All the way back to Riften, Andante thought about it. That pat on the back from Brynjolf.
“It’ll be alright, lad. I’ll make certain of it.”
He didn’t understand a great many things about his life right at that moment. It was one thing to purposefully cast a spell to look human. It was another to be human again, and it made his skin crawl. He wanted to beg Brynjolf to take him, right then and there, and turn him so that he didn’t have to be human, didn’t have to be weak and vulnerable. And afraid. The way he’d been when he woke on the hillside in the Reach.
I’m starting over again. I have to learn how to be a person – again. I didn’t know who I was or what I could do before and here I am back in the same spot, weak — and vulnerable. Why did I think this was a good idea?
He felt heavy. He felt slow. He felt as though he was slowing Brynjolf down, and he had to stop every so often – far too frequently for his taste – to drink water and nibble on the food they’d had to purchase from the inn in Morthal. It was perfectly distasteful, and he was wracking his brain, over and over, trying to remember why it had seemed a good idea to visit Falion even though he knew the objective reasons well enough.
He looked at Brynjolf, trotting along beside him, several times as they travelled and it finally came to him, the reason he was doing this. It wasn’t only for the sake of the castle, although his avaricious core still wanted it for himself. There was something else; the same thing Brynjolf had said. It’ll be alright. I’ll make certain of it. He wanted Brynjolf to be safe.
He felt the same way about Babette; he didn’t want her to be harmed. He thought about that for a few minutes; then he shook his head at himself. No, I don’t feel the same way about Babette. There is something different about this, with respect to Brynjolf, that also doesn’t have anything to do with him being an excellent bedfellow, and I don’t understand what it is. I don’t like it when I don’t understand.
It was nearly dawn when they reached Riften, and Andante shooed Brynjolf down to the Cistern. “Go take care of things. Check in with Delvin. Then get some sleep if you can manage. Go back to Honeyside, fast, stay down below and spend just as little time in the light as you can manage.”
Brynjolf smirked. “Yes, lad. I think I had that figured out. That sun hurts.”
Andante made a face.
“Sorry, Bryn. It’s just the only thing I truly know any more – how to be a vampire.”
“That’s not true, but I understand. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Let me go reassure Delvin and Vex, and maybe Maven if I need to check in with her. Make sure the rabble is still all in line, see what sorts of trouble we can stir up. We do still have to make coin, after all, and they’re all expecting their acting Guildmaster to sort out who does what.” He grinned, and his fangs peeked out from behind his lips for a moment. He flicked his tongue over them. “Even if they aren’t expecting him to have these. I’ll keep them hidden, don’t worry. You need to go do what you need to do.”
Andante sighed. “Right. Well, off I go then.” He started to leave, then stopped. He looked around to make sure they were alone, but nobody was in the graveyard at dawn. Brynjolf had turned toward the old stone sarcophagus, but Andante reached out and grabbed him by the arm.
“Wait.”
Brynjolf looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Andante stepped forward and kissed him, thoroughly, trying to memorize the shape and flavor of his mouth, reminding himself of the shape of Brynjolf’s fangs, drinking him in.
It might be the last chance I get.
When he was finished, Brynjolf smiled. “What’s this, then? You’ll be back soon.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what this is. He tried to cover his confusion with a grin.
“Well, yes. But one never knows. So that was one for the road, so to speak.”
Brynjolf chuckled. “Now get going, lad, or you’ll never get back.”
Andante nodded, and slipped out the gate. The sun was just above the horizon, and bright, and he blinked at it, marveling again at how strange it was to be out in it. Then he set off down the road at a trot, grinding his teeth in frustration with how slow he was. It wasn’t going to be a long trip, given what he knew about his destination, but it was going to take much longer than he would have liked.
Fort Dawnguard was hidden in a valley, not too far from the border with Morrowind, with access that could be considered either a highly defensible asset or a potential trap depending on one’s point of view. The entrance to it was through a narrow, dim crevasse in the mountains, not much more than a crack in the cliff marked only by a burning brazier outside it. He filed that away for future thought. Andante made his way through and then clambered up the side of the mountain on the far side of the cave to take stock of the place.
It was beautiful here where the mountains met the forests of the Rift, and this valley combined elements of both. The sun filtered through fog made every leaf shine like gold, and not very much higher up conifers held the snow on their branches. Andante couldn’t help it; he smiled. I wouldn’t be able to see this under normal circumstances, would I? I’d have to call a fog too thick to see through. Still. Beauty is one thing, sanity is another, and I need to get this taken care of.
He hopped back down onto the trail and made his way up it, stopping to gawk in amazement when he rounded a corner and Fort Dawnguard came into view. It was massive and, unlike nearby Riften, made entirely of stone as far as he could tell. It was carefully arranged among the stone outcroppings, with several defensively placed towers jutting out before it. The entrance was not here, at its lower end, but from what he could see was far around the back side of the place.
Almost makes up for the awkward entrance to the canyon; you’d be able to see the enemy coming a long way off.
Then he grinned to himself. Assuming that the enemy was visible. That, of course was the difficulty in fighting even lower-tier vampires; they could invoke heavy fogs or blink into invisibility for a time as Brynjolf had after his first feeding. Andante could easily envision a nighttime attack by a group of vampires, if they could be coordinated properly, being very successful.
If I were of a mind to help these Dawnguard fools I would have to point that out to them as a vulnerability, wouldn’t I, if they didn’t already know it. It’s too bad that…
“Oh, hey there!” a bright and, to Andante’s ear, entirely too earnest voice called out. “You here to join the Dawnguard too?” Andante jumped and reached for his axe as a youngish Nord man dressed in farm clothes popped out from behind one of the rock outcroppings.
I must be losing my touch. I was too busy thinking well out into the future to notice what was right there in the shadows. That was sloppy. The thought stopped him cold for a moment, and he frowned. Sloppy? Why… is that important?
He fought to regain his composure and covered his momentary confusion with a nod. “Yes, and hello. I’m going to at least go see what they have to say. Perhaps they’ll find an axe fighter suitable to their needs. And I know a good deal about vampires.”
The man nodded and introduced himself as Agmaer. “Truth is, I’m… a little nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before. I, uh, I hope you won’t mind if I walk up with you.”
Well I don’t suppose I have much choice, do I.
All the rest of the way to the entrance – around the near tower, through a wood cutting lot, past a small garden plot and snaking alongside and then through a stockade fence, Agmaer chattered nervously. Please don’t tell Isran he was afraid. He was sure Andante must have killed lots of vampires, he was sure Isran would sign him right up. Look how big the fort was, it looked almost deserted, where was everybody. And on, and on, and on to the point at which Andante was even more regretful than usual that he didn’t have his fangs any longer. Finally, they approached the broad steps with a man in uniform standing at guard; Agmaer said, “Well, I guess this is it! Wish me luck!” and ran inside.
Andante stood staring at the guard for a moment, and then chuckled. “If he hadn’t run ahead just then he might have needed that luck. My patience was wearing a bit thin.”
The guard looked him over for a moment, nodded, and said, “Go on inside. Isran will want to talk to you.”
Just past the entryway was the lower level of the tower: circular, clearly very old but in far better repair than the ancient Nordic barrows that dotted Skyrim’s landscape. Andante scanned it quickly. They haven’t been here long. Crates, barrels, but there are cobwebs everywhere and only a few weapons on the racks. Still, this gentleman looks imposing…
There was a sour-looking Redguard man in uniform, with a deadly-looking warhammer slung across his back, standing so as to block access to any other part of the fort.
This has to be Isran.
And this man is clearly a Vigilant of Stendarr. Andante tried to contain a snarl and felt at least one corner of his mouth curl upwards in spite of himself. The Vigilants were die-hard vampire, werewolf, and Daedra hunters and he’d had more than a few encounters with them. They were tough opponents, well-equipped with magic and weapons specially designed to fight their chosen foes. He had to fight the nearly automatic urge to draw his weapon.
Survival skills, Andante. You’re human. You’re not vampire. You’re fine. Relax.
The Redguard spoke, his voice of a depth to rival that of Dardeh, the Dragonborn, or so Andante thought.
“Why are you here, Tolan? The Vigilants and I were finished long ago.”
So this man was a Vigilant as well? Interesting.
“You know why I’m here,” Tolan told him, his voice earnest and almost desperate. “The Vigilants are under attack everywhere. The vampires are much more dangerous than we believed.”
And about to get even moreso if I have anything to say about it.
“And now you want to come running to safety with the Dawnguard, is that it? I remember Keeper Carcette repeatedly telling me that Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin, not worth the expense and manpower to repair.” He sneered, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “And now that you’ve stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my protection?”
The Vigilant raised his voice. “Isran, Carcette is dead! The Hall of the Vigilants – everyone – they’re all dead! You were right, we were wrong. Isn’t that enough for you?”
Andante’s gaze snapped to Tolan. Dead? The Hall? What vampires accomplished this, Harkon’s clan? The last time he’d skirted around the Hall of the Vigilants, their headquarters, it had been quite intact and a place to be carefully avoided. Well, well. All the more reason to go meet this Harkon, it would seem. He definitely has something I need besides just that castle. I can tell.
Isran’s face didn’t change, but his tone did, at least a bit. “Yes, well… I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn you…”
Oh he really isn’t going to say ‘I told you so,’ is he? That’s cold, even for me.
Isran frowned. “I am sorry, you know.” Then he turned to Andante.
“So. Who are you and what do you want?” His voice had returned to its dry, sarcastic tone.
“It was my understanding that the Dawnguard was looking for new recruits. My name is Andante. I have a great deal of experience with vampires and here I am.”
Isran narrowed his eyes and looked Andante over. He nodded.
“Well I do need someone out in the field, taking the fight to the damn vampires while we’re getting this old fort back into shape. Tolan was telling me about some cave the Vigilants were poking around in. Seemed to think it was…”
“Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artifact of some kind,” Tolan interrupted. We didn’t listen to him any more than we listened to Isran. He… was at the hall when it was attacked.” The man looked perfectly miserable. Andante felt sorry for him but wondered where Tolan had been during that attack. Clearly he hadn’t been defending the Hall.
Isran nodded at Andante. “All right. Go see if you can find out what the vampires were looking for in this Dimhollow Crypt. With any luck, they’ll still be there.”
Andante was about to speak when Tolan interrupted him again. “I’m going with you. It’s the least I can do to avenge my fallen comrades.”
Both Andante and Isran started arguing with him but Isran had the louder voice, and Andante backed down in deference to him. Isran and Tolan argued for a few minutes until Tolan shouted that he was going, he would meet Andante there, that was the end of that. And he strode out of the tower before either of them could utter another word.
“Well then,” Andante said, turning to Isran with a grin. “It would seem that Brother Tolan is going to Dimhollow Crypt.”
Isran seemed to have no humor in him at all, his face never changing from its deadly serious frown. He turned to one of the nearby crates and bent to pull something from it, then returned to Andante.
“Here. You should take a crossbow. Good for hunting out those fiends before they get too close.”
Andante had all he could do to keep from shrinking back, but he gritted his teeth and accepted the crossbow and what he could see were silvered bolts. He fought himself, but gave his usual half-bow and left the tower.
Silvered bolts. He’d had a run-in or two with the special silvered weapons favored by vampire hunters of all sorts, and they burned horribly. Once he was safely out the door and down the steps he stopped and looked at them, and then tentatively touched the tip of one of the bolts. His eyebrows rose in surprise.
Well, then. It feels like metal. It doesn’t burn. Alright. There’s at least one thing about being human again that is relatively positive.
Tolan was already long gone by the time he made it through the long crevasse and started up the road toward Riften. He broke into a trot and swore at himself that he could go no faster. He wanted to get home to Honeyside.
—
“What is all this about, now?”
Andante had collected a variety of armor, trying to find just the right look for himself. Because, he thought standing in front of the wardrobe, I am a vain son of a bitch and I want to look just so. And more to the point right at the moment, I want my protégé to look wonderful as well. Even if I’m human right now and he’s not.
Tucked into the very back of the closet was a set he’d picked off a dead vampire in the cavern known as Haemar’s Shame during the days before he contracted the disease himself, simply because he liked the looks of it. After he’d become a vampire Andante had tempered this armor, enchanted it to help ward him from sun and fire, and then had decided to go with the blue look instead. The blue matched his eyes. Or at least his eyes as they’d been before. He doubted very much that he would look good in yellow.
This particular set was of the most amazingly supple leather, dyed a deep red, and he had a feeling it was going to suit Brynjolf perfectly.
“Here,” he said, tossing the armor to Brynjolf. “Try this on for me.”
“I already have armor, lad.”
Andante shook his head. “You have black armor that screams Guildmaster to anyone who has ever had contact with the Thieves Guild,” he said. “Or perhaps we should say, you have black leathers with a bright red target painted on the back of them. You’re not going to be able to just stay out of sight in the Cistern all the time, Brynjolf, and you can’t continue to take the chance of being recognized the instant you step out the door. Can you imagine how many people would be excited to get rid of you if they saw those eyes under that armor? Even that one trip was chancy. Admit it.”
Brynjolf frowned. “Yes, you’re right and I should know better than to risk it. This is black, but it’s… distinctive.”
“Right. Try this on, just for me, would you my dear?”
Brynjolf rolled his eyes. “And this isn’t going to scream ‘kill the vampire’?”
“It might, but not necessarily. I think you’ll find it’s better armor as well. And you do need to do some roaming about, Brynjolf. You can’t just feed on the fine people of Riften all the time; it wouldn’t be long before they came for you with fire.”
“All right,” Brynjolf said, and peeled off his black leathers.
“Damn,” Andante said, admiring.
“What is it, lad?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. Not a thing. Just…” he waved his hand in Brynjolf’s direction. “Keep on with what you’re doing.” I’m surprised at myself. Usually I lose interest so quickly. But fairly much anything Brynjolf did was attractive to him, including peeling off his armor and standing around in his smallclothes. That was very attractive.
Brynjolf in the red vampire armor was attractive, too. It was a very slim build, unlike the bulky pauldrons and overabundance of pouches favored by the Guild. Andante had worn a version of those, for a time, but dyed black and red like the gaudy uniform of the Brotherhood. It had been a compromise, and it had worked, but it had not been the sleek, effortless fit of the vampire robes. Brynjolf wore them like he’d been made for them; his broad shoulders stood out even without pauldrons and the red, a deeper shade than his coppery-red hair, suited him perfectly. Andante smiled.
“You look positively regal in that.”
“Regal, is it? Well that’s something for a ratty old thief, isn’t it.” He shifted his shoulders in it, then reached for his weapons and settled them in place. “You know, you’re right. This is very easy to move in,” he pronounced, nodding.
“I told you. I can – could — cover the distance between here and Dawnstar in just a few hours, but I don’t think I could weighed down with heavy armor.”
Brynjolf nodded, then put his hands on his hips and frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m hungry again.”
Andante rolled his eyes. “Mother Mara, you are insatiable!”
Brynjolf chuckled. “I thought that was one of the things you enjoyed about me, lad.”
“And you’re insufferable, as well,” Andante laughed.
It was as though a cloud dropped over Brynjolf’s head. His face fell, and he looked away. “I’ve… heard that before,” he murmured. He wandered out of the bedroom and stood leaning against the door of the smithy, staring blankly toward the forge.
Well, now, Andante thought. I wonder if that has anything to do with the loose ends he’s mentioned. He watched Brynjolf’s face for a few moments, wondering whether this was a good time to bring up the question that had been rattling around in his head. Before he’d really had a chance to come to a decision he found himself speaking it aloud.
“Brynjolf, I … have a question for you.”
“Alright. What’s on your mind?” His voice was quiet, somewhat distant.
“Are you married?”
Brynjolf’s head shot up and he stared at Andante, stunned. Andante might as well have slapped him across the face. He grimaced. “No,” he growled. Then he looked down at his hand, probably realizing how ridiculous it was to deny such a thing while wearing the Bond of Matrimony. “Yes,” he murmured, fiddling with his ring.
“So which is it?”
“I don’t know, lad. Yes, I was married. Am I now? I don’t know. It doesn’t feel that way. It’s been a long time. And yet…”
“Is it…” Andante said, the glimmer of a thought that had been tickling his brain suddenly bursting full into light, and with it a mass of confusion. “Oh! That letter? The one from the Listener? The one that said ‘She’s alive?’ That referred to your… wife? I thought… ”
Brynjolf grimaced. “Yes.” He sighed. “We’ve looked so hard, and so long. And now this word.” He met Andante’s eyes. “You know. You’re the one who took word to the Listener. All of us, we’ve been looking for her since she left. Most days I want to find her and kill her. She left me, and she left the Guild. She was the Guildmaster, and you don’t do things like that if you’re the Guildmaster. At least you’re not supposed to.”
Andante’s brain shrieked like a millstone defying a push against its gears, as the many pieces of information he’d had finally fell into a semblance of order. He was stunned. The Redguard girl? He was married to her? Is married to her? By the Eight things just got complicated. Suddenly so many of the things Brynjolf had said that night in the bath made sense.
“That… that was your wife? The one who I used to see talking with you in the Cistern sometimes? You’re married to the Guildmaster?”
Brynjolf rubbed his eyes. “Yes. That’s… one of the reasons I want to find out where she is.”
Andante sighed. “So it is a she. Well I suppose you did tell me that was your usual fare. A fellow can’t help but wonder, though.” Why does it even matter? It’s not as though he’s any less here with me because he has a ring on his hand.
Brynjolf managed the slightest of grins, even through his obvious sadness. “Jealous?”
“Perhaps.” Andante chuckled, trying to make light of it though he was completely awash in feelings he didn’t truly understand. “I don’t generally do well with competition.”
“Well she’s not much competition. A little thing, no particularly special abilities other than being a damn fine thief, and tough in a fight. She also turned out to be an unscrupulous bitch. She married me, slept with Roggi, and then left in the middle of the night after poisoning me. And,” he said with a grim laugh, “we are still friends in spite of it, Roggi and I. Good friends. The whole thing is a fine mess.”
He heaved a huge sigh and stood, head down, just fiddling with his ring and staring at it.
Andante’s mouth dropped open for a moment. As hard as his own situation was, he still was struck by the bleakness of Brynjolf’s. This must have been their bedroom. No wonder Brynjolf had given him the place. It must have felt like an assault every time he stepped into it.
“With Roggi? But he’s married to Dardeh…”
“He wasn’t, at the time. He is now, and that makes him my brother-in-law because my… because Dagnell. The Guildmaster. She’s Dardeh’s sister.”
Andante rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of it. All right. So there’s much more to Roggi than I knew. Very well. “It doesn’t matter. That’s harsh, Bryn,” he murmured.
He looked at Brynjolf’s face and saw sorrow. Old sorrow, sorrow he’d gotten used to bearing over a long time, but sorrow nonetheless. Then it dawned on him; she was why he’d wanted to be turned so badly. He needed something else, once she was gone. That’s why.
Not much competition, indeed, Andante thought. Small, perhaps. Greedy and unscrupulous, perhaps. But once he had loved her and it seemed clear that he did, still. No wonder Bryn was so angry after getting that letter.
So do I lose him, if we find her? Is it all over, then?
“So… what about the other days, Bryn?” he asked slowly. “The days when you don’t want to find her and kill her?”
Brynjolf turned away from him and his shoulders sagged. There was a very long pause. His voice was very quiet when he finally spoke.
“I want to bring her home and hold her.”
Then he shook his head. “No, that’s not right. I’m lying.”
He looked back over his shoulder at Andante, his face a picture of sorrow, and spoke quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
“I want to do that every day.” He turned away again, his voice just above a whisper. “I don’t want to kill her. I love my wife. I’m sorry to say that to you because I know it’s not what you want to hear.” Then he looked away, his head hanging.
Andante was first stunned, then a bit annoyed. So I’m merely a play thing?
“You’re right,” he murmured. “It isn’t what I want to hear.”
Then he felt something different, a twinge of … what? What is this twisting feeling going on, he thought. Am I actually jealous of someone who hasn’t been around for all this time, someone who is not sharing this man’s body, giving him pleasure every way I know how?
He chewed on his lip.
Yes. Yes I am. Damn it to Oblivion. He still loves her and I’m jealous of that.
I am jealous of someone who isn’t even here, someone I’ve never even met.
I’m jealous.
Gods. But I will still do whatever I need to do to make him happy. Even if it means degrading myself by trying to find the person who will replace me. I’ll do that, won’t I. I will do it because…
Andante rose and stepped behind Brynjolf, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on Brynjolf’s shoulder. There was exactly one person in the world that he cared about, and that person was in such pain that he’d allowed himself to be turned in an effort to free himself from the memory of her leaving him. He didn’t do it for me, Andante said silently, sadly. He did it because of her.
I want to kill her. But I can’t kill her because Brynjolf loves her.
Damn it to Oblivion.
“I’ll help you find her, my love,” he whispered.
“What was that, lad?”
Andante froze, and blinked. “Not a thing,” he replied.
Egads, what did I just say? Andante thought in a moment of sheer horror. Did I just tell the man that I love him?
Things fell into place. Staying with Brynjolf while he turned, making sure he knew how to feed properly, ensuring that he knew what to do with his new status as a vampire. Watching over him while he made his first kills, showing him how to turn someone himself. Wanting him to look beautiful.
He looked up at Brynjolf’s dejected posture.
Kissing him goodbye as though I might never see him again.
Well, maybe I do.
I know that I do.
Damn. I love this man. This is what this is. I love him, and I have always loved him, and he is the only person I can ever remember loving.
And the litany started playing in his head again. I will have my revenge.