The warehouse smelled odd, that was to be expected. You could still inhale that tangy, metallic fish stench from beyond the weathered boards, still hear the roar of waves and seagulls, and sailors shouting as they unloaded cargo.

Isobel was perched atop a fairly tall tower of crates, it made her feel safe being up so high and having a good view of the darkness around her. This was the furthest she had ever been away from kin, her brother was more than a fifteen day trek away at the Imperial City while she was dragged to Anvil by the Imperial below her.

"Isn't that stuff bad?" She asked, taking a break from nibbling her apple. "I thought that stuff makes you crazy."

The Imperial sighed exasperatedly, continuing his stock counting of the crates of skooma.

"Yes, it's bad for you. So don't try any."

"Well, why are we selling it if it-"

"Because money, Isobel. Because money." He interrupted harshly, making some scribbles on his parchment then pushing the crate away, the tinkling of glass and sloshing liquid whimsical to Isobel's ears. "The Khajiit are masters at making this 'bad stuff,' so they smuggle it from Elsywer to Cyrodiil and we, the Thieves Guild, take it off their hands for two hundred septims per stone. We then inspect its quality and sell it across Cyrodiil, ensuring we make a profit. If we didn't distribute it someone else would, so we may as well be the ones getting coin out of it."

"But-"

"You'll understand when you're older." He snapped and shot her a cold glare over his shoulder, before moving onto the next box. "Until then just shut up and eat your damned apple."

She knew Quentin didn't like her, along with most of the other thieves. To them she was just a brat who couldn't comprehend the value of septims or the purpose of crime, she fit in with no one and took her loneliness and frustration out via sniveling like a snotty infant or starting fights with adults three times her size. She was skilled at back talking her superiors, exceptional at escaping when she needed to be reined in, and her obedience, well...

Isobel frowned furiously as she whipped her half eaten fruit at Quentin's head, hitting the back of his hood dead on and causing him to stagger forward and yell. She had finally pushed him over the edge, the way he threw down his quill and spun around made Isobel prepare for the worst.

He started to climb her mountain of cargo boxes and crates, ascending as Isobel quickly scrambled away, her nimble body soaring over the uneven terrain as her pursuer growled in aggravation.

"Come on!" He cursed as Isobel shuffled up some narrow boards and up into a vacant loft. She thought she was safe, grinning in triumph before seeing Quentin slowly but surely climb up behind her. Even when a beam broke beneath his weight he pushed on, and Isobel panicked when she realized she was cornered.

She felt a strong hand grab her wrist and shrieked as it dragged her towards her mentor. She fought as hard as she could, trying to resist Quentin's grasp. Before she knew it she was trapped in an unrelenting bear hug as he brought them back down to the weathered floor, still she thrashed about like a wild animal to no avail.

He dropped her precariously before he even touched the ground, Isobel's stomach dropping as she landed knees first against the wooden floorboards followed by her slamming forearms. She cried out in pain and shock as Quentin wretched her up again.

Isobel still fought against him, snarling and shrieking, until he grabbed her neck and flicked her nose, making her yelp.

"Your brother isn't here, which means you can't pull this shit anymore and not expect me to knock some gods damned sense into your stupid head!" He screamed. Isobel could tell he had been waiting for a moment like this, with no one around for him to lose it on her. "We live in one of the greatest ages for a thief to exist in! You should thank the Daedra that bore you for giving you life and shoving you into the grip of such a prosperous Guild! We haven't always been this rich, we haven't always been this untouchable! And do you want to know why?!"

Isobel's eyes were watering, she still wasn't used to people screaming inches away from her face, for spittle to fling onto her cheeks as the mouth of their origin bellowed at her.

"Because nowadays they blame the victims for the crimes we commit on them, how can we not savour that? To not milk every ounce of it and abuse our new found power? Look!" Quentin grabbed one of Isobel's many long braids, yanking her back over to their crates as she clawed at his unforgiving grip.

"Look!" He grabbed the sides of her head and forced her to look into a crate filled with large sealed jugs of transparent liquid. Of the raw powder. Of large, solidified crystals that Isobel still had no idea how people used. "In one of these jars resides the drop that is going to kill some sweet-tooth in a back alley, or latch onto a first-timer who will become a slave to its sugar for the rest of his life. Look at it!" He squeezed her head tightly as she tried to turn away.

"No, I don't want to!"

"Look at it! Someone's life in one of those jars! They know better than to take one of the most notoriously toxic substances on Nirn, we didn't pour that skooma down their throats, they took it themselves even though they knew the consequences! We aren't responsible for their shitty decisions! You got that?!" Quentin bent down to Isobel's height, staring into her eyes with an earnest fierceness.

"People aren't taught not to steal, they're taught not to keep their doors unlocked or their purses unattended. People aren't taught not to scam, people are taught not to be naive, gullible and easy to fool. Even on subjects that don't pertain to our line of work, something small like how some kids aren't taught how to swim, just not to go in the river. Or something big like how men aren't taught not to rape, women are taught not to wander streets at night or drink in revealing clothing. Do you understand what I'm getting at?" He hissed through clenched teeth as he dug his nails into Isobel's tender cheeks, making her nod rapidly in fear.

"Today, the victims are responsible for our crimes. Folks who fall to folks like us 'should've done this,' or 'should've done that' or 'were asking for it.' We have to take advantage of that mentality, because of it we are more powerful and more successful than we've ever been in centuries. Now come here!" He picked her up and sat her down ungraciously on a nearby crate, forcing her to remain seated as he undid her braids.

"Your protector isn't here, so I'm going to do what's best for you if you plan on making it with us." Quentin spat as Isobel's wild black hair fell down her back. "First we're going to get rid of all these distinctive and unique thread wraps and tassels in your hair. You can't stand out, you have to be anonymous and plain. No colours, no wild, crazy styles." He took his dagger and cut the threads out of her hair, Isobel sniffing softly as the strings of red, yellow and green fell around her. "You still have a bell in here!? Melina specifically told you to get rid of them! How can you sneak when you have bloody musical instruments in your head!"

Bells had always been a part of her family, they braided them into their hair or sewed them onto clothes, and Isobel couldn't help but gasp as Quentin tossed the last family bell she had on the warehouse floor and watched it roll and fall into a crack in the floorboards. He heard her whimper and scoffed.

"What was that one lesson your grandfather taught you? I don't know, there are so many that you and your brother won't shut up about... Oh yes, I remember... Live forward. It doesn't matter where you're from, only where you're going." He said in a mocking voice, making Isobel twitch in fury.

"Shut up Quentin, or I swear I'll-" A flick on her nose made her jump again, before Quentin pulled her hair back and started to unclasp the many rings in her ears.

"You aren't a jester anymore, you're a criminal. Your dead family is in your past, you'd do best to forget them. No more bells or threads, no more rings... You need to stop grieving them and move forward." He removed the last of her piercings from her ears and pocketed the metal jewelry. "Thank gods your fucked up clan didn't give a baby like you any tattoos, we're still trying to find some removal acids for your brother."

"There isn't anything wrong with expressing-"

"Yes, there is. You can't hide if you're as typical as a soul gem in a pile of stone, you need to blend in." Quentin grabbed her arm and tugged her up and towards the door. "You're too young and naive to deal with skooma yet, so I'm going to give you a simple, pathetically easy job." He opened the warehouse door and threw her out onto the docks, the sea breeze brisk and sharp as it billowed Isobel's loose hair. "Go forth, and don't come back until you shame a lady for not keeping closer care of her coin purse. If you get arrested I'm not helping you, you'll have to wait for your brother." The sky was already in the later stages of twilight, and Isobel didn't like the way the inn-ward sailors looked at her.

"Quentin, let me back in!" She plead, making her way towards him before he pushed her away forcefully, causing her to trip and fall onto the splintered wood.

"Shadow hide you, Iso-"

Isobel heard the whistle of the arrow and ducked immediately, crouching and raising her hands in defeat.

She expected stomping guards, shouts of arrest, her wrists to be put in shackles... instead Quentin collapsed into her line of sight, an arrow plunged deep in his eye. Before she could even scream as a strong hand clasped her chin and wrenched her head upwards, forcing her to look into the face of a Pentius Oculatus Agent. Nausea squeezed her stomach, and before she could do anything vomit erupted from her throat.

"That's it, just let it out." Thrynn soothed as Isobel continued to regurgitate heavily into her bedside bucket, his hand resting upon her back while she purged herself of alcohol.

"Shit..." She cursed as spit dribbled down her chin.

"You drank way too much, you've been puking all throughout the gods damned night." Thrynn scolded. "We're going to rest until you feel strong enough to take on the pass, any later than noon and we're waiting another night-"

"No, let's go. Right now." Isobel threw Thrynn's hand off her and stood up, only to wobble on her weak legs. She wavered, and Thrynn caught her before she could fall.

His touch didn't feel right. She didn't know if it was her drunkenness or if his tenderness but it felt wrong, and when she looked up into Thrynn's hazel eyes she didn't even know what expression he was making at her.

All she knew was that she needed Falkreath. She needed any piece of Brynjolf she could find.


It still hurt, like a festering wound that wouldn't stop throbbing.

And like a loose tooth Brynjolf was always conscience of it, if it wasn't consuming his thoughts entirely it was still nagging him at the back of his mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything. Even small talk was difficult without messing up his sentences.

Naturally, Mercer was beyond furious that Isobel had escaped without a trace, and Brynjolf was raked over the coals constantly about letting her get away. The crate was ready by Mercer's desk, the Black-Briars had finally come around and said they would only rekindle their relationship with the Guild if the Imp was brought forward and if they could remain audience as she was packaged and shipped away.

But nobody knew where Isobel went, she was completely gone. Vex continuously scavenged the Ratways, the juniors looked for her above ground, Mercer had spoken with Vipir and tried to squeeze information out of him but even he had no idea where she went.

And as much as it hated it, Brynjolf was worried sick about her too.

He kept asking himself over and over again if he was too harsh, if he was being too prideful. But then he'd remember Isobel's past, her wanton "experiments" and abortions, her lack of apology and regret, and he felt rejustified... and empty. Regardless, he made sure his frown didn't falter, that his teeth didn't unclench. He wanted to reaffirm to all that he was still furious at the Imp and not already faltering.

He merely went through the motions of his day, assigning jobs and missions, briefing with the seniors, and scouting above ground to size up any new folk or shipments in the blustery streets of Riften. He had to avoid the well, the orphanage, the docks by the fishery, any of the Black-Briars or Maul, anywhere where he could see the rocky shores of Lake Honrich where they had taken a few strolls upon.

They, of course, meaning himself and Isobel.

It was constant, all the time, the hurt.

"Boy, we need to talk." Delvin shook Brynjolf, who had fallen asleep atop the Ragged Flagon's bar. "Ya know bloody well about, so just spit it out and it'll save time."

Brynjolf had no idea what time it was, Vekel was gone but the fire that had cooked the night's meal was still going.

"Wake up." Delvin nudged Brynjolf forcefully with his boot before seating himself on the bar stool beside him, still sitting facing the haggard Nord. "I've let ya mope 'round long enough."

"Not right now, Delv."

"Ya bet your pecker it's gonna be right now." Delvin crossed his arms, staring at Brynjolf sternly. "Don't ya dare insult me and claim ya ain't know nothin', I'm not stupid Brynjolf. I know what Isobel meant, and still means, to ya." Brynjolf grimaced at the name, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. "You're fond of her, hm?"

"No matter what I tell you Delvin, you won't accept any other answer than the one you conjured up in your head." Brynjolf growled. "Don't mock my intelligence either, I was aware you were pushing us together, sending me to Whiterun with her even though the job wasn't for me... asking me to look for books in the training room when you knew she was there."

"Aye, cause I saw all the good things she was doin' to ya." Delvin scoffed. "Makin' ya truly smile without that charmin' facade, makin' ya chit-chat 'bout things other than work, makin' ya feel a type of lust that I've never been able to read off ya in-"

"Shut up." Brynjolf snapped, and the Breton stopped, waiting for him to continue. It was a few solid minutes until Brynjolf finally broke and spoke again. "I was just another man to her...I wasn't anything special..."

Delvin burst into a fit of wheezing laughs, completely ruining the somber mood. When he didn't stop it only infuriated Brynjolf more and caused him to scowl.

"Oh... Brynjolf, what am I gonna do with ya." Delvin finally managed to speake, his words still accompanied by coughing chuckles that portrayed his true age. "Someone of your talents should be able to see the girl was mad for ya." It was Brynjolf's turn to laugh harshly.

"Like when she slept with another man immediately after she kissed me and-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, you two kissed?" Delvin sat up straighter, and Brynjolf painfully regretted his slip up. "Ya pushed her away, didn't ya?"

"How could I not?"

They were silent yet again, both lost in their own thoughts. The fire behind the bar was still crackling lively, the ever continuous ambiance of sewer water still rippled around them, and the polluted air that plagued Delvin's lungs for decades caused him to cough again. And despite all these sounds Brynjolf had never felt a silence so heavy and pressing. It seemed to stretch on for eternity until Delvin nudged Brynjolf to continue.

"Why would ya? You two were peas in pod, and you're hardly a man to let-"

"It's not like I wanted to! I just can't handle someone with as big a history as her..."

"And what sort of history is she draggin' 'round?" Delvin rubbed his head impatiently, irritated with the red-head's constant need of encouragement. "If it's of the more base variety, might I point out that ya have more than a couple notches in your belt?"

"Nay. It's not the same." Brynjolf shook his head. "She's slept with other women, with multiple people at once, even did it for coin..."

"Do ya honestly feel disgusted at that? As if any of the ladies you've picked up in every tavern across Skyrim were any better. What's different 'bout Isobel that condemns her and not them?"

"Because all those other ladies never knew me!" This time Brynjolf's voice had raised loud enough to create an echo. He quickly turned around and scanned the Flagon around them, praying no one was still hanging around. He couldn't see anybody, but he still felt beyond paranoid and ran his hand through his hair anxiously. "After everything life has taught me I still was played by a woman!" He tried to be quieter, but what he strained to keep a whisper came out more like a snarl. "I thought she gave a shit about me, and she didn't!"

"Did she seem that way the other night?" Delvin asked. Brynjolf's head snapped to him, shock on his face.

"Were you there?" He asked, but Delvin merely scoffed in bemusement.

"It crossed my mind to follow ya, but my sneakin' days are long gone boy, ya could hear my old bones crack a league away. Still, it don't take summonin' Hermaeus Mora to figure out you two more than likely had a confrontation. This is where she told ya all her secrets, hm? And I'm guessin' ya told her 'bout your dear mum and 'bout Gallus and-"

Brynjolf slammed his fist on the weak wood of the bar top.

"Brynjolf! For Oblivion's sake stop actin' like a fool!" Delvin shouted to match Brynjolf's growing temper. "Can't ya remember what Isobel was like before all this? Can't ya remember all those trainin' sessions were she fought ya no matter how many times ya beat her down, or the look on her face when she gave ya Ulfric's amulet...?"

Brynjolf did remember. He could never forget those bright eyes staring up at him in hope of praise and triumph, her thrilled voice saying "Brynjolf, look what I got for you..." Then he remembered the way they laughed and cackled on her bed like children later that same night.

Then it was that fleeting moment in the bath room, where Isobel healed herself after Goldenglow and the tender way she wiped his cheek. Then it was her obvious and very active jealousy in Whiterun, and the sad look on her face as she finally let him go and have a night with Ysolda. Then it was her talk of love by the camp fire, her genuine but not intrusive curiosity about him, her healing his sore legs...

And then the way she braced to protect him from the thundering Thu'um...

"Fine Delvin, fine! I was fond of her, I'm still fond of her!"" Brynjolf finally cracked. He had never said such a heavy statement in his entire life. Even the words felt physically heavy, like his tongue had to work substantially harder to push them up and out of his mouth. "Even though she's so young, even though she's going to leave Skyrim, even after what happened to Gallus... I still was touched by her in a way no other woman has before, and I was too weak to fight it off..."

"You're still fightin' it pretty damn strong if ya ask me." Delvin said quietly.

"It's not like I don't want her back, but after the other night... I can't get these images out of my head of her doing all those things." Brynjolf put his face in his hands, as if to block out whatever visuals of vulgar sex and carnal pleasure were plaguing his mind. "I'm not sure I could ever kiss her again knowing all the places her mouth as been."

"Ya have no bloody idea how irritatin' and excitin' it is hearin' the Bedroom Bandit say that." Delvin was smiling slightly, as if Brynjolf's hypocritical statement was actually a healthy, profound confession. "So why do ya feel that way? Do ya honestly still feel she doesn't see ya in a way she hasn't with other men and women...?"

Brynjolf shook his head, the fog in his mind gradually lifting as he finally acknowledged that Isobel was beyond being genuine when she sobbed to him that she hadn't felt anything like him before. The realization made him feel panicked and ashamed.

"Well what then, are ya intimidated by her or somethin'? Thinkin' she's done more than ya or whatnot?"

"Nay, I just have no idea why a lass like her would ever choose me... I'm an old thief with no real lust for life anymore, I can't give her all the things she's done before... what in Oblivion does she see in me?"

Delvin sighed deeply.

"Brynjolf, I've know ya since ya were a stupid, beaten down young man. I was there when ya read your first sentence, I was there when ya picked your first pocket, when ya won your first spar against Mercer. And I was unfortunate enough to walk into your first... sexual debut." Brynjolf had to fight hard to keep a smile creeping up on his face, but the memory was too unforgettable and bizarre to not release a few snickers. Delvin took pride in finally being able to crack the red-head's moroseness before he continued on slowly.

"And I was also there when ya struggled with the insecurities your mother ingrained into ya, I was there when ya had to deal with killing your first man, and we both mourned Gallus together." Delvin put a strong hand on Brynjolf's broad shoulder. "You're the closest thing I'll ever get to a son, and I'll be fucked if I let ya make the same mistakes I have..."

There was a sadness in those words, and an utterly perplexed Brynjolf saw shadows of rue and remorse flicker in the depths of the old man's eyes. It took yet another long moment for Brynjolf to remember Delvin's softness for Vex.

Everyone had a penchant for Vex, she was gorgeous, talented and tough. Brynjolf had his time with her himself, along with a lot of men that knew her when she wasn't the broken veteran she was today. Brynjolf had forgotten about how her sense of humor was dry and sarcastic, how her laugh was more of a snigger, how she still held an aggressive code for looking out for her own.

And Delvin had fallen hard for her, harder than the rest of the boys. Even when she slept with myriad another men, even when she blatantly and rudely rejected him, he never gave up.

And it wasn't until one night that a wounded and furious Vex stumbled into Riften that she finally saw Delvin's true care for her. He must've said something right as he bandaged her and had the thief she was sharing a job with "taken care of" after violently setting her up for a lifetime sentence in the Castle Dour dungeons, for the two shared a room at the Bee and Barb that night.

Brynjolf never knew what actually happened between them, but as soon as they returned to the cistern in the morning the two rarely spoke to each other, and Delvin had ceased all his efforts to court her.

"What happened that night, Delv? Between you and Vex?"

"We woke up." Delvin shrugged glumly. "We woke up in the morning and I saw how... pure, she looked?" He ended in a question, although asking Brynjolf if "pure" was an appropriate adjective for Vex. Which it wasn't. "I mean, I knew she was like me in my prime... well actually I was a lot worse, and I could see all the things she had yet to experience and see. She was so young and I wanted somethin' with more commitment. If we continued a relationship, I would tie her down. And it would only result in my heart gettin' broken... so instead I broke hers."

Delvin leaned in closer to Brynjolf, speaking in a hushed tone.

"The biggest sham I've ever told in my entire deceitful, dishonest shoddy life, was the time I lied and told the woman I treasured that I didn't share her feelings of love..."

"I'm sorry, Delvin. I... Why didn't you seek her out again after you realized your were wrong?" Brynjolf swallowed, the whole tale was getting him emotional. He cared for both Vex and Delvin, and to finally know the truth of what happened that night well so long ago was heart wrenching.

"I was too proud and embarrassed to confess to her the truth of my actions. Eventually it became too late, she had already moved on." Delvin brushed his hand, as if the try and whisk away the mist forming in his eyes. "You have no idea how bloody tortuous it is watchin' her wilt away and become cold, and bein' too much of a coward to reach out to her again."

"Well by the gods, Delvin. Go back to her-"

"Men of our kind so rarely experience love Brynjolf, and rarer still know how to handle it." Delvin cut in. "We know how to lie, cheat and steal, not how to be honest and faithful to another human. Why, that goes against our very being, our very instinct. So I know exactly how all these... emotions feel wrong and foreign, they feel unnatural. But you of all people Brynjolf, deserve love. And that's the honest truth."

"A feeling that causes heartbreak, vulnerability and murder... Aye, I definitely deserve that."

"I don't blame ya for feelin' that way, Bryn. You've seen some awful shite, and I won't deny a large majority of relationships end that way, even the murder part. I was in the Dark Brotherhood for awhile, remember?" Delvin actually chuckled, his previous sadness disappearing concerningly fast. "Lovers killed each other all the time. But at the same time, the current leader of the Brotherhood is married. Her and her husband, assassins carryin' out the deeds of Sithis, actually took part of a Maran ritual and made a promise to the Goddess of Love and-" Delvin had burst out laughing again, as if the concept was downright hilarious. It was odd really, a couple who knew the darker sides of love and passion more than anyone going ahead and making vows.

"Ya said ya don't understand how someone like Isobel could ever see somethin' in your naff, borin' old ass? That she should be out with other debasers and lechers? Well, maybe she ain't lookin' for that anymore... maybe she's lookin' for a Brynjolf."