((6th of Evening Star/December, 4E 202))
[3rd Person POV]
The courier stared down at the rolled-up scroll, slightly curious about its contents as he handed it off. He quashed the urge to tell the blue-robed noble off just as he did each time he had to deliver a letter to him. Brynjolf was a surprisingly busy person for a charlatan, but the courier had no time to dwell on why. After all, he had more letters to deliver. With a wave and a smile, the courier started heading off on his way like he always did.
"Wait." He paused, curious as to why Brynjolf had stopped him. "Who gave you this letter?"
"I'm not sure, sir, but she did say that there was no need to reply." Brynjolf stared at the parchment before rolling his eyes and tossing it in his pack. With that, the courier was off on his way. After all, there were important deliveries to make, with no time for chatting.
...
That night, Brynjolf sat on his bed with a groan. The day hadn't turned a profit, and the Guild was looking worse every day. Although they'd gained a merchant in the Flagon from Russet's job with Erikur in Solitude, the merchant had vanished just a week ago, meaning more paperwork for Delvin and more fieldwork for Brynjolf to make up for the lost income. Although he wanted to retire for the night, there was always more to do and work to catch up on.
He started to unpack his supplies from the day, including the meager amount of coin he'd made. Bouncing it in his hand, he smiled sadly to himself when he recalled an interaction he'd had with Russet. He'd tricked her out of her coin, and she'd been utterly furious. She hadn't had much coin to begin with, probably less than the amount he held in his hand at the moment, but it was the time with her that he valued.
Shaking his head clear of the memory, Brynjolf put the pouch away and continued digging in his pack. He pulled out a wrinkled scroll, and for a moment, was confused as to why it was there before remembering it was an unexpected courier delivery. With a sigh, the red-haired Nord tucked it into his dresser with a few other letters he hadn't gotten around to reading. I'll take a look tomorrow morning, he reasoned with himself. With that, he blew out the candle and laid down to sleep.
...
((8th of Evening Star/December, 4E 202))
"Where is that damn record?" Brynjolf muttered to himself, flipping through the recordbooks he had in his room. To his annoyance, the loose sheet he was looking for was nowhere to be found. "I couldn't have put it into one of my drawers... did I?" His frustration rose. For over a month, he'd been misplacing sheets, forgetting crucial details, and botching jobs to the point of where he'd returned to the main square of Riften to make sales. The thought that he might have accidentally thrown out an important record weighed on his mind, and he started shuffling through his dressers for the paper in question. The top drawer remained stuck as he tugged at it, and he spat another curse as he yanked at the wood.
All at once, the dresser tipped over, breaking open the various drawers inside and sending the contents flying. Papers covered the formerly spotless floor. With a sigh, Brynjolf started to clean them up, taking cursory glances at each one as he flipped through them. He gave a sigh of relief when he managed to locate the missing record in the pile and set it on his desk to read at a later time. As it was, none of the various pages seemed particularly important.
That is, until he came across a wrinkled rolled-up scroll with the mark of the Guild's Shadowmark for DANGER.
Curiosity piqued, the Nord unrolled the scroll, eyes widening in shock as he read over the letter he'd previously disregarded.
Brynjolf,
I'm keeping my promise.
However short it was, it raised suspicions he hadn't known he harbored within him. Heart pounding, Brynjolf began to consider the various meanings of the letter. The fact that she'd used the mark to surreptitiously inform him of a threat was concerning enough, but there was also the possibility of the letter itself being some sort of trick by Karliah. Then again, how would that traitorous Dunmer She-Elf know about an event that had happened in secret? If the lass truly was alive, why hadn't she returned?
The questions pricked at Brynjolf's mind like a swarm of bees, impossible to ignore and each one with a barb that latched onto his consciousness. Pacing back and forth in his small room, the Nord realized he couldn't possibly leave things as they were. He had to find out why he'd received the letter, and why the warning had been drawn onto the page.
He snatched his black cloak from his dresser, intending to move on his own with speed and stealth. Clicking the clasp around his neck, Brynjolf strode into the Ragged Flagon with letter in hand. A few curious looks were given, but for the most part, he was ignored. However, he was not allowed to leave without a bit of contention.
"Brynjolf?" Straightening his back, the Nord put on a cool expression and turned to face the Guild's fence. "Where are you headed off to with such a big ol' frown?"
"I figured I'd go retrieve Russet's body," he said boldly, words only half-true. Snow Veil Sanctum might hold the answers he craved, but if Russet really was dead, he did want to bring her back for a proper burial. "She doesn't deserve to rot away in an ancient ruin like Gallus did."
Tonilia dipped her head solemnly. "Of course," she murmured. "But maybe when you see her corpse, you'll get your ass into gear and start acting like a proper member of the Thieves Guild again."
Brynjolf turned on his heel, black cape whirling out with the movement. "Thanks for the encouragement," he muttered darkly, pulling the hood over his head before striding away. He whispered to himself before opening the door, muscles tight with tension. "If that's what I find... Karliah will pay for the death of the lass."
...
((10th of Evening Star/December, 4E 202))
Brynjolf's feet sank into the snow as he stomped up the hill to Snow Veil Sanctum. Peering down into the stairwell, he noted that while the door was unlocked, the draugr within had likely recovered and were roaming around again. He was crazy, but not crazy enough to try to clear out an entire set of ruins on his own. Instead of braving the ancient ruins, he elected to search for a second way in.
A full hour passed as he scouted around, growing increasingly frustrated. Brynjolf felt he'd stuck his nose into every nook and cranny, and yet his search still yielded nothing. Perhaps I'm too close to the main entrance, he reasoned, deciding to widen his search area. It turned out to be the correct decision, as it wasn't long before he came across a curiosity he hadn't expected.
A campsite near the ruins, while appearing abandoned, had clearly been used recently, likely within the past day. Although there was no sign that it had been Russet's, he was desperate to connect the letter with any potential proof of her having made it out of Snow Veil Sanctum. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, kicking snow over the cold, dead fire.
He returned to his search, emerald eyes scanning the landscape. The sun had begun to set on Tamriel, and Brynjolf didn't want to have to wait to achieve his goal. Luckily enough for him, he didn't have to. Approximately two miles away from the entrance, he found a recently-used opening into what couldn't have been anything but the interior of Snow Veil Sanctum.
Pulling his cloak around his shoulders, Brynjolf lit his torch and walked purposefully into the ruins.
Carvings decorated the walls, but a large majority were broken and worn away by time. He suspected Karliah had escaped this way, along with Mercer when the latter had recuperated enough to move about. He considered the possibility that Russet had also traveled down the tunnel, and his heart began to beat faster in his chest. While the red-headed Nord didn't know what he'd find inside Snow Veil Sanctum, he prayed to whatever gods would listen that it wouldn't be her body.
At long last, Brynjolf found his way into the innermost room, a snow-covered grate at the top letting in the barest bits of dusk sunlight. Pulling back his hood, he began his search. Mercer had mentioned that Karliah's ambush had come from this very location, and so he remained on his guard as he walked around. An abandoned skeleton laid sadly below the grate, and though it was one of the dead, it felt like it didn't belong. A feeling of sorrow gripped him as he approached, recognizing the notable gear of a Guildmaster. Without a doubt, he'd stumbled across the remains of Gallus Desidenius.
Brynjolf pressed a hand to his chest mournfully, then stood back up with a new desire to fulfill his purpose. He couldn't let Russet decay into nothing within the cold stone walls. His bewilderment- and hope- grew as he searched every inch of the room for Russet's body. As he'd suspected, her corpse was nowhere to be found. What he did manage to locate was a pool of dark red blood, dried on the stone floor. He bent down and ran his fingers over it, the implications lifting a weight from his chest.
"She's alive," Brynjolf murmured in wonder. "By the gods, she's alive." A tingle went up his back, and he got the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Giving no sign that he was aware of someone else's presence, the Nord slowly placed his hand on the silver sword at his side. The feeling grew stronger, and without warning, he unsheathed his blade with a howl. It took him a moment to place the familiar face up ahead, but when he did, unfettered fury shook him to his core. "Karliah."
"Brynjolf," she replied softly, violet eyes wide in wonder. Although she had no weapon drawn, her hand was behind her back, ready to whip out her black ebony bow at a moment's notice. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Likewise," he growled, advancing on the Dark Elf female. She withdrew her bow in a second and nocked an arrow, pointing it at Brynjolf's forehead. He slowed his pace. "I'd have thought you'd moved on after you attacked Mercer and the lass."
"The lass... you mean Russet?"
Brynjolf lifted a brow. "So you bothered to learn her name, did you?"
"I heard Mercer say it when he stabbed her into the ground," replied Karliah evenly, her words thick with conviction.
Confusion settled into the Nord's head, but he quickly shook it out and held his sword up. "You lie," he hissed through his teeth. "Where is Russet?"
"That, I can't tell you."
A shock seemed to go through Brynjolf's body, but his hostility refused to fade. "Mercer told me what you did. Paralyzed her and watched her bleed out." He gestured to the dried-up pool of blood. "And then what? Moved her body?"
"Nursed her back to health." Karliah's voice became pleading. "You must trust me."
"I won't trust you worth a pile of pig spit!" the Nord spat, rolling his shoulders. "You killed the-" Brynjolf faltered for a moment, not sure where he'd been going with the sentence. "You killed Gallus."
Karliah's face twisted into an indiscernible emotion. "You won't listen to me yet, will you?" she said sadly, lowering her bow. "I'll be back with Russet at my side, and you'll listen to me then." The Dunmeri woman lifted something into the air and threw it into the ground, bringing a cloud of fog up around her. Brynjolf hacked away at the unexpected trick, eyes burning from whatever chemical had been used in the smoke bomb. When the fog cleared and he managed to breathe normally again, two thoughts stuck out in his head.
All the evidence he'd collected pointed to the fact that Russet was alive. Her physical state was unknown, but from both the letter and the absence of a corpse, he was tempted to believe Karliah that Russet lived and breathed. He could have jumped for joy and shouted in relief that Russet was out there somewhere, but he was given pause by Karliah's claim.
Russet may have been alive, but just as the evidence said his lass lived, it also showed with little doubt that she was working with Karliah.
...
((12th of Evening Star/December, 4E 202))
When Brynjolf returned to the Ragged Flagon, he was more than slightly upset. His thoughts had given him no respite on the return journey, and nothing made sense. He'd put together all the pieces in his head, and all together, they didn't paint a pretty picture.
Russet was alive, first and foremost. She should have returned home to him had she been capable, but for one reason or another, she hadn't. The letter he'd received detailed an event only she could have known of, but it also gave a nasty implication. She couldn't have been alive unless there was someone at her back.
With a groan of aggravation, Brynjolf threw his cloak haphazardly onto a table, intent on finding Mercer. If anyone could give him the answers, it had to be the last person to have seen her alive-besides Karliah, that is. "Where's Mercer?" he demanded of Vekel, receiving a surprised look before an answer.
"He's in his room. He's been staying in there more and more lately. I heard he's got some big heist planned." With a nod of thanks, Brynjolf's pace quickened as he headed for the cistern.
"Mercer!" Brynjolf called out, trying to keep his voice even. "Mercer! We need to talk."
The Guildmaster walked out of his room with a scowl. "What do you want, Brynjolf? I thought you were out bringing that wench's body back." Brynjolf's fingers curled into a fist.
"Her body wasn't there," he hissed, and the shock Mercer displayed was enough to convince him that he'd been convinced Russet was dead.
"She- she's alive?" Mercer rasped. Brynjolf thought he saw a flicker of fear in Mercer's eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be certain. "Is she with you?"
Brynjolf shook his head. "No, she's not." He dug Russet's letter out of his pocket, keeping it folded in his hands. "I received a letter from her last week. I set out to find out if it was really her, and when I reached Snow Veil Sanctum, there was no body but Gallus'." Mercer was dead silent, staring intently at his second-in-command. "However, I did find Karliah."
"And what did that murderous bitch tell you?"
Brynjolf clenched his fists, crinkling the letter. "She claimed she'd healed Russet and that they were working together." Mercer's face cleared of intensity.
"Did she, now?" Mercer scratched at his chin, clearly thinking hard about what Brynjolf had revealed.
"I told Karliah she was a liar, but the more I think about it..." Brynjolf hesitated, unwilling to consider the possibility that the Dunmer had been telling the truth.
"Hmm. Well, I wouldn't be surprised," Mercer huffed, coming out of his thinking daze. "Remember, I looked for Karliah for years and found no sign of her. This wench comes off the street and manages to locate her with ease in the course of a few months?" Brynjolf had to admit Mercer's deduction made sense. "I always knew something was off about her, but I have to say, even I didn't suspect she was working with Karliah."
Brynjolf furrowed his brows. "Didn't you say Russet pushed you out of the way to take an arrow?"
Mercer's mouth opened and closed for a moment. "I thought she did, at least. Perhaps Karliah had intended for me to be her target but missed her shot. If Karliah didn't have Russet working at her side, I doubt she would have nursed that irritable twit back to health."
Brynjolf tightened his jaw, the puzzle at last appearing clear. Russet, a traitor all along. "I should have known," the Nord murmured, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "I-" He straightened out and cleared his throat. "If you need me, I'll be in the training room."
Mercer eyed him for a bit before waving him off. "You go do that. It would seem, with Russet and Karliah working together to take down the Thieves Guild, that I have another problem to deal with."
Brynjolf didn't bother with a goodbye and stormed off to the training room, distress and doubt filling his mind. He unbuttoned his cuirass and threw it to the floor almost violently, slipping his blade from its sheath as he prepared to let his anger out. Not caring that the entirety of the Guild could hear his shouts, the Nord swung at the target dummies with immense strength. Sweat beaded every inch of his skin, but exhaustion refused to set in.
"I can't believe she'd do this to me," he growled. His swing slowed as his mind placed his lass in front of him instead of the target dummy, her sly smile as she blocked his blow, then pulled him in for a passionate kiss. His sword dropped to the ground, and all at once, the strength disappeared from his limbs. "How she must have laughed when I told her about Gallus, at seeing me so vulnerable... she lied to the Guild... and she lied to me."
Reinvigorated, Brynjolf rose to his feet, sword in hand. "Damn you, Russet!" He resumed his attack on the target dummies, ignoring the lone tear that trickled down his cheek. "May the gods show you mercy... because I sure as hell won't."
