Child's Play

Hello all, welcome to the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Brynjolf sat alone at a table in the Bee and Barb—his tavern of choice in Riften. One of the only taverns in this gods-forsaken town. Gripping the frosty mug of mead before him, his knuckles tensed under the calloused skin covering it. He was a strong man of twenty and seven, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a spark always shining in his greenish-gray eyes. But today, that shine was a little less bright. Things were going badly for the guild, so badly. And what could he do? He never believed much in curses, as Delvin seemed to, but something about this didn't seem right. Things only got worse. Mercer was insufferable, and the morale of his brothers and sisters in the shadows was low.

This was the first time in days he'd been able to just sit in the Bee and Barb and enjoy a drink, as every other day he'd been scouring Riften, looking for a new face, a new trinket to steal or a new scam to put in motion. Brynjolf took pleasure in the company of a pretty woman, or in a fine drink, or in the feeling of gold in his pocket. But for some reason, these things were dull and lifeless to him as of late. Riften had turned gray since the fate of the Guild had darkened. And to add to the mood, ever since the old woman was killed inside the orphanage, the town had become different; rumors swirled that the Dark Brotherhood was hired to do away with Grelod (she had many enemies), and the guards were so tense that it was interfering with Brynjolf's occasionally illegal amusements. However, Delvin, with his contacts, connections and friendships in the Dark Brotherhood, assured the Guild that it was not their doing, although they were livid. What was going on? The winds had suddenly changed in Riften, and Brynjolf felt mayhem on the horizon.

Without thought, Brynjolf glanced to the wooden stairs of the Bee and Barb just in time to see a young woman descending them. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her. Her skin was light and clear, all milk and honey to his eyes. Her eyes were piercing, although he couldn't tell the color, as she was halfway across the room. The woman was short with a thin frame, a delicate nose, full lips and long, white-blond hair that fell down her back in waves. He immediately wondered about the curves of her body, as they were well hidden beneath a black cloak. Perhaps she was the Sybil of Dibella, visiting all the way from Markarth? But he'd heard that the new Sybil had been discovered, delivered by some stranger a few months ago, and that she was a very young girl. And if it were she, then where was her envoy? And what business could such a lady possibly have in the filth of Riften? The woman neared, approaching the bar to sit down and drink, he assumed. Brynjolf noticed, as she came closer, the sharpness of her looks and features. She gave off an air of intimidation, as if she was not one to be trifled with—almost like Vex, but colder still. What a contradiction she seemed. So delicate and so hardened all at once.

He continued to daydream, staring at her profile from his seat, until he was startled by her departure from the place altogether. Without thinking, Brynjolf hastily rose and followed her out to the market stalls.

He watched the shape of her move gracefully through the stalls, and Brynjolf would have been ashamed to realize he was following her with more speed than was necessary. But he didn't notice. He only knew he had to follow her. He had to know where she was going, he had to know who she was because if—

Before he could finish his thought, he noticed that the woman had pulled her hood tightly up over her head and made a sharp right down a narrow passageway. It wouldn't be wise to follow her. Who knows who she is… Brynjolf thought to himself. Although his mind was saying sensible things, his body took the sharp turn after her. She turned her head swiftly around, and upon catching sight of Brynjolf, her speed quickened. Brynjolf followed suit, zig-zagging around the wooden walkways near the water. The sun was bright and reflected on the water, almost blindingly so. Suddenly, she broke out into a full-fledged run. Brynjolf was alarmed—what was going on? His curiosity was peaked now—there was no going back, no matter the implications.

"Wait! Lass, stop!" He called after her, picking up the pace, but she didn't slow. In fact, she began to sprint even more quickly to the left, then down another passage, then down a main street. Brynjolf's chest was heaving. He was fast, but she was faster. Just when Brynjolf was about to give up, he noticed her turn down by the blacksmith's shop—a dead end. She obviously didn't know Riften well. It was his advantage to gain. Speeding down the alley, he closed the distance between the two of them to a few feet. The woman's back was to him, but her hood had fallen away to reveal her long near-white hair tangled and knotted over her arms. By the way her shoulders were moving up and down, she was gasping for air. He had better explain himself. For whatever reason, this woman believed Brynjolf to be a threat. Although he was stupid enough to follow her just because he thought she was fetching, so it was no wonder she got the wrong impression. Idiot, he scolded himself.

He raised his hands to her. "Lass, I'm not going to hurt you…" Their eyes met. For a few moments, they just stared at each other.

Freja watched him intently. Upon looking at him more closely, he did resemble the man she was supposed to find, the one who would lead her to the Thieves Guild. But she was too panicked by his following her. After all, what were the chances? The day after she arrives in Riften, a large, muscular man starts tailing her? Rather badly, but tailing her nonetheless. She had to admit, the Dark Brotherhood had to be more skilled than this. But they were dying out in Skyrim, so it was possible that they were this desperate, this concerned with revenge over stolen contracts…

"What…do you…want?" She said in between breaths. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with, would you?" Brynjolf laughed outright, bending over to rest his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Kill you? I want… to talk…to you… Not kill you." She was a paranoid one, wasn't she? Then again, he did follow her, a complete stranger. Brynjolf sighed, crossing his arms as his breaths became more regular. Once again, he'd managed to get himself into a bizarre situation.

Her eyes narrowed at him. He could tell that she didn't believe him, and as he took a step towards her, her stance changed into a defensive one. Brynjolf stopped in his tracks. "Don't come near me, not another step!" Freja yelled. It was more of a squeak. She'd never had to face off against a Dark Brotherhood assassin, and although she was skilled, he was probably better. To her surprise, he smiled. It was a warm, genuine smile. But then he took another step.

In less than six seconds, Freja had launched herself at him, knocking Brynjolf to the ground flat on his back and lodging her knees onto his elbows so he couldn't budge. With her left hand, she grasped his throat, and with her right hand, she pointed a small, silver dagger directly between his eyes.

"I said not another step. Now, you'll pay for that. Before I carve out your eyeballs, I need to know how I can disappear so that you and your kind never find me again." Her tone was serious, but her voice was shaking. She couldn't be talking about the Thieves' Guild, could she? What could they have done that was so bad as to make her want to hide from them? They were not killers.

Before he could respond, Brynjolf kicked his knees up to her back, shooting her forward over his head onto the stone street. He leapt up and threw his body weight onto her, knocking the dagger out of her grasp as he pinned her wrists to the ground. She thrashed wildly, trying to kick her thin legs from underneath him. Brynjolf shook his head, a look of amusement on his face.

"Whoever you think I am, I'm not. I don't want to kill you," he said more slowly this time.

"Then why did you follow me?" She half-whispered, her eyes wide.

Brynjolf wasn't quite sure how to approach this. His mind had turned to mince. What could he say? They both stood up and brushed themselves off while he thought of which angle to play.

"Because… you're running a little light in the pockets, lass." He said, tapping his forefinger to his chin. She was beautiful, that much was true, but he couldn't help noticing the state of her clothes. The quality of what she wore wasn't much better than what the vagabonds on the street wore each day. It looked as if she once had wealth, but had since run out. He was pleased to notice the look of shock on her face that she was attempting to hide—it told him that he was right. Hopefully this angle would work out and distract her from the facts. He wasn't sure how to explain that he followed her and got in a scuffle with her for no apparent reason.

"I'm sorry, what?" She muttered incredulously, the tone of her voice heightening in surprise.

"Your pockets," Brynjolf said, nodding at her, "they're a little low on coin, I can tell."

Freja shook her head slightly, somewhat impressed and at the same time confused by this burly stranger. Is this why he chased her through the streets? To make an assessment of her wealth? Well, the way the conversation was going, he didn't appear to be a member of the Dark Brotherhood, so she relaxed slightly at that fact. But what was he getting at, what could he want from her? Most men approached her because of her looks, were promptly insulted and even sometimes smacked across the face. But very rarely did they use this type of approach. If he was coming onto her, which they always did, she appreciated the originality of tackling her down in an alleyway.

"How could you possibly know that? And why in the name of Talos did you come after me like that?" She said, a bit more confidence in her voice. Brynjolf heard the change of her tone and took it as an opening. He carefully moved closer to her, circling her as he continued.

"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass," Brynjolf growled in a low tone. He stopped behind her for a moment, leaning his face towards her ear. "The way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway. You look like someone I could do business with. When you ran, I became curious. I apologize for unsettling you."

Freja turned her face toward his own. Anyone passing on the street would think them intimate acquaintances by how close they stood to one another. "My wealth is none of your business," she sneered. Her tone was chilly.

Brynjolf chuckled a little, lifting his fingers to her cheek to brush away some stray strands of hair. Freja flinched away from his touch, a bit surprised by his boldness—but not necessarily offended. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong lass. Wealth is my business." Her ears perked up at this. Could he be one of the thieves she was hoping to find? "Maybe you'd like a taste?" Brynjolf whispered.

Her demeanor changed almost immediately, and she smiled at the proposition, turning fully to face him now. Offering him her hand, Freja gave him a dignified nod of formal greeting. "I'm Freja. What do you have in mind?"

Brynjolf took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Brynjolf. I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from the strongbox under his stand," he pointed at the closest market stall. "Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing. I'll pay handsomely for this."

Freja looked away from him for a moment. That was the name of the man she'd been looking for! Brynjolf. How did I forget? This is too easy. "The money's nice, but I don't know…" She said, feigning hesitation. She wanted to be sure of whom she was dealing with.

Brynjolf frowned at her doubt. "Look, I'll make this simple for you," he said softly, dropping his hands to his sides as he stepped closer to her. "The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath Riften. I'll be in the market stalls all day, putting on my little show. Complete the task before sundown, then come find me beneath the city and we'll talk about your future. Otherwise, it was a pleasure to meet you, lass." Turning from her, he headed to the other side of the stalls to give a speech about some mystical potion he'd concocted from slaughterfish guts. He hoped she would come to the Ratway. It would be pleasing to discover his embarrassing tackle in the street wasn't in vain.

Freja turned, and when she was totally alone, she smiled widely. So he was a representative for the Thieves Guild, just the people she'd been looking for. Sighing deeply, Freja turned towards Madesi's market stall. This would be child's play.