SURPRISE! Hi, everyone! Since this chapter is much shorter than the others, I decided to post it early as my way of apologizing for it. Thank you all so much for reading, and enjoy Chapter 7!


"I'm starting to worry," Vex frowns watching Delvin. "We haven't heard anything from him. And it's been almost two weeks!"

"Vex, you're just overthinking it. Bryn's fine. He probably got distracted or something and forgot to send word." He scratches his head as he examines a gilded vase.

"I'm just really worried. He was in a bad way when he left. He's so torn up about Iris. I'm afraid he'll do something stupid."

"You worry too much." Delvin sighs, looking up from the vase. "Look, I'll send someone there to see where he is, just to reassure you, okay?"

Vex nods. "I can't believe I'm actually worried about him. He just didn't take Iris's death too well, you know?"

"I know. I feel sorry for him. They were inseparable. I always wondered if there was more going on between them…"

Vex shakes her head. "Oh, Gods, Delvin. I don't want to think about that."

"I'm just saying. That's probably why he took it so badly." He shrugs, going back to the vase.

"I guess so…"

"I'll send someone over to Winterhold after I finish this appraisal, alright?"

"Thank you, Delvin."


"So, I finally figured out that I was supposed to hit the two people sitting on the thrones with the Wabbajack, and it worked. I was sent back here, and he even let me keep the Wabbajack," Iris finishes.

"Wow…I can't believe you met Sheogorath and still have your wits about you. You're lucky he didn't drive you mad like everyone else who meets him," Brynjolf comments, watching the Breton shrug across from him.

"Yeah, I know. And the Wabbajack is very…spontaneous. I hit a bandit with it once, and he turned into a bear!"

Brynjolf joins her in laughter. "Where is it now?"

"It's at Honeyside. I haven't taken it with me anywhere after that happened." She laughs.

"Makes sense." Brynjolf glances at the setting sun and taps the driver on the shoulder. "Should we stop for the night? I'd hate for you to drive through the night."

"We'll pay for your room, too," Iris offers.

"You're so kind. Thank you," the driver replies. "There should be an inn coming up in a few miles."

"What's your name?" Iris asks.

"Alfarinn."

"Thank you for driving us all the way to Markarth. I know it's a long way away."

"Oh, it's no problem at all, miss."

"Iris."

"Miss Iris," Alfarinn turns to grin at her.

Brynjolf's lips quirk into a smile at Iris's natural kindness. It's one of the things he likes most about her.

She catches him smiling and frowns at him which only makes him chuckle softly.

"What?" she demands, lightly kicking his shin.

"Nothing."

"It never hurts to be nice, Bryn," she mutters. "You should try it sometime." Her eyes twinkle with mischief.

"Hey, now." He kicks her back.

"Here we are." Alfarinn steers the carriage into the inn's stable.

Iris hands him a few gold pieces to pay for his room before striding in with Brynjolf.

"How are you feeling?" Brynjolf asks her.

"I'm fine."

She buys a room for them, since Brynjolf paid for the carriage, and they set off to find it.

Iris opens the door to their room and takes a step in as Brynjolf follows.

"Uh…" Brynjolf stops as he sees the one bed.

Iris turns to face him. "It's fine. I'll sleep under the blankets and you can sleep on top?"

Brynjolf nods slowly.

"Bryn, it's fine." She tosses her bag on the bed. "I'm going to get a mead. Want one?"

"Aye, I'll go with you."

Iris sighs, falling against her pillow and closing her eyes, waiting for Brynjolf to finish in the bathroom. She's the perfect amount of buzzed from the mead, happy and relaxed but still has her wits abut her. She rummages around in her bag, drawing her journal out and settles against her pillow. She fishes a quill out of her bag and begins to recount everything that's happened since she wrote last. Just as she finishes the entry and stuffs the journal back in her bag, Brynjolf reenters the room.

"Finally," she groans, smirking a bit.

"I never said you had to wait up for me," he retorts, closing the door.

"I had to. Otherwise, I'd be woken up by you moving the bed around." She rolls her eyes, readjusting her pillow to lay down.

Of course, when he finally joins her in the bed, he jostles it as much as he can, purposely bouncing up and down and almost causing Iris to fall off.

"Bryn!" she shrieks, laughing.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" He stops moving around and settles in on top of the blankets.

"You're an idiot," she laughs, hitting him with her pillow.

He chuckles in reply, covering himself with a thick blanket and blowing out the lamp.

"Good night, lass."

"Sleep tight."


Somehow, over the course of the night, Brynjolf moved underneath the blankets. Not only that, he wakes up to find his arm wrapped around her slim waist, her face laying upon his chest and her hand limply resting across.

Gods damn it, he curses silently, but he doesn't move.

Taking a deep breath, he's taken aback when he catches the scent of Iris's hair—floral and sweet. It weaves into his nose, threatening to drug him completely. He tries valiantly to fight it, but he loves the feel of her closeness, the warmth radiating from her petite figure as she sleeps peacefully. Her long eyelashes flutter as she dreams, her breathing even and slow and her face completely relaxed for once. He absentmindedly kisses the top of her head, breathing in her scent. The Gods are toying with the both of them. They can't have this. They can't be together. The Guild has to come first. It has to. No matter how good this feels, no matter how right this feels, no matter how much they both want this. They can't.

So, when Iris begins to rise from her dreams, Brynjolf carefully slides out from under her, laying on top of the blankets once more, and feigns sleep when she finally does awaken.


Iris yawns widely, stretching her arms, and wincing when the movement pulls at her wound.

"Alfarinn is readying the horse. He said we'll leave in an hour or so," Brynjolf announces as he reenters the room.

"Sounds good to me. I'm still trying to wake up." She gently touches her side, testing different pressures on the injury. "Hey, Bryn?"

"Yes?" He turns from the dresser upon which his bag sits.

"Can you change my dressing? I don't know how to do it. I was…unconscious most of the time," she tries to joke, hating that she has to rely on him for even this small favor.

"Of course." He retrieves the salve and fresh bandages from his bag and sits down next to her on the edge of the bed.

She slowly raises her undershirt, exposing her thin stomach marred by the thick white bandage.

"It's not bleeding anymore," she notices.

"That's good." Brynjolf carefully peels off the bandage, revealing the scarring flesh underneath.

Iris's breath catches in her throat as his fingers assuredly work on spreading the salve on her skin.

You can't, Iris, she reminds herself. But her stomach flips as she really feels his hands on her; she looks up and finds his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his face already close to hers. Her teeth trap her bottom lip, unable to take her eyes off him. It's no secret that they're attracted to each other. They haven't been able to act on it because of Mercer. But now? Now that Mercer is out of the picture? She knows they both want it. So, when his fingers work across her abdomen, she decides that she just can't take it anymore.

Without warning, she grabs his collar with both hands, roughly pulling him toward her, and mashes her lips against his. He's only surprised for half a second before he reacts to her lips, one hand tangling in her hair, the other cupping her face. She kisses him with abandon; she's wanted to do this for so long, she's not holding back. She dares to carefully work her tongue between his parted lips, and he obliges, moving his lips rhythmically against hers. Warmth spreads to her toes as she realizes how much she's been missing. He was always more than a friend; they just never acted on it. But her perfect moment shatters when he slightly pulls away, muttering against her lips.

"Iris—" But he doesn't pull all the way away and still reacts to her lips on his.

She hums in reply against his lips.

But he pulls away again. "Iris, wait—" He moves his hands to her upper arms and pulls away. "We can't."

"Why not? Mercer isn't the Guildmaster anymore. Karliah didn't kill Gallus. There's nothing standing in the way anymore."

"The Guild. We have to put the Guild first."

"We can put the Guild first and still be together. Come on, Bryn. We both know we want this."

"I know, Iris, but…you know it wouldn't work. I'd end up putting you first if we were together, not the Guild. We can't afford to be distracted."

"We wouldn't be—"

"You know we would." He sighs, his brow furrowed as he searches her face. "Listen, I want to. Gods, I really, really want to, but…we can't." He lets go of her, pushing her away from him. "I'm sorry."

She nods quickly, blinking back tears, her cheeks threatening to burn with humiliation and rejection.

"Right." She clenches her jaw, keeping her eyes down. "You're right. I'm—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" She feels his eyes on her, but she refuses to meet them. Instead, she gets to her feet, running a hand through her hair and exhaling as her lip trembles.

"Iris—"

"I'm—I'm gonna see if Alfarinn needs help with, um—with the horse—" she sputters lamely.

"Iris—" he tries again.

But she ignores him and rushes from the room, her cheeks burning and her tears finally spilling over.

Pressing her hand over her mouth, she hurries out of the inn and doesn't stop running until she's far enough away. She lets the tears overflow, trembling with shame and rejection. Gripping the roots of her hair, she paces back and forth, fighting gallantly against her tears.

"YOL!" she Shouts into the wilderness, her Voice rumbling the ground and echoing down the mountainside as flames burst from her mouth, burning her throat. Her Thu'um sears the trees, leaving them a scorching mess of black.

Breathing heavily, she sinks to the ground. What was she thinking? She thought he'd be all for it. She thought he'd understand that there was no reason for them not to be together. Karliah didn't kill Gallus. So, why won't he let himself do it? Red-hot embarrassment suffuses her heart, churning her stomach. He blatantly rejected her, pushed her away from him. Her shoulders burn from where his hands were. Gods, she's so stupid. She shouldn't have done it. She wishes she hadn't done it. But she thought he'd finally agree.

She groans, using her Voice. All she knows is that the ride to Markarth just got a lot more awkward.


Oohhh, romantic tension! My favorite kind :D Thanks so much for reading! Favorite, follow, and review! Tell your friends! :)