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Sif really liked the Bow of Shadows. Everyone else really liked that she’d thwarted an assassin but she really liked the Bow. Magic simmered low in her blood, sometimes out of reach, and anything that made it easier to disappear, even for a short time, was incredibly valuable. Until someone could make a potion of invisibility that didn’t taste like skeever droppings, she was not leaving home without it.So, for now, she was practising in the yard at Jorrvaskr, trying to remember what it was like to primarily shoot with a bow, rather than a crossbow, and Aela was frustrated.“I can’t tell you if your form is right if you keep vanishing every time you pick up that bow!” she growled. “Can’t you just use one of our practice bows?”Sif cackled and let fly an arrow that hit close to bullseye.“Not good enough!” barked Aela. “If you’re to come hunting with me–”Sif felt a thrill because it seemed that Aela was finally forgiving her for turning down the Gift. Sif did not think she would have made a very good werewolf. She struggled enough with the power of dragons; it wouldn’t be wise to introduce another, more feral power.“Aela,” she said, carefully. She set her bow to the side so that Aela could see her. “I am sorry for running. I am sorry for disappointing you.”Aela looked startled and she shook her head. “You didn’t– I–” Aela huffed. It seemed that Sif might be forgiven but Aela was not ready for deep and meaningful conversations. “I never thought that someone would turn down the Gift but I am sure you have your reasons.”“I do,” said Sif fervently. “I don’t think I’m strong enough. I think– I think I would have lost myself to it.”Aela had a complicated expression on her face and Sif thought that maybe there was sadness there, of a more profound nature than either she or Aela would care to confront. “We would have guided you, new blood,” she said. “We would have kept you safe.”Sif offered a weak smile. “Well, as long as I am still a Companion.”“You are,” came a voice from across the yard. Skjor strode towards them and Sif fought the urge to cringe away. “Even if the company you’ve kept in your absence has been … questionable … Shield-sister.”Sif put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side. “The vampire-hunters or the thieves?” she asked.Skjor barked a laugh. “Neither are to my taste. The Dawnguard are just another type of zealot and there is no honour in stealing.”“Mama!” Fortunately, Lucia chose this time to come running across the yard, followed at a more sedate pace by Farkas. She flung her arms around Sif’s waist and Sif ruffled her hair.“You’re good to give the whelp a home,” said Skjor, with something that seemed awfully close to approval.“Well, it’s the least I can do,” said Sif. “I have the means and Lucia’s endured so much.”“She’s missed you,” said Skjor, and, oh, the approval was all gone now. His tone softens, then. “We all have. It’s good to have you back, even for a while.”“I will have to leave again,” said Sif. “There’s so much– there are so many things happening out there. It’s not that I want to be a part of them but I’m not sure how much of a choice I’m going to have.”It was the closest she’d ever come to acknowledging being the Dragonborn in front of the Companions, although they all knew, in the same way that everyone in Whiterun must have known. No one ever spoke openly about it, as though it was a slightly embarrassing secret, but Sif knew that the people of this city were proud that, in some way, she was theirs.And, although the thought never occurred to her, somewhere inside, Sif also knew that the people of this city would not let trouble darken her doorstep if they could help it.
—
It had been years since Brynjolf had set foot in Whiterun. He wasn’t sure if there was still a bounty on his head, or even if he’d be recognised. He decided to take the safe route and hire a carriage. He wore his finest clothes, so that he could pass himself off as a minor noble or a travelling merchant.He wasn’t sure of the wisdom of this plan. He was second in command at the Guild and it made no sense that he had to chase across Skyrim after a wee slip of a thing, over a simple misunderstanding. He didn’t entirely understand why Mercer hadn’t just summoned Sif back to Riften like any other guild member but he was only too aware that Mercer often knew a lot more than he let on.The carriage pulled up at Whiterun stables just as dusk was threatening on the horizon.“Anything you can tell me about the place?” he asked the carriage driver, offering him a few extra septims for the trouble.“Well, it’s the home of the Companions,” said the driver, carefully counting the septims into his coin purse. “I’d try not to get between the Gray-Manes and the Battle-Borns, if you can possibly help it. Family feud, nasty thing. Bannered Mare is a good place to start if you want to find out more.”Three septims for three reasonably useful pieces of information. Brynjolf had spent his coin on far less useful matters in the past. With a nod of thanks, he made his way up the wide, winding avenue to the gates of Whiterun.The guards made no attempt to shake him down, despite his finery, and he supposed he wasn’t in Riften anymore.It made sense to go straight to the Bannered Mare and get himself situated for the evening. Sif was fairly noticeable, even as a Nord in a city of Nords, so he might even get some information on her whereabouts over dinner and a pint.The wide path towards the Bannered Mare was busy, full of the bustle of traders returning home from a day making an honest living which was, of course, entirely their right. Brynjolf kept his eyes open for Sif but the street was crowded. There were Nord women, and Nord warriors, but none had quite the right shade of hair, or the right shade of skin. Sif’s skin was golden; for all she joked about spending most of her time in tombs, her complexion spoke of someone who spent a lot of time in the sunshine.Brynjolf gritted his teeth. He wasn’t here to imagine Sif; he was here to find her.He walked past the closing market stalls and up the steps to the Bannered Mare.“Brynjolf?” A shocked voice sounded out from behind him and he turned around to see Ysolda.He smiled widely.“Well, isn’t this a turn-up for the books?” he said, taking in Ysolda’s frozen form. Her eyes were wide, darting around. “Have you had a chance to think a little more about the message you sent back to the Guild?” He took a step closer. “Mercer hasn’t delivered the contract to the Dark Brotherhood, in case you’re worried about that.”Ysolda blew out a breath. “Please, you have to understand.”“Yes,” agreed Brynjolf. “Come on. We’re old friends, you and I. How about we talk about this over a drink?”She looked less than enthusiastic at the prospect but she took Brynjolf’s offered arm, nevertheless, and they went into the Bannered Mare.“Come on, Ysolda,” Brynjolf said. “We used to be friends, you and I.”“More than friends,” said Ysolda. She took a long, long swallow of her mead and then made no attempt to hide her assessing gaze. “You got old, Bryn.”“And yet you, lass, have barely aged a day.” Brynjolf sipped his ale more slowly. “Probably more than we can say for your poor customers, eh?” He leaned back, relaxing a little, knowing that Ysolda wouldn’t try anything stupid in her own hometown. “Skooma really takes its toll on a body.” The corner of Brynjolf’s mouth lifted up a bit. “But you were always too smart to try the merchandise, weren’t you?”“Brynjolf,” said Ysolda. “I’m a respectable businesswoman now. I run Belethor’s General Goods, across the square.”“Ah, yes,” said Brynjolf. “I heard about his unfortunate demise. In broad daylight, too.” He looked around the tavern. There was an enthusiastic bard at the far side, whose vocal stylings honestly made Brynjolf’s miss Maramal’s sermons in the Bee and Barb. “But the thing is, Ysolda, you still owe the Guild a fair amount of coin, for all the, ah, help we gave you in setting up your less reputable endeavours.”“Honestly, fuck you, Brynjolf,” said Ysolda, her eyes flaring with annoyance. There was the passion that had drawn Brynjolf to her, once upon a time. It might have drawn him to her again, if he didn’t know that beneath the passion was so much poison.A Redguard woman came over to their table. “Are you folks wanting food?”“Oh, thanks, Saadia,” said Ysolda. “Given that my friend, Brynjolf, here is paying, I'm going to go all out.”Saadia’s lips pursed; she looked briefly thoughtful. “Do I know you? I’m sure I’ve heard your name before.” She shook her head. “Maybe not. Anyway, what can I get you both?”“I’ll have the market special,” said Ysolda. “With all the trimmings.”“I’ll have the same,” said Brynjolf. “Seeing as it’s recommended. Oh, and while I’m here.” He smiled at Saadia, whose answering smile was really rather beautiful. “I’m looking for a friend. I’ve been told she lives in Whiterun.”“Well, it’s a big city, but maybe we can point you in the right direction,” said Saadia, pleasantly.“Wonderful, lass,” said Brynjolf. “Her name is Sif Torbensen. She’s a Nord.”Saadia’s smile vanished. “Don’t know anyone by that name around here.” She looked down at Ysolda. “Do we?”Ysolda had a smirk on her face, and she folded her arms. “Name doesn’t ring a bell, no.”After Saadia left their table, Brynolf levelled Ysolda with a glare. “You know where she is, don’t you?”Ysolda shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Brynjolf. Maybe a few more of these–” She raised her mead. “– will jog my memory.” Her smile curled into something cruelly amused. “I’ve got lots of time and I reckon you’ll be in town a while. Maybe we can jog a few more memories, hm?”
Brynjolf did not want distractions this evening. The further away from Riften he was, the less stable the ground felt beneath him. He could at least enjoy the food and drink, he supposed, if not the company.
–
Lydia took Lucia up to Dragonsreach, so she could attend lessons with the Jarl’s children. Sif didn’t think a lot of the little hellions, although she greatly admired their father, and Dragonsreach was probably one of the safest places for Lucia to be, especially with Lydia nearby.Sif made her way downstairs in Jorrvaskr. It was long past time for her to speak with the Harbinger.“There you are, my girl,” said Kodlak. “Take a seat.”If it felt as though he was expecting her, it was probably because he was. He never seemed surprised by any of her actions. It was comforting, in a way. It reminded her a little of her father and that thought brought a lump to her throat that she quickly swallowed down.“I– I’m sorry that I haven’t been by.”“You’ve been busy,” said Kodlak, making excuses for her. She shook her head because she didn’t need his understanding today.“I’ve been preoccupied,” she said, which all the concession she was willing to make for herself.“Vilkas told me that you passed up the opportunity to become one of the Circle.”Sif started. She hadn’t realised that Aela and Skjor would have told the twins, who had not acted any differently around her. “I hope he’s not upset,” she said.“He’s impressed,” said Kodlak. “So am I. To give up the opportunity for such power.”Sif had to think for a moment, about how to proceed. “I am not good at magic. I know,” she said, before Kodlak could interrupt. “I know that the– the gift isn’t magic in the way– I know it’s not like Winterhold and mages. But it’s still a power that feels far beyond me and beyond my control.” She swallowed thickly. “You know that I am Dovahkiin–”“Dragonborn,” said Kodlak, with a start of surprise. “I knew the Dragonborn walked among us, even here in Whiterun. I did not think–”“No one does,” said Sif. “I just. I don’t want to make excuses but it is enough to deal with the, ah, favour of Akatosh, without inviting Hircine’s gifts into the fray.”Kodlak huffed out a laugh. “I quite understand, my girl.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I hope you understand that you are still one of ours. You are a Companion, and trusted among the Circle, even if they do not necessarily understand the choices you make.”Sif got the distinct feeling he wasn’t just talking about her refusal to be a werewolf. She shifted a little in her seat, wondering what he would think about her dalliance with the Dawnguard and her flirtation with the Thieves’ Guild.“Come on, my girl. Help an old man upstairs and we’ll see what passes for training among the Companions these days. If I don’t show my face at least once a week, who knows what they’ll be up to.”Kodlak needed no help at all, but Sif took his arm nonetheless and they made their way up and out to the training yard. Sif took a seat on the porch and let herself enjoy the view of Farkas and Vilkas sparring, swords clashing hard enough that it seemed that the ground shook with it. When they finally declared Vilkas the winner, through some complicated set of rules that no one other than Skjor could seem to follow, Farkas stomped up the steps and threw himself down on the chair opposite Sif.“You’ll get him next time,” said Sif, pushing a goblet of water across the table towards him.“I know,” said Farkas, truculence in every line of his body. He gulped down the water and Sif refilled his goblet. “Oh, before I forget. Some Nord was sniffing around earlier, looking for you.”“Some Nord?” Sif grinned. “That doesn’t hugely narrow it down.”“Njada sent him on his way.” Farkas twisted in his seat to shout across the yard. “Njada! What did that Nord want with Sif?”Njada sheathed her sword. “He didn’t say,” she said, walking over and helping herself to some water.“She didn’t give him the opportunity,” said Ria, sunny as ever. “He tried to turn on the charm.”“Ah,” said Sif. She looked at Njada, and wrinkled her nose. “I guess you, uh, showed him your own charm.”“Told him to piss off,” said Njada, looking feral and pleased. “And if he didn’t, he’d have nothing to piss with.”Even Farkas looked stunned.“Yes,” said Ria, sublimely unbothered by her fellow Companion’s bloodthirstiness. “She said if she ever saw his red hair near Jorrvaskr again, he’d get a haircut.” Ria paused. “As in, she’s decapitate–”“Thank you, Ria,” said Sif, feeling suddenly a little cool, despite the relative warmth of the afternoon sunshine. There were plenty of red-headed Nords in Skyrim. It was probably a coincidence. It had been a few weeks since she’d sent word back to Maven about the successful completion of the Honningbrew job and she knew she’d have heard a lot sooner if there was dissatisfaction on Maven’s side. It also seemed unlikely, if the Thieves’ Guild wanted her back in Skyrim, that they’d send Brynjolf to retrieve her. She settled back in her seat and tried to put it out of her mind.By the time Lucia arrived, Sif was ready to go home. Her attempts not to think about Brynjolf were largely unsuccessful and, despite Vilkas’ prodding, she was in no mood to train today.“Were you good for Farengar?” Sif asked.“Yes, mama,” said Lucia, her eyes darting towards Lydia.“Was Lucia good for Farengar?” Sif asked.“Yes, my Thane. Whether she was good for Hrongar is, of course, a different question with a different answer.”“Oh my,” said Sif. She sighed heavily. “You didn’t try to correct his sword forms, did you, baby?”Lydia looked down, cheeks flaming red, and Vilkas guffawed. “That’s our little pup!”Lucia took Sif’s outstretched hand and they said goodbye to the Companions.“Are you mad, mama?” asked Lucia.“Oh, no,” said Sif. “I just think we’ll need to find someone to teach you a little more about court etiquette, that’s all.”When they reached Breezehome, Adrianne raised a hand in greeting.“Sif,” she called out. “Just to let you know, there was someone looking for you earlier. Didn’t seem to know where you lived, so I certainly didn’t tell him.”Sif’s heart sank. “Let me guess. Nord, red hair, charming?”Adrianne tilted her head to the side. “I guess if you’re into that sort of thing. Sounds like him, though. You’re not in any trouble, are you?”“Nothing I can’t handle,” said Sif. “But if there is a problem, I’ll shout.”“Be sure that you do,” said Adrianne. “And then I’ll tip Ulfberth out of bed and he can help.”Sif laughed and unlocked the door of Breezehome, ushering Lydia and Lucia in ahead of her.
–The lockpick clicked, just so, and Brynjolf let himself into the homely house on the main street, that he must have walked past a dozen times without knowing that this was where Sif lived.She was sitting beside the fire and didn’t look even slightly surprised to see him.“Well, lass, you’ve led me on a merry chase.”“What are you doing here, Brynjolf?” demanded Sif. “You’re in my home.”“Seems only fair, when I invited you into my home.”“Mama?”Brynjolf started as the little girl he had seen earlier came out of a downstairs room.“Come on now, little one, back to bed.” Sif got up to usher the child back to bed.“Who’s that?” asked the girl.“Someone Mama met on her travels,” said Sif. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll let him know it’s rude to visit after bedtime.” She disappeared into the room, leaving Brynjolf alone with a heavily armoured Nord woman, who decided that it was time to take out her sword and start cleaning it.“My Thane,” said Lydia, when Sif emerged. “This man says he knows you.”“To my eternal shame,” said Sif. “Lydia, would you mind sleeping in Lucia’s room tonight?”“As you command, my Thane.”After Lydia had left the room, Sif finally sat down opposite Brynjolf.“You don’t look old enough to be that girl’s mother,” he observed.“I adopted her months ago,” said Sif, folding her arms. “She was wandering around Whiterun and no one was looking after her.”“There are orphanages,” started Brynholf.“What? Like that hellhole in Riften?” asked Sif. “Are you suggesting I should have surrendered her to the loving care of Grelod the Kind?”“Grelod the Kind is dead now, lass,” said Brynjolf, slowly. “The Dark Brotherhood got her.”Sif didn’t relax even slightly but, eventually, she sighed. “Look. I had come into some money, and some property, and there are kind people in Whiterun. Why not adopt an orphan if I can provide for her? Lydia cares for her while I’m gone.”“Lydia, your–”“Housecarl, yes,” said Sif.“Lass,” said Brynjolf, and he was honestly bewildered. “What ever brought you to Riften if you have all this here?” The people of Whiterun were clearly very protective of her, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t understand the impulse.Sif’s face grew solemn. She laced her fingers together on her lap. “Things happened. I had to leave.” She huffed a laugh. “Until Maven sent me here, I wasn’t sure I’d even be welcomed back.”“Well, we–,” Brynjolf stopped himself, and leaned forward. “I miss you, in Riften.”Sif arched an eyebrow and she looked as though she were thinking about smiling. “Really?” She leaned back, almost away from Brynjolf, except she stretched her legs out in front of her, giving all the appearance of relaxing. “You never gave any impression that you cared if I was there or not.”Brynjolf wouldn’t fool himself into thinking he knew Sif well, but he knew her enough to know that she was almost always on her guard, even here, even in her own home, and he felt a twinge of guilt for that. He lets his gaze linger on her, though, on all the long lovely length of her legs, somehow even more golden than he’d remembered. She rested her interlaced hands over her bare abdomen, below the laces of her leather vest. Her hair shone a bright bronze in the firelight and she was watching him steadily.“Why are you here, Brynjolf?”“Ah, lass,” he sighed. The truth, then. “I’m here because Mercer has a job.”“For me?”“For us. Tell me, lass. Have you ever been to Solitude?”