He stood for a moment, listening to the brook cackling its way across his path, and considered the large black bird standing sentry before the iron doors. It had been a long time since he’d been here. It had been a longer time since he’d slipped into this particular armor, the forged midnight of the Nightingales. He didn’t know how she felt about such observances but as one of three people in the world who owned a set of this armor he felt obligated to use it to enter this place. He wasn’t much for ceremony, but there were certain circumstances where a measure of respect was due and this, it seemed to him, was one of them.
He and Andante had parted at Mammoth Manor the morning after speaking to Dardeh and Roggi, agreeing that they would meet in Solitude in a few days’ time to gather up the other two Elder Scrolls and make the trek back to Castle Volkihar. He needed to check in with Delvin and Vex, he said. Andante had seemed distracted, had said he needed to report to Dawnstar, and had taken what felt a few moments longer than usual to say goodbye.
Brynjolf had seen to matters in the Guild, just briefly, popping in to the Cistern to trade greetings and laughs with the members and catch up on business. Things were calm, even boring. There was really nothing going on that had required his presence, even though Delvin and Vex had left a few decisions for him to make, just for the sake of appearances. Having Maven in charge of the entire hold opened doors that had been closed before, and Delvin was taking full advantage of that and his contacts outside Skyrim. Coffers were full.
He’d taken the short jaunt south to retrieve his armor from Nightingale Hall, where it had been locked in a chest to keep it safe from the prying eyes and nimble fingers in the Guild. A carriage and his own swift legs had gotten him back to Falkreath and down the path to the hold’s southwestern corner in record time. Now he stood before the iron doors, hesitating in the forest.
I don’t know what I’ll do if this works. And I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t.
Under the hood, he frowned as a memory came to him, unbidden.
“That was when I knew I had to at least try,” she had told him, her arms and legs tangled around his in an embrace he could still recall with every fiber of his being. “I stepped out into the sunshine and realized I wanted to be with you.” He could hear her voice, as clearly as though she’d been standing right there beside him, and his heart ached as it so often had, remembering the sound of her.
“And then you left me, didn’t you,” he murmured, stepping across the stream to the door of the Sepulcher. “I miss you, but this isn’t about you, lass. Not this time. I’m sorry.”
It didn’t look any different than it had the last time he’d been there, when he’d come with Karliah to choose his role as a Nightingale. The braziers in the dark, dirt-filled cavern glowed a purplish blue, as did the portal at the far end of the space. He blinked in surprise, realizing that while he’d seen these lights before he hadn’t known about the Soul Cairn then. This light was the same: swirling, deep, unfathomable light that led to another dimension.
He stepped through the portal, into the small stone chamber of black stone that lay on its other side. Black stone, the black of night, with a circular structure in its center. Three stylized birds. Three Nightingales. Three points guarding the living, pulsating, impossibly blue pool in the center: the Ebonmere, portal to Nocturnal’s realm of Oblivion, the Evergloam.
He stood, contemplating it, wondering how to proceed.
Why is it that so few have promised to guard this portal, and of those so many have broken their promises? It’s a contract. You don’t break your contract. But Mercer did. And because of him, Karliah’s contract was broken as well; she wasn’t able to get the Key back herself until the two of us helped her.
He’d heard of others, too; previous generations of Nightingales who had somehow failed, had let the Skeleton Key be stolen or had stolen it themselves. He wondered about it, wondered why she would allow such things to happen. He thought he knew. Who would the patron of thieves admire more than the perfect thief, the thief who could steal an item right out from under the nose of a Daedric Prince?
I’d be impressed by fingers that light, for certain.
“Ahh, quit your stalling, Brynjolf, you old fool,” he muttered under his breath.
He spoke aloud.
“Well, here I am, come to talk to you,” he began. “There’s a thing I need your help with. It’s not terrible, nobody has stolen anything important, but I need bigger hands than the ones I’ve got to work with.” His voice filled the small chamber and echoed about in it. Nothing happened, though, and there was no reply. The only sound was the light humming of the Ebonmere.
“Damn,” he said, and shook his head.
He took a step back from the edge, planted his feet shoulder-width apart, and started to raise his arms.
“You realize I have no idea what I’m doing here, I hope,” he mumbled.
He raised his arms, palms up, in as near a pose as he could manage to the gesture of supplication he vaguely remembered Karliah doing the first time he’d worn the Nightingale armor. He cleared his throat and called out.
“Lady Nocturnal, Mistress of… Shadow? And queen of something. Murk.”
Gods. That was just awful.
He dropped his hands and made a disgusted noise.
“Shor’s bones. You know I don’t do this kind of thing. If there’s some kind of ritual about this Karliah’s the one who knows the fancy words to it, not me. I’m not the religious one. You know I’m one of yours, and I need to talk to you.”
He stepped back to the edge of the pool and stared into it. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “That was probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever tried to do. If you meant to make me feel foolish, well done. You succeeded.”
A musical, burbling laugh filled the room, along with the deep humming of magic. A figure rose from the pool, the figure of a beautiful woman bearing crows on her raised arms, mystical energies trailing from her legs until finally her full form took shape, floating above the pool, gently undulating up and down. She looked down at him with an expression that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a smirk, but was definitely one of amusement.
“Ahh, Brynjolf. To what do I owe this singular honor? The Key has not gone missing again, I see. What might have brought you to debase yourself in such a humiliating and highly amusing fashion, my Nightingale?”
“Shor’s beard,” he grumbled. I feel like an utter idiot.
“Now, now. No need for such language, Brynjolf. What is it that you need from me?”
He looked up at her, and in spite of himself he once again felt the overpowering sense of awe that he’d never expected to feel in his lifetime. This was a Daedric Prince, after all. He remembered being utterly subdued the first time he’d met her face to face, practically dumbstruck by her presence. This was only slightly less awe-inspiring.
“It’s about a friend. A… spirit,” he began, awkwardly, not knowing what to say.
“Hmmm,” she said. “And what does this have to do with me?”
“His name is Dynjyl, my lady,” he said quietly. “He was very important to me. He died while he was with me but he was soul trapped and, well, that part of him that was left is…” He trailed off, knowing how improbable it all sounded and how desperate he must seem to be sharing it with Nocturnal.
“In the Soul Cairn, perhaps?” she said.
“Yes! How did you… Never mind. Of course you knew.”
The scintillating laugh filled the room again. “I know everything about you, Brynjolf,” she said. “You gave yourself to me when you transacted the oath. Yes, young Dynjyl. What a happy soul he is. Odd, given his circumstances. And now you wish to free his spirit from that miserable place, is that it?”
Brynjolf stood for a moment, staring at her dumbly, wondering why he’d never realized his own situation before. Of course she knew everything about him.
“Aye.”
“You know that the gates between the Soul Cairn and the other dimensions have been disrupted for some time, do you not? Hundreds of your years.”
“Yes, but we were reading in an old book, something about a Perilous Shade…”
Nocturnal laughed again. “The Shade Perilous.”
Brynjolf hung his head. “Damn it, I don’t know what else to do. I can’t bring him out of there myself. He’s a damn spirit, a specter. A shade. And only part of one at that; he’d dissipate the second he stepped outside even if I could manage it. I don’t know about Oblivion or all these connections or the history of them. Some damn Emerald Gate or something. We studied what the College had about them but I can’t keep it all straight and most of it is beyond us anyway. But all of it talked about you. I just hoped that maybe you could take him to the Evergloam. Like Gallus. I can’t stand the thought of him being there for the rest of time when all he wanted was… I know he wasn’t one of yours, officially, not when he died, but he wanted to be. He was trying to be. And I… just thought…”
There was a moment filled only with the humming of the magical energies from the Ebonmere.
“Brynjolf.”
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
Brynjolf lifted his head and stared at the beautiful form before him, his mind wandering into incongruous corners. I wonder what she really looks like. She could be anything.
“When you transacted the oath with me you gave yourself to me, in this life and the next, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“But you have lost a part of your soul, haven’t you.” It was a flat statement.
Brynjolf froze, the shock of recognition running through him. “Because I’m a vampire?”
“Yes, fool. You gave up your mortal soul for a pair of fangs and some moments of physical pleasure.”
He felt his face burning.
“Well it’s a little more than just that…”
“Is it? I wonder.” Nocturnal no longer sounded amused. “I want three intact Nightingales, Brynjolf. Right now I have one. Karliah.”
Brynjolf swallowed hard. “Does that mean that Dag is…”
“No, Dagnell isn’t dead, you foolish man. But she also has given her soul, or at least part of it, her loyalties, to another. I want her back as well. Regardless of what she is calling herself these days.”
She really is alive. The letter was right; she’s alive.
The Listener knew that somehow. How did she know? I need to find out.
“I can give you what you want, Brynjolf. It will be tricky, but it can be done, and not by you. You’ve done what you could by destroying the Keepers and their barrier. I can take that joyful man out of the Soul Cairn and bring him into the Evergloam. I can give him his rest. But my price is steep. First, you must make yourself whole again.”
Then I’m lost, and Dynny is doomed. Falion is dead.
“I sense hesitation on your part, Brynjolf.”
“I… With all due respect, I do not know whether such a thing is possible any longer. For me, or for any others of my kind.”
“You’ll have the extent of immortality to research and ponder it in that case.” Her voice was cold.
He wanted to spit in anger, but instead he gritted his teeth. “And what’s the rest of the bargain?”
“Dagnell. It may not be possible for her to redeem herself. I cannot see that far ahead. She may be able to make certain bargains of her own. You will need to work that out between yourselves.”
Brynjolf felt his temper flare. His voice rose, making the rocks ring.
“Well damn it, how am I supposed to give you what you want, then? I don’t even know where the lass is, much less how I am supposed to fix her, and we won’t even get into what to do about me. Honestly, I didn’t think I was breaking some rule by becoming a vampire. The deal we made was that I would guard this portal and I’ve been guarding it. Haven’t I? And now I’m available to guard it for a damn sight longer than I would have been otherwise. How is that not good enough for you?”
There was deathly quiet in the chamber.
Gods. I’ve done it now, haven’t I. Lost my temper with a Daedric Prince. What sort of complete idiot am I, anyway?
The silence stretched out for an uncomfortably long time, while the aspect of Nocturnal floated above the Ebonmere.
“You do have a point, Nightingale,” she finally said. “I will offer you an alternative.”
What? She listened?
“What is it… my Lady?”
Laughter echoed through the chamber again.
“You are an amusing man, Brynjolf. Leave the ceremony to Karliah. She enjoys it. It’s not necessary, and you sound foolish trying to reproduce it.”
He couldn’t help himself; he chuckled.
“Aye.”
“There is an item,” she said, “that is dear to me. It is a cowl. No doubt you have heard of it.”
“The Gray Cowl.”
“Yes. It was taken by a clever thief. Only a clever thief will be able to return it to me, and both you and your wife are nothing if not clever thieves. Return my Cowl to me and I will consider at least one part of the Trinity restored. As you mentioned, our ‘deal’ was that you guard the Ebonmere. She took the same pledge; and she has not broken it, either.”
Brynjolf ground his teeth. “My wife,” he spat. “Well that’s just fine for her. I don’t know what can be done about me.”
“You have an eternity to think about it, my dear. You are immortal, after all, so long as you do not allow yourself to die, and your Dynjyl is not going anywhere. At the very worst nothing will have changed.” There was a pause, and she spoke again. “I will see to it that no harm comes to his shade in the interim. I will do that much for you, Brynjolf. The rest is up to you.”
Brynjolf stared at her. Well, I had no hope at all before I came here. I don’t have much more hope now, but it’s at least something. It’s a very long shot but it’s something. He sighed, and shrugged.
“Thank you.”
“Take care of yourself, Brynjolf. And good luck.”
The shimmering light around Nocturnal’s feet suddenly became a flock of birds. In a noisy, fluttering mass, they swirled around her and guided her as she sank back into the Ebonmere and disappeared.
Brynjolf stared at the blue pool for a moment.
“Damn.” He looked around the room and muttered. “How does she know? Dag’s alive, Nocturnal just said so. But how did the Listener know that?”
He turned and stepped through the portal.
___
A few minutes passed, in the stone chamber, in silence save for the quiet humming of nascent magical energies from the Ebonmere. Then there was a rustling sound, as a figure dressed in blue-draped armor emerged from the portal and stood staring down into the pool.
“I know you’re still there.”
Nocturnal rose from the Ebonmere once more.
“You do realize that I could strike you dead at this moment, Andante,” she said flatly. “You have neither the right nor any business in being here.”
Andante grinned.
“Ah well. That. I do recognize that it’s quite irregular, given that I’m not an official Nightingale, but as you admitted, the ranks are slightly incomplete at the moment. I did, however, knock down those barriers in the Soul Cairn. And I am one of yours, after all, am I not? A thief in good standing and of fairly considerable skills? I did manage to find my way into this chamber in spite of following in the wake of one of your very best, thoroughly unobserved, didn’t I. I’m quite certain that I just heard you tell him that you admired a clever thief. I’m nothing if not that. Admit it.”
Her voice was dry and unamused. “What is it that you want? I’ll give you a moment to explain yourself before I destroy you.”
Andante’s entire demeanor changed. He gazed up at her, serious, utterly unlike the brash and cocky face he’d shown her just a moment before. His voice was quiet and sincere, that of a calm man speaking from the heart in a light, confident Imperial accent.
“Take me, Nocturnal. I’ll take the place of whatever part of Brynjolf’s soul you think you’re missing. Let me complete the bargain so that Dynjyl can be at rest.”
There was a long silence. He simply watched her, waiting patiently.
“Why would you offer me such a thing, Andante?”
“For Brynjolf. So that he will stop tearing himself apart over something that wasn’t his fault. To make him happy.”
She stared at him for a long time.
“Well, I must say that I am very surprised by this offer.”
He grinned.
“But you surely recognize that it is an offer with absolutely no merit.”
Andante’s mouth fell open, every line on his face reflecting shock. “What?”
Nocturnal began to laugh. “You’ve been bound to Sithis your entire life, fool, and perhaps now to Molag Bal as well.”
He frowned. “I don’t remember ever promising Sithis a thing. As to Molag Bal, I think not. I joined the Dark Brotherhood because it was an expedient thing to do. If you know about my relationship with Brynjolf you know that as well.”
“Yes, I do. But I won’t take you. You’ve lost yourself. You don’t even know who you are, or to whom you owe allegiance. It would be a poor bargain indeed on my part to accept the terms of such an offer. It has very little meaning, if any. It’s up to Sithis and Molag Bal to pick over whatever remains of your soul when the time comes.”
Andante stared at Nocturnal, clearly dumbfounded.
“Now I suggest that you leave, fool, before I hasten the arrival of that moment. Perhaps you should consider helping Brynjolf recover what he has lost rather than offering me something of such poor value in its stead.”
Nocturnal sank once more into the Ebonmere.
Andante turned and fled.
___
On the hilltop nearest the Sepulcher’s entrance, a small patch, darker than its surroundings, shimmered. Fading back into the visible spectrum was a large man wearing red vampire armor.
He finished folding up the Nightingale outfit and slipping it into his pack, and sighed, looking up once more at the figure in blue racing down the path and out of sight.
“Why did you do that, Andante?” he murmured. “It was such a wonderful gesture but still, what a foolish thing to do, lad. She might have ended you just for being here.”
He stood and shook his head.
I think it’s time we had a talk about trusting each other. I’m going to need his help. He’s going to need mine. I know he wants my company, and I surely want his. He needs to understand that. He was supposed to go to Dawnstar. Instead, he followed me all the way to Riften and back.
I wonder why he thought I wouldn’t know he was there.
In spite of himself, he chuckled.
I guess he’s not quite as good as he thinks.
It was time to get to Solitude.