Chapter Two: Cowardice
"Look. I'm a bird!"
It was just before sunrise as the traveler sat cross-legged on the rigid bed. The sky outside was still dark, but at the horizon, the first signs of sunlight were beginning to peek out from their slumber. She stared out the window with a vacant expression, her eyes dark and circled from too many sleepless nights. This night had been no exception. Unable to fall asleep, she replayed the events in her head over and over on a never-ending loop. Her hand was in the merchant's pocket, she had the coin purse in sight, and then he turned, thrust her against the wall. She had acted fast, but the spell didn't work. It had been reliable every time before then. He was a thief, not a wizard. How could he be so resistant to her magic? She ran, and he grabbed her. Hands. Pinned down.
She shuddered. Don't.
A bargain made: one man's freedom in exchange for hers. It was a fair enough trade – fair for her at least, not so much for the other. She'd die before she spent another night in a cell. Prison wasn't an option. The thief had offered her a place in his organization if she did well enough, and she was unfamiliar with that line of work. It had been a long time since she had settled down anywhere. Maybe it would be nice to grow some roots. Suddenly, the room felt like a tiny cage. Breathe, breathe, no. She couldn't do it. She had to get out of here, out of the room, out of the inn, out of Riften. She had to get somewhere far, far away. The thief had mentioned Black Marsh. It was so far, but the farther the better. She could live in the swamp and make friends with the animals, and this was getting ridiculous.
"This is why you have to sleep," she said aloud. "Can't sleep now though. Things to do today."
Standing up, she walked over to the chest in the corner of the room. Outside, the honey glow of dawn grew brighter and brighter. From the chest, she pulled out a dagger, a plate, and a little pouch of full of seeming random items. Kneeling down, cross-legged again, she placed all three objects in a nice line on the floor in front of her. She stood back up and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and into the tavern room where Talen-Jei was sweeping the floor. She approached him without him noticing. No one ever noticed her. She liked it that way. Lightly, she tapped the Argonian man on the shoulder and he spun around, slightly startled.
"My apologies," he said, catching his breath. "I didn't hear you come down."
"Do you have a basin? I need to wash up."
He pointed her to the basement, and she headed down the stairs with cautious eyes. The cold, underground air nipped at her bare face. She was not yet used to the harsh cold of Skyrim winters and hoped she would never have to be. The warm sands of Hammerfell sounded particularly soothing. The basement was dimly lit by a few lanterns, and she imagined thugs grabbing her while she wasn't looking. As she approached the basin, she looked around a couple times familiarizing herself with every inch of the room before kneeling down in front of it and splashing the cold water on her face a couple times. She grabbed a nearby rag to scrub off any remaining dirt when a searing pain burned in her stomach. The thugs had gotten her. Breathing heavily, she ran her hand over her middle to find it lacked any wounds. Her head suddenly feeling very heavy and light at the same time, she buckled down. She'd been poisoned. They must've gotten her the last time she –
Ate. Sighing, she lifted her body up and blushed at her foolishness. She wasn't poisoned, no one had gotten to her, and she wasn't dying. She couldn't even recall the last time she'd eaten. It had been four, maybe five days ago. Looking around, she spotted a perfect, red apple just lying on a shelf. She reached out and plucked it from its spot, pocketing it for later. The Argonians had already shown her so much kindness. She was certain they wouldn't mind her taking just one apple.
Ignoring her hunger pains, she finished scrubbing up and headed back up the two flights of stairs to her room. She pulled the apple from her pocket and bit into it. The sweet juices dribbled from her mouth with every bite, and she let out a gentle, satisfied whimper at the nourishment. When she was done, she set the core down on an end table and returned to the chest. She sat down cross-legged in front of the items she'd set out earlier and picked up the dagger. As she unsheathed it, she examined her reflection in the blade. The familiar faded scars ran down her cheeks and across her brow – all holding stories of a past life. She was particularly taken with her own eyes, which vacantly stared back at her. A kind soldier had once told her that she didn't look "all there." Then he had paused and laughed at himself like he had said something silly, but it was true. She wasn't all there. Something was missing. Something had been taken, or it had never been there in the first place. She had to find it, but she didn't know what or where it was.
"Stop," she told herself. "You're acting strange. Don't do that."
It briefly occurred to her that talking to herself made her seem even stranger, but she was far too tired to entertain that thought for more than a second. Rummaging through the bag, she found a small piece of charcoal. Carefully, she lined her eyes faintly with it, still using the dagger as a mirror. After she put the charcoal back in the pouch, she used her pinky finger to smudge the lines on her top lids ever so slightly to give her eyes a shadowy look. Laying down the dagger against the wooden panels of the floor, she picked out a small jar of a thick paste, a homemade concoction of red berries and beeswax. She opened it up and with her thumb lined her top lip with the paste. She rubbed her lips together and smacked them to spread the color evenly. Then she put everything away with great care, pulled out a cloth from her chest to clean her hands, and stood back up.
The sun was up now. Though outside the only souls now wandering the streets were the guards on patrol and a couple, world-weary beggars sitting on their mats, soon the city would come alive with the sounds of merchants calling out to passers-by, the metallic clinking of the smith hard at work at his forge, and the hushed whispers of gossiping townsfolk. She felt an odd sense of serenity in the noisy bustle of a city. It was so easy to become invisible without even trying. Getting caught up in a crowd felt as if she were taken in by a wave and pulled into the sea, lost forever. In a crowd, all the people's emotions bounced off each other, an almost magical way of communicating without so much as a word. There was nothing like it – to be so close to these people and yet so far away.
Though it was her greatest pleasure, it was also her greatest weakness. For an anxious, little thing with a fear of cages, the commotion of large amounts of people in one place can easily turn into a nightmare. In a crowd, an accidental bump of the shoulder could send her into a panic, and the people towering above her would begin to feel like stone walls. The air would thin, and all those feelings in one place would overwhelm her until she buckled down, gasping for air. She also knew that if she used the crowds to become invisible then someone else could do it as well. If she so much as overlooked one tiny detail, she could be caught by imaginary adversaries, lost forever in the sea. The city was a fine line between ecstasy and terror that could switch on a moment's notice.
However, she had no time to dream of excitement. She had a job to do. Undressing herself from her leather armor, she absentmindedly ran her hands over her pale, emaciated stomach. This was not the body of a hero. It was not the body of strapping Nord man who could effortlessly wield a great sword and slash it through a dragon's neck as if it was a kitchen knife cutting through butter. She knew she wasn't helpless. She had her talents. Her strengths came from her resilience and dexterity, but that didn't make her a hero. It made it easy for her to hide when trouble came knocking on her door. Heroes didn't hide from anything. They ran fearlessly charging the front lines, not skulking in dark corners slowly picking off enemies with a bow. She closed her eyes. Hers was the body of a coward and a criminal. Skyrim was supposed to be a fresh start, but here she was, not even a year later, about to frame an innocent man to save her own hide, all because she couldn't keep away. She just couldn't do honest work. She just couldn't keep her hand out of that damn snake oil salesman's pocket.
With a frustrated huff, she opened her eyes and stomped over to the dresser, rummaging through it until she found what she was looking for. Gently, she pulled out the dress. A beautiful shade of light blue with shiny, silver lace, it had once belonged to a young girl who wore ribbons in her pretty long hair as she sat smiling on the docks and stared pensively out toward the sea. It was also the dress of a dead woman. Slowly, the Breton girl put on the dress, careful not to tear or otherwise damage the thing. It naturally hung ill-fitting over her tiny figure, so she laced it up extra tight in the back to give it slightly more form.
Walking to the window, she looked out to see the streets outside were becoming a bit more crowded. A few of the merchants stood at their stalls, but there was no sign of the thief. She returned to the bed and sat down on the side of it. She'd give it another hour. He hadn't given her a specific time, only to be there. As she laid her head down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, she thought of a sea-side city miles away where a girl sat on the docks and imagined she was a bird.
. . .
The market couldn't have been busier that morning as Brynjolf set up his market stand. He couldn't tell if this was good or bad for what the day had in store. A skilled thief could manipulate the chaotic bustle to their advantage, using it as cover, but he didn't know if how experienced the girl was. She could just as easily panic and let her nervousness cause her to slip up and ruin the entire job. On the other side of the marketplace, Madesi stood at his stall, eying Brynjolf cautiously. The old Argonian could always tell when the thief was up to something. This suddenly made Brynjolf rethink going ahead with the plan, but it was far too late for to do anything about it. Earlier, he had employed Sapphire to wait for the signal then go running to that rather fidgety, young guard who had taken quite the shining to her and tell him with the most innocent face she could muster that she had seen Brand-Shei stealing from Madesi's strongbox. Initially, she refused on the sole grounds of the plan being, well, demeaning to her, but Brynjolf had managed to talk her into it. Going back now would just further her displeasure with him.
Anxiously he scanned the marketplace looking for the Breton girl, the one doing all the dirty work. It took him a minute to spot her, and it he couldn't tell if it was from her usual complete lack of presence or the fact that she was nearly unrecognizable in a dress. She was standing at Brand-Shei's stall, casually browsing the wares with an absentminded expression. Glancing over at Brynjolf, the Breton stood straight up and wandered over to his stall. She glossed over his potions with a slight frown on her pouty lips.
"You ready, lass?" he asked quietly.
"Yes." Her quiet voice held a regretful tone.
"Good. Wait until I start the distraction and then show me what you're made of."
With a slight nod, she walked off and he took a step out from behind his stall, clapping his hands together with great bravado and drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity.
"Everyone, everyone, gather round! I have something amazing to show you that demands your attention!"
As he leaned on his stall, Brand-Shei narrowed his eyes. "What is it this time, Brynjolf?"
"Trust me. You aren't going to want to miss this."
With a gruff scowl and a furrowed brow, the elf groaned slightly and stood up walking over to watch Brynjolf's demonstration with the others. Once the thief got everyone's interest, he carefully watched over the heads of the spectators for the girl. Carefully scanning the area, making sure all eyes were off of her, she ducked behind Madesi's stall disappearing from his sight completely. Just as she did, a patrolling guard walked by the wall behind her, and Brynjolf could've sworn his heart skipped a beat, though he kept up his act as if nothing were wrong.
"What I have here is a rare opportunity."
"You said that about the Wisp Essence," Madesi interjected, "and we all know that was just nirnroot mixed with water."
The guard continued on his route without so much as the slightest clue to the crime at hand, and the girl casually emerged from behind the stall seemingly, readjusting her dress as if she'd just stopped to lace her shoe. Having to stop himself from exhaling in relief, Brynjolf waved the Argonian's protests off with a laugh.
"A simple misunderstanding."
As he continued on his little spiel, the Breton girl wandered over to the demonstration. She feigned interested in what he was saying, and for a second, he wondered if a thief's life would be a waste of talent. The girl could be a performer if she ever got over her quiet, withdrawn nature. Her eyes stayed on Brynjolf as her hand slid into Brand-Shei's pocket. Fortunately, the elf was too busy being skeptical of what he was watching to notice. Either that or she was just that good. Once she was done, Brynjolf clapped his hands together, and his mouth twisted into a genuinely confident grin.
"Well that's it for today. Don't forget to come back tomorrow."
The unimpressed audience dispersed, returning to whatever it was they had been doing before his interruption. He walked over to the girl, who was now leaning against the well, a forlorn frown on her lips. Though she clearly had the skill, if she was going to continue to be of any use to him, then she was going to have to get over this whole having a conscience business. She didn't seem to even notice his presence as he approached her.
"Why the long face, lass?"
Distracted from her misery, she looked up at him curiously.
"I'm not sad."
"Whatever you say. Hold on a second." He went through his pockets to find the coin purse he'd set aside earlier for her. Since he had never really intended on calling the guards on her, he had figured it was only fair to pay her for the job. Of course, with how little she already trusted him, he wasn't going to tell her that. "Here, this is for you."
Pursing her lips, she eyed the bag suspiciously. "What is that?"
"Don't worry. Your debt's cleared. Just think of it as a little something extra for doing the job so well."
Reluctantly, she took the coin purse, carefully going through it as if she expected a poison coated briar to be stuck in it. Shaking his head, he casually leaned against the stone well next to her.
"The way things have been going around here, it's a relief our plan went off without a hitch.
She didn't look up from the bag. "What do you mean?"
"Bah, my organization has hit a bit of a rough patch. It's nothing you need to be concerned about." He paused as a devious plan clicked together in his head. "Unless – no, never mind."
Taking the bait, her wide eyes darted up at him. "What?"
Frowning, he pretended to consider telling her. Her mouth twitched impatiently, and he finally shrugged. "I was going to say it could be your business – if you think you can handle it."
He found it funny how easily people could be manipulated into doing something simply by him insinuating that they couldn't. An indignant look in her knitted brow, she immediately replied, "I can handle it."
Shrugging his shoulders, he looked past her to see Sapphire talking to that young guard – Hoki or Loki or something like that. The guard curiously tilted his head, looking over at the marketplace. It was time for Brynjolf to end their little conversation. Quickly, he stood up straight and took a step forward. Towering over her, he looked down at the tiny girl as if he doubted her abilities.
"We'll see about that. The group I represent makes its home in the Ratway, in a little tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece, and we'll put that spirit to the test, all right?"
"All right."
As he started to walk back to his stall, something occurred to him, and he quickly turned on his heel back to face the girl.
"By the way, you got a real name, lass?"
She looked up and called back at him. "Jeanne."
"And is that really your name?"
With a straight face, she simply shook her head no. Chuckling, he walked back to his stand and turned to see she was gone. On the bright side, the guard Sapphire had tipped off was making his way toward the marketplace, and Brynjolf smirked ready to watch that damned Dunmer squirm. The guard approached the stall.
"We know you have it Brand-Shei. Turn out your pockets."
The elf squinted his eyes. "What? I don't have anything."
"Don't play games. We know you have it."
Annoyed, Brand-Shei began to go through his pockets as he scowled at the boy, but his irritation quickly turned to shock as he felt something out of place. He pulled out a ring, examining it incredulously.
"This isn't mine."
"That's right," the boy replied. "It isn't yours. Now come along."
As if the ring burned his fingers, the merchant quickly dropped it in horror. A nervous smile on his lips, he took a couple steps back holding his hands up.
"I didn't take that. This is clearly a set up."
The guard drew his sword. Brynjolf couldn't decide what was better, the horrified look on Brand-Shei's smug face or the awkward, young man trying to play a big, scary guard. Suddenly realizing the severity of the situation, the elf sighed in defeat, putting his hands down.
"All right, I'll go with you."
The guard nodded and began to escort his prisoner to the Keep's prison. As they walked by, Brand-Shei shot Brynjolf a dirty look and mouthed the words: "I know it was you." The red-haired Nord just shrugged his shoulders and kept on smiling in satisfaction, even daring to wave a mocking goodbye to his rival which just furthered the Dunmer's quiet rage.
. . .
The first thing she noticed about the Ratway was the overwhelmingly awful smell. It made sense seeing as it was the sewers, but she wasn't expecting it to be so sickening. She held her hand firmly over her mouth and nose, but it didn't do much to quell the foul odor. Taking the gaunt-faced man's – he'd told her a name the night before, Brunwulf? – warning to heart, she had dressed back into her leather armor and had her bow ready at her hip and her dagger carefully tucked away in her boot. There was a good chance that he had been toying with her, that he'd be waiting in the corner ready to jump out and surprise her as a funny, little hazing ceremony into their little guild. On the other hand, there was also a high probability that this was a set-up, and he was lurking in the shadows, ready to strike while her back was turned. Then there was the small possibility that he'd been honest which she deemed unlikely from his deceptive nature and that there were miscreants, unaffiliated with the Guild, wandering the tunnels, looking for easy prey. Whatever the truth was, she was ready for it.
There were voices speaking from a lit room down the hall, and she clung to the wall, slowly making her way down the tunnel until she reached the doorway. She couldn't make out exactly what they were saying and couldn't tell if they were friend or foe. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself for the worse. Two large men stood in the room counting over some gold and immediately looked up as she stepped out of the shadows. They smiled at the sight of her, but it wasn't a kind smile. No, their hungry grins were far too sinister. Uneasiness crept up in her posture, and she swallowed her fear, trying to maintain a controlled front.
"Do you know wh–"
"Well, well, what we got here?" the larger one interrupted, pushing his partner aside as he stood up. A menacing look in his grey eyes, he began to circle around her like a vulture. Her eyes stayed on him, prepared for a possible attack. "Ya must be lost, stranger. This ain't no place fer a lady. Little thing like yerself in a dark, scary tunnel like this? Sum'un might get hurt."
"I don't want any trouble."
Standing up, the other crossed his arms and snorted. "Didn't sum'un warn ya, girl? The Ratway is trouble."
"I'm just looking for the Ragged Flagon."
As the larger one came full circle, he stopped on his heel and exchanged a glance with his associate. They nodded their heads, turning their attention back to the fearful Breton.
"We can get'cha there," the smaller one said, taking a step forward. "Can't we, Hewnen?"
With a smirk, Hewnen made a grab for her, and she quickly dodged his hand, flinging herself to the ground. Stunned for only a second, he drew his sword as she blasted him with a blazing red Fury spell. The man quickly turned around and started toward his friend. A look of terror struck the smaller man's face, and he clumsily drew his weapon, brandishing it awkwardly. The young woman took this distraction as an opportunity to catch her breath and sneak back into the shadows.
"What'cha think yer doing, Hew?"
Without a reply, the giant man swung his sword, and his partner blocked it with his own. As they fought, the girl grabbed her bow and drew it back, waiting for one to come out victorious. Their struggle didn't last long. A couple swings of steel, and finally, the smaller man lost his footing and fell to the ground. Before he could even look up, Hewnen took his blade and plunged in into his partner's chest. Just as he did, the spell wore off, and the behemoth shook his head before looking in horror at what he had done. Frantically, he spun around, his eyes desperately searching for the girl. She held her breath and focused her sights on him waiting for the perfect shot.
"Where'd'ja go, ya little witch?"
Just as he turned to face her corner, she released the string sending an arrow right into his chest. As he staggered back a few steps, he caught sight of her, a confused expression on his brutish face. Without hesitation, she quickly drew another arrow and shot it at his neck. His lifeless corpse dropped down to the ground, and breath returned to her lungs as she closed her eyes for a second. Opening her eyes back up, she quietly walked over to the bodies and plucked her arrows out of the man, going through his pockets for any spare coins or other items of interest. Maybe this didn't make her any better than a common bandit, but she sincerely doubted the gold would be going to any family as inheritance and she needed it just as much as any other lowlife that would later stumble across their corpses. Once she was done with both of them, she continued on her way down the sewers with much more caution than before.
As she made her way through the Ratway, she snuck past a couple more thugs. Spotting a skeever in the tunnels, she drew her bow and silently killed it with an arrow. The nasty little thing made a bit of a yelp as it died, and she quickly ducked to hide, but no one came running into the hall. Finally, she found a door with a sign on it. She squinted at the words. Reading had never been a strong suit of hers because frankly, the life she'd lead up until now had never required much of it, and one of the letters on the sign may have been backwards though she wasn't quite sure. Still, the letters sure looked like they spelled out the words "The Ragged Flagon," and she assumed she was in the correct place. Quietly opening the wooden door so as not to alert any enemies that may be lurking nearby, she slipped into the tavern with not so much as a creak of rusted iron hinges.
Drawing her breath, she stood up straight and scanned the area. Though it was just as cold yet slightly better smelling than the rest of the under-city, the wide open room with its ceiling that seemed to stretch on forever was a refreshing change of pace from the constricting narrow tunnels she had just been trudging through. The stone walls and little pool of water in the middle reminded her of a cave she had once took shelter in for a good several months back in her days in hiding in Cyrodiil. Not that those days were particularly fond memories, but the cave part had been nice. She made her way down the little stone path to a wooden dock-looking area where a rather brutish, hulking man stood guarding the tavern proper. His suspicion of her mirrored her own of him, but he didn't so much as budge as she walked by him, and she assumed this was a good sign.
At a table close by, two Breton men drinking from their mugs raised their heads at her approach. The bald one's hard face was even more scarred than hers, though his were deeper, more noticeable. He looked her over with a strange look as if he were sizing her up, but she didn't think it was the normal, "Can I take them in a fight?" kind of way. The other man, whose features were obscured by a dark cowl kept his head down, ignoring her presence. At the bar, three Nord men, one of whom she recognized as her "business partner" from her, were lightly quarreling about something as a blonde-haired, Imperial woman stood lazily leaning her slender body against the bar, a bored expression on her attractive face. Her chin rose as she caught sight of the Breton girl, and she knocked the red-headed Nord with her elbow and nodded her head toward the girl.
"Your new protégée has decided to grace us with her presence."
She spoke only loud enough so that she knew the Breton could hear her sarcastic and condescending tone. The three men looked over at her. One of them, the bartender, who was a slightly older man with a pleasant face and light brown hair, ducked his head down and distracted himself with his work. The other unfamiliar man, this one dark-haired and bearded, had a friendly face as well. Thick crow lines were etched in the skin near his eyes from smiling too much. He wasn't smiling now though. A perplexed look sweeping over his demeanor, he squinted his eyes at her and pursed his lips in thought. Overcome with a sudden feeling that she was unwelcome here, she hunched her shoulders, trying to appear as small as possible, and retreated a couple steps back.
"I thought you said it was a girl," the bearded Nord said.
The red-haired man elbowed him in the gut and grinned as he took a couple steps toward the Breton woman. Looking her over, he crossed his arms, but on his lips was a faint smile.
"Color me impressed, lass. I didn't think you'd make it."
"I said I could handle it."
She tried to project some kind of confidence in her tone, but it faltered on her tongue. The other woman rolled her eyes and walked off as if she deemed the outsider not worth her time, but the rest silently watched their conversation out of the corners of their eyes, which just made the Breton feel even more uncomfortable.
"Reliable and headstrong? You're turning out to be quite the prize. So, how do you feel about handling a couple deadbeats for us?"
Her mouth twitched, and she tilted her head questioningly. The man picked it up as his cue to explain.
"They owe us a fair bit of coin, and we need someone to show them the error of their ways. You do this, and I can guarantee you a permanent spot in our little club."
While she wouldn't ever describe herself as outright blunt – she was far too withdrawn for that, she often found herself a little too literal-minded to fully understand what people were angling at when they used their fancy riddles and metaphors. Unfortunately, this thief seemed too tight-lipped, carefully choosing his words in the shadiest manner possible, for this to go smoothly.
"So you want to me to steal it back? I can do that."
Shaking his head, he frowned at her. "No, no, lass. While the coin is important and I do want you to get it, the more important matter is showing we are not to be trifled with. I need you to shake them up a bit, but no killing." He winked at her. "Bad for business."
Frowning, she crossed her arms. The citizens of Riften had not been exaggerating when they had said these people were no more than thugs. She looked down at her feet and wondered if she was wasting her time here. It was a silly thought, considering that the alternative was to continue wandering aimlessly. It didn't help that the cold stone walls of the Flagon felt so safe and comforting. No one could ever find her down here, and even if they did, she could easily escape into the shadows. It wasn't a prison or a cage or anything to be feared. It was simply a place to put down roots, if only for now. Still keeping her eyes on the ground, she tilted her chin curiously.
"You protect your own, right?"
"Aye. That's what being in a guild's all about."
"And I can leave whenever I want?"
When he didn't reply immediately, she looked up at him. His mouth was frowning, and though he didn't appear angry, she could tell her question had struck a nerve. After a second of silence, he shrugged his shoulders and cocked back his head, faintly grinning.
"So long as you don't run off with our money, then whatever floats your boat."
Biting her lip, she turned her gaze elsewhere. The sad fact was that there just wasn't a lot of honest work that catered to her abilities, and a purpose would be nice – or rather, a purpose that she chose instead of having thrust upon her would be nice. She did have a remarkable skill when it came to hiding and didn't particularly enjoy killing people. This was an opportunity she couldn't afford not to take. It was a chance to actually make something of herself, a chance at a somewhat normal, albeit unconventional, life. They were offering her everything she needed: food, shelter, freedom, protection. It didn't sit well, but this was the best she was going to get. The muscles of her mouth tightened into a frown.
"I'm not exactly the most intimidating person. Are you sure this is the right job for me?"
"I'm sure you can work it to your advantage. People scare easily when you threaten them in the right way."
Exhaling, she shrugged her shoulders. "Fine. Who are they?"
"Haelga, Bersi Honey-Hand, and Keerava."
Though the first two were foreign to her, she recognized the last name as that of the Argonian woman who ran The Bee and Barb, where she was staying. This certainly wasn't going to win her any favor with the woman putting a roof over her head, not to mention quell her own conscience with exactly what she was signing on to. Still, it was an opportunity she had to take.
"Consider it done."
. . .
Getting the money from Haelga had been easy enough. Before she had confronted the woman, the Breton woman had stopped to speak with a striking young girl with brilliant red hair who had been sullenly sweeping the floors. Fortunately, she held no love for her boss and directed the stranger to a statue of Dibella that Haelga cared greatly about. ("Just take it and threaten to chuck it off the pier," the girl, Svana, had told her. "As far as I care, don't even bother threatening. Just do it.") She'd followed through with the girl's plan – the original plan, of course. It was surprising how quickly Haelga had buckled under the threat, handing over the money as if the Breton had threatened her own life, and Svana was positively beaming with glee as the stranger left the Bunkhouse.
Afterwards, she passed by The Bee and Barb. She considered going in, but her cowardice got the better of her and she immediately headed to The Pawned Prawn. Bersi was much stronger willed than Haelga and spat at her that it was only a matter of time before the whole Guild was ran out of Riften. Luckily, Brynjolf had anticipated this and given her a little piece of advice for dealing with him before she had left the Flagon. After the shopkeeper was done chewing her out, she turned as if to leave and threw her fist at a Dwemer urn that sat on an end table, knocking it to the ground. With little more than a yelp and an angry look, Bersi reluctantly handed over the money due.
With that done, she had to swallow her ethics and confront Keerava. As she walked down the streets of Riften, the sun was beginning to set behind the stone walls of the city, painting the sky a magnificent shade of pink and gold. She stopped just outside the inn and took a quick breath before entering. The tavern was just as lively as it had been the other night before she had allowed herself to be swallowed up into this whole mess. All the same people ate their meals and spoke with hearty smiles to each other. The only difference was Brynjolf's absence, and she tried to hush the voice in her head screaming that she wished that he hadn't been there the night before. She noticed Haelga was standing at the bar speaking in a hushed voice to the Argonian, undoubtedly warning her. Talen-Jei, who had been so kind to her before, lowered his head at her presence with a quiet hmph of disapproval.
As she headed toward the bar, Haelga stood up straight and turned to leave. As she did, she caught sight of the tiny Breton girl, but the face she made looked more like she'd seen a dragon swooping down towards her. As Haelga quickly walked past her, she pondered the woman's fear. It wasn't as if she was a real threat to anyone. She could barely hold her bow up. There was no need for her to be afraid of her, but when she approached the bar and cleared her throat just loud enough to get the innkeeper's attention, the Argonian looked at her with the same apprehension. Frantically, she stooped under the bar to grab a bag full of gold as the Breton woman just tilted her head, wondering what Haelga must have said about her to scare Keerava this badly.
"Look, everything was just a misunderstanding. I didn't mean to tell Brynjolf to go jump off a pier." She pushed the bag into the bewildered Breton's hands. "Take this. Every single coin I owe is in there, I swear. You'll tell him I'm sorry, yes?"
The lizard-woman looked at her with anxious eyes, and the Breton slowly nodded as she attempted to comprehend what had just occurred. As she turned to leave, she heard Keerava sigh with relief. As she passed by Talen-Jei still sweeping the floor, she stopped and turned toward him.
"I'm going to get my things. I don't think I'll be staying here any longer."
With a slight sneer, he replied, "I think that's best."
A slight pout on her red lips, she slowly headed up the stairs to the room she had rented only a few days earlier. Bersi's anger she could handle. That was nothing new. Plenty of people had been angry at her before, but the fear of the two women, that was a completely alien feeling. No one had ever been frightened of her before. The men that had chased her halfway across a country were never afraid of her. That was simply a matter of bringing a criminal to justice, not fear. To be honest, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. It certainly held power, but at what cost? They wouldn't even feel that way if knew her cowardice. A coward, the word rang in her head and left a bad taste in her mouth. That was exactly what she would be were she to continue on this path of intimidating townsfolk. She didn't have the power to back up any of her threats. She was simply too weak, and now she felt even weaker.
Closing the door to the rented room behind her, she fell down to the wooden floor and took a couple of deep breaths. She didn't want to get up and pack her things. Instead, she wanted to hide in there forever like the scared little child she was. It hadn't always been this way. She used to be able to handle things a lot better, but she'd had company then. She always had someone to tell her when she was being unreasonable and calm her down from her ridiculous antics, but that was so long ago. Now, she was alone and only had her thoughts to keep her company. She thought way too much.
Lost in her own head, she felt so disconnected from the room. She was not there. Something was wrong with her. She had forgotten again to eat or sleep or something – something that normal people remembered to do, but she couldn't quite recall what it was she had forgotten. Maybe it was time to cut her hair. Bringing her hand to her head, she tugged at the short black strands. It was far too short. If she cut it any shorter, she imagined she would resemble the bald man in the Ragged Flagon. She smiled to herself at the thought of tiny, little her looking as rough and grizzly as he did. With a small sigh, she got back on her feet. All this childish sulking was not going to get her anywhere, and she had a job to finish. Quickly, she packed her bags and left the inn for good.
. . .
It wasn't that Vex's face was unattractive. It was pretty enough, Delvin supposed, but the thing about her that really got him going about her was the fact that she had the most perfect pair of breasts he ever did see. They weren't even the largest breasts. In fact, Sapphire's were much bigger. They were just so damn round and perky and perfect that no other chest in all of Tamriel could compare. Not to mention, she had a great ass to boot, but he couldn't really see that at the moment as she sat across the table from him, yawning with that wily mouth of hers. It didn't bother him because he could still stare at her perfect breasts, tucked teasingly away behind her armor.
It just wasn't fair that Brynjolf had gotten to get a good look at them last night. He didn't even want Vex. He was too busy giving it to that smart-mouthed Redguard and pretending – oh, no – that never happened, which Delvin knew was complete and utter bullshit, and Vekel would most definitely kill him when he found out. Sure, Delvin wasn't going to tell anyone not intentionally at least, but word always managed to get around in the Flagon. That's probably why Vex never had sex with anyone directly in the Guild. She didn't want the word getting around, the little minx. It was just not fair. Delvin would have given his left nut to be in Brynjolf's shoes last night. Really, he didn't think there was anything that he wouldn't give to take Vex and bend her –
"Delvin!" Cynric's growling voice snapped. "You gonna go or what?"
It was just enough to snap Delvin out of his horny, little haze and focus on the task at hand. Five of them sat around a table playing cards. With his hand propping up his chin, Brynjolf mindlessly pushed an empty bottle around with his finger, his gaunt face completely expressionless and his cards lying face down. Next to him was Vex, who mirrored his boredom, but had a considerably larger coin pile in front of her than the rest did. On the other side of Vex, Niruin sat staring at his cards with a rather confused look. Delvin loved playing cards with the elf. The kid – okay, so he was probably older than Delvin, but he was young in elf years – was just so painfully bad at keeping a straight face that it made it so easy to take money from him. Finally coming full circle, Cynric sat to the left of Delvin. The former jailbreaker's usual calm veneer was slowly being taken over by subtle agitation after losing a considerable amount of gold to Vex in the previous hand.
"I'm thinking, okay?"
The old man looked down at his cards. His hand was actually pretty good, but that didn't matter. What mattered was whether Vex was cheating or not. By this point, Delvin knew how everyone in the Guild played. Brynjolf bluffed a lot but was good enough at reading people to know when to fold if somebody actually had something. Unfortunately, Vipir didn't understand those tactics and would blindly stick to his cards, losing an unreasonable amount of money every time. Cynric barely ever bluffed, which made him dangerous. Rune flat-out never bluffed. Sapphire was a bit of a wild card, but Delvin knew how to read her. Tonilia was by far the worst to play with because she was downright insufferable when she won, and she always won. Thrynn didn't play, which was probably a good thing. The hulking brute would be impossible to read. Then there was Vex. Vex pretty much always cheated. Everyone knew this, and she knew everyone knew it which meant she didn't have to even cheat always anymore. People would just assume she was cheating and fold. It was a frustrating little game, but Delvin was more than willing to play.
He pushed a couple coins toward the center pile.
"I'm in."
Looking at his cards carefully, Cynric sighed and set them down.
"I fold."
The Bosmer folded as well. Delvin figured this was a good thing because the kid clearly had nothing. That just left the three of them. Vex raised the bet by a couple septims. She was most definitely cheating. Brynjolf didn't seem to care because he immediately matched it.
"I'm out," Delvin said, tossing his cards on the table. "So the new girl, bit strange, doncha think?"
"New girl?" Niruin asked. "Did I miss something?"
"Brynjolf's got himself a new pet," Vex answered, throwing in more coin.
Matching her again, Brynjolf rolled his eyes. He laid down his cards and so did Vex. She won of course. Delvin picked up the cards and began to shuffle them skillfully, but Brynjolf stopped him with his hand. The Nord looked over at Vex.
"Give Delvin your cards, Vex."
With a scowl, she pulled two cards from each of her gloves and tossed them at Delvin with a little more than necessary. Delvin picked them up and stuck them into the pile. Yawning, Cynric rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. His bright eyes all lit up, Niruin leaned forward with a smile.
"So what's this about a new recruit?"
A small frown on his pursed lips, Cynric shrugged his shoulders. "I'm giving her a week."
"I doubt she'll even come back," Vex muttered.
"Vex."
"What? All I'm saying is she doesn't look like she'll measure up."
"Give Delvin all your cards."
Sighing, she rolled her eyes and leaned down to pull a couple more cards from her boots. As she did, a rare sight entered the Flagon. His muscles clearly tightly wound and a bitter expression on his tired, wrinkled face, Mercer trudged up to the bar and grumbled an order at Vekel. With a smirk, Brynjolf leaned back and turned to face the Guild Master.
"Well, look who's managed to tear himself away from his desk. We're just about to start a new hand. You want in?"
"Another time, Bryn," the old man replied, waving his second-in-command off. "I just need a drink."
Rolling her head back, Vex called out, "You missed Brynjolf's latest prospect. She left about half an hour ago."
"His what?"
"Didn't you hear? He's found himself a new recruit."
Brynjolf shot her a glare, which she promptly ignored. It struck Delvin as funny that Brynjolf was always calling the way Delvin and Tonilia bickered childish when he and Vex's weird little relationship was absolutely no different. The two of them were constantly switching back and forth between being two squabbling brats and being as thick as, well, thieves. Often the change would happen literally within seconds. Unfortunately, Mercer was having none of their games. He turned around and walked over to the table slowly. Delvin stopped shuffling the cards as he approached.
Everyone in the Guild liked to pretend they were big shots, always playing cool and pretending they were a lot bigger than they actually were – except for Rune of course, but that kid was a teddy bear. Still when it came right down to it, nobody really held as much power as Mercer. Though these days he always appeared to be, at the very least, slightly disgruntled, he never lost his cool, and he never shouted, but he had this one face he always put on when he was really angry. Vipir the Fleet once described it as the look a slaughterfish has right before it attacks, and Delvin really couldn't think of a better way to describe it. Mercer's entire face would twist into this enraged expression, but his mouth would stay in this eerily calm half-smile, and it was just about the most terrifying thing in the world. It was worse than hearing someone getting out of bed while in the middle of a raid, worse than hearing a dragon's screech on the outskirts of town, worse than a pregnancy scare, and he had that face on now.
Meekly, all five of them looked up at him as if they were expecting him to chew every single one of them out, but his eyes fell on Vex.
"The only thing I heard about was you mucking up yet another important job."
Immediately, Vex's expression turned to an indignant scowl covering up what Delvin could have sworn was shame. Both Cynric and Niruin looked in opposite directions and slumped in their seats like they were trying to avoid being noticed. Brynjolf bowed his head as Mercer looked down at him.
"I'm assured you remember the discussion we had after your last failed recruit?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you know what I expect. It's your ass on the line."
"Understood, sir."
That seemed to be all he needed to hear because the second Brynjolf said it, his entire body relaxed and his expression turned back to his usual slight irritation.
"Good."
Without so much as another word, he walked back to the bar, placed a couple coins on the counter and grabbed his drink. They all watched as he walked back toward the cistern and waited until they heard the door shut behind him to resume what they'd been doing. Once they heard the light thud of the door, Niruin let out a loud exhale of relief and leaned his head back a bit dramatically.
"Did anyone else think he was going to stab someone?"
His eyes still wide with horror, Cynric nodded his head furiously and brought his drink to his lips, taking a rather large sip. Brynjolf and Vex exchanged an uncomfortable, apologetic glance as Delvin resumed shuffling.
"I've known Mercer as long as I've been in this rathole, and that face still scares the shit out of me."
Loosening up, Vex smirked. "Ten year old girls scare the shit out of you, Delvin."
"One, she was creepy as hell, and two, trust me. She was older than ten."
"Sure, she was."
Delvin made a face. No one ever believed his stories even though they were almost always true. Well at least that story was true. The "little girl" in question was an old acquaintance from the Dark Brotherhood, who was most definitely not ten years old. Just like she wasn't ten years old when he met her all those years ago after he'd got sent off to the Sanctuary after accidentally killing that poor merchant. He hadn't liked her then. She always gave him the creeps, and there was nothing more obnoxious than a child – even one that isn't actually a child at all – talking down to him. Frankly, when he left for Riften a year later, he was he would never have to see the freaky brat's face again. Then, one night about three years back, he and Vex were walking back from a job when he spotted the girl wandering down an alleyway. It gave him a right good scare too, and Vex nearly wet herself with laughter at his reaction. Of course, he imagined old Astrid wouldn't be rather pleased with him if he started running his mouth about their secrets, and he knew better than to trifle with the Dark Brotherhood, especially Astrid. So everyone now thought he was just afraid of little girls.
As the tension faded in the tavern faded, the group began placing in their antes. Once they were done, he dealt out the cards. Picking up his cards, he looked over them to see that he had absolutely nothing. Niruin looked curiously at the others. It was kind of endearing how he was trying to read their faces like a professional. Poor kid really didn't stand a chance.
"So what was her test?" Cynric asked, starting the bet.
Raising his eyebrows, Brynjolf simply hummed questioningly at him. The Breton nodded his head.
"You know, the recruit's test? You always test them."
"Oh, that. I had her get rid of the elf problem." Niruin made a face, and Brynjolf waved his hand around. "She got Brand-Shei out of our hair."
"Good," Cynric muttered. "After what he nearly put Rune through, I can steal a little safer knowing upstanding citizens like him are off the street."
"Can't we all?"
Vex puckered her lips like she had a bad taste in her mouth. "I still don't like it."
Brynjolf and Vex started to bicker again as Delvin pursed his lips and switched out some cards. While past experience proved time and time again that new recruits were almost always a disappointment, he was actually quite content with the idea of having a fresh face around the Flagon. Everyone had fallen into the same old routine. At least new members would shake things up for awhile, put a little life back into this place. The truth was he had simply seen far too many people leaving and not enough people sticking around. If this girl of Brynjolf's could actually hold her own, he didn't see why Vex was so damn worked up about it, but then again, she was always worked up about something, which was another reason he had to bed her. That woman really needed to let her hair down.
"Well I think it's about damn time we got some new blood in here."
"Thank you, Delvin," Brynjolf replied, but his words were directed at Vex.
"That being said – if you were going to find a woman, you could've at least found one who looked like a woman. I mean what am I supposed to do with her?"
Rolling his eyes, Brynjolf slowly shook his head and didn't dignify his comment with a reply. Vex made a face of disgust.
"We don't exist for your entertainment, Delvin."
With a lazy shrug, Delvin snorted. "I'm just saying. A nice ass makes it a lot easier to put up with you. Not that it matters with that one, I guess. She could have your backside and Sapphire's tits, and I still wouldn't be sleepin' with her."
"Because she, like all women, would realize that you're a revolting pig?"
"No," he replied defensively. "Because she's – she's funny."
"Funny?" Niruin asked.
"She is a bit strange," said Brynjolf.
A frustrated frown on his lips, Delvin shook his head. Along with never believing him, no one ever understood what he was saying.
"That's not what I meant. I meant she's a–" He snapped his fingers together trying to remember the word. People from High Rock had a specific word for what he was trying to say, but he couldn't quite remember it. "Cynric, what's the word I'm looking for?"
"Don't drag me into this. I don't know what goes on your head."
"No, it's a High Rock word – it's those girls who don't like men–"
"Celibate? I really don't know what you're talking about, old man."
"Okay, that's it." He waved his finger at Brynjolf and Cynric, who were repressing smiles at his irritation. "You two both really need to stop pretending I'm that much older than you 'cause I'm not."
"Sorry, Delvin."
"Yeah, we were just giving you a hard time. Sorry."
"Just stop doing it. We clear?"
With slight smirks, they nodded. Delvin decided to ignore the fact that clearly weren't sorry at all. They were both the most disrespectful little brats he ever did meet. Exhaling, Delvin looked over at Niruin, who frowned in confusion at the attention being drawn on him.
"It's okay if you do it seeing as you're an elf and age all weird."
With child-like satisfaction, the kid smiled and turned his attention back to his cards. Brynjolf leaned back and looked over at his old friend. He had this smug look on his face that Delvin just wanted to smack off.
"So are you done, lad?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Immediately he changed the conversation. "Hey, Niruin, you never did finish telling us how that job in Whiterun went. Something about the Companions?"
"Oh yes, so I'm in the apothecary. I've already got what I came for, and by this point, I'm just taking everything I can fit in my bag when the door suddenly flies open and this giant, lumbering brute comes stumbling in. Granted, this is well past midnight, and I have no idea what in the Nirn is going on. So I immediately duck behind the counter–"
They continued on with the game as Niruin finished chatting away about his story. The elf was pretty lousy at a lot of things. Completely useless with a sword or shield, he wasn't particularly good at picking locks or pockets either. Delvin supposed he was pretty decent at stealth so long as he didn't trip over his own feet. Still, there were two things that he could do like no other: shooting a bow and telling a story. The entire Bard's College had nothing on the kid. He could make a day at the market sound fascinating. Not to mention, since he was pretty awful at most things, he was always managing to get himself into trouble which just made for even better stories. It was probably the entire reason they kept him around as long as they did.
Hearing a quiet shutting of the door, Delvin looked up to see a familiar stranger walking down toward them. He nudged Brynjolf and gestured at the approaching girl. Grinning, the giant Nord stood up and greeted her.
"So you got our gold, lass?"
She really wasn't much to look at. Not only was she completely unremarkable with very few defining features outside of a couple nasty looking scars, but she didn't seem to have any presence, which was a good sign in Delvin's book. Brynjolf had brought back far too many new members who just couldn't seem to wrap their head around the finer arts of stealth. Delvin had gotten hangovers that gave him less of a headache than his training sessions with the dull-witted brutes. It was like the simple act of crouching was too much for their poor, little minds to bear.
"It should be all there."
She handed Brynjolf the bag, and the two talked a bit, but Delvin wasn't paying enough attention to their words. There was something off about her. There was something in those wild, brown eyes of hers reminded Delvin of an Imperial boy he'd met in his days in the Sanctuary. A strange kid – couldn't have been older than seventeen at the time, he had that same look about him that she did – that perpetual stunned stare like he had just wandered into a cave full of Draugr deathlords and was hoping if he didn't make any sudden movements they wouldn't notice he was there. He'd also had that same airy appearance as she did. The kind that made it hard to tell if she was lost in thought or didn't have a single thought in that pretty, little head of hers.
Delvin had met all sorts of lunatics in his life, from cackling, bloodthirsty killers who think a dagger to the face is an appropriate way greet someone to driven, narcissistic wizards who fool themselves into believing they can conquer death, but the biggest wild card of them all were the quiet, paranoid ones. He wasn't going to say something stupid and trite like "they're the ones you really got to watch." If some hulking orc came trudging into the Flagon with severed heads hanging from his belt as he brandished his broadsword about, claiming he'd kill the anyone who so much as touches him, Delvin's attention wasn't going to be on some fidgety, little wood elf reading a book in the corner.
Still, he always found it best to keep an eye on those types and find out what their motives were. More often than not, they were mostly harmless, to others at least. Even the Imperial boy had been pretty docile for an assassin and never killed outside of contracts. Hell, according to Astrid, the man had actually left the Brotherhood about ten years back to marry some elf woman and live out the rest of his days on a nice little farm. Being suspicious of people didn't always immediately mark a person as a complete psychopath. Delvin himself was a bit overcautious at times. Sometimes those types had pasts that gave them good reason to be paranoid, and sometimes they just had a couple screws loose but not enough to ever pose a real threat.
Then sometimes, they convinced themselves that everyone was out to get them and slit people's throats in their sleep.
Author's notes: Ugh, I am not happy with this chapter at all. I realized it was running a bit too long - even by the first chapter's standards. So I decided to cut it off here and make the Goldenglow job part of the next chapter, and now it just feels all incomplete. I need to get to the part where Fish/Jeanne/the new recruit gets a proper name because writing from her perspective is getting rather hard, with all this having to leave things all ambiguous.