It had been a pleasant day, following a lovely evening in which they’d once again reconciled their differences in spectacular fashion. Brynjolf had kissed Sayma goodbye and left to take care of business in town, while she had contentedly busied herself in the alchemy gardens and the kitchen. Brynjolf hadn’t been back in the house too terribly long when there was a knock on the door.
“Who is it, I wonder?” Sayma asked, looking at Brynjolf with one eyebrow raised. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, were you?”
He peered out the window, shaking his head. “For once, no. I especially wasn’t expecting this someone.” He took the few paces to open the door. “Come in, lass. This is quite the surprise.”
Sayma gasped as the slight figure stepped across the threshold.
“Babette? What are you doing here?”
The three hundred year old child in black and red swept into the center of the room toward the fireplace, rubbing her hands together before the warmth before turning to stare at the much taller but vastly younger adults. “I’ve come to bring you a warning. There isn’t much time, and I can’t be seen here.”
Sayma nodded, and moved to take a seat. Given the difference in their height, sitting put her more or less at Babette’s eye level.
Brynjolf snorted. “Not being seen really shouldn’t be a problem for you, little sister. But what’s going on?”
“I’m not your sister, Brynjolf. Maybe once, before you got yourself cured. But it’s no time to make jokes,” the little girl said dryly, looking past him to stare at Sayma. “I don’t know how to put it gently. Someone has prayed to the Night Mother, Sayma. They want you dead.”
Sayma wasn’t one to blanch easily but the color drained from her face. She stared at Babette and blinked several times before summoning her voice.
“There’s… a contract out… on me?”
Babette nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“What? What are you saying?” Brynjolf snapped, coming around the furniture to stand next to the diminutive vampire.
“You heard me, Brynjolf,” Babette said, again not meeting his gaze. “Sayma’s in danger from the Dark Brotherhood. A contract directly from the Night Mother.”
Sayma shook her head, clearly confused. “But how do you know this? The Night Mother only speaks to…”
“The Listener, yes,” Babette agreed. “But if someone happened to overhear the Black Sacrament being done, it’s not exactly a secret – especially if it was being done in the Sanctuary itself. And you know she won’t reject a request done via the Sacrament. I’m not sure when the new Listener will get the job from the Night Mother but I’m sure he will, soon.” She sighed. “I know it’s irregular. But we agreed that I should come here as quickly as I could.”
There was a long pause as Sayma stared ahead blankly, then at Babette, then seemingly at the fireplace. “Someone… in the Sanctuary?” She paused, clearly weighing the possibilities as quickly as she could. “It wouldn’t have been Cicero, even though he might seem like the obvious suspect. There’s only one other person who I can even imagine would have reason to want me snuffed out. All the others are dead.” She looked back up at Babette. “Wait. ‘We’ agreed? You and…”
“Cicero, yes,” Babette said. “It wasn’t him doing the Sacrament. He practically worships the ground you walk on because you let him live. I assumed nobody would be any the wiser if he started babbling about hearing a Sacrament because he always sounds crazy. In fact, I think what he told me was: ‘you have to warn the Listener before the Listener listens.’ Followed by a giggle. You know how he is.”
Brynjolf sank onto the largest bench. “This whole thing sounds crazy, lass! Why would anyone want to have Sayma killed?”
“Well…” Babette said, looking helplessly at Sayma.
Sayma looked from Babette to Brynjolf and sighed unhappily. “Because, Red… I violated the Tenets.”
“And the Tenets are what, exactly?” he said, frowning.
“I’m surprised that a guy who can read Daedric doesn’t know,” she said sarcastically, earning an equally-sarcastic snort from her husband. “They’re the rules that govern the Brotherhood. At least they did back before I became Listener, though they’d fallen out of use about the time I showed up.”
“Well that’s why I didn’t know about them. Not that it matters. If they weren’t in use, why should they apply to you?” Brynjolf responded, testily. “And what could you have done to…”
Sayma lifted a finger to cut him off. “First, I let Cicero live after I was ordered to kill him. That’s what Babette was talking about.” She shook her head sadly. “I couldn’t do it. He didn’t deserve it. Or maybe he did, because he attacked other Brothers, but… It didn’t matter. I couldn’t do it.” She glanced at Babette. “You’ve been wonderful about that, but that leaves Nazir. He can’t stand Cicero.”
Brynjolf snorted. “So he had to deal with a bit of a disappointment and for that you should die?”
“It’s not just that,” Sayma spat. “The more important crime I committed was taking you, and Dar, and Roggi into the Sanctuary. For that matter even admitting to you that I was in the Brotherhood at all was a violation!” Her voice dropped. “I hate to put it that way, Bryn, but I was just so happy to see all of you, finally, that I just decided it was pointless to pretend anymore.”
“But there have been other people who we know about who are in the Brotherhood. It’s not like Delvin’s connections are a great secret, at least among us. Why now, lass? Why would this be an issue now if it wasn’t back then?”
“Because she’s not Listener anymore, Brynjolf,” Babette murmured. “And so Nazir wouldn’t be committing violence against a Sister by killing her. Or having her killed.”
“And he would never do what I did, breaking an order,” Sayma muttered. “He would also never harm the leader of the Sanctuary.”
Babette snorted. “I’ve known all of the Listeners for the last three hundred years, Sayma. Astrid was no more than a gang leader. She was good at it, and we all followed her leadership happily, but she wasn’t the Listener. Don’t give Nazir too much credit.”
“He’s not wrong, though, Babette,” Sayma said quietly. “I’m just surprised that he didn’t just let it go. I’m… a little hurt that he takes it so seriously that he would want to have me killed. After all these years. I thought we were friends.”
“Or at least have the guts to come for you himself instead of making the Brotherhood do it,” Brynjolf snarled.
“He didn’t like that you were married,” Babette said matter-of-factly. “He saw that as a liability.”
“Huh,” Brynjolf muttered. “Like Vingalmo.” When the others stared at him he shrugged. “Back when I was – well – Vingalmo was one of the more ancient Volkihar. The last Archmage was also one of them. He married and Vingalmo didn’t like that. Edwyn Wickham – the Archmage – ripped his throat out and burned him to a crisp. I wasn’t there when it happened but it upset the clan enough to decide to take Edwyn out.” He sighed. “I stopped them. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Sayma stared at him and shuddered. “I’ll never get used to that.”
He gave her a half-hearted, one-sided grin. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“All of that’s fine, but you really don’t have time to reminisce,” Babette said in a sour tone. “Someone from the Brotherhood will be after Sayma shortly. I don’t know who, and I don’t know how much lead time I had on whoever is taking the contract. I just ran. Cicero was supposed to try to stall things, but you can’t count on him, really.”
“We’ll hide Sayma in the Cistern,” Brynjolf snorted. “Nobody gets in or out without us knowing.”
“And you think that will help? She can’t hide in there forever, and the Brotherhood isn’t going to give up.” Babette was sounding more and more sarcastic as time passed. “Any more than the Morag Tong would. We all started from the same seed, if you go far enough back.”
There was a long silence. The look on Brynjolf’s face went from irritation to dismay as the truth of what she was saying fully registered.
“By the Eight,” he murmured. “You’re right.”
“It’s bad, Bryn,” Sayma answered quietly. “There aren’t a lot of options. I’m sorry.”
Babette’s head snapped toward the door. “And there’s someone coming. I have to get out of here, right now.” She turned back to Sayma and gave her a tiny smile. “Like I said, I’ve known all the Listeners for three centuries. I will miss you. Please be careful.” With that, she shimmered out of sight and left by the back door.
Brynjolf bolted upright out of his seat with his hand at the hilt of his dagger to glance out the window, and then relaxed. “It’s Coyle,” he said, in a flat tone as though he was in shock. And indeed, from outside the raspy sound of a sea shanty got progressively louder and nearer.
“I have an idea,” Sayma muttered. “But…”
She didn’t have a chance to finish her statement, though, because Coyle came bursting in through the door.
“Saw the lights on and decided I’d just invite myself in. What a time I’ve had out in Haafingar! You were right, boss, there’s something brewing and a lot of weapons and armor are being shipped out from Solitude and Dawnstar. Ran across some old acquaintances and put a couple of them out of business more or less permanently. Oh, and while I was out there I, uh, managed to get myself a ship. She’s an old girl but she still sails just fine. I docked her up in Windhelm, and I really can’t wait to show her… to…”
Coyle slowed to a stop, perhaps realizing that Brynjolf was staring, blankly, paying little to no attention to anything else. Sayma, on the other hand, had been facing into the kitchen with one hand on her chin; she turned to look at Coyle.
“We have a problem, Coyle,” she said, her voice quavering just a bit. “Or I guess I have a problem.”
“We.” Brynjolf’s tone was flat, and almost hopeless.
Coyle looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment. “Is someone going to fill me in?”
“Of course,” Sayma said. “Sit and I’ll tell you all about it.”
For the next quarter hour or so, she related the parts of her history that she hadn’t shared with him before. Occasionally Coyle’s eyebrows would rise, or he would nod as something that had confused him before suddenly made sense. Once or twice he made a small sound that might have been agreement or might have been astonishment. But he said nothing. Not until she was finished.
“Well, that’s really something. But we all have pasts,” he said matter-of-factly. “Gods know I’m not proud of mine, and I’ve never headed up anything like a real organization. But the more important question is what to do about it. You’re not going to be safe sitting here.”
Sayma looked at Brynjolf with a sad expression. “I’m not going to be safe here at all, sitting or not. I have an idea, though. It will at least help. Buy me some time.”
“What’s the idea, lass?” Brynjolf had been silent, looking increasingly morose as she’d told her tale. Now he had a momentary flash of hope cross his face.
She looked at him and sighed. “I hid once in plain sight before, for a couple of years. It took some of the best minds in Skyrim working together to find me and you might not have, even then, if I hadn’t been foolish enough to send Andante to you with a note, Bryn.”
She rose from her chair and Brynjolf followed suit, looking as though his life was over. “You would really do that? But…”
Sayma reached out to caress his face. “It’s the only possibility I have to survive,” she told him. “Let me at least do that much.”
Coyle cleared his throat. “I think I know what you’re intending, and I have to say this. I don’t mean to throw sand on your fire, but just changing something on the surface isn’t going to do it. They know you’re married to Brynjolf, Sayma. It won’t take a mastermind to look for him. Where he is, that’s where you’ll be.”
Brynjolf gave him a crestfallen stare. “What would you suggest then, lad? We need to consider all our options.”
“Well you don’t have many,” Coyle said. “I do have an idea. I don’t think you’ll like it, but – when I came in I was telling you about my ship. The Ocean Saber. I crewed on her for a bunch of years and know her like the back of my hand. She’s big, and it’ll be tricky to sail her at first but I know where we can pick up some crew along the way. Nobody from the Brotherhood knows me and as far as I know only that moron Rolvar – he’s the captain of the Buoyant Barnacle – knows me in Dawnstar. All the others who know this face are…” he grinned. “Let’s just say they’ve been taken care of.”
“What are you suggesting?” Sayma asked.
“I’m suggesting that I could get you out of here by ship, if you both agreed to it,” he said, glancing at Brynjolf. “I know it’s an uncomfortable idea under the circumstances but nobody’s going to be looking for you on the water, at least not for a long time.” He shrugged. “I’ll help however you want, but something needs to happen right away, regardless. It doesn’t take that long to get from Dawnstar to here. I don’t know about you two but I sure can’t take on the Dark Brotherhood.”
Brynjolf gave his wife a sorrowful look. “I can’t either. And I don’t know what else we can do. The Guild is strong, but we’re not everywhere-at-once strong.”
“I’m going to go take care of what I can,” Sayma said. “Let me get a few things. I’ll be back shortly. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
She started toward their bedroom but then turned back to exchange another long look with Brynjolf. He stared at her, opening his mouth and then closing it several times before finally heaving an enormous sigh. “Alright. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. Be safe.” Sayma nodded and left the two men alone in the room.
Brynjolf sank down into the chair nearest where he’d been standing, a blank, unfocused expression on his face. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “How has this happened?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, boss,” Coyle said.
Brynjolf turned toward Coyle and the two men exchanged a long look. “I know,” Brynjolf responded finally, his voice soft. “It’s just so sudden. She just came back, and I thought that…” He stopped, visibly swallowing hard.
“We don’t have to do this, Bryn.” Coyle leaned forward and his voice took on an unusual intensity. “I told you before, I don’t want to do anything to come in between you and Sayma. I wasn’t just saying that to sound like a good guy, because I’m not a good guy. I just got back from putting an end to a bunch of crew – pirates – from way back. I needed to do it, and I took a great deal of pleasure in doing it.” This time it was Coyle’s turn – his voice thickened and he wrung his hands together for a moment. “But you gave me a chance. A new start. A place to live. I can’t turn around and take your wife away from you.” Then he chuckled. “Well, I guess technically I can, if we’re going to get on a boat together and sail off. But you know what I’m trying to say.”
Brynjolf nodded. “I do know.” He reached up and rubbed his eyes and tsk’d. “Damn eyes. I was working for the past couple of hours before I came home and…”
Coyle frowned. “And I’ve told you to be careful with that. It’s not going to get any easier if Sayma and I go sailing off into the sunset, you know.”
Brynjolf nodded. “I know. Shor’s bones. I’m just so confused.” He stared down at the floor and tsk’d. “I should never have agreed in the first place.”
“Agreed to what?”
“To marry her. She asked me. I was too stupid to ask her myself. I was never the right man for her and I knew it.”
It was Coyle’s turn to make a disgusted noise. “Now that’s just bull, and you know it. How long have you two been together? Twenty years or so? And two kids?”
Brynjolf groaned. “And that’s the other thing. What will I tell them?”
“I don’t know, boss. Maybe you should ask Sayma when she gets back.” When Brynjolf snorted, Coyle shook his head. “I’m serious. She loves you and those kids, Bryn. Ask her what she wants them to know. Maybe nothing is the best choice. Who knows? Not me, that’s for sure.”
They sat there for a long while, saying nothing. It was dead silent in the room, except for the occasional pop of an ember in the fireplace. Neither of them seemed uncomfortable, but Coyle glanced at Brynjolf every few moments, as if to make sure that all was well. It might have been only minutes since Sayma had left. It might have been hours. Neither of them spoke, but the unstated issues hung in the air like the fog over Solitude’s harbor.
Finally, Brynjolf raised his head and stared at Coyle long and hard again.
“Listen, lad. I want to tell you something and I want you to really listen to it.”
“Alright. Shoot.”
“I know how much you regret what happened when you were younger. I can hear it in your voice whenever you mention it. I could practically taste it whenever she talked about it, from the first time we ever talked about it. She never really got over you. She’ll tell you she did. She’ll tell you I’m her great love or some such thing and it’s true that…” He stopped for a moment to clear his throat. “We’ve had something special, for a long time. Arguments and interruptions and all. But she never really left you behind. That’s why I got so jealous when I found out who you really were.”
He rose from his chair and stepped closer to the fireplace, staring into its depths. “So I want you to take her out of here, and keep her safe. And if…”
“Boss, don’t. Really, you don’t have to say…” Coyle started to protest, but Brynjolf cut him off.
“I thought you said you would listen.”
“I did. Sorry. Go on.”
“If it happens that the two of you need something more from each other, I will understand. Because I know you love her still. You’re not very good at hiding things.”
Coyle chuckled. “I have always worn my heart on my sleeve, Bryn. But I told you before…”
“You told me that there was a line you wouldn’t cross. And I’m telling you to cross that line if you need to. I want her safe and happy, Coyle. Both things. That’s all I can give her, now.” He swung around to face Coyle again. “I’ll be here to draw attention away from the two of you.” One corner of his mouth rose in a rueful half-smile. “It will be like it was when I was occupying my spare time driving Edwyn Wickham to distraction. I actually enjoyed…”
He stopped as the door opened. There was a woman there, wearing ordinary-looking clothes, tall boots, and a fur cape. Her graying hair looked as though it had been sawed off with a dull knife. She reached up to unfasten the cape and, almost as though it was a habit, briefly ran her hand along the left side of her face.
“Lass!”
“I’m back,” she said quietly, pulling off the cape and stuffing it into a pack that she dropped beside the door. “I think this will at least help. She couldn’t do anything about my voice, but at least nobody from the Brotherhood will recognize me right away.”
As she came around the chairs to stand nearer the fire, Coyle rose to face her. His usual smile dropped away, replaced by an expression of solemn awe.
“Dag. It’s you.”
She looked back at him with an equally solemn gaze and nodded. “Galathil’s close to a miracle worker but there’s only so much even she can do. I just told her to put my face back to the way it was.”
Coyle cleared his throat. “I always wondered what you’d have looked like after all this time. And you’re…” He swallowed hard and then chuckled. “Listen to me, talking like you’re someone different.” He glanced at Brynjolf, who still hadn’t made another sound. “I’ll just, uh, step into the next room. Give you two a moment.”
She turned to Brynjolf, the two of them regarding each other quietly while Coyle left the area. Then Brynjolf spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You cut your hair off.”
She chuckled softly and raised one hand to touch it. “Yeah. It’s pretty shaggy but Sayma Sendu had long hair. Nobody’s going to look twice at an old woman with a bad haircut.”
“To hear you talk you’d think Sayma was dead.”
She looked at him, her eyes welling up. “She is, Red. She has to be. It’s the only way. Dagnell is here now.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe how easy it was. Maybe it’s because the Night Mother severed ties. So did Shadowmere. It’s almost as though she never existed and there’s nothing left but Dagnell. I don’t even know how to describe it.”
“You don’t need to. I know how it goes. Picture having more power than most people, more magic than you could ever normally have, and then it’s just gone. You can remember what it felt like, you can almost taste it, but you just can’t do it anymore, no matter how hard you try. That’s been my life since just after Qara was born.” His expression was both wistful and rueful at the same time.
He stopped himself short. “That’s another thing, lass,” he said quietly. “What are we going to tell the children? Qara’s off doing something and Chip – I think he’s in Falskaar. Neither one of them knows anything about, well, you. It’s going to be a shock when they find out you’re not here anymore.”
“That’s what you’ll need to tell them, love. Sayma just isn’t here anymore. The same thing I told you when Galathil and I created her. Just tell them I’m gone, because that’s the truth of it. What is it you always say? Don’t lie but don’t necessarily reveal all the details?”
He nodded mutely.
“I know they’ll push back. Especially Qara. She’s got so much of me in her, to say nothing of the dragon blood. But don’t give in. They don’t know Sayma was in the Brotherhood and it’s just as well that they never do. Chip might have a vague memory of the Sanctuary but I doubt it; even if he does, it’s easy to tell him he might have been dreaming. It’s true enough. He’ll just accept that and move on.”
Brynjolf nodded again. “Lass, I just can’t… This is so sudden. All of this. And after the night we just had. I thought it was all going back to normal again.”
“I know, Bryn,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s a shock to me as well. I never thought in my wildest imaginings that I’d be doing this. I just never thought. Every bit of this is my fault. If I hadn’t run away from you in the first place, if I hadn’t done the things that made me feel like I had to run away, we wouldn’t be here. But we are, and the best I can do is run away again and hope the Brotherhood realizes that Sayma Sendu really is dead.”
“Sayma,” Brynjolf began.
“Dagnell. It has to be Dag from now on, Red. Otherwise all of us are back in danger again.” She gazed at him, looking from eye to eye, and reached up to caress the cheek that held an even more ragged scar than the one she wore herself. “I love you so much. I hope you know that. After all we’ve been through I never would have thought we’d be apart again.”
Brynjolf didn’t say anything for a long moment, but his eyes turned misty. Finally he pulled her near. “Shor’s beard, lass. You’re still just as beautiful as you were the first time we met.” Then he leaned forward and drew her into a kiss.
A rough cough sounded from the doorway to the next room. “I hate to interrupt,” Coyle said, “but if we’re going to outrun whoever’s coming our way the harder it’ll be the longer we wait.”
Dagnell broke away from Brynjolf and stepped around the fireplace to meet Coyle. “Let’s do it, then, before I change my mind.”
Coyle stared at her. “You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely. It’s the only thing I can do for my family.”
They made their way to the door. Coyle picked up Dagnell’s pack and slung it over one shoulder. She turned to look back at Brynjolf once more and smiled. “Take care, Red.”
“Aye, lass. Be safe.”
The door swung closed.
Coyle stood on the upper deck, busily checking lines, sail, and the wheel.
“So do you think you remember how to steer a boat?”
She laughed, climbing to stand beside him.
“I’m woefully out of practice, but I do remember. I think.” She spread her arms, turning around in a circle. “But look at this! It’s huge, Coyle! How can we maneuver it with just the two of us?”
Coyle grinned. “We’ll be ok once we get her out of this river. That’s going to be the tricky bit. There’s not a lot of room for mistakes in here.” He glanced over the starboard side and tsk’d. “Not a lot of wiggle room at all. But I got her in here and it was just me. We’ll be ok.”
He looked back at Dagnell and once again gave her a soft smile. “You know, I always dreamed that I’d end up on a ship with you. I never thought it would really happen. And in spite of the fact that we’re both old now, and it’s not very good circumstances, well…”
Dag shook her head. “Don’t say it, Coyle. Not right now. Let’s just get out of here and we’ll see what we see after that.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Right. OK, then. I promised Bryn I’d keep you safe, and I can’t do that if we’re sitting here with big red targets on our backs. I need you to go forward and be my spotter, ok?”
She grinned. “Aye, Captain.”
Coyle laughed. “I like the sound of that.”
“Where are we bound?”
Coyle grinned. “Where else? Home.”
Dagnell smiled, and trotted down the steps, making her way forward. This ship was outfitted with an ornately-carved capstan, which they’d already used to haul the anchor. It also happened to be an excellent height for viewing the surroundings. Dagnell hopped up onto it and stood – a bit unsteadily at first, but with increasing steadiness as the moments passed. All of Windhelm’s docks were visible from here, as well as the long and ever-widening ribbon of water that was the White River joining the Sea of Ghosts.
It was there they were bound. Out into the mists. Beyond that? Who could say?
Brynjolf wandered in circles around his house for awhile. He stepped outside and continued his circling in the grounds behind the home. He stood beside the pond, bending once in awhile to pick up a stone and skip it across the water’s surface. He kicked at an unruly-looking mound of dirt and wandered across the grass to the crafting tower.
At the top of the tower, looking around at the growing plants and neatly-arranged flasks, he shook his head. “I don’t think I can promise to keep these alive, lass. I’ll try.”
He plodded back down the stairs and stopped at the armorer’s bench. He lifted the hammer for a moment, tossing it into the air and catching it as it flipped over. Then he shook his head, sighed, and laid the hammer back on the bench.
He returned to the house and plodded into the kitchen, pouring himself some water and downing it. He gazed around, sighed, and put the used flagon back on the counter. Then he made his way to the bedroom, checking the wardrobes and nodding.
“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stay here.”
He walked to the place where Vitus Perdeti’s ashes once rested in an ornate urn atop a short wardrobe, and ran his hand across the spot that had never been filled with anything else since the day those ashes had become a part of him. “I can’t stay here,” he murmured to himself. “I can’t go back to Honeyside. I can’t really move back into the Cistern, not at this point. I guess I could move myself into Mercer’s house but there are ghosts wandering there, too.”
He stopped to look behind him, his gaze first focusing out the window and then drifting down to the bed where he’d slept for so many years.
“I’m not sure where I belong. I’ll figure it out though.”
He turned back toward the wardrobe, standing motionless for several long, silent moments. Then he sighed, looked down at his hand, and slowly twisted the ring he’d worn for twenty years until it came off his finger. He placed it gently on the wardrobe and then stepped back, silently, turning to leave this house behind.
