding.
"You could leave it down."
Eyes darting to his, she considered his suggestion. It was strange to hear a request like that from him. Why should he care how she wore her hair? But she left her hair unbraided.
"How are you feeling today? I got some more potions for you. No letting up until the shoulder is healed." He took a pair of potions from his pack and set them before her. "Enough to last the day at any rate. I can… acquire more tonight. Guild discount, if you follow me. There's also a salve I think might work on your sprained ankle."
She grinned at him, knowing full well how guild discounts worked. But she knew he must be running low on coin. He'd most likely had had to pay her healer, for her clothes, and who knows what else. Feeling guilty about that, she knew she'd make him whole before they parted, whatever it took. She had a very generous sum for her expenses and she'd barely tapped into it.
"I'm feeling much better. The ankle still hurts, but the shoulder is lots better. I can do a little healing on my ankle. I can't reach the wound on my shoulder."
"Have you eaten, Ness?"
She shook her head and her stomach growled loudly at the mere mention of food. She smiled and he chuckled at the sound. "I could eat."
"Aye, you should. You look much better, but you're a little thin." He left the room again and ordered a generous amount of food.
He returned when the food arrived and they sat together at the little table in their room. He'd ordered roast duck, sweet potatoes, pie, bread and a half dozen bottles of Black-Briar mead. There was no way he had enough money to pay for the meal and the room, but they could skive out without paying the bill. He was too proud to ask her to pay for it.
They ate voraciously and quietly at first then, when their bellies were appeased Brynjolf began to ask her questions, inconsequential ones at first.
"So, lass. Did you know Delvin had been an assassin once?"
She nodded and put down her fork for a moment, taking a long swig of mead. "Yes, Astrid told me he was. He left, I guess."
Brynjolf nodded, taking another bite of duck and chewing thoughtfully. "Yes. I suppose all that murdering got a little old after a while. Pretty dangerous work, I should think."
Poking at a sweet potato, Nessa nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you saw first-hand how dangerous. It isn't always like that though."
"I never would've thought you'd take to that sort of work. Do you… enjoy it?"
She poked at the sweet potato again. It was beginning to look more tortured than eaten. Certainly killing the Imperial in Solitude had been a horrible job. Sleeping with Tullius… she shivered involuntarily when remembering. She hadn't ever really actually enjoyed murdering people, but she also hadn't spent too much time thinking about the people she had killed. Like Nazir had said, once you go down that path your job becomes impossible.
"It's okay." The sweet potato suffered another fatal jab and she gulped down the rest of her mead, not wanting to look him in the face.
She hadn't gained any skill in hiding her tells—the little things she did that gave away her true feelings. Well, that was another thing he'd train her in when she returned.
"You don't care for it, do you? Why don't you leave?" Now he was circling closer, getting a little bolder with his questions.
She sighed in frustration and opened the next bottle of mead. "I can't leave." Maybe once she could have. That time when Arnbjorn had urged her to go and seek a normal life. She'd almost followed his advice. Now it was too late.
"Why not? Are you an indentured servant? Do you have to pay off some sort of debt?"
She shook her head and examined the bottle closely, toying with it. Her eyes focused on it so she wouldn't have to look at him. His questions were like being jabbed with needles. "I can't leave." As Cicero had said, the Black Hand would hunt her down and force her back. She wasn't exactly sure what the Black Hand was—some sort of disembodied extremity, blackened by decay. It might come throttle her in the middle of the night until she relented and returned. The image was horrifying and haunted her at times.
Brynjolf, impatient with her short replies and lack of elaboration, took the bottle she was fiddling with. She looked up and finally met his eyes. "I thought I was a friend, Ness, someone you could trust. I know you're unhappy, lass. A trouble shared is a trouble halved, or so they say."
Sighing, she frowned and considered what to share. He'd certainly been a friend to her, rescuing her from certain death, nursing her back to health. If there was one person in all Tamriel that had been her friend through words and deeds, it was Brynjolf. Maybe he was right. Telling him her troubles might ease her mind. One corner of her mouth quirked up, just a bit, and she took back her mead.
"All right. I told you how I was recruited into the Brotherhood, but I haven't told you what happened afterwards. The guild master welcomed me very warmly, but it was complicated." She smiled at the memory of Astrid's wooing during those early days.
Despite his normal control over his expression, Brynjolf's brows rose in surprise. He smothered his reaction quickly. "Oh? That would be Astrid? Did you and she…?"
Nodding, Nessa continued her story. "I know, it surprised me too. Especially since I found out she was married and her husband was also in the guild."
"Ah, the complication?" he asked.
"Well, one of the complications. The other complication was that Astrid is a vampire and she nearly killed me."
"By the Divines, why'd she do that?" Vampires! Bad idea, Nessa. He'd heard stories of people kidnapped and enthralled. Nothing but bad came from vampires. Living as long as they did warped them. Somewhere along the line they stopped being human and humans began to look like food. Very bad idea, Nessa.
"It was an accident. We were playing a game—it was my idea—and she was tempted by my blood. She couldn't stop." There was a lengthy pause as Nessa stared at the fire, remembering it in all its glorious intensity and sensuality. "Her husband rescued me, but I was enthralled. I couldn't stay away from her and she couldn't stop wanting my blood."
"Stendarr's fiery flatulence, Ness, I see what you mean by complications. Was that the end of it?"
"For a while, but then her husband, Arnbjorn, and I… It was his idea. They'd separated because of what had happened and he thought that if the three of us were together it would solve everything. And it worked for a while. We were happy." She gulped a deep breath of air, feeling the empty pang in her center. "I loved them both."
He'd bet a fat purse, if he had one, someone had gotten jealous. But sweet divines, who was this lucky man, Arnbjorn? "Someone got jealous, lass?"
She bit her lip. Could she speak about the Night Mother to an outsider? Would the Black Hand come for her in the night if she did? No one had said she couldn't. Surely Circero would've warned her. "It was jealousy of a sort, I suppose. The Night Mother spoke to me and I became the Listener."
All the control that Brynjolf had over his facial expressions couldn't hide his surprise this time. "Night Mother... is she real? I thought that was just legend. I know when Maven calls on the Dark Brotherhood she leaves a message in a certain place. She doesn't even bother with that whole Black Sacrament nonsense."
Her eyes closed a moment, reliving that horrible night when her entire world caved in. "She's real. She told me the secret words to tell her Keeper and he confirmed it. Astrid didn't believe me at first, but now she does and she's angry. The Keeper says the Listener should lead the guild and Astrid doesn't like that. I don't want it, Brynjolf. I never sought this. I don't want Astrid's job. She does a fine job. It should've been her."
Nessa clapped her hand over her mouth. "Maybe I've said too much."
"Don't worry, lass. I'll take it to my grave, unless you tell me otherwise."
There he went, calling her lass again in that proprietary way he had. It made her smile, even now when she'd revived all the painful memories of her recent past. "So that is why I can't return to the thieves' guild. Cicero tells me the Black Hand will strangle me in the night if I don't return." She didn't quite remember what Cicero had said, but her imagination had woven it into something fitting.
Brynjolf wrinkled his forehead and looked skeptical. "The Black Hand? I've never heard of that. Are you sure it isn't just a story meant to frighten you?"
Maybe it was. Nessa didn't really know much of the lore of the Dark Brotherhood. Perhaps she should find a book to read. She hadn't been in much of a mood to read about Barenziah lately. She shrugged. "The Night Mother visits me in my dreams, too. She'd never allow me to leave. Cicero says she'd drive me mad."
Cicero be damned, Brynjolf thought. This Keeper was keeping Nessa from leaving by scaring her. "Ness, these sound like fairy tales. I think that Keeper is simply trying to keep you from leaving."
"The Night Mother is not a fairy tale, Brynjolf. I've been there in the twilight place where she lives. She drags me there some nights, even when I try to stay awake."
They finished their dinner while Brynjolf pried more details from her. Murder by murder, they spilled out of her, until she reached what she'd done to murder the old commander in Solitude. She just couldn't tell him that she'd slept with a man she hated and feared. She glossed over everything but poisoning him with sleeping draught.
The obfuscation wasn't lost on Brynjolf. Whatever had happened was causing her embarrassment and shame. The smile on her face, when it appeared, was as false as a brass septim. When she laughed over her performance as a bard, it sounded brittle. No, whatever had happened, she wasn't going to tell him. He wouldn't pry. Not this time.
"You can't stay there, Ness." He leaned forward and stared at her intently, capturing her blue eyes with his. "This isn't any good for you. Maybe being a thief isn't an honorable profession, but these assassins will strip away everything that makes you… special." He leaned forward and grabbed her wrist. The fork she was holding clattered to the table top.
She drew in a quick breath, shocked by the force of his insistence. "I told you…"
He dropped her wrist as suddenly as he'd seized it. "I know, lass. But you could try. There must be some way." He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Delvin would know."
She settled back in her chair and regarded him. "I could come back to the guild?" she said skeptically.
Nodding, he noticed the glimmer of hope her eyes. "I'll deal with Mercer, if there's anything to deal with. He doesn't need to know the details. We'll cover your disappearance with a plausible story, easy enough."
Was it that easy? Could she leave the Dark Brotherhood, truly? As uncomfortable as things were between her and Astrid, she was still close to Arnbjorn. They talked sometimes, when Astrid wasn't around. Cicero was a friend, even if he did scare her sometimes, as was Babette. Of course, Veezara she liked very well. But as much as she liked them, she knew Astrid was having a problem with her, and she'd leave just to prove to Astrid she wasn't ambitious.
She nodded slowly as she came to accept that leaving truly would be best, if she even could. "If Delvin knows a way."
Brynjolf settle back into his chair and lifted his mead bottle, a contented smile on his face. "I have faith, lass. We'll get you back where you belong." He saluted her with his bottle and took a long quaff. "I think we should spend a couple of days here. You finish healing up and I can escort you back to wherever it is you live now."
"You can't go there with me, Bryn. It's a secret."
"How do I get a message to you then, about whatever Delvin says?"
Her eyes searched his face for a moment. It wouldn't hurt to say where it was near, would it? Delvin would probably know anyway. "It is close to Falkreath. You could leave a message there for me with the shopkeeper."
It was something, a place to start if nothing else and he'd have another couple of days to convince her to return right away. He settled back in his chair and drank leisurely from the bottle of mead. "All right then. Glad that's settled. Let's take a look at that ankle today."
He got up and went to Nessa's bed. "Make yourself comfortable and take off your shoes," he said as he sat on the side of her bed. She removed her shoes and settled onto the bed, resting her back against the headboard. He thoughtfully put a pair of pillows behind her back to cushion her. The tender gesture wasn't lost on her. Her blue eyes sought out his and they locked gazes for a moment.
Echoes of her morning's musing rang through her thoughts again, pealing like temple bells. When have I ever decided anything for myself? Am I still being swept along a river current, or am I swimming? Brynjolf opened a jar of liniment and a soft herbal fragrance filled her senses. He pushed her dress up, over, and away from the sore ankle. Dipping his fingers into the thick, viscous mixture, he gently rubbed it into the swollen area.
"Am I hurting you, lass?"
She shook her head. Definitely not. The sweet smell of the ointment and the feeling of his warm, gentle hands was not painful at all. She exhaled a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. As her muscles relaxed, he applied more pressure. Rubbing, squeezing, his fingers gently dug into her calf muscles.
She let go of all the tension she'd been holding and sagged back against the pillows, closing her eyes and giving herself over to the pleasing sensation of his hands working their magic against her leg. With her eyes closed, she was flooded with memories of Arnbjorn, the way he'd seduced her, gently at first and then more passionately with the beast in him coming to the forefront later. The memories were arousing her, but stabbed her heart as well. She opened her eyes and fixed them on Brynjolf. His scarred cheek was turned toward her and she had that urge again to trace them with her hand, but instead she sat up.
"Thanks, Brynjolf. I think that did a lot of good. I should go out and get a little air now." She pushed her dress down over her ankle, ending the session abruptly. She didn't trust herself right now.
Looking a little surprised at her unexpected halt to his massage, he grabbed a towel and wiped his hands clean, looking at her as he did so. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were skittering away from his like frightened mice. Well, this is an interesting development. Perhaps he wasn't the only one afflicted by such thoughts. Still, after all she'd been through, it wasn't up to him to make the first move.
"Feeling better, then?"
"Much!"
Her reply was bright and cheerful and rang falsely. There was nothing false in Brynjolf's smile. "I'll come with you."
"Good, you can help me carry things." She put her shoes back on and tried to smooth some wrinkles out of her dress. "I need to collect some herbs for potions."
"I bought you some this morning, lass. There's no need."
"There's always a need, Bryn. Can't have too many healing potions. Besides, I've gotten very good at mixing potions since I left. I bet I could even sell them to the alchemist here for a tidy profit." Her growing alchemy skill was a source of pride.
"All right, Ness, but don't overdo it."
They spent the rest of the afternoon gathering herbs and alchemy ingredients. Brynjolf, remembering her flushed cheeks and shyness, made every effort to reproduce the response by letting his fingers lingering on hers, just a little longer than necessary, when she handed him stems of mountain flowers and lavender.
When their arms were full of what Brynjolf teasingly called "weeds", they made their way back to the inn and he offered to help her pound what she needed into a pulp. She stood behind him, carefully directing him, maybe a little closer than was entirely necessary.
Toes on the brink, was how Nessa felt. There was a cliff here. If she jumped, would she fly or plummet? She could stand there until someone pushed her off, or pulled her away from the edge, but that was what she'd always done.
As they worked on the healing potions she stole little glances at him and he met them. At first her eyes slid away back to their work. Decide. Her glances grew bolder and she stopped blushing when he caught her eyes and smiled.
He held the bottles while she strained the mixtures into them. Both their fingers were stained red by the time she had corked the last bottle. The heavy scent of green herbs, lavender, and thistle blooms was intoxicating, but it was a red smudge on Brynjolf's face that finally set her feet upon a path of her choosing. That mark mirrored the scar she'd secretly wondered about for so long. Her eyes settled to the mark and finally, finally, she reach up to touch it. The movement of her hand was mere inches, but the gesture was that last step off the precipice. It was a decision. Her finger traced the scar as his green eyes locked with hers. "How did it happen?" she asked softly.
He caught her hand with his own and held it against his cheek. "A knife fight I almost lost." Moving in a little closer he pulled her hand to his mouth and softly kissed her wrist over the place where her pulse throbbed.
For a moment they simply stood and stared at one another, and then Nessa closed the remaining distance between them. "I'm glad you won," she whispered with her lips nearly on his.
"Me too, lass." He barely had time to say the words before her lips were on his and her arms were wrapping around him.
There was a chance, perhaps, he'd reject this, but he didn't. Instead his hand came to rest on the back of her neck and the other around her waist. The smell of leather and mead, the bristling brush of his scruffy cheeks, the sound of the pleased hum that escaped him filled her senses even more than the heady scent of the crushed flora.
The kiss went on until he pulled away ever so slightly and ran his hands down her shoulders, looking at her, memorizing the moment. He seared into his memory the way her dilated pupils made her eyes look a darker shade of blue, the way she was looking at him, her chest heaving with deep breaths, and no sign now of the shy girl who wouldn't meet his eyes earlier in the day. His heart inched up his throat thinking how incredibly improbable this was. Well, not seducing a girl, the probability of that was always rather high, but finding this one again. There'd always been a feeling of unfinished business where she'd been concerned, and a lot of regrets.
He'd never been a man to turn down a willing woman, especially one as comely and sweet as this one, but this time he hesitated. There was a question of motivation. The thought that she might be doing this to repay him, or out of gratitude, didn't set well. Or that she was turning to him to forget her broken heart. Then that thought, in turn, bothered him. Who was he to question a woman's motivation? Whatever her motivation, the answer was always a resounding 'yes', until now.
"Lass, you're certain about this?" Sheogarath take him, what a stupid utterance, yet he wanted to know her motivation.
Disappointment grew in her eyes and she tensed under his hands. "You don't… Oh. I'm sorry, Brynjolf." She tried to take a step back, but his hands were still firmly locked onto her shoulders.
"No, not that, Ness. Not at all. It's just that I want to know you're not feeling obligated because of what happened in Solitude." That came out sounding awful. He'd be lucky if she didn't turn on her heel after that.
She let out a held breath and relaxed. For a moment she thought he was going to say he was uninterested. "I am grateful for all you did, but it isn't why."
"That's all I wanted to know, lass." It wasn't all, but it was enough for now. His eyes smiled as he pulled her to him and this time his lips took hers.
Her red-stained hands traveled up his neck, along his jaw and then behind his head and neck. This time no one hesitated. They inched, still locked together in a fevered kiss, toward the bed. The back of her knees hit it and she fell backwards even as she pulled him down with her. His breath blossomed against her neck as he kissed his way down to her collar bones. Larcenous fingers, skilled at removing coin purses without the owner's notice, artfully unbuttoned her dress. Nessa's hands were just as facile dealing with his clothes. His shirt came off just as he peeled her dress down her torso.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen her with so little, but it wasn't the same when she'd been so near death. This time though, with her hair spilling across the pillow, her cheeks glowing pink, and her blue eyes looking at him so intently—this time the sight spurred him on. "Lass," he spoke softly into her ear.
The sound of his voice, the warm puff of air against her ear, his hand skimming along her rib cage and gently cupping a small breast made her gasp. She arched up into his hand. The thief's other hand unfastened her breast band and slid it off her.
His chest was covered with a fine dusting of hair that was as auburn as the hair on his head. It covered a finely sculpted torso, marred only by a few long scars, grown white with age, and one particularly vicious one that looked like it might have been made by and arrow, or knife that had sunk in deeply. Her hand traced it and she looked up into his eyes questioningly. "Same knife fight?"
His laugh rumbled through his chest and she liked the intimate way that chuckle seemed just for her.
"No, Ness. I like to think I don't get hit twice in the same fight. Those are all different stories." He picked up her hand and pinned it against the bed. "Someday I will tell you about them all." Kissing her neck, he brought another sharply indrawn breath from her. "But not today. My mouth has more interesting work than recounting old fights."
She discovered the work his mouth had to do as it teased a nipple then kissed its way down to her navel. He grasped her dress that pooled around her hips and slid it off, taking her smalls with it. Conveniently, her sex was right before his face as he finished disrobing her. The downy hair was a darker shade than that on her head, but every bit as soft. His hand ran across the mound of her sex, and a finger dipped into the folds to find she was already gratifyingly wet.
Nessa raised her head to see a roguish smile cross his face. "You'll tell me if I'm doing this right, won't you, lass?" he said.
She nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation, and lips parted. "I think you'll know."
Then he turned to the task he'd set his mouth. His hand parted her folds and held her open, exposed to him. There was a long moment when she felt more naked, more on exhibit than she'd ever felt as he just looked at her sex. Then his hot breath blossomed against her and his tongue flicked gently against her most sensitive spot.
The building anticipation already had her on edge and she moaned the moment his tongue made contact. Her hands gripped the blankets and then wended into his hair where her grip tightened as she lost herself to what his tongue and mouth were doing to her. When he carefully inserted a finger, then two, she moaned and her hips began to dance.
He answered with a chuckle, and threw an arm over her hips to hold her to the bed as he increased the pace, sucking at her folds like she were a luscious fruit. Her fingers in his hair tightened and the soft mewling sounds told him he was on the right track. Finally she lifted her head, her eyes tried to focus on his face and she gasped his name.
"Brynjolf! Oh Divines!" After that nothing intelligible came out of her mouth as her body clenched and trembled with the intensity of her climax. When she finally came to her senses she realized she had double fistfuls of Brynjolf's hair clenched in her hands, fortunately she hadn't yanked it out of his head.
He climbed up the bed, a pleased grin on his face. "I take it you approve? Either that or you would prefer me bald." He rubbed his head where she'd tugged at his red hair.
She laughed and hid her face against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry." She kissed him softly, tasting herself on his lips. "I'll make it up to you. Feel free to pull my hair."
Sliding down the bed, she unlaced his trousers and pulled them off with two hard tugs. Her breath caught as she looked over the rest of his body. His legs were sculpted as handsomely as his torso and sprinkled with the same red hair. Her tongue flicked out shyly as she tentatively tasted him. His murmur of approval bolstered her and she took him fully into her mouth, sucking and licking him as if he were a penny candy of unusual size.
He wrapped her long pale hair around his hand and lifted it so he could watch what she was doing with mouth. Nessa was apparently not nearly as innocent as she looked. Whatever she'd been up to the last half year with the assassin's guild master and her husband, he could hardly complain about the results.
The sounds, sensations, and sight of what she was doing nearly undid him. "Up here, Ness." He gave a gentle tug on her hair and then reached down and pulled her up to him, kissing her as he did so. Spreading her legs with his knees, his eyes riveted hers, but they slid shut as he hilted himself in her. "Ah, lass," he whispered directly into her ear. "This feels so right." He moved slowly, his hips swirling against hers.
The words nearly undid her. It was what had just been flickering through her mind. "Gods, Bryn. Just fuck me." She didn't want to think of how right it feels, because it wasn't going to last. Her fingernails scraped down his sides and she thrust up under him, begging him with her body for more.
Brynjolf was completely insensible to the pain the comment caused, but he did respond to her urging. His thrusts became hard and rhythmic, igniting a fire storm of sensations within her core. Her hand wound into his long, fiery hair and another hand skimmed down his back to grip his ass as she wrapped her long legs around him firmly.
A few more wild thrusts and she was undone for a second time. She cried out his name as muscles tightened, fingers clutched, and her body was seized with tremors.
"Lass!" A pair of uneven thrusts and he raised himself up, staring intently at her while he reached his own crisis. "Oh, Ness," he said, gritting his teeth against the intensity of his own release. A drop of sweat rolled down his nose and dropped onto her chest, mingling with her own perspiration. He held her tightly, feeling her heart galloping beneath his own. His lips sought out hers and this time the kiss was a gentle meeting of lips, the urgency gone now.
They stared at one another for a long moment. Each packed with their own set of emotions. Finally he dropped to the bed beside her and wrapped her into his arm. He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew he couldn't let her go back to the Brotherhood.
She kissed him all over the face and smiled at him, belying the pain she felt knowing that this would end all too soon. Make the most of it. Pushing the painful thoughts away, she tried to neaten his hair that she'd thoroughly messed up. "That was… good."
"Good, Ness? You damn me with faint praise." He moved his hand to her bottom and gave her a pinch.
She yelped and knocked his hand away. "There's always room for improvement. Isn't that what you always said when I was picking locks or trying to practice my pickpocketing on Vekel or Delvin?" She gave him an impish grin. "Then you'd make me do it all over again."
He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "You're going to need to let nature take her course, lass. I don't recover quite as quickly as I once did."
She leaned out of the bed and stretched her arm out, searching among the bottles they'd stacked on the table between the two beds. The one she selected was filled with a yellow liquid. "Drink this and you will."
"A stamina potion?" he said, laughter in his eyes. "Do you intend to kill me with your loving?"
"You won't die. I promise." She uncorked the bottle and held it out to him. "You'll like it. Trust me."
He did like it. She was right. Her potions did taste like berries, and the surge of energy that began to build within him had him restored to full potency in no time. It never even occurred to him to stop or protest when she handed him another potion after another breathless conclusion.
They made love all that afternoon, only stopping to eat a very large dinner and then she handed him another stamina potion and they did it one more time.
~o~o~o~
She awoke in the middle of the night after a couple of hours of sleep. They were crowded into one small bed, limbs entwined. Pausing a moment, she judged he was very deeply asleep. There was a price to pay for drinking so many stamina potions and spending so many hours vigorously making love. She hadn't drunk any. She was exhausted, and not a little sore, but she had a deep well of stamina of her own to draw upon, maybe because of the dragon's blood, if that nonsense were even true.
Very slowly and carefully she untangled herself from him and dressed in her leather armor, fingering the hole that the arrow had made. She packed up her potions, leaving him a few healing potions, knowing he might need it the next day. She sat down at the little writing desk where the goat horn lamp was still burning and wrote him a note.
Her purse of coins was heavy. She hadn't spent much of the expense money. She took out a few septims for what she might need on her way back to the Sanctuary and left the rest on the table next to the note. Then she was ready. Her eyes filled with tears as she bent over Brynjolf and kissed him softly. "Forgive me," she whispered. She quietly slipped out the door and pulled it closed behind her.
~o~o~o~
The morning sun finally pierced Brynjolf's sleep and he awoke, emerging from the deepest sleep he'd had in a long time. Even before he opened his eyes the memories of the prior day flooded him and he smiled, reaching out to pull Nessa closer.
"Lass?" His arms came back empty and his eyes opened wide and he sat bolt upright in bed. A dozen scenarios ran through his head: She'd been captured. No, he would've surely awoken. She went out. Perhaps even now she was coming back to their room with a tray of food. A quick glance around the room dashed that hope. Her belongings were gone. There was a piece of paper, a blue ribbon laying on top of it, a bulging coin purse, and a few of the healing potions they'd bottled just the day before. She was gone.
With his heart sinking, he got up, took the ribbon, and read the note. He stalked back to the bed, cursing himself for being a fool. Why had he imagined he could convince her to leave? She'd told him plainly enough she couldn't. Or at least she thought she couldn't. Maybe Delvin could find an out for her. He folded her note carefully and, when he dressed, he stuck it into a pocket inside his cuirass, next to his heart.
The bag of septims she'd left him was weightier than any he'd carried in a long time. He felt a little guilt accepting them, but she hadn't exactly left him any choice. Well, they'd not go to waste. He'd take a carriage back to Riften. Better the interminable chatter of the driver than being left to thinking of how he'd found Nessa only to lose her again.
~o~o~o~
They held a party to honor Nessa on her return. Astrid was pleased with her performance and personally rewarded her with a large bonus.
Arnbjorn watched her all evening, noting how subdued she was and how little she said of her escape, or why her return was so delayed. Something had changed, he could practically smell it, but what it was eluded him. Perhaps there would be some time they could talk, but not with Astrid around. He didn't want to give her even more reason to be jealous of the girl.
"Everyone!" Astrid stood up and raised a glass of wine and turned to Nessa. "Our newest assassin has pulled off a very difficult assignment and brought the Dark Brotherhood to the lips of all Skyrim once again." She nodded to Nessa, smiling graciously. "Your next assignment will be much easier, but no less important."
The guild drank another toast to Nessa. She smiled and accepted the kudos with ease, but excused herself claiming exhaustion while the night was still early. Her brothers and sisters hugged her, and clapped her on the back, even Astrid. The only one that maintained a distance was Arnbjorn. He caught her eyes and nodded respectfully to her, their exchange more private and somehow more eloquent than all the words they might have said to one another.
When she turned to leave, he saw her pale skin through the hole in her armor. A cold chill went through him. There was more to her story than she'd revealed. Despite his desire to appease Astrid's wrath by feigning disinterest in Nessa, he wanted to know what had happened. By Hercine, he'd have it from her.
~o~o~o~
Final Note: All right, I am going to finish that #$# ! chapter in Post Blight Management for Dummies if it kills me.
Thanks everyone for reading and I look forward to reading your comments!