There were a number of hours during which he was aware of absolutely nothing. He knew that, when he emerged from the coffin, because he could feel the pangs of hunger stirring inside him. It was time to go.
He wandered over to the alchemy station and saw that there were several blood potions stored there. But those belonged to Agryn and Vyctyna, and he knew how much effort went into getting or making them. He didn’t want to simply help himself; and he didn’t know whether he would ever see either of them again to apologize for taking them. So he thought about it for a moment, and paced back and forth for a bit, and then made his way to the false cabinet that opened onto the stairs down.
The thralls were there, swaying back and forth in their cages, confused as usual. He opened one of the cage doors and stepped in behind the man, looking him over and shaking his head.
“You know,” he said as he prepared his calming spell, “I know this is the right thing to do. But by the Eight it’s a shame I enjoy being a vampire so much.”
He cast the spell on the man, who cried out in surprise. “Oh! What was that? I… don’t’ feel any different.”
Brynjolf grinned. “Here goes. One last time.” He pushed the man’s head to the side and sank his fangs through his flesh, drawing out the sweet blood. It was a struggle not to drain the man; he knew he would never do this again and, sadly enough, the act of feeding was one of the things he’d missed when he was human for that time in between. But he took only as much of the man as he needed to; enough that he could tell he would not evaporate in the sun that surely had to have risen high into the day by now; enough that he would not feel any temptation to rip out Ulfric Stormcloak’s throat for abusing Roggi all that time ago. He needed to be calm, and at peace.
As he walked up the stairs and out of the Crypt, casting his illusion spell, he realized that indeed, it was the case that he was at peace. His dream, or vision, of Vitus the night before had been what he needed to make a decision.
We did what we needed to do. Mercer is long gone. Serana has the castle, as she was meant to. Agryn and Vyctyna are free to be themselves, as they were meant to be; and I suspect that they will have many centuries of joy to come doing just that. Edwyn is gone. Vingalmo is gone, too, and that’s a shame; but the crisis is over. Ulfric is High King. The dragons are either dead or easily slain.
It’s time for me to have a life, too.
It’s time for us to have a life.
The sun was, in fact, high in the sky and burning bright and hot as he crossed the fields north from the Crypt to Lake Ilinalta. He peered up at it, thinking that someone he knew altogether too well would have been shooting at it with a cursed arrow. He grinned. He knew where to get the Bow, and those arrows; but there was nothing he could imagine that would convince him to ever bring that blood-red light down on the land ever again. He stopped at the roadway, roughly where he’d run across Agryn and Vyctyna the night he’d burned the bee farm to the ground, and looked out at the sparkling water, grinning at the thought of what Maven’s face must have looked like when she discovered it.
You’re stalling, loverboy.
There was no sound, but he laughed, hearing the voice in his head.
“Yes, I’m stalling. You’re right. I’ll go in now, lad. It’s going to be quite a day.”
He checked carefully to make certain that the guard standing beside the gate was daydreaming just as much as he had been himself. Then he ducked behind the foliage and around the corner, in through the crevice that led to his Riftvale estate.
___
Ulfric Stormcloak watched Brynjolf the Younger – or Brynjolf Brynjolfsson, or “Chip,” depending on how one preferred to address the child – and smiled. The boy was a whirlwind. He never seemed to sleep; he ran his nursemaid Iona practically ragged, as far as Ulfric was able to tell. At the moment he was fairly quiet, diligently rolling the stems of long grasses together, making a sort of crude string. Ulfric thought he knew what the boy was doing, but he watched carefully as the tiny hands worked, the tiny brow furrowed in concentration, and then each end of the string went onto a slender but supple stick he’d found at the edge of the small lake behind Brynjolf’s home.
Next, the child picked up another, shorter stick he’d found. He stood up with a cry of triumph, and then held what was – as Ulfric had suspected – a crude, toddler-sized bow up in front of him.
“What have you got there, son?” he called to Chip.
Son. Soon I will be able to say such a thing and have it be real. I hardly know what to think but my heart swells with love just imagining it. Perhaps I will be able to be the father to Harald that I lost when Hoag passed.
“A bow.” The boy crouched down into a stealthy position and crept toward the house. “Be quiet, Ulfwick. I am a hunter.”
Ulfric burst into laughter at the boy’s serious face, happy that the stems of the “string” could never withstand the stress of a real bow. It was only a stick, but it would still put out an eye if fired well enough; and there was something about this child that said he was, indeed, a hunter who would be worthy of respect some day.
“What are you hunting, lad?” he heard from just behind him, and turned to see Brynjolf emerging from inside the house.
“Bear,” Chip said, sneaking closer to the porch where Ulfric sat. He pronounced it with two syllables – “bay-uwh” – but it was clear what he had meant, and Ulfric laughed again.
“That’s not a bear, Chip, that’s King Ulfric. And you shouldn’t be hunting people.”
“Oh I don’t know, Brynjolf. People have been known to call me the Bear of Markarth, after all, and not necessarily in a flattering way. I think your son is going to grow up to be a great hunter, and I mean that sincerely. I was watching him crafting that bow. He’ll do better once his hands are bigger and he has the correct materials, of course, but he has the knack.”
“Well is that so?” Brynjolf said, scooping Chip up onto his hip. “I’m impressed, lad. But right now you need to go with Karliah and Iona.”
“Why?”
“Because they are going to take you into town for the day. When it’s time for your nap you can sleep over at Honeyside, alright? And if you ask them nicely I’m sure they’ll take you for a swim in the big lake.”
“Yay!” Chip said, his face breaking out into a grin. “But why?”
Brynjolf ruffled his hair. “Because, you nosey little reprobate, the big people have an important thing to do today and we don’t want little people around to be in harm’s way. Besides, you’d be bored. OK?”
“Ok, Da,” Chip said, his face falling.
The boy is clearly aware that weighty matters are afoot and he’s not to be a part of them. I wonder if my son will be so clever.
He rose from the steps and entered Brynjolf’s home. It occurred to him that it was in fact a gift, that he was able to come here and be just a man – without a steward bowing and scraping at every moment, without Galmar hovering and growling about matters of supply, and defense, and all the other things he did so well but which were, in the end, a burden. Here he was just a man, among friends.
As soon as he entered the living area, though, it became obvious that one of his friends – in fact, possibly his dearest friend aside from Galmar – was in a fair amount of distress. Dardeh, Frina, Roggi and Sayma had been clustered together, clearly in the midst of a serious discussion; and when they saw him the conversation stopped. Dardeh looked at him; and that was all Ulfric needed to know that things were not well with Roggi.
I’m not sure what I should do, here, aside from hold my tongue for once.
Brynjolf came in from the opposite doorway. “Alright, I’ve sent Chip off with Karliah and Iona.”
“So, Brynjolf,” Dardeh said, as the others filtered back into the room. “Have you decided?”
Brynjolf nodded, solemnly. He moved to face Sayma and took her hands. Ulfric saw her flinch a bit, and decided that Brynjolf’s cold hands probably were shocking to the touch; but in spite of that she looked up at him with an open expression.
“Bryn?”
He nodded. “Yes. I want this. I made a mistake. Sayma, will you still have me? Even though I did this stupid thing?”
She gazed up at him and, with a small smile, said “of course I will.”
Ulfric found Frina in the room and smiled at her; and she smiled back at him with the same expression of unshakable faith that she always extended to him. It humbled him, every time he thought of it. It humbled him even more than the crown he’d been given to wear.
“Then I’m ready,” Brynjolf said, turning to Roggi. “I’ll get the ashes. I have all the confidence in the world in you, lad. Let’s do this thing.”
It was then that it became obvious that there really was something wrong with Roggi. Ulfric knew every nuance of the man’s movements, and his body language at that moment held a message of fear. Self-loathing, lack of confidence, perhaps; but mostly fear.
Roggi was afraid to make the potion. Ulfric didn’t know whether he should speak, or not.
“What is it?” he said, finally, as quietly as he could.
A part of him wanted to go to Roggi, to touch him, to reassure him. And he was annoyed with himself that such impulses still remained in him after so very many years.
He is not mine. He never was mine.
Frina is mine. She is my love. She is my future. Roggi … is my friend, and that is all.
And still, it breaks me to see him struggle with himself so.
“I don’t know whether I can do it,” Roggi said, shaking his head. “It’s been too long since I’ve tried to make anything this powerful. I’m afraid I will muck it up and then where will we be? We have only one chance to get this right.”
“Of course you can do it, Roggi,” Ulfric said quietly. “I’ve seen you do things that were far more difficult.”
Roggi turned his head to glance at Ulfric and gave him a wry smile. “It’s true that I have made some pretty startling potions, and I have been practicing recently. But you know that I’m right. Complex, yes. Far more difficult? No. This is going to be the hardest concoction I’ve ever tried to put together and if I fail… This is Vitus we’re talking about. Everything that’s left of him. If I fail, he’s completely gone and, truly,” his voice thickened with emotion, “I can’t be responsible for that. I would never be able to forgive myself. And if I fail, Bryn will be a vampire forever. And if that happens, you may as well find a vessel for me as well.”
“Roggi,” Brynjolf said quietly. “I will be a vampire forever if you don’t try. If it fails, we’ll be in no different a spot than we already are.”
“But Brynjolf.”
“And you know that Vitus wanted me to be human. That was the last wish he ever made. I should have honored that wish to begin with. I should never have done this. Trust me; he would want you to make this potion.”
A dark form moved across the room; quiet, solid, and to Ulfric’s sensibilities thrumming with power. He pulled Roggi up to his feet, laying his wide, brown hands on Roggi’s shoulders and running them down his arms. He leaned forward and placed his mouth next to Roggi’s ear; and while Ulfric could not hear what was being said he felt the force just behind the words, the energy aching to escape from the bounds of mere human language. Roggi sighed.
“I can’t do it, Dar. I’m afraid I’m going to fail. I’m… afraid.” He was barely speaking in a whisper, but Ulfric knew every subtle tone of that whisper and heard the anguished words as clearly as if they’d been shouted aloud. Roggi’s gaze drooped toward the floor.
“Roggi,” Dardeh said quietly.
The hair on Ulfric’s neck began to rise. Just that one word, just the man’s name, had enough power in it to raise a glowing glyph from the floor if the man’s name had been a word spoken by the Greybeards. Roggi looked up at Dardeh again.
Dardeh leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly across Roggi’s, without the slightest bit of self-consciousness in being surrounded by his odd, extended family. When he broke their contact he spoke quietly. Quietly, yes; but the sound was overlaid with layers upon layers of immense tones that gave Dardeh’s already deep voice a completely different quality, hollow and yet seemingly infinite.
“Zu’u hin dii ahmul.”
The room shuddered. Ulfric swallowed hard.
By the gods. I should not be witness to this declaration. I, of all men, am not worthy to be here.
“Hi rel dii sil.”
Frina’s eyes grew round as the walls shook, and she grabbed Ulfric’s arm. He looked at her and patted her hand. Nothing horrible was going to happen. He knew the meaning of those words and wanted to share them with her. Yet he knew he would never have the power to form this beautiful phrase himself.
“Dahmaan un hahnu.”
A book that had been resting at the very edge of a side table slipped to the floor; and the sound of it striking the floor caused Frina to flinch. But Roggi and Dardeh stood gazing at each other as if nobody else in the world existed.
Ulfric sighed, a deep, soul-wrenching sigh that seemed to finally, finally release all of the unresolved feelings he had left in his heart for Roggi.
It is finally finished. This is as it should be.
The dust settled, and Frina leaned toward him and whispered in his ear. “What was that, Ulfric? What happened?”
Ulfric smiled.
“Though I understand them, I cannot speak the words myself. I have only a glimmer of the power the Dragonborn possesses. But what he has just said is this.” He closed his eyes and spoke what he had heard, and a part of his heart lamented at the flatness, the mediocrity of his own utterances in comparison to Dardeh’s.
“I am yours, my husband. You rule my heart. Remember our dream.”
He opened his eyes and smiled at Frina. Then he looked at Roggi and Dardeh, who continued gazing at each other as though the world could end then and there, and nothing else would matter.
“Is that what I said, Ulfric?” Dardeh asked quietly, without looking at him. “I hadn’t realized I was speaking Tamrielic.”
“No, Dragonborn. You said it far more eloquently than that, but that is the barest meaning of the Dovahzul words you just uttered. I…” He caught Roggi’s gaze for just a moment, and knew that Roggi had somehow understood Dardeh without his translation. He smiled. “I cannot recreate them myself. I am humbled by their beauty.”
“You truly are the Dragonborn, Dardeh,” Roggi said. “And I thank you. I will remember our dream.” He leaned forward and kissed Dardeh again. Then he straightened, and pushed back his shoulders in a determined stance and grinned at Brynjolf.
“I remember their dream, too. So let me see if I can help it survive.”
Brynjolf nodded and pushed open the doorway to his and Sayma’s bedroom, disappearing inside.
Frina smiled up at Ulfric. “The power of it. He sounded like a dragon roaring.”
“Yes. He has the Voice of one with a dragon’s soul.”
“But basically, what all of those words meant was ‘Dardeh loves Roggi.’”
And believes in him, and trusts him, in spite of all the damage I did to him so many years ago. And he confessed that Roggi has a power much greater than he knew – the power to rule the Dragonborn. Remarkable.
“Yes.”
“Let’s get going,” Roggi said, as Brynjolf emerged from their bedroom holding the ornate vase that held Vitus’ ashes and handed it to Dardeh.
Sayma nodded. “The alchemy table is outside. It’s in a space of its own, which is good when you have curious little hands roaming around the place.” She turned to Frina and said “I hate to ask, but would you be willing to watch the baby for a little bit?”
Ulfric saw Frina’s face light up. She opened her mouth to agree; but Brynjolf interrupted her.
“No need. I’ll stay here.” He sank into a chair and chuckled. “But if you want to keep an eye on me, lass, that might be a good thing. I’m finding that my legs don’t quite want to hold me up at the moment.”
Frina giggled. Then she left Ulfric’s side and moved to give Roggi a hug. “Talos be with you, big brother. I know you’ll be fine.”
Roggi smiled at Ulfric. Ulfric nodded at him, but said nothing. At that moment, for possibly the first time ever, he didn’t trust the voice that had served him so well all his life.
__
Brynjolf sat staring at the embers in the fireplace. It was hard to simply wait while Roggi worked, with Sayma and Dardeh watching over him. He’d been shaken by the force of Dardeh’s voice. He didn’t know what the man had said – at least until Ulfric had rendered his rough translation – but it hadn’t mattered. What he had heard, loud and clear, was the fierce conviction in Dardeh’s voice, his utterly unshakable belief in Roggi, and the faith that this endeavor was not going to fail.
But his legs had still given out from under him.
He’d gone into the room he and Sayma shared to pick up the vase that held Vitus. And he had hesitated. It was still the last remnants of the man who, he had long since needed to admit, had changed his life completely and forever. He closed his eyes and laid his hands on either side of the vessel, and he’d felt it warm beneath his touch.
This being showed me things about myself that I’d never realized before, both good and bad. He showered me with the most unwavering, pure love I’ve ever had anyone offer. He gave everything he was to me, without hesitation – except for his name; and finally he gave me that as well. And now I’m going to give over the last physical part of him for my own benefit.
Yes.
He heard the sound in his mind as clearly as if it had come from someone standing next to him. Strangely, it was more than one voice he heard; it was clearly Vitus’ sarcastic Imperial voice, but it also held the more lilting, playful tones he remembered from Dynjyl, from so many years before. And over all of these sounds he heard something wider, vaster, and perhaps female.
Nocturnal?
There was no answer; but as usual he didn’t expect one. He felt the warmth building in the vase he held, and nodded, picking it up to carry out to Dardeh, who would take it with them to the tower in their yard where they kept alchemy ingredients and supplies.
And then he’d sat.
Ulfric sat quietly beside him. Frina was in the bedroom, humming a lullaby to Qaralana, and both of them smiled at the sound of it.
“Frina will make a good mother.”
“Yes,” Ulfric said.
“And a good queen.”
“Yes. She already does. She anchors me; and I cannot think of a more important thing for a king to have at his disposal than a good anchor.”
“True. And you will make a good king, Ulfric. I think that… hmm, how to put it.” He paused for a moment. “There may be ways in which we can help each other in the years to come. My businesses stand to make a great deal of money. I expect some part of that to make its way to the crown’s treasury, even if it’s done quietly.”
The older man smirked. “And you will continue to run your business ventures with the discretion and honor that you have shown thus far, Brynjolf. I do know who you are. That has probably been obvious. But I also recognize the vital role your organization plays in the affairs of Skyrim. We will never admit it, of course.”
“Of course. You would be a fool if you did.”
“And I am many things; however, a fool is not one of those.”
“I know.” Brynjolf chuckled. “Damn the waiting. I don’t mind telling you that I’m afraid.”
Ulfric looked at him thoughtfully for a few minutes, green eyes gazing into the illusion of green eyes. And then he smiled.
“And you are also one of the bravest men I’ve known. It takes a great deal of fortitude to give up the power you are about to relinquish.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Brynjolf said. “And if you ever tell anyone I called you that, I’ll deny it.”
Ulfric was in the midst of one of his hearty belly laughs when Roggi, Dardeh, and Sayma came back in from outside. Roggi had a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and looked pale. Dardeh kept giving him surreptitious glances, clearly worried but not wanting to nag. Sayma looked as though she was going to be ill.
“Are you alright, lass?” he asked her, concerned.
“Yes, I’m fine, Red. But I’m worried.”
“So am I,” Roggi said. “I made it well. That much I’m sure of. But we really don’t know what’s going to happen when you drink it, Bryn. I don’t know anything at all about bloodgrass aside from what you were told, and I didn’t sample any of it.”
Brynjolf took the flask from Roggi. It was a large flask – not surprisingly, really, given the volume of materials that had gone into its concoction. He felt it warming in his hand, and nodded.
“Well, there’s one way to find out.” Before he could hesitate, before anyone could stop him; before they could all talk their way out of it somehow – he unstoppered the flask and downed the potion.
For a moment, nothing at all happened aside from an unfortunate gurgling in his now-overfull stomach. Then it seemed as though the sounds around him began to be distorted. It was the same sort of sensation he had when he consumed skooma, except auditory rather than visual. He shook his head.
“Are you ok, Red?” he heard Sayma say; but it was as if he was hearing her from under the surface of a lake; muffled and distorted.
He heard Frina say something from the door of the bedroom, but he couldn’t make out what it was that she was saying.
Things around the periphery of his vision began to blur. Ah, so it is like skooma after all, he thought as his eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to laugh, and tell them the great revelation that he’d just made, but he couldn’t seem to make the sound happen. He thought he heard Roggi exclaiming, but he had no idea what had just been said.
And the world went black.
___
Sayma was on the porch, rocking the baby, and regretting the entirety of the time that had passed since she had agreed to accompany J’hall and his carriage of materials across Skyrim. It had been one tragic mistake after another, ever since that moment.
“I should have stayed in High Rock,” she muttered. “I could have helped raise those twins. I’ll bet they’re causing havoc everywhere they go by now. They must be, what, four years old? Five?” She shook her head and stared out at the yard. “I would never have gotten hit over the head. I’d have never wandered into Kynesgrove and met Roggi.” She found her voice thickening. “I’d have never met Brynjolf.”
“And you’d have never met me, either, Sis,” a deep voice rumbled from the doorway. “So don’t go second guessing your own life so much. Those twins were something else, weren’t they? You should have seen me trying to hold them. I had no idea what I was doing. Easy on that cradle, by the way. You’re going to make the poor kid seasick.” Dardeh came out and sat down beside Sayma, putting one arm around her and giving her a quick squeeze. “I can’t blame you, though. This has been the longest three days I can ever remember.”
It had helped, having Frina there. She and Frina actually had a great deal in common, in spite of her being a good deal older than the new Queen. They’d swapped pregnancy stories, and she’d given Frina some tips on what to expect when the labor started; and when she and Ulfric had left, as they needed to do a day after Brynjolf fell into his sleep, the two of them had embraced like sisters. Then it had been just Iona and the men. Roggi was beside himself, at first, thinking that he had somehow killed Brynjolf; and then he sat silently by Brynjolf’s bedside, watching, just in case there was some change. Even Dardeh hadn’t been able to budge him except for a few hours at night, when Sayma had tried to get some sleep herself.
But it had been difficult to sleep, with the unresponsive man in the bed beside her. She would have known immediately if something had changed, and yet sleep eluded her anyway. And now it had been three full days, and her mind was starting to find new and ever more cruel ways to torture her, somehow convincing her that the entirety of this was her fault, somehow.
She tried to muster a smile, but that wasn’t exactly what happened with her face. She wasn’t sure what she must look like. She did, however, peer over the side of the cradle to check that Qaralana was still alright. She was; she was fast asleep, her light tan cheeks ruddy with the energy a baby always put into the business of growing.
“She’s going to be too big for this cradle pretty soon,” Sayma said, her heart constricting as she remembered the sound of Brynjolf banging through the doorway to surprise her with it. “I’m glad we have a house with so many beds.”
Something about that thought was just too much. She put her head down in her hands and started sobbing.
I kill people for a living and never shed a tear but one man lingering between life and death has the power to break me. What is wrong with me?
Dardeh slid an arm around her once more. “Sayma. It’s ok. This is just the worst thing. I felt the same way when Roggi was hurt and I didn’t know whether he’d make it. But try to hold on. Chip needs you, and so does Qara.”
She sniffled, and nodded; and for a moment she wrapped her arms around Dardeh’s wide chest and laid her head on his shoulder. He was huge, and solid, and she could feel his power even when he wasn’t using it. Dragonborn, indeed. And some day we will have to talk about the baby and her dragon. But today isn’t that day.
“Thank you, Dar,” she said. “I’m really grateful that you and Roggi are here. I don’t know what I’d do, otherwise.”
“I don’t know what to do, either,” came an oddly-constricted but familiar Nord voice from the doorway. She turned to see Roggi standing there, frowning, and her heart started to pound in panic.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know where you keep any of the food, Sayma, and there’s someone who’s complaining about being really, really hungry. Maybe you can talk to him.”
Sayma’s mouth fell open and her heart felt as though it stopped beating for a moment. Then she gasped.
“He’s… Roggi, Bryn is awake?”
Roggi started laughing and nodded. “Yeah, he’s pretty disoriented still, but he’s…”
“Watch the baby, Dar!” she shrieked as she ran past Roggi, through the living area, and into the bedroom.
Brynjolf was sitting up in the bed, running both his hands through his hair and making a face as he smacked his lips. “Shor’s beard, my mouth feels like I drank a barrel of goat piss. And I’m really hungry. How long have I been out?”
She threw herself onto the bed and wrapped herself around him, unable to keep herself from sobbing. “You’re awake. Thank the gods you’re awake.”
A moment went by before the familiar chuckle she’d learned to love from her first job with the Thieves Guild sounded over her head, and his two very warm hands took her by her shoulders and pushed her back. His eyes were green, and clear, and twinkling with amusement.
“Aye, I’m awake. And I can tell that the potion worked, but by the Eight! Not only do I taste like a goat, I smell like one, too. Whew. Go toss me in the lake, lass. I’m ripe.”
She laughed at him. “Three days, Bryn. You were out for three days.”
He nodded. “Makes sense. Three days in, three days out. I’m sorry if I worried you. It was quite an experience.” He looked around at the room and sighed when his gaze rested on the spot where there used to be an ornate vase. “Well, he told me it was what I needed to do and I guess he was right. I hope so, anyway. You’re stuck with me now, lass, like it or not. And,” he said, patting his chest and stomach as if to make certain they were still there, “I think we’re stuck with him too.”
“Vitus told you that?” She didn’t know whether he was serious, or imagining things. She didn’t care. He was sitting in front of her, talking calmly, looking human; and that was the best thing she could imagine right then.
He nodded. “Yeah. He did. I had a dream of him, the night before Roggi made the potion. Almost a visitation. He convinced me that I needed to do this because you needed me to be with you. I hope he was right?” he repeated quietly, reaching up to push a chunk of hair out of her face.
Sayma nodded. “Of course he was.” She hesitated for just a moment and then decided that she had to say something, needed to clear the air before they could move forward. “Bryn, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d been able to just accept you the way you were. I guess I found the limits of my courage.” She frowned. “But I’ll always be grateful to Vitus. Always. He and I love you most of all, you know. And I don’t mind that.”
Brynjolf touched her face, and she leaned into the warmth of his palm. “I know,” he said quietly.
They sat there for a moment, not speaking. Then his stomach rumbled, so loudly that they both stared at it for a moment and started laughing.
“Ok, ok,” she said, thanking all of the gods she could think of that she was able to say this again. “So what do you want to eat?”
“Bread and cheese, to start out with,” he said without a moment of hesitation. “And ask Roggi if he’ll come help me out to the lake. I’m a wee bit wobbly and I really do need a bath.”
She left, calling for Roggi to help Brynjolf, and laughed at Dardeh’s loud protestations that he had no idea what to do with a baby. She stood in the kitchen slicing cheese and bread, and meats, and pouring tankards of ale that everyone deserved in spite of how high in the sky the sun still was. She mentally thanked Iona and Karliah for caring for Chip while she’d fallen apart, and Frina and Ulfric for helping Roggi do what had needed to be done.
And she sighed happily, knowing as she had the day she had emerged from the Twilight Sepulcher that she was alive; the forest and the birds were alive; her family and friends were alive – but most of all, so was Brynjolf.
And life would continue.
To be continued in To Kindle Fire with Snow