A Fine Joke
Brynjolf stalks silently through the house, bagging and pocketing any valuables he comes across. He can't believe his luck. This place is a gold mine! He sees an ornament, a claw, covered in diamonds. He has to have it.
As soon as he grabs it, blue orbs light the room and reveal a lithe woman sitting on a chair in the corner. A Dunmeri woman. With a metal mask.
The Dragonborn.
"Well, well, little thief." the voice comes out slightly distorted through the mask. "What brings you to my humble abode?"
The Dragonborn wears her trademark Dragonscale armour, visibly gleaming with magical enchantments, and of course the mask. A legendary Dragonpriest mask, artefacts enchanted by the Dragons themselves, by far the most powerfully enchanted objects in Skyrim, possibly Tamriel.
There are more powerful objects, of course, objects that are inherently magical, but these were once simple veins of iron in the ground, made what they are by the will of beings so powerful they were once revered as Gods.
Creatures that had been slain and defeated by the woman before him.
The woman who's house he was robbing.
"Oh... My lady I... I had no idea this was your house!" the shocked thief blurts.
The Dunmer ignores him. "I'd rather you left the claw here. I needed it to unlock a door on my way to Sovngarde, and I enjoy having it as a keepsake."
Brynjolf gulps. This was supposed to be a simple clearing job! But now he stood before the woman who defeated Alduin, fought her way through Alduin's army of Dragons, Draugr and Dragonpriests, in order to get to Sovngarde to defeat him forever! For Talos' sake, no one had lived in the house for five years! It was meant to belong to some thane who'd moved away!
"Tell me," she looks into his eyes, and seems to search his soul, "Brynjolf." 'How does she know my name?' Brynjolf panics, 'can she read my mind?'
A chuckle from the woman only furthers his fears.
"Yes, I know who you are. Second in command of Riften's thieves' guild. Mercer Frey's trainee. One of the three who went to defeat Mercer. One of the three," she smirks, "Nightingales."
'How can she know? Nobody knew, nobody!' he thinks in shock.
"Hmm... Do you recognise my mask?" the Dragonborn asks rhetorically. Of course he does. Everyone knows of her masks.
"You should. You've sold no less than twenty three of them. Quite odd, since there are only thirteen, and they've only had two owners each. Hevnoraak, Konahrik, Krosis, Morokei, Nahkriin, Otar, Rahgot, Volsung, Ahzidal, Dukaan, Miraak, Zahkriisos... And me. And I have them all at this time. So where did these twenty three others come from?" Brynjolf only seems more uncomfortable as he was reminded of the achievements of the woman he was robbing.
"I had some masks made and enchanted... They weren't anywhere near as strong as the originals, but the buyers didn't know that." the thief sounds almost ashamed.
"One more thing Brynjolf." the woman says. Her voice is clearer now, the mask removed. Brynjolf still looks at his feet. "Don't trust Vex as much."
He recognises the voice and his head snaps up so fast it sounds like his neck breaks. "Tirith? For Nocturnal's sake, I almost shat myself! I thought I'd tried to rob the Dragonborn! Where did you get that mask anyway? Looks far better than my fakes."
"Oh Brynjolf... This is my 'coming out' so to speak. This looks better than your fakes because this is Volsung's mask, and I pried it from his corpse." The leader of the Thieves' Guild says.
"But that was the Dragonborn! She defeated the priests!" the thief argues.
"Aye, and you did try to rob the Dragonborn." she said, standing up and walking to the window. "Do you know what this house is? This is Breezehome. I bought it a few days after arriving in Skyrim. Hours after killing my first Dragon."
"You shouldn't joke about that sort of thing, Tirith, the Dragonborn saved everyone." the second-in-command warns.
"Yol." the Dragonborn whispers, and a flame bursts from her mouth and lights the fireplace.
"I do not joke Brynjolf. I am Dovahkiin, Thane of the nine holds and Harbinger of the Companions, who saved Solstheim. I would rather you stop calling me a liar." she says quietly, a threatening edge entering her voice.
Brynjolf stares at her, a light of understanding entering his eyes. "You're serious... My lady." he adds hurriedly.
"Oh for the love of Talos... Don't you dare call me 'my lady' or you'll find out exactly what the Thu'um can do." she warns him exasperatedly.
"Yes my... I mean yes Tirith." he says dubiously, as though expecting she'd demand respect.
"I didn't tell you this because I wanted you to treat me differently." the Dragonborn said, rolling her eyes.
"Why did you tell me then?" Brynjolf questions.
"Because I want you to answer my question honestly, and you can't do that without all the information about me." she says, pulling at her necklace, trying to remove it from her armour.
"What questi- oh... Do you mean you..." he trails off, not sure if the amulet means what he hopes it means, what he desperately wants it to mean.
"Yes, I do mean that." the Thieves' Guild leader says softly. "Will you?" follows uncertainly, but hopefully.
"By the Nine yes!" Brynjolf shouts, ecstatic.
And Tirith rips the necklace from her throat, throwing it on the ground and hugging her Second-in-Command.
They leave Whiterun the next day, the amulet forgotten in Breezehome.
The Amulet of Mara.
