Brynjolf wanted to go to Riften.
So they went to Riften.
Andante was torn. On the first hand, he wanted to go to Riften, too, to find out what Delvin had wanted from Roggi. His rational mind told him that it was just as they’d discussed, that Delvin would be the one to get in touch with Roggi about what they’d learned of Sayma. But being pursued over the pass from Bruma had awakened something in him, something even more cynical and suspicious than he had always been – and he wondered if there was something more to what Delvin had for Roggi than just the identity of Brynjolf’s wife.
On the other hand, he wanted to go back to Volkihar Castle.
“Come on, Bryn,” he had said. “We worked so hard to get it and to fix it up. Shouldn’t we enjoy it? Besides, they can’t possibly get to us there, between all the clan, the gargoyles, even CuSith.”
Brynjolf grinned at him. “You don’t really want to put CuSith in danger. You like your dog.”
He had laughed, because CuSith was one of the ugliest things he’d ever met. And yet, it was true that the beast had endeared itself to him by following them around, gazing adoringly up at them whenever they were near.
“Well we can’t go to Solitude. Not now, not since I was stupid enough to tell that bard that I own a home there. So that leaves Riften or Volkihar, and people in Riften are going to get hurt if we’re followed.”
“Have you ever seen the Guild in action, lad?” Brynjolf said, one eyebrow raised, as he pulled on his gauntlets. “We’ve never had anyone come into the Cistern uninvited who left in any way other than in bags of trash hauled out by Dirge.”
“Ha. I thought it was expensive and unwieldy to dispose of bodies and that you disapprove of killing.”
“Only on a job. You haven’t noticed me having any trouble with it while we’ve travelled around, have you?”
Andante smiled, and moved to kiss Brynjolf on the cheek. “No, I haven’t. Alright, then. We’ll go to Riften. I would like to make sure I know what’s going on.” And figure out whether I need to be sharpening my claws.
It was still dark when they left, hugging the road along the edge of Lake Ilinalta, and they made good time until just before the crossroads leading to the Guardian Stones. A cave bear came barreling out of the woods to attack them, but it lasted only a moment against their combined defense. The noise, however, alerted a small group of bandits camped a bit higher up on the hill. Andante could hear them calling out to each other.
He moved up into the camp as silently as he could. The nearest bandit to him was nonchalantly chopping wood while the other two buzzed about the campsite like angry bees, looking for whatever they’d heard. He rose up behind the man chopping wood and used his fangs to put him down. Behind him, he heard Brynjolf attacking the bandit farthest from him, and started toward him to help. Before he got within reach, however, the third bandit stopped him.
“I’m going to slit your belly like an old woman’s purse,” he heard behind him, and whirled to find the third bandit running toward him.
He bared his fangs and snarled.
I’m Vitus gods-damned Perdeti, and you are about to have a very bad day.
The Bosmer shrank back for just a moment when he saw Andante’s eyes flashing golden in the dim light, but he didn’t move back far enough. Andante stepped forward with his axe drawn, made a complete revolution, and used its momentum and his own massive vampiric strength to strike the bandit’s head off, almost nonchalantly, his pulse barely elevated.
“Let’s go,” he said to Brynjolf, who nodded and followed him without a word. They flew through the forest and up the mountainside, past Helgen and once more into the pass leading into the Rift.
They were both beginning to be a bit winded by the time they reached that pass – it was a very long way that they had run, after all, even for powerful vampires – and while it was cloudy, it was fully day. They reached the narrowest part of the pass and slowed to a walk, and were talking about things of no significance when Brynjolf suddenly drew his sword and hissed “what was that?”
It was Thalmor.
It was a small patrol, only three elves, but Andante froze for a split second, unable to move. His heart started pounding.
Thalmor. No.
You have to MOVE!
He finally drew his axe to strike the nearest of them when he heard Brynjolf rushing past him to attack the second, but that small delay had its cost. The elf had a sword in one hand; he raised the other and began casting flames at Andante. Worse still, one of the Thalmor had taken cover behind a short tree and cast a fireball that exploded just in front of his face, blinding him.
No, no, NO! Not fire!
Andante began hacking at the Thalmor as fast as he could but his fear had his attacks uncoordinated, wasting effort, missing the mark more often than striking it. He was almost blinded by panic until Brynjolf, who had frightened one of them badly enough to make him run down the hill away from them, came rushing up beside him to join the attack. The Thalmor backed away when his compatriot behind the tree blasted a shock spell that struck Andante; but Andante wasn’t afraid of shock spells. He hurt, but he was able to take a deep breath and step forward, to hammer blows down on his first assailant with enough speed to kill him before he could cast another spell.
Brynjolf was fully engaged with the Thalmor behind the tree when the first of them fell; Andante turned him to ice with a Shout and they both attacked him, finishing the job. The final elf, who had run away, was cowering next to the sheer cliff face, whining “please don’t hurt me!”
Andante felt a cold fury the likes of which he couldn’t recall settling over him. He took his axe and the Razor to the Thalmor, striking faster and faster, screaming as he did so until, when he finally stopped, there was something left behind that only vaguely resembled a body. It oozed and slid slowly down the slope, its path lubricated by its own blood.
“Andante,” Brynjolf said quietly, coming up beside him.
Andante was shivering. He closed his eyes, and still the afterimage of flames was bright in his vision.
“Fire, Bryn.”
Brynjolf put an arm around him.
“I know. It’s alright now. We’ve gotten rid of them.” They stood there like that for a moment while Andante struggled to regain control of himself, Brynjolf silent but holding him, close and sturdy. Finally he spoke again. “We need to move now. It’ll be bad if those bounty hunters out of Cyrodiil come this way and somehow run across this mess. There aren’t many people who can do a thing like this, and we’re two of them.”
Andante nodded mutely and started back down through the pass.
Neither Andante nor Brynjolf paid close attention to the route they were taking after the attack, at least not until they found themselves crossing the bridge south of Nilheim. Even then, they were both so involved in their own thoughts that they might not have noticed they’d taken a wrong turn if not for the three Dawnguard hunters who rushed across the bridge at them, weapons held high.
Andante swapped a look with Brynjolf and sighed, then pulled his axe and met them halfway across the bridge. Oddly, none of this particular group of Dawnguard was carrying the crossbow with deadly silver-tipped bolts, so it took very little time for them to go down. But just as they’d dropped the third Dawnguard, Andante heard “Found you!” from behind him.
Up the road, from the direction they’d come, was a Vigilant of Stendarr.
She opened up her arms. Flames erupted from both hands just as Andante began accelerating toward her. There was nowhere to go.
No, not flames, not again, no, no, no…
As vampires, both of them had an inherent weakness to fire, which was something he’d taken into consideration in crafting the enchantments on their armor. He should have been immune to the greater part of any flame shot at him. And yet Andante felt himself burning. This woman had vast reserves of magicka and a fire spell the likes of which he’d only met from the mouth of a dragon. He found himself beginning to burn.
Brynjolf came around from behind him and barreled into the woman with his shield, just as hard as he could, giving Andante a moment to collect himself. Brynjolf grunted, and cried out.
“No!” he shrieked, rushing to attack.
Within moments, he found himself gasping, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
I’m going to die. How odd. This shouldn’t be happening.
No, I can’t die. Not like this.
He hurtled down the slope toward the nearby stream, grabbing one healing potion after another from his belt pouches and slamming them back. Before he reached the water he turned back, only to be caught full in the face by another gout of flames.
“Are you prepared to die?” the woman sneered.
“Are you?” Brynjolf answered, slicing at her from behind. She turned toward him and began firing flames at him.
What is this woman? How is it possible that she’s still alive with both of us giving it everything we have? What can I do?
Andante didn’t often use his vampiric spells aside from those he had while in Vampire Lord form, but he decided to try. He began casting his life-draining spell on her, circling around behind her as Brynjolf ducked in and out from behind his shield, slicing whenever he could get an opening. After a few moments, the Vigilant cried out and ran for the water, casting a healing spell on herself as she ran.
“Don’t you even think about it!” he growled, dashing into the water behind her and chasing her to the far shore. She didn’t have enough time to get reoriented when she climbed out onto the bank, but ran forward and under the bridge abutment. He hit her as hard as he could with his axe in the right hand and his spell in the left. She groaned and slumped to the ground, and he stood over her body and dropped his hands to his side, emitting the loudest sigh he could ever remember making.
“By all the gods. What was she?” he asked the air.
“I don’t know,” Brynjolf answered, coming up the bank. “Some sort of elite Vigilant and it felt like she was trying to take revenge on us for their Hall being burned down.”
Revenge. I should have known it, or at least felt it.
“We have a problem,” Brynjolf continued. “All of this that we’ve run into since Falkreath and none of it was the bounty hunters. I think we’re in for it, lad.” He reached out a hand and helped Andante up the slope and back onto the roadway.
Andante nodded. “Thank you, Bryn. And thank you for all this,” he added, waving a hand at the dead adversaries littered across and under the bridge. I’d be dead if not for you.”
“But you’re not, and neither am I. Now let’s get going before something else comes to play.” He smiled. “Andante. I told you whatever it was, we’d do it together, and I meant that. Don’t forget.”
Andante looked at him and smiled.
I could almost believe he truly cares about me.
They took a few moments to have some water, and a good look around, and to drag the corpses off the roadway and down under the bridge where they would be less likely to be found, at least not until they began to smell. Then, after checking up and down the road carefully, they set out on their way once more.
__
Delvin Mallory had been happy to see them, or at least as happy as he ever seemed about anything. His expression never changed much; a slight frown, the occasional smirk. Still, he had seemed delighted to see Brynjolf, and had ushered them toward the back of the Flagon to his favorite table. After a few minutes of pleasantries, and catching up on that part of Guild business that could be spoken of out in the open, Brynjolf brought up the subject of Roggi and Dardeh.
“Why were they here, Delvin?” Brynjolf asked, leaning back in his chair. “We stopped at their house and found a note that said they were coming here.”
“I told you, boss,” Delvin said. “The boys had to take down a dragon, and that’s what they did. Lost Tongue Overlook. It’s dead now.”
“Yes, but why were they here? We also found a note to Roggi telling him to come see you.”
Delvin began to open his mouth, and then glanced behind Brynjolf’s shoulder and shut it quickly.
Andante had been listening to their discussions, carefully, and was certain he heard something more in Delvin’s voice than was reflected in his actual words; but he didn’t know what that something was. What he was afraid of, though, was that Delvin would forget himself and alert Brynjolf that they knew more than he did about Sayma. So as Brynjolf’s questioning became more and more insistent, Andante very carefully drew magic into his hand and released his illusion spell. He stepped up behind Brynjolf and smiled at Delvin in the toothiest way he could.
Delvin wasn’t bothered by most things, he knew that; but it was clear that the idea of a Nightlord vampire and the immediate presence of one were two different levels of disturbance to him. He was nothing if not experienced, though; he kept his expression neutral, averted his gaze as quickly as he’d looked at Andante, and shook his head.
“Oh, that,” he said nonchalantly. “It wasn’t anything special, Bryn. I needed to touch base with Roggi to see whether his contacts had rounded up anything new on Dag.”
Andante smiled at him again, and nodded. Then he stepped back, onto the platform where Galathil sat reading her book, and cast his illusion spell again.
“What have you done to yourself? I cannot work with you in this state, night-walker.”
He whipped around to find Galathil staring at him, disapprovingly. A second later, his hand was at the side of her throat and his mouth next to her ear.
“You are going to keep your mouth shut and forget that you ever saw anything here other than an Imperial man with blue eyes, do you understand that?”
Galathil peered up at him, her eyes narrowed. “And if I do not?”
He smiled unpleasantly, then leaned closer to her and whispered “I could invite my friend with the specialized tool kit to pay you another visit. Alternatively, I’m fairly good with that sort of thing as well although unlikely as skilled as he is. Care to see for yourself?”
She smirked, not allowing him the satisfaction of looking afraid. “It seems I was mistaken. There is nobody here but an Imperial man with blue eyes.” Then she shook her head and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know why you bother with the pretense, Andante. Everyone in the Flagon knows you.”
“That is true. But not everyone who might ever come into the Flagon has done so. Do we understand each other?”
She bowed her head. “We do.”
“Good. And for the record I hadn’t intended to ask you for your services.”
Not yet, anyway. It would have to get really bad for that to be a possibility. I like my face.
He returned to the table where Brynjolf and Delvin each continued fishing for information on the one hand, and giving none on the other.
“I said it before, Bryn, but I’ll tell you again. Dardeh is all hot and bothered to find out what the Listener knows, and he was heading to Dawnstar to find out any way he could. He wants to find his sister, and who can blame him? It was all Roggi could do to keep him contained.”
“Hmm,” Brynjolf said, rubbing his chin. “Well so am I, actually. All hot and bothered to find her, that is.” He turned to smile up at Andante. “Do you think you can keep me contained, lad?”
“I don’t know for certain, Bryn, but I’m always up for a challenge.” He shook his head. “But really, is it worth the bother? Shouldn’t we just be heading… you know…” He trailed off as he saw the golden eyes suddenly flickering with anger behind Brynjolf’s illusion spell.
“Yes it is, Andante. I need to find out what she knows. She had a reason to tell me Dag is still out there and a source of information and I’m going to find out what it is.”
He pushed back his chair and stood, and Andante swapped another look with Delvin, who shrugged.
Yeah. Well. I guess it wasn’t especially clever of me to threaten you, was it? But I can see that neither one of us has any brilliant ideas at the moment, so I guess we’re making a trip to Dawnstar now.
“I don’t suppose I could get you to stick around and handle Guild business for a few days, Bryn?” Delvin said.
Brynjolf had turned toward the exit, but at Delvin’s words his head snapped back around. One look at Delvin’s face told Andante that Brynjolf’s illusion spell had worn off.
“Never mind, boss,” Delvin said. “You go see if you can find Dag. I can manage.”
Brynjolf took a breath to speak, and Andante leaned forward to cut him off.
“Bryn. Yellow eyes.”
“Oh damn,” he snarled, casting his spell. He shook his head. “Sorry, Delvin. You understand, right? I really need to find out what the Listener knows and since you can’t tell me…”
Delvin nodded. “No problem. You go do what you need to do. But,” he lowered his voice, “keep an eye out, yes? Rumor has it that there are some bounty hunters making the rounds, and we’re not talking your run-of-the-mill bounties they’re hunting. They’re looking for a big name killer who’s been on the loose for a couple of years, and, well, who knows what they’d think about taking in the likes of the two of you as well?”
Andante stared at Delvin’s narrowed eyes and tried to keep his suspicion from showing. What is this? What does he think he knows?
Brynjolf never so much as flinched. “We’ll keep a good lookout, Delvin, thanks for the heads-up. And Delvin – finding Dag is Guild business, really. Wouldn’t you agree?”
By all the gods, Brynjolf angry is an intimidating thing.
Delvin tossed his hands up. “Yeah, you’ve got me there. If we could get the real Boss back, we’d all be able to breathe a little easier. Don’t worry about a thing, Bryn. You know I can handle it, even if I am getting a bit long in the tooth.”
Brynjolf laughed. “You? Never, my friend. You’ll be going strong a lot longer than I will.”
“You’re joking, right?” Delvin grinned. “Never mind. Go to Dawnstar. Tell the Listener I said hello.”
Brynjolf made his way toward the exit, and Andante started to leave as well, but paused as he heard Delvin murmur “Watch yourself.”
Without looking back, he nodded, and then followed Brynjolf toward the exit into the Cistern.
“I need to say something to you, Andante,” Brynjolf said without turning to look at him.
“Yes? What is it?”
“We went to great lengths to accomplish the thing you wanted to do. Off to the Soul Cairn, into the Forgotten Vale, all of it, just so that we could get you that castle. And I didn’t mind and didn’t hold back. You asked for my help and I gave it. I know that you’ve figured out who you are, and you won’t even tell me about it, but I haven’t pushed you, have I.” He nodded to Vipir, sitting quietly at the edge of the pool, and continued on toward the exit ladder. “Now, it’s my turn.”
He pulled the chain, and as the sarcophagus ground its heavy way open, he said “I’m going to Dawnstar to find the Listener. I’d rather have you with me. It would help me if you were there. If you’re not, that’s the way it is, but, well, then I guess I’ll know where your priorities really are. I’ll be at Honeyside for a few hours if you want to talk.” Brynjolf never turned to look at Andante.
Andante didn’t move for a few moments. He stood and stared as Brynjolf climbed the steps and turned to make his way toward the marketplace. Then he turned and rested his forehead against the cold stone, closing his eyes and thinking.
He’s right. But how am I going to let him know that she’s his wife, without creating a disaster? And what am I going to do without him, once he finds out?
Damn.
All this time and there’s only been one thing I’ve really wanted, and that’s to be with him, and now I’m supposed to give that up? Have I really asked for that much?
He didn’t really want the answer to his own mind’s question, but it came to him regardless. It wasn’t “only one thing” that he’d wanted, not really, not if he was honest with himself. Visions of everything he’d done since that hillside in Markarth rushed to compete for his attention: assassinations, becoming a vampire, feeding and feeding and feeding on the blood of others. He’d taken lives, he’d taken fortunes; he’d worked his way into two guilds and managed to become the owner of a cabin and a mansion and permanent tenant of a third home, here in Riften. He’d pursued Brynjolf until the man had finally given in to him, and then he’d used Brynjolf and everything else at his disposal until he’d gotten his ultimate prize, Volkihar Castle, leaving a trail of destruction behind him. He’d turned the sun dark. He’d threatened Delvin, a man who had done nothing other than help him achieve his ends. And he’d never once stopped to consider what anyone else might want, or think, or prefer to do. Not until this very moment.
He stood back from the wall and struck out at the pull chain, sweeping it aside so hard that it flew up and its heavy iron ring nearly hit the ceiling of the confined space.
“Damn!”
Of course we know where my priorities are, Brynjolf. Add up everything I’ve been since the very beginning. I’m a vile, selfish, uncaring bastard. I’ve never cared who I had to step over to get what I want and I still don’t, really, if I’m brutally honest about it. I only want one thing: you. I don’t care to share you with Dagnell, or Sayma, or whatever her name is and I don’t want to share you with Dynjyl, and even if I think hard about it I can’t imagine wanting it to be any different than it is.
I should be put down.
Damn.
I’ll figure out something.
He took a deep breath and blew it out, then pulled the chain again and left the Thieves Guild.
A few minutes later, he let himself into Honeyside. He heard the unmistakable sound of a hammer, followed by the hissing of hot steel being submerged into cold water.
Taking it out at the forge. I don’t blame him. It’s at least a more useful hobby than cooking skooma.
He made his way down the stairs and stood in the doorway, silently, watching Brynjolf pounding away on a knife that looked as though it might eventually be a decent blade.
“Making a knife?” he said eventually.
“Aye.”
“Can we talk?”
Brynjolf glanced at him, frowning, for just a moment, then returned his attention to the hot metal.
“One moment.”
“Alright. I’ll be upstairs.”
He returned to the kitchen area and pulled a chair around to face the fire, then sat down and stared blankly into the flames.
Flames. It’s always fire. I wonder when they will finally take me.
After a time, Brynjolf emerged from the basement and brought a second chair around near to Andante’s.
“So.”
“Yes. So. I, uh…”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to apologize, I guess.”
“You guess? Which is it? Do you want to apologize or don’t you?”
Andante grimaced. “Damn it, Bryn, it’s hard enough for me to humble myself without you making it worse. It’s not something I do well. Yes, I apologize for being an insensitive, selfish, greedy bastard, alright?”
It was silent for a moment.
“And?”
“And what? What more do you want? I’m not wildly enthusiastic about helping you find your wife, Brynjolf, and don’t even begin to try to pretend you don’t understand why that’s the case.”
Andante heard a soft chuckle, and looked to see a tiny smile on Brynjolf’s mouth.
“Why is that the case, lad?”
You damnable, irritating, beautiful man.
“Bryn, look at me.”
Brynjolf’s eyes had gone back to their deepest golden color, and gazing at them Andante couldn’t help but be amazed at the level of power they revealed to anyone who knew how to read them. He’s remarkable. I don’t know how I can bear to give him up.
“Brynjolf, if we find your wife I lose you. You know that, and I know that. And …” And you’re the only person who has ever treated me like I matter.
“And?” Brynjolf reached across the gap between their chairs, as he had at Mammoth Manor, his thumb caressing the top of Andante’s hand.
“And I don’t know if I can bear it,” he said quietly, without a hint of pretense.
Brynjolf didn’t say anything, simply nodded. A number of minutes passed in silence.
“Did it turn out well?” Andante finally asked.
“What?”
“The knife.”
Brynjolf chuckled. “I was working on that knife the night she left. Never finished it. I thought maybe I could shape it up a little bit more. Don’t know if it’ll ever be right.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why. You’re a much better smith than I am.”
Andante couldn’t help it; his mind popped a mischievous thought into his head and he couldn’t keep it from popping out of his mouth as well. “Well, I’ve always been good with my hands.”
To his delight, Brynjolf laughed, the big, full laugh that he so loved to hear. Then he looked at Andante, smiling, his eyes shining.
“Andante.” He sighed. “I know your name isn’t Andante, and I’m positive you’ve remembered what it really is. But keep it. Keep it until you’re ready to share it with me.” He hadn’t let go of Andante’s hand, and he squeezed it again. “To me, you’re Andante, and you always will be. Listen. I don’t know what’s going to happen if we find her. I don’t. I don’t know if I can ever really forgive her for what she did to me, and even if I do forgive her, I don’t know whether we have a future or not. But…” He trailed off, clearly struggling for words.
“But what, loverboy?”
“But it’s like I’ve told you before. You’re special. There’s nobody else like you, and there never has been. What’s going to happen next, I don’t know; but I’d like to do it with you if that’s a possibility.”
Andante smiled, and squeezed his hand.
“Aye.”
Brynjolf wanted to go to Dawnstar.
So they would go to Dawnstar.