AN: I'm posting this late because this chapter is PACKED with Roseleigha's backstory. I had to make sure I get everything perfect. This isn't exactly all of her past, though! It'll come chapter 9 (;

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim is property of Bethesda Softworks. I own nothing but Roseleigha. Thank you for allowing my words to have the privilege of your time.

The Seer and Her Thief, Chapter 7

The sun peeked around the Blue Palace of Solitude, threatening to spill into the home of the blind thief and her comrade staying as her guest. The guest of the house slept on the ground floor, while the woman stayed up all night struggling with the reality of her situation.

Brynjolf awoke in a cold sweat, his mistakes of the past haunting his sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling for a long while before he propped himself onto his arms, stretching and doing simple breathing exercises, during which he heard his stomach growl in hunger. He put on simple tunic and trousers and proceeded up the stairs into the dining area. He looked around the main floor to find it absent of another person.

She's probably still asleep, he thought. But he was completely wrong. He heard the falling of several books from the floor above him, trying to see what was happening from the open walls of the loft.

"Damn it all!" Roseleigha roared in frustration. He never thought she would be this angry at something other than a person.

"Something wrong, lass?" he called up to her.

She stayed silent for a while before saying, "Yes. Just get yourself some food. I'll be down there soon." He heard the closing of the bedroom door and allowed himself to wander up the stairs cautiously to see what had gotten his straight-faced partner to become angry.

He moved without a sound and picked up the books that had fallen to the floor. That must've been what she was pushing off the table, he noted. He took a moment to look inside the books to see what she was reading. He muttered the titles off to himself.

"On Stepping Lightly, A Dream of Sovngarde, Children of the Sky, Atlas of Dragons… Seems she's obsessed with Nordic legends, ruins, and dragons…" he paused for a second. "Wait, how can she even read?"

He went to softly knock on her door and was met with silence. "Roseleigha?" he asked, still no response. He softly opened the door to find her collapsed on the bed, face down, the steading breathing of an exhausted girl resonating inside of the room.

He sighed, amazed with her ability to fall into a deep sleep so fast after being furious not five minutes earlier. He leaned against the doorway, watching her continue her slumber for a while before he left to grab some breakfast and ale.

Brynjolf sat outside her door, looking over the books she must have spent all night reading while eating his venison and grilled leeks. He couldn't understand why she spent so much time the previous night absorbing all the knowledge of the books. One was about ancient Nordic ruins, which he understood, but the others were about dragons and their language, along with passages about Dragonborn. What is she doing with all this information? Is she just curious, or is she preparing for another dragon attack?

He laughed at himself, thinking about coming face-to-face with a dragon next to a blind woman. He had never seen her in battle, but he knew she could handle herself if she needed, possibly being on Mercer's level.

He was startled by the sudden opening of the door, closing the book in front of him. He stood up when Roseleigha walked out the door, stunned by what she was wearing. When he had checked on her a few hours ago, she was still in her armor. Now, she was in a large and loose men's tunic that flattered all of her womanly features beyond belief. He couldn't keep his mouth shut at her sexy look and his eyes absentmindedly wandered her form.

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't look at me like some woman selling herself on the street," she said shyly. She turned her head away but that didn't stop Brynjolf from seeing her cheeks turn pink. He smiled in a satisfying manner.

"Sorry, lass," he said. "But you can't expect to walk into a room with a man like that and not have his eyes all over you."

"Fair enough," she rushed back into her room, presumably to change, but he stuck his foot in the door in order to keep her from doing so.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I'm changing."

"Come on now, there's no need to be like that." He quickly smirked once an excuse came into his head. "Do you really think I'm that bad? We're here on business, not pleasure."

She pursed her lips and sighed, still avoiding eye contact. "I do think you're that bad, but I don't have anything more comfortable to wear." She led him into the eating area downstairs and sat down at the table.

He sat opposite of her, watching her relish in the horker meat and grilled leeks on her plate. Her figure was incredibly small, but the way she devoured the animal flesh in front of her made his blood go a bit cold.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, still looking down at her plate.

"You eat like a horse, lass," he replied with hesitation. To his surprise, she nodded and laughed.

"That's what my mum used to tell me. 'You'll never meet a man like your father if you act like that at the table!' I guess she never knew the man she married, because he couldn't give a skeever's ass about how a woman acted at the table."

Brynjolf smiled to know he got a glimpse into her past. "Your mother sounds like quite the woman." He stretched back in his chair and rested his head in the palms of his hand, interlocked at the base of his neck.

She stopped eating, staring emptily at the center of her now clean plate. "She was." Roseleigha excused herself from the table, not listening to his apologies as she walked back into her room.


Brynjolf stepped outside the house once the sun was starting to set, needing fresh air. The stuffy basement of the girl's house was getting to him. The whole area was full of enchanting and alchemy supplies whilst his room lied empty, save for a bed roll and some barrels. Once he closed the door to the front porch, he saw the figure of a woman sitting at the table set up over a beautiful view of where the Karth River meets the Sea of Ghosts.

"I'm surprised to see you out here enjoying the view, lass," he said as he sat across from her.

Her face continued to look outward to the ocean. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Why is that?" she asked.

"Really? You're blind. Blind people usually don't stare out into a beautiful view."

She smiled. "Have you not realized? I'm not blind, Bryn. Sure, I can't see with my eyes, but I use my senses. I see with my ears, my hands and my nose. I can see that you're sick of sleeping in the basement, you're annoyed we're still in Solitude, consistently wondering why I'm reading things about dragons and Nordic legends, and I see the dumbfounded look on your face right now." She locked her vacant eyes with his. "I'm just ask capable of seeing as you are. I don't need my eyes anymore."

Brynjolf didn't say anything in return for a while as the woman looked back to the ocean. He never thought about how much it must annoy her to be called blind; she could probably observe surroundings far better than he could even with his eyes. He took a moment to admire her strength and her incredibly adaptable brain. He knew she could make her way out of any situation and circumstance alive and make it seem like it was fun for her.

"I grew up here," she said, finally breaking the silence. "Right on the coast. I remember taking my little sisters out to see the sunset right around the lighthouse." Her eyes looked out to the coast with nostalgia.

"You have sisters?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled. "I had five. Just one brother though. I was the eldest, and he was born shortly after me. My sisters followed, obviously."

"How did you meet Rune?" Brynjolf finally asked the question that had been nagging at him for days.

"Are you still jealous?" she giggled in a way that made him blush slightly but also gave him a warm feeling inside.

"I'm not jealous, lass. Just curious."

"I'm sure you are!" she burst into laughter and rested her chin in her hand, looking into his eyes. He still couldn't get over how beautiful the solid milky white eyes she had were.

"My da found him off the shore, right down there," she began. "He was found from the wreckage of a sunken ship. None of us knew who he was or where he was from. Neither did he."

"So your father was the one who gave him the name 'Rune'?"

"Yes. Actually, my brother was obsessed with the little stone that was found in his pocket. He kept calling the boy 'Rune', and it kind of stuck with the rest of us. I'm glad he's decided to keep it."

"How old was he?"

Roseleigha thought for a moment, looking at her hands. "Perhaps 5 summers old? I can't say for sure since no one knows who he is or where he came from."

"Aye. Probably stupid question for me to ask." They both giggled, but turned serious quickly. "What happened to your folks?"

She paused, slowly turning back to the sea. "We were attacked. By bandits, to put it simply. Since we had a house alone around the coast, we were the only ones that suffered. Rune was at the college, looking into his past, thank the Divines. No one else made it out."

Silence fell over the two. Brynjolf was sure something had happened to this poor girl, but he never imagined her whole family was massacred. "Do you know who did it?"

She pitifully smiled, not looking at him. "Don't worry. I took care of it."

"It? You mean them?" he asked.

"Yeah… sure."

He didn't continue to press her on the matter, and once more, silence was lingering over them. He turned his attention to the ocean. This was the first time he had a moment to look out over the beautiful Sea of Ghosts, and being next to a woman with equal beauty and grace was beyond anything he had every experienced.

"Bryn?" Roseleigha spoke up very softly.

"What is it, lass?" he said, his heart fluttering lightly seeing her smile when he called her 'lass'.

"Can you tell me about the colors?"

He stared at her oddly. "Colors of what?"

Her smile grew. "I miss them, Bryn. Just tell me about the colors. I want to see them again, but I know I never will. Just tell me about the colors you see."

Taking in a deep breath at her painful confession, he did his best to describe the colors of the setting sun above the still ocean.


Another day passed as they recuperated and gathered supplies Roseleigha insisted on taking along. As far as Brynjolf was concerned, she was overpacking and worrying too much. How are we supposed to sneak in and out of this old abandoned tomb with so many things? he thought to himself more than once. It didn't matter how many times she told him it was more dangerous than Mercer led him to believe; those stories of draugr had to all be lies in order to keep kids from wandering near those places. Right?

Brynjolf was walking to the Solitude stables to tend to his horse. They were set to depart for Volskygge in the morning. He knew his horse would be better off with some pampering the night before going off to a nasty old tomb.

Blast that girl to Oblivion. What's her problem? Few days ago, she was complaining about Mercer not letting her run into Goldenglow, but here we are stuck in Solitude still waiting to get in and out of that damned ruin.

His thoughts were interrupted when the stables came into view. The dark-brown nightmarish beast called Shadowmere was being lovingly pet by the small figure of the blind girl his head was still raving about. He crouched down and silently approached them, attempting to listen on what she was telling the creature. Her voice was so soft that he had to strain his hearing to make out the words.

"You're going to need to do me another favor," she whispered. "I'm afraid he won't make it out alive. I can't let that happen. Remember Arnbjorn? We're going to have to do that again. He needs to make it back or Mercer will have my head. It won't be as long of a trip, but it's going to be even more important. Be strong for me, my old friend. Be strong for both of us." She inhaled a shaky breath, "I can't lose him like everyone else, not when I'm old enough and strong enough to save him."

Brynjolf felt his heart stop at her conversation with the horse. There's no way this could be as serious as she was describing to the horse. Who is Arnbjorn anyway? What happened to him?

The silent sniffles and figure of the woman wrapping her arms around the horse's neck were all he needed to see before he left the stables and swiftly made his way back to her manor in Solitude.