A/N: Hi Y'all! I've just started posting the pieces that I've been writing and working on for a while. Some are older than others, more or less polished. But I thoroughly enjoy delving into the characters, both mine and the game's. You will probably see some little traces of headcanon here and there, though major ones I'll try to point out. I hope you will enjoy this piece and please, read and review, I would really like to know if you liked this story or not, or any thoughts you'd like to share with me!

Currently seeking beta reader for content beta (minor grammar beta) for Elder Scrolls: Skyrim content.

Disclaimer: Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda, I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

Brynjolf stood at the stall in his finery, plying the wares concocted by one of the other members of the Guild when a pair of striking eyes met his. They were more familiar than they should have been. When he looked again they were gone. It couldn't have been her, he thought as he turned his attention back to the pock-faced gentleman slurring his speech and stinking of hog. He took the man's gold and left Etienne to mind the stall, while he slipped through the courtyard of the Temple of Mara and around to the crypt. The lithe form draped seductively across the top of the tomb surprised him, but in a way that made him smile without realizing it.

"This is rather more clever than I expected," she said as she sat up. Her voice sang to him, the reverberation of it humming through every nerve. She'd kicked the mechanism with the heel of one of her boots then stepped off the moving part of the platform to stand right in front of him. So close he caught the scent of snowberries on her skin, from the homemade soap her mother made. Her bright green eyes blazed in the shadow of the familiar deep purple hood.

Brynjolf raised his hands and slipped the hood back, letting his fingertips thread into the soft fine waves of her nearly white hair. It was all too much. His mouth was on hers before he could even think about it and the sharp point of her dagger nicked his inner thigh. A warning he was familiar with, which served its purpose. The momentary fervor stilled and he was left staring into those eyes, her face still in his hands.

"Not even a hello?" she asked with a sly smile as she slipped the small shiv of a blade into a little sheath sewn into her trousers.

"I got carried away. I never expected to see you here," he replied shrug as he finally loosed her face. Though refusing not to indulge in touching the woman before him, he dared to let his hand lightly run up her arm beneath the loose sleeve of her blouse.

"Nor did I expect to find myself here."

But yet here she was. Brynjolf had begun to think it would never happen and his brain was thick and slow as he tried to come to terms with the suddenness of her presence. "How is your family? Your father?" he asked out of politeness though the muscles in his neck tightened as he said the word father.

She smiled as she examined him, making him wait for the answer. "Dead." Her tone was cool, final, detached.

It struck him. "How?" There was genuine concern in his voice.

Her shrug told him little; though she had ever been the most difficult person he'd tried to read. He could only ever read her when she let the veil slide from her features. It was one of the things that fascinated him about her. "A vampire. Rather than adjust to the change, he hired someone to kill him before he became that which he despised."

Again the calm in her voice distracted him, though she didn't always agree with her father she had loved him dearly. But there was something in her eyes that told him he shouldn't inquire further. And he did not. "Why are you in Riften?"

The smile undid him, it always had. The warmth in her green eyes was all too familiar. Her eyes had always entranced him, though in their first meeting they had burned with a raging fire that could not be contained.

Three years earlier he had been on a job near Bruma when he heard the screams. It was the phrase, "you Imperial bastards," in a telling lilt that caught his ear. Normally, he might not have responded but he knew by the voice the woman was a Nord and it stirred something in him he couldn't really decipher at the time. Later he'd say the hand of fate guided him, but only to himself

She had bloodied her attackers, and only hadn't succumbed to their intentions yet because she still had strength to kick and fight, despite the best attempts of the two men to still her. She glared at the one before her, who stood not more than a meter in front of Brynjolf, and promised, "I'll feed you your own testicles before I let you touch me." Without consideration to the uniforms they wore, the careful thief had approached in the shadows and cut one man's throat as he tried to catch his breath before returning to attempt to subdue the girl they'd brutalized pretty badly. The other man's eyes went wide as his accomplice fell to his knees his hands at his throat.

This guard's distraction was his undoing. The girl got the drop on him and finished him off quickly by hand. "Thank you," she whispered her voice rather hoarse from her screaming. She rushed, kneeling to the body beside her before crossing to the man Brynjolf had killed, whom she spat on; she cut the purse strings of both men and started to walk past her rescuer.

"I'm Brynjolf," he offered uncertainly as she approached him.

"And I am Min. You have my gratitude." She looked at him for a long moment, apparently deciding he was not a threat to her. "Now, come. We should not linger," she ordered as she took him by the arm and led him through the scrubby brush around the city.

As they neared a stream, he tugged at her hand; she complied and he set her down. Soaking a bit of linen from his pocket he tended to the cut on her cheek. Meeting her was one of the few times he'd ever seen Min completely unveiled. The confusion in her eyes as he gingerly cleansed the blood from her face and neck was endearing. He helped her to her feet then clasped his own cloak around her to hide the state of her garments. When he'd pulled the deep purple hood over her hair to shadow the damage done in the attack, she'd kissed him. Soft lips pressed against his, the faintest scent of snowberries swirled around her, and Brynjolf had let himself become lost in it, in her.

Her head tilted playfully as she gazed at him. "Why would anyone come to Riften?" she asked.

"I don't know. It has its charms."

Min shrugged and stuck out her lip making a face that suggested she was unconvinced. "The only thing charming I have seen here in three weeks was you, Bryn." Her touch was gentle and warm as her fingertips slid across his cheek. He reflexively closed his eyes as the light touch glided across his skin. Her kiss was soft, the tentative kiss of a long absent lover.

Her eyes searched his, as he gazed down at her frozen in the surprise of it all. After a long torturous moment, his response was defining. He wrapped his arms around her lifting her off her feet then carrying her down the steps. He pulled the chain to close the "secret" entrance to the Thieves' Guild in the Ratway, before setting her down as he leaned over her, her back pressed against the wall. One arm clung tightly across his shoulders, as the other gripped the back of his neck. This kiss was much like his first, fevered and filled with longing tinged with a hint of desperation.

Finally Brynjolf rested his forehead against hers and restarted their conversation with much more familiarity. "It's good to see you again, Min."

"I've missed you too," she replied pressing her body to his with a revealing grin that told him she was aware of his body's response to her return. Then she pulled back slightly. "I didn't know if I should come." Her voice lost the certainty it had held since he found her.

Brynjolf looked at her; the veil was gone, she wanted him to read her because she couldn't say it, couldn't ask what she wanted to know. "Of course you should have come." He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingertips, letting his hand linger before his fingertips moved down her long neck. "I've been waiting for you," he whispered against her lips. He felt the tears drop onto his hand as the kiss deepened. The strangled sob lost to a sigh of relief.

His last few weeks in Cyrodiil had been difficult. Her father had gone so far as to forbid her to see him. Then the protective man threatened to hunt Brynjolf down himself, if the thief didn't stay away from his daughter. But her mother was more sympathetic; Min's mother had a romantic streak. She would occupy her daughter with errands that sounded much more complicated than they truly wore. The first time she'd sent her daughter on such a task she'd taken her aside, told her precisely where she could find what she was being sent for and told the girl she was free to steal a visit with Brynjolf, but to take care not to be seen and stoke her father's ire.

Two nights before he left, her father had been contracted to safely ensure the arrival of a shipment and had been sent out. Her mother had run interference for Min again. Brynjolf was certain that her mother was aware of what happened, perhaps even played a part in orchestrating it. But as she lay in his arms, Brynjolf had told Min he loved her. She'd returned the sentiment and swore she'd come to him if only he was patient and waited for her-swore wherever he was she'd be able to find him.

The opportunity had arisen many times in the last three years for Brynjolf to move on. But something stayed him-he attributed it to some misconnection between his brain and his heart. Whenever a woman foisted herself at the thief he would usually let her mew at him for a bit and try to lure him, but it always failed. No one knew why, the women in the Guild all called him a tease, the men thought he was a satyr, because he would leave whatever bar with the women, then part ways with them in the street. He was no fool. Reputation and appearances are everything and nothing.

What he held in his arms-that was the only thing in his life that had ever felt real to him, the only thing that ever mattered enough to stake his life on. With a deft movement she traded their positions then pushed away from him with one hand pressed against the center of his chest. He could see it in her eyes, the same passion that lit them that night she gave herself to him.

"Honeyside."

"I know it," he replied quietly.

She tucked her free hand into the pocket of the tight vest that accentuated the curves of her body, and then held up a key. The grin spoke volumes.

"Your father would…" he replied playfully, mimicking an argument he'd made one afternoon when she'd tried to seduce him.

"My father is dead. My life is my own, as my heart has always been my own. I am entirely free to make my own choices." Her unguarded eyes drew him in. "I would hope you find the time. Unless you have fear for your honor, sir."

He pulled her body to his less ashamed at his visceral reaction to her. "My honor has only ever been yours, my dearest Min."

That smile. He could feel it against his lips as they kissed teasingly. "Come to me tonight," she said between short parting pecks. She pulled the chain, pressed her lips to his once more with great fire then disappeared into the brightness of the day.

A few moments later, Etienne peeked around the corner and looked at Brynjolf, who was staring at the silver key lying in his open hands. They both knew he didn't need a key to get into Honeyside; it was a gesture for her and for him. She was seeking confirmation and rekindling of the promises they'd whispered to one another in Cyrodiil.

"Who was that?" the blonde thief asked staring down at Brynjolf.

The only woman I've ever loved. It was the truth, but it would not do. "A possible recruit."

"Why meet her here?"

"I didn't. She was perched on the crypt when I happened upon her, lad."

"And you showed her the entrance?"

Brynjolf straightened and glared at the over curious boy. He spoke measuredly as he walked up the steps and leaned over Etienne, "I didn't show her anything. I worked with her several years ago. She's one of the sharpest thieves I've ever known. Her mother was a member of this guild. That's likely how the lass knew about the entrance." That statement was only partially true-her mother had been a guild member before she married and left with her husband; she'd also been one of the most respected thieves in Cyrodiil. But he doubted that she told Min anything more than where to likely make contact with the guild if the opportunity arose. Min had learned from her mother, was essentially the apprentice of a master thief, literally from birth. By the time he met her it was rumored the girl could steal the sword out of a man's scabbard; though he knew in part that reputation was due to her ability to emasculate men that disrespected her, but her pickpocketing skills were quite developed as well.

Min was actually more nervous than she had been three years ago. That night had been heart wrenching and amazing all at once, though the joy of the night and the memory of it was always tempered with the sadness of his impending return to Skyrim. Her father was a warrior that loved a thief. He could deal with that dichotomy. But his daughter took more to her mother's path than to his own and when Min fell in love with thief it was a connection he couldn't abide. He'd told her years later that he worried for her sense of honor; a life with another thief meant that she would have no compass. Her father had been worried that she could become lost in the darkness.

Despite him forbidding her from seeing the thief, Min had continued to meet him. That was when her father, ever the tactician, changed his approach and paid a visit to Brynjolf. Her father had hoped that threats might turn the young man's mind. But when those did not work he realized what would. He was well-respected in his guild and by many of the guards. It was the threat of a life in prison that had prompted Brynjolf to return to his native Skyrim and leave Min.

Death was one thing, but the torture of living and knowing she was suffering through his absence was more than Brynjolf thought he could be responsible for. He'd explained it all to her when her mother arranged them time. Min understood, though it broke her heart. Losing him, at that moment was the most torturous thing she'd had to face up to that moment, though later that pain had been dwarfed.

Thankfully, her father didn't see the duplicity of his wife or his daughter. All he knew was that the troublesome thief would be gone and that Min would remain, and that was all her father really wanted or needed to know. He had no reason to concern himself anything beyond that.

Two nights before Brynjolf planned to set out, Min brought him to her family's home. He met her mother who had dinner with them; she also spoke of her life before in Riften. She spoke of her daughter's skill and her joy at seeing her daughter so happy. Then she left. Alone with him, Min was uncertain. She cared deeply for Brynjolf and she greatly desired to be with him, but she was also afraid. When she took him to her room, she started to unbutton her dress and he stopped her.

But his hands around hers, his lips on hers prompted her, assured her. She kissed his hands as she loosed her own from his grasp, and as their lips met again her hands returned to her laces. With two backward steps, she slowly slid the fabric off her slight frame. Brynjolf had copied her actions. And as she'd watched him disrobe Min had become keenly aware of her skin warming anticipation.

Once nude she slipped between the cool sheets of the bed. Her lover joined her. Her kisses were deceptive. The passion and desire couched within her touch belied a confidence that was lacking, though he was not surprised by it given her age. Brynjolf had taken his time with her, savored her as he gently coaxed her toward a consummation of their declared love. Her initial sharp gasps declared her inexperience and inspired his quick and powerful response; the maidenhead pierced, his movements became as completely devoted to her as he was. They basked in one another for hours then lay entangled in a loving embrace until the dawn.

Her mother was neither unaware nor concerned. It was her knock that woke them. Her calming voice said, "If the young man is still here, that should be remedied expeditiously."

Brynjolf had lingered with his lovely Min for several minutes, not wishing to loose her from his arms or stop leaving light warm kisses on her neck and shoulders. Eventually he pulled himself from the bed where she laid, sheets skimming her waist as she gazed at him-completely unveiled. Staring at her as he dressed, his heart raced toward breaking. With every article of clothing he was closer to losing her and the ache that grew in his chest seized him harshly when he knelt on the bed, leaning over her to kiss her one last time.

"I'll find you," she whispered against his lips as she pressed her forehead to his.

They both held one another's faces, and looking in her eyes he knew they were both struggling to get through this moment. He stepped toward the door and she clung to his hand. Brynjolf leaned forward kissing her hand lingeringly. "I'll be waiting," he swore. Then he was gone. That memory of her lying there looking up at him so tenderly and passionately was an image he'd recalled many times; it haunted his dreams, waking and sleeping.

As he slipped through the door, Brynjolf noticed Min shiver as the breeze swirled through the room and cut through the thin linen gown she wore. Her eyes seemed to linger on him, probably because he'd chosen to don his armor -the garb of the Guild. As she stood to greet him he crossed the bedroom and sat on the end table at the foot of her bed; she hint of a smile that curved the corners of her lips told him she hadn't expect him to come by that interest. But still she remained silent, stoic.

Finally one of them found voice, but his were not the words she had expected. "What are you doing here, lass? I didn't even know you were in town, and I always know when someone arrives. And if you're living here, you've been busy." The accusation was clear and deserved, though it seemed to sting her, which had not been his intention. He wanted to understand. Needed to know why she'd waited so long to come to him.

"You do remember who my mother was, yes?" she asked crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you truly believe that my presence would be revealed to any before I intended it?"

He laughed lightly and shook his head at her. "That still doesn't tell me why you're here?" The other question gnawed at him, why didn't you want me to know?

Min's eyes moved over his face in a way that assured him he was being read. She was gauging him. "You're really asking me that?" She shook her head slightly and sat down in the chair across from him. Min's movements were calculated and graceful and extremely alluring. Her hands fell delicately atop one leg as she crossed it over the other. "I made a promise."

"I'm aware. But you said you've been here for weeks. Why hide your presence here from me? Especially if…?"

Min looked at the tips of her fingers which she stretched out on her leg. "I didn't know if I should reveal myself. If I was being presumptuous?" Her eyes met his again and he could see it-uncertainty. She'd never looked at him and not seen him, known him.

How can she doubt me now?He wasn't going to give her what she wanted. He wanted to know why she would wait. The idea of her being so close and him not knowing pained him, both because she didn't come to him earlier and because she had been there and he'd not noticed-somehow overlook the woman he'd been waiting for. "Why reveal yourself now?"

He knew she could see it all, his anger, his pain, his confusion; though he was much better at hiding it now. "I saw no outward signs of another attachment. Though there is no certainty in that."

"If there had been signs?" He all but growled the last word.

"I likely wouldn't have interfered."

Brynjolf closed his eyes for a moment and ran his hands through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck a moment. "Damnit, Min." He looked back up at her and her eyes were on his again. "You know me better than that."

"I have no expectations Brynjolf."

He stood quickly with his hands crossed tightly over his chest. "Well, maybe I did. Maybe I expected that if you got to Skyrim, Riften would be your first stop. Maybe I expected I'd be the first thing you went looking for."

She was standing right in front of him, the scent of mountain flowers in her hair, blazing green eyes locked on his. "I was picked up by the Imperials crossing the border. Set to be executed with a group of Stormcloaks. After I didn't die in the dragon attack at Helgen, this was my first stop," she replied quickly, she considered touching him but thought better of it and left her hands at her side. "I wasn't sure. You seemed happy. I worried that." She winced at the idea of him with someone else. "Three years is a long time, Bryn."

"Not so long that I could lose my heart," he replied touching her cheek. Their flirtation that afternoon had been so certain, but there were questions that lingered for them both. Beyond all the questions in his mind, there was one thing he knew. He wanted her, needed her. He pressed his lips hungrily to hers, when she parted hers his tongue delved deeply staking a familiar and welcome claim over her senses.

"I had begun to wonder," he whispered quietly against her lips.

Min caressed his face. "As I have often wondered."

"I only ever loved you," he countered, his eyes searching hers.

The warm smile lit her green eyes. "And I you." The kiss was deep. He could feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of the gown and her body called to his.

Suddenly he regretted wearing his armor. Brynjolf regrettably removed his hands from around her and struggled with the buckles and ties that bound him in the supple leather armor of his kin. She stood there, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders as she watched, a mischievous grin lighting her features. His eyes met hers and he couldn't help but laugh. "You could help me."

"I could," she trilled. "But my solution would leave you sneaking through the streets in the nude." She pulled open the drawer beside him and twirled the blade between her fingers before striking the table with it.

"That's not helpful," he offered as he stood and removed his gauntlets to get a better grip on the buckles of his armor. She took his place leaning against the end table, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head. Once his armor joined his gloves on the chair, her eyes swept appreciatively over him.

Though his face was markedly unchanged from their short time together three years ago, his body was quite different. There was more muscle than there had been before, back then he had been tall and lanky. Now he was still lean, but there was much more definition than before. Min let him pull off his boots before she moved toward him again. She placed her hands on his chest then pressed a soft warm kiss over his heart. Brynjolf redirected her lips toward his own, as he loosed the last buckle.

Once bared, he dared to raise his hands to the single ribbon that obscured her flesh from his touch. He felt her smile on his lips as he tugged at the silky tie, then her hands went to her shoulders tugging the fabric loose and letting the gown slide to the floor.

He didn't need to look to see her, to remember the touches that pleased her. He splayed his hands over her back as he danced her backward slowly to the bed. At the edge, he scooped her up and set her gently in the center of it. He slipped one knee between hers and gently let his thigh come to rest against her as he placed lingering open mouth kisses across her belly and her chest. Intentionally, he avoided her breasts and continued down her arms. As his mouth pressed to her palm she cupped his cheek and guided him back to her lips.

Brynjolf leaned over her continuing to leave untouched those areas he knew would ignite her too quickly; his fingers traced lightly over her shoulders and down her arms. She arched into him when his mouth moved down her sternum, carefully travelling a path between the pert breasts. "Bryn," she purred longingly, causing him to smile. "Please. I want you to touch me."

He grazed the underside of one breast with the back of his fingers, causing her to rise toward his touch. Suddenly, punctuated by a sharp gasp from her, he seized a nipple between his lips, sucking lightly before teasing it with his tongue. She pressed herself against his thigh as his mouth moved to her other breast to tease and taunt his lover further. His hands softly kneaded the sensitive flesh as his lips returned to hers.

The fire in her kiss told him, his attentions were working; though that question was well answered by the growing heat between her thighs. He too was struggling against his desire. Such a long absence from her made him needy and teasing her pushed him tortuously close to the edge. Her fingers teasingly scratching at his hip and his thigh made him glad he'd chosen to press himself against her as he had.

Their lips lingered on one another's as they touched and scratched and kissed. The moment he moved, a groan caught in his throat at her quick response. The gentle long stroke of her hand along his length made his head spin. Min drew her leg from beneath him as she teased him with slow long strokes. She kissed him as she poised him holding him gently as her hips rose up to greet him. His groan overtook him and when her arms wrapped around him. Brynjolf moved slowly, savoring every sensation of her until he was completely buried and lost in her.

Their pace was slow and torturous to start, both delighting in the reunion. As she neared orgasm, he knew she'd take him with her. His hands sought out hers as he thrust into her sharply, his own need becoming unbearable as she moaned his name against his lips. His rhythm was lost as he tumbled over the cliff of his own climax. His deep movements punctuating his pleasure as they lay tangled together. Min held his hand tightly as he leaned against her, kissing her with enamored satisfaction.

He lost an entire day in her arms, in her bed. They made love for most of it, desiring to reach out and partake of that thing that had been ripped from them three years prior; each wishing to reclaim that which had been given up, each unwilling to leave or surrender the other. There was no way this should have been happening, he realized, what were the odds that she would find her way back to him? Brynjolf had never been a big believer in the Divines, but as he lay there with her in his arms, all he could think was: Praise Mara!