While Brynjolf rested for a few hours that night before they left Riften, Andante didn’t. He paced the house, restless, looking in every corner, feeling as though there was something important there, something he was missing, something he needed to do before they left. It wouldn’t come to him, and he couldn’t seem to calm down enough to go to bed or even settle in a chair. He didn’t want a drink. He didn’t want skooma. He wanted something, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Finally, he decided to smith something. Perhaps the focus required to make a piece would soothe him, as hammering out a dagger had helped Brynjolf work out his anger.
He wandered into the enchanting room, and sifted through some of the jewels he had stored there until by chance he found among them a flawless ruby. It was a thing of exceptional beauty, deep red, cut in such a way that the light captured in its facets flickered like flames, and it reminded him of Brynjolf. He turned it over and over in his hand as he went around the corner into the smithing room. It would make a magnificent ring.
Brynjolf was right about this, of course, as he so often was; Andante was an excellent smith, and his dexterous fingers were as talented at crafting jewelry as they were at improving weapons. In another situation, in another man’s life, he might have made an excellent living as a craftsman, rivaling Madesi as a jeweler; but even though his hands were more often used to dole out death than to create art he was skilled at this work and enjoyed doing it on occasion. He had an idea, and as he melted a gold ingot down and went to work on making that idea take form his mind calmed a bit. Making a gold ring wasn’t difficult, in and of itself; but making a ring with the particular setting he had in mind took concentration, and focus, and there was no room for thoughts of rejection, or hardship, or addiction, or of the thousands of deaths that could be laid at his feet.
After some time he was able to hold the ring up to the light, examine it from every angle, and see that it was just as gorgeous a thing as he had envisioned. He laid down his smithing tools and went back into the enchanting room, polishing the ring as he went. It needed one more addition before it would be perfect.
Andante reached into the cabinet beside the enchanting table and looked inside. He had a much larger collection of filled soul gems in Solitude, but they would not be returning to Solitude any time soon. Fortunately, though, there was one black gem, tucked far back into the cabinet so that it wouldn’t be used by mistake, and this he took to use. He stepped to the table and placed the ring and the soul gem in their required positions, then laid his hands on either side and concentrated.
He’d been practicing, ever since he’d gotten access to a home in Skyrim; first at the mountainside cabin where he’d spent the long days waiting to become a vampire, then at the fishing shack just outside Honeyside, and later at both the mansion in Solitude and here, at Honeyside. He wasn’t the best enchantments mage in the world but he had been able to improve his armor, and Brynjolf’s, and he intended this ring to be functional as well as beautiful. The black soul gem would make the most powerful enchantment he had the ability to create.
He closed his eyes and focused, and the energy of the soul gem flowed into the ring, imbuing it with the ability to grant its wearer a resistance to fire. And on the inside curve of the ring appeared its name, inscribed in delicate letters: “Loverboy.”
He opened his eyes and picked the ring up from the table, peered at it from all angles once more and grinned at the letters. Then he made his way to the bedroom and slipped out of his gear, grateful to free his toes from their boots for a time. He climbed onto the bed, still smiling.
“Bryn,” he said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Wake up for a moment.”
Brynjolf rolled over, blinking, and yawned. “What is it, lad?”
“I couldn’t relax. So I made something. Here, this is for you.” He reached for Brynjolf’s hand and placed the ring in his palm, closing his fingers around it, smiling the entire time.
“What? What is…” Brynjolf sat up and opened his hand. He held the ring up and, just as Andante had done, turned it side to side, examining every facet of its blazing jewel. As the light caught the engraving inside it he held it closer. “What’s this? Let me see.” He slipped out of the bed and took the ring closer to a candle.
Andante watched with delight as a smile broke across Brynjolf’s face.
“It says ‘Loverboy.’”
“Yes, it does.”
“You made this for me?”
“Yes, I did. The ruby made me think of you. I hope you like it. It’s got an enchantment on it. Protection from flames. I told Dynny I’d watch out for you, so… I guess, even if I’m not nearby, I’ll be protecting you a little bit.”
“Andante, it’s beautiful. I’ve never had a piece made especially for me. I don’t even know what to say.”
Andante grinned. “You don’t have to say anything, loverboy. Just put it on and see how you like it.”
Brynjolf slipped the ring onto his finger and admired it. It suited him, just as Andante had hoped it would, the fiery red gem to go along with the fiery red hair.
Brynjolf came back to bed, then, and Andante found himself well occupied until it was time for them to leave.
__
They left Riften early the next morning, before the sun had fully risen. With every step he took, the old familiar litany in his mind became louder and louder.
I will have my revenge. I will have my revenge.
But … revenge for what?
I have Brynjolf, at least for the moment. I have Volkihar. I can dim the godsforsaken sun so that we can move freely in the world. And I have my memories. I know who I am. I’m being hunted, but that is to be expected given who I am and what I’ve done – and I know who I am and what I’ve done.
That’s what I thought I wanted.
He glanced at Brynjolf, running along beside him, and grimaced.
But it’s not enough.
I want revenge for losing all those years from my past, for having been beaten and cut and burned, for… for coming back to life as someone else and thinking I might have a future with this person who I love. I want … not to remember. Because now I know what I am.
And there’s no reason for anyone to want me here. Not even Brynjolf.
I want revenge for that.
They slowed to a walk. “How do you think we should approach this, Bryn? I can’t just take you into the Sanctuary with me.”
“So tell her there’s somebody outside who needs to talk to her. It shouldn’t be that hard. She trusts you.”
Andante burst out laughing. “Trusts? Me? Are you insane? Alright, it’s true to some extent. She knows that I would protect the Sanctuary if someone attacked it. She knows I will do whatever job she gives me to do. She knows I’ll grit my teeth and not kill Cicero for being Cicero.” When Brynjolf’s eyebrow rose, he laughed. “Believe me, you’d want to kill Cicero, too. I can’t imagine why she didn’t when she had the opportunity. Trust, though? That may be a bit of a stretch, loverboy.”
Brynjolf glowered at him.
“Alright, Bryn, we’ll try it. I’ll see if I can just get her to come outside. By the way, have you eaten lately?”
“Hmm. No I haven’t. I’ll keep an eye peeled.”
I haven’t eaten in awhile either. But I don’t feel hungry, and I’ll take care of the sun as soon as it’s high enough, just as I did yesterday.
What I need to keep an eye peeled for is Haran and company.
He ran his tongue over his fangs. He wasn’t hungry, but there was a goodly portion of him that would derive the uttermost satisfaction from ripping that man’s throat out.
He waited as long as he could before pulling out Auriel’s Bow again. He waited until Brynjolf was engaged in stalking a bandit; the bandit didn’t realize Brynjolf was near, and then it was too late. But while Brynjolf was otherwise occupied, Andante took careful aim at the sky and released one of the arrows coated with Serana’s blood.
BOOM.
He saw Brynjolf’s shoulders flinch, even as he drank the blood of his victim.
BOOM.
He dropped the man’s corpse and turned to Andante.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I want to be able to move.”
“I thought you were worried about being found! There’s nothing in the world that is going to alert those bounty hunters that we’re moving quite as clearly as the sun going dark. What are you thinking, lad?”
Andante smiled, running his tongue over his fangs again.
“I’m thinking that I don’t care. I have a response for Haran if he gets close enough to matter.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling his strength return, and then opened them and began hurtling north yet again.
I will have my revenge. I will have my revenge.
He was aware of Brynjolf’s eyes on him as they ran, but he didn’t respond. The feeling he’d had in Riften was building again, that restless searching for something. He had to do something, had to find something, had to take care of something, but he didn’t know what. He needed to … finish something. But what?
He didn’t know, and it made him angry, an empty, cold, dead fire of anger. And the angrier he got, the more he wanted to kill something.
They approached Fort Dunstad, and as had so often been the case in recent years there was a pitched battle taking place in and around it. Andante and Brynjolf slowed to a walk just short of the walls.
“Idiots,” he grumbled. “They’re idiots, all of them, killing each other over a symbol and a patch of ground.”
“Well, it’s a little more complicated than just that,” Brynjolf observed quietly.
“Perhaps that’s so, but if they’re dead not a single one of them will be here to enjoy the fruits of their labor!”
“But you know they’re all willing to die for what they believe in, lad.”
From somewhere deep inside him the fury rose, and it became too much for him to bear. He drew the massive two-handed sword he’d used to destroy the Dawnguard’s leadership and moved forward; slowly at first, and then breaking into a run. He was dimly aware of Brynjolf shouting to him, but the roaring in his ears was too loud to make out the words. The Imperial soldiers ignored him, likely because he looked like them; but the nearest Stormcloak turned to him and shouted “I’ll water the ground with your blood!”
Vitus lifted the massive sword over his head and gripped it with both hands, blade down. His teeth ground against each other as the hatred welled up inside him and was released as, with a guttural howl, he brought the sword straight down into the man’s body with everything he had. He’d placed a flame enchantment on the sword, and it burst around him as the man screamed his last.
“Die, idiot! Die!” Vitus screamed.
But that wasn’t enough. He wanted something more.
He stood back and looked around him at the mass of men and women completely obsessed with reducing their populations to zero and thought yes. Yes, I shall help you with this.
He transformed into his Vampire Lord form and began firing, indiscriminately; the life-draining spell nestled between his right claws and the Flames of Coldharbour in the left. Stormcloak, Imperial, it mattered not so long as it was a moving, human target. His only concern was to avoid Brynjolf; otherwise he killed, and killed, and killed. When his magicka ran low he dropped to the ground and, with one massive blow of his claws, shredded the Imperial soldier who came running at him sensing weakness. He laughed, long and loud, as he killed them all, as the blue of the cold fire mixed with the red of the life energy he drew from them.
Eventually, he tired of the game and flew west, his heavy wings beating time as the fury left him. He waited until he was out of range of the fort, then dropped to the ground and resumed his natural form. It was a few moments until he felt completely back to normal, back in his body; and in those moments he heard footsteps that he recognized as Brynjolf’s running toward him from behind.
“Andante,” Brynjolf said, panting a bit as he slowed to a stop. “Are you alright?”
Andante grinned. “I am now.”
He turned to smile at Brynjolf but was met by a look that bordered on horror.
“What was that all about?”
“I’m not sure. I needed to kill something.”
“But you killed them all, lad. All of them. You may as well have stood on top of the tower and shouted ‘Here I am! Come and get me!’ I don’t understand.”
Andante smiled wanly. “Did I? Kill them all? Well, then. We probably should get going. It’s not that far, now.” He reached out to pat Brynjolf on the arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll be at the Sanctuary soon.” Then he turned and started running down the road again.
Just before they made the turn into Dawnstar, Andante had the feeling that he was being watched. He turned, and scanned the paths behind them, looking for any sort of motion, a white cloak on the horizon, anything. He saw nothing.
Here I am. Come and get me.
__
Well, I wonder what’s going to happen now, Andante thought as he stepped through the Black Door just ahead of Sayma. I wonder if he’ll recognize her even though she looks so different now.
Brynjolf was standing just at the edge of the rocky outcropping that hid the Door from Dawnstar’s sightlines. He was looking out to sea, and Andante sighed at the sight of him, not wanting this moment to begin.
“Bryn,” he said quietly. “I’ve brought the Listener.”
Brynjolf turned with a smile.
Sayma looked at him. Her eyes went wide, her hand flew to her mouth.
“What have you done?” she gasped, and then stopped in confusion, perhaps realizing that she’d said it aloud and hadn’t wanted to.
Brynjolf looked confused. “Hmm?”
Andante groaned. Brynjolf had allowed his illusion spell to lapse, and his eyes glowed golden in the dim light.
“Best fire up that illusion spell, loverboy,” he said. Then he frowned. Gods. Now I’m hungry. Wouldn’t you know it. I hope this won’t take too long. I should have fed on some of those soldiers, earlier. What an idiot. It’s been since sometime yesterday.
Sayma’s gaze snapped to him, to Brynjolf, and back to Andante.
Oh. That’s right. She had no way to know we were together. Well that must be quite the surprise.
He couldn’t help himself; he grinned at her.
You left him. You left him, and you almost crushed him, and it took both me and Roggi to help make him whole again. You left him to me and you don’t deserve to have him back.
“I’m sorry, lass,” Brynjolf said. “That was a bit of a rude introduction.” He held out his hand. “I’m Brynjolf, of Riften. We know of each other but we’ve never met.”
Sayma didn’t take his hand.
“I know who you are. What is it that you want?”
Brynjolf’s eyebrows rose, just a bit. “Well. If we’re to be blunt about it, so be it. You sent me word that my Guildmaster is still alive. She also happens to be my wife. I’m glad to know that bit of information, but I want to know how you happen to know it. I need to find her.”
Sayma shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.”
Oh gods, Sayma, just tell him. He’s right in front of you. Tell him and get it over with.
Brynjolf smiled. But it was a smile that put Andante on alert, because it only barely masked menace.
“Yes, you can tell me, lass, and you will. I think we both know that we are in a mutually delicate situation given our occupations. Now, I can make things very uncomfortable for you, but I would prefer not to. Oh, and as you no doubt have gathered,” he said, waving at his eyes, “I’m strong enough to deflect an assassination attempt.”
Sayma’s eyes flashed.
“Are you.”
Brynjolf nodded. “Aye. That I am. Now then. We seem to have gotten off on a poor foot.”
I can’t stand this. This just has to end.
He held his hand out again. “My name’s Brynjolf, lass. I’m the Guild…”
“…master of the Thieves Guild in Riften,” Andante said under his breath.
Brynjolf frowned at him. “Cut it out, Andante. I appreciate the support, but I’m Second. I’m not the Guildmaster.” He turned back to Sayma. “And that’s part of the reason we need to find her. So tell me. How. Do you know. Dagnell is alive?” With each phrase he stepped a bit closer.
Sayma opened her mouth to speak, but they were all interrupted by the sound of running feet.
Andante stepped back from the hillside, reaching for his sword. They’ve found me. I have to stop this.
It was Roggi and Dardeh. Not Haran. Not the bounty hunters.
“Put the sword down, Andante,” Roggi called out. “It’s just us.”
“Oh. That’s a relief,” he began, sheathing his sword. “Wait, why are you two…”
Then, things went sideways. Things stopped making sense. Things seemed to move in slow motion.
Sayma squeaked. She was standing stiffly, her mouth partially open, but looking trapped. Brynjolf was advancing on her, step by step.
“Stop it, Brynjolf,” she said. “I know what you’re doing. Just stop it.”
“Tell me, then,” he said, taking one more step.
He’s forcing her! He’s using his Nightingale power. Oh this is not good.
“No, I can’t,” she said, gritting her teeth. Then it was as though someone had thrown a lever in her mind, and the words came pouring out. “I can’t tell you where Dag is because she’s gone. She’s gone and she’s never coming back.”
Brynjolf stopped cold, his face registering shock. And then rage.
“I’m going to kill you,” he growled. “I’m going to drain every drop of blood from your body for lying to me. Years. I could have dealt with all of this so long ago if I’d known she was gone and you… lied to me.”
Andante watched in horror as Roggi stepped between Brynjolf and Sayma.
“Bryn, don’t. Wait a second. You have it all wrong,” he began, only to be interrupted by Brynjolf’s backhanded blow. But Brynjolf had no idea how strong he was, how powerful the strike was that might have simply brushed Roggi back if it had been a blow from any other man. Instead, Roggi was thrown backward, hard, and landed on the ground writhing.
“FUS- RO-DAH!”
Dardeh hadn’t stopped to think, to reason, to use anything other than his instincts and his Voice. Brynjolf flew back, end over end, landing with a terrific crash against the rock outcropping, and didn’t move.
“NO!” Andante shrieked, running to him.
He knelt down to find Brynjolf bleeding from a bad cut on his head but breathing, alive. “Damn, damn, damn!” he muttered, casting every shred of healing magic he could muster and rifling around in his pouches for healing potions. “Please don’t leave me, Bryn,” he whispered. “I need you. Stay with me.”
Brynjolf started to stir. Andante glanced back to see that Roggi was up, if a bit shaken, with Dardeh’s arm supporting him. And beside Andante, looking down at Brynjolf with tears welling up in her eyes, was Sayma.
The fury began to rise in him. I need to kill her. She needs to die. She stands between me and Brynjolf and she’s the reason he’s lying here unconscious.
But she’s the Listener.
And one didn’t harm the Listener, or argue with the Listener, or do anything other than revere the Listener. It was simply the way things were.
So instead, he simply roared, even as he continued casting healing spells on the now-moaning Brynjolf.
“Why didn’t you just TELL him? What possible reason do you have for making him suffer longer? Don’t you understand what this has done to him, all this time?”
Sayma didn’t respond to Andante. She knelt down beside Brynjolf and brushed his hair aside. She chuckled, even with her eyes threatening to overflow.
“You never could keep that hair out of your face, Red.”
Brynjolf’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze alighting first on Andante and then moving to Sayma. Andante watched his face, anxiously, and he saw the realization dawn on Brynjolf.
“What did you just call me?” Brynjolf asked, unsteadily.
“I called you Red,” Sayma said, her voice breaking, the tears finally escaping and making their way down her cheeks. “It seemed a natural thing to call you. You didn’t exactly introduce yourself.”
Brynjolf’s voice was barely a whisper. His golden eyes glistened.
“Dag?”
Sayma nodded.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“Oh gods, that’s what you meant.” Brynjolf said, struggling to sit upright. “Oh gods.” He reached for Sayma and pulled her to him, holding her tightly. “I was going to hurt you. Dag.”
Andante looked at the two of them and saw his world ending.
Oh, came his thought, somehow detached from the shrieking pain clamoring through the rest of his mind. Look at him. He’s never stopped loving her, not for a moment. He thought back to Brynjolf’s sad face, turning to him, saying “I want that every day.”
I can’t compete with that. I don’t want to compete with that. I want him to be happy. A huge knot rose to his throat.
He rose and walked slowly toward Dardeh and Roggi, and heard Sayma sobbing behind him.
I have no place in this. Dardeh and Roggi have each other, and Sayma has Bryn now. Except that he’s…
“Mama?”
All five of them spun their heads in the direction of the Sanctuary at the sound. A tiny form emerged from the Black Door and waddled in their direction. “I’m hungry, Mama.”
Oh good, Andante’s thoughts percolated up through his pain. All of this, and now there’s a kid. I’m hungry, too, kid. Really very, very hungry. This isn’t a good thing.
They all turned to stare at Sayma. She was shivering, even locked in Brynjolf’s embrace, and she simply nodded.
Roggi was the first to move. He approached the tiny form and squatted down in front of him. He examined the little person before him and his eyes widened. A small “oh,” escaped from him; then he cleared his throat and held out his hand.
“Hello, friend,” he said. “My name is Roggi. What’s your name?”
“Wed,” the little boy said, and shook Roggi’s hand, formally, as though he was used to the company of adults.
Roggi looked back at Dardeh. “I think I’ve just met our nephew,” he said quietly. “Come and introduce yourself.”
Dardeh knelt down in front of the toddler. “Hi there,” he said, his big deep voice as friendly as he could make it. “My name’s Dardeh. Did I wake you up when I Shouted?”
The child nodded.
Dardeh smiled at him. “I’m sorry about that. I can make some big noises but I’ll try not to be too scary, ok?”
“Ok,” the little one said, giggling.
Roggi looked up at Andante. “Take him over to Bryn, would you?”
Andante couldn’t speak. You’re a cruel man, Roggi Knot-Beard. He nodded and took a deep breath, then knelt down and looked the little one in his face.
He looks just like him. This is what he must have looked like as a babe. Red, red hair and the greenest eyes. The only difference was that he wasn’t as pale as his father. He’s like his uncle, Andante thought. A Redguard-Nord mix. What a beautiful child.
Suddenly, for a moment, he got very dizzy, and it was hard to catch his breath. He stared at the child who looked like Brynjolf and wanted to stand and run away. A memory came back to him, one that hadn’t surfaced before. He didn’t quite know why, except that like all the memories, they had come back as they wished and usually at the most inconvenient moments possible.
He saw another little red-haired boy, this one older, staring at him with his mouth agape as Vitus Perdeti turned from having killed a man in the streets of Bruma.
My gods. I killed him. I killed that little boy. I slit his throat and then I ran away.
I did that. I really did that. That was me.
He struggled to get himself under control. This isn’t the same boy. Just talk to him. He got a breath and forced himself to smile, cleared his throat, tried to make his voice normal.
“Hi there my fine fellow. My name is Andante.”
“Dante?”
He smiled even though his head was spinning, and forced himself to behave normally. “Close enough. Do you want to go see your da?”
“Yes,” the little fellow said, nodding.
“Ok, let’s go.” He stood and took the child’s hand, and they made their way slowly to Brynjolf and Sayma. She had unwrapped herself from Brynjolf’s arms and met Andante.
“Mama,” the wee one told her solemnly, “dis Dante.”
His head pounded as the memory broke through. I killed the boy and then afterward, when it was safe to leave I… He saw the second child, slumped over the barrel, his life leaching out onto it and the ground around it. I killed another child. Just because I wanted to do it. By the Eight. I remember.
No, child. It’s not Andante. It’s Vitus. Vitus Perdeti. And you should be afraid of me, little one. They should all be afraid of me. Because I’m just… the most horrible…
He tried to keep a smile on his face but the memory of laying open the throat of that redheaded child brought him face to face with the full magnitude of what that name meant. He was a vile creature. He had never done a decent thing for a single person, and he deserved whatever happened to him.
He looked back at the boy, and at Sayma, and the panic rose in his throat. Why don’t they see me? More memories started rushing out of their long confinement, the ones that had remained stubbornly behind a wall up till now. He saw himself once more in the black armor, the mask that made his face completely disappear, the mask Roggi had returned to him not knowing it was his to begin with. Can they see me? Am I still… In spite of himself he reached up to check his head, to reassure himself that he was not wearing any hood, much less the black mask.
Will they kill me if they do? Could they even do such a thing? Am I not strong enough to kill all of them?
He glanced at Dardeh. No. I probably could not kill the Dragonborn. But the rest I could. Easily.
But would I? I wouldn’t. I like these people. I care about these people. But Vitus would. Without even thinking about it.
He could see it, in his mind, how he would calmly pull out his Daedric bow and take them down, one by one, with an arrow between the eyes. And then he would slit the boy’s throat and watch him bleed into the sands just for existing, for being a part of Brynjolf that he could never have himself. He could feel how his body would move to accomplish this. He knew exactly what to do. Because he’d done it a thousand times before.
A shudder ran up his spine.
My gods.
Sayma chuckled. “I know Andante, little one,” she said. “He comes to visit sometimes. You’ve just never met him before.”
He cleared his throat and tried to speak normally. “So this is the ‘he’ who shares your home? I’m amazed that I’ve not met him before. You’ve kept him well hidden.”
She smiled at the boy and nodded. “Yes. This is my son.” She turned and looked sadly at Brynjolf. “Our son.”
Brynjolf was just staring at the boy in amazement. There was no possibility that he was anyone else’s.
“It’s like looking at myself,” he breathed. Then he turned and looked at Sayma, his every emotion – confusion, betrayal, longing – showing on his face. “Lass?”
“It had to have happened about three months before I…” she murmured. “I didn’t even notice because there was so much going on.” Then she cleared her throat and spoke to her son.
“Can you say hello to your da, sweetheart?”
The little one smiled a big smile at Brynjolf and said “’Ello!”
“Oh,” Brynjolf said, his voice breaking. He struggled with himself for a moment. “Hello, lad.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Can you tell him your name, little one?”
“Yeah,” the boy said, solemnly. “I’m Wed.”
Sayma laughed. “No, no, tell him your real name.”
“Bwin.”
Brynjolf grinned. “Is it Bryn, lad?”
“Aye,” the little one said, proudly puffing out his chest, his hands on his hips. “Bwinjoff.”
“Well, Brynjolf,” he said, “that’s my name too, as it happens. But your Mama used to call me Red. Are you sure that you’re not my da?”
The child giggled, and then crawled up into Brynjolf’s lap and gave him a hug, his small arms barely reaching halfway around Brynjolf’s broad chest, accepting him without question in the way that small children were wont to do.
Brynjolf wrapped his arms around the boy and his shoulders began to shake.
Damn it, Andante thought, turning away. I can’t stand seeing him cry. I can’t stand having him see me cry. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him for good and I can’t let this go on. He looked out toward the water colored with the slightest of pink from a changing sky.
All those days, Andante. Hiding away from the world, wanting to kill it all, make it suffer for taking my life from me. All those nights running, running, away from what I couldn’t change, draining every person I met of their blood, just trying to have revenge and not even understanding on whose behalf I wanted it. And then there was Brynjolf, and a reason to keep on. One reason.
And it turns out that it was good that I couldn’t remember. As bad as I am, as many bad things as I have done, it was nothing. Nothing. Not even close to what I was before.
Andante struggled to stay standing, struggled to keep his composure under the assault of the memories rushing back to him, the final pieces in the puzzle that he hadn’t had, before. And though he had known, for some time, that he was Vitus Perdeti, and had remembered a good many things about himself before this, he finally could feel the completeness of the empty, angry, bitter person whose body he inhabited; he knew all the things Vitus knew.
A part of him wanted to laugh, laugh riotously, at the idea that he, Vitus Perdeti, was a Vampire Lord, Lord of Volkihar Castle, the creature who could use his exemplary archery skills to fire a cursed arrow at the sun and blot it out. Of all possible people in the world. Not Andante, who was an unsavory, irreverent man but who had welcomed the company of others, had tried to understand them enough to form friendships and develop some sort of principles. Not him. No, the creature who had that power was Vitus, the one who had wanted more than just Harkon’s blood, who had lusted after the castle for himself, not to share it with Brynjolf or anyone else. It was Vitus Perdeti who wanted to make the entirety of existence suffer for his amusement. Vitus had been talking to him the whole time, quietly, like a worm in his ear.
He remembered the fullness of Vitus, and he embraced Vitus, and he mourned for the years Vitus had lost even while he shuddered to think that he could possibly have ever been that dissolute, that loathsome.
And he wished, more than anything he had ever wished, that he had not remembered.
I should not be alive. The world would be safer if I were not alive. There is no reason for me to be alive.
Except for Bryn. He’s still the one reason.
Even as he remembered Vitus, and the years in Bravil that he had not recalled before this, and every horrid, demeaning, defiled thing he had ever done, Andante fought to remember that he – Andante – had had a different life for these several years. He had been a different person; still bad, still violent, still prone to be the worst of influences; but more open, more willing to help others, and able to love. He had accomplished things by his own strength and skills, in his own name.
I am Andante.
He fought to keep control of the body that had been his, fought to keep Vitus back, and laughed at himself that he was crazy enough to feel as though he had to fight off what he knew – and welcomed – of the very core of his own being.
Finally I’m whole again. But I’m not whole at all. Because I barely recognize myself.
He turned back to look at the two Brynjolfs hugging each other. The child was examining the scar on his father’s face, and his beard, when he made a surprised noise.
“Lello,” he said, as though bright, glowing golden eyes were the most common thing in the world.
Brynjolf’s head snapped up. “Oh damn,” he said, shooting a panicked look at Andante.
“Oh damn,” young Bryn said, nodding sagely.
Brynjolf chuckled. “No, lad, that’s not a good word for you to say. Wait just a moment and I’ll show you a trick.”
Young Bryn nodded. Brynjolf gathered his magic and cast his illusion spell.
“Better?” he asked. “Now I have green eyes, just like you.”
Young Bryn giggled, and nodded.
Brynjolf looked at Sayma, searching, clearly trying to reconcile the face he saw with the woman he knew. He frowned. “We have a lot of talking to do. A lot. There are so many things. And I don’t understand most of them.”
“Yes,” she said. “I need to talk to you, and to Roggi, and to Andante, and to my brother. But right now I think I need to get this young one settled again. I’ll have the girl take him home. Do you want to go find your own bed, sweetheart?” she asked the child.
“Cicewo.”
Andante snorted, amused in spite of himself. “He wants to see Cicero. Cicero?”
Sayma chuckled. “Yes for some reason Cicero is a source of endless fascination. You’ve never seen one of their performances. They’re quite a pair.”
“I can only imagine.”
How is it that Cicero never gave me away? Did I change that much from the time I was a young man in Bravil? Or is it simply that he’s crazy?
She scooped the boy up onto one hip and headed back for the Black Door. “Dardeh? Roggi?” she called over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me. There’s no point in pretending anything about this place; you all know what it is.” She looked back at Andante, her eyes sad.
“Right behind you,” Dardeh rumbled, grabbing Roggi’s arm. Roggi sent Brynjolf a concerned look; an “are you alright?”
Brynjolf nodded and smiled at him.
They left the beach, and slipped in through the door.
And Andante was left alone with Brynjolf.
