Reflections
A Skyrim Fan-fiction
[Author's Note: This is a one-off short story set in the same AU as my previous story, "Into the Maelstrom." This was an idea I toyed with but never included in that story; the meeting between Tamsyn and Brynjolf, and how she assisted in the Thieves' Guild quest line without actually being involved, or allowing Marcus to become so. Enjoy!]
Brynjolf sipped the glass of spiced wine and stared into the fire. Life was good, he had to admit. The Guild was making more money than ever by espionage than by thieving, and though some of the older members complained, the newest recruits were finding the lessons in pickpocketing, illusion and stealth most lucrative. Of course, they were only getting a small part of the overall take. As Guildmaster, he received the larger percentage.
With Karliah and Sapphire as his Nightingales, and Delvin and Vex running the day-to-day with the Guild, he found he had more time to be liason between the Cyrodiil Guild, headed by Dante Greyshadow, and the Alliance, currently led by Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun – though neither of those facts were common knowledge.
Things were coming to a head soon, he knew. The information coming out of Cyrodiil indicated the Aldmeri Dominion would be making a major move soon, and the target seemed to be Bthardamz, though that could be misinformation. It wouldn't be the first time the Dominion feinted and struck elsewhere. Still, the very existence of the Reachfolk seemed to offend the Altmer. A concerted strike against Bthardamz, where the highest concentration of Reachfolk were living and training, would be a coup for them, and would cripple the Alliance that counted on Madanach's magic-wielding and resistant people.
He gave a wry chuckle as he sipped the glass again. He never would have believed, five years ago, that he would be heading up the largest, most organized spy network Tamriel had ever known. And he owed it all to a diminutive red-haired Breton girl who was now the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and wife to Marcus of Whiterun, the Last Dragonborn.
He noticed her the moment she walked into the marketplace. Strangers in town were a valuable commodity for him, because it meant no one else knew who they were, either. Especially the guards. He'd been standing in the stall for nearly three hours, trying to sell the swill he was passing off as "Falmer-blood Elixir."
"Make love like a sabre-cat!" he declared. "Or crush your enemies before you! Grow back that missing limb with my Falmer-blood Elixir!"
What drabble! he sneered to himself. No one is going to actually believe they can grow back an arm or a leg!
He saw the red-haired girl stop at Madesi's stall and look at the jewelry. Small, petite and curvy…just the way he liked them. Well, to be honest, he liked them any way he could get them, and they didn't often say no.
Leaving off hawking his wares for the moment, he stepped past Edda, who shuffled self-consciously out of his way.
"Sorry, Bryn," she muttered.
"It's alright, Edda," he soothed, passing her a coin. "You haven't done anything wrong." He caught up with the Breton girl as she concluded her business with Madesi and was crossing the market square, heading in the direction of the Bee and Barb.
"You haven't done an honest day's work for all the coin your carrying, eh lass?" he murmured smoothly.
"I beg your pardon?" Emerald-green eyes blinked back at him, and while her tone implied surprise, there was some undefinable knowing look in her gaze; almost as if she had expected him.
"I said you've got the coin, but you didn't earn it honestly," he smirked. "I can tell."
The girl drew herself up stiffly. "My wealth is none of your business," she replied in a tone that clearly indicated the conversation was – for her -over. But Brynjolf was never one to back down from a challenge.
"Oh, that's where you're wrong, lass," he smiled. "Wealth is my business. You see, I have a little job that needs doing, and I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well-paid. Maybe you'd like a little taste?"
"I'm not sure," the Breton girl frowned. "What did you have in mind?"
"I'm going to cause a distraction," Brynjolf explained, "and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring that he keeps in his strongbox under his stall. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."
At this point, most people would have told him to go fuck himself, or would have politely refused. A handful might even have accepted his proposal, and then he would know he had a potential recruit. The girl did none of these things.
"Wouldn't you really rather know why your organization is failing, Brynjolf?" she asked.
Taken aback, Bryn could only stare for a moment. First of all, he hadn't told her his name. It was possible his reputation preceded him, but he doubted it extended very far past Riften. Secondly, it wasn't common knowledge yet that the Guild had fallen on hard times. Some of the guards might have sneered that they were nothing more than rabble, but a stranger wouldn't have known that.
"Who says my…organization…is failing?" he bluffed.
"Every guard who isn't in Maven Black-briar's back pocket," she replied. Her tone was innocent enough, but the look in her eyes told him she knew far more than a common traveler through the city, and that made her suddenly a very dangerous person. Bryn didn't like unknowns.
Suspicion narrowed his eyes. "Just who are you, lass?"
"That's not really important right now," the girl said dismissively. "I'm not going to be joining your 'organization,' Brynjolf, but I also don't want to see it fall apart."
The red-haired thief snorted derisively. "Why? Most people would love for that to happen."
"Come see me tonight at the Bee and Barb," she invited. "Strictly business, of course," she added hastily. "If you're not comfortable speaking privately there, I'll meet you wherever you say, except the Ragged Flagon."
"Why not there?" Brynjolf asked, suspicion rearing its head again.
"Because what I have to tell you must be for your ears only," the girl insisted. "People might die if word gets back to the wrong people."
"I'll admit, you've piqued my interest," Brynjolf conceded. "Very well, lass. I'll meet you tonight, but not at the Barb. There's an abandoned Watchtower just north of town. Some Imperials came through last week and killed all the guards there. Our esteemed Jarl hasn't shifted her ample backside enough yet to repopulate the place. I'll meet you there an hour after midnight."
"I'll be there," the Breton girl promised.
Brynjolf approached the Watchtower before the appointed hour, but found the mysterious girl was already there. A soft glowing orb bobbed over her head as she sat on the steps just inside the wooden structure. So, she was a mage as well? Brynjolf was getting warning prickles all up and down his spine. He was a Nord. He didn't trust mages.
"You're early, lass," he remarked, slipping in through the eastern window. "That's unusual."
If she was startled, she hid it well. "Why, because I'm a woman?" she demanded breathlessly.
"No, lass," Bryn said. "Because you seem to have some kind of advantage over me by claiming to know something I don't. Anyone else would make me wait for them to show up, just to make me nervous about what they know, and who they're talking to."
"I don't play those kinds of games, Brynjolf," the girl sniffed.
"That's another thing," the thief complained. "I won't deny I have a bit of a reputation in Riften, and most of the locals know me. But you're a complete stranger. You've just come to town today. How did you know my name?"
"I'm…something of a Seer," she replied. She seemed almost embarrassed to admit it. "I can sometimes See things before they happen, and know things others would like to keep secret."
Brynjolf snorted. "I don't believe in mysticism," he said shortly. "That sort of scam is pure malarkey."
"Malarkey?" She repeated, amused. "Well, then perhaps you don't want to know how to save the Thieves' Guild from going under."
Brynjolf hesitated. He really didn't believe in superstitious hogwash, but he couldn't deny the Guild was in trouble. It couldn't hurt to listen to what she had to say. "I didn't say that, lass," he finally apologized. "What makes you think the Guild is going under?"
"I know it is, Brynjolf," she affirmed, her tone and manner completely serious. "Mercer Frey, your Guild-Master, is bleeding you dry."
"What?!"
"You heard me," she shot back. "He's been stealing from the Guild for years."
"That's impossible, lass," Bryn protested. "You don't know what you're saying!"
"Don't I?" she challenged. "Tell me again why all your members – like Vex and Rune and Viper – go out and get the jobs done, but the Guild still doesn't have money? Tell me why your luck – which every thief depends on so heavily – seems to have run dry. Delvin Mallory says you've all been cursed, but you laugh at him. Well, he's not far wrong."
Brynjolf was silent. He was trying very hard not to believe in all this nonsense, but this tiny Breton girl had just hit too many nails right on the head. How could she have named the names she had? He couldn't deny something wasn't right with the Guild; even his luck seemed to have gone awry lately. Could she and Delvin be right? Was the Guild cursed?
"That's a pretty serious accusation to make about our Guild-Master without some kind of proof to back it up," he told her now, struggling to make some sense of it all. "I've known Mercer Frey for years. He's always done right by the Guild."
"Including his lavish lifestyle at Riftweald Manor?" She asked. "You've been there. Maven might have given him the house, but she didn't give him everything in it."
Brynjolf frowned. Yes, he had been to Mercer's home, but how could this girl have known that? And he couldn't deny he'd seen many costly furnishings and antiquities which Mercer had claimed were rewards for favors he'd done. Bryn was starting to have some serious doubts about what he thought he knew.
"Even if what you say is true," he protested, "I still couldn't take that to the Guild without some kind of proof."
"Getting the proof is easy, Brynjolf," the Breton girl told him. "You'll need to wait for a time when Mercer is away from the Guild for a few days."
"And?" Brynjolf asked when she paused.
"You and Delvin will have to use your keys to open the Vault and see what Mercer has left you," she finished.
Brynjolf was stunned. There was no way in Nirn she could have known about the Vault, much less that it took two keys to open it!
"There's more, Brynjolf," she said soberly. "And I need you to pay particular attention here."
"I'm listening, lass," he said faintly. More? More bad news on top of what he'd already heard?
"Mercer is a dangerous person. He can turn himself invisible at will, and he doesn't need two keys to open the Vault."
"That's impossible!" Brynjolf sputtered. "There's no way that lock will open without two keys. I know that for fact."
"Mercer has a special key that he stole to do it," she answered. "You can't confront him with this news. If you do, everyone in the Guild will die. You won't be able to stop Mercer from killing you all."
Bryn felt his knees weaken and he sat down heavily on the steps next to her as her Candlelight spell winked out. She didn't recast it. "So what are you suggesting I do?" he asked helplessly. He didn't want to believe this. It couldn't be true!
"I know you won't be fully convinced until you see the evidence for yourself," she said gently. "I know this is a lot to take in all at once, and I won't ask you to take my word for it. Just wait for the right moment, and you and Delvin open the Vault when Mercer's gone. But you absolutely must keep this to yourselves. Come back to me when you can, and I can tell you how to proceed from here. I'll be staying at the Bee and Barb for the next week."
"Aye, lass," Bryn muttered. "I'll look into it. If you're wrong, you can clear out of Riften. I'll not stop you. But if you're right…"
"I'm right," she assured him. "I can help you catch Mercer before he destroys the Thieves' Guild."
"I need to know one thing, lass," Bryn ventured, with a puzzled frown. "What's your deal with all this? Why should you care what happens to a bunch of thieves and scoundrels? I'd think you'd be happy to see us go under."
"I have my reasons," she assured him. "I'm not asking anything in return, except a favor when I call for it."
"I don't like open-ended bargains," Bryn scowled. "That's a daedra's deal, and only a fool would accept it."
"But you're not a fool, Brynjolf," she assured him. "You know how things have been with your Guild. You know something has to change. If…when you open that Vault and find Mercer has played you all for fools, how will you feel then?"
"I don't have to answer that, lass, do I?'
She gave a low chuckle. "No, Brynjolf, you don't. But you're smart enough to realize a golden opportunity when it presents itself. I'm offering you inside information; about as inside as it gets, really…information that can help you save your organization. All I'm asking for in return is a favor to be named later."
Bryn gave a wry snort. "I don't even know your name, lass."
"I know," she smiled. "Trust me, it's better you don't know. I really don't want it connected to what you need to do. Just call me 'Lass' and leave it at that."
Bryn shrugged. He'd made worse deals in his life. Being kept on a tether to a gorgeous redhead wouldn't be the worst of them.
"Alright, 'Lass'," he grinned. "If that's the way you want it. I'll check in with you soon."
He slipped into the shadows and was gone, and she made her way slowly back to Riften and the Bee and Barb.
It was four days before Mercer announced he needed to head up to Windhelm on 'business.' Four days of going through the motions at the Ragged Flagon and at the stall upstairs in the marketplace without letting what he knew show on his face. At one point Mercer called him out on his absent-mindedness.
"You getting enough sleep?" he demanded.
"I'm fine, Mercer," Bryn assured him. "Just trying to think of other ways to bring money into the Guild."
"Well think faster," Mercer said sourly. "These damned layabouts are wasting Guild time and resources when they should be out there working. Put a boot up their ass, willya?"
"I'll get them going, Mercer," Bryn said, with more confidence than he felt. All so you can steal more from us, is that it? But he kept that to himself and sent Viper, Thrynn and Cynric out to steal what they could find. Etienne hadn't come back yet from his trip to Solitude. He was overdue, in fact, and Bryn was mildly concerned. He put it down to the distance and decided to wait a little longer before sending anyone to find out what had happened.
Sapphire was currently working on some scam with the stables, and assured him she had everything under control, so he left her to it. That left only Rune, the newest recruit. He knew nothing about the boy, except he seemed to have a talent for fading into the background when there was work to be done. He hadn't exactly proven himself yet, but Bryn supposed there was no time like the present.
"Go see Vex," he told the lad. "Tell you you're looking for work."
"Really?" Rune blinked. "Yeah, okay," he said eagerly. "Sure!" He practically sprinted for the door to the Flagon.
"Brynjolf!" Mercer bellowed from across the Cistern.
"Yeah, Mercer?" Bryn called back, keeping his voice neutral.
"I'm headed to Windhelm on business," the Guild-Master said. "You're in charge until I get back."
"Sure, okay," Bryn shrugged. "Anything you need done while you're gone?"
"Just keep those louts busy," Mercer said sharply. "The Guild needs the money."
"I'll see to it," Bryn promised, keeping his face immobile. Inside he was seething. Since speaking with the mysterious Breton girl, he had thought back to the most recent conversations with Mercer, and most of them had centered around money. The Guild-Master also seemed to be spending a lot of time at his study in Riftweald Manor, poring over old parchments, maps and tomes. Bryn didn't know what Mercer was working on, but he had hoped it was something to help the Guild. Now he wasn't so sure.
He tried to keep an open mind. The Lass had to be wrong about this. How could one person open the Vault without the two required keys? It just wasn't possible. Still, an uneasy feeling had settled into the pit of Bryn's stomach, and he waited nearly three hours to make certain Mercer had definitely left town before calling Delvin back to the Cistern. Except for the two of them, the place was empty.
"What's this all about, Bryn?" the balding little Breton asked.
Swiftly, Brynjolf explained his encounter with the mysterious 'Lass' four nights previous.
"And you believe 'er?" Delvin frowned skeptically.
"Only one way to find out, Del," Bryn said. "I need you to use your key on the Vault."
"What? Wifout Mercer bein' 'ere?" Delvin gaped. "'E'd skin us alive if he found out."
"That's why we're not going to say anything to anyone," Brynjolf said sternly. "Not to Vex, not to Tonilia and certainly not to Vekel. No one is to know about this, understand?"
"Yeah, awright," Delvin muttered. "I don' like it, but I get it."
He pulled a key from the inside pocket in his armor and walked over to the Vault door. After a moment, they heard a small click.
"Awright, I've used my key," Delvin said. "Go ahead an' use yours now."
Brynjolf did, and a slightly louder clang rang through the Cistern. He cringed, and hoped they hadn't heard it out in the Flagon. He didn't think the sound would carry. Together he and Delvin opened the door of the Vault and peered inside.
"Tha' fuckin' sonuvabitch…" Delvin breathed. Brynjolf's stomach dropped to his boots. Except for a few pieces of minor loot – a dagger here, a small silver ring there – there was nothing in the Vault. Mercer had taken everything.
"But how?" Delvin almost wept. "It took us years to gavver all tha' stuff. How could 'e have hauled it all out?"
"I don't believe he did it all at once," Bryn simmered. The Lass had been spot on. Seer, indeed. "He must have been stealing from the Guild for months…years, maybe."
"But why?" Delvin whispered. "We all trusted 'im. 'E was our Guild-Master."
"I don't know," Bryn blew out a harsh breath. "But it's something I intend to find out. Not a word of this to anyone, Del, understand?"
"On my word of honor as a fief," Del promised. They re-locked the Vault and Delvin promised to keep the rest of the Guild busy with what jobs he could scrape together while Brynjolf prepared to speak with his mysterious 'Lass.'
He crept in through the window of her room at the Bee and Barb, expecting to find it empty. The sun had only just set an hour before, and for most of the residents of Riften it was the time to relax and have a few drinks before retiring for the night.
But the room wasn't empty. A swift gasp and flurry of movement near the bed made Brynjolf spin, dagger at the ready. The girl was sitting up in bed, blankets clutched to her throat with one hand and a globe of frost glowing in the other.
"Sorry, Lass," Brynjolf apologized as he sheathed the dagger. "I thought you'd still be downstairs. It's a bit early for retiring for the night." His blue eyes traveled appreciatively over her small, curvy frame and her cheeks went pink.
"I'd almost given up hope on you, Bryn," she declared, clutching the blanket like a shield. "I'm leaving in the morning. I figured you wanted no part of my offer."
"That's where you're wrong, Lass," he sighed, plunking himself down on the rickety chair in the corner. It wobbled slightly under his weight. "I did what you said. I waited for Mercer to leave the Guild for a few days; he left this morning. Delvin and I opened the Vault."
"And?"
Bryn's face was bleak. He ran a hand through his long red hair, which was a shade or two brighter than hers.
"You were right, Lass," he muttered. "It's gone. All of it. Mercer's taken every damn thing in the Vault that had any value."
"I'm sorry, Brynjolf," she said with sympathy. "You didn't tell anyone, I hope."
"Only Delvin. I had to in order to use his key. He knows enough to keep his mouth shut." Bryn blew out a breath of exasperation. "That son of a bitch!" he exclaimed. "I trusted him! We…trusted him, all of us! I know we're nothing more than thieves, but I thought we were family!" He stood and paced the tiny confines of her room. She clutched the blanket closer and higher.
"I don't know what to believe anymore." His voice was harsh and ragged. When he'd left the Flagon earlier he'd headed for a quiet spot outside of town and gave voice to his rage. His throat still hurt from the screaming.
"I have more news for you," she said quietly. "And it isn't good. You might want to sit down."
"What could be worse than this?" Bryn said helplessly, but he sat down again.
"Mercer killed your former Guild-Master, Gallus Desidenius," she told him. "It was Mercer, not Karliah."
Bryn went pale. He felt sucker-punched. "No," he breathed. "He…he couldn't…he didn't! He told us Karliah—"
"He lied to you, Brynjolf," she insisted. "He wanted to you think it was Karliah in order to deflect attention from himself. He wasted Guild resources looking for her – not because he wanted to bring her to justice in front of the Guild – but because he knew she was the only other person who knew the truth. He wanted to silence her forever."
"That fetching bastard!" Bryn raged. "How could he do this to us?"
"Greed," she replied, simply. "Greed, ambition, jealousy. A combination of all those things, I believe. But you can't focus on being angry right now. You need to follow a plan to get back what he stole, that gave him the power to do all this."
"I'm not following you, Lass."
"You need to get in touch with Karliah again, and that won't be easy," She explained. "She's gone deep into hiding, and only recently has begun making strikes against the Guild to draw Mercer out."
"Strikes?" Bryn asked, puzzled.
"Goldenglow Estates has suddenly stopped supplying Maven Black-briar with honey for her meadery. Vex went in to find out why and nearly didn't make it out alive. Ask yourself why Aringoth would risk Maven's wrath. He must feel a better offer was made to him, that offered better protection from her."
"And you think Karliah was behind it?" he asked, his brow furrowed in skepticism.
She shrugged. "Remember what I'm capable of," she countered. "I know Karliah was behind it. For now, you need to concentrate on getting to her. But it's going to put one of your people at great risk. Whomever you choose to investigate Goldenglow is going to have to follow orders but also think fast on their feet. Vex is good, but she's rather pedantic. She does the same things the same way each time because that's what she's familiar with, and it works for her."
"I can't think of anyone in the Guild who'd fit the bill, Lass," Bryn frowned. "They're all thieves, and some are better than others at what they do, but I can't think of anyone—"
"What about Sapphire?"
"Sapphire?" Bryn blinked. "She's untried. I don't know much about her, but she's got a chip on her shoulder the size of a dragon's tooth."
"She's the one you need. Send her to me. I can stay a day or two longer. And absolutely keep this under wraps, Bryn. Your life, and the lives of everyone in the Guild, are in grave danger if Mercer finds out you know. You are going to have to be the greatest actor in the world. Make sure Delvin knows that, too."
"Aye, Lass," the red-haired thief nodded as he prepared to leave the same way he came in – through the window. "I'll send Sapphire, and we'll keep mum about this. I just hope you're right."
Sitting now in front of his fire, sipping his spiced wine, Brynjolf reflected that everything his Lass had told him had turned out to be true. He hadn't been privy to the conversation she'd had with Sapphire, but whatever she'd told the Nord girl must have sunken in, because Sapphire had been able to get into Goldenglow where Vex hadn't been.
Mercer, when he returned, was intrigued and impressed, and when she had returned from doing a favor for Maven, Mercer sent Sapphire up to Solitude to find out what Golem-Ei knew.
Bryn frowned in anger. His Lass had been right about another thing: involving Sapphire, and investigating why the Guild was failing had put the Nord girl in peril of her life. Mercer took her with him to a place up north called Snowveil Sanctum, but had come back alone, claiming Karliah had been there, but had escaped after killing Sapphire.
It was at that point that he had wanted to contact the young Breton Seer again, but he had no idea how. She had slipped away, vanishing off the face of Nirn. It was Karliah who had contacted him via a letter, and informed him of what she knew.
From there, events seemed to fall over themselves. Sapphire hadn't died, but was alive – thank the gods for that! – and had apparently found a way to translate Gallus' journal, with some help from a Bosmer scholar who had been a friend of Gallus'. Brynjolf vaguely remembered the name Enthir, and that Gallus had mentioned him once or twice.
Then Karliah had returned to the Guild with Sapphire, and while most wanted to kill her outright, believing Mercer's lies, Bryn cautioned them to hear the Dunmer thief out.
One thing led to another, and the next he knew, he and Sapphire had been accepted as Nightingales, for Shor's sake, and they had traveled, the three of them, to Irknthamz to catch Mercer and make him pay for his crimes. It was a nightmarish trip he didn't want to repeat, but they had succeeded. Sapphire had proven herself more than capable, and had even taken it upon herself to return the artifact that Mercer had stolen, which had made his perfidy possible in the first place – the Skeleton Key of Nocturnal.
With the Key returned to the Twilight Sepulcher, the Trinity of Nightingales restored and the Guild back in business, Brynjolf had been appointed as Guild-Master, though he hadn't wanted the job. Sapphire was just too young, hot-headed and inexperienced to have been a good fit. And now, with the Dragonborn himself as their patron – Maven Black-briar having been thoroughly disgraced in the eyes of the Empire – the Thieves' Guild found itself shifting slowly over to become the Riften Intelligence Agency, with contacts everywhere.
Bryn sighed and shook his head. Yes, life was good, but what a strange twist it had taken. He sipped his wine again and turned his attention to the documents on the table next to him. These were the most sensitive of the papers that have been relieved from an Ayleid ruin in Cyrodiil, which one of Dante Greyshadow's people had sent along to him. He re-read the Cyrodiil Guild-Master's note once more.
"Recent observations suggest the baby will wake soon. Make sure to let the parents know. Baby wants a Dwarven toy that's out of his Reach. A tantrum is sure to follow."
Bryn smiled as he set the paper down. The 'baby' was the Dominion, of course, and the 'parents' were the Dragonborn and the Arch-Mage. A 'dwarven toy' that was 'out of his Reach' was certainly a reference to Bthardamz. The 'tantrum'…well, that went without saying.