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silvanils · 1 year

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A Reason to Stay

A prompt fill from @blossom-adventures over at @nirnwrote!

I had so much fun with this one! For story-context, this would be after Eira becomes Thane of the Rift but before her ill-fated mission with Mercer... So Niruin’s smitten, but has not quite realized he’s in love just yet!

Rating: T+ (language, mature themes, off-screen sex - no explicit smut!)

Word Count: ~850

You can also read it on Ao3 here!

“Look at all this space, Niruin!” Eira says, gesturing around the kitchen. “There’s room down below for me to put up some displays of my favorite, uh… acquisitions. What do you think?”

Niruin’s not sure why she’s asking, or even why she invited him over for dinner when they’re just friends with a few extra side-benefits, right? They’ve always kept their meet-ups fairly brief.

But she’s staring up at him, now, with her too-pretty eyes — and damn it all, she always leaves him feeling foolish and tongue-tied. He’s been staring too long. “It’s a beautiful house, Eira. Much nicer than my tiny apartment, anyway.”

She flashes one of her knowing grins at him, then, and reaches out to tug him closer by the lapels of his coat. “Just wait until you see the bedroom,” she teases. “And the heated bath! It’s absolutely decadent.”

“Perhaps we should have eaten out,” Niruin sighs, later, poking at his half-burnt dish. “Not that I doubt your cooking abilities, of course, but…”

“I blame you,” she huffs, her cheeks all dark and ruddy. “This recipe is supposed to be foolproof, but you showed up in those snazzy clothes and distracted me!!”

Niruin can’t help but laugh at how stupidly adorable she looks when she’s embarrassed. No one’s perfect, I guess. “Oh? Well, I had to look my best! You live in the nice part of town, now! I can’t strut down these streets looking like a… a… you know!”

“...A thief and scoundrel?” Eira offers, raising an eyebrow. “That’s fair. Honestly, I’m surprised you clean up so well — where did you find that coat?”

Niruin tugs on the end of his sleeve. It’s one of his nicer possessions, a wine-red coat lined with fur. He hasn’t worn it in years. “Valenwood,” he finally says. “It was a gift, and… one of the few things I kept from my old life.”

It feels like a lifetime ago, now: his father’s verdict, all the frantic farewells, the hasty packing… and his older sister showing up, teary-eyed, this coat folded up in her arms. ‘Don’t forget this, you dumbass. It gets cold where you’re going.’

He’d only found the note she had tucked in the pocket much later: instructions on how he could get in touch with her if he ever needed anything. But he’d been to stubborn, too proud, to reach out. And when he had to buy an even warmer coat for the thick of winter, this one had gotten shoved into the bottom of a chest where it had stayed until… recently.

“It really suits you,” Eira says, snapping Niruin back to the present. “You should wear it more often.”

“Well,” Niruin says, coughing and flushing as he sits up a little straighter. What man wouldn’t preen a little when someone looks at him like that? “Perhaps, if I were to go out more…”

“That could be arranged,” Eira teases, standing up so she can move closer. “But tonight, I’d rather you stay in.”

Niruin is used to brief, quick affairs that end before the night does, usually with him picking his things up and slinking out a window feeling only a slightly better than before. He’s not used to staying until morning, or waking up to a sight as lovely as this.

Eira is still fast asleep, surrounded by her collection of soft, down-filled pillows. At some point during their coupling, his fingers had tugged her hair free of it’s binds — leaving it all mussed up, now, fluffed out around her face and curling up around her neck and shoulders.

Niruin can’t help but grin as he hears her soft, barely-noticeable snores, watches the slow rise-and-fall of her bare chest. No one’s perfect, he thinks, but she comes pretty damn close.

He slips out of bed carefully and tugs on a robe before heading upstairs again. “Foolproof, huh?” He sighs, flipping through the recipe book on her counter. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Soon enough, the whole house smells of warm cinnamon and baked apples, and Niruin grins when he sees Eira pad up the stairs just as he pulls the tray out of the oven. She’s only wearing a thin shirt, her hair still a fluffed-up mess… and she’s pouting.

“Still trying to one-up me, aren’t you?” She mumbles, grabbing one of the fritters and shoving it in her mouth before Niruin has time to warn her not to. “Ow! Fuck, that’s hot — !”

“Yeah, no shit! It just finished baking!” He huffs, setting the tray down. But his curiosity wins out as she keeps chewing, her cheeks growing flushed. “Well? What do you think?”

She glares at him. “They’re good,” she concedes. “Much nicer than mine, anyway. Oh, and we should get some wine-colored curtains.”

Somehow, impossibly, they spend the morning together as well. And when they head out to have lunch together in the market, the falling leaves make Niruin think of autumns at home but… for the first time in ages, it’s not a feeling that leaves him sick with longing. Just a warm, cozy sense of nostalgia.

Maybe our luck is changing, he thinks, his eyes lingering on Eira’s snow-bright hair. One thing is sure, though. You’ve given me a reason to stay.

#elder scrolls #skyrim #niruin x oc #niruin x dragonborn #skyrim thieves guild #nirnwrote #;Eira Silvanil #;Eira/Niruin #;when shadows wake #;knight writes

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ironwoman359 · 5 months

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A Thief's Gamble - Ch.6

Unhindered Insights

Previous: Ch.5 - The Renegade from Cyrodiil || Next: Ch.7 - A Dampened Pursuit Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: Brynjolf and Ariene spend some time getting to know one another better, and find that it's nearly impossible to talk about the past without bringing up memories that they'd just as soon forget.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 4,134

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — —

Brynjolf had hardly dared to hope it was possible, but things in the Guild were starting to take a turn for the better. Ariene had insisted on taking the job for Olfrid, both to prove that she had no issue breaking the law in Whiterun, and for extra security on the job itself.

“If something does go wrong, I’m the only person here who could reasonably talk my way out of it,” she’d said.

Delvin hadn’t been convinced at first that she wasn’t pulling some kind of con; he even went so far as to send a spy to Whiterun after her to make sure she didn’t double cross them. But when the spy reported nothing suspicious and Ariene returned with a big payout and Olfrid’s promise of future support for the Guild, even Delvin had to admit that her loyalties were in the right place: the Guild’s coffers.

With their foothold in Whiterun secured, Brynjolf, Vex, and Delvin began turning their attention to other holds, reaching out to old clients and probing for new ones. Little jobs here and there began popping up with greater frequency as word spread that the Guild was growing active again, and Vekel even got a letter from an old contact of his who wanted to set up shop in the cistern outside the Flagon.

At the news, even Mercer had expressed his own grudging form of appreciation.

“It’s still unacceptable that we don’t have any leads on the Goldenglow case,” he’d growled. “But…at least the Guild’s reputation has been repaired somewhat. It’s about time clients started taking us seriously again.”

When Ariene found out that the new merchant was a fletcher, she’d lit up in a way that Brynjolf had never seen before and immediately gone to trade out the piece she’d been carrying for a new one. Later, he overheard her talking about the new weapon with Niruin over a drink at the Ragged Flagon.

“It feels like ages since I’ve held a proper bow,” she’d said, running her hand reverently over the weapon’s limb. “The Imperials took mine at the border, and I’ve been working with one of their standard issues ever since.”

“Tell me about it,” Niruin had replied. “The handiwork on those things is a joke. Nothing compared to genuine elven craftsmanship.”

Brynjolf hadn’t intruded on their conversation, but privately he was intrigued. If the shooting he’d seen on display from her was with a substandard bow, then what was she capable of with a real weapon? His curiosity prickled at the back of his mind, and grew to the point that when he saw her head into the training room, he got up and followed.

Once more, Ariene stood before the archery targets, an arrow knocked on her bowstring, but this time her movements were slow and deliberate. She raised the bow and drew the string back, but instead of firing, she held the weapon still, keeping the tip of her arrow trained steadily on the target. After nearly a minute, she relaxed her muscles and lowered the bow, rolling her neck and shoulders to keep them loose.

She repeated the motion a few times, holding the bow steady at different angles before finally letting a single arrow fly.

“I thought it was my turn to sneak up on you,” she said after the arrow embedded itself into the center ring of the target.

She glanced at him and smiled her easy smile, an expression that she seemed to reserve just for him, and Brynjolf cursed internally. It wasn’t like him to be disarmed by a look so easily, but Ariene somehow managed to break all his rules.

“Just trying to keep you on your toes, lass,” he said. “We can’t afford for you to get sloppy on us now.”

“Well, as soon as I get the hang of this new bow, I can promise you won’t have to worry about that.”

She turned back to her shooting, and Brynjolf watched in silence for a while as she continued to test the limits of her new weapon. After a few more careful shots, she began moving around the room, shooting from different positions. She slid under the table in the corner and let loose three shots from there, her crouched position barely affecting her accuracy, then she rolled forward, bringing the bow back up into firing position barely a second after righting herself.

Brynjolf let out an impressed whistle, despite himself. “With skills like yours, it’s no wonder that you managed to pull off the Goldenglow job. Where on earth did you learn to shoot, lass?”

Ariene stilled, and Brynjolf realized too late that he’d said more than he should have.

“Look lass, I didn’t mean to-” he began, but Ariene shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it.” She looked over at him, her expression thoughtful. “Tell you what. I’ll tell you who taught me to shoot if you tell me who taught you to use those?”

She gestured at the daggers on Brynjolf’s belt, and he smiled.

“Alright, lass.”

The two of them sat down, and Brynjolf unsheathed his daggers, laying them on the table. Ariene reached out, then hesitated, glancing up at him. He nodded, and she carefully picked one up, examining it closely.

“Dwarven make,” she said, turning the blade over in her hand and humming in approval. “Genuine, by the looks of it, not a reproduction?”

“Aye, lass,” Brynjolf nodded. “A gift from the Guildmaster.”

Ariene raised an eyebrow.

“From Mercer?” she asked with a snort. “I didn’t take him for the gift giving type.”

“Ah, pardon me,” Brynjolf said, chuckling. “I misspoke. Definitely not Mercer, they were from Gallus.”

“Gallus…” Ariene said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name before…” she drummed her fingers on the table as she searched her memories, then she snapped triumphantly, the sound splitting the air and echoing off the room’s high stone walls. “I remember now. Niruin mentioned it when he was telling me how he joined up. He said once Delvin introduced him to Gallus, then he was in.”

“Aye, Gallus was Mercer’s predecessor,” Brynjolf explained. “He was the Guildmaster when I first joined the Guild; he taught me a lot about this line of work…including how to fight with these.”

He took the dagger back from her, running his thumb over its hilt thoughtfully.

“A lot of folks carry daggers of course, but usually only as a backup. Which is understandable, a sword will certainly be more likely to strike a killing blow, if that’s what you’re after. But daggers are light, quick on the draw, easy to carry…the perfect weapons for a thief.” He looked down at the blade and casually flipped it in his hand. “Gallus always said it took true mastery to use them properly.”

“You looked up to him?” Ariene asked, and Brynjolf nodded.

“He was a good teacher…and a good man. And an absolute master thief. In all my years of doing this, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anyone better.”

“What happened to him?”

Ariene’s voice was soft, careful, and Brynjolf sighed, suddenly weary. Mercer’s words to him from a few weeks ago echoed in his head:

Anything that you care about in this line of work other than the next job and the coin? It can be taken away from you.

“He was killed,” he said bluntly. “Over twenty years ago now.”

“On a job?”

“No…no, not exactly.” he said with a grimace. “He was betrayed by someone in the Guild. Someone that he…that we…thought we could trust.”

“I’m sorry,” Ariene said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

Brynjolf gazed down at the blade in his hand, tilting it so that his reflection was visible in the polished metal. His own face stared back up at him, and he took note of the toll that the years had taken on him. A scar that hadn’t been there when he started out now cut across his face, faint wrinkles were etched around his eyes and a permanent crease had formed in his brow. How long before the few gray hairs poking out of his temples began to multiply enough to be noticeable? Most days he didn’t feel all that different than he used to, but when he looked at his reflection, it was impossible to ignore the time that had passed.

Somehow, without noticing, he had started to grow old.

“Brynjolf?”

Brynjolf blinked, then looked up at Ariene. She was leaning towards him, sympathy written on her face, and Brynjolf took a deep breath.

“It’s alright, lass,” he said, flashing her a quick smile. “It was a long time ago. And as sour as the end may have been, there are still plenty of good memories to balance things out.”

She smiled a bit at that, and Brynjolf slid the dagger back into its sheath.

“At any rate, that’s my end of the bargain. Your turn, lass.”

He gestured at Ariene to speak, and she shrugged.

“Well, I don’t have a heartwarming tale about a trusted mentor giving me my weapon,” she said, tilting her head towards her newly purchased bow leaning against the table.

“What about the bow you had before?” Brynjolf asked, and she shook her head.

“The one I lost in Helgen, you mean? No, that I also had to buy myself. My father was never in the habit of giving things out for free.”

“Your father?” Brynjolf repeated. “Is he who taught you to shoot?”

Ariene nodded.

“As soon as I was big enough to hold a bow,” she said. “He’d already had me doing combat drills every day, then when I showed more aptitude towards archery he pivoted almost entirely to target practice.”

“Combat drills? Was he a soldier?” Brynjolf asked.

“A soldier?” Ariene laughed, but there was no warmth in the sound. “No. See, that implies that he cares about honor, or duty, or anything besides the size of his coin purse.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. She gazed down at the table between them, her expression pinched, and Brynjolf wondered if he’d overstepped again.

“Divines only know why he thought it was a good idea,” she said eventually. “But he wanted me to earn my keep as soon as possible. And the only acceptable way for me to do that in his mind was to follow in his footsteps.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “Join the family business, you might say.”

“I see,” Brynjolf said slowly. “And I’d take it the family business was a tad more dangerous than radish farming.”

“You’d be right,” Ariene said with a grimace. “Though I suppose it involves a similar amount of sharp implements. My father was…or rather, is, the leader of a band of mercenaries.”

She spat the word out like it was poison, and Brynjolf suddenly remembered the look on her face when she had learned about the thugs at Goldenglow. What was it she had said, when he’d warned her to be careful of them?

I know the type.

“I take it you don’t think much of the profession,” he said carefully, and Ariene snorted.

“If there’s a mercenary out there who isn’t a pigheaded, selfish brute, then I have yet to meet them,” she said, folding her arms. “And that does include my father, in case you were wondering.”

Brynjolf winced.

“Look, lass,” he began. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Bring up bad memories?” she finished, smiling wryly. “Don’t worry about it. I guess it turns out we’re even.”

“Maybe so, lass,” Brynjolf admitted. “But still, I spoke when it wasn’t my place to. If you want me to stop prying, all you have to do is ask.”

“I appreciate that,” Ariene said, flashing him a quick smile. “But if I’m being honest-”

“Ariene, are you in here?”

Ariene’s head snapped up, and Brynjolf looked over his shoulder to see Vipir poking his head around the doorway.

“Obviously I am,” Ariene said, relaxing by a hair. “What is it, Vipir?”

“Delvin is looking for you,” he explained. “Says he got a special request in from Windhelm that he wants you to handle.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute, will you Vip?”

Vipir nodded, and turned to leave. He paused, glancing back between the two of them with a funny look on his face, then he shook his head and disappeared around the corner.

“Well, apparently duty calls,” Ariene said, returning her attention to Brynjolf. “Sounds like I’ll be traveling again for a while.”

“Occupational hazard,” Brynjolf said with a shrug. “Though most would say that the pay more than makes up for it.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” she said, getting to her feet and slinging her bow over her shoulder.

“Listen,” Brynjolf said. He stood up as well, and as they walked out of the training room he lowered his voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. “How about I buy you a drink in the Flagon when you get back from the job?”

Ariene smiled, and nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said. “Of course, on one condition.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we can talk about something other than our tragic pasts,” Brynjolf reassured her, and she laughed.

“Sounds like a plan. But that’s not actually what I was going to say.”

“Oh?”

Her grin turned mischievous, and she wagged a finger at him playfully.

“I’ll have just gotten paid. I will buy you a drink this time. It’s my turn to sneak up on you, remember?”

— — —

Ariene left for Windhelm that night, and for the next several days, Brynjolf went through the motions of the day to day operations of the Guild. He sent letters to contacts, mapped out heists, and collected payment from clients. The old man hiding out in the Ratways had a new list of books and supplies he wanted sent to him, which Brynjolf passed along to Vekel, and Mercer left the cistern not long after Ariene did to follow up on a lead for their mysterious symbol problem, but other than that, it was an uneventful few days. Thankfully, Brynjolf was so used to handling things on his own that he hardly noticed the Guildmaster’s absence.

Well, except there was a lot less muttered cursing and growled insults in the cistern, which he supposed was a nice change of pace.

When Ariene finally returned, she did not in fact sneak up on him, because he was standing barely ten feet from the graveyard entrance talking to Thrynn when she clambered down the ladder. She did, however, still insist on buying him a drink, so after wrapping up his business for the day Brynjolf found himself sharing a table with her at the Ragged Flagon.

“So lass, how was Windhelm?” he asked once Vekel had brought them their orders.

“Cold,” Ariene said bluntly, taking a long drink from her bottle of mead. “I’m glad I decided not to head further north like I’d planned initially.”

“So am I,” Brynjolf said. Then, after realizing what that may imply, he quickly added: “Otherwise I’d be paying for my own ale right now!”

Ariene just shook her head, smiling that disarming smile of hers as if she saw right through his casual act, and Brynjolf wasn’t sure whether he preferred her being fooled by his mask or not.

“At any rate, the job went off fairly smoothly,” she continued. “I don’t think those so-called ‘Summerset Shadows’ will be much of a problem for us going forward. And not only did the client agree to back us in the city, but Niranye is willing to fence for us again.”

“Excellent,” Brynjolf said. “It will be nice to have a better foothold up north again. Between the goods that come into the port and the trade routes between Dawnstar and Winterhold, Windhelm is the perfect place to have a strong presence.”

Ariene nodded, but her smile had slipped, and she was fiddling with her bottle of mead absently. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes, her expression unreadable.

“I wondered if I could ask you something,” she said.

“You can ask,” he said immediately. “Is this the sort of question that involves trading answers, or…?”

“I suppose that’s up to you.” Ariene smiled slightly, then took a breath. “I was wondering…if you’d mind training me to use daggers? I mean, the way you use them. As a primary weapon.”

Brynjolf blinked. Of all the things that she could have asked him, this was the last thing he’d been expecting.

“I mean, of course lass, if you want me to. But is there a particular reason why? You’re not planning on giving up the bow, are you?”

“No, no, of course not,” Ariene said quickly. “I can rely on a good bow and quiver full of arrows to keep me alive more than a legion of twenty men. It’s just…well, a bow is most useful at long range. And despite all my best efforts to keep out of that sort of trouble…it seems like close quarters combat is something I’ll need to get better at after all.”

Brynjolf frowned, turning his words over in his mind.

“I take it that the job wasn’t as cut and dried as the client made it seem in his correspondence,” he said, and Ariene shook her head.

“Not exactly. I don’t blame the client, he couldn’t have known that this other guild was holed up in a cave that was essentially a kill box. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it any less of a death trap.”

“Damn, lass,” Brynjolf said, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I told you that you wouldn’t have to run any more jobs like that, and now–”

“It’s not your fault,” Ariene said, shaking her head. “You couldn’t have known any more than Torsten Cruel-Sea did. I just…” she sighed. “I became a thief so that I wouldn’t have to make my living dealing out death on command anymore.” She glared at her bottle of mead, as though it were solely responsible for all her problems. “I guess I’ll never really be able to escape it though. Maybe my father was right after all.”

“Listen lass,” Brynjolf said. “I’ll teach you to wield a pair of daggers, if you want me to. It’s certainly a handy skill to have in this line of work. And I can’t say that you’ll never have to kill in self defense while on a job. This is a dangerous profession, after all. But I can promise you that you won’t be sent on any more missions where you’re expected to take on an army by yourself. If we expect there to be more heat on a job, we’ll send more people. We’re not asking you to be a killer for us.”

Ariene smiled wanly.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, I think at this point the issue is moot. Twice now we’ve walked into a job without a clear idea of the danger, and I don’t see those odds improving. I’d rather improve my own skills and play the best hand I can with the cards I’ve been dealt.”

“Well…alright lass,” Brynjolf relented. “When would you like to start?”

Ariene considered it.

“Tomorrow?” she suggested. “I’m still a little travel weary, or I’d say let’s start right now.”

“Tomorrow it is,” Brynjolf agreed.

He lifted his mug of ale towards her, and she clinked the tip of her bottle against its side.

“So,” she said after taking a long drag of mead. “What’s your price for the training? Do you have more questions for me?”

Brynjolf did have more questions. It seemed his mind never ran out of questions to ask about her, but he forced them all down.

“Look, lass…” he began, then shook his head. “Ariene. I don’t want you to feel like you have to–”

“Brynjolf,” she interrupted, and he fell silent. “Let’s not put this off any longer, alright? You want to know more about me, and to be honest? I would like to know more about you, too. Life is too short to keep dancing around each other like this. So if you want to ask me questions, ask them, and I’ll do the same for you, alright?”

Brynjolf stared at her. He hadn’t expected her to be so open to sharing more with him; most thieves he knew with sordid pasts did everything they could to pretend they didn’t exist.

“And…you’re sure, lass?” he asked carefully. “You don’t feel…” he trailed off, looking for the words.

Like I’m backing you into a corner? Like I’m giving you an order? Like you don’t really have a choice at all?

“Pressured?” he eventually settled on, but Ariene just shook her head.

“Not in the slightest,” she said. She stared at him for a moment, as though she had read his thoughts written all over his face, then her mouth quirked up in a smirk. “So quit your worrying,” she said, reaching out to punch him gently on the shoulder.

Now it was Brynjolf’s turn to shake his head, and he laughed quietly.

“Sorry, lass, but it’s basically built into my job description. Someone has to worry about keeping this merry band of miscreants in one piece, and that someone is usually me.”

Ariene tilted her head at that.

“How long have you been a lieutenant for the Guild?” she asked, and Brynjolf blew out a breath.

“Hard to say. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been doing this forever, though the real answer is probably close to around ten years. But even before Mercer made it official, I was doing a fair amount of the organization for the Guild. Sums and paperwork have never been his strong suit.”

“It almost feels like you run this Guild more than he does,” Ariene said, then her eyes widened, and she quickly glanced around as though Mercer himself would be standing over them with a scowl on his face.

Brynjolf chuckled.

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment, in which case I appreciate the sentiment, but don’t sell Mercer short. He may not handle the day to day as much as I do, but he is Guildmaster for a reason.”

Ariene raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“Really? Because honestly, from what I’ve seen all he does is skulk around behind his desk and yell at people all day.” Brynjolf snorted, and Ariene grinned. “Seriously! You said he’s Guildmaster for a reason, what reason? I’m curious now.”

“Well to start with, Mercer was one of Gallus’s two head lieutenants before he died,” Brynjolf explained. “And besides that, there’s more to running an operation like this besides paperwork. Mercer’s eye for targets is excellent; I once saw him predict what room in a manor would have a hidden safe just by scanning the exterior. Not only that, but he reads people better than just about anyone I’ve ever seen. He knows how to get exactly what he wants out of whoever he’s talking to.”

Ariene nodded slowly.

“I guess I can see how that’d be useful in this business,” she relented. “But why did Mercer become Guildmaster and not, say, the other lieutenant?”

Brynjolf frowned, and swallowed the remainder of his ale in a single gulp.

“Because she’s the one who murdered Gallus,” he said simply, and Ariene winced.

“Gods…I’m sorry, Brynjolf, I didn’t realize–”

“It’s alright lass, you couldn’t have known,” he reassured her. “It’s not exactly something we talk about down here all the time. It’s ancient history that most of us who were there to remember it would like to forget.”

“That, at least, is something I understand,” she said with a grim expression. She reached forward and downed her own drink. “I’m beat. I’ll see you in the morning for training?” she asked as she got to her feet.

“Aye lass, I’ll meet you when you’re ready.” He took a breath, then smiled in what he hoped came across as a playful way. “And remember, next time it’ll be my turn to ask you a question that will inevitably bring up some tragic aspect of your past.”

Ariene threw her head back and laughed, and Brynjolf felt a tiny thrill race up his spine, as though he’d just convinced a mark to hand over their entire coin purse.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and then she was gone, leaving Brynjolf with her words echoing in his mind.

Life is too short to keep dancing around each other like this.

The meaning lying just beneath the phrase was clear, and Brynjolf felt as though he was teetering on the edge of something, something new and exciting, but also unknown, maybe even dangerous.

The only question now was whether he’d let go of the ledge and allow himself to fall.

— — —

Previous: Ch.5 - The Renegade from Cyrodiil || Next: Ch.7 - A Dampened Pursuit

Author's Notes: The layers of backstory slowly get peeled away, and the slow burn begins to heat to a simmer! Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please reblog if you liked it, it'd mean a lot to me! <3

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accio-peach · 2 years

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new beginnings

Skyrim fanfcition - AU with no Dragonborn or dragons

Brynjolf x OC x Niruin

How many parts??? Who knows?

Part one

I wasn’t made for confrontation or fighting.

Growing up when we would race across the meadow I would always fall behind– teased for being the slowest. When we grew older the boys began fighting to see who was the strongest. I never even was given the chance to see. My parents were strict and protected me from the dangers of the world the best they could, but I was so curious. Many nights I snuck out to gaze up from the roof to the night time sky and watch it change its hues from purple to green, till it turned to almost daylight. Though I was not fast I needed to learn to be calculated and quick on my feet. I wasn’t strong, but in a quick getaway being able to sneak myself into a small area and hide in the shadows till they passed seemed to work. My sneakiness only heightened when my parents died. I had to make my own way without them. No family. No friends to take me in. I wasn’t able to maintain a job with the inn till I was 17 where I learned how to make the best money Solitude could offer me.

Being a bar maiden had its bad days, but the good nights rained gold.

Men from all over Skyrim came every night flaunting their wealth to anyone who would pay them mind. I would serve them all night, batting my eyes, laugh at their jokes, let them squeeze me wherever they liked. When I got them where I wanted, I slipped a small, tasteless, powder into their ale.

I never killed.

Drugging men for their money wasn’t the worst thing I could do. I needed to earn coin somehow and some men love to flaunt it for pretty girls in low cut dresses. I would let the final drink sit in them for a few minutes before suggesting we go into the last room on the left.

My luck was going to run out eventually and I was bound to get caught.

A bosmer in rugged brown leathers and a hood with a wide smile watched my work from afar without me realizing. I was never so easily caught off guard, but he managed to catch me as I led the wealthy Orc to the room in the back.

“Bit sloppy.” He whispered into the nape of my neck with a dagger pressed to my back.

“Taking a woman from behind? Cheap,” I groaned at the sharp point dug into my spine. I allowed my newest victim to slide down the wall while the Bosmer turned me to face him, the dagger now at my navel.

“You have to be ready for anything, pretty thing.” He withdrew the dagger as his gaze traveled all along my body.

In a swift movement I pulled my concealed dagger from my thigh holster, pressing it to his neck, pinning him to the wall.

“Quite the student,” he winced with a smile.

I rolled my eyes, with my dagger still pressed to his neck I dug into his front pocket retrieving the coin purse I felt him take from me only moments ago.

“Thanks for keeping it warm for me.” I took a small step back and holstered my dagger. Digging into the purse I pulled 40 septims out. “Keep your mouth shut?”

He huffed and rubbed his neck. “You are wasting potential here. Keep your coin. Use it to take a carriage to Riften. Find a woman named Vex in The Bee and Barb. Tell her Niruin sent you.”

I sneered, “Go across Skyrim on a whim? Thanks. I am fine, Niruin.”

“Call this good intuition,” Niruin pulled out a small rock with a diamond etching on it with a circle in the middle. “I am part of a little group–”

“You’re part of the Thieves Guild?” I replied in a hush. I moved further down the hall, pulling him with me.

“Don’t get excited,” he replied in a hush with a grin sprawled across his face. “I want Vex to look you over. I am impressed. Watched you the past week. You do this every night, multiple times a night? If I wasn’t from the Guild I would be in one of these rooms right now I bet. Happily by the looks of you.” He grabbed hold of my hand and placed the smooth river stone into it. “Head over to Riften. I’ll be back over there after I wrap up business here.”

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Riften had a different feel to it than Solitude ever had. Felt cozy compared to the tall, overbearing, Solitude walls. The air felt different.

I stuck out like a giant’s thumb I noticed however.

Solitude being one of the wealthiest cities in Skyrim meant my clothes never appeared dirty. I owned clothes in colors uncommon to most. My hair is clean regularly so my black hair would maintain shine.

I looked wealthy as I came off the carriage. I smoothed my dress and hiked it up to my hip, pinning it there. Attempting to try and look less affluent.

This was not what I wanted to give off to bystanders in a city of thieves. Showing off wealth carelessly shows you are willing to lose it as well.

Once I had checked myself into The Bee and Barb I pulled open my bag and found the extra dress I had. Plain brown dress that fell off my shoulders with a tight fitting darker brown leather bodice. Much better than the other finer dress adorned in a purple color I had been wearing.

I gathered the dress, hoping the goods store was still open.

“Welcome to the Pawned Pra– you’re a new face. We love to see new faces!”

“Just passing through,” I smiled, setting the dress on the counter.

“This is a beautiful dress. Couldn’t possibly be selling?”

He began to inspect the dress and my persistent eyes began to wander.

Ice Wraith Teeth. I needed more for the powder.

“Unfortunately, I do have to sell it,” I pretended to pout. “Could you give me a good price?” I mustered one of my sweetest smiles as the Ice Wraith Teeth cradled my dress pocket.

“I’m positive we could give you a fair price for it. Let me grab my wife.” He smiled and stepped around the corner behind a door frame and I listened intently as his voice grew further away. My eyes looked briefly over the counter. They danced around a full coin purse beside a ledger. I tugged on my lip between my teeth, but abstained from my temptation. I continued to palm ingredients on the shelf into my pouch and pockets that could be used to make some needed potions and powders.

“My wife loves the dress. You both seem to be the same size as well,” the owner spoke from around the corner. “She told me to pay whatever price you want.” He met the counter with a grin. “Your lucky day I suppose.”

“I suppose it is. 150 septims,” I tested.

“Pretty steep. You’re lucky it is for my wife,” the owner looked under the counter, coins cluttering as he counted. He came out from under and handed the amount to me in my hand. “Try to not come back in for a while unless you’re looking to buy,” he laughed.

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The Bee and Barb came alive at night and the room filled with the townspeople. Their laughter echoes and the music played by the bard hums throughout. I made my way through the tables as I found the counter.

“Just an ale,” I nodded, pinning my hair up with a metal pin. The Argonian woman looked unpleasant as she handed me the ale. I couldn’t control my own reaction and sneered back at her. “Here’s your coin. Didn’t realize I was inconveniencing you.” I threw the septims on the counter and turned to see a tall woman with snow white hair. She was attractive, but not in the most conventional sense. She had extremely defined cheekbones and jawline. She was quite a bit taller than me and appeared to have some muscle on her. One feature that I immediately noticed was what she was wearing.

She was wearing the same armor as Niruin. Thieves Guild armor.

I worked my way towards the white haired woman. “Vex,” I started.

“What is it to you? “ She spat, cutting me off, her eyebrows furrowing

“Niruin sent me.” I glanced around us and moved us to the side. Vex seemed interested and followed. “He sent me–”

“Is that why he isn’t back yet?” She scoffed as she rolled her eyes. “Get to the point. Why did Niruin send you? Is he okay?”

I rolled my tongue against my cheek in irritation. “If you stopped cutting me off I could get a word in, you know?” I brushed my hair back behind my shoulders as I began to explain, “He liked how I worked. Watched me for a bit and thought I should come out. I am, well–” I struggled to get the words out. I paused and looked Vex in her eyes. “I’m a thief from Solitude. I worked in an inn as a bar maiden. I got men very drunk then I drugged them and robbed them. I also am quite good with sneaking away when needed. I was only caught once and that was by, well, Niruin. He put a dagger to my back and I pulled my dagger from my thigh and brought it to his neck and disarmed him.”

“Bullshit. Niruin wouldn’t have been disarmed by a twit like you,” Vex laughed and glanced around the room.

“He wanted you to look at me. He thought I worked well. Specifically, he wanted you to see me and watch how I work.” I pulled the smooth river stone from my pocket and offered it to Vex. I raised my eyebrow to Vex.

She picked it up reluctantly and tucked it into her pocket. She stepped back and looked me up and down. “Stupid, son of a bitch,” she groaned. “Well, you can’t do anything in a dress. Are you going to change?”

“Niruin watched me do everything in a dress. I am sure he actually liked watching me do everything in a dress.” I grinned, testing her.

“Watch it,” she sneered. “Go on then. Show me.” She waved her hand to the crowd. “Dress and all, princess.”

My grin didn’t waiver as I removed the pin from my hair letting my black wavy hair fall down. I walked over to a man who was speaking with a blonde-haired woman. His attention waived from the blonde’s once I had made my flirtation known. She huffed and stormed away in aggravation as I twirled my hair. I learned the gentleman in fine clothes name was Bolli from just the quick conversation that I was able to have.

“I’m new to town, Bolli, you have to show me around sometime!” I purred as I rested my hand on his shoulder.

He fell in closer to me and smiled at me, “What is your name again?”

“Ila. What is your profession?” I smiled, my hand drifting further down his arm, twirling small circles.

“That’s a beautiful name–”

“Whoops! I am so sorry.” I lost my balance and opted to fall into him, allowing my hand to fall further down and drop to his pocket where I quickly retrieved a few items and palmed them into my pocket.

“You alright there, Ila?”

“Yes, yes, quite. My apologies. The heat– you see, I am not quite used to the warmth of Riften and I must have drank a bit too much. I am going to get a glass of water,” I nodded and walked away back to Vex with a giddy grin.

I pulled out a blue gem and looked it over in my hand carefully. “This isn’t a sapphire, but he had it in his pocket. Let us see. Hm,” I pulled out a couple other smaller things. “Few septims, a silver ring–”

“Practically nothing,” Vex spat, annoyance tainting her voice.

I smiled and pulled out the last item I had taken. A silver, dirty, key belonging to a door.

“Practically nothing, you’re right. Care to take a look around his house?”

That was the first time I saw Vex grin.

#fanfic #skyrim au #skyrim #brynjolf fanfic #brynjolf #niruin #brynjolf x reader #peach’s fics

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fizziefizzco · 2 years

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WIP Title Game

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and the. tag as many people as you have WIPS.

stole this from @hey-hey-its-magic , tagging everyone who sees this ;]

This is gonna be hell bc i have so many [excluding duplicate titles]. Not all of these are full like ... wip wips, some of them are planning documents and some of them are ones that im not finishing.

Original Fiction

Rockwell Corpses -

Grime Scene

Good Company

What Remains

Etinnia

Homecoming

Beast of Calamity

Strikeboard, Catchfire

Call of Cthulhu

Pandora’s Heart

Saint’s Row

Strictly Business

Skyrim

Niruin/Dragonborn

Fallout

A Man Like You

The Caligula Effect

Just Two Kids

Cassandra Syndrome

Red Torch Ginger

Little Sheep

Beneath the surface

Kiss Me (Until I forget how my lips taste)

Oratorio

Strange Words for Stranger Fears

Stardew Valley

Strawberry Wine

The Division

Our Life : Now and Forever

Meet cute Lynncove

Trails of Cold Steel

Maika , my cold steel oc

Fire Emblem Awakening

Stranger from the outrealms

A stranger approaches from the desert

Plegia’s new queen

Stranger 5

Fire Emblem Fates

Despite the darkness, there is light

Taste of Blood

Ryoma x Alyeta

Fire emblem Three Houses

A to Z of Myrrenz one-shots

Blood Flesh and Marrow

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH (working title)

Daughter of Mystery

Lorenz is a fool

Lorenz fic

#tag game #my writing #not expecting any but here goes haha #skyrim #fire emblem fates #fire emblem awakening #fire emblem three houses #trails of cold steel #stardew valley #the division #our life now and forever #the caligula effect #fallout 4 #call of cthulhu #Saints Row

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planemended · 6 years

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[ @shadxwofvalenwood‌ | cont. from x ]

“Here’s your order.” Vekel said as he tossed a plate of roasted meat and cheese in front of Erik. He thanked him and proceeded to eat his meal, watching his fellow guildmates attend to their duties. Niruin tapped his shoulder and sat next to him, giving him a wide grin. “You won’t believe what happened in my last job. Rune’s still laughing about it.” Erik raised his eyebrows. “Maybe I will if you tell me about it.” The other Bosmer smirked, stole a piece of cheese from Erik’s plate and started talking. The Dragonborn listened carefully, waiting for the joke to come, when his ears perked up, picking up the sound of foreign footsteps coming in the Cistern.

He looked over his shoulder to see a Bosmer woman come up to them. He frowned. He’d never seen her before around, but then again, he barely reached a year of his membership. Maybe she was one of Brynjolf’s contacts…or lovers. It was none of his business anyway. He was more of a man of field, and it wasn’t his job to deal with their fences. His eyebrows rose when he saw that she was heading directly towards him. If this was yet another assassin or single woman dreaming of having the Dragonborn and showing him off as a trophy, he’d have to pass. His hand reached for his Skyforge sword, fingers tightening around the handle.

“What do you want?” He asked gruffly, watching her with narrowed eyes. He sniffed the air for any hint of aggression in her smell. Usually he was happy to see a fellow Bosmer, but he didn’t like this situation at all. No one dared to come down the Ratway. Besides, why did she seem to want to talk to him specifically?

Her hunt for the Dragonborn was surprisingly easier than she thought. She’d come to the Thieves’ Guild to hunt for a lead on his location only to learn that he’d joined the guild himself. How lucky. To get to him, however, she first had to navigate that skeever-infested sewer they called the Ratway. She couldn’t judge their choice of location; it was certainly effective at keeping people out. It made her miss her days at the cistern in Abah’s Landing, though the guildhall there was far less smelly. By Akatosh, she sure hoped they didn’t routinely bring goods through here. That was a sure way to deter buyers.

It was easy enough to tell who had power in the guild and who didn’t. The guild’s second, Brynjolf, was the first one to approach her. He recognized her, so it wasn’t hard to get what she wanted from him. She just had to ask for the Dragonborn, and the nord led her right to him.

The man’s hostility received no reaction. She wasn’t surprised. She was a stranger. She did not expect a warm welcoming. “Relax, Dragonborn. I’m not your enemy,” she spoke as she leaned against the table. “You have a duty to fulfill, and Akatosh has sent me to guide you.”

#shadxwofvalenwood #[ic ; kaeri]#[skyrim ; kaeri]

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silvanils · 1 year

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A charming newcomer in Riften hopes to shake things up and earn some coin, but shadows loom on the horizon. Assassins, bears, civil war, dragons… Eira has an ace or two up her sleeve, but is she a match for Maven Black-Briar, whose honeyed words drip with poison? (A Thieves Guild centric story that also deals with the Dragon Crisis, the Thalmor, and Skyrim’s politics.)

Main Pairing(s): Female Dragonborn/Niruin Rating: M

IN THIS CHAPTER

Eira joins the Guild, but her welcome isn’t as warm as she’d hoped. Brynjolf promises things will get better if she keeps up the good work, but most of her fellow thieves seem less certain of that. What’s more, while she’s still finding her bearings in Riften, Eira keeps stumbling into troublesome situations...

#niruin x oc #niruin x dragonborn #thieves guild #skyrim thieves guild #riften #;knight writes #;when shadows wake #;Eira Silvanil #;Eira/Niruin

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ironwoman359 · 9 months

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A Thief's Gamble - Ch.4

Bedlam and Burglary

Previous: Ch.3 - Honeyed Words, Bitter Deeds ||Next: Ch.5 - The Renegade from Cyrodiil.

Chapter Summary: While Brynjolf attempts to discover who is behind the sale of Goldenglow Estate, Maven Black-Briar pays a visit to the Guild.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 2,056

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

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Despite their dwindling numbers, the Guild still had what Brynjolf considered to be a very capable group of core operatives…which made the fact that not a single person in the entire ratway was able to identify the mysterious symbol all the more frustrating. Even Delvin, who had worked with just about everybody who was anybody, didn’t have a clue.

The only person more frustrated than he was by the lack of leads was Mercer.

“Between everyone here we’ve run jobs across all of Tamriel!” he’d snarled. “Somebody has to know something! I want everyone working on this, no exceptions!”

Brynjolf couldn’t help but agree.

He drafted letters to everyone he could think of who might have the slightest clue how to solve the mystery, and had Vipir and Cynric make up copies of the symbol to send along with them. He asked Thrynn and Niruin to spread the word to any ties they still had with their old crews, and Rune left for the College of Winterhold to talk to an expert on obscure symbols and languages that he’d had contact with in the past. Tonilia and Vekel promised to speak with their customers and contacts as well, and Dirge even took a copy to pass along to Maul on the off chance that he’d run across something in his dealings with the Black-Briars.

And yet, despite everyone’s efforts across days of work, they were no closer to identifying the strange little symbol. Brynjolf was getting to the point where just looking at the damn thing made him grit his teeth, to say nothing of how Mercer was handling it. The Guildmaster had taken to pacing back and forth behind his desk and glaring daggers at anyone who disturbed him.

“I don’t like this, Brynjolf,” he kept saying. “Someone out there is playing us for fools, and I don’t like it one bit.”

As usual, Brynjolf did his best to keep everyone in good spirits, but even his patience had its limits.

“Please tell me you’ve heard something,” he said to Delvin as he walked into the Ragged Flagon, but the old man shook his head.

“Sorry Bryn. I have heard something, but it ain’t something good.”

“The Brotherhood hasn’t ever seen it either,” Brynjolf guessed, and Delvin nodded.

“Astrid said that even little Babette didn’t have a clue, and she’s been around for centuries.”

“Dammit,” Brynjolf muttered, falling into a seat. “Whoever’s behind this is crafty, I’ll give them that.”

“We may have to face it, Brynjolf,” said Delvin. “Nobody knows what that symbol means.”

“Don’t be so quick to give up, old friend,” Brynjolf said. “There’s still a lot of correspondence that has yet to be answered. Maybe nobody in Skyrim has heard of it, but our adversary could be from elsewhere in Tamriel. That reminds me, did you send a letter to your–”

“Look sharp,” Delvin interrupted, lowering his voice. “Look who just came in.”

Brynjolf looked up, and immediately straightened in his chair.

Maven Black-Briar herself was strolling down the walkway around the cistern, Maul trailing behind her like a guard dog. She breezed past Dirge without so much as a nod and stepped up to the bar.

“Good evening, milady,” Vekel said, nodding respectfully. Maven was just about the only person who he didn’t treat with his usual snark. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll just have a cup of wine tonight,” she said. “I have business to discuss with Brynjolf.”

She took her drink and sat at Brynjolf’s table, and he lifted his tankard to her.

“Maven. To what do I owe to pleasure this fine evening?”

“Thanks to the efforts of the operative you sent my way, I’m in prime position to take over Honningbrew Meadery in Whiterun,” she said. “I have to say, I was skeptical about her at first, but she definitely gets results.”

“She’s one of the best we have.”

Brynjolf had said it without thinking, as yet another part of his usual game of flattery and assurance that he played with Maven, but as he considered the words, he realized that there was an element to truth of them. The lass's somewhat odd behavior aside, she’d had nothing but success since starting with the Guild. The strain of bad luck that they’d all been experiencing seemed not to affect her, and now she’d even managed to impress Maven.

“Perhaps,” Maven said. “At any rate, I wanted to speak with you and Mercer about Honningbrew.”

“Mercer is out meeting a contact,” Brynjolf said apologetically. “But I’ll gladly relay any message you have for him.”

Maven nodded.

“I don’t anticipate any issues in actually acquiring the meadery itself; Mallus has already been placed in charge by the local guard and sale of the property to me is a trivial matter. What concerns me is ensuring the same level of control over the production in Whiterun as I maintain here”

“Is Mallus’s presence at the meadery not enough for that?” Brynjolf asked, and Maven scoffed.

“Mallus is a capable worker and he knows his success is dependent on meeting my standards…for now. But how long until the distance between us gives him ideas about independence?”

“So you want to employ the Guild to keep tabs on the meadery the way we do on Goldenglow.”

“Precisely,” Maven said. “I’m not anticipating a need for high levels of interference in these early days–”

“But you want to be prepared,” Brynjolf finished for her, and a slow smile spread across her face.

“Indeed. I trust you’ll be able to handle that?”

“Well…” Brynjolf said carefully. “Our reputation in Whiterun isn’t what it used to be. It’ll be more difficult to operate there with the same impunity we enjoy here in Riften.”

“I fail to see how that’s my problem. I’ll have my hands full enough establishing my own business presence in the hold without covering for you at the same time.”

“I did say difficult, not impossible,” Brynjolf pointed out. “We’ll make it happen.”

Maven smirked.

“You know, a week ago I may have assumed you to be merely grandstanding. But your Ariene assures me that what she found at Honningbrew will help restore your Guild’s strength, and since you claim she’s your best, I trust that she’s correct.”

Maven finished off her wine and got to her feet, and Brynjolf stood as well.

“For now, a monthly report from one of your operatives to confirm that what Mallus is telling me is true should be sufficient for management of Black Briar Meadery West,” she said. “I’ll alert you if any further action is required.”

“Always a pleasure to have you visit us, Maven,” Brynjolf said with a smile, and Maven tutted.

“Yes, I do so love my little excursions to the sewers. Maybe you could steal yourselves a better headquarters sometime. Or at least a servant to clean the place.”

“And lose our roguish, underworld charm?” Brynjolf asked, chuckling. “I think not.”

Maven rolled her eyes and turned without another word, snapping her fingers for Maul to follow her out of the cistern.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Delvin said when she was gone. “I haven’t seen her in that good a mood in quite awhile.”

“Neither have I,” Brynjolf agreed, slumping back in his seat. “Ariene must’ve really impressed her. I wonder what she meant by the lass finding something that would help the Guild?”

“Well,” said a new voice. “I don’t actually know how helpful it will be.”

Brynjolf turned with a start, just in time to see the woman in question entering the Flagon through the secret entrance.

“You just love appearing without warning, don’t you lass?” Brynjolf asked, and Ariene shrugged, a small smile playing about her lips.

“What’s the point of being able to sneak through rooms undetected if I don’t take any opportunities to eavesdrop?”

“Word of advice, lass,” Brynjolf said as she took a seat at the table. “Those skills will serve you well when you’re out there in the world. But there’s no need to use subterfuge within the Guild itself. We have each other’s backs. If we can’t rely on each other, then there’s not much point in being part of a Guild at all, is there?”

Ariene’s smile stayed locked in place, but it lost the playful ease it’d held a moment before.

“I suppose not,” she said.

Brynjolf opened his mouth to speak, but Ariene plowed onwards.

“And speaking of the Guild, I did find something at Honningbrew. The same symbol from Goldenglow was involved. Whoever gave Sabjorn the funds he needed to take his competing mead to market as quickly as he did is the same person who bought the bee farm to cut Maven out of the picture.”

Brynjolf frowned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. As much as he wanted to press the lass on her response to his advice, he knew when to take a hint.

“That makes this beyond coincidence,” he said instead. “First Aringoth and now Sabjorn. Someone's trying to take us down by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild.”

“And there’s no way we can stay afloat without her influence?” Ariene asked, and Brynjolf shook his head.

“Believe me, there are days when I wish we didn’t rely on her so heavily. But the fact is, her gold is pretty much the only thing keeping the city guard from storming this place and hauling us all off to Mistveil Keep’s dungeon.”

“Then what can we do?”

“We’re working on how to identify that symbol now,” Brynjolf said. “We’ve reached out to all our contacts, though there hasn’t been much luck yet. Besides that, we can continue working on restoring our reputation in other holds…pulling jobs so that people remember who we are.”

“And it’d probably make sense to start in Whiterun, since Maven wants us to start operating there,” Ariene added. “Delvin!” she called over her shoulder. “Have any clients for a job in Whiterun?”

“Nothing specific,” Delvin said. “Though pulling a bedlam job in the hold could be a step in the right direction. What about you Vex, do you have anything?”

Vex looked up from where she was sitting in the corner, and grinned.

“Do I have any jobs in Whiterun? Sure I do. I have a buyer looking for a specific jeweled flagon that’s been traced to a trader named Ysolda, and House Gray-Mane has been on my list of targets to sweep for months now. Lot of old relics in that manor.”

“Ysolda’s place and House Gray-Mane…alright, I know where both of those are,” Ariene said. “And I know a few other spots that would make good targets for the bedlam job. I should be able to pull off all three jobs in one visit.”

“Be careful lass,” Brynjolf cautioned. “We have some sway over the guard here in Riften thanks to the Black-Briars, but it’s much harder these days to get yourself out of a jam in the other holds. It might be more prudent to spread the jobs out over time, have different operatives go for different jobs. If you get caught pulling off a crime spree, your sentence is likely to be far harsher.”

A quick smile flitted across Ariene’s face.

“Your concern is touching,” she said. Her tone was playful, but there was a hint of sincerity in her gaze as she met Brynjolf’s eyes. “I’ll be careful,” she continued. “But of all the things that I have to worry about in Whiterun? The guard is the least of my problems.”

Brynjolf blinked, and filed that statement away with the rest of the rapidly growing questions he had about his newest Guildmate.

“Well then, as long as you don’t mind going back to Whiterun so soon, it sounds like we have a plan.”

Vekel came up to their table and passed out a round of drinks, and Brynjolf lifted his up in a toast.

“To the Guild!” he declared.

“May we show that bloody curse that we won’t be kept down by anything,” said Delvin.

“And may we all make enough to retire in a palace,” Vex added.

Ariene’s eyes flitted around the room, and she smiled again, wider this time.

“May we all have each other’s backs,” she said, and Brynjolf grinned.

“Aye, lass. I’ll drink to that.”

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Previous: Ch.3 - Honeyed Words, Bitter Deeds || Next: Ch.5 - The Renegade from Cyrodiil.

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