Raven Rock, a former town once under the jurisdiction of the East Empire Company on the godsforsaken island of Solstheim, now under the control of House Redoran of Morrowind. It was here that half a year's worth of searching brought a Nord far from the comforts of home.
Dull jade eyes look around the marketplace, moving from stall to stall until a familiar voice swearing loudly hits sharp ears. A slight smile appears unbidden and the person moves towards the forge. They manage to get right behind the engrossed blacksmith before saying "You're out of practice, Glover."
The banging stops, the smith turns around, and a familiar pair of brown eyes stare into emeralds. "Well well. Brynjolf. It's been awhile. How's my brother and daughter?"
"Delvin's well, if not a bit overworked, Sapphire's her usual spitfire self," the ginger responds, then asks "Have a minute?"
The Breton just shakes his head. "I already know why you're here. It's certainly took you long enough to pull your head out of your ass."
"Where is she, Glover? I have to see her. I need to see her."
"Ever think she doesn't want to see you? That maybe she was tired of waiting for you to talk to her?" A graying eyebrow arches just slightly, an exact replica of how the Mallory in Riften would when you said something stupid. "It wouldn't matter, the Guild Master's not in town anyways- out on a job for me."
"But the Lass will be back, right?"
The blacksmith's soot covered fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, as if weighing consequences in his head. Finally, he just goes "Guild Master's prerogative." Glover picks up his hammer once more and resumes his work, clearly ending the conversation.
I absolutely loathe that phrase. Brynjolf flinches at the dismissal, black armored shoulders slump in temporary defeat. He slowly makes his way towards The Retching Netch, conveniently located across the way from the blacksmith's, and rents a room for the night. As the thief perches on the bed, he swears to Nocturnal that if the Lady was willing to aid him right his wrongs, he in turn would do everything he could to convince the Prince's favored to come home.
The ginger crawls out of his room late the next afternoon, eyes heavy with lack of sleep. His mind wouldn't stop working, thinking of ways to convince the Lass to come back, if not for him and to him, then at least for the rest of the Guild. Without saying anything to the patrons, Bryn crosses the road and heads back to Glover's.
"You're still here? Why don't you go back to Skyrim before you do more damage, Brynjolf?"
A soft sigh, then "Yes, I'm still here. I'm not heading back to Riften until I talk to the Lass..." The Second of the Thieves Guild swallows, then says quietly "Please Glover...tell me where she is."
Muddy orbs narrow at the thief, the blacksmith half tempted to tell him to leave and never come back. Instead, he reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small steel key and offers it to the Nord. "The only help you're getting for me- I might not be as active with the Guild, but even I hold to the rule that you don't steal from each other or break into their homes. You have to find the door... which shouldn't be hard if you're half the thief the Guild Master claimed you used to be."
Used to be? What in the name of Nocturnal did the Lass mean by that? Calloused fingers deftly snatch the item from the other thief, slipping it into one of the many pockets on his armor. "Appreciated, Glover, believe me."
"Eyes open and walk with the Shadows, Bryn. You're gonna need them."
The blacksmith watches as the fiery haired Nord walks off to find the portal the key unlocked, slipping his hood up as he goes. He doesn't even turn around when he hears soft footsteps come up behind him. "You know the Guild Master's not going to be thrilled when she hears we played a part in all this, you know that?" Glover goes, leaning an elbow against the workbench.
"Small price to pay to have the both of them happy," Delvin says, coming up to stand next to his brother. "The family hasn't been the same since she stormed out and came all the way up here. Truth be told, if it wasn't for you writing to tell me, we might never have discovered where the bird flew off to. I never would have thought the Boss would have returned to Solstheim, especially after that mess with Miraak."
"Probably the furthest she thought she could get away from that idiot," the elder Mallory mutters, barely audible over the sounds of the forge. "How long do we give them?"
"Knowing the fact the Boss has a lot of anger she hasn't dealt with... probably this time tomorrow. I just hope Bryn doesn't screw this up, he's not going to get another chance after this."
It takes the seasoned thief almost an half an hour before he discovers which home was currently owned by the not-quite-missing Guild Master. It only took him that long because, with the exception of Glover Mallory's home, none of the other homes in Raven Rock had shadowmarks anywhere. However, whenever she chooses to, Nocturnal provides for her Nightingales- and it seems she provided a rather blunt hint to her wayward agent. Perched on top of the entranceway of a home in the northeast corner of the small frontier town, was their patron's symbol staring at him with just a hint of disdain. Inwardly, he snorts- a hint was putting it mildly.
Green eyes stare into the grayish-black ones of the avian and the male goes "Are you telling me this is where I need to go?" His only response is a ruffling of black feathers and a quick release of song. The redhead gives a slight bow to the bird. "Thank you, Lady." Booted feet make no sound as they walk towards the door, and whispering a prayer, Brynjolf slips the key into the lock and turns it. A soft click is heard and the wooden door swings open, revealing an antechamber with a cooking pot at the fireplace.
When he shuts the door behind him, his green eyes slowly adapt to the dim lighting, almost on par with what was back at the cistern. The thief had heard that the Dunmer normally built the majority of their rooms underground, but to actually see it was something else. As the man makes his way down the flight of stairs, a voice floats out of nowhere.
"What in the name of Nocturnal are you doing here?"
"I wanted to talk to you, Lass."
"Talk to me? After all the chances you had? I'm surprised you ran out of important things to do to push it off." A pause then "Who told you where to find me?"
"No one- it took me six months to track you down."
"I know you didn't pick my lock."
"No," Bryn says, swallowing back the emotion creeping into his voice. "Glover gave me the key."
A soft swear echoes around him as the thief made his way into the basement. "Bloody Mallorys. I swear, they're both the same in every annoying way possible. The pair mean well, but once they have an idea they stick to it like a fly on dragon shit." A sigh then he hears "But I'd never want any other watching my back."
That comment practically was a slap to the face, but the ginger knew it was well deserved and admitted that.
"You have changed. Getting you to admit you were wrong was near impossible. Shadows forbid you grew up and take responsibility for the problems you inadvertently caused."
"That's why I'm here, Lass," he goes, slowly making his way from room to room looking for the woman in question. "I want to try and fix what I've done- to both you and the Guild. The family needs you home. I need you back home."
"You need? What about my needs, my wants? I never wanted to be Guild Master. All I wanted was to run jobs and have a family I could count on- not having a Second who runs out the door every time I come into a room! What in the name of Nocturnal did I do to deserve that Bryn?!"
"Not a damned thing," the green eyed man whispers to the seemingly empty room. He could see mannequins holding armor- the basic armor set of the thieves guild on one, the guild master's armor on another. A third was empty, and between the mannequins were two weapon racks- the first holding a very familiar enchanted dwarven one-handed sword, the other an enchanted one-handed sword with the Nightingale symbol on the hilt. The sword's matching bow was laying on a table off to the side, a quiver of ebony arrows propped up against the wall beside it. Laying in a small box, finally, was a key and an Amulet of Articulation. "You kept everything?"
"Why shouldn't I have? I'm still a thief, still a Nightingale and held to my oath, and still the Guild Master the last time I checked. Just because I haven't been down in Riften in some time doesn't mean I don't know what's going on in my Guild." Her voice echoes around him, cold with just a hint of mocking. It sounded closer, but the fire touched Nord didn't realize how close until he turned around, the last thing the man saw was a bare fist flying at his face, connecting, and crumbling to the ground unconscious.
Having spent so many years underground in the Cistern, the male had a pretty good approximation of how many hours passed when he finally came to- unfortunately for him, the only thing he could really tell at this point was that his head hurt something awful. Next, his body registered the fact he was tied to a chair and somehow lost everything he had on save for...linen pants that definitely were not his, choosing to forgo anything underneath his armor. Damn it straight to the Evergloam. He lets out a groan as he raises his head.
"Ah, you're awake. I was a bit worried I might have swung a little too hard- anger issues and all that."
Green eyes look up to see Aya perched on top of a table in form-fitting Nightingale armor sans gloves, her long legs crossed in front of her. "Why?" he coughs out.
"Why? You of all people asking me why, maybe you're not as smart as I thought you were Bryn... and as dense as Delvin claimed you are." Long fingers gingerly pick up a bottle of mead and the woman holds it out in offering. "Drink?"
The male goes to respond, only to gesture to his shoulders instead with his head. "Bit hard to do much of anything when one's tied up like a present."
"Well, it's keeping you from discovering yet another important thing to do and rushing off without talking to me, ya? You have a very long history of doing that, and eventually your words to me became empty as the promises you made.." She sticks the bottle in a box- the clinking sound told him there were a few bottles in there- picks it up and walks over to him. Brynjolf watches her move, the way her soft booted feet barely made a sound on the stone floor, the way she watched him like a wild animal stalks its prey. His mouth dries as she bends just slightly to put the crate down, the sound of stretching leather echoing in his ears.
The female Nord pulls out a mead and opens it, then without a care in the world, perches carefully on his bound lap, straddling his legs. "Open up Bryn," Aya directs him, pressing the mouth of the bottle to his lips. The man underneath her complies, the alcohol pouring down his throat and warming his rather bare body quite nicely. As she pulls the drink away, a few drops land in his facial hair.
"Some Nord you are, wasting perfectly good mead like that," the blonde tells him, taking a long pull from the bottle herself. A strange glint appears in her storm colored eyes and she leans towards him, her tongue just slipping out far enough to catch the escaping liquor. She purrs softly, lids fluttering shut. "Tastes so much better that way."
A hint of color, barely hidden by his reddish facial hair, graces the bound thief's cheeks; his normally confident voice rasping slightly as he asks "Mind if I have some more Lass?" The familiar smell of lavender and snowberries with a hint of vanilla stimulated his nose, giving him a feeling of safety and home.
"I'd be a terrible host if I didn't tend to most of my... guest's needs," Aya responds, a thin eyebrow arching at him slightly. Finishing the bottle in her hands, the Guild Master leans over and plucks another one out of the box, her leather-clad body moving slowly against the man pinned underneath her.
"Most of my needs, Lass?"
"Of course. Most could include everything except untying you- yet. Depends on how I feel when you ask something of me." The bottle in her covered hands gets opened quietly, the woman shifting slightly to pour the contents down the waiting throat. As her second in command swallows the offered liquid, his superior leans forward towards his neck again and this time inhales slightly. "Still the same, even after all this time. Leather, fire and pine. Was always a comforting smell when I could get you to stay in place long enough to enjoy it. Gave me a feeling of comfort, of warmth...Now I'm not so sure. Maybe I was just hoping..."
The two sit there quietly after awhile, the only thing being said was him asking for another drink a few times. Four bottles later and the blonde woman goes, looking at him, "Explain something to me, Brynjolf."
"If I can you know I will, Aya."
The Guild Master's head tilts slightly, the thoughts running through her head stopping suddenly the second her name came out of his mouth. Frankly, she wasn't even sure up until that point that her at times dense Second knew her name- now she knew. "What do I have to do to break this hold you knowingly or not have on me? The Lady knows I've begged and pleaded with her to make it stop- I didn't want to end up like Karliah, alone with her love dead whether by friend or foe or own stupidity… But I'm tired Bryn. I'm tired of running, I'm tired of being alone and being afraid of what ifs. Dealing with Mercer taught me that I could be serving Nocturnal in the Twilight Sepulcher a lot sooner than I'd like, and I decided that if that happened, I could at least move on knowing that I at least asked…"
Looking at the man underneath her, the woman watches as a strange expression appears on her Second's face, one she hadn't seen him wear before. Before she could ask him what was wrong, the male thief whispers to her "Untie me, Lass." If her heart could drop to her boots, it would not have stopped there, but it would have kept going through the floor and the ground below her feet. Her Nord features steel over, becoming cool and detached as if channeling her inner Mercer...well, the Mercer she knew before he tried killing her twice.
"Very well." Reaching into her right boot, she pulls out a rather sharp Stalhrim dagger she had purchased from Glover not three days earlier. Somehow, the Guild Master manages to convince her body to move from its rather comfortable seat and cuts the ropes holding the ginger to the seat. Taking two steps from him, Aya faces towards the room where a variety of stuffed bookcases are and quietly goes "I trust you can see yourself out."
The chair creaks as Brynjolf's barely dressed form rises, but she loses him temporarily on the pelt rugs on the cold stone floor. Her nose twitches as the faint smell of smoldering embers gets closer, then her eyes narrow as his figure steps in her line of vision. "I said go, Bryn. Do I need to make it an order?"
Deep forests stare into storm clouds, the man not saying a word, only steps into her space causing Aya to move backwards. Another step forward makes her shift away again, the pair moving until her back is flush to the wall. "Move."
The male shakes his head, auburn strands of hair moving in his line of sight. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Lass."
"Move, or I'll shout you so hard and far you'll end up back in Glover's basement."
"Well, I suppose I will have to chance that." Instead of stepping back, he steps forward into her comfort zone, barely an inch separating them. But that was still too far for the male thief and before the somewhat pinned woman could blink, Brynjolf hand shoots out, latching onto her arm.
"Let go."
"Do you really want me to?" His free hand slowly reaches out, dry pads brushing against a smooth cheek.
It takes everything and then some for Aya to keep herself from leaning into the touch, her right eye twitching slightly. An inhale hitches slightly as Bryn's hands start to move- the one on her face travelling down her jawline, the one on her forearm dancing up towards her shoulder. The fingers continue their seemingly random travels until they come to rest at her hips, grasping lightly at her armor. "Do you?" he asks her again
A sigh is heard, followed quietly by "To the Void with this." Her hands grasp onto his shoulders and yank the male Nord forward, forcing his lips onto hers.
Brynjolf groans against her mouth and he grabs at the leather covering her skin, hastily tugging at the material trying to peel it off her and failing miserably. "Blasted armor," he growls as she smacks at his hands.
"You can pick a lock in no time at all, but can't remove another person's gear," she teases him, slipping her boots off and tossing them into a corner.
"Well, I didn't think you'd appreciate me ripping them off you, Lass."
"Well, I wouldn't mind. Nocturnal on the other hand..." the blonde presses gently on his bare chest, guiding him back towards the bed. As they move, the female Nord slowly removes what's left of her armor, stepping out of the way when he reaches out to grab her. At the sound of a dejected moan, the last of her gear gets tosses blindly over her shoulder. "You're a thief, you need to remember patience. Can't just force a lock open now, can we?"
This time, the male was able to get a hold on her arm and yanks forward, stepping aside so that she ends up on the bed. Pinning Aya down with the lower part of his body, Brynjolf slowly drags his tongue along the side of her neck. "I think I've been plenty patient," he growls as his fingers explore bare skin, relishing in the sounds the woman underneath him was making. "Tell me what it is you want, Lass. Is it just a tumble you're after?"
Rough yet dexterous digits latch into the long fire touched locks of hair and tugs his head down towards hers. "If I just wanted a fuck, my rather obtuse Second, I would have sent you on the first ship back to Windhelm and just taken my pick of someone here. Like Glover, for instance- I mean, he obviously knows what he's doing sexwise if he gave the Guild Sapphire…" The woman cuts him off before he could voice his indignation at being tossed aside for anyone, let alone the older Mallory brother. "I've wanted you since the first time I walked into the marketplace and saw you peddling your scam. There's never been anyone else I've wanted...needed… since. Believe me, I tried, gods know I tried, but the heart and mind weren't having any of it."
"Oh really Lass? Why didn't you…?"
"Say anything? Didn't think it was that necessary considering Delvin and Sapphire were poking fun at me for months- in front of you on top of that!"
Brynjolf's eyebrows furrow slightly in thought, his mind going back to conversations he had with the Sneak Trainer, memories being flagged of him being asked rather vague yet leading questions regarding the woman now known as their Guild Master. "Evergloam take him, the bastard did know." He goes to rant a little bit more, only to get cut off by soft lips pressing against his own.
"I think the Mallory boys just like messing with you-it has to be a family trait," Aya tells him, mumbling against his mouth. "But yes Bryn, you were rather blind. And when you started with your 'important things' excuse, I got tired of waiting to 'talk later'. I came to the conclusion that you had your eye on a better prize, like Vex, continuing your thing with Tonilia, or even the one who was making those potions for your scams, giving Maven yet another way to keep her claws in the Guild." She watches as verdant eyes go distant for a moment, and the woman brings him back to the here and now with a soft nibble on his lower lip. "What are you thinking about?"
"The fact my wanting to protect myself from getting hurt inadvertently did that to you… that and I could have been having my way with you on ever single surface of the Flagon for months now." The Thieves Guild's Second gives his leader a somewhat lewd look, then shakes his head. "I'm so sorry, Lass. Can you forgive me?"
A pensive look crosses the Nord woman's face, the one she'd always make when she was weighing options and carefully choosing words. "I'm sure there's a way you can...convince me you're being sincere with your apology," she drawls out, looking up at him with a sly smile.
He looks down at her, an auburn eyebrow arching ever so slightly upwards. "Challenge accepted, Lass."
The next afternoon saw the two Mallory brothers making their way through Raven Rock towards their Guild Master's home, unsure of what they might find. They both agreed that the ginger idiot would still be alive, but the degree of health was being called into question.
"I'm telling you, Delvin," Glover says to his brother as he opens the door to Severin Manor, "If she didn't hit him at least once, I'll be surprised. You have absolutely no idea how angry she was when she came back to this place."
The trainer shakes his head in the negative and goes "I personally think she wore him out first through tantalizing torture… then left him there in a whimpering mess. Would be no less than Bryn deserved with what he did to her."
"Odd coming from you brother, considering how long you've been chasin' Vex. When are you going to take a no from her as actually meaning no?"
"Never. I'll convince her, you'll see," Del swears as the pair make their way down the flight of stairs, twin sets of topazes keeping watch for anything amiss...or amusing.
And somewhat amusing is what they found when the brothers end up at the center entrance for the bedroom, seeing a pair of hands that were too large to be the Guild Master's being held up to the bed's wooden headboard by a black belt. Their sniggers cause a tousled mound of blonde strands to raise up from it's fleshy pillow, molten silver eyes glaring at them in anger.
"Where there's one Mallory doing something stupid, the other tends to not be that far away," Aya says lowly, more as not to wake up the person beside her than to convey how annoyed she was at the intrusion. "Now, one of you better start explaining before you're both in a world of hurt."
The thief and blacksmith start telling their piecemeal tale, Delvin starting with how the Guild members reacted to her letter, of how the man beside her tried to put on a strong front but spent any free time he had trying to find her, of how no one had any clue until Glover sent a letter mentioning Aya's presence up in Raven Rock two months later. His brother picks up the story, stating how the pair decided that they felt it would be best if they kept her location away from the Second more to see if he was looking for the right reasons and not to just not have to take on her responsibilities, to see if Brynjolf would keep using his crutch of having to do "important things" to avoid talking to her.
"And neither of you thought that it would be prudent to inform me of the games you were playing? Not only with him, but by extension me?"
As one, the brothers rub the back of the heads, a sheepish expression flickering across their faces. "Well, Boss…"
"No," Aya cuts them off from saying anything further with a slash of her hand. She fully sits up, so aggravated with them she didn't even bother wrapping the snow bear fur around her chest. "Eyes front, idiots," the woman growls at them as two sets of eyes immediate move downwards. When they comply, she says to the Mallorys "You two had absolutely no fucking right to get involved in our private affairs. Who do you think you are? You, Glover," the Guild Master snarls quietly, pointing at the blacksmith, "abandoned the woman that ended up pregnant with your daughter, then ran like a dog with his tail between his legs when you saw her, and you're still running. You, Delvin, have decided to keep chasing Vex thinking she's playing hard to get. Eventually she's going to slip a poisoned shiv between your ribs because she's sick of your shit. So tell me, why in the name of Nocturnal should we take relationship advice from either of you?!"
Nearly black orbs squeeze shut, the woman mentally counting to calm herself down. "Now. I am going to give you until I say five. If the both of you are not out of my house, I will show you exactly why I'm the Dragonborn. One."
"Aya don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit?" Delvin.
"Two."
"I've got a bad feeling about this." Glover.
And you should. The woman gives the two men a wry smirk that promises them a world of hurt. "FUS RO DAH!" Aya watches as the two Mallorys go soaring down her long hallway, crashing into the stairs leading to the exit. Not even glancing at the man sharing her bed, she slips out from under the blankets and heads towards the door.
A groan hits her ears, and she snorts as she sees Delvin rubbing the back of the head having received the corner of the stair full on. "Ugh… you are a dirty cheat Boss!"
"Grow a set Del, you've gotten worse hits from Vex when you've tried to catch her naked. I'm a thief. You expect me to play nice and clean? You want that, you're in the wrong guild darlin'." Her naked form- which they could now see was covered in scars, scratches, bruises and bitemarks- leans against the door frame. "Now, you two head back to the forge. We'll meet you when we're ready, not a moment sooner." Without another word, she slips back into the room, closing the door behind her.
"You think that was a little bit much, Lass?"
As she starts moving, her gaze falls onto the bed, the redhead thief somehow managing to pull his body up into a sitting position against the headboard he was tied to. "I don't think so- I feel it got the point across quite nicely. This isn't the Flagon where they can come and go as they please. They're lucky I love them enough to not get the Redoran guards involved for them trespassing," Aya tells Brynjolf as she curls up next to him, her head laying on his bruised shoulder. "I am sorry for waking you though."
"Well then, Lass," her Second goes, murmuring into her pale hair, "I'm sure there's a way for you can convince me you're being sincere with your apology…"
She turns her head slightly, silver peering into flawless emerald. Aya's own eyebrow rises slightly, mimicking the same look he gave her only last night, and she simply goes "Challenge accepted, Lad."
And so the Guild Master and her Second in Command challenged each other for the rest of their days.