By Chance
By Jericho is Falling
Chapter 1: Shadows
It was a cold night in Last Seed as the thief entered into the shadowed tunnels of Ratway. A Nord man of impressive size, the red-haired man was certainly not the type to play the thief, sneaking around in the shadows and gently going through the pockets of unassuming merchants, but over the years, he managed to work this to his favor. Ever since he was young, he'd always been the charismatic type and possessed a gift like no other of being able to charm a target into a state of false security while he robbed them blind. Not that this mattered much these days. As of the past ten years, he had been serving as his guild's "problem-solver" and go-between, a full utilization of his talents.
The dimly lit tunnels of the sewer system were, as always, damp and foul smelling and full of the usual thugs, who scurried away like frightened vermin in his presence. There was something about their fear that made it worth taking the scenic route to the Flagon instead of using the quicker entrance through the cemetery. It had been a long time since anyone had shown him that type of respect. Even the proper citizens of Riften didn't fear him so much as they tolerated him due to his connection to the Black-Briars. Just before the door to The Ragged Flagon, he turned his gaze over toward two men in a corner counting over some ill-gotten gains. Immediately, they stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads sheepishly.
"How we feeling today, lads?"
"Fine, sir," one replied.
"Good, good. Coming in for a drink?"
"No, sir. We're good, sir."
"Pity. If I recall, Vekel said something about getting a fresh shipment of ale coming in. So I'd imagine it has slightly less skeever droppings than usual."
"We're good, sir," the other repeated firmly.
"All right. Suit yourselves."
With a nod of his head, the thief bid them good day and opened the door to the Flagon. With the luck the guild had been having over the past years, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought of packing up his things and heading elsewhere to seek his fortune, but every time the thought crossed his mind, he would step into the Flagon and forget why he would have ever wanted to leave in the first place. Though now only a shadow of its former glory, The Ragged Flagon was still full of the ghosts of his youth. If he closed his eyes, he could see the boys playing cards with their tankards full of the most expensive ale money could buy and pretty young women on each arm. The fletcher would be arguing with the smith over who rightfully owned a particular leather strip, and Nila in her alchemy nook would be brewing potions as Delvin chattered on about his latest job. He never did quite catch on that she wasn't interested. Most nights, Gallus would be sitting at a table in a corner away from the rest, but he still would smile as the boys raised their glasses and cheered over any good news, no matter how trivial. Sometimes Karliah would be sitting with him, though she kept a safe distance from him. They were always just close enough to keep the others guessing.
Those days were long gone, but to those who remembered, they were still just as real. That sense of family never really faded, and with it, The Ragged Flagon began to feel like home. As the old thief made his way down to the bar, he passed by Dirge, standing in usual spot like a faithful watchdog, and he spotted an old friend sitting at a table across from Vex, whose her eternal scowl appeared to be extra contemptuous on that particular day as she glared at the air in front of her.
If there was only one thing that hadn't changed over the years, it was Delvin Mallory. He had gotten noticeably older, the wrinkles on his scarred, rough face grew more and more apparent as the days passed, but the familiar way his cold eyes lit up and that subtle, friendly grin he gave whenever he was the slightest bit excited about something somehow recaptured that youthful face he'd had the day they first met.
"Ah, just the man I was looking for. Have a seat, Brynjolf. I want to talk to you."
Motioning to Vekel, Brynjolf pulled up a chair to the table and sat down between the two. Immediately, Vex gave a small scoff as she stood up and walked away. With a small frown, Brynjolf lowered his hood as the barkeep brought him a drink.
"What's with her?"
"What isn't it with her?" replied Delvin. "So'd you sell any horse piss today?"
Chuckling slightly, Brynjolf put on a half-serious face and with all the mock bravado he could muster in his voice, said, "I told you. It's not horse piss. It's Daedra Heart Nectar, and it's going to make us very rich."
"Right, right. Did you sell any horse piss with juniper berries mixed in, then?"
"Laugh all you want. You'll see the genius of it one day."
"Hope I do 'cause all I see right now is your pockets empty, again."
An irritated pout crossing his lips, Brynjolf furrowed his brow. Taking a sip from his glass, he was about to open his mouth to give some sort of smart reply, but his old friend quickly changed the subject before he had the chance.
"So'd you hear about the dragons returning?"
The Nord man nearly choked on his drink. As he pounded his fist against his chest to clear his throat, his loud hacking cough garnered more than a few worried stares from the other occupants of the Flagon. Finally, he managed to regain his poise and stared at Delvin with wide-eyed disbelief.
"Don't be daft."
"No, it's true. Friend of a contact says one attacked Helgen only a few weeks ago."
"And just how many drinks had this 'friend of a contact' had before he said this?"
"I dunno. I'm just tellin' you what I've been hearing."
Laughing, Brynjolf called out to the Guild fence sitting by the dock as the old man glared at him with the same indignant scowl Brynjolf had previously only seen on stubborn children.
"Hey, Tonilia! Have you heard any of this nonsense about dragons?"
"Oh, it's not nonsense," Vekel casually interjected from behind the bar. "I heard one's been spotted near Whiterun as well."
Standing up, Tonilia headed toward the two men. "Yeah, I got a cousin who lives on a farm in the area. She says the whole hold is in an uproar over how it's the end of time. I can't believe you haven't heard about this already. Maramal's been standing outside The Bee and Barb preaching about how this is punishment for our degenerate behavior ever since the news hit Riften."
Once again, Brynjolf's eyes widened. Then, as quickly as his shock overcame him, it faded, and he broke out into a near hysterical fit of laughter. Tonilia and Delvin exchanged an awkward, confused glance as Vekel just shook his head and continued wiping down the bar. Wiping his eyes, Brynjolf nodded his head and exhaled as he calmed down.
"Oh, I get it. This is why little Vex was so angry. You guys got her too, didn't ya? Thought you could get me as well, and I'll tell you what. It nearly worked. Good one."
Dumbstruck, Delvin stammered a couple times before pursing his lips and looking helplessly over at the Redguard woman. Tonilia just crossed her arms. Her dark lips twisted into a frown as she gave him a pushy tilt of her head. Resentfully, Delvin crossed his arms as well and shook his head in stubborn defiance. Brynjolf watched their silent conversation as his grin faded into a nervous half-smile.
"What?"
"Tell him." Tonilia's tone was that of a nagging housewife. "He needs to know."
"You tell him. Ain't my job to inform him of every little thing that goes down while he's away."
"Oh, don't be such a child!"
"I'm not being a child!"
Brynjolf wasn't smiling anymore. Annoyed with their game, he repeated himself more forcefully. "Tell me what?"
Rolling her eyes, the fence threw her hands up and said, "Fine! I'll tell him, you baby. Look, Bryn. The reason Vex is mad isn't about some elaborate joke we came up with as nice as that would be."
"Told you the dragon thing was true."
"Shut it, Delvin. She's angry because your newest pet got drunk and decided it was a good idea to put his paws on her, and it wasn't the usual Vipir gets too drunk to understand personal boundaries type harassment either. In fact, Vekel was considering making you clean up the blood spots."
"By the – What, what happened?"
"A little good news and bad news," answered Delvin. "Don't worry. No one died, but Vex made sure he's not comin' back, which frankly, I consider the good news. Didn't like him anyway. He was a sloppy thief and sketched out on too many jobs. Plus, he's got caught by the guards twice since he joined. Bad news is we're out another member again, and you're not exactly Vex's favorite person at the moment, seein' as he was your responsibility. Not to mention, Mercer's none too happy either. Says you bring him one more bad apple, and it's your neck on the line."
As he rubbed his temples, Brynjolf inhaled deeply as he thought the best way to defuse the situation at hand. Then, he suddenly cracked a mischievous smile and slowly leaned forward, trying to play it cool. With pursed lips, Tonilia looked him over cautiously.
"You've got that look on your face. What are you up to?"
To anyone outside the Guild and even to some of newer members, his straight-faced shrug as he casually ran his finger over the circumference of his mug would have been the best poker face they had ever seen. Of course, Tonilia and Delvin had known the red-haired thief far too long to fall for it, and he knew that. He wasn't even bothering to hide it from them. Instead, he was goading them, a risky bluff, to pique their curiosity.
"Don't give me that," Delvin grumbled. "You've got something up your sleeve, and whatever it is, it isn't worth trying. Don't make things worse with one of your tricks."
An impish smirk crept on his lips as he hopped to his feet. He gestured widely with his arms. "Come now, Delvin. What could possibly go wrong? Worst comes to worst, one of them feeds me to a dragon."
"Bryn!" the old man barked. "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny," Tonilia commented.
"You're not helping, woman."
The pair began to bicker as Brynjolf took their distraction as an opportunity to slip away. Tossing Vekel a gold piece, he turned and began striding off toward the cistern. Inside, the large room was full of the other thieves. It was always a bit noisy but at the same time, peacefully quiet, with light thudding of Cynric's arrows against a training dummy and the muffled sound of the other's conversation as a nice background noise, enough to give a lively atmosphere without giving someone a headache. Brynjolf quickly scanned the room. Luckily, Mercer was not at his desk and appeared to be elsewhere, most likely meeting with Maven to discuss some important business deal. The inevitable chewing out Mercer would be giving him was not a conversation the Nord was looking forward to having.
It didn't take him long to spot the slender, blonde haired woman leaning against the far wall. He managed to make his way over to her without her spotting him, or rather, he would have if Niruin hadn't shouted "Oh hey, Brynjolf!" at him as he got five feet from her. Luckily, Vex didn't walk away again. Instead, her cold eyes fell on him in a way that made it hard for him to look her directly in the face.
"What do you want?"
Instantly, his boldness crumbled, and his posture shifted from confident man to an apologetic child. With a halfhearted smile, he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to remember what he came over to say. He knew it had been something intelligent and witty that would immediately make her smile and playfully punch him in the shoulder and forget why she was ever angry in the first place, but he failed to remember the words. So he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Can I just say I'm sorry?"
"You can, but it doesn't mean I forgive you."
Gaining back some of his pride, he took a couple steps toward her. Her entire body tensed up, and she looked as though she could spit in his face or stab him in the stomach at any second. He stopped moving and sighed.
"You know I wouldn't have even given Velgar the time of day had I known he'd pull something like this."
"Did they tell you I had to stab him just to get him off me?"
"Not in so many words, but I got the picture. I'm sorry, Vex. You have every right to be mad at me."
She rolled her eyes. "It's not even about that. Don't pretend I'm some fragile Jarl's daughter who gets all shook up if a man so much as looks at me. If I had a septim for every time I had to fight off a drunkard's advances, I would be having fine wine at the Keep instead of drinking swill in a sewer."
"Wait, then what is it about?"
"Please, Velgar's just another in a long line of losers you've brought back to the guild. Molgrom, Skarr, Britta – may she rest in peace, Kerthir, Niruin–"
"Oh, Niruin's not that bad. Besides, any mistakes he makes are on Delvin."
She locked eyes with him in a way that sent chills down his spine. "You know what I mean. Sapphire and Rune are the only two who have joined in the past three years who aren't either incompetent idiots or reckless braggarts."
"Fine, fine. I've made a bit of poor choices when it comes to new recruits, but look at this place. It's falling apart. Can you really blame me for trying to find some new blood?"
"Yes."
Taken aback by her curt reply, Brynjolf stood in stunned silence. After a second, Vex's lips curled into small smirk, and she punched him in the shoulder, much harder than he'd imagined she would.
"You should really see the look on your face. It's priceless."
Chuckling, he shrugged and took the ease in tension as an opportunity to lean against the wall next to her.
"All right, I walked right into that one." He crossed his arms, and there was a pause of comfortable silence between the two. "Hey, did you hear about the dragons returning?"
"Don't tell me Delvin is still going on about that."
"Believe it or not he is."
"I know he's your best friend, but I swear I am going to cut off his tongue one of these days. If I don't cut off a different body part first."
"Is he still–"
"Yes. Wait. No, don't change the subject. I'm still mad at you." She looked up at him with curious eyes. "How do you always do that?"
"I don't know how true it is, but I've been told I'm quite charming."
"Charming, right. I'd call it arrogant, but whatever suits your ego."
She looked off trying to hide her complacency with a small frown. With a soft smile, he pushed against her with his elbow, and she turned her gaze back toward him.
"I promise from here on out that there will be no more picking up just anyone who says they want to be a thief. It'll be much more thorough, I swear."
"That's all I wanted to hear," Vex replied. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I think I need a bath after all of today's excitement. I think I've earned one."
"I think you've got some blood in your hair."
"Damn. Well, I'm going to go take a nice, long bath and go to bed. When I wake up in the morning, there better not be some new oaf in the Flagon claiming you promised him vast riches. I'm holding you to your word."
"Come now. In all the years you've known me, have I ever broken a promise?"
"Yes, you do it all the time."
"Fair enough."
With a smirk, she stood up straight and began to walk off. As she did, she called back at him. "Hey, do me a favor and keep an eye on Delvin. I really don't want to deal with any more bloodshed tonight."
. . .
The months passed slowly. Winter was upon Skyrim, and not much had changed in Riften. The Civil War still waged on, and it was no secret that Maven was eying for the position of Jarl should the Imperials win. A couple weeks after the Velgar incident, Delvin had news that they'd found the Dragonborn in Whiterun. While the old Breton had been right about the dragons returning – word around the Flagon was that Cynric had an unfortunate firsthand account with one that involved him shooting a couple arrows at it before running back to Riften as fast as his legs could carry him – nothing really came out of the Dragonborn rumors. Those who believed it was ever real in the first place thought he had simply disappeared, and those who didn't were insisting the other side owed them money.
The Thieves Guild was still doing poorly, and Mercer was growing more and more irritable by the day. True to his word, Brynjolf had become much less lenient when it came to potential recruits and hadn't found a single candidate that didn't seem incapable of discerning a lockpick from a fork. He was starting to give up hope that the Guild wouldn't die out soon. Etienne hadn't shown up in a couple weeks, and he was worried this would lead to others following suit. Maybe Delvin was right. Maybe they were cursed, or maybe that fetching elf, Brand-Shei, just didn't know how to keep his damned mouth shut. Brynjolf was certain that the dark elf had tipped off the guards on the Snow-Shod Manor raid and nearly earned Rune a prison sentence. He would deal with that later. There were more important things at hand. Maven Black-Briar had recently become outraged by a business deal gone south. Rumor had it that Aringoth of Goldenglow Estate had suddenly forgotten who he was dealing with, and it was only a matter of time before the Guild was called in to "negotiate."
It was like any other night that Brynjolf walked into The Bee and Barb after a long day of selling Falmer Blood Elixer – or "sewer water with a pinch of tundra cotton" as Delvin insisted on calling it. The regulars were all at their usual tables, and Sapphire was standing a couple feet away from him, resembling a younger version of Vex complete with a piercing scowl. It was around midnight, as the patrons were thinning out, when a stranger walked in. The visitor was a malnourished little thing, and it was hard to tell at first if she was even a she. Her black hair was cut shorter than most women would be comfortable with. Lithe-bodied and small in stature, even for a Breton, she resembled an adolescent boy more than a grown woman. It was the slight curve of her waist under her tight leather armor that gave her gender away.
Her stride had about as much presence as a cold draft lightly wafting through the room, noticeable but nothing that would really catch someone's eye. The other patrons didn't even seem to see her as she walked rather directly toward the bar and slung a rather heavy looking pack she'd been carrying onto the counter. The light thud slightly startled Keerava, who up until then hadn't noticed the stranger at all. The Argonian woman put down the glass she'd been watching and attended immediately to the peculiar customer. Struck with curiosity, Brynjolf listened in on their conversation.
"Sorry, what do you need?"
The girl was so soft-spoken and the tavern was so full of much louder conversations that he didn't catch what she said.
"The room's upstairs," the Argonian woman replied. "How long are you intending on staying?"
"I don't know yet." The stranger went through the coin purse in her near empty pocket. Even from the other side of the inn, Brynjolf could see that her hands were nimble, like they knew their way around a lockpick. "I believe this should cover a week though."
"Here's the key. Don't wreck the place."
Exhaling, the girl picked her bag back up and started walking to the stairs. That's when he first got a good look at her face. Like the rest of her body, it was that same effeminate masculinity. She had a soft, round face with a strong, square jaw. Two red lines were painted along each of her dirt-covered cheeks, a sign of her travels. Her eyes – which looked straight at him as he looked her over – had a perpetually wide-eyed look about them, and they darted away the second they made contact with his.
The next day while he was peddling his counterfeit potions, Brynjolf caught sight of the stranger again in the market place. She was talking to Madesi. There was a necklace in her hand, but for some reason the Argonian wouldn't take it. Upon seeing her, the thief stopped what he was doing and thought of approaching her. In the sunlight, the femininity of her soft face was much more apparent. She looked almost innocent, but he could tell by the way she held herself – the way her shoulders curved inward like she didn't want to be seen – that there wasn't a single honest bone in her body. With those shifty, wide eyes of hers, she looked his way, making brief eye contact with him again, but before Brynjolf could do anything, he was distracted by a slight bump in his shoulder as someone walked past him and the feeling of soft crinkled paper being pushed into his hand.
He looked down to see the note, something recognizably scrawled in Mercer's inelegant script, and looked back up to catch a glimpse of long, dark hair and the sway of Sapphire's hips as she sauntered toward the Temple of Mara. His eyes darted over to the jewelry stand, but the stranger had disappeared within seconds. Frowning, he made his way back to his stand and opened up the note. ("B: 9 PM. My desk. Get drunk beforehand, and I'll cut out that smart tongue of yours. – M.") Undoubtedly, something had finally come of the Goldenglow situation, and to be honest, Brynjolf was a bit excited for it. It had been awhile since there had been a job that involved more than bothering shopkeepers for payments and stealing semi-valuable trinkets from houses.
"Are you still selling that Falmer Blood whatever?"
Crumpling up the note, he quickly stuck it in his pocket and turned his attention to the potential customer. Haelga, the owner of the bunkhouse, stood leaning on the wood of the stall. Her pretty face beamed with a smile as she pushed her breasts forward and gently ran her fingers over the bottles with all the subtlety of an Orc, decked out in clanking metal armor, charging into a room with his ax drawn and chopping off the Emperor's head.
"Aye." He flashed her a merchant's grin. "Make love like a sabrecat. Not that a pretty thing like you would need any help with" – a perfectly timed pause and a quick once-over of the eyes – "that."
With a fake giggle, she pushed playfully against his arm, her hand lingering a little too long, and he knew she was sold. All he had to do was to keep smiling.
"Oh, well. It never hurts to go the extra mile," she said, feigning innocence, as pulled out her coin purse. "If you ever want to test it out, you know where to find me."
Still grinning, Brynjolf raised his eyebrows, and she walked off with a smile, stopping to look back at him before she disappeared into the crowd. Despite having no intention of following up on her offer, actually making a sale – no matter how shallow the purchase was – without someone warning the customer of the potion's counterfeit nature was such a rarity that it put him in a good mood for the rest of the day. Feeling rather lucky, he closed up shop just before eight and managed to meet Mercer half an hour early. The Guild Master stood over his desk, looking over his business ledger, making marks with his quill every so often. As always, the demeanor of his wrinkled face appeared to be slightly agitated yet calm at the same time.
He made little physical acknowledgement of his Second's presence, simply grumbling, "Well, you're early."
"It was a good day in the market. You wanted to see me?"
"Yeah, it's about Goldenglow, but you already knew that, didn't you?"
"I figured."
"Good, I was just going to send one of the junior members to deal with it. It seemed simple enough. You know, burn a few hives, talk some sense into that smart-mouthed elf – maybe swipe a couple of things from the estate while we're at it – but then I heard that Aringoth's hired himself some watchdogs."
Suddenly intrigued, Brynjolf leaned on the desk. "You're thinking there's more to it than a business decision?"
"It could be nothing. I know if I so much as sneezed in Maven's direction, I'd hire myself half the Imperial army, but something about this makes my nose itch. I think the bastard's hiding something, and I know if he is and we don't find it, Maven's going to have my head. I need you to talk to Vex. Brief her on the situation, and get her in there."
"I don't see why you couldn't just tell her this yourself."
Mercer crossed his arms, a straight face barely masking his aggravation as he spoke. "I'm telling you because even though I want her to do the job, I want you the both of you planning this. I've got things to do, and you're the only one Vex will listen to."
"And she's not allowed to make plans after the Markarth incident."
"Exactly. Now, I'm not paying you to stand around. Get on it."
Standing up straight, Brynjolf chuckled as Mercer turned his attention back to his business ledger.
"Right, right. You pay me to stand around and look pretty."
"I also don't pay you to make half-witted jokes."
The old Breton didn't even bother to look up from his desk as he said this. The red-haired thief just shrugged and made his way to the Flagon to find Vex. He told her about the job, and the pair of them spent the rest of the night planning the infiltration. It was a simple task for two thieves who could steal a jewel off a crown worn by a King, but it was still exciting nonetheless. At least, it was for Brynjolf. Seemingly straight-faced and indifferent, Vex drowned herself in the task at hand. No matter how much time the two spent around each other, even to the point of a sibling-like bond, there was simply no reading Vex when she was working. Every once in awhile he'd crack a joke that was funny, or self-deprecating, enough to get a small smirk out of her, but for the most part she just made notes and asked his opinion in the curtest manner possible.
Sometime later, Brynjolf woke still sitting at the table in a puddle of drool on an old map of the lake outside Riften as Vex made marks on it around his head. He didn't remember falling asleep, and the lack of sunlight in the Ratway made it hard to guess how long he'd been asleep – though the aching of his eyes and his body's immediate need to fall back asleep led him to believe not very long. Bleary-eyed and too tired to move his head, he looked up at Vex
"Mercer says you're not allowed to make plans without me."
She continued her work, undeterred by his comment. "Oh, really?"
After giving her a slight nod of his head, he pushed himself off the table and immediately slumped back to face the ceiling. Yawning loudly, he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and stretched in a way that greatly resembled a bear coming out of hibernation. Vex's eyes flickered over to give him a quick look of impatient displeasure at his antics before returning to her notes.
"I think we should do it tomorrow after midnight," she told him in a no-nonsense tone.
"Why? You busy tonight?"
"While you were sleeping, I had Vipir run some intelligence – and those are two words I never thought I would say in the same sentence. As it turns out, Aringoth's going out of town tomorrow, which might mean more guards–"
"But less supervision."
She pointed her quill at him. "Exactly. He also said there were definitely more than the initial five we thought there'd be."
"Can you handle that alone?"
"Don't insult me. I could handle twice as many with a broken leg."
Leaning forward, his entire face still drowsy from lack of proper sleep, he propped his chin up on his fist and yawned again. She ignored him this time.
"What's it like not having flaws? Does it wear down on you like an overwhelming burden? Is that why you're so annoyed with everyone all the time? Are we all mere mortals that you have been cursed to suffer?"
"Shut up."
"I'm just asking."
"You're an idiot."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"I'll kill you and take your position."
"I love you too, lass."
"I hope you choke on your own tongue."
Smiling triumphantly, he sat up and quickly grabbed her notes. She looked up at him with a hateful scowl.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading what you've got here. Is that okay? Because Mercer isn't going to let you do this if I'm not a part of the process."
"What happened in Markarth wasn't my fault, and you know it. It was bad luck, and it could have happened to anyone!"
Ignoring her protests, he slowly flipped through her work. When it became apparent to her that he wasn't giving it back, she huffed slightly and continued marking up the map, her strokes a little more violent than before. As he read over the papers, he had to admit he was impressed. Vex had really managed to get a lot done while he'd been asleep. There were names and backgrounds of a couple of the mercenaries Aringoth had hired, a vague sketch of the estate's interior and exterior, an escape route planned, a list of tools she'd need. Sometimes he forgot just how thorough Vex was at her job. Most of the other thieves would get the job and improvise, relying on their talents alone, but Vex was a professional. She knew she had the skill, much more skill than any one of them, but she went the extra mile researching every single aspect to ensure things went right.
"Are you done?" she asked him after a couple minutes of stone-cold silence.
"This is perfect."
Before he even noticed her moving, she snatched the papers out of his hand and stashed them away in a bag.
"I'm not as done as I'd like to be," she said, "but this will do for now. I'm still waiting on a couple reports to get back to me."
"I'll go tell Mercer the details." Brynjolf slowly got up from the table. "You pull this off, and I'll tell him you planned this without me. I think this is certainly enough to make him change his mind about your leadership abilities."
The corners of Vex's mouth twitched, and she muttered a half-spiteful, half-grateful "thank you" at him.
. . .
That night, he spotted the stranger in The Bee and Barb again. She was sitting at the bar, running her finger over the top of an empty bottle as her eyes carefully scanned the place. Brynjolf recognized what she was doing immediately. She was sizing every single patron up, picking a target. His head suddenly filled with the promise of new potential, he made his way over to Sapphire, who was standing in her usual spot.
"What do you think of the stranger?"
"Who?"
"The wee, little thing at the bar." He nodded his head in her direction. "She looks a little down on her luck, don't you think?"
"Don't even bother. She's not interested in our line of work."
"Oh?"
"Had a run-in with her earlier. You know that stable hand, Shadr?"
"What about him?"
"Well a few of us – and no, I'm not naming names – came up with an unofficial way to make some extra coin for the Guild, involving a loan and a mysterious disappearance of goods, and she didn't take kindly to our methods. She's probably another Mjoll, who thinks she can make Riften a 'better place.' With any luck, she won't be as damn stubborn as the Lioness, and the city will break her down, and she'll be out of our hair in no time."
"Pity."
Sapphire scoffed. "Why?"
"Just look at her. She's built for our line of work – small, agile, quick fingered. Not to mention, she's reading everyone right now, and what did I tell you your first week here?"
"It's all about sizing up the mark," she answered in a bored monotone.
"Exactly. So why is she sizing everyone up if she isn't up to something?"
"She's probably figuring who needs the most help."
The red-haired thief laughed and returned to looking over the girl. Her face was still as dirty as it was the day before, and she didn't look like she had a septim to her name. She was wandering out of necessity rather than a sense of adventure.
"I think I can get her to join."
"You're crazy."
"Watch and learn," Brynjolf muttered with an impossibly cocky smirk.
With a small frown, Sapphire shook her head as he slowly made his way over to the bar and sat down next to the girl. She immediately acknowledged his presence with a sudden, overwhelming frigidness. Her gaze immediately fell to her bottle, and she tried to hide her unease.
"What brings you to Riften, lass?"
"Touch me, and I'll cut you," she told him. Her voice was quiet and calm, but held such a direct force that he immediately backed off. He could almost swear he heard Keerava chuckling from a couple feet away.
"Understood."
He hopped off the stool and quickly walked back over to Sapphire with a shameful blush. The young thief started laughing as Brynjolf put up his cowl and crossed his arms like a scorned child.
"What did she even say to you? You looked like she just told you she was the head of the Dark Brotherhood and was here to take your life."
"Shut up. You were right. She's not interested."
"Pity," she said. "I think I like her now."
Still tickled from the incident, Sapphire headed back to the Cistern only couple minutes later, undoubtedly to tell the others of what had happened. Brynjolf stayed for awhile longer, still watching the girl. He replayed the moment over and over in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong, why he panicked the way he did, and how he could win her over. Sure, she appeared to be very hostile toward him, and he had still yet to see if she actually had skill, but there was something about her that just fit. He tried to muster up the courage to speak to her again, but after a couple trips to the bar met with cold glares, he gave up and left the inn defeated.
He walked down the street toward the Temple of Mara with the frosty winter air whipping against his bare face. As he neared the cemetery, he stopped for a second to catch his composure before having to face the others. That was when he felt it – the faint brush of a hand against his thigh. Spinning around, he grabbed the person behind him by the collar and pushed them against the wall of the temple. Breathing heavily, his vision came back into focus to the frightened face of a boyish, young Breton woman. His mouth dropped open in astonishment, and he released his grip on her causing her to fall to the ground.
"You?"
She didn't reply. Instead, she stared up at him with the eyes of a deer that had suddenly caught sight of a hunter's bow. He just stared back at her unable to say or do anything. Never in his entire life had anyone dared try to pickpocket him. It was an entirely new feeling. Suddenly, she held her hand out and cast a flash of green light at him. A wave of disorientation came over him as she scrambled to her feet and darted off the back way toward Riftweald Manor. It took him a second to register that he should chase after her, and he barely managed to do so before he lost sight of her. When he caught up with her just before the gate out of town, he grabbed her again, this time prepared not to let her go until he got some answers. He pulled her in, and in a frantic attempt to escape, she bit him on the hand.
"Mother of–"
He pulled his hand away for just a second, and she slipped just enough to elbow him in the face. Holding his nose, he fell to the ground, and on blind instinct, he managed to reach out and grab her by the leg with his free hand. With a girlish scream, she tripped and fell flat on her face, giving him time to regain composure as she began to get back on her feet. He wrestled her back to the ground, pinning her down. She continued to struggle, but he had her this time.
"What are you doing, lass?"
"Don't."
"Don't what? Call the guards? Give me one good reason I shouldn't."
She looked up at him with an expression of half-disgust, half-bewilderment, and he realized the compromising nature of their position. With a sigh, he looked down at her.
"Well, this is embarrassing. Look, lass. I'm not going to hurt you. All I want to do is talk."
"I've heard that before."
"I mean it. Just promise you won't run again, and I'll let you go. Can you do that for me?"
With a pensive pout, she seemed to be weighing her options in her head. Finally, she slowly nodded. Once she did, he released his grip on her arms and sat down next to where she was lying. It took her a couple minutes to catch her breath before she pushed herself off the ground and sat cross-legged. She rested her head against the cold stone wall behind her and looked up at the stars. A pensive look crossed her face, and she anxiously bit her bottom lip as her hands balled into fists pulling at the grass beneath her.
"Now, why did you have your hand in my pocket?"
Her reply was simple disdainful glare paired with a tilt of her head as if the answer was too obvious to be stated.
"Fair enough," he said. "Do you not know who I am?"
"You're a merchant," she answered with an eerie calm, considering what just transpired. "You sell fake potions."
"Well, clearly you don't know who I am."
This time her head tilted in confusion. With a friendly grin, he stuck out his hand toward her. She eyed the hand cautiously, like it might be coated in poison or something equally ridiculous, before lightly shaking it.
"What's your name?"
Her eyes darted around as she tried to quickly process a convincing lie.
"Fish."
"That's what you're really going with, lass? Suit yourself."
"I'm from a fishing town," she stated, quite adamantly. "My father was a horrible gambler. Long story short, he lost a bet, and now my name's Fish. Why? Who are you?"
"Glad you asked. I'm Brynjolf. I'm also part of an organization that runs this little backwater town."
This did not appear to impress her as much as he had hoped. In fact, she seemed completely indifferent to the revelation, as if he had just told her something as mundane as working in a bakery. Her lips still pursed, she tilted her head again.
"I heard the Guild was unorganized rabble. No more than common thugs."
"You know, lass, this doesn't really help your case of me not calling the guards on you for picking my pocket."
She contemplated this for a second. "I can outrun guards. There are other cities in Skyrim."
"I'm on good terms with Maven Black-Briar. She can have you found."
With a slight shudder, her lips twisted into a defeated frown. Her grip on the ground tightened, pulling out a tuft of grass. With a frustrated whimper, she jumped to her feet and kicked at the ground. Uneasily, Brynjolf came to his feet and gently grabbed the tiny girl by the shoulders. She jerked away and glared up at him coldly.
"Easy, lass," Brynjolf told her. "I'm not going to turn you in, not if you cooperate."
"And what is it you want, hm? I don't have much so I can't pay you off. I suppose that means I'm in your debt." She spat on the ground. "I know your type. Anything I agree to will have a catch. So what? I'm to be your little serving wench forever, then? No, I won't do it."
Her little tirade had been the most emotion he'd seen out of her since he first saw her walk into the inn. She was livid, a burning torch about to fall on an oil trap, and if he wanted to keep her from running again – or stabbing him – he needed to fix it quickly and carefully.
"Relax, I just want a favor. You do the job, and I'll let you off. You could go to Black Marsh for I care."
Her muscles relaxed a bit, but she still eyed him over, uncertain of his intentions.
"I don't believe you."
"I swear on my life. Provided you do it well and that you're even interested, I'll pay you to do more jobs. You said yourself that you were lacking coin."
She paused. Her eyes fell on her boots, and her body caved with her resolution. "I'm listening."
"You know your way around the marketplace by now, right?"
"I do."
. . .
"No, no, no. No! Absolutely not!"
A bottle hurled through the air, barely missing the Nord's head as he quickly ducked, and shattered on the wall behind him. Tonilia sat frozen next to Delvin, who nearly jumped under the table in fear of the sudden fight that had broken out. Only seconds ago, the Ragged Flagon had been as dead as it had ever been, but one short sentence had set off an explosion of repressed anger, and the rest of them could do nothing but sit and watch the scene play out.
"You're cleaning that up," the bartender commented, undisturbed by the commotion as he swept behind the bar. "I don't care which one of you does it."
"You promised you wouldn't pull this shit anymore!"
Positively fuming with anger, Vex took several steps toward Brynjolf. Her rigid body resembled a wolf ready to pounce at any second. To ease the tension, he put his hands up in an imitation of surrender.
"Easy, Vex. It's different this time."
She shook her head. "You stupid son of a bitch."
Not even pausing for a second, she socked him square in the jaw. The blow knocked the giant man to the floor where he was met flurry of unrestrained punches all over his body until he finally reoriented himself enough to kick her off of him. She fell backwards onto the ground, and he quickly got to his feet.
"Can I at least explain?" he roared at her.
She fell silent, and he brought his hand to his face, rubbing his brow to relieve the pressure. Slowly, Vex got back on her feet and brushed herself off. His outburst had dissuaded any further violence, but she still glared at him with unsurpassable scorn.
"I didn't mean to yell at you," he said after a couple minutes of dead silence.
"Kiss my ass."
"Fine. Be a crazy bitch."
For a second, she looked like she might punch him again, but she stopped herself. Instead she headed past a stunned Dirge out toward the Ratway. Delvin and Brynjolf both watched as she opened the door to the tunnels.
"I'm going to Goldenglow," she called out. "Don't wait up for me."
With a slam of the door, she was gone. Brynjolf sighed and began to clean up shards of broken glass. Nobody spoke again for a bit until Delvin finally broke the silence.
"She'll be back."
"No shit, Delvin," Tonilia replied, lightly smacking the back of his head.
"Ow, watch it! What was that for?"
"I barely even touched you." She smirked and shot Vekel a look before hopping to her feet and walking toward the backroom. "I think I've had enough excitement for one night. I'm going to bed."
Out of the corner of his eye, Brynjolf watched her as she left the room subtly enough to make sure Vekel didn't catch him. Getting bit on the hand and punched in the face in one night left him too weary to deal with any more conflict. Once the bottle was cleaned up, he sat down at the table across from Delvin. Slumping forward, Brynjolf held his head up with his hand and exhaled again. Vekel wiped down the bar one last time before clapping his hands against the counter.
"I'm heading to bed as well. You boys can help yourselves so long as I have something left in the morning."
"Got it," Delvin replied, waving him off. As the bartender left, the old Breton man looked over at his friend with a frown. "Fancy a game of dice?"
Leaning back, Brynjolf shrugged and put his feet up on the table as Delvin stood up and walked over behind the bar.
"Sure, but first, someone should tell Mercer Vex's doing the job a night early."
"Right." The old man nodded and ducked behind the bar. "Oi, Dirge! Go tell Mercer about Vex!"
The hulking bodyguard nodded his head and began to walk toward the cistern. With a wave of his hand, Brynjolf stopped him and motioned for him to come closer.
"Best to leave out the part about the new recruit and the resulting scuffle. Got it, lad?"
"Understood."
With that, Dirge left and Delvin returned to the table, clumsily balancing several bottles in his hands. One by one, he carefully set them on the table before pulling out a pair of dice from his pocket and sitting back down in his chair. Taking his feet off of the table, Brynjolf sat up straight and leaned forward. Delvin held the dice out to him.
"You go first."
Taking the dice, Brynjolf pulled a couple septims from his pocket and tossed them on the table as his bet.
"Seven," he called.
"Pussy," Delvin commented as Brynjolf rolled the dice. "So tell me about the new blood. Kid got a name?"
"Said it was Fish, – Damn! – but I don't believe it."
With a chuckle, Delvin snatched the dice from the table and put down an extra three coins. "Serves you right for betting like a girl. Five."
"Gutsy."
With a smirk, the old man rolled a nine and continued rolling. "He got any talent?"
"She. I haven't really tested her out yet, but she's got the making of a –"
"Yes!"
The dice had finally landed on another nine. Delvin threw his fist in the air triumphantly. Chuckling, Brynjolf handed over his gold. Pocketing a couple septims, Delvin looked up at his old friend with a grin.
"And that, boy, is how you play the game. Let's try an eight. What were you saying?"
"I've yet to see her in action, but I got a little job for her planned tomorrow."
"Wait, her, did you say? – All right!"
"You're cleaning me out, old man."
"Oh, very funny. Fork over the coin, kid. At least I admit my age. I'm not that much older than you, you know."
"Aye, that is true, but I was always prettier than you."
Giving a small shrug, Delvin made a face and cleared off most of the table, leaving only seven septims as a bet.
"So this girl," – He raised his eyebrows. – "Tits?"
Shaking his head, Brynjolf sighed and smiled. "Just call it."
"Answer my question first."
"Almost non-existent. Will you go?"
"That's a pity. Nine." - A twelve - "Shit. Where'd you find her?"
Smirking, Brynjolf placed his bet and took the dice. "Caught her picking my pocket. Six."
"You're kidding. Shit, Bryn, just because a girl accidentally rubs your cock doesn't mean you have to take her home."
"It wasn't like that."
"What? She too pale for you, or is her mouth not smart enough?"
Staying his hand, Brynjolf's mouth twisted into a confused frown and looked up at Delvin. The old man just smirked and cocked a knowing eyebrow which just furthered the Nord's bewilderment.
"What in hell's name are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"No, I really don't, Delvin."
"Please, I know all about your little tryst in the training room last week." He tilted his head and faked a contemplative frown. "I wonder if Vekel does."
For a split second, his entire body suddenly went rigid, but he kept his cool and feigned ignorance. Laughing as genuinely as he could, he shook his head and rolled the dice again.
"I think you've been spending too much time around the junior members. They gossip worse than fishwives."
"Fine, fine. Don't tell me, but I know. I know you all think I'm just a daft old man, but the truth is," – He tapped the side of his head. – "I know just about everything there is to know 'round these parts."
Brynjolf gave a small shrug and grinned. "You keep telling yourself that."
. . .
By the time the two retired for the night, Delvin's pockets a little heavier than earlier, the cistern was completely silent, save from Thrynn's snoring. More than half of the beds were empty from several being out on jobs. Delvin immediately locked away his winnings in a chest and fell asleep on his bed with his boots still on. His slight inebriation warming his cheeks, Brynjolf managed to stumble all the over to his own little bed in the far corner and climbed into it. He tried to close his eyes, but his thoughts kept him awake. Vex should have been back by now. Actually, she should have been back an hour ago. Though it was very likely that she had intentionally refused to come back to the Ratway and was simply staying the night somewhere else, he couldn't shake the feeling something had gone wrong.
Delvin was always going on about how he just knew things in his gut and that people should always trust their instincts, but Delvin's instincts were always leading him to poor decisions, including a brief period about ten years back where a fortune teller had told him that he had the spirit of a king and his "gut" took this to mean he was secretly the last of the Septim bloodline. Vex, on the other hand, took a logical approach to everything. Every now and again, she would fly off the handle, letting her emotions get the better of her, but she was pragmatist to her core. Unlike Delvin, she had no patience for silly superstitions such as gut feelings and curses. Cold and analytical, she took every factor into account and figured out the best way to get a job done. Seeing as – aside from the Markarth incident a couple years back – Vex generally made fewer mistakes than Delvin, Brynjolf found it safe to assume that she was correct to let the mind rule instead of the gut. He told himself she was fine. She had probably already finished the job, found some visitor to the city, and offered to warm his bed, only for the poor sap to wake in the morning to find she had run off with all his belongings.
This is what he told himself, but it didn't put his worried mind to rest. After tossing and turning for nearly an hour, he got out of bed and began to pace around the cistern like a sabre cat caught in a cage. Eventually, he found his way to the training room and began violently hacking at the training dummy until he finally heard the trap door to the cistern open, the light thud of something hitting the floor, and a small, feminine groan. Quickly, he made his way out into the main room of the cistern to see the figure of a thin blonde woman lying on the ground. Holding her side, she quietly swore through gritted teeth. There was something sticking out of her leg. At once, Brynjolf ran to her side.
"You okay, lass?"
"Piss off!" she hissed quietly as not to wake the others. "Does it look like I'm okay?"
"Right, right. What happened?"
"What does it look like happened? They got me, idiot! There were so many more than I was expecting, and one of them somehow spotted m– Shit, shit. Damn this hurts."
"Let me help."
Wincing, Vex did her best to sit up as Brynjolf examined her injuries. The thing sticking out of her thigh was an arrow, and he immediately reached over to pull it out. She stifled a howl of pain and grabbed at his throat.
"Not so fast, shithead. Gently."
Obediently, he slowly eased the arrow out of her leg as she continued swearing worse than a drunken sailor. Once it was out, he tossed it aside, and she let out a sigh of slight relief as she laid her head back down on the stone. Her chest quickly rising and falling from her heavy breathing, he noticed blood on the hand that had been holding her side and got up, quickly grabbing a linen lying on a table nearby. Just above her right hip, there was a gash in her armor, soaked in blood. He knelt back down next to her to better inspect it, but her armor was in the way.
"Don't mind that," she told him. "It's nothing."
"Don't give me that. I need you to take your armor off."
Through her pain, Vex managed to let out a small chuckle. "Always the romantic, Brynjolf."
Impatiently, the red-haired Nord frowned at her, and with a roll of her eyes, she reluctantly began to unfasten her armor. He gently sat her up and helped her pull off her top. Once it was off, she immediately laid back down as he began to clean off the wound to no avail. Blood continued to gush from it, and she let out a small whimper.
"It's fine," she insisted though her pained expression suggested otherwise. Taking the cloth from his hand, she used it to apply pressure on the wound to keep it under control. "Just brew me up a potion, and I'll be as good as new."
"Right. One wee bit of a problem, though. If I knew anything about alchemy, I'd be selling real potions."
With an intense look that reminded him of her namesake, Vex glared at him and growled, "Then find someone who does."
Nodding, he stood up and tried to remember who knew the first thing about potion making. Mercer definitely knew everything there was to know about the subject, but he seemed to have gone missing. Thrynn was the closest, but Brynjolf doubted alchemy was a skill one picks up as a bandit. Sapphire had no interests other than pretty jewels and the talents necessary to take them from people. Vipir, seeing as he had accidentally ingested nightshade on more than one occasion, was a giant flaming no. Niruin might know a thing or two, but he wasn't there. Neither was Rune nor Cynric, though neither of them seemed the type. That left Delvin, who while he lacked the mental capacity to master any higher art other than hiding about and stealing women's underclothes, did know his basic way around the alchemy lab after a year in hiding with the Dark Brotherhood. Not to mention, all those days he spent hanging around the former Guild alchemist had to have taught him a couple more tricks – unless he really had spent the entire time staring at her bosom which was an unfortunately likely possibility.
Hastily making his way to the old man's bed, Brynjolf shook him by the shoulders to wake him. The Breton stirred in his sleep but did not fully wake. Instead, he dreamily mumbled, "I don't know what happened to her knickers. Honest."
"Delvin, wake up!"
The severity of the situation grating on his patience, Brynjolf shook him harder, and the old man arose with a clamor.
"Don't hit me, Grelod. I'll be a good boy, promise!" As he looked around and suddenly became aware of his surroundings, a light tint of red rose in Delvin's cheeks, and he sheepishly mumbled, "Don't tell no one about that."
Brynjolf shook his head. "We don't have time. You know how to make health potions, right?"
Making a smarmy face as he tossed his blanket aside, Delvin got out of bed and mockingly repeated Brynjolf's words. "Do I know how to make a health potion? Get out of my way, boy, and I'll show you how it's done."
"Great, could you do it quickly? I'm kind of in a hurry."
Furrowing his brow, Delvin looked at his old friend with a confused frown before looking over the larger man's shoulder and spotting a wounded, topless Vex lying on the ground. The old man nearly jumped back at the sight.
"Mara, Bryn! What the shit did you do to her?" he yelled a little too loudly.
Vex must have heard him because she immediately shouted back, "No, you are not enlisting his help! Shit, I'll bloody well do this myself if I have to."
Brynjolf spun around. "No, you stay right there!"
Ignoring his command, Vex tried her best to stand up and quickly stumbled to her knees. Quickly, Brynjolf turned to Delvin who was staring at him with his dark eyes completely bewildered.
"Bryn, what is going on?"
"I'll explain–"
"Hey! Can't a man get some damn sleep around here or is that too much to ask for?"
A sharp pain pounded in the Nord's head undoubted due to the absurdity of the current situation. There were days where nothing went right, and then there were days like this that put the former to shame, days that involved being embarrassed by a ninety-pound woman, nearly getting his pocket picked and having his hand bitten by aforementioned ninety-pound woman, being punched repeatedly in the face by a not much larger woman, losing half his coin to a pervert, and having to keep it together when literally nothing was going right. Closing his eyes, Brynjolf took a quick second to breathe and regain his composure. Ready to retake control, he grabbed Delvin by the collar. Half-stunned, half-terrified, the Breton stared up at him with his mouth hanging slightly agape.
"I'll explain later. Right now, you're going to make Vex something to help fix the giant, gaping hole in her side, and you are going to do this as quickly as possible. Understand?"
"Got it, boss."
Brynjolf released him, and he nearly tripped over himself as he scurried off to the alchemy table in the back. Turning on his heel, the red-haired thief walked back over to Vex, who was still stubbornly trying to get on her feet. He picked her up with little difficulty, though she took it about as well as a cat about to be dropped in a lake, her limbs flying about as she tried to fight her sudden displacement.
"Put me down!"
"No."
The curt reply was enough to silence her. She simply gave an aggravated huff, and he felt her rigid body relaxing slightly as he carried her to her bed. Carefully, he laid her down on the bed, and she crossed her arms with a petulant scowl. He left her to find the first aid kit Mercer kept under his desk. When he returned, she refused to look him in the eye, and likewise, he ignored her childish games as he knelt down to treat the wound temporarily while they waited for Delvin to finish brewing the potion. After a couple minutes of silence except for the occasional slight wince whenever he went over a particularly tender spot, she opened her mouth to speak.
"I could've gotten here myself. There was no need to carry me like some–"
"I don't want to hear it, Vex. You're injured, and you need help."
With an indignant pout, she shut her mouth and turned her head to stare back at the ceiling.
"Thanks, I guess."
He looked up at her, his mouth still twisted in an icy frown. "You're welcome."
Finally, Delvin returned with a vial that he swiftly handed over to Vex, taking a small second to look over her nearly bare chest. She simply shot him a glare, and he ran off at once. Brynjolf sat down on the bed next to her as she downed the potion and the wound quickly sealed itself up, leaving nothing more than a pretty little scar. Slowly, she sat up still aching slightly from her injury as her cold eyes watched his tired face sigh and look off into the distance.
"We are getting too old for this shit," he muttered.
"Maybe you are," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm still the best damned thief Skyrim has to offer."
Chuckling, he turned his gaze back toward her. Her words were only half-true. Yes, she was the most talented thief he'd ever come across – the kind that could give the Grey Fox himself a run for his gold, but she was getting too old for all this. They all were. Even Vex, with her unmatchable skill, was still nothing compared to the Vex of ten years ago. The guild members were beginning to reflect the dying Guild, now only husks of their former selves. They still powered on, but it was all in vain. They were on their way out, the last sputtering embers of a bonfire past its prime, ready to disappear into the dark of night.
Of course, he knew if he ever said this to her she would most likely hit him in the gut and tell him to quit whining. In her own twisted, moody way, Vex was the most optimistic of the whole lot of them. Unlike Brynjolf, her faith in the Guild never faltered for a second because she knew as long as she was out breaking into shops, stealing valuables, and planting false evidence, the coin would keep flowing no matter how little it was. He only wished he could have that same cocky, self-assurance that kept her going. It was beautiful, and he loved her for it. There was no doubt in his mind Delvin would always be his closest friend, the old man's questionable morals aside. They had known each other far too long and gone through far too much for Vex to steal that spot, but out of all of them, he respected her the most. He would follow her into Oblivion and back.
His eyes locked with hers. "Are we good?"
"Almost," she said.
Just as his mouth curled into a questioning frown, she took both hands and placed them on the sides of his face, leaning her head in slightly with a small smirk on her lips. For a split-second, he thought she was going to kiss him, which truly would have been the icing on the bizarre sweet roll that was his day, but instead, she forcefully knocked her forehead against his, staggering him slightly and certainly not helping alleviate his already throbbing headache. However, his dizzied state aside, he figured it was better than the alternative. Sure, he found Vex as attractive as any red-blooded Nord man, not to mention her current lack of clothes made her even more appealing, but she was practically family by this point. Things would get awkward and colossal egos would get hurt, and he was kind of glad she headbutted him.
"Now, we're good." She took a pause and laughed slightly. "You really should've seen the look on your face."
"You headbutted me."
"You carried me against my will."
"Fair enough."
She smirked at him as he stood up and bid her goodnight. As he walked over to his bed, finally ready to get this night over with, he thought of Vex's words, her unrelenting spirit. Though she was a good ten years his junior, there was still a lot he could learn from her. Maybe they were only shadows of what they once were, but shadows had never been a problem for thieves. Just a couple hours ago, he had found a potential recruit. Things were looking up. He told himself this rough patch was the perfect way to get everyone's guard down, only setting them up for the greatest comeback the world had ever seen. He knew it was an idle fancy, but a positive outlook had never hurt anyone. Once he climbed into bed, a shimmer of hope still in his heart, he closed his tired eyes ready for a new day.
Author's Notes: Just a couple things. One, you can write off any contradictions to the game as either creative license or lack of research, though my pretentious ass will most likely pretend the latter is the former if called out on it. (/self deprecating humor) However, since I'm far too shy to have someone else look over these, please, please, point out any inconsistencies in the story itself so I can fix it. Same goes for any grammatical or spelling errors. Two, what I'm trying to do with this story is give a little in-depth look at the Thieves Guild quest line. I tried to keep the characters as true to their in-games selves as possible, but give them a little more depth. (Example: Vex is pretty headstrong and cocky in game, but I didn't want to write her as a one-dimensional bitch, so I gave her Brynjolf as a morality pet to give her a bit more of a slightly vulnerable side.) However, if I ever get too out-of-character, don't be afraid to leave a review telling me about it. I really appreciate any feedback, whether it be appraisal or criticism.
