The royals and Roggi took the carriage. Roggi had complained bitterly about being asked to ride like an old man, even when the newly-minted High King tried to give him an order – an attempt at which Roggi had merely laughed. Finally Dardeh had stood and stared at Roggi with fire burning in his gaze until finally he had relented.
“Ever since I’ve known you, Roggi, you’ve been getting injured because of me. You just survived getting most of your blood pulled from you. It’s not being weak or old to ride, just this once. Do it for me, if you won’t do it for your King,” he’d said, looming over his husband as much as he could without being threatening. Roggi had stood with his chin up, looking defiant; but finally he’d relented, admitting that the walk from Mammoth Manor to Whiterun had nearly been more than he could handle.
Brynjolf and Dardeh walked and trotted alongside the slow-moving cart as it moved south and up over the escarpment, serving as guards as well as party members. The inevitable numbers of wolves and bears came out of the woods to attack; but between them there was little for anyone to worry about. In fact, Dardeh managed to impress Ulfric by turning one bear into a neat pile of ash.
Brynjolf stepped discreetly into the undergrowth at one point to down a blood potion. He’d begun to feel the pangs of hunger, and the sunlight had felt sharper and deadlier. He couldn’t afford either to put himself in danger of burning or to start looking at his companions’ necks with anything other than disinterest.
He thought about what he was going to say to Sayma. He couldn’t think of words that would do at all. Nothing seemed adequate, no matter how he thought about it. Even the ideas that would have served to support his choices seemed to fold back on themselves in an endless game of “yes, but…” until it felt as though he was having an argument with some shadow version of himself that he couldn’t defeat.
She changed herself, too. She took away her scar, altered her voice, changed her whole look.
Yes, but if that were really important she could visit Galathil and change her face back again. You’ve changed your entire body. Again. Even when you knew you couldn’t change it back.
True. But she left while she was supposed to be running the Thieves Guild and took up with the Dark Brotherhood.
Yes, but you started a skooma operation in the Ratway, even though you know how much she hates it. There surely were other ways to get out from under Maven Black-Briar.
True. But Sayma slept with Roggi. Even after she’d promised me forever.
Yes, but you slept with Vitus. And before you start, you didn’t know whether she was alive but you didn’t know she was dead, either. You just did what you wanted because you wanted him and you wanted his power. Admit it.
True. I… I have no answer to that. So what can I say to her?
Tell her what is in your heart.
He frowned at himself, walking down the old Imperial road with his eyes scanning the sides of it for enemies. What was in his heart was a raw, regretful open wound that could only be summed in a few words: I made a mistake.
And then he remembered what it was like when he’d first met Dagnell, and how she’d so often laughed at him for assuming that he was always right.
Well I wasn’t right this time, lass. And it’s looking like I’m going to regret it until the end of time.
He glanced across the horse’s back to see Dardeh’s blonde hair over brown skin, swiveling back and forth as he, too, kept watch for threats. It was hard to imagine a more effective guard than the Dragonborn himself.
And thanks to you, the end of time won’t be any time soon.
___
He watched her go from relaxed to anxious the moment he stepped into the fading sunlight of their estate, leading the most unlikely party through the crevice out into the open. She’d been rocking Qaralana and watching Chip and Iona, but she looked up and saw him and her face went stiff. Still, he breathed deeply and approached her with as close a thing to a smile as he could force onto his own expression.
“Hello, lass,” he murmured as he neared. “I’ve brought us some visitors. The Queen wants to talk to you about her impending condition.”
Sayma’s eyes went wide. She turned and eased the soundly-sleeping baby into her cradle and then, to Brynjolf’s utter shock, threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. It was so much like the moment in Hammerfell when he’d finally found her in the ancient crypt that his heart nearly broke; all he could do was fold his own arms around her and hold her in return, stroking her hair.
“Bryn. You were gone so long. I was afraid you were dead when I heard about the Archmage.”
Oh. It never occurred to me that she would hear that. Or think that.
“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so stubborn I might well have been in some danger, but as it happened the one who was in a real predicament was Roggi.”
She pushed herself back from him, then, looking up at him. He saw the simultaneous, curious mix of revulsion and desire in her eyes and his heart broke a little more. But she at least was here, and had touched him without flinching, and had been concerned about him.
Maybe there’s hope after all.
“Oh no. Is Roggi…”
“I’m just fine,” the familiar voice boomed. “I’d be even better if I could get Dragonboy to stop fussing about me.” Roggi approached them; Sayma peeled herself away from Brynjolf to give Roggi a hug nearly as tight as the one she’d given him. Brynjolf saw the momentary look of dismay in Roggi’s eyes as their gazes met and he grinned, chuckled, and shook his head.
Don’t worry about it, lad. You’re fine.
“He’s more than fine, Sis,” the deepest voice rumbled. “And it’s Thane Roggi, now.”
“Ah don’t give me that, Dar,” Roggi snorted. “How many times over are you a thane now?”
“Enough that I will not expect his attendance at my court very often,” Ulfric said, stepping into the light.
Sayma released Roggi and stepped back in surprise. “Ulfric!”
Roggi grinned. “High King Ulfric, at the moment. And his Queen, the lady Frina.”
“By Talos, Roggi, that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever called me,” Frina said, coming forward to collect Sayma into yet another hug.
“I’m sorry we just invaded like this, Sayma. I really need some advice before, well,” she paused to rub the mound that was taking up increasing amounts of space in her clothing. “Harald is growing fast and I don’t have any female relatives except you. Kind of. Well, you know.”
Sayma chuckled. “Yes, I do. And I’m really honored that you’d come to speak to me.” Her face fell for a moment. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to before Chip was born. Not really. So I know what it’s like. Come on inside, your various and sundry Majesties. Let’s relax.”
She turned to scoop the baby out of her cradle yet again as the others filed into the house. Dardeh fussed over Roggi; Ulfric fussed over Frina. Brynjolf watched, with a lump in his throat, and caught Sayma by the shoulder before she could disappear inside.
“Lass?”
She looked up at him; bravely, he thought, because he could see her fear in spite of her clear desire not to be afraid.
“What is it, Brynjolf?”
Brynjolf, then. Not Bryn; not Red. I see.
“I… I need to tell you what I was doing while I was gone. But mostly I just want to tell you that, well…”
“Yes?”
He sighed. “I love you, lass. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I…” I had the power to command one of the greatest clans of vampires in the world; but I came home. “I’ve been trying to find a cure.”
Her eyes widened.
“Is there such a thing, Bryn?”
He nodded. “Yes. But there’s a problem. I’ll tell you about it once we’re inside. The others deserve to know this, too.”
So they sat, and they ate, and laughed, and told stories. There were plenty of moments that had gasps, or tears standing ready to fall. Brynjolf watched in awe as Dardeh did cry, describing how close Roggi had come to death.
He cries so easily. And for me it’s like moving a mountain, no matter how sad I am.
Roggi, in fact, laughed; not at Dardeh’s tears – Dardeh did that himself – but at the idea that anyone should have been worried about him. “I was pretty hurt,” he said, “but I had a dragon watching over me.” And he had gone on to describe what he’d seen.
“I don’t know whether I saw what I saw or not,” he told them. “The more time that passes, the more I wonder whether I just hit my thinker a little harder than I should have when I fell. But I’ll tell you this. If Dardeh isn’t a real dragon it doesn’t matter. He protected me like a dragon. I had no doubt at that moment that I was going to be fine.”
And Ulfric had them all mesmerized as he described what it had been like watching the Jarls and their retinues climbing the highest mountain in Tamriel to meet with him in the monastery. It was nearly silent, save for the cooing of the infant Qaralana, as he told them what he had said and done, and how Elisif had behaved, and how she was expecting a child of her own.
“So he succeeded after all,” Brynjolf said at last.
“Who succeeded?” Ulfric said, clearly surprised.
Brynjolf smirked. “Edwyn. What he wanted – besides all the power he could grab, I mean – was for Elisif to have a child. He may not have meant her to have a child born of love, like ours have been,” and he paused to smile at both Sayma and Frina, “but his wish was granted in the end.”
Ulfric nodded. “Yes. And I wish her well. She seemed happier than I have known her to be since Torygg’s death. I don’t know whether she’ll ever find it in her heart to forgive me, and she has ample reason not to; but perhaps the day will come.”
“Oh, it will, Ulfric,” Sayma said. “It’s surprising what a person can forgive in the end.”
Brynjolf stared at her in surprise and then smiled as he saw her face. She was struggling with what he was, that was obvious; but she was trying. And he’d forgiven her, too, for many things. Maybe it would be alright after all.
“So tell us all about your adventures, Bryn,” Roggi said. “We’ve gotten bits and pieces of it but bring us all up to date.”
“Alright…” He took a deep breath and began. He started with the last time all of them had been together, for neither Ulfric nor Frina had known that he turned again. He dispelled his illusion to show them all his current appearance, and then quickly cast it again when Frina gasped in horror.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “Or should I say I’m sorry, my Queen.” He grinned at her. “But now you can see why my friend Vitus always, always kept his illusion spell going.”
“Except for the day he nearly gave me heart failure,” Roggi muttered.
Brynjolf couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes. It was the same with Edwyn Wickham. We’re not all animals; I won’t randomly attack one of you for blood. There are,” he said, a bit uncomfortable but feeling as though he should spell it out, “ways of making sure not to kill people who provide meals. But I’d rather not frighten you if I don’t have to.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Still; when I realized that Dardeh had taken care of the problem of Edwyn I realized that I… made a mistake.”
He looked at Sayma and his voice dropped. “A terrible, stupid mistake; and I am so very sorry. You can’t imagine.”
She looked at him with tears standing in her eyes and nodded. “Yes I can imagine, Red. I’ve made mistakes too.”
It was as though they were the only two people in the room, right then. It was as though time had frozen. That was, until Dardeh cleared his throat and Brynjolf looked at him to realize that yes, once again Dardeh was wiping his eyes. He grinned. Such a strong, resilient man and yet he cries so easily.
“So, Bryn,” Roggi prompted. “About the rest of it?”
“Ah. Yes. The rest of it.”
He found that he had them mesmerized, too, as he told them of his travels back and forth across Skyrim and into Oblivion, searching for what he thought would be the hardest-to-find ingredient to the potion that was his last chance for a permanent cure. Sayma, in particular, shuddered as he described the narrow bridge across the flames and the Daedra coming across it at him.
“But you found the bloodgrass, right?” That was Frina.
He nodded. “Yes and I was very excited. I thought I had everything I needed.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then Ulfric spoke.
“I take it there is still something missing.”
He nodded. “Yes. I need the dust of a vampire who is stronger than myself. I thought Edwyn’s ashes would be easy to get and that the chances were fairly good that he was the stronger of us.”
“But the wind scattered him to the corners of Nirn before we even left the tower,” Dardeh rumbled.
Sayma gasped. “No,” she moaned.
“I’m afraid so, lass,” he told her quietly. “I’m so sorry. Perhaps Vingalmo’s ashes might have done it but Edwyn had him dumped into the Sea of Ghosts. I wish I’d known, while I was there on the rooftop with Dardeh and Roggi. I’d have taken the ashes right then. But we were too…”
“Disoriented,” Roggi said. “You can’t blame yourself for that, Bryn. Nobody knew.”
“But we were so close,” Brynjolf murmured. I need to stop thinking about that. Every time I picture running my hand through that pile of ash, realizing it was Edwyn… it was right there and I had it in my hand. And now it’s gone.
It was silent for a time, each of them lost in his or her own thoughts. Everyone wore a somber expression. Roggi, perhaps, looked the saddest, and Brynjolf understood why; if they hadn’t been so concerned with whether or not he was going to survive they might have thought to collect those ashes. It would be his way to somehow blame himself for what, truly, was nobody’s fault.
“Wait a minute,” Frina said, startling him as she rose to her feet and crossed her arms.
Everyone peered at her.
“What is it, Stormblade?” Ulfric said.
“What about Andante?”
What?
Brynjolf felt as though he’d been struck by lightning. He opened his mouth to speak but could barely breathe, much less form a word.
“What are you talking about, Frina?” Dardeh said.
“Am I missing something? Haven’t you always talked about this Andante fellow who was the one who turned Brynjolf in the first place? Didn’t you tell us that’s why you’re so strong, Brynjolf – because he was so strong and he was your sire? Where are his ashes?”
Brynjolf couldn’t speak, still. He looked at each of them in turn: Frina, Ulfric, Dardeh; then Roggi, and his eyes started to sting because of all of them, Roggi best understood what Andante had been in his life; and finally Sayma. He could read nothing in her eyes; and he didn’t know whether he saw desperation, or hope, or hatred reflected in them.
“He’s in our bedroom,” she said quietly. “When Brynjolf and I were in Hammerfell I found a vase that I thought suited him. When we got back home, we transferred his ashes from that ugly jar I had in Dawnstar. It’s on the shelf, in our bedroom.”
And he’s there. It didn’t even cross my mind. He’s there in that vase and he speaks to us – to me – with his heat, from within that vase. That’s all I have left of him.
If we use his ashes to make a potion he’ll be gone forever.
“Brynjolf?” Roggi asked quietly. “Is he really there? Is that where you have kept him?”
He opened his mouth to speak but once more no words would come out. He nodded.
Yes, he’s there. And he was so much stronger than I am. He always was. He held back, all the time, right up until those last few days; but he truly could have ended me without breaking a sweat, if he’d wanted to. Edwyn would never have known what hit him, if he’d fought Vitus.
“Oh he’s there, alright,” Sayma said. “I don’t even know what to say. Would it work?”
“I’m not much of an alchemist,” Frina said, “but I’ve spent a lot of time learning. I don’t know why it wouldn’t work, if that’s the formula and it worked two hundred years ago. But it would need someone really skilled to make it. Brynjolf, you know how to do alchemy, right?”
He closed his eyes, feeling frozen in time, his heart pounding. Yes, I can do alchemy, but only the basics, really. Things a thief would use. That’s the extent of my skill. I don’t think I have it in me to do something that advanced.
“Bryn?” That was Dardeh.
“Yes and no,” he finally managed to force out from between his teeth. “Mostly no. Not alchemy like that.”
“Roggi can,” Ulfric said.
Brynjolf’s eyes flew open. They, like all the rest of the eyes in the room, focused first on Ulfric, then on Roggi, and then back again.
“Ulfric,” Roggi said quietly, shaking his head.
“Roggi, I’ve seen you create some of the vilest poisons I’ve ever seen. Potions that do other things, as well; substances that are so far beyond my simple ‘mix wheat and imp stool’ attempts that they’re – like the difference between my Shouts and the Dragonborn’s.”
“And he’s been practicing,” Dardeh said, nodding slowly. “Every day. Hours and hours every day. It helps settle his mind, he says. I’ve seen things come off that table that I’ve never imagined before.”
Sayma nodded. “Way back when, Roggi, you would be making things when I visited you in Kynesgrove. And you were so excited when you saw all the ingredients growing at Honeyside. I know you have skill. Would you do it, Roggi? Could you try? It might be our only chance.”
Brynjolf clenched his teeth and closed his eyes once more. Don’t do this to him, lass. Don’t make him be the one to shoulder this. It’s too much. Because…
He heard Roggi clear his throat and knew he needed to address this issue with his friend. He opened his eyes and found the blue set he trusted almost more than any other eyes in the world staring at him.
“I don’t know whether I’m good enough to make something this complex,” Roggi said. “I can try. That’s all I can do. But it’s not up to me.” He looked around the room at the others and shrugged. “It’s up to Brynjolf,” he said quietly, looking back at him with an expression that was as full of pain, and sympathy, and understanding – and fear – as Brynjolf had ever seen on another man. “There’s more to this than just a simple potion.”
Oh my friend, yes there is, and you’re probably the only one who knows just how much more there is.
He could still remember how it felt to have Roggi’s arms holding him, comforting him when he’d finally allowed himself to grieve the loss of Dagnell. How Roggi had helped wash him, and feed him, and coax him back to life when he’d thought there was no life left to live. He remembered leaning on this man again when Vitus had given himself up to the sun, taking the joyful portion of himself that had been Andante along with him, and when the world had once more felt like the bleakest possible place to be. He knew exactly why so many people – Ulfric, and Dagnell, and Dardeh, and the woman he’d never known, Briinda – had been drawn to this strong, sensible, kind and loving man and why Frina loved him as fiercely as a brother as he himself did.
He’s given more of himself to me than almost anyone else in the world, and what have I done to deserve it? Nothing. I don’t know whether I can ask anything more of him. Because he knows. He knows how much it will hurt if Vitus is gone and I have nothing left to show for it.
“I’ll try, Bryn,” Roggi said softly. “I will try, for you. But only if that’s what you truly want.”
He nodded again, his throat so constricted that he wasn’t certain he could ever speak. Somehow, though, he managed to whisper to them.
“I have to think. Give me the night. I have to think. I’ll be back in the morning.”
And he turned and fled, out the door into the night.
___
He ran, and ran; down the southern shore of Lake Honrich, up into the mountains and back down again. There were several vampire attacks along the way – weak, feral vampires whom he killed easily, draining them of their blood and their power even while his heart bled, telling him not to do any more killing. Then he turned back, and ran to where he knew Agryn and Vyctyna had made their home. There were coffins there; he could sleep soundly before he had to make a decision. They wouldn’t mind, he was sure.
He fought past a pair of cave bears that had decided the entrance to the old crypt looked like it might make a good home. They hadn’t made much headway on establishing it as a den, and it didn’t take Brynjolf much effort to kill the pair of them and move their carcasses out of the way. What their presence meant, however, was that neither Agryn Gernic nor Vyctyna Tardif were there in the Crypt; and that meant that he could definitely use the place for the night.
It was an intriguing old construction, the entrance of which was a capped-off well opening with a ladder leading down into a crypt. He didn’t know what was in the many coffins lining the walls of this place. Skeletons, likely; and the old tales had it that they were the skeletons of the original Dawnguard, buried here in times gone by, back before the destruction by fire of the original city of Riften. Their resting place had gone undisturbed for a very, very long time.
But at some point in the many years since then, a tunnel had been dug beneath the crypt and a series of caverns hollowed out in the depths below it. The entrance to this tunnel was behind a portion of the stone brick wall that opened with a mechanism activated by one of the unlit wall sconces. Agryn had described the place in minute detail, inviting Brynjolf to use it whenever he needed to do so; and thus Brynjolf was able to make his way through the crypt to the sconce and turn it without more than a moment of thought. He slipped down into the tunnel and pulled the wall-mounted chain that closed the false section of wall behind him.
The cavern would have made him smile had he been in any condition to do so. There was a smithing room, complete with a forge that emitted very little light and was therefore perfect for a vampire’s home. There were shelves, and storage containers, and both an alchemy station and enchanting table. There was also an odd cook pot of some sort that he approached, curious, and discovered that it was used to distill blood from human hearts, meat, and other body parts.
“It’s the perfect home for a vampire,” he muttered, walking listlessly around the place, poking into the corners. There was a stair down, at the far end of the cavern; below he found two thralls caged in the dark, much as the thralls in Castle Volkihar lived there to serve as food for the court. But he had just fed, and was not hungry; so he left the moaning cattle to their own devices and returned to the main cavern.
He spied the small chamber that held both a coffin and a bed. By its scent he could tell that this was where Agryn and Vyctyna spent their time when they were at home, and he grinned in spite of himself. Finally, he found stairs to a dais on which a single upright coffin stood open.
“The master bedroom, eh? Well, in theory I’m the master. And I’m dead tired. I’m sure they won’t mind.” He stepped into the coffin, closed the lid, and was instantly asleep.
“Brynjolf.”
His eyes flew open at the sound, though his head was far too muzzy to identify it. He was in the coffin, however, and it was pitch dark. Even his night vision couldn’t make out a single thing.
“What is it?” he said aloud. Then he realized that no sound had come from him.
Oh. I’m dreaming again.
“Come out of the box, loverboy. I can’t talk to you when you’re sealed away like some kind of vampire.” There was a chuckle, and Brynjolf couldn’t help but smile.
Always was amused by his own cleverness, wasn’t he?
He pushed the lid open and stepped out into the cavern, laughing soundlessly.
“Vitus.”
“Yes, here I am. And we need to talk.” He crossed the room to take a seat in the work area. Brynjolf followed him and dropped, cross-legged onto the floor just in front of him.
“I’m happy to see you again, lad. Even if it is just a dream.”
“I know, my love. It’s good to see you, too. I don’t have much time to talk to you, though; morning is coming and you need to make a decision.”
Brynjolf sighed. He wanted to weep at that fact, in his dream, but no tears would come just as no actual sounds would come.
“I know. And I can’t bear making the choice.”
Vitus smiled at him. “What is so difficult about it, my dear?”
“If we make the potion – it means using you. Your ashes.”
“And?”
“And you’ll be gone.”
Vitus laughed, his eyes sparkling in the way Brynjolf remembered. “You are a foolish, foolish man, Brynjolf of Riften. Both one of the most brilliant people I ever met and one of the densest at the same time. It never ceases to amaze me as long as I live – or don’t live, as the case currently stands.”
Brynjolf’s mind filtered those words sluggishly, if at all. He frowned and stared at Vitus.
“What?”
Vitus reached out to touch Brynjolf’s hand and stopped just before any contact would have been made. “Forgot for a second. Oh well. Look at that hand, Bryn. What do you see on it?”
Brynjolf stared at his hand. “My rings.”
“Yes. And one of them says what on the inside?”
“Loverboy. You made it for me.”
Vitus grinned. “Good job. I’m glad to see your mind still functions. Now tell me, have you not felt me with you, every moment of every day since the day I left? Maybe you weren’t always thinking of me…” He paused and wiggled his eyebrows. “In fact I know for certain of any number of occasions when you weren’t thinking about me at all.”
“Lad!”
“Yes, lad. But I was still there, and you always knew it, didn’t you?”
Brynjolf sighed, in his dream. He knew he was dreaming; and he was unbearably sad that eventually he would have to wake up. But he nodded.
“I guess I did.”
“So the ashes really aren’t all there is of me, and you’ve known that for a long time. Now listen to me, Bryn. You went to Oblivion. You found the bloodgrass. You have the formula. All you need is vampire ashes and you know where you can find some. Prime vampire dust, grade A, guaranteed to please. Tell me you’ve ever met another vampire that was clearly, undisputedly stronger than I was.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then pay attention. Make the potion, Bryn. Cure yourself. Give yourself a normal, beautiful life with the woman who loves you more than anything else and the children who worship the very ground you walk on. Do it for her. Do it for yourself.” He sighed, and smiled. “And do it for me, Bryn.”
“But you’ll be…”
Vitus stood and paced back and forth in the room. “Ok, you’re right about one thing.” He grinned. “As you usually are.”
“What’s that, lad?”
“Once I’m… part of that potion, I probably won’t be able to talk to you anymore. I don’t know exactly how it works but those ashes are how I’m able to communicate with you.”
Brynjolf felt his heart crumbling. “No, lad.”
“Yes, Bryn.” He turned to face Brynjolf once more and, as he had in the Twilight Sepulcher, he had an expression of utter seriousness and genuineness that was wholly unlike his usual face. He stepped close, and raised his hands to rest on Brynjolf’s shoulders. This shouldn’t be happening, Brynjolf thought. This is a dream, and he is a ghost, and he shouldn’t be able to touch me. And yet there they were, standing face to face once more; and even though Brynjolf knew it was a dream he simply gazed into Vitus’ eyes and listened.
“But that is just the point. I will be a part of you, Brynjolf. Really and truly a part of you. Inside of you, outside of you, with you forever. It is all I ever wanted, from the moment I met you. It’s still all I want.”
“Vitus.”
“And you will be happy. And therefore, I will be happy. Please, Bryn. Do this for all of those people who are waiting for you. And do it for me. Roggi will make it right. And then you will make it right.”
“Lad… I…”
“Go back to sleep, Brynjolf. Go back to sleep, and then go do the right thing. I love you. Now and forever.”
Brynjolf found himself back in the coffin, his eyes closed, murmuring “now and forever” as he fell asleep once again.