"Need any help there, lass?"
Ma'joraa swatted Brynjolf's hand away and yanked the stubborn buckle loose before signing, don't press your luck.
"Hey, I'm a thief. I excel at pressing my luck."
The Khajiit dumped her cuirass beside the Nord's, and the two moved to the center of the cistern training room. The guild had settled back into normalcy now that the Skeleton Key was back where it belonged. Nocturnal's darkness had returned to shroud the guild with her blessing, and they were well on the way to restoring influence throughout Skyrim.
"Don't expect me to go easy on you this time," Brynjolf said over his shoulder, "Now that I've seen you can be a solid ninety-five pounds of kick-ass, this should be much more—"
Ma'joraa saw her chance and took it. She drove her foot into the back of the Nord's knee, the joint instinctively buckling and sending him to the floor with a yell of surprise.
That's revenge for last time, she signed with a smug smile.
"Lass, that was underhanded, dishonorable and ruthless," Brynjolf growled as he got to his feet. He drew his dagger, emerald eyes darkening as he smiled. "Just like any good thief!"
His blade flashed, and the Khajiit only just managed to counter by driving the back of her hand into his wrist, knocking aside the blow. The Nord's other fist came around to slam into her ribs however, sending Ma'joraa stumbling back with the breath partially driven from her. The half of her brain that wasn't focused on regaining lost oxygen saw the next slash coming and reacted, jerking to the side and trapping the outstretched limb in the crook of her elbow. The Khajiit unsheathed the claws of her free hand and swung, but Brynjolf caught her blow as well, and for a heartbeat they were locked together at an impasse.
Ma'joraa was the first to move—she dug her claws into his knuckles and was rewarded by a hiss of pain. She jerked her hand from his grasp, but Brynjolf wasted no time in swinging another punch at her head. Forced to release his arm to duck, the Khajiit dodged two lightning-fast slashes before countering with her own. The Nord's head whipped to the side as she backhanded him hard across the face, before dropping into a crouch and driving her heel into his gut. He staggered backward into the wall, and Ma'joraa charged forward to slam her knee into his chest with all her weight behind it, driving the wind from him.
"Hi gahvon?" The Khajiit demanded, her claws pricking his throat. Brynjolf gave a crooked grin as he tried to regain his breath.
"If you're asking whether I surrender, I'm sorry to disappoint," He replied, before using his size to his advantage and surging forward, sending her stumbling back.
Brynjolf came at her like a charging bull, catching the Khajiit about the midriff and slamming her to the floor, nearly forcing the breath from her. Ma'joraa managed to shield her face with her forearms, blocking and deflecting the Nord's blows as he straddled her. Unable to squirm free, the Dragonborn instead lifted her knees and drove them into Brynjolf's lower back. He grunted in surprise as his balance was broken, hands hitting the floor on either side of Ma'joraa's head. She took the opportunity to seize his arm and hook his leg with her own. Twisting sideways with an enormous effort, the Khajiit was rewarded by an oath from the Nord as he rolled off her. His dagger clattered to the floor and was swiftly kicked away as Ma'joraa leapt upon him. Her claws closed on his throat, and for several seconds the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing.
"Short work," The Nord smirked. "I see you picked up a few things from our last fight."
With you I've got to be quick, Ma'joraa signed as she stood, panting slightly from exertion. You could easily flatten me if I'm not careful, so if I want to win I have to be fast and dirty.
"Spoken like a true thief," Brynjolf chuckled, accepting her offered hand and pulling himself upright. Ma'joraa was secretly relieved at her victory—a few more well-aimed blows from his huge fists and she would have been out.
The Khajiit was just about to don her cuirass when she felt the Nord's strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. She tensed, but he didn't try anything, simply pulling her flush against him in an embrace.
"I don't remember much from when you first came back," The Nord admitted ruefully, "So I may have said this already, but…I'm glad you're alright."
Ma'joraa couldn't resist a fond smile as she patted his arm. "Zu'u med," She replied. Me too.
"Ma'joraa, are you back there?" Karliah's voice echoed in the corridor, accompanied by her approaching footsteps. Ma'joraa tensed—neither she nor Brynjolf had put on a cuirass yet, and if the dark elf walked in on them like this, it would look awfully suspicious.
"Well isn't this awkward," The Nord purred mischievously, apparently thinking the same thing. "Sorry, lass!"
Before she could react, his grip dropped to her midriff, and Ma'joraa's world turned upside-down.
Karliah entered the room just in time to see Brynjolf falling backward with the Khajiit gripped in his arms, slamming her shoulders-first into the floor and nearly stunning her.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." The Dunmer leaned on the doorframe, unable to resist a smirk at the scene before her.
"Tahrodiis Sahqobron!" Ma'joraa wheezed out as she struggled to pick herself up, "Dii jot hin slen!" Treacherous Brynjolf, my teeth to your neck!
The Nord was laughing so hard he could scarcely speak, rolling onto his side to shield himself from a barrage of vengeful swats. "I told you I'd kick your ass, didn't I?"
You're not interrupting, you're saving me from this unscrupulous bastard, the Khajiit signed to Karliah, furious at both being caught off-guard and having it witnessed. What do you need?
"There was a courier in the market looking for you," The Dunmer explained, handing Ma'joraa a neatly-folded letter. "He said someone paid him a hefty sum to get that to you."
The Dragonborn grabbed the parchment gratefully, a welcome distraction from her embarrassment. Then she opened it and her blood ran cold.
"What's the matter?" Karliah asked, noticing the shock on Ma'joraa's face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
The Khajiit showed her the letter. A single black handprint occupied the center of the paper, and beneath it, two simple words that instilled terror into their recipient.
We know.
A/N: The chapter title translates to 'Onward'
Alright! I hope you all enjoyed my first-ever Elder Scrolls fic! It was an interesting test to see if I knew the world and characters well enough to write about them cohesively. The idea for Ma'joraa to be able to only speak in dragon was a result of me noticing that even though your character speaks through dialogue text, the only audible speech comes from shouts. At first I was going to go full Black Bolt and have her not be able to make any sound at all without causing an Unrelenting Force-like shockwave, but the more I thought about that, the more holes I poked in it for myself, so I scrapped it. I do have several more ideas involving Ma'joraa as you could probably gather, including meeting the Dark Brotherhood and some more expansion on how she came to be able to only speak in dragon, which I may cover in other stories. Anyway, I hope you all had as much fun reading this story as I had writing it! Sky above, Voice within!