Chapter 1
Kirsia Travenne stumbles through the front door to her home in Whiterun, bruised and bloodied from her travels and not entirely sure if her shoulder was in the right place. Falling into the chair in front of the fire that her housecarl, Lydia, surely lit anticipating her arrival, she starts to remove her breastplate to survey the damage. Placing the chest piece down next to the chair, she assesses the damage to her shoulder, the skin taut as her bone presses out in the wrong direction. The exhausted woman slowly manipulates the dislocated joint back into position, not wanting to disturb the younger Nord from her sleep. Her eyes fall to the flames in the hearth, dancing and writhing in the moonlight. The job had taken far longer than she expected, between the bandits loitering outside the catacombs to the Draugr littering the passageways and rooms, not to mention the traps laden throughout the tomb. Nevertheless, she had her prize, and would deliver it to Vex after a few hours kip in her own bed.
Her ears prick as she hears quiet as light footsteps coming from the second level of her home. Not moving her gaze from the stairs, she reaches behind her for her bow and a singular arrow. One arrow may not be enough to kill the intruder, but it sure as Oblivion would slow them down long enough to grab her sword or axe to her right. Arrow nocked and drawn she waits, hearing the footsteps near the stairs, she lines up the arrow with what is soon to be the intruders kneecap. Suddenly she hears an all-too-familiar voice call out to her, a simple "Lass?" is all it takes for her to drop the bow and arrow in her hands. Hearing the weapon drop to the floor the fiery haired Nord emerges at the top of the stairs, appraising his fellow thief and assessing whether she was likely to shoot him if he approached her. The Breton female is slumped over her bow, the only sign that she is alive is the slight movement of her shoulders as she breathes.
"Kira?" the Nord asks, questioning more whether she was alright with him being in her home than if she was ok. She looked like shit- the job Vex gave her must have been a rather tough one. He kicked himself for not manning up and taking the job himself, instead he had decided to stay in Riften and cosy up in the Cistern having a laugh with the remainder of the Guild. But when Vex had told him Kira had left Riften a good week prior, and a scout had last seen her leaving Breezehome, he knew where he needed to be. He had made the trip to Whiterun in the early hours of the morning, so as not to disturb the others in the cistern, nor alerting them to his intentions.
On his arrival he tracked down Lydia, who divulged very little on her Thane's whereabouts, no matter the amount of gold the Nord offered. However, she had allowed him into Breezehome with minimal fuss. As he recalled her words where something like, "It be on your head what she does to you on her return Brynjolf. This is her home, and if you were not of the guild I'd have cut you down by now." Lydia had reluctantly allowed the Nord to wait here, on the condition that come midday the following he had to leave or find himself another roof to sleep under.
"Gods Lass, you look like you're ready to take a trip to Sovngarde. Did Vex have you take a tussle with a dragon or something?" the Nord cautiously approached her, head low as if in submission. She was the only person the thief had come across who could scare him with her ocean blue orbs. From the first time Sapphire introduced the thief to the Breton female, her eyes had held something that frightened him to the very core, a knowledge of something far greater than himself or the guild. It took almost a week of Kira doing jobs for the guild before news of a Breton female named Dovahkiin reached his ears. Sat in the Bee and the Barb, discussing a potential job with Sapphire, a courier had discreetly handed Maven Black-Briar a letter adorned with a symbol he did not recognise. The dark-haired Nord had stood, rather abruptly for the older woman, and proceeded to make her way towards Mistveil Keep. The ever-curious Nord had followed, keeping in the shadows as not to be seen and had slid in behind Maven as she entered and approached Jarl Laila. The thief situated himself out of sight but within earshot of the women, Maven explained that the letter she had received was from a contact in Ivarstead. News of a raven-haired Breton woman who had ascended the 7000 steps to High Hrothgar shortly after the booming "Dovahkiin" had echoed over what could only be assumed all of Skyrim. Then the woman had not appeared for several days, over which much 'shouting' could be heard from the Throat of the World. The letter also contained a rather detailed drawing of the woman, complete with ocean blue eyes and scar over left eye. Bryn had crept into Black-Briar Manor later that night and stolen a look at the mysterious letter, the drawing bore a rather striking resemblance to his newest recruit.
"What are you doing here Bryn? I know Mercer would not have sent you after me, I'm not important enough for the Guild Master to send his Second to retrieve. So, answer me this Brynjolf, what in Oblivion are you doing in my home? And better yet how did you get in here? I know you wouldn't dare pick my lock, unless of course you were being your pigheaded self, and I know for a fact there isn't anyone in Whiterun who you could whore yourself out to to get a key."
The Nord takes a step back, almost as if Kira had pushed him, his eyes portraying his true feelings. The look of betrayal flashed across his green eyes. After a moment, he comes back to himself "Do you think that lowly of me lass? Did you honestly think I hadn't noticed your absence from the Cistern, let alone the fact your presence is hard to miss Dovahkiin? You are one of a kind to me Kira, I would miss your presence even from Sovngarde." The Nord slowly approaches, head still bowed, and reached out for her hand, when the Dragonborns eyes remained on the flickering light of the hearth his hand dropped. "Am I not allowed to worry about a thief I recruited Lass?"
Kirsia's shoulders stiffened at the pet name Brynjolf adorned every conquest he had, however she had obtained it not from being a notch on his bedpost, rather by being her closed off self. The Nord had often commented on her figure or made off-hand comments as she entered the Cistern and gods forbid he caught her in the Flagon so much as talking to the Sneak Master, Delvin Mallory. The comments, though often complimentary, made the woman's skin crawl. Over her short time with the guild she had learned of Brynjolf's many conquests across all of Skyrim it seemed, hearing stories as far as Solstheim and Markarth. Her fellow Breton, Glover Mallory had warned her not only of Delvin but of the fiery haired Nord he once called brother. "He's not one to be tied down that one." Glover had remarked during one of her trips to Solstheim. "Even when we were young thieves in training, he had to be the best, and would do whatever needed to impress Gallus. Since Gallus was murdered he has moved his… attentions elsewhere I guess you could say. Just be careful around him sister, he may seem sweet and honey tongued but he uses that to his advantage with women. Don't make yourself another notch on his bedpost he will forget by morn." His words had stayed with her over the months, had stuck firmer in her head with every comment The Second had made in her direction.
"Brynjolf, if I needed or even wanted your concern I'd be certain to let you know. Now, stop skirting around my questions or get out before I call the guards." Venom laced her words- she was in no state, physically or mentally, to sit and listen to what the Nord thought, even if he was her superior. She had battled long and hard to retrieve the weapon from Bleak Falls Barrow, even though she knew the layout from her previous escapades there, bandits had reconvened and littered the entrance like a plague. Not to mention the Draugr that had mysteriously either been missed on her last visit or had decided now was the time to wake up, and some considerate idiot had gone through and re-laid traps she had dealt with. Fortunately, for Brynjolf's case, the young Dragonborn had learnt far more than just the training of the Thu'um. The Greybeards of High Hrothgar had taught her how to quell the rage she felt, how to calm her inner dragon from bursting out and shouting those in her way all the way to Oblivion and beyond. "And if the guards don't bother you Brother maybe I should shout you from here back to the Cistern, hmm. It's up to you, Nord."
Brynjolf pulls up a chair across the fire from the rather annoyed woman, sitting and gazing at the ground, contemplating whether he should divulge what his heart was screaming to say. "Lydia let me in, said something about cutting me down if it weren't for my Guild status. She also warned me about your possible… temperament on your return. I… I needed to know you were alright, Lass- I did not come here on behalf of the guild or on some errand." The Nord fixes his gaze firmly on the fire between them. Damn Mara and the rest of you for doing this to me, I was perfectly fine before you blasted Divines threw your two septims into the equation.
"Spit it out Bryn. I'd rather enjoy a nap before having to head back to Riften, and unfortunately, I can't do that with a Nord statue in my living room. Perhaps I should find some birds to shit on you while you think of what to say?" Who am I kidding, I won't get a wink knowing he's in Whiterun, probably trying to bed every woman from here to Jorrvaskr and probably some of the servants in Dragonsreach just to be thorough. The woman glances, however brief, at the man opposite her. The fiery locks of hair falling over emerald eyes, light flickering through them as if holding onto a memory, or emotion. Suddenly the green eyes meet hers, the emerald darkening with an emotion Kira hadn't seen since she left Daggerfall, a mixture of lust and adoration. Snap out of it woman! He's a whore among thieves. Remember all the stories you have heard, not only from your travels but from your guild mates. Remember Glover's words, don't become another conquest for him to toss aside for the next busty broad to cross his vision. The younger thief stands, ignoring her conscience pleading with her to ignore the pull of the Nord staring into her eyes. "What do you need Brynjolf?" the words pour from her mouth as a mere whisper, barely audible over the crackling flames in the firepit.
The older thief holds her deep blue eyes with his, trying to fight the urge to grab the Breton and claim her as his. "I should go Lass, you need your sleep, and no doubt Vex, and Delvin are struggling with Mercer's moods without me there to cushion the blow. We will talk when you return." The Nord stands, now mere inches from her small frame. The scent of nightshade and snowberries filling his nostrils, clouding his other senses for a moment. "Lass..." the Nord mutters, just loud enough for Kira's keen hearing to pick up. "Come home safe. We need you." I need you. The woman averts her gaze back to the fire, losing herself in what Brynjolf could only suspect was the thought of her bed upstairs. "Goodnight Lass." he states as he manoeuvres towards the door. "Walk with the shadows Kira." Before he closes the door behind him he hears the faintest words leave the Bretons lips, "Walk with the shadows Bryn"
Dovahkiin, Dragonborn, Breton, Thane, Thief. What does it all matter if yet again she's alone with her thoughts? What does it mean if she must walk this path alone, through the cold and desolate plains of Skyrim? Why had she let the stupid Nord walk away with yet another promise to talk later? Was Brynjolf that busy whoring his way through the holds of Skyrim that he couldn't notice the subtle hint she left for him before his abrupt departure from her home? Was he as naive as everyone claimed him to be? Or was she blinded by her obvious obsession with the unobtainable? Kirsia lay staring at the ceiling above her bed, a soft snore floating into her room from Lydia. The Nord woman had stood by her side through many a trial, and although apprehensive, had accepted her decision to join the thieves below Riften. Her housecarl had not hidden her disappointment at the prospect of having sneaks and thieves in the home they shared, but nonetheless Lydia has stood by her oath and would follow Kira to Oblivion and back if the need arose. The fact the Nord hadn't cut Brynjolf down where he stood when he came asking questions showed her unwavering loyalty as Kira's sword and shield. Muted light filtered through the wood panelled roof above the Dragonborns head, signalling the beginning of her journey back to Riften.