Fredas, 6:33 PM, 5th of Evening Star, 4E 201

The Ragged Flagon

Brynjolf hadn't been around for the founding of Skyrim's Thieves Guild. If he had, he might've put its headquarters someplace besides the sewers of Riften. The sewers. There were cisterns, huge pools of murky water, just right in the middle of every room. The ceilings were these shallow domes that peaked maybe fifteen feet above the water. How could any man call this place home, let alone an entire guild? It mystified him to this day.

This room, specifically, was where the tavern was. The main stockpile of ale and mead, in other words. The Guildmaster (and his long-time friend), Karliah, was chattering away with Vex and the others. Brynjolf had his feet up on the table, eyes closed, playing a tune in his head. Besides the whole 'sewer' issue, he had to admit that this place did feel much more like home than it did a few months ago.

A few months ago, Brynjolf was still second-in-command of this operation like he was now, but Mercer Frey was the one in charge of things. A lot had changed since then. Mercer Frey turned out to have stolen every last coin from the guild vault. Karliah had been falsely thought a murderer, but she returned from her exile to stop Mercer herself. No one knew all of that tale but her.

Across the cistern, someone came in through the door to the Ratway. Brynjolf opened his eyes and turned slowly to look. The person was wearing heavy black robes, with the hood up. Impossible to identify.

Dirge took notice right away, good lad. He put his hand on the hilt of his weapon as the hooded person circled around the pool. "Who're you?" Dirge demanded. "Show your face."

The person nodded and pulled his hood back. Brynjolf scanned him over silently. It was a man, in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, rugged, muscular sort of build, light brown skin … Maybe part Redguard? … Black hair a couple inches long, parted in the center Nord-style, like Brynjolf's own. He was no priest, no spellcaster, probably a warrior. In that case, there was definitely at least one weapon hidden in those loose black robes.

"My name is Iseus," the robed man said. "I'm the Dragonborn."

The entire room fell silent. Brynjolf swung his feet down to the ground and sat up. Dirge glanced back at the others, not sure what to do. He must have wanted to ask this fellow to prove it, but that might have been a bad idea.

"OK, fine, here." Iseus turned to look at the pool of water. "Fo krah diin."

The man's voice turned unnatural. Like a creature far beyond the power of men was speaking through a man's mouth. And then a crackling wave of pale blue frost spread over the cistern. By the time it met the far wall, the entire surface of the water was frozen solid.

Dirge stared slack-jawed. So did Brynjolf. What.

Iseus continued like he hadn't just frozen a cistern of water with his voice. "Is Brynjolf here? I'd like to speak with him, if you don't mind."

Brynjolf shakily rose from his seat. He had to steady himself on the edge of the table. "That would be me, Dragonborn. What… What brings you down here?" He winced inside at that phrasing. He couldn't think, his heart was pounding.

"I'd like to speak to you. In private, if that's possible." Brynjolf had to admit, the Dragonborn spoke far more… Amiably, maybe, than he'd expected. "You must have heard the news about the war."

"Aye, lad, every last corner of Skyrim's heard it." The Nord stepped on past Vex, Karliah, even Dirge… His partners in thievery. And walked up to the Dragonborn himself. "Let's…"

He looked back at the others. Every one of them was frozen in place, waiting silently to see what he'd do. Then he looked at that cistern. Also frozen. "Let's head to the back, alright?"

There were two main sort of chambers to the Thieves Guild headquarters. Two big cold cisterns, both ringed by brick floors under brick arches. The second cistern was behind the first. Brynjolf led Iseus through into the back room, then along the side of the water. He was getting strange looks from the guild members. Ignored them. Went into a small side room, furnished for practicing. Brynjolf sat down on a wooden chest and looked at Iseus, patient as he could.

Iseus sat down on another one of the chests. It was actually brighter in here than the cisterns. The torches had less space to light up. The closer look didn't tell Brynjolf much about the Dragonborn that he hadn't noticed at first, but he could tell he was being looked over himself.

"I've asked all over Skyrim," Iseus started saying, "who's the craftiest person I could hire. The one with the most guile, the most street-smart. Anyone who knows anything has sent me to you."

"Well, what do you need me for lad?" So the Dragonborn was here for business. Brynjolf allowed himself a little smile, and sat back against the wall, one leg crossed.

"I'm going to be starting something big. Something… I don't want the Thalmor to be listening in on. I want your help keeping them off my scent."

Brynjolf choked with disbelief. "The… Thalmor? What in Oblivion do you want me to do about them?"

"I just said." Iseus looked confused. "I don't want them to know what I'm up to. And I want you at my side for this. You're the best, or so I'm told."

"Well…" At least he had an idea of what to expect now. The Nord nodded slowly, putting on a look of being deep in thought, which he actually was. So he'd be trying to fend off the Thalmor. No more big surprises today. "Can't say I expected to ever be trying to hold the line against other prying eyes. How much are you willing to pay me?"

Iseus shook his head. "I'm not going to pay you."

Brynjolf choked again. All right, he was wrong. "What…! Are you joking, lad! You can't just tell a thief to work for you for free!"

"Come on, Brynjolf. I thought you were sharper than that." Iseus rubbed his eyes. His hands didn't look all that callused. Brynjolf guessed he usually wore gloves. "The moment the Thalmor realize you're working for me, what's the first thing they're going to do? They'll try to bribe you into turning on me. And chances are, they'll bribe you with all the riches they can. More than I have, for sure."

"And… Why shouldn't I just say yes to their offer, then?"

"Because if you do, they'll ruin my work protecting Skyrim, the Thalmor will march in, and we will all die."

Now it was Brynjolf's turn to rub his eyes. He was being asked to work for free, in a job that had to be… Easily the most dangerous he'd ever been asked to do in his entire life. And the worst thing of all was, he was actually considering doing it! Maybe it was something about the way the Dragonborn talked. Some sort of natural air of authority, maybe. Funny. Brynjolf hated airs of authority.

It was a good few seconds before Brynjolf answered. "What do you need for me to do, lad?"

"First thing." Iseus leaned forward and rested an elbow on his knee. His other hand formed into a pointed finger. "No one can know. Not even your friends here. I'm assuming the usual Imperial channels of communication, those are all under Thalmor scrutiny. But your guild can't be involved. At best, the Thalmor would unravel your correspondence with them. At worst, the Thalmor would destroy this whole place to get to you."

Brynjolf had already known this would be the most dangerous thing he'd been asked to do. But he was just starting to understand what that really meant. He swallowed, involuntarily, as discreetly as he could. "What should I tell them, then? I'm probably going to be out of town for a while, eh?"

"You can tell your friends you're just being dragged off on some quest for endless riches, if you like. But they can't know any more than that."

"Fair enough, lad." It wasn't easy to believe this was really happening. Everything had been so nice, back in the old era of fifteen minutes ago. "What comes after your first thing, then?"

"You follow me out of town. I'm going to need to give you some clothes that don't look so…" The Dragonborn waved his hand at Brynjolf's outfit. All black leather and straps and buckles and pouches, from the neck down. The man had to admit, he did look like a thief right then. "And then we'll be on the road. I'll fill you in on the details once we're away from curious ears."

"Wise lad," Brynjolf nodded approvingly at that last bit. He sat back again and ran his hands over his face. "You sure you need me to do this? I mean… I understand, I know why you want me for it, it's just… I'm not sure I'll even come back here alive."

"I'll do all I can to protect you," Iseus said quietly. "I'm doing all I can to protect everyone."

Brynjolf tightened his lips and nodded. "All right, lad. I'll drink to that."

The man's throat was so dry. He didn't know how it'd gotten that way. Anyway, he was pretty sure there was some of that good Black-Briar mead right here in the chest he was sitting on. So he stood up, kicked the lid open, reached in… When did his hands get so shaky? Pulled out a couple of bottles, set one down, tried to open up the other… Couldn't even get a good grip on the cork. He looked behind him at the Dragonborn.

"Here." Iseus reached his hand out. Brynjolf couldn't describe the look on that man's face. Concerned, maybe? Something. He didn't know.

Iseus popped the cork off the bottle of mead with his thumb, then immediately handed it back to Brynjolf, who just stared. "You can keep the other bottle," he said, with a voice that matched that look on his face.

Brynjolf nodded in appreciation and sat back down heavily on the lid of the chest. He took a deep swig of the mead, then opened his mouth to speak … then took another swig of the mead, for good measure, then tried again. "The war with the Stormcloaks was bad for business, but… That's all I ever really thought of it. Not my concern who sits on what throne ruling over where, all of that, that's nothing to me. This… Isn't going to be like that war, is it?"

"No," the Dragonborn said softly. "This time, you have a chance to help. Which is good, I think. Your wits just may end up saving us all."

A long pause. … Brynjolf took a gulp from his mead.