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The darkness hung around Mailie like a blanket as she stirred. She lay comfortably amongst the gloom as sleep receded and her senses sharpened, not quite resisting consciousness, but certainly not embracing it. Eventually, though, she pried her eyes open and blinked into the darkness.
Outside her window, the city slept. Riften was never truly silent, but in the dead of night it settled into a peaceful quiet. In her still half-asleep state, Mailie listened to the flowing of water, the creaking of old wood, and a soft, gentle singing.
Singing. That was a new one. Mailie pushed back the quilt and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached for the candle sitting on her bedside table and lit it with a pinch of the wick, then paused for a moment to listen. There it was again: a soft, low voice, singing a melody she couldn't quite pick out. So it wasn't her imagination, then.
Mailie stood from the bed and retrieved her robe from the chair she'd left it on the previous evening. With it wrapped securely around her shoulders to protect her from the night's chill, she picked up the candle walked carefully to the door. She opened it slowly, trying to mitigate the risk of creaking, and stepped cautiously into the hallway. Out here, the singing was more clear, and she could begin to make out the words.
"...With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes."
She padded down the hallway, the song growing louder with every step. She stopped in front of a wooden door. With a firm grip on the candle, she eased the door open to reveal the source of the sound.
Inside, a man stood near the center of the room with his back turned to Mailie. He swayed gently back and forth, holding something in his arms as he sang the last lines of the song.
"For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.
You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come..."
Mailie set the candle down on a table and shut the door behind her. "Bryn," she said softly.
Brynjolf looked over his shoulder at her. As his torso twisted, she could just see the tiny sleeping form in his arms. "Did I wake you?"
"No." Mailie walked to him and rested her hand on his shoulder. "'The Dragonborn Comes?' Really?"
"She wouldn't sleep," he said defensively.
"I gathered as much." Mailie looked down into the bundle held in her husband's arms. Blessedly, Phoebe now lay still, her eyes closed and her breaths steady. As so often happened when she looked at her baby daughter, something deep and unknowable churned in Mailie's chest. It was love, she knew that much. But it was a different kind of love, something vast and consuming that brought tears to her eyes if she thought on it too long. She blinked, trying to clear her head. "That doesn't explain the choice of song."
Brynjolf looked at her a little sheepishly. "I want her to know who her mother is."
Mailie frowned. "I think she'll know who I am regardless," she muttered. "It's not exactly a secret." She leaned her head against Brynjolf's shoulder.
He kissed the top of her head. "I know, lass. But I want her to be proud of you. Like I am. Like we all are."
Mailie didn't know how to respond to that. She stayed there for a few moments, watching Phoebe's chest move with every tiny breath. After a minute or so, she gently placed her hand on Brynjolf's arm. "May I?"
Brynjolf nodded. Ever so carefully, he handed Mailie their sleeping baby. Just as she was depositied into her mother's arms, Phoebe stirred. Mailie held her breath, praying to every god she could think of that she wouldn't awake. After a moment, Phoebe stilled and settled, and Mailie breathed a sigh of relief.
Mailie sat in the chair next to Phoebe's cradle. "My darling girl," she whispered, kissing her forehead. As the words left her lips, she felt a familiar pang of guilt as she was reminded that she had two daughters already, sleeping just down the hall. Sofie and Lucia had never given her any reason to believe that they resented the baby, but there was a part of Mailie that always worried. Worried that the older girls felt ignored, or replaced, or worse, that they had once again been abandoned. It was irrational, and Mailie knew it, but she just couldn't shake the guilt.
Brynjolf sat on the bench beside her. His arm rested comfortably on the back of the chair, brushing against Mailie. "You're good at this." His fingers drew patterns on Mailie's shoulder. "Being their mother."
"Am I?" Mailie murmured. She didn't tend to feel like it.
Brynjolf leaned in and kissed her temple. "Aye. You love them. You listen to them. You keep them safe." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "I know you don't like to think of yourself as anyone's hero, Mailes. But that's what a hero does. You protect them. Like you protect the Guild. Like you protect Skyrim."
The cynical part of Mailie's brain wanted to point out the times that she had failed to protect Skyrim. The list was far too long to count. But she knew that wasn't the point. Instead, she looked down at the tiny form held in her arms. Phoebe's face was peaceful, twitching slightly as she breathed. Mailie knew it was too early to tell, but she would have sworn that her daughter had Brynjolf's nose.
"We should let her sleep," Mailie said. "We'll wake her if we keep talking like this." She stood and placed Phoebe gently in her cradle. She stirred slightly when Mailie adjusted her swaddle, but did not wake. Brynjolf ducked down and kissed her head, murmuring something Mailie couldn't quite hear. They both then retreated from the room and carefully shut the door behind them.
They returned to the bedroom and crawled back into bed and under the quilt. Mailie smiled as she felt Brynjolf's arm wrap around her waist and pull her in close. Before long, the heat of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her back began to lull her into slumber. As she slipped once more into sleep, she heard his voice singing softly into her ear.
"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.
You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come."