Over the decades since he’d left Falskaar, Brynjolf had imagined what he would say to his father if they ever met again. He’d constructed long, accusatory shouting matches with him, and had fantasized sending one of his own solid fists into the man’s nose. He’d long since assumed that the old man was dead, but Brunulvr looked fit and well.
He was there, within the reach of Brynjolf’s arm, glaring in disapproval. This was the opportunity to bash the old man’s nose in, to maybe give him a taste of the confusion and fear a small child had felt. But all he could manage was the man’s name.
“Brunulvr,” he said.
There was a snort from the corner of the room. Brynjolf couldn’t see who was there, but a woman’s voice followed the snort.
“I know your name is Brunulvr, you old fool. Did you need to remind yourself?”
The old man harrumphed again. He answered her, but didn’t take his eyes off Brynjolf.
“Dinnae be foolish, Misty mah lass. Ah ken mah name.” He smirked at Brynjolf. “Ye’r as guid as th’ laddie told us. Ye sound juist lik’ me.”
Brynjolf smirked back. His ability to mimic his father had never failed, no matter how many years had passed. From the time he’d first attained his adult voice he’d used Brunulvr’s name – and the old man’s voice – to masquerade, to deflect attention away from the Guild. He’d heard that voice railing against him for his entire life.
“Tis bin a lang time, Brunulvr,” he responded.
Qara chuckled. But from the corner behind Brunulvr there was a gasp, followed by a chair crashing to the floor. Brunulvr glanced backwards and then moved out of the way.
A slender woman with an elegant fall of white hair stepped forward, her gaze first going to Qaralana and then coming to rest on Brynjolf. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew up to her mouth.
“Brynny? Is it really you?”
Brynjolf suddenly found himself awash in a sea of emotions. He remembered those eyes. He remembered a beautiful woman with flame-red hair, not icy pale – but it had been a lifetime, after all. She was still beautiful, and he could never forget that voice.
“Ma,” he murmured.
“Oh!” she gasped, jerking back as though she’d been burned. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “It is you. It is really you! Chip really does look just like you.” She paused, swallowing hard. “If we hadn’t met him I wouldn’t have known what to expect. You’re all… all grown up.”
Qara laughed. “Yes, Grandmama. He’s got two grown children.”
Gulmist smiled at Qaralana and chuckled. “I know, dear. It’s just…”
She turned back to face Brynjolf and looked him over again. “The last time I saw him,” she said, speaking to Qara still, “he was so small, not more than seven. You look so different, Brynny.”
“Juist a wee laddie,” Brunulvr muttered.
Brynjolf’s gaze snapped to Brunulvr, and he couldn’t help a sneer of disgust. But then Gulmist captured his attention again. She approached him, her hand rising toward his face. It was his turn to jerk backward, startled.
“Oh my poor Brynny. You’ve been hurt,” she said sorrowfully.
“What?” he asked, wondering what she was talking about before it dawned on him that she was looking at the scar that had marred his cheek for forty years. He felt himself flushing in embarrassment.
By the Eight! I can’t tell anyone in this room how I got this scar. I was hurt, that’s for certain, but it hurt a lot less than what happened to me here.
“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s not like that. I, uh, got this in an argument. A very long time ago. I’m not hurt. The scar is there to remind me of some things.”
That’s the truth, even without the embellishments. In fact I’m a lot less hurt than I was when Dynny and I prompted that fight. A lot less hurt, thanks to Vitus.
He smiled slightly remembering the moment he’d seen both Dynjyl’s and Vitus’ spirits off to their final resting place. There had been so many sacrifices made to accomplish that, among a lot of people. Including Sayma.
He couldn’t help heaving a sigh, remembering how much he had lost.
“So your body’s not hurt but your heart aches,” Gulmist said, nodding. “And those must be the things you want to be reminded of.”
He was stunned. That was probably the neatest explanation for his muddled state of mind that he’d ever heard.
“Aye,” he said, very quietly.
“You’re pretty smart, Grandmama,” Qara said. “He’s a stubborn old man and he won’t admit it, but you’re right.”
“A’m sure yer ma’s heart hurts worse,” Brunulvr growled from in front of the fire. “Goin awa wi’oot a word ‘n’ ne’er letting her ken ye were alive. A’ thae years. Whit kind o’ a son does that?”
Brynjolf turned back to Brunulvr and snarled, flinging his heavy brogue back into the old man’s face.
“Whit kind o’ a son does that? A son wha’s faither broke his nose!” he shouted. “A son wha’s faither called him a thief! A son wha wasn’t welcome in his ain da’s hoose!”
It was dead quiet for a moment.
“Daddy,” Qara said quietly. “You are a thief.”
Brunulvr snorted derisively.
“A son wha’s faither didnae want him,” Brynjolf added.
“You know that’s not true, Brynny,” Gulmist said sharply. “He’s right, I mourned for years and years, but I always trusted that you were still alive because I didn’t feel your death. And then when I met Qara, here, and young Chip…”
Brynjolf frowned, and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry I never sent word. I just…”
I just what? I ran away. I never wanted to see that man again, and I was afraid he’d track me down if I let you know I was alive. And then I was busy learning how to make what I’m good at work for me.
“I got involved with life. Making a living. Rising up through the ranks.” He smirked. “Getting into trouble and out of it again. Falskaar seemed like some kind of dream, after awhile.”
“Sae yer a thief efter a’,” Brunulvr growled.
It was just too much. He turned and gave the older man an icy stare.
“Best damn thief you’ll ever meet,” he snarled in his own voice. “I’ve given a lot of people a good life, and as for the others, well, they deserved what they got. I have friends in high places, and they’ve benefitted, too. You’re in no position to judge, auld man.”
Qara hissed. “Daddy!”
A low, threatening growl came from Brunulvr’s throat as he glared back at Brynjolf. “An’ whit aboot yer guidwife? Ah dinnae see her ‘ere wi’ ye. Did ye even fash tae marry her? Ah dinnae see a bridle ring on yer hand.”
Brynjolf felt anger consuming him, hot as the lava that had surrounded him in Oblivion, colder than the ice on the frozen lake in the Vale, and sharper than the Daedric katana at his hip. A silent but nearly overpowering roar rose from deep inside, telling him to use everything he had within. And he answered with his mind, his power fueled by fifty years of festering resentments and anger.
Brunulvr’s eyes opened wide. Then his hands flew up to his throat, and he started making choking noises. Gulmist turned to him with her face in a masque of horror.
“What is it? What’s happening?”
Brynjolf snarled again, silently. How does it feel to be afraid, Brunulvr? Do you understand now? Can you see what it’s like to be powerless?
He watched the old man’s face turn red, the eyes growing increasingly alarmed. He’d done nothing but plant the powerful, overwhelming urge to strangle himself deep in Brunulvr’s mind.
This is what it feels like to have no control over the situation, to have someone stronger than you threatening your existence. It’s terrifying. You’d do anything to get away, wouldn’t you? And I’m not laying a single finger on you.
“Daddy! STOP IT! Stop it OR I WILL!”
Qara stomped her foot as she shouted. It wasn’t the smack of her foot on the floor that took him out of himself, out of his rage. It was the power behind her words – power that set the whole house vibrating with it. He glanced back at the still-struggling Brunulvr and grimaced.
Stop it.
Brunulvr gasped for a deep breath and then dropped to his knees and coughed for a good long while. Gulmist hovered over him as his throat and his breathing returned to normal. Brynjolf shook his head.
“That was ridiculous! The two of you are absolutely ridiculous!” Qara shouted. “There’s no reason to be at each others’ throats! And don’t think I don’t know what you were doing, Daddy,” she added, glaring at him.
He felt himself flushing again. “What would you know about that?”
“It’s not exactly a secret, Daddy,” she said, crossing her arms. “Besides, don’t you think I talk to Karliah once in awhile? It’s kind of tough finding approachable women around the Guild. Vex isn’t exactly the motherly type.” She looked Brunulvr over and nodded. “You’re ok, Granddaddy?”
Brunulvr cleared his throat and nodded. “Aye, lassie,” he said. “Ah see all o’ us hae some things tae discuss.”
“Starting with an apology, Daddy,” Qara said, frowning at Brynjolf in a way that he knew meant no arguments would be brooked at all.
He drew his hand down his face and blew out a deep breath. “You’re right. I forget how easy it is to misuse that.” He glanced at his father and nodded curtly. “I should know better. I had it used on me, once, and I’ll never forget it. It was one of the worst moments of my life. I’m… sorry. But don’t ever talk like that about my wife again. Nobody gets to do that. Are we clear?”
Brunulvr nodded. To Brynjolf’s surprise, he looked more thoughtful than angry.
If not for being a Nightingale I’d have been after his neck with my own hands. So why is it that he’s so calm? What is he thinking?
“Here,” Gulmist said, righting the chair she’d knocked over and bringing it around before the fire. “Everyone sit down. I’m sure your father is sorry for making you feel unwelcome, isn’t he, Brunulvr?” The glare she gave her husband wasn’t accompanied by the same sort of power Qara’s words carried, but it was clear that the white-haired man would comply or wish he’d done so.
He frowned, looking at Brynjolf before dusting himself off and finding a seat. “Aye. A’m curious though ‘n’ kin ye blame me? She bore ye twa braw bairns.”
Brynjolf sighed. He couldn’t pretend she didn’t exist, after all. It wasn’t as though he’d had the children himself. He took one of the other seats, groaning as he lowered himself into it.
“Aye. She did. I recruited her for my organization, and I guess things just drew us together. We were married. Right there in the temple in Riften, with one of the High King’s closest advisors watching, even. It was about… oh, twenty years ago or so. A little longer.”
“The High King’s advisor? That’s the ‘friends in high places’ you spoke of?” Gulmist asked.
“One of them, aye. He’s a good man. But as to her, she’s gone now. Recently. I took my ring off. It’s on a table in our old house.”
Qara snorted. “He won’t tell me anything more than that. ‘She’s gone.’ I know my Mama isn’t dead, the same way you knew Daddy was still alive.”
Gulmist nodded. “The heart always knows.”
Brynjolf felt a sharp pang cut through his chest. Yes. The heart always knows. That’s why it hurts.
“We had … an unusual relationship. Good, most of the time, but uneasy. That’s why speaking of her gets to me.” He felt the weight of Qara’s questions hanging in the air when he said ‘uneasy,’ but he refused to look at her.
“Now then, Brynny,” Gulmist said in that tone of voice that allowed for no argument at all. “That’s one thing, but you have a lot of years to fill us in on. And I’m certain you’ll want to tell us all about how you did whatever you just did with your father.”
He groaned internally. Between his mother and his daughter there was no way to get out of this. But after all, he prided himself on being able to spin a tale if he needed to, so…
Brunulvr sniffed, cleared his throat. “Gang easy oan th’ laddie, Misty. Tis clear that at least th’ temper hasn’t skipped generations. Let him clear his heid afore ye mak’ demands.”
Brynjolf stared at the old man in surprise. I just tried to make him kill himself and he’s telling Ma to give me space?
Brunulvr gave Brynjolf a long look before nodding. Brynjolf felt all remnants of the fiery anger he’d felt drain away, and he drew a deep breath and blew it out, thinking hard. Perhaps he should give Brunulvr space as well, and time to clear his head, before demanding apologies for things done so many decades before.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s see. I ran to the docks, stowed away on the first ship out to Skyrim, and landed in Windhelm.”
He stopped talking. The longer the pause lasted, the more uncomfortable things became, until finally Qara snorted.
“Daddy. You can’t just stop with that. How did you, oh I don’t know – how did you decide to go to Riften?”
Well I wasn’t about to give them my entire life story, but in that case…
“Here’s what happened. I was hungry. I went into the marketplace, hungry, and I saw all this food laid out. I decided I was taking their cheese. I managed to get a bounty on my head right away.”
“Daddy!”
“Well I did! And I almost got pinched, too; but I was a better runner than thief, at that point.” He chuckled. “I never have found out whether that damn cheese bounty is still on my head. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always been careful not to use my own name when I travel. I headed south just as fast as I could run, just to get out of Eastmarch. I ended up in Riften. That’s where I met Karliah – and Gallus, the Guildmaster at the time. They took me in to the Thieves Guild and started training me up.”
“What kind of place is that for a child?” Gulmist tsk’d.
“Oh, no. It wasn’t like that. It was that or an orphanage called Honorhall. Trust me, I was better off. Besides – and I don’t even know how to explain this – they gave me a chance to do what I’m really good at.”
“Taking other people’s money?”
He sighed. They might be welcoming enough now, but it was beyond frustrating that they would never quite be able to understand how important it had been to him. All he’d really wanted as a youngster was for them to accept him for what he was. It was his natural talent to manipulate others: to see what they were, where their weaknesses lay, and how they could be taken advantage of.
“Sometimes. I wasn’t nearly so good a pickpocket as a few of my friends. But mostly my strength was helping them … invest their money in other peoples’ pocketbooks, let’s say. Persuasion. That’s what I did best.”
“Sae basically ye were a thief,” Brunulvr said.
Brynjolf wanted to be angry again, but the way his father had neatly summed up reality put a wry grin on his face. “Aye,” he agreed. “And in more recent years I’ve had a business on the side. Made us all a lot of money.”
Once again Qara tsk’d. “It’s not like it’s the worst thing in the world, Granddaddy,” she said primly. “After all, technically I’m a member of the Guild too, I guess.”
Brynjolf nodded. “Aye. And good at it, too, lass.”
“Well, it’s not what I want in the long run.” She turned back to her grandfather. “But how do you think I’d have managed to get us to where we could take down Yngvarr if I hadn’t known how pick a pocket, how to move quietly and strike without warning? There’s only one of me and there were a lot of them,” Qara said, sounding a great deal like someone putting the argument to rest for good.
“Hmmm,” Brunulvr grunted. “Ah see yer point, lassie.”
“So what about this… thing you just did to your father, Brynny?” Gulmist said, giving him a pointed stare.
“Well, about that…”
It seemed like forever to him, answering their questions about how he’d spent the last fifty years. They didn’t approve, of course, particularly when he mentioned Nocturnal – but there wasn’t any point in being distressed about it. They didn’t feel like parents to him so much as a reasonably interesting old couple, like anyone else he might have met, and he owed them nothing more than basic courtesy. As time went on he felt himself relaxing. At least his mind was relaxing, in spite of the almost painfully twitchy unease building in his body. His mother brought them all drinks, and laid out some bread, cheese, and apples; he nibbled while Qara told them what she’d done since last they’d seen her.
Maybe the inquisition’s over, finally.
But just as he had that thought, Gulmist turned to him again.
“I’ll bet you had your share of girlfriends, handsome as you are.”
He tried not to cringe visibly. That was a topic he’d hoped they could avoid, and he really didn’t know how to address it. He had, of course; but none of the flings had lasted. Only Dynjyl had held his interest, and only Dynjyl had been interested in him until Dag came along. He’d once told Andante that it mattered more to him who the person was than what sort of body they were in. He was also absolutely certain his mother didn’t want to hear that. He needed to phrase things carefully.
“Aye, there were a few,” he said slowly. “I had one very close friend, who died when I was about twenty. After that I was more interested in rising in the Guild than anything else.” He saw Gulmist’s eyebrows rising and knew she was about to ask about the close friend, and moved quickly to cut off that line of inquiry. “Then about twenty years ago I met Qara’s mother, and…”
“And it was love at first sight?” his mother interrupted.
That was the most perfect thing she could have asked. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, no, it wasn’t like that. At first we hated each other.”
“Really, Daddy?” Qara asked.
“Aye. I wasn’t used to having a new recruit give me sass, and she wasn’t used to being a new recruit.”
Brunulvr grunted. “’An’ ye grew oan each ither, aye? Ah ken how that is.”
“Behave, you cranky old bear,” Gulmist said, swatting at him with a towel. They smiled at each other in the way that said yes, they had grown on each other, over a very long time, and nothing could tear them apart.
It made Brynjolf’s heart ache.
“Aye,” he said softly. “That’s how it was. And now she’s gone.” As if to punctuate the sorrow of that statement, his body chose that moment to send a jolt of pain through him. He fought to keep his expression as neutral as possible.
Damn. Again?
He was just considering how he might justify stepping out into the night air for a moment when Gulmist cleared her throat. “Brunulvr.”
He harrumphed. “Aye, Misty?”
“Don’t you need to say something to your son?”
Brynjolf tsk’d, and spoke before his father needed to. “Ma. I’m an old man. I’ve never been much of a son. You don’t have to put it like that.”
Brunulvr snorted. “Aye she does, son. Ah hae some things tae tell ye. Ah owe ye that much. Bit ah ainlie want tae tell it once. Gang git young Chip ‘n’ then we’ll talk.” He looked directly at Brynjolf and sighed. “Tis important he be ‘ere too. Then ye’ll ken.” His gaze shifted to Qara. “Aye?”
“Yes. We’ll go right now.”
“Alright,” Brynjolf said, slowly. The entirety of this was strange. There was far more going on than he was aware of. “But isn’t it a tad late to be heading out, lass? Where do you think Chip is?”
Qara grinned at him. “I know where he’ll be, most likely. When I left to come collect you he was heading for Pinevale.”
Brynjolf felt a shock of recognition rush through his body. “Pinevale? Is that what you said?”
Brunulvr nodded. “Aye, laddie. He wanted tae help rebuild th’ steid. Some others gaed tae help him. Aboot time someone git th’ steid in order.”
“I tried to get him to stay here,” Gulmist said, shaking her head, “but he’s as stubborn as his grandfather. He got the idea into his head and that was all there was to it. At least he agreed to check in with us once in awhile. He does seem to enjoy doing things at night.”
Pinevale. That’s where the fire was.
He rose and stretched, realizing too late that it was a bad idea and trying not to wince too obviously. His body was complaining, again.
“Now, then,” Gulmist said in a tone that would receive no argument. “It’s too late for you two to be traveling to the other side of Falskaar. I’m going to make up some bedrolls downstairs and you can both get some sleep before you leave.”
As if to underscore the wisdom of her words, and almost on cue, Qara yawned widely and then laughed. “Yeah. I guess that’s a good idea.”
Brynjolf grimaced. He’d been hoping they would get going, out into the dark, where he could step aside in the shadows and do something about his pain. Instead, he bowed to the inevitable and lay down on the bedroll his mother prepared for him, marveling at the strangeness of his situation and wondering whether it would even be possible for him to sleep with the anxious, twitchy discomfort building up in his body.
The next thing he was aware of was the sound of feet trudging back and forth across the floor overhead. He sat up, blinking.
I guess I was tired.
Even here beneath ground level he could see that it was full daylight. In fact, by the time they had eaten the meal Gulmist insisted they eat and solemnly promised to be careful on the road, it was well into the afternoon. Brynjolf wanted to laugh off his mother’s worry as an old woman suddenly having the chance to mother again, but Brunulvr reinforced the message. There were remnants of Yngvarr’s followers in groups here and there, he said. They hadn’t been able to get rid of everyone.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can, Granddaddy,” Qara said, stepping across the room to give her grandmother a quick hug. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything bad happen to Daddy. Besides, he helped me take care of a bandit hideout on the way here. He’s a pretty good fighter.”
Brynjolf snorted. The damnable part of that is that she has the power to back it up. I wouldn’t wager on anyone who might come up against us.
They hadn’t gotten too far out of town when he turned to Qara. “How is it that you know your way to Pinevale, lass? It’s been so long since I’ve heard that name that I was beginning to think it was just my imagination.”
“We were trying to help out a young Bosmer here,” she said, grinning. “He was adopted and didn’t know who his parents really were. Turned out they were from Pinevale, but we had to carve our way through a bunch of bandits to find out. Chip was really interested in the place.”
He nodded. It was like Chip to be interested in someplace away from the crowds.
“How far is it?” He wouldn’t have been able to find his way there to save his life. As dim as the memories of Amber Creek had been, there were almost none from Pinevale.
“It’s the other fork from where we went to get rid of Jarrik. Kind of a long way north, I’m afraid, tucked in under the mountains.”
“Alright then. We’d best get going.”
“OK,” she said. “If you need a break along the way just let me know.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I’m not that old, lass.”
“No, but you aren’t feeling well. I’ve watched you. You hurt.” She peered at him, almost daring him to deny it.
“Don’t worry about it, Qara. You can run forever, just like your ma. I might have to slow down a little here and there but I like running. I’ll be fine.”
She stared at him for a moment longer and tsk’d. “Alright. Let’s go.”
He waited until she was well ahead of him before reaching into a pocket to palm one of the small bottles and then drain it. Almost immediately, the pains he’d been feeling subsided, and he relaxed. He grinned and started dashing down the road after his daughter. He might not quite have her stamina, but at that moment he didn’t care.
It was almost full dark when they reached the intersection just past Borvald. He stopped to examine the signpost. There had been arrows pointing north before, toward the crossroad east to Staalgarde or the harbor and the turnoff to Mammoth Keep. There was a new arrow here now, and it read “Pinevale.”
“Chip’s been here, I see,” Qara said. “That was almost buried in the grass when we first headed this way.”
“It doesn’t even seem real,” Brynjolf murmured.
They turned north, moving briskly into the deepening dark. He could hear the rustling of ground fowl and small animals, as well as deer and elk snapping small branches as they moved through the forest. Then, from the deepest of the shadows, he heard two great growls. One was clearly a bear. The other – he wasn’t sure whether it was a bear, a troll, a wolf, or something else. He drew his weapons and started walking toward the side of the road.
Qara called out. “Wait, Daddy. Don’t.”
“It’s some animal, lass. We need to be prepared for…”
“Daddy.” Her voice was sharp, and once again vibrated with power. “It might be Chip, out hunting. Don’t leave the road. You don’t want to attack him by mistake.”
He turned and stared at her. Surely he could tell his own firstborn apart from a beast. He was about to raise a protest when he saw the look in her eyes.
Well. There’s no arguing with that, I see. I’ve seen what Shouts can do and I’m not going to stand in the way of one if I don’t have to.
“Alright. How close are we?”
“Close. It’s just up the road.”
He peered into the darkness and saw that she was right. There were a few faint flickers of light ahead, as well as what looked like a campfire on a hillside off to their right. They passed the campfire and continued along the roadway. A few moments later Brynjolf stopped dead in the middle of the road.
He stared in awe as the memory of fleeing this place came back to him. Like now, it had been night. Yes, but a night lit by towering flames consuming the town, all against a terrifying wall of sound: crackling, raging flames, shouting, his mother scooping him up in her arms and running, running away from the chaos while a great beast roared somewhere behind them.
I don’t remember Brunulvr being here but he must have been. No wonder flames bother me so much. I was remembering this without remembering it.
But now it seemed that the buildings were repaired. There was a nicely-carved town sign hanging from a wooden post, swaying in the gentle breeze, its hardware squeaking quietly. There was a guard patrolling the street. It was safe.
“Daddy?”
He blinked. He’d been so far away in his mind that he hadn’t even noticed Qara. “Yes, lass?”
“Are we going to go find Chip? The guard said he likes to stay up on the hillside. That must be his fire we saw.”
“Aye, let’s go.” He looked around once more. Chip, and whoever worked with him, had done a fine job rebuilding the place.
“Are you ok?”
He nodded. “Aye. I didn’t think I remembered anything about this place except the name. But I just recalled some bits from the night we left. I’m surprised. I was so small the night it burned.”
They turned and made their way down the road and off to the side, climbing up the slope toward a dirt embankment. As they neared it, Brynjolf saw a neatly set-up campsite, with a tent, barrels, a tanning rack and a wood chopping block. There was a pheasant hanging on the tent pole, ready for plucking. A metal cook pot hugged the edge of a briskly crackling campfire. And sitting on the fire ring’s opposite side, staring into the fire, was a heavily bearded man with shaggy hair.
Brynjolf approached the man, frowning. He seemed familiar and yet that shouldn’t be possible.
“Maybe he can tell us where to find Chip,” he heard Qara murmuring behind him.
He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle the man who had clearly been lost in thought. The man didn’t look at them, but he did clamber to his feet. Brynjolf had just enough time to take note of the man’s powerful build, his torso-baring armor revealing nearly as much hair on his body as there was on his head and face. He turned to face Brynjolf.
“Hello, Da,” he said.