Samuel cupped his hands beside a brook, relishing the cool, clear water. He drank for a time, then lifted his hands over his head, drenching himself. He wiped at his face and neck, then sighed and laid back on the mossy ground. His stomach rumbled and clenched. "Get used to it," he muttered. He didn't have much left in his knapsack, a few pieces of dried meat, a couple apples and a biscuit. He'd have to make them last until he found more sustenance.
He heard a rustle and rolled his head to the right. The bay horse snacked on grass a few feet away. He'd tied the reins to a tree branch. If he didn't, it would wander off. It was too tame. It put up with him, but it's heart was honed in on home.
Samuel narrowed his eyes at the horse. If only he could eat grass. He rolled his head back and closed his eyes in the warm sun. Even the gelding had a home, he thought ruefully. Not him. He'd never had a home, not really. He'd grown up in Honorhall Orphanage in Riften, but he would never call it home. Still, he'd met her there.
Samuel ran a hand over his eyes. He wondered what she'd look like. She was so thin and bony last he'd seen her. It had been nine years. She would be a woman by now, with a woman's curves. Samuel grimaced. What did it matter what she looked like? What mattered more is what she would think of him. After all, he'd become a thief and then he'd failed even that.
Samuel hit the ground with a fist. It had been years since he'd lived at Honorhall. He'd forgotten it, or at least, he'd thought he had. And then it popped back up again and it cost him the only place he'd once considered as close to a home as he'd ever had—the Ragged Flagon of the Thieves Guild. He'd had friends there, comrades and a mentor. "You blew it," he spoke aloud. "You have no one to blame but yourself."...
At the age of sixteen, when he'd been thrown out of the orphanage to face the "harsh reality of the world" as Grelod put it, he'd done the only thing he knew how to do to survive—pickpocketing. He was pretty good at it. He'd sneaked out of the orphanage over the years to mingle in the city center and hone his trade. With this skill, he managed to keep himself fed at the least. He had no home, nowhere to go, and spent a couple weeks holed up in empty alcoves, a dirty blanket he'd found pulled around him for what warmth he could get. It was in one of these alcoves that his life changed for the better.
He'd wrapped himself tightly, the hour quite late. As he drifted off to sleep he contemplated. He'd been thinking that living on the streets wasn't as fun or freeing as he thought it would be. He'd thought it would be better than living at the orphanage with its cruel mistress. It was better in that at least the threat of beating didn't loom over him all the time. But it wasn't any fun with no shelter and no guarantee of at least one meal a day. He'd need to find some way to shelter himself, maybe find work somewhere.
Samuel groaned when he felt the wind pick up and a couple droplets on his face. A rainy night. He hated them. He'd spend the night cold and drenched. He'd get little sleep. But there was nothing for it. He tried to quiet his mind as the droplets became a downpour. He shivered, wishing for his filthy orphanage bed if only for one night.
"Hey!" A toe poked him in his side. "This is no night to sleep like this."
Samuel opened his eyes and shielded them against the rain with a hand, looking up at a man he'd seen in the city center, a merchant. He'd never tried to rob this one. Something had felt wrong about it. "Leave off!" he grumbled, twisting around into the alcove. He wouldn't have been here if he could help it.
"I'm offering you shelter, lad."
Samuel craned his neck back to look at the man. He wore a hooded cloak, but his face was visible. Samuel tried to read his green eyes. Could he trust this man?
"I guess you want to be out here. Forget my offer." The man turned and ambled away down the street.
Samuel blinked his eyes against the rain, considering the man's back. What did he have to lose? He stood and ran to catch up to the man, carrying his dirty blanket with him. He matched the man's stride, keeping parallel to him. The man turned his head and smiled knowingly at him. He reached out and took the blanket. "You don't need that. We'll get you a better one." He threw it over the side of a railing and Samuel watched as the blanket hit the water and bobbed on the rough waves.
"Keep up."
Samuel strode quickly to join the man again. He followed him down a flight of stairs to the underside of Riften. The man paused at a door, took out a key and unlocked it. He stood aside so Samuel could enter first. Samuel hesitated a moment, but figured he had gone this far, he might as well see this to its end. He stepped inside. It was pitch black. He heard the man enter after him and the sounds of rain muffled as the door shut. The man's footsteps paced passed him and farther inside, then stopped. A few more seconds and a lantern poured its light into a small room with two chairs and a table. There was another room to the right and Samuel spied a bed, a side table and a chest.
"Come," the man commanded, walking to the other room. Samuel followed. The man threw off his cloak and shook his long reddish hair. He opened the chest and dug around for a few moments, then stood and threw a pair of pants and shirt to Samuel. "You can change into those." The man stomped back out to the other room.
Samuel walked to a corner so he couldn't be seen from the other room and changed as quickly as he could. The pants and shirt were too big, but he didn't care. They were dry. When he walked back into the main room the man had lit a fire in a fireplace and was cutting vegetables into a pot already filled with water while sitting on a stool. Samuel approached the table, already set with a couple bowls, and sat down. He stared at the man, his lips a hard line. Why was the man doing this? There had to be a reason.
After the man finished cutting the vegetables and stirred the pot for a time, he stood, walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a couple bottles, then sat down across from Samuel. He pushed one of the bottles over to him. "Drink."
Samuel took the bottle in his hand, weighing it and contemplating it. He knew what it was—ale. But he'd never had it. Still, he didn't want this man to think he was a weakling. He uncorked it and took a large gulp. His throat felt afire and he gasped, spluttered and coughed. The man laughed.
"First strong drink?"
Samuel glared him.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. A man has to start somewhere." The man sipped his own ale and nodded to Samuel who followed suit. It was easier as he took it slowly and it did warm him.
Samuel set the bottle on the table. "What do you want with me?"
The man shrugged. "Awful night to be out there. I figured I'd earn Mara's blessing, take pity on a poor soul."
Samuel narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."
The man stared, then laughed again. "Yes. I lied. Not that I didn't want to help you out, but I do have another reason."
"Well, what is it?"
The man smiled at him. "You're the right type, though you'll need some molding."
Samuel scowled at him. "Speak straight."
The man leaned into the table, meeting him eye to eye. "I let you get away with insolence now, but it won't be tolerated if you join us." Samuel cocked his head as the man leaned back in his chair and for the first time noticed a jagged scar on the man's left cheek. "I've been watching you." The man pointed at him with his ale bottle. "Since you were a child in that godforsaken orphanage."
Samuel felt uncomfortable with the knowledge he'd been watched. "How long have you been spying on me?"
"It wasn't spying, lad," the man said, taking another swig of his ale. "You came out onto the streets to gain a little coin, things to sell...from other people's pockets."
Samuel shifted in his seat. He was sure he'd never robbed this man.
"I was most impressed when you managed to relieve Ingun Black-Briar of her family ring."
Samuel blinked his eyes. Yeah, he remembered that, too, and why he'd done something so dangerous. But he hadn't known it was her family ring.
"Her fault," the man went on. "She took it off after an argument. Shouldn't have set something that valuable in a pocket. Point is, you're good. I've been waiting until that monster of a mistress let you out. Watched you the last two weeks to see how you'd fare. You're good, but you could do better."
Samuel fingered his ale bottle. "You want to teach me?"
"I offer myself as your mentor...but you'll have to make a vow."
"What kind?"
"Well...it's not just me, you see. I'm part of a guild."
Samuel''s eyes widened, suddenly understanding. "Thieves Guild." Of course, it was headquartered in Riften.
The man sat back in his chair. "Might be. You'll find out if you're willing to take the vow. If you do, I promise you shelter, good food, a bed and a lifetime of learning to do what you do even better."
Samuel spoke quietly. "What do I have to vow?"
"Absolute loyalty to members. Following the rules. Accepting the consequences if you break them. That sort of thing."
Samuel stared at the man. He didn't have to think long. He had no other skill. If he went it on his own he'd end up starving most of the time. If he accepted this man's offer, he'd have a shelter and a future. "I'll take the vow."
The man smiled. "I thought you would." He reached out his hand to Samuel who took it in a handshake. "Name's Brynjolf."
"Samuel," Samuel said, shaking the man's hand...
Samuel situated himself on the gelding again and took to the road. He'd found a traveler midday who sent him in the direction of Helgen. Actually, he'd been afraid to ask anyone. It had been six months since he'd left the Guild, but he still expected them to send someone after him to haul him back and throw him at Brynjolf's feet. Samuel clenched the reins tightly, causing the horse to stop. He loosened his grip and tapped the horse's sides. He still hated himself for messing up. For paying back all Brynjolf's aid with failure...
As it turned out, Brynjolf wasn't just a member of the Thieves Guild; he was the Guildmaster. As such, once Samuel had spoken the vow in The Ragged Flagon, he had been accepted immediately. Brynjolf began to teach him all he knew, training him mainly in thievery techniques; others taught him skill with a dagger and a bow, Rune and Niruin respectfully.
So Samuel grew into a young man in the company of thieves. He had a warm bed every night, good food at a table and companions to laugh with. Most of the time the Guild hummed along smoothly. Every so often a member would break a rule. Usually Brynjolf dealt with the member privately. Only once had the Guildmaster called a public court. Samuel had been proud at that moment. A pox on everyone in Skyrim who thought the Guild had no honor. They had a code and they followed it. This particular member had failed at three missions and been seen in the last. Brynjolf's highest rule was not being seen. Second was not murdering a victim. Thieves, Brynjolf said, stayed in the shadows. That was how the Guild kept its reputation and patrons. The member was convicted, beaten and exiled. Brynjolf didn't show mercy. He said you showed it once and you'd sow immediate dissension in the Guild.
Slowly Samuel moved up in the Guild, though not fast enough for his taste. For quite a time he felt more like a mascot than a member. Everyone was friendly, but none were as young as he and they routinely made mention of his youth. It didn't help that Brynjolf teased him often. Samuel had demonstrated a bit of questionable morality, openly questioning the rightness of stealing from certain victims. Brynjolf thought it funny that he tried to distinguish between which jobs were right and which were wrong. They were jobs, plain and simple. And anyway, he'd said, "If you steal from one, you might as well steal from the other. It's the same, stealing, no matter who you're stealing from." It was Brynjolf that had given him a last name, jokingly calling him Grey-Heart, indicating Samuel's moral conflict. The Guild members had taken the name up, often calling him simply Grey-Heart. And although Samuel didn't really mind, his ambiguous heart held him back. Brynjolf said he didn't want him on an official job until his mind was set one way.
Two years ago, Samuel had insisted he was ready. He'd kept control of his mouth, not questioning any missions the Guild was handed. Brynjolf agreed. He'd sent Samuel to Delvin who tested thieves with stealing various minor objects. Samuel had stolen for Delvin for more than a year. One day he'd gotten tired of it and begged Brynjolf to let him go for something big. "If you don't send me, you aren't as good of a teacher as you think you are," Samuel had quipped. Brynjolf had stared him down. He didn't like to be provoked. But then he'd cracked a smile. He'd always liked Samuel's direct way. He said he'd find a big job perfect for Samuel. And so he had six months ago. He'd tasked him with a job for a client who wanted a particularly valuable silver platter. Samuel had balked. A platter? How ridiculous. But Brynjolf had chastised him. "The worth in this one doesn't come from the cost." "What then?" Samuel had wondered. "None of your business," was Brynjolf's reply. It was a job and you were given it, no questions asked. Samuel accepted.
And so he had found himself in Eastmarch several weeks later, silently picking the lock of a mansion, a memorized floor plan guiding him as he sneaked through it at night. He'd entered through the basement in the night hours of the morning. The client said this so-called valuable platter was tacked to the wall of the dining room. He climbed the stairs, his boots as silent as a cat's tread. He listened, then exited slowly. The moonlight streaming through a window provided the light he needed to navigate by. He passed through the kitchen and into the dining room. The platter glinted in the moonlight. Samuel smirked. This was a big job? This was nothing. He'd be in and out in less than five minutes. He paced up to the wall and stared at himself in the well-shined platter. He cocked his head, amused at the young man with unruly long hair and several days growth of beard. He liked the roguish smile that he shared with his reflection. Get going. He hefted the platter off the wall. It was large and heavy. Brynjolf said it had to be protected, so Samuel had brought along a bag. He stuffed it inside, set it under his arm and turned to exit back to the kitchen.
A sudden cry halted his steps. His nerves had been steel; now his blood raced. He swallowed and gradually turned. Another cry, followed by a shout. The dining room door was cracked open, but no one had entered. He was safe. It must be an argument of some kind. All the better for his escape. He began to turn, but then heard an all too familiar sound, followed by a cry of anguish. His heart pumped. Leave now! his better sense shouted. He didn't heed it.
Samuel crept forward and peeked through the sliver afforded by the cracked door. He gazed out on a hallway. Directly across was another room, a living area. A large man was pacing back and forth in it and shouting. "Worthless. That's what you are. You should have died the day you were born!" Samuel's eyes left the man, drawn to the cowering figure on the floor, a boy of no more than eight curled up in a ball.
"Please, papa, please..."
"Begging! You have no strength, craven!" The man stopped pacing. Samuel felt like he couldn't breathe as he watched the man raise up a belt then bring it crashing down on the child. The boy yelped and whimpered. Samuel's fists clenched.
"Papa, I won't do it again! I promise!"
"A man welcomes his punishment!" The man let loose now, the belt connecting with the boy's body in rapid succession. The child howled and covered his head.
Samuel blinked as anger rose inside him. He knew what it was like to be a child in the hands of a savage adult. He hadn't thought about his own pain in years, but standing there watching the scene unfolding before him, it all came back fresh. He dropped the platter.
The man's tirade paused as his head snapped towards the dining room. "What was that?"
Before the man could put a step towards the hallway, Samuel came flying out of the dining room. He didn't remember much of it, only a jumble of images—the shock on the man's face, the thuds of his fists connecting with the man's stomach and head, the blood that splattered as he kept at it and then the child's terrified cries. That's what had stopped him. He'd released the man and turned to the child wide-eyed with fear. Samuel stepped towards him, but the child screamed and crawled away.
Samuel came to his senses. He looked down at the man, bloodied and bruised, nose broken, but eyes open. Samuel's hand jerked to his face. His kerchief and hood were down. He'd been seen. He'd broken Brynjolf's cardinal rule. His hand whipped to his side and his dagger. No, if he did that, then he'd broken both of Brynjolf's rules. Samuel dashed back across the hall to the dining room, snapping up the bagged platter and clattering his way through the kitchen, down into the cellar and out the door. As he ran he heard the servants calling out, woken from sleep by their master's cries.
"Thief!" someone called. By the direction of the sound, someone had seen him from an upper window.
He'd run for some time, only stopping when he was well outside the town and covered by darkness and trees. He'd sunk to the ground, chest heaving. He eyed the bag he had dropped, then angrily kicked it. He'd failed. The news would travel. Brynjolf had ears all over Skyrim. He probably wouldn't even get back to the Guild before Brynjolf would know. Not only had he been seen, he'd beaten the target almost to death. Samuel covered his face with his hands. They'd call a public court. He'd be shamed. It wouldn't matter that Brynjolf had chosen him; actually, that would make it worse. Brynjolf came down even heavier on members he'd picked to show he played no favorites. He'd walk away and let the Guild take out its anger, beating Samuel to a pulp. Then he'd be thrown out and disowned.
Samuel beat the ground with his fists. He had no choice. He couldn't go back. He'd have to flee...
Samuel paused as he sighted a town in the distance. Not Helgen. He had farther to go for that. But maybe he could find shelter for the night. He pushed the gelding on. His grey heart had been his downfall. If he'd had the steadfast heart of Brynjolf, he would have been out with the goods and no one the wiser. Curse Honorhall and the witch that ruled it! He'd silenced those memories long ago. Why did they have to come back?
But I didn't forget her. Samuel rose in his seat. Yes. Without Honorhall he would have succeeded, but then he wouldn't have met her. He couldn't change what he'd done. He'd failed Brynjolf. But if he found her, maybe he could salvage what was left of his failure of a life.
