.
The Fortunate Favourite
Chapter Eleven: Fools Rush In
Brynjolf was a fool.
There was nothing he hated quite so much in the world as being tricked. He considered himself an intelligent man; cunning and confident and careful. And clever, yes. Too clever by half, Mercer was fond of saying, and Brynjolf took fierce pride in it. What little remained of the guild's glory was due in no small part to him, his endless efforts to keep them a step ahead of whatever and whoever it was lying in wait to trip them up and leave them out of the game for good. Everything he had down to the very breath of his body was tied up in this venture, and he rose and fell with the whims of Fate and Lady Luck, as they all did. But he'd always considered himself apart. Above. And he did not appreciate being made the fool.
It had started simply enough – if indeed the uproar caused by the dragon attack on Goldenglow could be considered anywhere near to simple. Or if the clandestine kiss he'd stolen in the training room as the thief he was could ever be so undervalued as to be considered simple. After Maddie had left him in the training room, rushing off with a last flustered glance over her shoulder, he'd lingered for a time, allowing some distance between the moment they'd shared and all that was to come. After all, he was not so green as to expect his night was over just because the job was done. The piece of paper crumpled in his fist, the deed to Goldenglow with its odd bladed symbol, was proof enough of that.
Acting as though he had all the time in the world, Brynjolf milled about the training room setting things to rights, waiting for those who were in need of him to seek him out on their own. A mark of his influence, to bring the world to a grinding halt until his presence was desired just because he felt like it. He tucked away the treasures Maddie had left for him, ashen bones still warm to the touch and stony scales that glittered like stars in the torchlight; he highly doubted Tonilia would be able to move them without drawing unwanted attention to the guild, but that was a problem for another day. He locked the bottom drawer of the cabinet, wondering just why it was that the girl had lingered long enough after the mercenaries had brought down the dragon to walk away with such prizes.
It was then Brynjolf decided he knew too little about dragons. It wasn't until much later that he would realize he knew too little about his little Maddie, the girl who'd once called herself Archer.
Soon, Delvin came to find him.
"You know, that girl of yours has got a lot of brass for such a little mouse," Delvin said, chuckling. "Starting to make me a bit leery."
Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Seems to think you're the one running the show, and not Mercer," the old thief said, but there was no laughter this time, and his expression was unusually grave. "Listen, I like this girl. Seems like a good kid. I wouldn't want to see her doing anything foolish. Hasn't anyone told her about Maven yet?"
"Aye, she knows about Maven." Shaking his head, Brynjolf sighed; the threat of Maven's fury simply didn't put the fear of the gods into the girl the way it would a sensible person. He didn't know what to make of that. At the mere thought of Maven, he felt weary and frustrated, and he dreaded the coming dawn when he would undoubtedly be summoned to another audience. It was a bed of his own making; he was to be bulwark of flesh to guard Maddie against becoming the sole focus of Maven's unfathomable displeasure. Then again, as he flinched to think on the girl's cavalier attitude toward such close-to-home dangers, he wondered if she really needed his help – or deserved it.
"Bryn!"
He turned at the sound of his name. The next part of his evening was beginning; Sapphire had come into the training room, an unusually bright smile on her normally sneering face. The sight of her did not fill him with confidence. "What is it, lass? I'm a touch busy here," he said, more snappish than he meant to be. The girl didn't wince at his harshness, however. She only grinned all the more.
"Mercer wants to see you," she said, her voice dripping with intrigue, "and what's-her-name, the new girl. Now."
"Well, this should be interesting," Delvin said, laughing. Sapphire screwed up her brow, confused, but Brynjolf had already brushed past her. "Good luck, then, mate," Delvin called after him, and the echo of his laughter off the stones followed Brynjolf out of the training room and into the Cistern.
Mercer was at his desk, which had been cleared of most everything that usually cluttered it, the maps and books and inkpots gone. It was as if he was expecting something. Brynjolf hated to disappoint him, but at least he wasn't coming empty-handed.
"Where is she?" demanded Mercer. The glower on his face was immediately familiar, and Brynjolf reminded himself to proceed with the utmost caution.
"Off on a job," he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he hadn't gone against Mercer's direct order, as if that in itself were so insignificant a thing. Best to go with as much truth as possible; all a part of the long con. "I thought it best to get her out of Maven's way until we sort things out."
Mercer glared at him. "I distinctly remember telling you differently. You're going to a lot of trouble to protect this girl."
"I've been telling you from the start," Brynjolf said, chuckling, though it was no laughing matter. "This one is different."
"She's turning your head. I don't like it," Mercer said, and he slammed his fist down on the table. If he hadn't been prepared for it, Brynjolf might have jumped. Mercer's eyes narrowed in anger. "Look at the mess she's made." He gestured to the empty desktop, as if the answers were written there for all to see. Anyone else might have been confused, but Brynjolf understood: work had come to a standstill, and it was because of the Goldenglow job. Because of Maddie.
"Yes, yes," Brynjolf said impatiently, though it was hardly his place. He was pushing his luck with every word he said, and yet he could not stop his tongue from wagging. "The girl botched the job, though I don't think any one of us could truly be held accountable where a dragon is concerned, myself included."
"Dragon or no, Maven is furious –"
"Aye, she is, but when is she not in a rage?" Brynjolf said. He decided then it was time to play the only card he had, and handed the deed the girl had lifted over to Mercer. "It's going to be worse when we show her this."
Mercer snatched the paper out of Brynjolf's hand. "It can't be..." he mumbled at first glance, taking in that symbol, what it said, what it meant. His face hardened, his eyes glinting with anger like struck flint. The further he read, the more he recovered his initial shock, and when he'd finished, he crumpled the document in his fist and dropped it on the desktop as if it was worthless. "There's something else going on here. Aringoth isn't this foolish."
"I think we underestimated his desire to get out from under the guild." Brynjolf picked up the deed, smoothed it out, showing his guild master he thought this was far more important than such immediate dismissal. He tucked it away into a pocket sewn into the front of his armour. "But what do you make of that symbol? I've never seen its like."
It was then that Mercer did something unexpected: he lied. "Neither have I," said the guild master, his voice lowering to a dangerous register. "I'll check with my contacts. Something will come up." It was the change in his tone that gave him away, so slight yet so conspicuous that Brynjolf was surprised Mercer of all people had let himself slip like that. Something had him off his guard – something he'd read had shaken him. Brynjolf didn't know what to make of it; he couldn't remember the last time he'd caught Mercer lying to him. Long before he'd become his second, that much was certain, back before he'd proved himself the most trustworthy, the one willing to do anything to help the guild succeed. It didn't occur to him then to question his guild master's motives. In that moment, he still trusted Mercer, and his concern was elsewhere.
What a fool he'd been.
"And what about Maddie?"
"What about her?" Mercer sneered, and he was back to himself, oblivious to Brynjolf's doubt as if the moment of untruth had not occurred. "Maven wants her to answer for what happened out at Goldenglow, and that's exactly what she'll do." Mercer lifted a stern finger of warning, as if he were suddenly the patriarch he was supposed to be, shoes Brynjolf had been filling for too long. "Don't get too close to this girl, Brynjolf. These kids you bring in come and go, and none of them are ever worth the time and resources you put into them. She'll move on soon enough. They always do." There was a smug smile on his face, showing that of this fact, he was so very certain.
Brynjolf was going to enjoy watching the girl prove him wrong.
"What will we tell Maven, then?" he asked. "She'll want to know about Aringoth's little plan."
"Leave her to me," Mercer said, already turning his back, and with that, Brynjolf was sent on his way.
However, despite the guild master's assurance that he would deal with Maven Black-Briar, Brynjolf found himself summoned to an audience all the same, just as he'd known he would be, rising out of his bed at an ungodly hour to trudge through the biting cold and thick morning mist. The smoke from the fires at Goldenglow still hung heavy in the air, stinging his nose with every breath he took.
At the manor, he found the matriarch herself sat presiding over breakfast. He was offered neither meal nor seat, relegated to standing at the foot of the table like a chastised child while Maven glared at him distastefully with those black, black eyes.
"Worse and worse news this morning," Maven finally said, her voice dripping with contempt. "One of the guardsman coming off duty just came to see me. He was on road patrol last night. Do you know why he came to see me?"
Brynjolf suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He knew when he was being baited. He could scarcely bring himself to dignify the question with a response – but he knew his place, however much he hated it. And so he gave his shoulders a shrug, and shook his head.
"I'm sorely disappointed, Brynjolf," she said. "I had thought we had an understanding. To hear from a guardsman what should have come from you! Did you think you could keep this from me?"
The deed in his pocket weighed heavy. He didn't understand how a guard patrolling the road would possibly have access to the information it contained. There were only three people in the guild who knew about the deed, so unless Aringoth had spoken of it before – no, it didn't make sense. Perhaps he should have insisted the girl kill him; perhaps letting him walk away had been a mistake. "Maven," Brynjolf said, reaching into his pocket for the deed. "Mercer insisted he be the one –"
"No, I will hear it from you. Now. What does Ulfric want with Goldenglow?"
Brynjolf made to respond, an automatic defence, but then he fell short; his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you on about?" he demanded, forgetting to check his tone. "What have the bloody Stormcloaks got to do with this?"
"If I knew the answer to my own question, why would I ask it in the first place? Idiot!" Maven knocked her wine glass off the table in fury and frustration; it clattered to the floor in a messy spray of red, spilling like blood across the carpet. "What was Ulfric's whore doing there? The thief who went in, where is she? She must have seen something. You were supposed to bring her to me. I'll have the truth out of her."
"She's indisposed," he said. "And she said nothing of Stormcloaks on the island. Only Aringoth, his mercenaries, and that damnable dragon."
"And the Dragonborn there to slay it!" Maven said scathingly. "Honestly, what kind of fools do you employ?" In all the years he'd worked for the old harpy, he'd never heard her come so close to completely losing her temper. It worried him – though no more or less than this news of Stormcloaks on the island during the dragon attack. "That useless steward of Laila's is going to work herself into knots wondering why Ulfric's sending that little bitch up here."
"You've ears in the keep," Brynjolf pointed out. "Was there was no mention of this before last night?"
"No," she said, looking down that long, thin nose at him. "I want answers, Brynjolf, and I want this brought under control. If Elenwen should get wind of this –" She cut herself off then, knowing she'd said too much, and glared at him fiercely, as though he were somehow at fault for her loose tongue. "Leave me," she commanded, and Brynjolf needed no more prompting. He all but stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. To Oblivion with propriety and respect.
He was in a fury when he returned to the Cistern, and he snapped at the first person he saw to fetch him Delvin immediately, and never mind why. He went straight to the training room, and sent the subordinates loitering there scattering with a few curt words.
And then, he paced.
His mind was reeling. Realization had been quick, but the settling of reality much slower. He was not one to panic, but the moment certainly called for it. How had he missed it? He'd seen the dragon fall with his own eyes, the blazing light like a star come to earth, and he'd never thought –
What had he gotten his guild into? He knew she was a deserter, knew what she was running from, but he'd never put the pieces together, hadn't wanted to, so blinded by his feelings for her, by his greed, his own confidence, so certain she would be the one to save them. And here she was, Ulfric's pet, on the run, and he'd given her sanctuary without a second thought. By the Eight, what had he done?
Delvin came ambling in, hands in his pockets. "What's this, then? You've got poor Etienne in a frenzy."
Brynjolf laughed, a hollow and mirthless sound. He hadn't even noticed – it would be Etienne Rarnis in his way when he'd come into the Cistern, wouldn't it? His damned poor luck. "Is Maddie back yet?" he asked, trying his best not to seem too hopeful, too anxious. He knew he was doing a miserable job of it, but after so many years, if there was anyone in the guild he could let his guard down around, it was Delvin Mallory.
"Sent her to Whiterun," Delvin said, raising a curious eyebrow at Brynjolf's agitation. "Going to be a few days yet. What's got you so worked up, eh?"
"More trouble on the horizon, my friend."
"That all?" Delvin chuckled. "And here I thought things had been downright peaceful lately."
"I wish I could share in your humour," Brynjolf said, weariness sinking in then, dampening the anger he'd felt was close to eating him alive. He felt so heavy, so tired. "Tell me, have you heard anything about Stormcloak soldiers at Goldenglow last night? Someone say something, maybe."
Delvin hesitated; an odd question that had come out of nowhere, and even without a response, Brynjolf had his answer. "No, didn't hear nothing, but it's early yet. Maul might now something," Delvin said in an attempt to be helpful. "What would Stormcloaks want with Goldenglow?"
"That's what I wondered," Brynjolf mumbled, running a hand down his face.
"I'll keep my ears open, eh?"
"I'd appreciate that."
Brynjolf waited until Delvin had left, and then slumped back against a table. He felt defeated, and unsure of himself, unsure of what to do next. It was not a feeling to which he was accustomed. He was a man who knew where he was going; he was a man who knew what had to be done. Cunning, confident, careful, yes, yes, all of these things. Comfortable, as well, and too much so. This life he'd chosen, that had chosen him, required a certain fluidity – demanded it, really. Such was the nature of their existence, ever moving with the world around them, within it but never a part of it. As changeable as the seasons, a leaf on the wind.
He had to get ahead of this. Dragonborn or no, he'd made the girl a promise. And no one would ever tell him again he was not a man of his word. He'd failed someone once; one fatal mistake and he'd buried her with flowers in her hair. He would never let it happen again.
It took him a long moment to gather his courage to face what was to come – whatever that might be. There was time yet to prepare for the girl's return, to brace himself for whatever lies – or truths – she would tell him. He knew his place in the scheme of things, and if he were to fathom a guess, she didn't. If he played his cards right, it might all work out in the guild's favour, and the girl need not go anywhere.
It troubled him, excited him, to think of how much he wanted her to stay, her past be damned.
For now, there were arrangements to make. It seemed a visit to the alchemist was in order.
...
Maddie returned the following night.
He watched from the shadows as she came gracefully down the ladder, bringing a burst of cold winter with her. Watched, too, as she ignored everyone who crossed her path, those who offered smiles, greetings, friendship. She glanced around once, but seemed not to find who or what she sought, because she put her head down, eyes to the floor, and made her way out of the Cistern as fast as she could. She went in the direction of the Flagon, most likely to see Delvin about the finished job. All business. He liked that about her.
Brynjolf waited. Now that she'd returned, he was in no hurry. He knew she would come looking for him sooner or later. After such a kiss as they'd shared, how could she not? And just to make sure, he'd left her a little gift on her bed. Nothing telling, of course, but enough to spark her curiosity, if he was right about her, and if he wasn't, what harm could such a little thing do?
No one bothered him as he lounged in the shadows, arms folded over his chest; they all knew what Maddie's return meant. What was more, they recognized that look in his eye, and none of them would dare cross it and invite his displeasure. The lonesome peace was rejuvenating after the turmoil of the past few days, and the quiet was most welcome. He could feel a familiar calm settling down inside him, undamaged by all the trouble and uncertainty without. For a moment, he felt untouchable. For a moment, he felt as though he could take on the world.
It was too bad, really, that it wasn't to last.
He was watching the narrow corridor that led to the Flagon when Maddie finally appeared again, her hood down, her fiery hair tied neatly back. Again, she did all she could to avoid being seen, her eyes ever to the floor. It was a wonder she didn't run into anything or anyone; the Cistern was far from deserted, after all. Not for the first time, Brynjolf found himself wondering what kind of life she'd led that she went so far out of her way to keep out of sight and out of mind. The girl could teach him a thing or two about keeping secrets.
She approached the bed in her little corner of the Cistern, and stopped dead. He held his breath. She picked up the flower, gently turning the stem between her fingers, her face paling, her expression changing to one of abject confusion and horror, and he smiled. That was when he knew he was right. That was when he knew he had her. And while she stared at his gift, her sweet lips parted in surprise, he stepped out of his hiding place and went to her, reaching her just as she dropped the little sprig of Dragon's Tongue on the bed as if it were poisonous.
"Welcome home, lass," he said, grinning as he basked in her discomfiture. Her mouth snapped closed, her lips pressing together tightly as if to hold back an argument, when he knew full well she had nothing at all to say. He stepped past her, making sure to brush her shoulder lightly with his own as he reached down and snatched up the harmless little blossom that stood for so many dangerous things. He offered it to her again, holding it up before her, watching as those dark, dark eyes turned to glass, windows through which he could see her very soul.
And by the Gods, was she afraid.
That, he decided, wouldn't do at all. He hadn't intended to frighten her, only to put her on her guard. He didn't feel any guilt, however, even as he looked down into her drawn face and saw the mistrust his little trick had sown. After decades of exploiting the gullible and the weak to better his own fortunes, he wasn't entirely sure there was any shame left in him at all. Which, he mused, was probably a terrible thing.
"I think it's time we had a bit of a heart to heart," he said, gentling his voice as best as he was able, though he doubt she noticed, tense as she was. "Don't you agree, little dragon?"
The endearment – if it could indeed be called that – brought her around. She blinked, and that far away, frightened look was gone; no longer was she a rabbit caught in a trap. A little colour returned to her cheeks, two pink splotches marring her pale face. She took a deep breath, drawing herself up, and she nodded.
"Not here," she said, finally taking the sprig of Dragon's Tongue from him. She glared at him as she crushed it in her fist, her eyes never leaving his as she let the petals fall to the floor. "Let's take an evening stroll, shall we? I could do with some air."
"After you," he said, his arm sweeping before him in a gentlemanly gesture he thought might bring a smile to her lips, but he was sorely disappointed. It didn't bother him. Never had he been more sure that he had the upper-hand. Perhaps it was his pride taking control in that moment, because he thought it would be best to prove it to her. It didn't occur to him then that his pride had always been his greatest weakness; no, he was too arrogant for that.
As they crossed the Cistern, they passed a small figure lingering at the edge of the pool. His shoulders were hunched, his hood up and his head down, and he was trying his very damnedest not to be noticed and doing a very good job of it. Brynjolf, however, had sharp eyes that missed nothing; sadly, the same could not be said for the girl. She walked right by him; Etienne Rarnis, the man who'd inadvertently dragged her into guild business all those months ago. Without him, Brynjolf never would have given her a pointless marketplace job in exchange for information; without Etienne's story, she would have paid for her information with gold like everyone else, and he would have sent her on her way, none the wiser, never knowing...
"A moment, lass," Brynjolf said. Maddie stopped, and turned to him. "Have you met Etienne yet?"
She stiffened, and though he wouldn't have thought it possible, she paled even more until she was almost white as the snow swirling outside. She recovered quickly, her eyes brightening as she offered a warm smile. A practised smile. It was masterfully done, and Brynjolf could not help but be impressed.
"No, I have not," she said, and her voice betrayed nothing at all. She sounded happy, pleased, as if not a thing in the world was wrong, as if she hadn't been avoiding the other thieves like a plague. "Hello, Etienne."
Rarnis glanced up at her with genuine interest, looking a little shocked that anyone was bothering to talk to him. Since his kidnapping and miraculous escape from the Thalmor, most everyone thought him cursed, bad luck walking, and refused to meet his eye. "Hello," he said quietly. "New, aren't you?"
"Yes," she said with an amiable laugh. "If only someone would mention that to Mercer."
"Oh," Etienne breathed, realization dawning. "You're the Goldenglow girl."
Maddie rolled her eyes. "Is that what they're calling me? Wonderful. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do. It was nice meeting you." And she turned on her heel and marched out of the Cistern.
Brynjolf almost laughed. "There's a good lad," he said, patting Etienne on the shoulder and flashing him a smile before leaving him bewildered. He chased after Maddie, catching her on the other side of the door to the Flagon, where she waited for him in that secret bit of corridor behind the cupboard.
She was ready for him. "You have some nerve," she said accusingly, poking him squarely in the chest.
Now he did laugh, catching her hand in his own and holding it fast when she tried to pull away. Gods above, it was good to see some life in her after so many days of the quiet mouse who wanted nothing more than to hide. The light cast from the brazier reflected in her dark eyes, giving them a fierce, untamed quality, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to pull her close and steal from her lips a wild and eager kiss, to feel that fire burning within her for himself, no matter the danger of being utterly consumed by it. But he was a man who maintained more self-control than one would think a thief could possess, and he suppressed his desire.
"I'm nothing but nerve, lass," he said. "Comes in handy, my line of work." Looking around, he saw that the room to their left was empty, the room shared by Vekel and Tonilia. He pulled her into a shadowed corner where they might find some privacy, effectively boxing her in. He wasn't about to walk through the Flagon, where too many pairs of eyes would see them leaving for the Ratway together. He was no fool, and neither were his fellow thieves. Talk was the last thing he needed, especially with all the attention the girl had drawn to herself when she'd robbed Goldenglow during a dragon attack. Besides, it was the dead of winter and bloody cold in the Ratway.
"Is it safe here?" she asked, reaching up on her toes to look over his shoulder. "Won't we be overheard?"
"Footsteps echo loudly down here. We'll hear them long before they can hear us," he pointed out. "Now, lass, I believe you've got quite a bit of explaining to do."
"There's nothing to explain," she said, frowning. "You discovered my secret. I suppose you think you're clever."
"Oh, I know I'm clever," he said, chuckling. "You weren't exactly trying to cover your tracks, now were you? Everyone in the city knows by now that the Dragonborn was on the island the other night, thanks to the guards and their gossip. Giving me those bones and telling me it was part of your job? You all but told me yourself. No, that's not what I want to know."
"Then what is it?" she asked, sticking out her chin. She was challenging him, and he loved it, loved how difficult and proud she was, loved how she kept him on his toes. She was trouble, and here he was encouraging her when he should have been telling her to pack her bags and never darken his doorway again. Would he never learn?
"I want to know why you left him," he said simply. "And I want to know, once and for all, why the one you ran to was me. The truth, this time. I deserve that much, lass, don't you think? If we're going to continue working together."
She sighed. Oh, all the breath she had went into that sigh, her eyes closing as if she wished she would never have to draw another. "How did you know?" she asked, all that pride gone now as she lowered her face in shame.
"Rumour travels on swift wings, and it reaches us here, even underground," he told her. "All of the nine holds have heard the tale of the bear and the dragon. Wasn't hard to put the pieces together." He tapped two fingers against his temple. "Clever, remember?" When she still refused to look at him, he put his hand on her chin and raised her eyes to his, only to find them filled with tears. "I don't judge you, Maddie. You're not the first to leave a lover in the night. Was he cruel to you?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, he wasn't cruel to me, though perhaps it would have been better if he was. Easier." A tear fell, leaving a gossamer trail down her cheek, and against all common sense, against every better judgement he had, Brynjolf began to feel guilty for pushing her; it was a strange feeling, foreign, and he didn't like it. So he ignored it, and pressed.
"Tell me what that means, lass," he said, however gently he could while still being firm. He couldn't relent, not now. He had to know, if only for the sake of the guild; he had to know what sort of danger he'd blindly put them in when he'd accepted this runaway, this deserter, into the fold.
She took a deep breath, swiping absently at her cheek. "It means I wasn't born in Skyrim," she said. "Wasn't born here, wasn't raised here. My father was, though, but I never met him; he died in the fight to retake the Reach after the Great War, before I was born. He didn't even know about me, my mother never had the chance to tell him, and until six months ago, I'd never even given a thought to coming here. It was kind of a spontaneous decision. Stupid, really. I was determined to forge my own destiny, like the hero in a story." She laughed. "All I found was trouble. I guess I have a knack for it. Dragons and war, just my luck."
"You joined the fight because of your father," he said, the wheels inside his head turning as more pieces fell into place. The picture he'd always had of her began to change; it was the personal touch, the little details. Things he had always kept himself far away from. Why was it so different with her?
"More or less," she said with a shrug. "I'd gotten myself involved with – with some people that I needed to distance myself from, so I decided to go into hiding. I know, I know, bad habit. I thought that joining up would make me anonymous. I hadn't taken into account that Ulfric already knew who I was."
Brynjolf's brow furrowed. "How's that, then?"
"That's a long story," she said evasively, looking down at her feet. "And not one I want to tell right now. Just know that almost overnight, I was a soldier, a symbol, an advisor. Next a lover, then a thane."
"A thane?"
"Not the point," she said shortly. "If you know the tale of the bear and the dragon, as you put it, then you know that he meant to make me his wife, and if he'd won the war, his queen. Isn't that how it goes?"
"Aye," he said gravely. "Gods willing, the Empire quashes this rebellion and he never takes the throne."
She looked up at him, curious. "Do you have a stake in the war?"
"Imperials are good for business," he said, shrugging. Never mind that it was Maven's business the war was interfering with. The guild wasn't affected one way or the other. "None of this explains why you left him, or why you deserted the cause. Death or glory, isn't it?"
The girl sighed again, her lips twisted wryly, and she watched him carefully, as if trying to decided in that moment if she could trust him, as if it were not a decision she had come to long ago. "I was to go to the Reach," she said finally, quietly, "to persuade a man of some influence to... to help Ulfric's cause, and he did, however reluctantly. I can be very persuasive when I want to be. But –" Here she paused, shaking her head at her own thoughts. "But in exchange, he told me truths about Ulfric that you'll only hear spoken freely in Markarth. Dark things. Ugly things. Violent things."
Brynjolf nodded, and kept his silence, for there was nothing to tell her. He'd always made it his business to know everything he could about everyone who was anyone in Skyrim. It helped him keep the guild a step ahead, helped him avoid trouble, or to find it if it was to his advantage. He knew all about Ulfric's campaign in the Reach all those years ago, what had come to be known as the Markarth Incident. He knew how the story ended. He could only imagine the betrayal she'd felt, learning of it all for the first time, her already in his bed, him already in her heart.
"I was going to confront him," she said, leaning back against the wall of their shadowy corner, as if recounting her tale was wearing her out. She watched him with sad eyes. "Before I'd left Windhelm, I'd promised him the Reach, and I meant to keep my word, to go to him and tell him that it had cost him my loyalty – and my love."
"What changed your mind?" he asked, so caught up in her story now that there was no turning away.
She took her time in answering him, the silence between them stretching on, the quiet filled with all those small sounds that were so familiar to him, the dripping of water, the echoing of far-off voices, the scraping of restless feet against the stone. Only now, those feet were his own as he shifted uncomfortably while waiting for her to continue, wondering if he truly wanted to know what had driven her straight to his guild and into his arms. But when she looked up at him with the smallest of smiles, he realized that the catalyst didn't matter, not really, not when she was the consequence.
"We were supposed to ambush an armed caravan, carrying silver and weapons," she said. "Instead, we were ambushed by the Forsworn in the hills. Most of the others with me were killed; maybe all of them, I don't know." She shook her head; more tears threatened, he could hear them in her voice.
"But you escaped."
"I was spared."
"Spared? By the Forsworn?" It went against every tale he'd ever heard told of the brutal and merciless natives of the Reach. Something wasn't right about what she told him, he knew it right away, felt it – it nagged at him, gnawed at him, but he could not for the life of him put his finger on what it was.
"I still don't understand it myself," she said. "There's no sense in it. I was wounded. One of their barbaric blades caught me here." She touched a hand to her side, the very place he'd seen the jagged scar marring her fair skin from ribcage to waist the night of the Goldenglow job, when he'd walked in on her as she changed her dress. "By all rights, they should have killed me. Instead, they let me go. I made it as far as Rorikstead before I couldn't – I don't remember much of what happened after, but a boy named Erik found me. He took me to a mage, who healed me. He gave me a place to rest and recover."
"Kind of him."
"The kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I would have bled to death if not for him. Or maybe frozen to death, alone on the road. But by some miracle..." She trailed off, leaning her head back and looking at the ceiling, searching for consolation amongst the stones. "I don't know what he was doing on the road that night, but he was, and it saved my life."
"Maybe you're just lucky," Brynjolf suggested, one of the most honest things he'd ever told her, because he wholly believed it. He was rewarded with a smile, one that was bright and true.
"Maybe," she said, her smile lingering but a moment longer before it faded and she grew serious again. "It was in Rorikstead that I decided against returning to Windhelm. I couldn't face him, not after – I just couldn't. And I couldn't stay in Rorikstead. Whiterun holds nothing for me."
She'd brought the tale round to the present. Brynjolf knew what came next. "And so with nowhere else to go, you came to me, because I'd offered you a place with the guild the first time we met."
"You told me," she said, drawing a shaky breath, "that if I ever needed anything, anything at all, that I knew where to find you. And so I came to Riften without a second thought, because what I needed most of all was a place to hide and forget who I was. I knew you could protect me while I tried. That was no lie."
Brynjolf laughed, a harsh and disbelieving sound. "Aye, I thought I could before I knew what was behind you," he said. "Do you truly expect me to keep the war, the Thalmor, and the dragons at bay? Do you really have so much faith in me, lass?"
"I want to," she said, tipping her head back to look at him, the depths of her dark eyes unreadable. He didn't know what to make of her. She'd walked into this room ready to tear a strip off him, and now here she was, bleeding tears from wounds he'd ripped open with his callous disregard, bearing her heart to him while he made demand after demand of her. He knew he was supposed to send her to Maven in the morning, but he decided then that it could wait. The whole damned world could wait. Just for the night.
He brought his hands to her face, one on either side of her jaw, his big fingers splayed across her cold cheeks, and bent down to kiss her, because it was the only thing he could think to do, the only way to bring her story to an end he could come to terms with. She pushed up on her toes, her arms coming around his neck to draw him closer, her sweet lips and mischievous tongue playing against his, gentle and open and so very willing.
And as he held her in his arms, he thought of all the forces that conspired against her, against him as her ally, her protector, the only man in the world who knew who and what she truly was. And when he pulled away, looking down into her lovely face, the face the illusionist had given her to better hide her in his den of thieves, he heard the mage's words echoing in his head as if for the first time.
"That one has too much of the Reach in her to be trusted. She will bring you and your guild nothing but ruin and despair."
His arms tightened around her as Maddie rested her head against his chest. She knew nothing of the sculptor's warning; she knew nothing of his dark thoughts. In that moment, he would have moved the stars to keep those dark thoughts, and his countless doubts, from her.
He was a fool to think he could.
