"My ring, my ring! It's been stolen!" Madesi voice echoed across the whole town. Before taking a moment to search for that precious ring of his, his eyes flashed towards Brand-Shei. His assumption was unfortunately, accurate.
"You!" Madesi darted through the merchant crowd only to reach Brand-Shei's stall. If ever there was to be the formation of hatred in a human embodiment, you would find it in Madesi's eyes.
"Why you little scoundrel! You blockhead! You half-witted, imbecilic little thief!" All silence was now broken.
"What is it now, Madesi? And would you stop screaming, some people are starting to feel ringing in their heads from all your hollering!" Brand-Shei spoke with a low grumble, his tone had indicated this was not the first time it has happened (the accusation part, not the part about us actually stealing Madesi's ring and planting it due to our selfish and perhaps criminalistic desires.)
"Enough with that, Brand-Shei! I knew this day would come. Guards, guards! He is a grimy little thief with grimy little hands who obviously stole my ring. Go on, get him!"
The guards need not any proof. They handled Brand-Shei.
"This is ridiculous, I didn't steal that precious ring of his. Check my pockets, my stall, anything! I swear, I didn't take it!" The guards halted-allowing Brand-Shei's plea to follow through.
Madesi rushed over to check his stall. After opening the sliding braille doors, he looked through his strongboxes, pouches, satchels, anywhere he thought was convenient enough to hold his ring. It wasn't to be found.
Madesi glared at Brand Shei, one gold tooth sticking out from his lopsided mouth. The guards noted that Brand Shei's stall was indeed clean. They grew impatient.
One begane to speak with a heavy riften accent.
"We don't appreciate our time being wasted, Madesi. This isn't the first time you had us handling someone based on false, loose pretenses."
Madesi was frantically looking around, when he finally stopped, back facing the guards holding Brand-Shei is a firm hold-however getting looser and looser by the second. He turned around slowly, his chiseled chin resting on his long and limber nails.
"Check his pockets, if you will dear guards. I think you'll find something very intriguing." Madesi proclaimed so boldly, even I was questioning who planted the ring. Did I? Or did…he?
The guards sighed.
"This is your last chance, Madesi, or else we're cuttin' him loose, yer hear me!"
The guards shuffled through Brand Shei's pockets, when a small sparkling piece fell to the cobblestone ground making a very small, somehow pleasing sound to Madesi.
One of the guards stretched down to pick up a small silver amethyst ring.
"Apologies, Mr. Madesi….erm…he'll be trailed with thievery." Madesi lifted his pointed nose high into the foul air.
Brand-Shei could barely spit out sounds.
"I-I-It….it can't be. I swear I didn't steal that, I've been framed! I've been framed!" His pleas were no longer respected. The guards dragged Brand-Shei on his unforgiving heels.
There was a gut feeling in me that consumed my consciousness. Although the job seemed easy at first…I would be lying if I said I didn't feel an ache. Brand-Shei would be going to prison because of me…by gods, I cannot even imagine what Riften prisons must look like. An unholy, foul fate awaited him all because I took a peddler's job.
"You alright, lass? You're looking a little sickly…"
My internal conflict that had been dancing amongs intervals in my head had been disrupted by the fiery haired man with luteous eyes.
I couldn't think anymore. I do not recall much happening after him asking me that…but I remember a cold, unnerving feeling, surface beneath my back.
Blackout.
I had awoken in a rough bed. In the curves of my back, I thought I felt hay scratching at me…but to my surprise, it was just the old fur on an old musky pelt. Delightful morning, indeed. Actually…was it morning? I couldn't tell. My vision was a little blurry, keeping me from noticing anything distinct to which could aid my understanding as to where I was. From the corner of my eye, I recognized a window. I hurried off the bed and ran towards it. Unfortunately for me…it was not a window-but bars…as in a prison cell. I had really done it this time.
"Fuck!" She bawled. She kicked at the stone walls, and not even dirt was to be found. The air was cold and held an odor that almost smelled of nothingness but there was a wet smell; something unidentifiable. Either wet wood, or rusted metal. After riveting at the barren iron barred window…she pushed her back against the stone wall and dragged downwards. She didn't want to, and there was much that was holding it in-she leaned her forehead against her bruised knees and she closed her eyes-small tears dripping graciously.
"You're not crying, are you lass?"
A familiar voice whispered immeasurable amounts of comfort to her ears.
"You! W-Where am I? Why am I here?" Her questions began to trail off.
"Now, now, pointy one. All your questions will be answered, just follow me." And without further acknowledgement, he slid a key into the lock of the cellar door and with a cocking noise, the cellar door creaked open.
"And why should I trust you?" Strands of hair shuffled across her face and hid her modest black eyes.
"To be fair, you did wake up with fur pelt sheets and a roof o'er your pointy ears, lass." His temper seemed playful-that comforted her.
"Fine." Her posture straightened as she wisped her calloused finger tips against her lower lash lines-negating any traces of salty, desperate tears.
"And your name, miss?" The man gestured an inviting handshake.
"Luthién. Luthién Menéldur." Her eyes intoxicated him and he couldn't help but perceive her demeanor in agreeing to his handshake as also being an invite for him to kiss the back of her cold, fluid hands.
She was taken back by his somewhat over-stepping manners. "And you?" She inquired.
"The little lass wants to know my name. I'm flattered already, elf. The name's Brynjolf. Brynjolf Nerald. I am a Nord of the Whiterun Hold."
"Nerald? That does not sound like a common Nord surname."
"It isn't. My mother was a merchant from Morrowind. She wasn't a Dunmer, like yourself, she was a Redguard- descendant of Tamriel. She met my father while bartering and trading in Whiterun holds. He was as mundane of a Nord as it gets…don't know how such an exotic beauty like herself fell in love with him. Her maiden name was Nerald. I decided to possess it after my father decided to become a worthless, sinful drunk after her death. She was everything to him, I thought I was too. I wasn't much to him after her death-so he left me out on the streets at the age of 11. I managed to pick myself back up from there. But I swore to never carry his name. He's an excuse for man….but that's neither here nor there." He unbound a nervous chuckle.
"I am sorry…about your father, I mean." She said softly. She continued to walk past him and began leading the path, despite not knowing where to go. As she walked past him, her faint distinct smell of nightshade feathered against his nose. He was startled as to how comfortable he felt confessing his origins to her, he was also astonished with her captivating decency. He cleared his throat and trailed his eyes away from her swaying hips. He shut the cellar door and continued on through musty hallways. He took lead.
"Look, these ground aren't exactly mine-so make sure you're quiet alright?…Oh…and try to make sure no one detects you." He spoke with haste.
"Will do."
They both began crouching, hugging the walls and keeping the weight on their feet effortless and light. She still did not have any comprehension as to where they were…but it started to become clearer and clearer to her. Divines…they were in the ratways of Riften. After the realization came to her-she pushed Brynjolf against the stone wall.
"The ratways, Brynjolf?! What are you scheming?" She pulled out her ebony dagger and held it tightly against his neck. He smirked, flashing a bleached smile. He leaned in close to her pointed ear.
"Scared of something, lass? Do you need me to hold your hand, too?" Aggravated by his swaggering, self-assured poise-she stepped back, withdrawing the dagger.
He smirked even more and let out a little "scuff."
"You're ridiculous. Just get me out of this shithole." She crossed her arms in such a matter-of-fact disposition, it made him chuckle a bit.
"I would if you let me!" His eyebrows raised whilst his smirk still a little bent at the corners.
They continued on through the ratways until they reached a doorway, carved out with a radial arch. Brynjolf peered through a corner.
"Shit." He uttered under his breath.
"What now?" Luthién had no clear visual of what resided behind the arched doorway, but it was painfully clear to her that Brynjolf knew who or what it was. She begin to lift herself up to stretch her neck to understand what was behind the doorway-but with one stroke-Brynjolf held his palm against her mouth, and his hand resting on the curves in her back. He held her tight against the wall-his body strikingly close to hers. Her eyes widened, she tried to hit him-but was interrupted with the sounds of voices behind the doorway.
"Where the hell is he, Mercer?" A blonde woman paced back and forth in immense measures.
"Vex, will you shut the hell up? Your boyfriend's gonna be here-sit down. There isn't much we can do. He's one of the leaders of this guild. This is like finding a needle in a haystack."
"This is Riften, Mercer, not fucking Solitude."
"Who ever said he was in Riften?" Mercer's voice lowered to a presumptuous tone.
Luthién now understood. They were discussing Brynjolf's whereabouts.
"What did you do, Mercer? Where the hell is he?"
"Have a little faith in your old pal, Vex. He's running a very important task I had for him. Let's just say the task is not your usual jug of ale."
"If anything happens to him Mercer, I swear I'll have yo-"
"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before, Vex. But you shouldn't forget your position in this guild. More importantly, you should not forget my position in this guild."
"…Understood." Vex nods her head and vanishes into the dark crevices of the ratways.
Brynjolf tugs at Luthién's sleeve and guides her towards the opposite direction of the doorway. Luthién was about to speak when she was cut off with Brynjolf's jaded reflection.
"I know what you're going to say, lass. Just cork it until we find a way out of these ratways without someone seeing us." He hushed.
"Us? Correct me if I'm wrong, "lass," but I'm almost certain they were searching for you." Stead-fast to disagree, he refuted, "Yea, lass, I don't know if you were listening or those pointy ears of yours need some cleanin'-but do you remember the part when they were talking about the "mission?" Yea, that's you. We are stuck with eachother, whether you like it or not."
She cleared her throat, recognizing her flaw in logic. She said nothing more. Brynjolf noticed that it shut her up-he grinned faintly in the subdued natural light of the ratways.
The language in body kept them company whilst the foul odor in the air pierced at their sense of smell…and quite frankly, also the sense to inhale.
They continued on through the ratways and discovered an exit, it lead the "outdoor basement" of Riften-basically the foundation that held the whole town together….and somehow standing. On paper, the whole structure on the city seemed absolutely outrageous but in reality somehow proved itself to be quite a substantial town.
"Ladies first" Brynjolf gestured towards the cellar gate. Luthién looked at him with an aggravated arch in her eyebrows and a 'tsk' that wisped off her tongue.
All that time spent in the ratways resulted in a monumental waste. It was now dark out and they didn't trust neither the city nor the corrupt guards that were supposedly protecting it. After several disagreements they both settled on the oblivious fact that it would be unwise to part ways… they resolved on the proposition that they stay the night at "The Bee and the Barb." The only precaution that should be noted was their could be some of Brynjolf's associates either scouting potentials or guzzling mead and nullifying their sorrows away. Regardless, they both were distressed and drained-so onward they went, to "The Bee and the Barb."
