Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own the Skyrim universe. Characters you do not recognize are mine and were created by me for the purposes of this story. Rated M for a reason!

I deleted the original "Know Why the Nightingale Sings" because there was just something about it that was not sitting right with me. I took it down, took a huge step back to do some serious brainstorming, and decided to give it another go! I think I just didn't find it unique enough and felt I was merely retelling the story as it occurred in game. The task of picking through each chapter would have meant major cosmetic surgery, so I removed it to work on it properly. I hope this rendition is to your liking :) I am very sorry to those who went "WTF" when I took it down, I will try to make it up to you with this! Thank you for reading, and for any and all reviews left! – Fallon.

Chapter One

Brynjolf stood outside her door, arguing inwardly with himself about whether it was wise to proceed. She would surely be home, of that he had no doubt, but he feared what confronting her would mean for them.

They had been dancing around each other for months, shooting each other glances and flirtatious comments that went unnoticed by other in the Guild...for the most part. Delvin had approached him about it a few times, asking if there was anything going on between him and the newest member of their organization, but Brynjolf had always said no.

Mixing feelings with work always went sour, especially in his line of work. He had seen it numerous times, thieves walking into desire with the eagerness of awkward youths only to crumble when their partner died executing a job or running from the guards. Brynjolf had always thought them foolish for walking into such an obvious trap...until he found her.


Brynjolf smiled at the crowd as he presented them with his latest miracle remedy. What the bottles contained was nothing more than watered down health potions and a splash of mead, but he figured what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. After all, it was their gullibility not anything on his part that sucked them in. He was only taking their coin, others would opt for taking their lives.

"Gather around, ladies and gentlemen! Behold the latest miracle that will change your lives!" He bellowed as the people crowded closer.

He always walked away with a pocket full of gold, and Delvin was always there to pickpocket those not foolish enough to purchase the item he offered.

"For a mere fifty septims, you could be cured of any and all illnesses currently ailing you! Don't be afraid, you can not put a price on your health!"

People in the crowd nodded as he said that, and Brynjolf knew then he had some people hooked. As he continued spewing meaningless promises to people all to eager to hear them, he spotted one woman standing off to the side near the well with a look on her face that told him she was less than pleased.

She wore the robes of a monk, and yet the spark in her eyes told him she was something far more unique than a Divine-pushing puppet like Maramel. Dark brown curls framed her face and her blue eyes were fierce like the ocean during a storm. Her beauty was striking, and yet he seemed to be the only one who noticed her.

He finished his presentation and accepted the pouches of coin extended to him with a polite smile. He handed each a bottle of the weak mixture he had concocted and pocketed the gold. His organization had fallen on hard times, and every piece of gold he had earned in the market today would help keep them going a little longer.

Just as he was about to pack up his stall for the day, a small hand grasped his shoulder. When he looked behind him, he saw the striking woman from before. She was considerably more petite than he realized, which made the firmness of her hold all the more startling.

She released his shoulder and scowled at him, "Give me one reason not to summon the guards, thief."

He grinned, "You've got sharp eyes, lass."

"And an even sharper blade," she spat quickly, "now...give me a reason."

"You've already got one," he whispered, "it's the very reason why you have yet to call the guards on me and reveal my scheme."

Curious, the Breton woman humoured the thief, "And what is that?"

"You want a piece of the action...a share of the wealth."

Her face soured, "I have no interest in exploiting people, thief. That is your business, but not mine."

"Face it, you're interested, lass."

"You are mistaken."

He leaned in closer, "Then call the guards right now, there is no sense wasting any more of your time if becoming wealthy is not a part of your life plan."

"There are honest ways of making coin," she countered, though her voice lacked the venom her previous words had contained.

"True," he admitted, "but none that give you a rush like this. It's better than the first sip of a fine wine, and lasts far longer. So, are you going to call the guards?"

The woman took a step back and thought for a moment. Her eyes were on the ground, but he still found something overwhelming about her presence.

"Leave...before I change my mind."

Brynjolf smirked and turned to leave, but stopped, "Steal something, lass, anything and when you do meet me in the Ratways...if you find the rush to your liking that is."

She rolled her eyes, "Do not hold your breath."

He laughed, "Pray tell me, what is your name? If I am never to see you again, I should like to at least know who exactly refrained from singing a song to the guards."

The woman looked up at him, her eyes somewhat softer, "Simone Liric."


Finally, he brought his hand up and knocked twice on the door. It was a quite night in Riften, and his knocks carried down the ally. Despite his best efforts to remain as quite as possible, his eagerness to see her was strong.

Together, they were two parts of the trinity of Nightingales sworn to protect the shrine to Nocturnal and her Skeleton Key. Brynjolf had fought beside Simone on many occasions, but the fight to stop Mercer was by far the most intense of them all.

She had engaged Mercer Frey in battle on her own, matching the Guild Master's swings blow for blow. He had betrayed her, left her to die in a ruin in the northern most reaches of Skyrim, so her reasons for wanting him dead were great.

The door opened and Simone greeted him with a sleepy smile.

"I'm sorry to wake you," he said quickly, "may I come in?"

She stepped aside without a questioning word as to why he was pestering her at such a late hour and allowed him into her home.

Honeyside had been the first large purchase she had made for herself when she joined the Guild. It was a fair sized home just across the way from the inn, and though he had passed it many times he had never seen inside it until now. It was dressed with rich tapestries and bookcases filled to capacity. There was a map of Skyrim rolled out on the desk, and various markers had been placed over it. Just past the sitting area he saw her bed through the parted drapes that had been added to provide privacy.

"What's troubling you, Brynjolf?"

He turned to face her and swallowed hard.

She was clad in a thin nightgown instead of her usual Guild issued armour. Her hair was down, spilling over her breasts and her face had been washed clean of war paint. Though he had seen her in less clothing before, she seemed so at ease. He knew it had taken her a while to fully trust him, and he didn't hold that against her, but seeing her now made him realize how comfortable she was with letting him close. It felt good, like having a real friend.

She noticed the bizarre look he was giving her. "Bryn?"

He quickly gathered himself, "Sorry, lass, just not used to seeing you out of the leather."

She chuckled, "I tried sleeping in it once, it was far to abrasive for my liking. Can I offer you something to drink? Water, or mead perhaps?"

"Mead would do nicely," he said with a sigh as he sat near the fire.

Simone fetched two bottles from a nearby cabinet and handed one to him, "From the look on your face you need an entire bottle to yourself."

Brynjolf grinned, "Ah, you know me to well, lass."

"I suppose I do."


Brynjolf dug his fingers into the soft mud of the shore and heaved himself up. He heard Simone do the same, and saw her fall on to her stomach beside him.

"That was too close, lass." He stated as he forced himself to his feet, his chest heaving.

She got to her knees, "Agreed. Next time we should refrain from engaging two dozen guards in a fight over a meaningless silver plated lantern."

"The client certainly wants it bad enough," he raised the lantern up for her to see.

Weeds from the lake were tangled around it, but it was otherwise unharmed.

"They had better be paying well is all I'm saying," she got to her feet, "I am growing tired of running for my life."

He grinned, "Technically we were swimming, lass."

She grumbled as she pushed past him, "Smart ass."

They set up camp further into the woods in a small cave that jutted out of the earth. A fire was made quickly, and Brynjolf managed to snare some rabbits in a quickly made trap. He was preparing them for the fire when Simone started to undress.

He eyed her curiously, "Just what are you doing, lass?"

She tossed her bracers on the ground near the fire, "I need to dry the leather before its ruined or I catch hypothermia."

He chuckled, "And here I thought you had lost your mind..."

"Your lack of faith in me is startling, Bryn!"

Soon enough both of their armour was drying on the stones around their fire, and they were left sitting in their underclothes. As much as he enjoyed teasing her, he was a gentleman, so it was difficult to keep his gaze from her. The breast band she wore pushed her chest up tightly and accentuated her assets in ways he never thought he'd see.

"You're pretty quite for a man who has a half naked woman all to yourself," she said with a lighthearted chuckle.

He grinned, "Never was one for taking advantage of a crazy woman."

She lobbed a stone at him and raised her hand in triumph as it pegged him in the chest, "Serves you right!"

Brynjolf smiled, but rubbed the red mark on his chest firmly, "I realize I know little about you, Simone. About where you came from, I mean."

"I'm not drunk enough to talk about that," she hugged her knees to her chest for added warmth.

"I didn't mean to pry," he said gently, "you're just the first thief I've met who's story I am actually interested in hearing."

She smiled, "Flatterer."

He shrugged but did not deny it.

Simone sighed, "Alright then, what do you want to know?"

"What city are you from?"

"Whiterun," she said quickly, "You?"

"Riften."

She smiled, "You must like it there then."

"I hate it," he confessed, "but I'm the one asking questions here, lass."

Simone nodded for him to continue.

"Did you enjoy your childhood there?"

She arched her eyebrow in curiosity.

"Indulge me."

"It was fine, I guess," she shrugged, "my father raised me after my mother died when I was a babe. He taught me how to wield a blade and bow. He was a Companion so I spent most of my time at Jorrvaskr with the warriors. He went on a mission when I was ten and never came back. When he died, I was taken in by the priestesses at the Temple of Kynareth. Danica took care of me, showed me how to heal people of their illnesses and set broken bones."

"This woman must be dear to you. Why did you leave?"

Simone sighed, "I was smothered inside those walls. Still...I could not bring myself to say goodbye to her, so I didn't. I just left her a note and jumped on the next carriage leaving the city. I wanted something more, a purpose to drive me."

"Like the rush of thievery?"

She laughed, recalling their first encounter, "Exactly. It came around at the right time really, I was going to leave Riften that day to try my luck in Winterhold at the College. What about you, what was Riften like when you were a boy?"

Brynjolf snorted at the memory, "Better than it is now, but I was an orphan in Honorhall so it was hell for me."

Her eyes opened wide and she proceeded gently, "How did you end up there, Bryn?"

He had never told anyone the story, so he had to think for a moment as to the best way to give it words. It was many years ago of course, but it had been pushed back into a corner of his mind and took a while to come forward.

"I grew up in a farm about three hours by carriage from Riften. My mother and father were good people, I remember, but we had a few harsh seasons and they accepted loans from the wrong people in order to feed me and my siblings. They caught my younger brother first, beat him so badly he died two days later of his injuries. Then they snatched my older sister as she was picking berries in the field next to our home. They abused her for a week before they let her return to us, but she killed herself the next day out of shame. My parents were next to fall. My mother by her own hand and my father in the act of murdering those who had stolen his family from him. I was left alone."

Silence hung between them and a gust of wind from the mouth of the cave made the fire dance.

"Brynjolf...I'm so sorry. I know it changes nothing..." she locked onto his gaze, "but I truly am."

He smiled weakly, "Can't change the past, lass...but thank you."


"Why did you come?" Simone asked quickly, the crackle of the fire louder than her voice, "If there is something wrong, tell me and we can deal with the incompetent idiot causing trouble."

He laughed, "And what makes you think that is the source of my problem?"

Simone shrugged and took a sip of her mead, "It's been a while since we spoke of something not related to the Guild."

It was true, things had moved quickly since Mercer had been discovered and neither of them had had a chance to sit back and talk in what seemed like a very long time. On numerous occasions they would share a table at the Flagon and speak openly of whatever was on their mind. They had told stories of their lives before the Guild, discussed the Civil War...and sometimes poked fun a Vekel when he tried to mop up the puddle of spilt ale at their feet.

"I suppose my problem is connected to the Guild...at least to a person in it."

"Did you want me to have a thorn in your side removed?" Simone asked bluntly.

Since becoming the Guild Master, she certainly had the authority to make such moves, but he'd never ask her to use her rank to help him advance. He was content being her second-in-command, her right hand man. Not only did he know the job well, but being so close to her ensured he knew she was protected.

"It's not like that, lass..."

Simone leaned back and arched an eyebrow as she pondered what could bind his tongue so tightly, "Are you sleeping with Vex, Brynjolf?"

"What? Gods, no, lass!"

Vex, if the rumours were to be believed, was as vicious under the sheets as she was on a mission. Delvin had spoken with some of those lucky enough to walk away from her bedroom with their skin attached, and the stories had spread through the Guild from there.

She chuckled, "Calm down and speak openly with me and my mind won't jump to such conclusions!"

Brynjolf sighed and leaned forward to hold his head in his hands, "Do you remember what I said to you when you returned to the Guild with Karliah? After everyone else had left?"


Brynjolf stalked after her as she left the Cistern and headed for her bed tucked off in the corner. Everyone else was filtering into the Flagon, but he had to take the opportunity to speak to her before he went mad. She began rooting through the chest at the foot of the bed, tossing potions and bizarre looking ingredients on the bed.

"Simone..."

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, "Hey there, Bryn."

"Gods...I thought you were dead."

Simone stood and began stuffing the items into her pack, "I'm sorry. I wanted to send you a note, an encrypted one, but Karliah insisted the risk Mercer would stumble upon it was too great."

He hung his head, and was surprised when he felt her hand upon his chest. Her palm pressed flat over his heart, what surprised him more was that he had not reacted violently to the intrusion into his personal space.

She moved her hand up to his shoulder, clasping it in a reassuring manner, "I'm stubborn, Brynjolf, far too much to be killed so easily."

"Even the most stubborn can feel pain..." Brynjolf muttered in a morose manner that was unlike him.

Simone caught it and was left confused, "What are you saying?"

"That I...am sorry you were alone to face that," he cleared his throat, "I wish I could have been there to spare you from what he did. And...I'm glad you came back, things would be far too...different here without you."

She smiled and he suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.

"You know...under that gruff exterior you're a pretty good person, Bryn."