Delphine is growing tired of waiting, and they're running out of time. Surely the Dragonborn would have found it by now. There is the off-chance that the Greybeards won't send them there so soon, but Delphine doubts that's the case. She knows they would want to keep their involvement minimal, despite their claims of upholding the honor of their predecessors. Pacifists to a fault. She only hopes the Dragonborn has more steel in their bones than them. They're supposed to have the blood of a dragon, after all.
A woman enters the tavern then—one whom Delphine recognizes immediately. Did Farengar send her after me? Her mind goes to the tablet tucked away in the hidden basement. Farengar was not happy that she refused to let him keep it. She resents any knowledge she is forced to give to the sniveling mage. He already knows too much, and Delphine's own knowledge is limited enough. And she was the one who retrieved it, so Farengar has no actual claim. But that doesn't mean he won't try to take it.
Delphine watches as she slowly makes her way to the counter, eyeing the room and patrons with a dark gaze. She's clearly in no mood for talking, and everything about her screams danger. Delphine wonders how much of a problem she would be if she chose to start anything. Taking her out should be relatively easy, but it will have to be done quietly.
"What do you have to eat?"
"We've got some venison stew left, and maybe some cheese. As for drinks, I only serve water or milk this late."
"Stew and water are fine."
"How much stew do you want?" Delphine asks as politely as she's able.
"How much can you give me?
"I'll see what I can do," Delphine says, repressing a smirk. "Make yourself comfortable."
The woman didn't seem to recognize her. Maybe she's not here for her at all, or maybe she doesn't plan on doing anything yet. In any case, Delphine will stay alert. The woman sits at the table furthest from the other customers, and watches Delphine go to the back with a look in her eye that Delphine doesn't like. Delphine brings her a pitcher of water and a large bowl of the stew, tempted to spit in it, but nothing's been proven yet and she's not that unprofessional. The woman pokes at her food tentatively at first, before scarfing it down like a starving dog. She's never seen someone eat so fast. When the woman finishes off her water just as quickly, Delphine returns to the table.
"Couldn't help but notice you scarf down your food. Are you sure you don't want anything else to eat?" She asks, mildly impressed.
"I'll be fine, but I am going to spend the night." The woman says, getting to her feet. "Do you have an attic room I could stay in?"
Delphine's jaw nearly drops. She's the Dragonborn?
"Is there a problem?"
"Well, we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left." Delphine says, before turning to go through the back.
"Don't I have to pay you first?"
"I'll return shortly. You can pay me then." The woman shrugs before heading into the room. Delphine quickly makes her way to Orgnar's room in the back, her head racing. And to think I was ready to kill her if I had to. Delphine thinks, laughing at herself. She was always told she was far too impulsive. Her heart squeezes at the memories of her former companions. After all those years of hiding from the Thalmor, she can finally act. She can finally avenge them, can finally do what they always dreamed of doing. She can restore the Blades to their former glory.
"Orgnar. I need you to man the front!" She shouts, banging on his door. "Can you hear me?"
"It's hard not to."
"Then go do it!" The door opens, and he pushes past her with an irritated glare. "Don't give me that look, I've been out there all day."
"You're the oen responsible for that." He calls out, before entering the dining hall. Delphine ignores him, and takes a moment to gather herself before heading into the Dragonborn's room. She's sitting at the chair, sharpening her sword.
"Damn it." She hears her say, and brings a finger to her mouth. "Knocking would have been nice." Delphine heistates at that, but she's not in the mood for apologizing.
"Come with me." She says, opening the wardrobe and heading down the stairs. This is it. The woman grumbles, but follows. "Close the door behind you." Delphine calls out when she makes it to the desk, and hears the sound of the latch. The woman makes it to the bottom of the steps. "Now we can talk."
"Where's the horn?" Delphine smirks. At least she knows how to get down to business.
"If I were planning on just handing it over to you, I'd have left it in the tomb," Delphine says, crossing her arms. "You still have some things to prove."
"What do you want then?"
"The Greybeards seem to think you're Dragonborn. I hope they're right."
"Are they usually not?" The woman asks, and Delphine wonders how loyal she is to them. She'll have to be careful about that in the future.
"Let's just say I have little faith in them. Our ideologies are vastly different."
"Get to the point" The woman says impatiently.
"I'll get to the point whenever I want, got it? I need to know if I can trust you before I tell you anything else." Delphine says, glaring. The woman seems to barely notice it.
"How do I know I can trust you?" She asks, and Delphine scoffs.
"If you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place. You'd already be dead if I didn't like the look of you." The woman only rolls her eyes, and it's all Delphine can do not to lash out at her again.
"Wouldn't that have made all of this pointless?"
"Only if you really were Dragonborn." Delphine pauses, waiting for a reaction. The woman doesn't say anything, only holds her gaze, so she continues. "And if you are, that means I've been looking for you… well, someone like you for a very long time and I'm actually trying to help you, so hear me out."
The woman crosses her arms. "Give me the horn first."Delphine narrows her eyes, about to say something, but is beaten to it "That is the only way you'll get me to cooperate. If you don't you can consider all your efforts to help me futile. I'll find another way to get the horn."
Delphine scoffs. "So you do have some backbone: surprising, considering the Greybeards like to snuff that out." Delphine goes to the chest, pushing it aside and taking the horn out of the wall before marching across the room and shoving it into her hands "Here. Take it, but I— Where are you going?" She asks as the woman turns and takes a step up the stairs.
"I had a job to do. I'll come back when I'm done."
"What? No, you can't!" The woman ignores her. "Wait," Delphine demands, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop. The woman glares at her. "Please. We'll be too late if we don't do it now."
"Do what?" The woman asks, yanking her arm from her grasp.
"Remember the job Farengar refused to give you?" The woman nods. "Well, we wanted to get the Dragonstone— a map of dragon burial sites. I assume you know the dragons are being resurrected, correct? Well, I've figured out the pattern. The one at Kynesgrove is next."
"Kynesgrove? That's days away."
"If my calculations are correct and we leave before dawn, we'll get there just in time… And once I see you absorb a dragon's soul, I'll tell you more of what I know."
"Alrigh, but if you try anything,—"
"The same goes for you."
The woman sighs. 'Then let's get this over with."
Ulfric set out as soon as he heard the news. Someone was spotted climbing the steps to High Hrothgar, and that someone has to be the Dragonborn. Ulfric doesn't know why else anyone would attempt such a thing this time of year. He's only attempting it because he's done it many times before, and he's not going to miss his chance. He knows that the Greybeards won't offer the Dragonborn much, and his past with them can now be used as an advantage.
He was young when he first went to train with them and to live a life of solitude, seclusion, and study for years. It was a dull life for a boy, but he was chosen. His father couldn't say no, not to an honor such as this. Being chosen by the Greybeards is far greater than any title that would have been bestowed on him. So he threw himself into it, learning faster and growing stronger than they could anticipate. They often told him he was their best student— that one day he would take Arngeir's place. He wanted nothing more— Ulfric scoffs at the thought. How could he have wanted anything else when that life was all he knew?
One day he couldn't help it. Ulfric escaped. There was a festival, one he remembered distantly of going to. It came by every year, and one year the temptation was too great. He met a girl, Laila. Ulfric smirks— there were many firsts that day. He got a taste of life and afterward hungered for it ever since. He would escape the mountain more often, would send notes with the deliverer and Laila was always ready to receive him.
It wasn't long till the Greybeards found out and tensions grew between them. Ulfric refused to stop leaving and they eventually gave in, but whenever they suspected he had left the next day his training was more intense and his list of chores would grow longer. He bore it to keep the peace, but he always knew it wouldn't last. Deep in his heart, he knew he no longer wanted that life. He would give it all up for Laila if he could. But he was chosen, so he had to stay.
Then the war came and everything changed.
"Your lust for this woman has corrupted you!"
"There is no corruption, only the truth! My eyes have been opened to a different life— a greater purpose, one that's more than growing old and dying on this mountain having done nothing that really matters! What's the point in all this training and power if I never get to use it!"
"Power does not mean privilege, my boy, it means responsibility!"
"I'm not talking about privilege! I'm talking about opportunity! We have the chance to help our fellow men. With us on the battlefield—"
"We aren't heroes, Ulfric. We can't win their fights for them; that is not our place! Your hunger for purpose has led you astray! Joining in the fight will not tame the fire of mer and men, you will only be fanning the flames!"
"And your passiveness has led you nowhere. I refuse to be a part of this— of nothing! Whether or not it goes up in flames, I will not stay here. I see now that there's no honor in it. "
"Are you truly speaking of honor, Ulfric, or glory?"
Both, Ulfric admits to himself, he wanted both. And he got neither. He returned to Skyrim a broken man. He couldn't live with himself for his failure— but he thought he could live with Laila, but she had already given herself away. He couldn't blame her. He was supposed to be dead, but he could blame the Empire. Their cowardice and passivity was responsible for this. The treaty was a sham— they knew it and still they had it signed. They were no better than the Greybeards, but there was nothing Ulfric could do about it. Nothing but wait and take the chance when it came. And it did, it—
Ulfric stops when he realizes where he is. He's made it. Just around the corner he will see High Hrothgar towering above him. He's not sure he's ready for that yet. Turning back is always an option— a poor one, but it's there. I am not a coward. He makes it around the bend.
Ulfric marvels at the sight for a moment, nostalgia hitting him in the chest. All those years here and all those years away— he doesn't know how to feel. But he does know how they will feel. He wonders for a moment if he should sneak in— he certainly knows many different ways. But no, he's better than that now. Bigger. He doesn't need to hide like a rat: he's more than that. He's the Bear of Markarth, Jarl of Windhelm. He'll use the front gate.
He pounds on the doors, knowing how hard of hearing they are . How fitting, he thinks, now that he knows their true disposition. These men would let thousands of men suffer and die for their own moral superiority— for the traditions and teachings of their fathers. They wouldn't even hear their cries. Part of him just wants to enter but knows that that will anger them more than his presence already will.
The door opens.
"What are you doing here?"
"You can't save us single-handedly, Brynjolf," Sapphire says, leaning against his desk.
Brynjolf sighs, hand tightening around his pen. The past few weeks have been nothing but work as Brynjolf does what he can to salvage what funds they have left. It's bad enough that they're already dangerously low on coin, but winter has always been harder on them. Usually, they'd have enough made from the rest of the year to get them through it without any major hiccups; now they will have to struggle to stay afloat.
"If I don't try to, who will?" he asks, defeated. The rest of the Guild were already getting lazy before winter came, save for a few, but a few isn't enough. Gallus would be so disappointed. All his work will be for nothing. "I will not stand by and watch the Guild fail," Brynjolf says, feeling his resolve strengthen. "Not when I can do something about it." I have to do something right. His eyes go to her for a moment, before returning to his paperwork. He was almost done.
"Be real," Sapphire says, taking the pen out of his hand and tossing it over her shoulder. Brynjolf gets to his feet, about to tell her off, but she silences him with a finger pressed against his lips. "What can you do about it? Everyone gave it their all, but we're still stuck at the bottom of the barrel!"
"Then what do you suggest I do, lass?"
"Me." Brynjolf lets out a surprised bark of laughter at her bluntness, and she takes a step closer, hand falling to his chest with a wicked look on her face. "I mean it. Take a break. Relieve your stress." She leans in close enough that their lips brush as she says, "Come back and reevaluate."
"Is this real advice or part of your attempt to seduce me?"
"Can't it be both? It has been a while."
Not just with you, Brynjolf thinks, wondering when the last time he had sex was. The past few weeks had him solely doing jobs, recruiting, and crunching numbers with Mercer who's decided to start taking even more of their funds to prepare for Solitude. He hasn't quite come to the decision yet, most of the others dislike the idea as much as Brynjolf. But Mercer always was cautious. And while he would gladly do for a roll in the sheets, he can't help but remember the last time Sapphire wanted to sleep with him.
"Only because you don't know how to share…" Brynjolf takes her hands, lifting them off his chest. "Do you know how hard it was to convince the poor lass to stay after you tried throwing her out? I still don't even know how you knew what room I was in."
"What can I say?" She pulls her hands out of his grasp and gives him a sultry smirk. "I'm greedy. You know that." Brynjolf smiles, no one would accuse Sapphire of being anything otherwise.
"Come back in an hour," he says, moving around her to retrieve his pen. "I need to finish this."
"Fine," Sapphire huffs, "but you'll have to make up for the time missed."
Brynjolf smirks as he watches her leave, then goes back to the desk, eyes fixed on the bottom drawer containing Krosa's things. If only I wasn't so stupid. Even if she didn't end up joining, she certainly would have made things more interesting. Her journal was interesting enough, though not very informative. Which fits her perfectly. He hasn't finished reading it yet— hasn't had the time or the motivation. There were even times where he's forgotten she even existed, he was so absorbed in what he was doing. Maybe he'd have forgotten completely if her stuff wasn't here to remind him she was ever here in the first place.
I wonder how she's doing. He doubts she'd be traveling across Skyrim in this weather if she's even still here at all. Not to mention the word of dragons plaguing the land. If Krosa wasn't going to leave before, that surely would have drawn her away.
It takes him only a few seconds to make up his mind, and he unlocks the drawer and pulls the book out. He rereads a few passages as he flips through the pages, trying to remember where he left off. A certain passage catches his eye, and his heart nearly jolts when he sees what's written.
'I defeated some bastard called the Butcher. I still can't believe the city officials did nothing about him. I got a lot of gold from it, way more than I should have. I think Ulfric was trying to bribe me. Arrogant bastard. I hope I never have to be in the same room as him again. Brynjolf can be trusted for the most part. He's an ass, but he's a helpful one.'
Brynjolf smirks, wondering what else she said about him. He skims through each passage as he goes back, trying to find her first entries after coming to Skyrim. He smiles as he imagines what she must have written about him then.
'Just got a job that will take me out of Cyrodiil. It's in Skyrim. I'm looking for a man named Brynjolf. The contractor told me he was a slippery one— flirtatious, crafty, and willing to do whatever it takes to survive. Ginger hair, green eyes, lilting accent. He lives in a city called Riften. I'm supposed to bring him to another city, Falkreath. Should be easy enough. It better not be as cold there as they say.'
'Don't ever go to Riften again, but if you do— HAELGA'S BUNKHOUSE IS NOT AN INN.'
Brynjolf stifles a laugh at that. So that's what she was talking about. Oh, how he wishes he was there to see how that went down. A feeling hits him then, and he has to put the journal down. She'd kill him if she knew he was reading this. But, Brynjolf reasons, I already started. There's no going back from that now, and if she ever found out it would be because she's talking to him. There's just one more thing I need to see. It doesn't take long to find what he's looking for, they were the last things she would have written about.
'Brynjolf asked me to join his guild again. This time I'm actually considering it, damn him. Should I accept his offer? I like him well enough, and he hasn't given me any reason to doubt his intentions. I'll have time to think about it in the ruins. I don't even know why I'm writing about this.'
'I don't know what Savos meant, and I still don't know why he gave me the amulet, but it saved my life. Maybe I need to talk to Tolfdir now that I know more about what it does. Savos would say it's cheating, but I find myself not caring. If only he weren't so secretive, what's even the point in being so cryptic?'
'I think I'm going to give him a chance. I hope I don't regret this."
This was a mistake. He tosses the journal back into the drawer, slamming it shut before resting his head in his hands. Brynjolf doesn't know what to feel. He hopes that Sapphire will return soon. If not, he may have to seek her out himself. Whatever he was working on can wait.
"I am here to see the Dragonborn," Ulfric states, only hesitating for a moment before answering. Part of him hoped the Dragonborn would be the one to greet him— not Arngeir.
"The Dragonborn has no interest in you or your war."
Ulfric glares. "Why should I believe you?"
"I assure you, I speak the truth. Those are the words of the Dragonborn."
"Are you sure you're not the ones who put them there?" Ulfric demands. It has only been a few weeks, but he knows from experience how persuasive they can be. They no doubt tried converting the Dragonborn's mind to their ways as effectively as they could. Only the Thalmor are better at it than they are.
"The Dragonborn has a mind of their own," Arngeir states, a trace of humor in his voice.
"And how is that any different from me?" Ulfric asks, watching as the humor fades, something tugging inside of him when it's replaced with anger.
"You and the Dragonborn walk different paths, my boy, and Fate favors the chosen."
Ulfric scoffs. "I was chosen by you once."
"I am not Fate, which is a good thing for I would have made a grave mistake."
"And the Dragonborn is your attempt to make up for this mistake of yours?" He scoffs again, taking a step closer, ready to barge in if Arngeir chooses to slam the door in his face. "I'm sure it was an opportunity you couldn't pass up."
"It is not opportunity I speak of, but duty. We always knew that one day we would train the Last Dragonborn. If you had stayed, you could have been a part of it. Alas—"
Ulfric doesn't have the patience for this. "Where is he?"
"He?" Arngier asks smugly, "Who are you speaking of?
"The Dragonborn. I will not leave until I talk to him."
"I'm afraid that isn't possible. The Dragonborn's training is complete, and has already been sent on their way," Arngeir states carefully, a secret hidden in his eyes.
"What?" Ulfric exclaims, taking a step forward. "It's only been a few weeks!"
"It was enough."
"You're setting him up for failure. Have your loyalties switched? Did that dragon of yours—"
"You're making a fool out of yourself, Ulfric. Your pride has blinded you, and soon it will destroy you."
"Is that a threat?
"It is only the truth— isn't that what you were seeking before all this happened? We have always spoken it— You may have seen a piece of it, convoluted it may be, but truth is truth, and it always remains the same."
In all those years training here, he has never known Arngeir to be a liar— bigoted, yes— but honest. He also had the penchant of knowing things he shouldn't. But there's still the chance that he will reveal something— or say something with a hidden meaning. He always loved to do that. Ulfric used to appreciate it when struggling with his studies, Arngeir used to have a soft spot for him; his carefully crafted words always a clue to what he was missing.
"You still haven't told me where the Dragonborn is."
"Yes, I know, I did that on purpose." Ulfric glares. "If only you were smarter. Perhaps you need another lesson on how to—"
"Enough of this. I don't need another lesson from you. I wasted my time coming here." Ulfric turns and starts walking away, not caring about anything Arngeir may be trying to tell him, but he hears Arngeir quietly say something just loud enough to reach Ulfric's ears:
"Yes, you did, and you have little of it left." Ulfric stiffens and whirls around to face him. He expects Arngier to look triumphant, but he just looks tired. And regretful. Ulfric does not want his pity.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he snarls.
"If you're not careful, son, the Dragonborn will be your end."
"You've made mistakes before, Arngeir. It's bound to happen again."
Ulfric states, his temper boiling over— humiliated and denied. He doesn't know why he tried. You were hoping for it to be different, for all that time with them to mean something. It was foolish. But at least now he knows the Dragonborn is out there— and maybe his time with the Greybeards was too brief to be converted to their ways. As he makes his way back down the mountain. He'll have his whole way back to figure out where the Dragonborn could be.
The world is white— covered in glittering snow that stings her eyes. Clouds cover the sun, only a few rays escaping the barricade, it's warmth not strong enough to reach her. The only bit of warmth comes from every exhale, quickly erased. The trees are bare, the river frozen through, and the only sound is the crunching of the snow with each step she takes. Mountains can be seen in the distance— a sight she used to marvel at— but now she's been up one of those mountains, and she knows what they're really like.
Krosa can't believe she's here again.
Fate is funny that way, I guess. She's been learning a lot about that. The Greybeards spoke of Fate as if it was a god they worshipped. Delphine would speak of it with dread. The inevitable is bound to happen, but where the Greybeards would stand by to let it pass, Delphine would try to fight it— wanting to forge her own path. Krosa doesn't know which way is best, but it's not like Fate really cares about what she thinks anyway. If it did, she wouldn't be here.
Riften is a place she never wanted to return to again. She can see it looming in the distance, a dark spot against the light. The first time she was here, she was humiliated, and the second time she was betrayed. The third time is bound to be worse if her luck is anything to go by. But it has to be done. Fate wouldn't have it any other way. I'll have to see him again.
"So, what would you like to drink, lass?" he asks once they enter the tavern.
"What are my options?" Krosa asks, having never drunk alcohol before. She was always too busy to try, and never saw a point in the expense. Everything in Cyrodiil was expensive, and despite men offering to buy her a drink before, she never wanted to around them. Brynjolf looks at her curiously a moment before answering her question.
"Well, I'm obligated to tell you to try Blackbriar Mead."
"Obligated?" she asks as he pulls out a chair for her to sit in.
"They're business partners of mine," he says, taking a seat next to her, their knees brushing.
"Is it any good?"
"That depends on your definition of good." His smirk has roguish charm written all over it, and Krosa wonders how many women he's seduced with it. "For you, lass, I would suggest the Spiced Wine. It's not the strongest of drinks, but the cinnamon gives it a pleasant, fiery taste. A perfect match for you, I believe. There is also, of course, the Mountain Berry Brew which is popular with the lasses, or the Nordic Mead, strong and hard to swallow… Everything else is something you've most likely seen before, or not worth mentioning."
Krosa knows what he's doing and nearly rolls her eyes. He must practice stuff like this all the time. Flirting was never her strong suit, but she has a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't even notice the difference. Krosa shrugs, pushing her knee slightly into his.
"Spiced Wine sounds good to me."
Krosa doesn't want to believe it. She studies his face, looking for a sign that he's telling the truth. Shouts can be heard, and Krosa knows the Alik'r are closing in. He hesitates, and Krosa has her answer. She lunges at him, pinning him against the wall, her sword against his throat.
"You have ten seconds to tell me where the nearest thieves' exit is. If you don't, I swear I'll kill you right here," she states, dreading what would happen if he challenges her to go through with it. That would be another sign that he may be telling the truth. Those who are telling the truth, in her experience, tend to do so. He doesn't do it. He caves, and again she's disappointed. She really has been betrayed.
Their previous interactions swirl in her mind, leaving her a nervous wreck. When Delphine first told her she would have to come here, it was just a distant worry— an annoyance— but now it's becoming a reality. She's here, right now, about to do it. Already she can hear the sounds of the city. The big, over-crowded, grimy, traitor-filled city.
Krosa's had nightmares about this place— reality mixed with fiction. She hoped the nightmares would go away by now— surely that damned Daedric prince has grown tired of tormenting her. Krosa knows she's tired of being tortured, but there's nothing she can do about it. There's nothing she can do about anything, apparently, except for dragon-killing.
Krosa arrives at the gate and hesitates.
You can't even face one man yet you expect to face Alduin? Ha! He'll tear you to pieces!
Krosa doesn't even know which dragon it is. They're all starting to sound the same. And it's only going to get worse. The Greybeards told her they should go away once she defeats Alduin, that they are connected to Alduin's life force since he resurrected them. If she died, their souls would be returned to him again and all her efforts would be pointless. That was another thing they made sure she knew— that her victory is not absolute. She will face Alduin, but she may lose.
Krosa grinds her teeth.
"Are you going to stand there all day?" a guard asks, startling her. She doesn't have all day. Delphine was insistent about finding Esbern quickly. And, while Krosa and Delphine tend to disagree on a lot of things, she can't help but agree that the quicker this is over with, the better. This Esbern guy better be alive.
"No. Sorry, I'm… lost in thought."
"Don't care. Just get in so I can close the gate."
Krosa enters the city.
Brynjolf lays there staring at the stone ceiling, feeling more relaxed than ever. I don't know why I ever stopped. I was just too distracted I guess. He forgot how good it felt. The bed dips as Sapphire rolls to get out of the bed and redress. Brynjolf follows suit.
"I can't remember the last time we used a bed," Sapphire says when she's finished.
"It's not my fault you're impatient." Sapphire only scoffs in reply. Brynjolf pulls on his shirt, turning to look at her. "Thank you, Sapphire. I needed that."
She smirks, walking over to him, caressing his face. "I didn't do it for you. You're not the only one stressed." She pats his cheek. "Don't take it too hard."
"Should I be flattered that you bestowed upon me the honor of satisfying your sexual desires?" Brynjolf retorts sarcastically, knowing full well she won't be satisfied for long. He wouldn't be surprised if she's been hopping from one person to the next— and isn't even done for today, as sex-starved as she is. Though, he's certainly in no position to judge.
"You were adequate at best."
Brynjolf barks out a laugh. "'Adequate?'"
She smirks again, but backs away. "If it makes you feel any better, the rest of the optionshere are less than adequate."
"I don't believe you, lass," he says, invading her space. Maybe he'll have to prove his competence to her again.
"You should."
"Oh really? Is that why you keep coming back for more?"
"I had a need. You were available, as always." Brynjolf resents that, true or not.
"Well," he says, taking a step back, "I hope I at least made it semi-enjoyable for you. You can see yourself out."
"Till next time."
"If there is a next time."
"There will be," she calls out from the hall, having left the door open.
Brynjolf sighs, about to close it and get back to work. Screw it, he thinks, walking out and locking the door behind. He's tired of being cooped up in here.
It's colder outside than it is in the Cistern, but it doesn't bother him at the moment. Brynjolf walks around the city, not having a destination in mind. He finds himself in the marketplace and sees that Rune is currently manning the stall. Brynjolf tells him to take a break, the day's almost over anyway, and Brynjolf needs to be doing something other than sitting at a desk.
Showing his face on the streets isn't the smartest thing to do right now, but there's nothing the guards can do to him until he does something wrong. Maven's made sure of that. Maven's also the only reason why they still have a market stall in the first place. After the guards' attempted raid, they were able to work something out. While both sides weren't entirely happy with it, it is what it is. Business isn't bustling; he's only able to sell a few potions here or there. Being in the fresh air is nice, but he's not enjoying it as much as he thought he would.
Someone comes up behind him, and he sighs, ready for another transaction. He puts down the crate, wondering if he should tell them he was in the middle of closing up, but the Guild needs every last septim. With that thought, he turns around opening his mouth to say something; the words escape him, swept away by the person before him. Krosa. Krosa. She looks at him with a steely gaze, guarded and ready for anything. But in her eyes lies a glint of hesitation and something that twists in his throat, something he can't name. She breaks the silence.
Author's note
Here it is! Please let me know what you think!