When they finally arrived back in Riften, it was raining. Veria didn't mind; it was a welcome suited to a city like Riften. She lowered her hood and let the rain wash the dust from her hair as they dismounted and secured their horses at the stable. Brynjolf tightened his cloak around himself. "Blast this rain," he said. "Let's get back to the Cistern and warm up with a mug of mead."
Veria merely grunted in response, and they trudged together through the back roads to the graveyard. They descended into the largest tomb, making sure to shut the lid behind them. They followed the dark, damp tunnel to the Cistern. Vex was counting septims in the tavern.
"Well, well, well," she said as they approached. "Back already? I told you it'd be too much for you."
Veria narrowed an eye at her and tossed her bag on the table. "Don't speak so soon, Vex."
The pale thief raised an eyebrow and rummaged through the bag, betraying not a thread of her icy disposition. However, after looking through the bag, she did say "I admit, this is impressive. I'll have this all fenced by tomorrow evening." She drew a small money pouch from her pocket and tossed to Veria, who caught it expertly. "A small reward for your trouble. You'll have a full cut of the profits when these rocks are sold."
Veria merely nodded and pocketed the money. A hand clapped itself to her shoulder and she rolled her eyes; she had forgotten he was there.
"The lass was a real professional," Brynjolf said. "She was in and out before anyone knew she was there. She might just be my go-to burglar from now on."
Vex rolled her eyes and said, "As if. There's still no one better than me at those kinds of jobs."
Veria shook her shoulder free and jabbed, "Don't you have anything better to do, Brynjolf? I've just about enough of you shadowing me."
He merely chuckled and said, "As it happens, I do have to talk with Mercer." He offered a casual salute. "Until next time, ladies." Neither Vex nor Veria offered any response as he turned and left the Ragged Flagon to the inner cistern.
Veria grunted in annoyance and poured herself a tall mug of wine from an unattended bottle. She drank, and Vex said, "How long are you going to let him follow you around?"
"Trust me, I tried to get rid of him. He's too stubborn."
"He'll just keep tailing you until you give him a straight answer." Veria raised an eyebrow, and Vex continued, "Come on. You must have noticed by now that he fancies you."
Veria groaned and took another drink of her wine, but hesitated with her response.
"Look," Vex said. "You can do whatever you want. I'm just letting you know, he's not going to give up easily."
Veria sighed and said, "Does this a lot, does he?"
"Actually, no. Not really. He's usually too occupied with Guild business to bother. Not like Delvin. That weasel is always on the prowl."
Veria's mouth curled into a slight half-smile. "You sound as if you speak from experience," she said.
Vex rolled her eyes and groaned with disgust. "Just keep an eye out when taking a bath, Wraith. Bastard has a habit of spying on me." She rose from her seat, the jewel-laden bag in hand. "I'm off to fence these. Go and have a good rest. You earned it."
The next morning, Brynjolf was pouring over a stack of parchment in the Cistern, discussing a job with Sapphire, a Nord woman who insisted on being called something silly in stead of a proper name. Their conversation was interrupted by a loud sneeze. Brynjolf looked up to find Wraith standing at the door, freshly awoken and looking like death.
"My Gods, Wraith," he jested. "You're actually looking like your namesake today! Are you ill?"
She shuffled into Cistern. Her skin was pale and her eyes were dark. Her stance was wavering and she stood with an exhausted slouch. "I'm fine," she growled, clenching her fists. She turned to ignore him and started heading towards the door to the Ragged Flagon.
Brynjolf felt fingers snapping in front of his face. "Brynjolf? Hello?" An annoyed Sapphire was waiting for him to respond. He gave her scolding look and handed her a scroll. She snatched it away and stormed off to do a simple job.
"Is it all women that find me bothersome," he mumbled, "or just the ones with aliases?"
Veria was sitting in the Flagon with the rest of her body draped over the table. She felt like death. There was no way she'd be able to take a job like this. She planted her palms on the table and sat up. She jumped in surprise when she found Brynjolf sitting across from her.
"Dammit, Brynjolf," she muttered.
"Are you ill?" He asked. She scowled at him and said in response, "I'm fine. None of your business."
"It is, actually. If a Guild member falls ill that's one less thief putting bread on the table."
"It's this damn place," she said. "Nothing but stinking water and damp walls. It's a miracle that everyone isn't ill."
Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. "Sure it wasn't the rain you were playing in yesterday?"
Veria suddenly stood, "Shut it," she said. "I'll be fine by sundown." She turned and left without another word, passing through the Cistern to the secret entrance in the graveyard. Brynjolf didn't chase after her.
Veria secured a travel cloak around her shoulders and tightened an inventory belt around her waist. There was a potion recipe that could possibly cure this cold of hers. She had never tried using it for illness before, but with a few extra ingredients it might just do the trick.
Veria worked her way through the paltry forest surrounding Riften, slowly picking through the undergrowth for the herbs she needed. As she rummaged through a bush growing at the base of a birch tree, she caught a scent on the wind. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore it.
He must have noticed her sense him, because a moment later there came a hand from around the tree bearing a single sprig of lavender. "Looking for this?" He said.
She glared at him as he emerged from his hiding place. "I don't need lavender," she said curtly, not even sparing a glance in his direction.
"What are you looking for, then, Wraith?" He leaned against the tree trunk and twirled the flower between his hands.
"Nothing you can give me." She gave up on the shrubs and walked away. Brynjolf followed.
"Lass..." Veria spotted some wheat growing nearby and started to harvest it in handfuls. It was as if he wasn't even there. He watched as she spotted a nearby tree and wandered towards it. The dark brown bark was marred with pale claw marks.
He followed her, and lingered nearby. "You're not the first to hunger for me, Brynjolf," Veria said without looking up. "I became weary of men's thirst years ago."
"My, you are bitter," He said in an amused tone. "But no, that's not what I'm interested in." When she shot him an accusing look, he held up his hands in defeat. "That's not all I'm interested in."
Veria grunted in response. She wrapped her fingers around two fragments of bear claw that had been embedded into the dirt, and started on her way back to town. She barely had time to turn around before Brynolf caught her fist and held fast.
"Listen to me for a moment, please." He said. Veria was taken aback for a brief second and he didn't wait for her to recover her composure. "Anyone can see you're a beautiful woman," he said. "But there's more than that."
Veria narrowed her eyes, but offered no response.
"There's something about you," he continued. "I've seen it in your eyes since the day you tried to pick my pocket." His grip around her wrist tightened slightly. "It's as if you're barely alive."
Veria remained silent.
"Yours are the eyes of someone who's been to Oblivion and back." He glanced down to where his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Softening his grip a little, he searched for the right words. "Riften is often a final refuge for the downtrodden. But.. there's a shadow in your eyes I've never seen before."
She said blankly, "So what?"
Brynjolf sighed. "No one who joins the Thieves' Guild has a pretty past. We've all suffered, at one point or another. Being together, in this strange family of ours, helped us heal." He slid his hand to hers, and gently grasped her fingers. "Let me help you, too," he said. Veria scowled.
"What do you care, Brynjolf?" she said. "Does it really matter, so long as I fill the coffers?"
He paused, then said, "Of course it matters. I care about you, and I suppose...I just want to make you happy."
Veria grunted impatiently. "Are you in love with me, Brynjolf?"
He chuckled, "I wouldn't know, but..." he swept a loose lock of hair from his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. "Would you mind so much if I did?"
Veria suddenly felt as if she had received a punch in the chest. She had always been able to see past the lies men tell, but she couldn't help but be struck by Brynjolf's words. How could he possibly be so genuine? She tried to tell herself that he was lying, but she sensed no deceit from him.
She tried to speak, but no words came.
Before she could find something to say, he kissed her.
He didn't grab her or pull her closer. He simply leaned forward and pressed his lips onto hers. For single, long moment she let it sink in before finally placing a hand on his shoulder to gently push him away. He didn't resist or try to kiss her again. He released her hand, and waited.
Veria backed away a few steps, avoiding his gaze. Without saying anything, she turned and walked away.
She did not sense him following her, and was sure she was alone when she passed through the city gates. She kept walking past the midday crowd, past the graveyard and into the abandoned back streets. She didn't feel like going back to the Cistern. She didn't feel like doing anything, so she sunk to the ground and sat against the outer city wall. Veria sat in silence for a long moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She felt tired; it was just her cold getting to her, she thought. But something inside of her felt calm; a kind of calm she hadn't known in a long time. What was it, she wondered.
Just then, a door creaked loudly open nearby. Veria snapped out of her reverie and pressed into the stone wall. She spotted Mercer coming from one of the homes nearby and groaned inwardly. She did not want to deal with him, so she melted into the shadow of the wall and waited for him to leave. He didn't see her as he glanced around the area. Veria wondered why he was worried about being watched. When he saw no one, he turned and locked the door behind him. Veria watched him go, walking determinedly in the direction of the graveyard, his eyes occasionally darting side to side. Veria's eyes narrowed. He's hiding something, she thought.
It was surely one of the worst things she could do, but she couldn't help but feel that she needed to break into the guildmaster's house. She paced back and forth in front the back gate, staring at the home. Such a large house, she thought. It was one of the biggest in the city, surpassed only by the Blackbriar manor. What could he need such a large home for, she wondered. He's hardly ever there.
Without another thought she climbed over the fence and slid to the door. She listened closely; no one was inside. She was about to pick the lock when she suddenly thought better of it; Mercer was likely the type to have traps ready for foolish thieves. She pocketed her lock picks and slid into the shadow of the house. After some searching, she found a window she could open that was out of plain sight. Some fidgeting later, Veria slipped into the house and shut the window behind her.
The interior of Mercer's home was cold and dark. He clearly didn't spend much time there. After confirming that no one else was in the house with her, and there were no more traps waiting to be sprung, she searched. The upper level and main floor were fairly normal. There were plenty of minor loot stashes that she knew better than to touch, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. When she went to unlock the basement, she paused. A long chest had been placed right next to the trap door leading down. It looked as if it had been recently moved there, as if Mercer had placed it there temporarily.
She picked the lock easily despite its masterful craftsmanship. Inside was a plain scabbard wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it to find a plain sheath, but the hilt of the sword it held glimmered. Taking the weapon in her hands for a better look, she gently unsheathed the sword.
It was and Elvish glass blade in her hands. The sword caught what little light there was in the room and shattered it across its visage like starlight. The craftsmanship was unlike anything she'd ever seen. She could feel waves of icy air emanating from the blade, and occasionally a stray snowflake would appear and drift to the ground; it was enchanted.
This blade, she thought. Could it be Chillrend?"
Author's Note: I re-read this chapter recently and decided to make some light edits. I think it's better now.