A/N: This is a very random story, pretty much my attempt at a crack. The chapters are in no chronological order and are also non-linear, depending on what is written. Whatever the chapters are will be mentioned at the beginning, the warnings will also be mentioned. As of now, this chapter is part of the normal storyline, featuring Rowan and also mentions of sex.

Brynjolf rubbed his eyes as numbers began to swim before his eyes. He sighed as he flipped the page and counted again, making sure that all their earnings and salaries to the guild members were counted correctly. He checked the notes that Delvin and Vex had handed to him and recorded the amount of gold gained from their jobs and then subtracted their salaries from it, inking down the names of the members who took the jobs as indicated by the notes. Then he can write down the Guild's final earnings before he moves onto the calculations for the next job. He looked up at the ceiling of the Cistern and found that it was already dark outside. He had been at this since the afternoon. Brynjolf groaned to himself. This amount of paperwork was never an issue to him as it was mainly Mercer's job to keep records. Now, the Guild Master was nowhere to be found, having told them that he had a Guild-related matter to see to somewhere beyond Riften and, to put it bluntly, had dumped his work onto Brynjolf. Well, he isn't a stranger to paperwork and had done his fair share of them but jobs had been picking up recently as more recruits showed up. He was glad, it meant that things were looking up for the Thieves Guild but there was just too much to be done at this very moment.

He glanced at the remaining few sheets of paper that the Taskmasters have left him and steeled himself.

Just a few more left, then he can finally go to bed.

He'd just started work on the next piece when he noticed that Mercer had returned.

"Hello, Mercer," Brynjolf greeted, "How was your trip?"

Mercer looked upon him with his usual grim and stern expression that might instill fear in one of their fresh recruits. Brynjolf had gotten used to it as he had been spending much of his time around this perpetually grumpy man that even a truly heated glare no longer caused him the urge to flinch. However, he did know when Mercer was actually mad and knew to stay out of his way when the time comes. Fortunately, this was not one of them.

"It was fine," he huffed, walking over to the desk and sat in the other chair, "Are you almost finished?"

"Almost."

"Hm," Mercer nodded and focused on the flickering candle with bloodshot eyes.

Brynjolf briefly wondered if he could ask Mercer to fill in the records instead now that he's back but wisely decided against it. Mercer was a man who was quick to anger and it is unadvisable to say or do anything that might provoke the man. Although, with bone-deep weariness beginning to engulf him entirely, Brynjolf was quite tempted.

"This recruit of yours…"

"Yes?" Brynjolf blurted, startled out of his musings.

He blinked at Mercer, who had peeked over at his notes while he was not paying attention. Mercer's frown was deepening and he quickly asked, "Which of our recruits are you talking about, Mercer?"

"The small one, an Imperial, what was his name?"

"Rowan? What about him?" Brynjolf questioned, he felt apprehension crawling across his skin as he grew concerned about what Mercer had to say.

"He did the job in Windhelm, did he not? In that inn."

"He did," Brynjolf stifled a groan upon that mention.

"He got a bounty."

"I was aware." Brynjolf said, "He did escape, however."

"Yes, but that wasn't my concern," Mercer snapped, "What I wanted to know was why did he decide to masquerade as a bard and then sing the Age of Aggression right there in that inn!"

"You heard about that."

"Of course I heard about that!" Mercer glared at him, "He was laughing about it at the Flagon just moments ago."

Brynjolf took a deep breath.

"And then there was the one in Solitude."

Oh gods, please free me of this pain.

"Vekel told me that he'd slept with some woman in the alchemy shop before he robbed them! And now he has bounties in that hold as well as posters with his face on them, plastered all over Haarfingar!"

"I haven't heard about that," he admitted.

"Then there was that job in Markarth."

"Oh, gods."

"The guards almost arrested him when they found him screaming 'Glory to the Forsworn' in the middle of the city, all while standing over a corpse." Mercer ranted, "They only let him go when he revealed that he was reading this off a letter from the body."

"Wouldn't they assume that he wrote the letter himself?"

"There were witnesses who spoke for him," Mercer said in a calmer voice, before exploding, "They gave him a fine, which he refused to pay and then proceeded to somehow escape the city. They also put a bounty on him! And do you know how much it all amounts to? Five hundred bloody septims, for gods' sake!"

"I… I suppose we'll have to pay them off," Brynjolf said, bracing himself with a wince.

"You are not getting it, Brynjolf!" Mercer roared, his voice echoing off the walls. "That recruit of yours is eventually going to cost us more money than we can earn from him!"

Brynjolf tried to ignore the stares that they're getting from the thieves who are still awake and looked at Mercer seriously, "We'll make sure he won't do anything like this again. Besides, he has rather exceptional talent in this business and it would be a waste if we were to remove him from the Guild."

Mercer was turning even redder in the face when the anger suddenly seeped from his face. He spoke in a calmer voice that was still tinged with anger as he stood up from his chair, "Yes, we'll have to make sure he won't do anything like this again."

"What do you have in mind?" Brynjolf asked, not liking the sound of it in the slightest.

"You'll watch him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Whenever this... this Rodent goes out on a job, you'll have to go with him," Mercer said, his mind made up.

Brynjolf stood as well, "Hold on, Mercer, there are others to choose from in the Guild, I don't see why I have to be the one to follow him."

"He is your recruit," Mercer said, as if it totally made sense, "Rodent is therefore your responsibility, make sure he does not deliberately offend people, purposely muck up the job for fun or gods forbid, sleep with someone he should not be sleeping with!"

Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest when Mercer snarled at him, "Are we clear?!"

"Yes, sir," He said instead.

"Good," Mercer said as he glanced down at the ledger, "Now finish your paperwork. I'm turning in for the night."

Brynjolf looked at his retreating figure then down at the records he still have left to fill and emitted a very loud and defeated sigh.

And of course, Rowan had to go out for a job the very next morning.

"I don't see why you have to follow me to this job," Rowan said from atop his horse, "I'm alright by myself."

Brynjolf tried not to shiver as the cold morning air threatened to seep into his bones and set his weary eyes upon the other man. He has a slight build, barely thicker than Cynric or Niruin and just about the same height as the former jail breaker. His skin is darker and had medium-length hair as dark as ebony. Underneath the uniform of the Thieves Guild, the man had long limbs and carries himself with a catlike grace. His features are much finer, though, a rather odd sight in the murky, damp depths of the Cistern. Coupled with his velvety smooth voice, it worked well to alleviate people's suspicions in him compared to his lot. There was something exotic in his features as well, what with his brilliant blue eyes that held a certain, playful twinkle to them. Rowan almost always had a crooked grin on his face, a devilish sort of look that should have warded him away the first time he'd seen it.

He knew he should have paid more attention back then when he decided to take this man into the Guild. Those features were the telltale signs of a troublemaker.

"That's not for me to decide," he sighed as he readjusted the saddle on his horse. He was quite tired from the late night and the sight of Rowan's cheerful face did irritate him a little. "Besides, you are known for getting into trouble, I'm just here to prevent that."

"Do you, Brynjolf, second-in-command for the Thieves Guild have nothing better to do than follow a little man around? Did you run out of work or something?"

Brynjolf grumbled to himself and climbed onto his horse that let out a protesting whinny at the rough treatment. He gently patted its neck as an apology before he directed it onto the road. Again, he wondered what business he had doing up at this hour, where the sun had barely risen and the air was frigid and damp with dew. Then he faced Rowan with a half-glare and said, "Come on, we haven't got all day."

Rowan shot him a blinding grin, "We do, if we race."

Brynjolf shook his head and spurred his horse into a trot without a word.

"Well, that's no fun," Rowan complained as he followed.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Brynjolf said without turning to look at him.

Rowan stuck out his tongue behind his back but did keep quiet for most of the way.

It took hours for them to travel the road to Whiterun. It was a rather pleasant walk, with them basking in the sun, surrounded by trees and graced by the occasional breeze that carried the scent of the river and herbs to them. Even while he was sleep-deprived, Brynjolf enjoyed the journey, even more so when they neared the river and listened to its rushing and gurgling. They had encountered no issues along the way and Brynjolf almost forgot about the potential trouble that can certainly be encountered along the way.

The sky was beginning to darken and turn chilly when the foreboding outline of the Valtheim Towers came into view. And at the base of the nearest tower, a voice rang out.

"You there!" A woman in full hide armor and a red sash around her waist called out to them, "Halt!"

"Great, another one of these," Brynjolf muttered to himself, finally remembering.

He mentally prepared himself for a skirmish and reached for his dagger when Rowan unexpectedly stopped him.

"Hold on, I can talk us out of this," he smiled, eyes twinkling.

Brynjolf weighed his options and moved his hand away from his blade, partly because he was intrigued and also because he was not keen to be caught in another fight. He let Rowan go on ahead and watched the exchange.

"What seems to be the problem, milady?" Rowan asked as he got off from his horse. The air about him was changed and he seemed quite the gentleman as he peered at the bandit in what looked like genuine concern and confusion.

"This is a toll road," she said, her face set in a scowl as she subtly lifted her cloak to reveal her mace, "It's two hundred septims if you want to pass through."

Brynjolf raised his head and spotted a couple of bandits standing on the bridge and one right on top of the tower. They were watching the two intently, their weapons at the ready. The archer at the top had his bow out and an arrow in his fingers, ready to be drawn and fired upon them.

Rowan had noticed them as well and looked upon them with calculated deliberation.

"Oh my," he gasped, worry showing on his face at the sight of the armed men.

"Hand over the gold," she bared her teeth, her hand inching towards her mace.

"All those men up there and they have sent a lovely maiden like you to do all the hard work?"

"What?"

Rowan took a good, long look at her, "You are clearly a beautiful and strong woman and they made you cook? Stand on the frontlines while they idle about up there? Do these men have no idea how they should treat a lady?"

The bandit hesitated, staring at him in bewilderment.

"They have no idea do they?" Rowan shook his head in disappointed, "A strong maiden like you should be looked up to."

He unfastened his dagger from his belt and tossed it to the side where it skittered on the rocks and landed in the river with a splash. Brynjolf was alarmed at such a decision and his horse let out a cautious snort when it sensed his mood.

Rowan had no such qualms as he lowered himself to his knees in front of the bandit, right within striking distance.

"A fair, strong and beautiful maiden like you should be cherished like jewels and gold. Held in high regard"

The bandit began to relax and looked upon him appraisingly.

His voice turned husky as he went on, "You, my fair, strong and beautiful lady, should be showered with the deepest love and affection… I, enraptured by your beauty, ensnared by my lady's charms, I submit to your strength."

She looked awed, "You submit to me?"

"Aye," Rowan breathed, unconsciously nearing her form and his hand drifted up, looking as if he wanted to touch her but was afraid of causing offence. "You have the strength of a true warrior, the elegance of a Divine maiden. Surely I must've been blessed for having you grace my sights. Your skin, so supple and so soft, a dainty petal. Your eyes, so beautifully fierce and bright. And your lips… as rosy and pure as a fiery sunset."

The bandit blushed deeply at his words.

"No one had ever said that to me before," she admitted shyly.

"Then I shall say it," Rowan declared with the air of a poet, "I shall say it twice, thrice, as many times as you need, my radiant, sweet goddess! And I will serve, forevermore."

Brynjolf rolled his eyes while no one is looking.

The bandit looked quite taken by him and gazed shyly into the depths of his cerulean blue eyes, where he gazed intently into hers. Both of them looked lost in whatever world they were caught in, until a gruff voice called out.

"Hey! What's going on down there!"

The bandit snapped out of whatever trance that she was caught in and looked upon Rowan in concern, "You've got to go."

Rowan looked distressed, "But, my lady-"

"Go," she said to him, "I'll handle this."

The bandit suddenly noticed Brynjolf and looked at him suspiciously.

"He's a friend," Rowan said, "You need not worry."

"Alright," she said, turning to Rowan, "Leave, quickly!"

"I'm coming down!" The other bandit shouted.

"I'll be back for you, my love, my goddess," Rowan vowed in a choked voice after he jumped onto his horse, he cast his grief-filled eyes upon her, "I promise."

"I'll be waiting," she said, "Now go!"

He and Brynjolf spurred their horses into a gallop and left the towers behind.

"Did you see that?" Rowan laughed for the fifth time as he closed the doors behind them, "That looked like it came straight out from a romantic tale!"

"I may have seen too much," Brynjolf grumbled as he unfastened the buckles on his shirt. He pulled off his armor and draped it carefully on the chair already occupied by his gloves.

"Nonsense," he chuckled as he tugged his gloves off and threw them onto the dresser, "There's no such thing as too much."

"Hm."

Brynjolf took off his boots and set them by the bed as he proceeded to lie in it with a great sigh of relief. He pulled the covers over himself and got ready to get some long awaited sleep.

"Brynjolf?"

"Yes?"

"There's only one bed."

Brynjolf opened his eyes to the unwelcome sight of Rowan smiling up in his face. "You don't mean to sleep with me, do you?"

"Absolutely not," he snapped, unwilling to move from his spot. "I almost forgot, there's a bedroll in my saddlebag, go get it."

The other male looked shocked, "That's all the way at the stables!"

"If you want to sleep, go get it," Brynjolf insisted, "I'm not letting you into the same bed as me."

"You could sleep in the bedroll and I can take the bed," Rowan suggested.

"Not a chance," he said, turning away from him.

"Come on, Brynjolf."

"Bugger off," Brynjolf muttered, "I won't change my mind."

"Bryn…" Rowan started to whine.

Brynjolf responded by ducking under the blanket.

"Fine," Rowan said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like he was pouting. The doors were opened and the sounds of the laughter and music filtered in. Then they were closed and all was quiet once again.

He sighed again and prayed to all the Divines that Rowan might not come up with some terrible plan to disrupt his sleep.

Brynjolf awoke the next morning rested and refreshed. He sat up in the bed and stretched. He looked around the empty room, enjoying the quiet as he slowly put on his boots. The thief got up and was halfway across to the doors when he felt that something was not quite right.

He turned to face the empty room and stood there for a long moment.

"Rowan?" He called. It was rather unsettling as there were no signs of the other man anywhere. The gloves that he'd seen him take off was nowhere to be found, nor was any of his belongings. It was slowly becoming clear that Rowan had not even brought a bedroll in as he suggested.

He had a bad feeling about this, as a dozen awful scenarios ran through his head about what Rowan might have done while he was not in the room. He could've ran into some trouble, or caused some trouble even before he did his job. Or worse, he decided to do the job before the time they have agreed on just because it might be more fun.

If any news got out, Mercer is going to have his head for it.

Brynjolf threw on his shirt and hurriedly made his way to the door when it creaked open, revealing the missing thief.

Rowan startled upon seeing him, he had not expected the other man to be awake and getting ready to look for him, judging from the state of his dress.

"Good morning," he smiled sheepishly.

"Where were you?" Brynjolf demanded. That was when he noticed a certain odor on the other man, "What did you- Never mind, I don't want to know about that. Wait, I want to know about that, who in oblivion did you sleep with?!"

"It wasn't anyone important," Rowan said with a disarming smile as he walked past him into the room.

"That's good," Brynjolf said, relieved. Then he remembered that he should not believe anything that comes out of Rowan's mouth and rushed after him, "No, I didn't mean to say that. I want to know who you slept with?"

That was when he noticed a particular red sash sticking out of his belt and quickly snatched at it.

"Hey!"

"What is this?" He questioned with a frown, holding the sash up to him.

Rowan looked nervous for once, "Ah, well… it was a gift."

"Rowan…" Brynjolf gave a heavy sigh, "Please don't tell me you actually sought out that bandit to sleep with her."

Rowan shot him another nervous smile, "Not just with her."

When he looked like he wasn't going to answer, Brynjolf started to direct a glare at him, "Who. Else?"

"Carlotta?"

Brynjolf promptly slapped him in the face with the sash.

"Come on, Brynjolf, she wouldn't know it was me," Rowan protested.

Currently, he was securely tied up around his wrists, upper arms, thighs and ankles. He was thrown over the back of his own horse and tied up again to ensure that he would not fall off. All sharp objects were taken from him, excluding the dagger that he'd lost yesterday. Clearly, Brynjolf was not going to take any more chances and allow him to escape and be a nuisance to him or anyone else.

"Even so, you should never, ever sleep with our targets," Brynjolf said unhappily, "Or a bandit. You're now forbidden to sleep around while you're on a job."

"What, you can't do thi- mrrghhh."

"Shut up."

Rowan gave a muffled protest around the sash.

Brynjolf led the horse forward before climbing on his own horse, "Time to head home."

Rowan struggled in his bonds and gave another unhappy protest.

"What was that? I can't hear you!" Brynjolf chuckled to himself and finally felt great about their situation.

He might actually look forward to this "job".

Fun fact: Brynjolf was actually still asleep when Rowan was going out on the job, Delvin was the one who woke him. He was there when Mercer was shouting at him XD.