Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Let it surprise you.

Last time…

Once we're back outside I turn to my ragtag group of companions. "Guys, I think I might have a plan."

Chapter 41 – Concerning conmen

It takes no less than three distractions, two quick changes of which path we're creeping along, Lydia striking up a conversation with the gate guards and one very awkward climb over the old stone walls to smuggle Ondolemar into Whiterun without anyone noticing. It's the dead of night, and other than the crickets – which are probably amused at our silly antics – are good company to a Thalmor agent on the run.

When push comes to shove, Jarl Balgruuf supports the empire, even though he despises the Thalmor he might sell my friend out if he felt it necessary to protect his hold.

Breezehome is warm, cosy and stocked with enough food and money to last the two of my companions for quite some time. I leave Lydia with Ondolemar so that he doesn't have to show his face in public, and so that the elf has company that isn't out for his blood… and has orders to protect him, be it from political enemies or malevolent characters in general.

Walking out of the city, in comparison, is far easier, since the guards all know that I 'made a quick stop for some supplies, those bandits are real nuisances aren't they, had to drop my supplies right into the river -' and Rayya and I leave without encountering any unwelcome surprises.

Well, unwelcome in the traditional sense.

We're at the stables and Rayya woke the stablemaster to sell off one of the horses. The whinnying and neighing has the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge – I hate it when excessive noise is made at this time of night, and it's even worse since it's because of horses. Ugh.

The stable master at least seems happy about it, regardless of the hour.

After my Housecarl helps me climb up in front of her like I am a child, I decide to grace the night with my complaints.

I'm still tired and stressed and I really just want to sleep..? Is that too much to ask for? But noooo, instead here I am, sitting like some five-year-old child in front of my Housecarl on an Oblivion-damned horse.

"Rayya, in case it has escaped your notice, I do not. Like. Horses. They smell, they're annoying, and they cause me great pain. They're large and awkward and they run on what is essentially their fingertips Rayya these damn animals make no sense."

The horse beneath us neighs in protest and I give its dancing mane a vehement glare.

"I daresay it's more likely that you are merely too short to handle a standard horse here in Skyrim. You would do better with a pony, my Thane."

Did I detect humour? Is she laughing at my misfortune? As if it's my fault that people here are so ridiculously tall!

I give her a warning Look through half-lidded eyes, my lips pressed into a sardonic smile as we trot along the landscape. "I may be shorter, but I'm still your boss, aren't I?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, her scimitars poking me in my sides as she encourages the horse into an easy trot. "Whatever you say, my Thane."

For some reason, she seems a lot less… uptight than when Ondolemar was with our group. Wow, I wonder why that is, I muse sarcastically, resolutely keeping my eyes on the road.

I don't pick my friends on their faction. I know that there are good Stormcloaks amongst the xenophobic asses, and that there are good imperial soldiers amongst the Thalmor boot-licking Legion. It is only logical to assume that there are decent folk in every faction. Misguided folk, but good people, that is.

"You never did clarify what plan you had, my Thane, beyond using Breezehome as temporary shelter from the… for Lyonmelar." She catches herself, drawing some looks from the imperials we pass, the soldiers dragging a haggard-looking prisoner between them as they head in the general direction of Solitude.

I almost feel bad for the shabby-looking blonde man dressed in rags, if not for the pure hatred he aims at us – me, more specifically. "Look elsewhere, damn elf." He spits venomously, and Rayya steers the horse away from the small group immediately, lips pressed into a thin line of carefully controlled anger.

I frown, my hands briefly moving upwards to touch the tips of my too-pointed ears. "Don't let a beggar's words get to you, my Thane." I huff indignantly, not a little frustrated.

Speaking of good and bad apples in every faction…

"I do not understand it. I mean, I can grasp that there have always been skirmishes and wars between Mer and Men, but why can neither be content with what they have been given? The Snowmer back in the day would have been perfectly fine allowing the Akaviri people to settle in Skyrim – without going to war with them. War only breeds contempt and brings only death and misery. Why is it that elves and men have to start the same battles over and over again?"

Rayya is silent for a long time after I verbalise my questions, before shaking her head with a sigh, barely audible over the sound of hooves against stone and dirt.

"I… cannot answer that, my Thane. Though the Great War has fanned the flames of hatred between Men and Mer once again – it is what lead us to the civil war." I scowl darkly at the rocks around us.

"This whole civil war seems to be about who gets to own which patch of dirt, nevermind what the people living on it need."

If I ever get in a situation where Ulfric and general what's-his-name are in the same room, I WILL have some…words with them. But for now…I have more pressing issues. I am patient. Enough so that I can wait, at least, for an opportunity.

"The plan is to find a way into the Ratway. Then we get Esbern. I don't care where else we go, as long as I'm back in Solitude in, like, a week." I'm glad the woman doesn't ask why I am so hard-pressed to visit the wedding then.

Maybe I can talk to Marcurio when we're in Riften. I have to explain myself, somehow. And a short visit to Erandur can't hurt, can it?

Somehow, even the thought of speaking to the imperial mage has my nerves skyrocket, and I fidget uncomfortably atop the horse, which whinnies in agitation.

I nearly let out a groan of frustration at the damned creature below me, but I'm quite high above the ground and I don't want Rayya to push me off, so I settle for huffing quietly and going back to glaring at Skyrim's landscape, wondering what it will look like when Frostfall comes upon us.

I don't think I could handle the cold. It's biting enough as it is, even though I'm dressed warmly. Perhaps I should see to invest in a thicker cloak, since my own is ratty thanks to all that travelling.

When I'm in Solitude I can look. For now, I must play along with Delphine post haste… And find a way to deal with the Thieves Guild in the sewers without killing them all.

…

Movarth's coven stank worse. It doesn't make this little jaunt any more pleasant though.

I glance over my shoulder after we dispatch of an entire platoon of Skeevers, the dripping of water down stones, falling into the multitude of puddles of filth at our feet, and our heavy breathing the only discernible sounds. Straining my ears, I conclude that we're alone… for now.

"As I said earlier, you don't have to come along." I remind Rayya, who stands loyally behind me, her eyes teared up from the stench and her gag reflex working overtime at the amount of Skeevers, which she hates with a passion.

She could have gone to the inn while I solved this, honestly.

I almost feel sorry for her – Neither of us had planned to go sewer delving today, the sixteenth of Hearthfire, fighting oversized rats and lowlifes as we go.

What a day. It feels like I miss something about it though…

She shakes her head stubbornly, and I sigh, shaking my head even as I'm careful to only breathe through my mouth. "Alright then. We should be at that Flagon place soon."

"The Ragged Flagon, my Thane." She reminds me, readjusting her grip on the bloodied scimitars in her hand. I squint my eyes, trying to pierce the darkness ahead – it's almost impossible, the only sources of light come from the beacons and pits that the sorry excuses of people who live down here use to make food and warm themselves.

Opening yet another rusted, mould-covered door with a loud creak, I grit my teeth and pray to Sithis that this will be worth finding that Esbern guy.

When we finally, finally, get to a large open area, with plenty of light compared to the rest of the Ratway, I know we've struck metaphorical gold.

Several people are milling about, but they either don't know or don't care that Rayya and I are here. The smell of sewage is far more bearable, too, though it's still obvious just where we are, from the low ceilings in the passages to the water everywhere.

This place is disgusting, everything smells like shit. How can people LIVE like this?

I subtly check if all my coin purses are well-hidden, save for the obvious one dangling from my waist which only holds twenty coins. Pocket change compared to the fortunes I've stashed away at Breezehome and Hjerim. Though I still have over six hundred coins on my person just in case I suddenly need a lot of supplies, or want to hire a mercenary.

Exchanging a look with Rayya, who seems ill at ease amongst the thieves, I shrug.

Putting on a casual, indifferent mask, I make my way up the small wooden ramp, the small sign of 'Ragged Flagon' ensuring that I'm at least headed the right way – if not the most pleasant one.

As we move, several pairs of eyes swivel to us with an intense focus. Seizing us up. Deciding if we're good targets. Rayya is getting more looks than I – my dented and torn armour probably has them think I'm either dangerous or unable to afford repairs.

I hadn't thought that would ever work in my favour, though. I think, approaching the barkeep, since they're always a good point to start from.

I also see a familiar face – the man who approached me in the marketplace, over a year ago. He looks skinnier than I remember, gaunt face and deep rings under his eyes. Are things not looking good?

The bartender is grimy and sour-faced, and I already don't like his shifty eyes.

"You better have coin for your drink. There's no handouts here."

Ugh I'm not even five minutes in and I already want to bash heads.

I give him a raised eyebrow and my most disarming grin. "I hadn't expected such. But I'm not here for the drinks." His eyes narrow as I take place on a stool, Rayya protectively standing behind me, and I don't bother to look back to see if none of the thieves make a move.

Let it be a lesson for my dear Housecarl if she finds herself short on coin all of a sudden.

"I'm looking for someone." I continue without preamble, keeping my voice light and body language relaxed – like talking about the weather. Straight to the point is my best bet. "Old guy, hiding out here somewhere."

"Huh. Lots of old guys around. I don't really know if I can help." I give him my most deadpan stare. Sure you don't.

Leaning forwards, I rest my chin on my hand, eyes narrowing as the barkeep picks up a glass to clean. A nervous tick? The rag is filthy though, I doubt he can clean anything with that.

"Curious. My sources told me someone down in this dump might have more info for me. I even spared some coin to give to the man capable of giving me some answers. Pity it will just have to stay with me now, aye?"

Footsteps, fully muffled if not for the soppy sounds of boots against wet floors, come up behind me. Before Rayya can make a move to attack I turn around and grab her wrist to stop her scimitar from reaching the man from the marketplace whose name I never bothered to learn.

I shake my head cautiously at my Redguard Housecarl, not turning my gaze fully on her and still sensing her bristle. I narrow my eyes at the marketplace vendor… at the member of the Thieves Guild, I should say.

"Still trying to con people into buying that 'Falmer blood' concoction of yours?"

He huffs, eyeing me shrewdly. "Still going around facing those wretched things?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Aye. Unearthing ancient treasures seems to have become a new specialty of mine, and unfortunately, the damn things come with the job. But you don't strike me as a man who would approach without reason. What do you want?"

Enough of all this small talk – as far as I know the Thalmor are creeping around as we speak, and I did not come all the way here to find my target dead.

Also, didn't Astrid say we – the Dark Brotherhood had relations to the Thieves Guild? Will it play in my favour if I use the name? No. Too risky an approach.

"Why lad, so suspicious you are. We might even have use of someone like you."

Something in my mind screeches to a halt at the job offer. From a thief.

I just… Find myself giving him a blank stare for perhaps a split-second too long, as a knowing smirk grows on his face.

He knows that came out of nowhere, this bastard…

Smart. A small voice in the back of my mind pipes up, and I concede to it.

Regaining myself, I chuckle and shake my head, retrieving a handful of coins from one of my armour's hidden pockets.

"I'd take you up on that, but unfortunately I don't think Astrid would like it if I split my attentions even further than I already do. I'm a busy Mer. How about this? You give me my answers and I'll give you my coin."

I'm a fucking idiot. My mental voice chirps in an overly happy, slightly hysterical tone.

There we go. I dropped the 'name' after all. SECONDS after deciding it would be a bad idea.

Anything to avoid getting involved with thieves – even if it means publicly claiming I'm an assassin, instead.

The thieves that have surrounded us carefully while we spoke freeze at the blonde woman's name, not noticing my inner turmoil. Rayya only freezes, but stays mercifully silent.

I am in deep shit. Then again, lately, when haven't I been?

"A deal's a deal. The name's Brynjolf, in case your… family didn't tell you." He seems to avoid mentioning the Brotherhood, and for that, I am at least a little thankful.

I was so, so stupid to bring it up. Didn't I tell myself I wouldn't use the Brotherhood in this? I can handle myself without them. I have been doing it for months.

"But yeah, I bet I know your guy. He's hiding out in the Ratway Warrens. Paying us good coin for no-one to know about it. But keeping one of Astrid's from doing their job is a task I've long since given up on calling 'possible'. The Guild will stay out of your business once I've shown you the door."

He takes the coin, and it disappears faster than I can catch, not that I'll admit it.

Instead, I only nod, letting him bring Rayya and I to another unassuming door. "You pass through the Vaults. The Warrens are right ahead. If you see anything… unpleasant, the Guild would not mind if you took care of it."

I regard the thief coolly for a moment. "Of course." I drawl, not quite believing they're making me take care of their dirty work – which can be anything from Skeever infestations to lowlifes to Thalmor agents.

What a pain. For being known as headstrong folk, the people of Skyrim are terribly eager for someone to solve their problems FOR them. We pass through, leaving Brynjolf and the Ragged Flagon behind.

The door slams shut with an ominous clang.

Leaving me alone with a fuming Housecarl who turns dark eyes on me, lips drawn into a tight line and black fury in every square inch of her expression.

Well, shit.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! And no, this is not, in fact, the last thing we'll see of Brynjolf… You'll see.