Andante looked around, trying to spot the birds he could hear, but all he could see were a few gleamblossoms and phosphorescent rocks. It was much lighter, though, and a breeze on his face had him turning in the direction of a very narrow tunnel. He motioned to the others to follow and then worked his way through the tunnel uphill into a huge cylindrical cave. There was an opening at the bottom of this cave but he instead followed the path that spiraled around the perimeter, toward the increasingly cold air blowing in from above. He looked up and winced at the brightness of the vivid blue sky seen through an opening at the cavern’s roof.
The path they were on led to a ledge fairly high up a slope overlooking a small, bowl-like valley ringed by mountains. The trees were mostly conifers, and the air carried their scent along with that of a few lingering gleamblossom plants near the cavern’s edges. Farther down was tundra-like undergrowth scattered in amongst the rocky terrain, as well as the skeleton of a mammoth or some other huge animal. The valley was stark, but beautiful, and Andante stood enjoying the view while he waited for the others to emerge from the darkness.
“This is incredible,” Serana breathed. “It’s like a whole other world!”
“It is,” Brynjolf agreed. “Best remember where this spot is, though. I would hate to stumble back into it by mistake. That’s a long way down.”
“Good observation,” Andante agreed. “Let’s make a marker.” There was loose stone everywhere in their vicinity; he took a few moments to create a small stack of them, wedging a piece of cloth between the topmost stones.
“There. Not quite a bandit’s cairn but with any luck we’ll see it before tumbling in.”
“Come on,” Serana said, starting to pick her way down through the scree. “The bow has to be in this valley somewhere.”
Andante stopped her. “Wait, Serana. Let me lead. I promised Valerica I would keep you safe and while I realize it seems highly unlikely I do have at least some semblance of integrity about promises.” And as he heard a rumble behind him he turned and pointed an accusatory finger in Brynjolf’s direction. “And do not laugh at me, sir. I won’t have it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, lad.” His barely-contained grin said otherwise.
He looked around a bit more, then pointed toward a series of stone arches, some intact and some collapsed, that led from the floor of the valley up toward a low spot between the hills. “See those over there? I’m thinking we should head that way.”
Brynjolf nodded. “Good catch. They’re shaped like the Wayshrines, a bit. I’ll bet it’s part of the old initiate’s trail.”
Andante started down the dirt path before him, intending to go that way. Before he had gone too many lengths, though, he was distracted by a trail branching to the right, hugging the hill they were on.
“Let’s check this out first,” he said, starting down the path to his right. “Who knows whether we’ll be back here again. I’d hate to miss something important.”
It was cold and misty in the valley, but it smelled wonderful to Andante, particularly after having passed through the close and dank Falmer nests. He wasn’t paying attention to much aside from the sharp tang of pine, and thus nearly ran into the saber cat sleeping in its den over the crest of the next hill. It had clearly only recently taken down the deer whose carcass lay just beyond, and was sluggish, busy digesting its first meal from the hunt. Thanks only to that, it took the three of them just a few moments to dispatch the beast.
“Would you mind very much being a little more cautious, lad?” Brynjolf grumbled. “Honestly, sometimes you are more like Dynny than I would have imagined possible.”
Andante chuckled. “I am sorry. I was too distracted by the clean air. Because you’re right; the concentrated odor of Falmer is bad.” He grinned at Brynjolf and readied his axe, picking his way slowly and carefully around the trail’s next corner.
Around a clump of trees at that corner was a cave opening with a single Falmer sitting outside, a vibrant patch of gleamblossom just downhill from it. He tsk’d, held up a hand to stop the others, then crept backward a few steps.
“Falmer.”
“No. Really?” Serana said, not quite keeping her voice from becoming an irritating whine.
“Yes. Sorry. I’ll try a frost cloud on it and see what happens.”
“We’re right behind you,” Brynjolf murmured.
The frost cloud confused the Falmer enough that Andante was able to slip behind it and take it out with a couple of quick axe blows. He stood, looked up at his companions and shrugged.
“Too easy. I dread what’s inside. Assuming that we want to look.”
“Of course we do,” Serana replied, her arms crossed. “What if that’s the entrance to another Wayshrine?”
“Right. Well here we go.”
The cave into which they crept was a chaurus farm. There was a pen, directly in front of the entrance, in which one hunter hovered. Andante slipped past it, following a narrow pathway to the left. He turned to see whether the others were behind him, and then nearly jumped out of his boots as a short figure ran by him on his left, snarling. Serana had reanimated the Vale saber cat from outside, and it was rushing to attack the chaurus hunter that had just burst from its cocoon.
In the narrow confines of the pathway, beyond the edges of which he could not see in the near-total darkness, it was a fierce and dangerous battle. Brynjolf pushed past Andante, smashing at the beast; Serana cast her life-draining spell at it, and Andante tried desperately to find an opening with his axe. The cat, taking most of the damage by virtue of having gotten there first, finally fell to the hunter’s mandibles, giving Andante the opening he needed to strike the finishing blow.
He didn’t see anything else in the cavern, aside from the remaining hunter flying aimlessly about in its pen. He decided to leave that, and anything else that might be in the pen with it, alone.
“I’m sure there’s something else in here, but I’m also sure it’s not a Wayshrine. What a waste of effort,” he grumbled, leading them out into the light and turning right to continue along the hillside.
Not far beyond the cave, around a bend in the path, there was a series of toppled pillars much like the ones he had first seen. He followed them up another rise, through birches and conifers. There, in the far corner of the valley, was another Wayshrine, its Prelate standing sentinel beside it. Andante smiled as he approached.
“Welcome, initiate,” the Prelate greeted him. “This is the Wayshrine of Sight. Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El and fill your vessel with his enlightenment?”
“Yes, I am.”
As the Prelate turned to cast his spell, Andante nodded to Brynjolf for help getting the ewer off his back once more. Stepping into the Wayshrine, he dipped it into the water and sighed. The thing was getting heavier already, and there were three more Wayshrines to go. This one contained a portal that, if he peered into it, seemed to lead back to the Wayshrine of Enlightenment at Darkfall Passage.
“Well, that’s another taken care of, but it’s not where we need to go,” he said, wrestling the ewer onto his back once more. “Guesses?”
Brynjolf pointed back down the valley. “You had the right of it the first time, I think. Back down the valley, on the other side.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
They made their way carefully around the perimeter of the bowl-like valley, stopping only to dispatch another saber cat and one angry frost troll that came barreling down on them from the heights. The arches Andante had seen from the opposite hillside lined stone stairs that wound their way toward a narrow pass.
“Looks like Ivarstead,” Brynjolf said.
“What?”
“Ivarstead. The Seven Thousand Steps up to the Throat of the World. Have you never seen that in all your roaming around Skyrim, lad?”
“Oh. That. Well yes, of course I’ve been through Ivarstead, Brynjolf, but I paid no attention to the steps. What business does a man such as I have with a monastery?”
Serana chuckled. “There is that.”
“Honestly,” Andante grumbled. “You two. The lack of respect is remarkable.”
They climbed up toward the narrowest portion of the pass, a sheer cut through the face of the mountain. Andante’s shoulders were aching from the added and awkwardly uncomfortable weight of the Initiate’s Ewer, and he was shifting them about, looking down at his footing, and not paying the slightest bit of attention to what was before him until a freezing gob of spider venom caught him full in the face. As a vampire, the venom’s poison had no effect on him, but its cold stung and it blurred his vision.
“Arrgh!”
Serana flew past him on one side and Brynjolf on the other, and he wiped his eyes clear in time to watch them crash into a group of at least four frostbite spiders. The first three were average-sized and took next to no time for Brynjolf and Serana to kill. Andante sprinted past them as they were finishing up, and ran headlong into their brood mother, an enormous, revolting creature with far too many eyes. He had drawn his axe already, but grabbed for the Razor as well, slashing, ducking and weaving, whirling in a dual attack until an opening allowed him to slam the dagger down into the spider’s brain. It shuddered, and then collapsed into a heap.
“Didn’t I tell you to be careful, Andante?” Brynjolf grumbled from behind him.
“Don’t give me a hard time, Brynjolf,” he answered. “I’m not in the mood. This ewer is the most awkward thing I’ve ever had to carry.”
“And it won’t be anywhere near as awkward as me trying to carry you out of here if you get hurt,” Brynjolf said quietly.
Andante looked at Brynjolf’s expression and immediately regretting having snapped at him. Hurt. Or killed. It wouldn’t just be awkward, it would be like reliving Dynjyl’s death. I won’t do that to you.
He nodded. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Serana sighed. “Now if you boys are done bickering, could we continue? It’s really very much too bright out here for my taste.”
Andante grinned at her. “I hate to say it, Serana, but you’re also right.”
“Watch it, Andante. I’m beginning to think that you may even like the lass,” Brynjolf chuckled.
“Don’t hold your breath, Brynjolf,” she smirked.
Andante chuckled and turned to walk through the remainder of the pass, the walls of it only barely far enough apart for the three of them to walk abreast if they’d been inclined to do so. He stepped over the crest of its highest point and stopped, his mouth falling open for a moment. Then he moved out to take in the view.
Before them was a blindingly white expanse of frozen valley, cut deep into the heart of snow-covered, craggy mountains. Enormous sheets of ice hung down from numerous lips of rock, with several impossibly tall waterfalls feeding a river that ran along the center of the valley. Ice flanked both shores of the river, with swift-flowing, greenish-blue water in its center and steep crags beyond. Next to Andante, and in both directions, leading along the shores and up into the mountains beyond, were more of the ruined pillars they’d been following, as well as a smattering of intact archways. It was silent save for the faint roar of the waterfall.
“This is beautiful,” Serana said quietly.
“It is.” He turned to smile at Brynjolf. “I told you I could appreciate beauty when I see it. This is amazing.”
Brynjolf’s eyes were shining. “No wonder they called themselves Snow Elves.”
There were two ways to proceed, and Andante suspected they would need to explore the whole valley in order to find the three remaining Wayshrines. The nearest intact arch, however, was to his left. He turned, and walked slowly down the slope toward it, enjoying the quiet progress along the edge of the river, considering how awe-inspiring it might have felt to be an initiate who was looking for enlightenment as he trod the same pathways.
My, my, Andante. Aren’t you philosophical today? Well they certainly would never have taken the likes of me under normal circumstances, would they?
He laughed at himself as he looked up the path, leading up a small rise to what was clearly another Wayshrine. “Those things are everywhere, aren’t they?” he heard Serana murmur behind him.
“You’ve reached the Wayshrine of Learning, Initiate,” the Prelate told him. Andante agreed to honor the mantras of Auri-El, and added water from this shrine to that already in the ewer. As he turned back toward the river, the Prelate sent him on his way with “Auri-El bless you, child, for you are a step closer to the Inner Sanctum and everlasting wisdom.”
Andante half-bowed and started back down the trail. Wisdom is nice, but I want the bow.
“That one had two portals, back to the two Wayshrines we’ve already found,” he told the others. “I guess Gelebor wasn’t kidding when he said they can be used for transportation.”
He stopped to consider their next move. While there was clearly a path up into the mountains just opposite them, he decided to explore the entire near bank first. He trotted back down the shore and past the broken archways that marked the spot they had entered the valley. He could see where they needed to go, or at least he thought so: a natural bridge crossed the river at its far end, high up the mountainsides. The trail from where they had arrived, however, ran along the riverbank. He started trotting along beside the icy water.
At the far end of the valley was a staircase leading up into the mountains opposite them. He would have headed directly for it if not for an enormous figure patrolling the opening to its den. White, and with multiple eyes and protruding tusks like a frost troll, it also had two impressive horns atop its head. And it was huge. It wielded a great stone club like that carried by the giants in the rest of Skyrim.
“I don’t want to get under that club,” Andante whispered to the other two. “Let me try my bow first.”
He took long and careful aim with his bow and fired several ebony arrows at the giant. It stumbled back a step.
Chaos erupted, then, as both Brynjolf and Serana rushed the beast. It stomped, sending shockwaves rippling down the shoreline, catching Brynjolf and making him step off-balance just as he was about to slash at the creature with his sword. It swung its club.
Time seemed to slow for Andante as he saw the heavy weapon descending in an arc that would crush Brynjolf’s skull if it connected. “No!” he shouted, panicked. Then he called on the only word he knew that might push the beast back enough that its club would fall short.
“FUS!”
The shock wave was visible, travelling across the distance between them, and Andante held his breath as it caught the giant. It was only one word of the Shout, and he was far from being as powerful as Dardeh, but it worked; the giant stumbled backward one pace and its club struck the ground just a whisper in front of Brynjolf. Even so, Andante heard Brynjolf cry out.
“Get AWAY from it!” Andante screamed, firing more arrows as fast as he could.
Serana had backed around the side of the giant, and was using her vitality-draining spell from a safe distance, so he wasn’t concerned about her, but Brynjolf either hadn’t heard him or was ignoring him, standing to raise his sword and shield once more. Andante swapped his weapons in favor of his axe and the deadly Razor, and ran behind the giant. He hacked at it from the back, from a position of surprise, and was lucky enough to land a crippling blow with the Razor through its ribs, near its heart, as his axe bit into its opposite site. It toppled over.
Andante stood, panting, glaring at Brynjolf.
“Why in the name of Oblivion did you do that?”
Brynjolf had his hands on his knees and was doubled over, sucking air. “I wanted to kill it. Why do you think?”
“I told you I’d use the bow!”
Serana shook her head at Brynjolf. “Try to be a little more careful, would you? Neither one of us wants to see you get hurt, Brynjolf. It would be even more awkward trying to drag you out of here than it would if Andante got damaged.”
Andante spun in the opposite direction. I don’t want to talk to him right now. There’s no talking to someone that reckless. I don’t understand why he would behave like that, after what he’s said about Dynjyl. Idiot. The cold anger refused to leave him as he hopped across the small openings between ice floes in the river and began climbing the hill on the far side. As they neared the top of the hill, he saw a path leading left, at the end of which was another Wayshrine. To his right, he saw another path, rougher, running above another branch of the river.
Serana caught up with him first and pointed toward the Wayshrine. “If we open that one, we’ll be able to get around this valley a lot faster.”
He considered a snappy retort about how she could possibly know that, but then realized she was right. The other Wayshrines each contained portals to other places they had visited. If she was correct, this one would allow them to travel back to the other end of the valley without climbing back down the icy mountain. This was the Wayshrine of Resolution, they learned from its Prelate.
“Andante,” he heard from behind him, as he waited for the shrine to grind its way open.
“Not now, Brynjolf.” Not now. I don’t know when. I’m angry.
As Andante added to the increasingly-heavy ewer he realized that Serana had indeed been correct. There were portals leading back to all the wayshrines they had discovered previously. He stepped out and surveyed the area. Ahead of them was an enormous, mostly-frozen lake. He shook his head and pointed back the way they had come.
“I want to see what’s down there, first. I have a feeling about it.”
He picked his way carefully down the icy steps and out along a narrow ledge overlooking the stream, and saw that his feeling had been correct. At the far end of the stream was another cave, guarded by another frost giant. He turned and glared at both of his companions.
“Stay. Put. I’ll take it out from here. I’ll conjure the Dremora and send it over if it looks like I need help.”
Brynjolf opened his mouth, as if to argue, and Andante cut him off, sharply. “No. I want you to stay put. Here. Understand?”
Brynjolf’s jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. It was clear that he was angry; but finally after a tense moment he nodded.
As far away as they were across the rushing waters, and as slowly as the giant moved, it took only a minute or two for Andante to bring the beast down. He had felt Brynjolf trembling beside him, the whole time, fighting his urge to rush into battle. He turned to sneer at Brynjolf before hopping across the rocks to check out its den. When he passed by Brynjolf on the way back up the hill, they looked at each other but neither of them spoke.
There was more than one way to get to the frozen lake, and Andante picked the longer of the two in order to be sure they weren’t going to miss something important on the hill near the Shrine of Learning. The path led up stairs, through several intact arches, and out onto the surface of the lake. The sun was beginning to dip behind the mountaintops as they ran out onto the ice, making it even colder. The angle of the sun’s remaining rays also caught the edges of the multitude of cracks running through the ice. Andante looked at it warily, and decided to stay near the rocky shoreline as he ran down the lake toward a structure at its far end.
“Does this ice look a little… thin, to you?” Serana asked.
He was just about to turn and agree with her when there was an enormous explosion from the middle of the lake.
Andante would never have believed such a thing to be possible if he hadn’t been witnessing it. A gigantic, golden dragon with dark markings along its sides erupted from beneath the lake’s surface and rose high into the sky, sending great slabs of ice flying toward them.
“Look out!” Andante yelped, sprinting toward the broken pillar he could see at the far end of the lake. A dragon meant they would need some kind of shelter, no matter how minimal. He had nearly reached the pillar, stopping only to fire a useless shot at the beast, when he heard another explosion behind him. Whirling, he saw a second dragon fighting its way upward, and he groaned.
“GET OVER HERE!” he screamed, hoping the other two could hear him while knowing full well that the dragons’ roars likely drowned him out.
Serana made it to the base of the pillar just as the first dragon circled around to attack. Thank the gods, she’ll be safe. But where’s …
“I’ll give no quarter!” Brynjolf shouted, running out onto the ice as the first dragon landed before him.
It was a fire dragon. They both were.
The next moments lasted a lifetime, or so it seemed to Andante. The dragons took turns diving beneath the ice, emerging in unexpected places. They attacked from the air, and then landed to snap at Brynjolf and Serana with enormous teeth. Andante’s dremora took the brunt of damage, as it had nothing to lose by attacking, but Andante heard Brynjolf crying out in pain from the flames and everything, for him, went cold.
He pulled out his most powerful arrows, those made with the heart of a defeated Daedra, and began unloading them into the dragons. He hid behind the pillar when they neared. Everything was a blur of healing, and conjuring, and Shouting when they were near enough to reach, and pulling, pulling, pulling on the bow as fast as he could make it fire. Dimly, he was aware of the sound of Serana’s ice spikes smacking into dragon hide, and the metallic thud of Brynjolf’s shield smashing snouts. He heard Serana shout “this won’t end well for you!” and a part of his mind wondered whether she was referring to the dragons, or to Brynjolf.
He ran back past the pillar, around the side of the structure behind him, and realized that it was a dragon word wall, the type he’d encountered many a time in other parts of Skyrim, Even as he recognized the word it contained – a word that would drain vitality in much the way they could already do as vampires – he whirled to continue firing at the first dragon, which was down and bleeding.
And so was Brynjolf. Andante saw him on a knee, swallowing healing potions while Serana fired ice spikes at the dragon with one hand and a healing spell at Brynjolf with the other.
The world went red for Andante, and whatever portion of him was a cautious, stealthy assassin shut down. He couldn’t have said, later, exactly what he did, how many times he might have run out from behind the pillar to Shout ice at one or the other of them, how many blows he might have struck with his axe, how many times he had healed himself or how many dozens of Daedric arrows he emptied into them. But when he became aware, again, he was standing in the moonlight next to one of the gigantic corpses, and he felt as cold and hard as the ice upon which he stood.
He heard Serana approach, and blinked, and looked around.
We survived. At least Serana and I survived. Where is… Behind her, over her shoulder, he saw the familiar bulk of Brynjolf walking quietly toward them.
It was good to see the man nearing him, to be certain, but a large part of him wanted to transform, right there, and rip him to shreds. He stared at Brynjolf, his relief fighting with his anger and losing. Once Brynjolf reached him, stopping just barely out of reach, he could see a grim anger on his face as well.
“What were you thinking?” he said quietly.
Out of his peripheral vision he saw Serana backing carefully away. Perceptive, isn’t she?
Brynjolf frowned. “What do you mean? I was trying to kill the damn dragons. What did it look like to you?”
“You’re a vampire, Brynjolf. They breathe fire.”
Brynjolf shouldn’t have allowed himself to be angry, but he did. His frown deepened, and his tone became sarcastic.
“I noticed.”
There was a long silence.
Don’t be sarcastic with me. It’s not a good choice.
Vitus spoke. He spoke very quietly, but without any of the affection that usually colored the words that came from his mouth.
“Don’t ever do anything like that in my presence again.” The words were cold, tinged with threat. His tone was reminiscent of the one he had used to put Brynjolf in his place when they rested in Andante’s cabin near the Nightgate Inn, except that there was no humor, no companionship in it, and no room for negotiation.
“You would have preferred I let them keep attacking you, is that it? Sorry, lad. I was here, with Serana, and you were up behind the rock.”
“Yes, I was. That was the safe place for a vampire to be firing Daedric arrows at the dragons. The conjured Dremora churl was available to take on damage at close range.”
Brynjolf was starting to respond to the quiet threat he was hearing. His voice dropped into a growl. “Don’t tell me my business, Andante.”
“You had to take a knee, Brynjolf. More than once. They had you down.”
They had you down. I thought I was going to be collecting ashes.
“And I am telling you,” Brynjolf said, his eyes flashing, “not to tell me my business. I will take on a dragon if it suits me.”
Vitus’ lips curled back from his fangs.
“So should I have invested in a soul trap spell, Brynjolf? So that you can be with your lover in the Soul Cairn when the next dragon turns you into a pile of ash?”
Brynjolf roared. “How DARE you?”
Before Andante had a chance to react, Brynjolf had seized him by the upper arms, his grip more powerful than Andante had imagined possible. He had his own fangs bared, and leaned in so closely that Andante wondered if his was the neck about to be shredded.
“How dare you,” Brynjolf repeated. “After I put myself on the line just now you accuse me of wanting to be there?”
Andante knew he should be quiet, and yet he felt himself speaking in spite of it, incapable of keeping the bitter sarcasm from his response.
“With Dynjyl? Yes. Why else would you take such a ridiculous chance with your life? And by the way, as unlikely as it seems you are in fact hurting my arms.”
“And I’ll continue to do so,” Brynjolf snarled. “Because it’s the only thing keeping me from strangling you right now. Who do you think you are?”
There was a brief moment of silence before Andante took a breath to answer.
“I think,” he said quietly, “that I am the man who offered Nocturnal whatever was left of his soul on your behalf, if she would free Dynjyl from the Soul Cairn.”
Brynjolf dropped his hands, his eyes wide. And just as quickly as the cold, deadly anger Andante had felt for a moment had flared, it dissipated. In its place was a deep sadness.
“And I think,” Andante said, very quietly, “that I could not bear to watch you go up in flames, Brynjolf. So please. Don’t do that sort of thing again.”
He stood, looking from one of Brynjolf’s bottomless golden eyes to the other, knowing that he would never see reflected back to him the emotions that must be showing in his own. He doesn’t love me. And I offered up my soul for him. I would do it again if I thought she’d listen. The least he can do is not make me watch him die.
He glanced at Brynjolf’s red hair, and again saw the dragon’s fire licking at it, reaching for him, trying to consume him, only his own deep reserves of fortitude and Serana’s relentless attacks saving him. From the deepest part of his mind, another memory came to him. A woman, with flame red hair, wearing a black hood and black armor. He’d seen the briefest glimpse of her, from well back, as she fought to protect the building she was in, as it was being engulfed. He’d howled with frustration, and fought himself not to run to rescue her as the others he could see were trying to do; but she had told him to flee and one always obeyed the Listener even if one was dying inside. He fought himself again, now, so that his face would not give away the fact that he was dying again, inside; so that Brynjolf would not see him trembling as if he was in fear for his own existence.
Go, Vitus, she had told him. Go to Bruma; find out whether any of the others have gone there too. You’re the youngest. The Brotherhood must survive.
The Listener. She died in the fire.
Alisanne.
I was in the Dark Brotherhood in Bravil. That’s what Nocturnal meant when she said I have belonged to Sithis my whole life.
By all the gods. No wonder I am always drawn to red hair. Red hair, black clothing.
No wonder I am so careful around the Listener. One always obeys the Listener.
No wonder the Thalmor’s flames frightened me so much. And the dragons’.
No wonder.
“I’m… sorry, Andante,” Brynjolf said, very quietly, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. “I should never have let my temper get the better of me. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. I should know better. And you’re right. That was foolish on my part. That was no more careful than Dynny running to the top of Valtheim.” He sighed. “I’ll take better care in the future.”
No, Bryn. It’s not Andante, not any more. It’s Vitus. Vitus Perdeti. He’s the man standing in front of you, the one who has been an assassin most of his life. But he loves you, Bryn.
His mind cast backward, trying to fill in the gaps. There were so many gaps, so much he didn’t remember still, and he wasn’t certain that he wanted to. He looked into Brynjolf’s eyes, thinking desperately. Had there ever been anyone else? Anyone who had loved him, who he had loved; anyone else for whom he would have given up the very thing that made him unique? But there was nobody. Not even Alisanne; he’d been fiercely devoted to her, had held her in awe, had offered himself to her, but had not loved her. There was only Brynjolf… and Andante.
He smiled, and reached out to cup Brynjolf’s chastened face with one hand.
“It’s ok, Bryn.”
It’s not ok. It will never be ok. But as long as I can have you with me, I will make that be enough.
He waved to Serana, and scanned the shoreline for their next stop. And wondered why he felt so empty, even with so much more finally filling the spaces that had had nothing in them just a few moments before.