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Chapter Four

A Welcoming

The artefact glinted off the candle light when Gallus twisted it in his fingers. It had gems in it of some kind – maybe if Brynjolf had intended to pawn it off he would have figured out what kind, but he hadn't bothered because he'd never have thought to sell it. Whatever it was, though, Gallus was interested in it. Very interested, because staring at it was all he'd been doing for the last thirty minutes or so at least. Gallus himself had come back earliier than he had anticipated, and Brynjolf had, to some surprise, found him in the Cistern when he returned from the Windhelm heist. Lucille was somewhere in the Ratways right now, probably. It was sort of tradition for all new members of the guild to find their way to the flagon the first time through the Ratways. People would complain about unfair treatment if they stopped doing it now.

"Poor girl probably didn't have any idea how much this is worth," Gallus said with a little laugh after a few moments "Otherwise – Lucille, was it? - might have just made off with it and buggered joining us."

"I'm not so sure," Brynjolf replied, but he nodded to affirm that was actually her name. He'd go out later and see if she made it there alright (he had an obligation considering he was the one who observed her initiation test.) But, for now he was slumped in a chair in Gallus' private room, one leg across the other and carefully rubbing some oil into the wooden handle of one of his daggers. He took good care of them – some might say spent too much time on them, too.

"Oh?" Gallus cast him a look from where he was lying on his bed, feet propped up on the end of the frame.

"She's nay so material as some of the other people around here," he continued offhandedly. "She could have taken any number of small valuables while we were in the mansion, but she didn't. At least not that I noticed."

"But you did, of course."

Brynjolf grinned and pulled a small purse from one of his pockets and dumped it on the table beside him. It made a jingling sound that sounded suspiciously like gold and jewellery.

"So, honour among thieves, or something like that with her?" Gallus suggested.

"Perhaps." He didn't really believe that was it and he frowned. "How did Mercer say he found her?"

Gallus returned the frown, pocketed the artefact and stroked his chin. "He didn't." After a few moments, he shrugged. "I'll ask him when he's back from his job with Karliah." Karliah, evidently, had not returned straight to the guild when Gallus had, or if she did she was gone by the time Brynjolf returned.

The older man shifted on his bed to prop himself up on one arm. A few seconds passed when Brynjolf felt distinctly as if he was being observed, and it made him uncomfortable, so he eventually glanced up and said, "what?"

"You care for those daggers almost as much as your father did."

Brynjolf stopped what he was doing and glanced down at them. Gallus had known his father, that much he knew, but he didn't speak of him often. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know more or not – it was kind of like a double edged blade because part of him desperately wanted a connection, and part of him wanted to forget he even had parents so it didn't hurt to think about them.

"He used to sit at the counter of the flagon for hours and carve those patterns into the handles." Gallus hummed in thought, then added, "he never told me where he got them."

He considered whether he wanted to push this conversation further or not, but eventually he gave in. "How well did you know him?"

"Very well," Gallus said, but there was a tinge of sadness to his voice, as if bringing up these memories upset him just as much as Brynjolf was uncertain he even wanted to hear them in the first place. "He was my partner on jobs for years when I first joined the guild." The imperial sent a pointed look at him. "He used to talk about you all the time."

Part of Brynjolf was overjoyed to think that his father had cared enough to mention him to his colleagues, but he'd hate to actually admit it to anyone – even Gallus.

"He used to say you had your mother's hair," he continued.

The nord glanced at his hair. When he was younger, he used to think it was the dumbest shade of red and had rubbed mud into it to make him look more like the rest of the children he'd grown up with. They'd teased him for not being blond or having dark hair like most nords did. In truth, the further north you got in Skyrim the darker haired and stockier people got, maybe to attract and conserve as much heat as possible or something because it was so damn cold up there. Blond hair was typically more common in the south. But red hair was not common anywhere in Skyrim. Still, he'd gotten over it when he grew up. But his hair perhaps had grown a little bit too long in the last year or so, he had to put it in a pony tail now. He'd have it cut soon, he decided.

"But you have your father's eyes – and his grin." Gallus smiled at him. "I knew who you were the moment I caught you trying to cut my purse in the streets."

Brynjolf grimaced a little at the memory – he'd been such an fool back then, but in hindsight, it was kind of amusing. A little street urchin with mud on his knees thinking he could pilfer coins from the head of the Thieves Guild itself.

Gallus sighed and turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "He didn't really want this life for you." That hurt a little and the nord briefly considered saying that perhaps his father shouldn't have taught him to be a thief in the first place if that was the case. "But I think he'd be proud of you. Even if you are a dog."

"Ey?" Brynjolf scowled at him. "I am not-"

"Yes you are, you've slept with half the women in Riften who are within a ten year age gap of you." Gallus laughed brightly though, as if he didn't really disapprove of his promiscuity at the end of things, even if he thought he could do better with his life. "He loved your mother, would have wanted you to find the same. Not become a heart breaker."

Brynjolf shrugged. "Maybe in a few years."

Gallus shot him an accusing look but couldn't stop the grin on his features. "We both know that's not going to happen."

He'd been caught – though in truth he hadn't been serious in what he'd said anyway. Brynjolf chuckled and stretched his hands up in the air. Maybe he could tone things down just a little bit, it had gotten a bit out of hand in the last year or two.

There was a moment of silence, and then Gallus added quietly, "I wouldn't be guild master if it wasn't for your father. I owe him a lot."

"Aye, so you're going to make sure his son grows up to be a well adjusted member of society to repay the debt." Brynjolf cast him a smug look. "I think you may have missed that opportunity."

Gallus laughed so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye. After a few moments he stood up and walked over to the nord who just looked up at him blankly.

"I was twenty two when the old guild master retired and your father vouched for me to take the position. I was the youngest guild master in history. He could have taken the position himself without any opposition," Gallus gave him a pointed look, "and many people expected him to. But he didn't want it, not when he had you to look after... He gave up a lot to raise you."

Brynjolf sighed. It was exactly this kind of deep meaningful stuff that he tried to avoid, but somehow Gallus always had a way of roping him into it. It was annoying. Eventually he muttered a curse under his breath and admitted what the imperial had probably been trying to get him to say for years.

"Aye, I wish I could have known him better, before..." He didn't need to say it out loud, they both knew what he'd meant. A few moments passed and he added softly, "how did he die?"

Gallus' brow creased and he glanced away, as if considering whether he needed to know or not. As far as Brynjolf was considered, he deserved to know and he was old enough now that he didn't need protecting any longer. But Gallus certainly knew this, because he turned back to look at him with a sympathetic look.

"He was killed on a job a year after I became guild master." The imperials eye's narrowed and his gaze became a bit distant as if he was thinking back on what had happened. "Some people just said he got careless, or unlucky. But the guards knew he was there and they killed him outright – no arrest, nothing."

"You think somebody tipped them off?" Brynjolf asked hesitantly.

"Yes." Gallus stepped away from him and paced the room with his arms crossed, as if this were still a mystery he was trying to solve to this day. "It looked too suspicious. I interrogated every member of the guild, but I couldn't find any real proof. I even turned to the Dark Brotherhood, but they denied it – even went so far as to remind me that accusing them wouldn't be good for our allegiance."

Brynjolf had his own opinions of their guild's relationship with the Dark Brotherhood. He wasn't keen on it, they were too brutal and sadistic sometimes. But they needed them from time to time and they were useful – and perhaps more important than anything, they were handy to have where they could see them (in the metaphorical sense), instead of skulking behind their back in the shadows. They had a standing arrangement that the assassin's wouldn't accept a contract against a guild member, and they probably didn't like being accused of the contrary. But a very large part of Brynjolf suspected that if their sick faith in Sithis demanded them to fulfil a contract against a guild member, then they'd still do it – even go so far as blame it on the guard or somebody else so nobody figured out it was really them.

"So I never really worked it out, but I wish I could because if I found out who it was then I think it would be me performing the dark sacrament," Gallus muttered with a hint of anger or annoyance.

He paused in his pacing and shook his head with a frustrated curse, then dropped that line of conversation. "I tried to find you when he died, though. But I think you had long disappeared into the Ratways by then."

"Thanks for the thought at least," Brynjolf offered.

Gallus smiled at him. "I think I've made up for it since, hmm?"

Brynjolf shrugged but couldn't stop a small grin tugging at his lips.

o0o

Brynjolf wondered out into the flagon a while later, and by some stroke of impeccable luck, or maybe just coincidence, Lucille seemed to have just arrived. People were staring at her (which they usually did if anybody new turned up, you think they'd put two and two together after a while because new recruits weren't exactly a rarity) and one or two were awkwardly looking as if they wondered whether they should go over and see what she wanted. He figured he'd go over and put them out of their misery.

"Lass." He waved a hand and caught her attention, and everybody else relaxed in knowing that she was at least known to one of the guild members. Regardless, she walked over. "I see you made it well enough."

"Of course."

He arched an eyebrow momentarily, but then gestured behind him to a man standing behind the bar counter. His name was Stig, and he was an old, grumpy nord man who repeatedly stated that he wanted to retire somewhere warm and was just waiting for the right time. When the right time was, nobody knew, but Brynjolf suspected it would be soon.

"That old sod is Stig," he said and walked her over to the counter. "He'll get you sorted out with some better armour than..." he raked his eyes up her body briefly, then settled on, "whatever that is you're wearing."

She seemed a little affronted by his comment. Her armour wasn't bad per-say, it was well looked after and had probably been made by a decent armoursmith – but they had better and more specific armour to sneaking, and it was tradition. Thieves were fond of their traditions.

"Eh?" Stig narrowed his eyes at Brynjolf suspiciously. "What you doing going and bringing me an elf, gingerballs?"

The red head managed a thin, but innocently sweet, smile at him. He'd bring up the use of his unwanted nickname later. Regardless, Stig rolled his eyes and added, "you know I stopped making armour for them elves after Karliah figured out how to dodge."

Stig was being perhaps a bit cruel – Karliah was an archer and had some difficulties earlier on dodging attacks in melee range. Of course she'd improved vastly now but Stig liked to pretend she'd needed a new set of armour once a week because she got stabbed so much – which was entirely untrue.

"Well," Brynjolf started, "this elf needs a set. So perhaps you could do your job for a change and arrange one, hmm?"

"Yeah." Stig snorted and gave Lucille a calculating look. "Hmph. You send me your measurements, I'll figure something out." Then, he added to a very audible aside to himself, "bleeding elves, couldn't just fit into the same armour as everybody else, because no, they have to be different."

In truth, no member of the guild got a new set of armour that didn't need some tweaking and adjusting to become a good fit. But someone of Lucille's slight frame would not fit into the armour they usually stocked for nord's or imperials, no matter how much tweaking they did. It had been exactly the same for Karliah, and one of the other guild members who was a khajiit – although in his case it was mostly to accommodate for the tail.

"Stig can also fence things for you," Brynjolf told her and then gestured around the room. "You can see Frederick, Mhar'jazarg or Tove if you want some work."

He yawned then, perhaps he didn't realise how tired he was up until then, but he waved a hand in front of his mouth and mumbled an apology. When he'd composed himself, he glanced at her and continued. "Well, I'm sure you can get yourself into trouble from here, lass."

She shrugged but he was confident she could manage to at least not get thrown into jail or do something spectacularly stupid within a week.

"Just make sure you tell the others who you are," he added. "They have a tendency to shoot first, ask questions later, if they don't recognise someone."

She laughed a little. "I'll try to remember."

"Makes nay difference to me either way, I won't be the one cleaning up the mess." He'd forfeited that responsibility when he stopped being the new person in the guild which he was immensely thankful for. He gave her a brief smile. "Welcome to the Thieve's guild."