I promise there's a legitimate chapter coming up, but, in the meantime, I couldn't resist a little one-on-one time between Mayenor and Brynjolf. So, please accept this short pseudo-chapter to hold you over until I get the next real chapter done.

(To those of you who are Brynjolf fangirls, like me, this is for you.)

topside

Mayenor leans against the railing of the balcony at the rear of her house, gazing across the lake with a furrowed brow. Below her, down the hill, she can see the altar that attracts necromancers almost weekly and thinks, for the umpteenth time, that she needs to remove the construct and ward the area against invaders. She gets tired of constantly fighting them off, but she suspects that Rayya enjoys the combat practice while Mayenor is off adventuring. Maybe if she didn't have the Redguard to depend on, she'd be more concerned about the wizards; with the house under Rayya's protection, though, she suspects nothing short of the apocalypse could enter the property unbidden.

Nothing, that is, except Brynjolf.

The thief is lounging against the railing nearby, but his back is turned to the lake; instead, his eyes are fixed on her. She recognizes the look in those eyes, and she yearns to let herself fall prey to the unguarded fondness that shines in his gaze. Divines know she's succumbed to it time and again, but that had been before Brynjolf used her to rid the Thieves' Guild of Mercer's poisonous influence, then dismissed her once her job was done.

"Are you going to ignore me all night, lass?" His voice is soft, and the lilting accent that sweetens his words sends a tingle of desire across her mind.

"Will you leave if I do?" Even to her ears, the retort lacks malice.

"You don't want me to leave," he hums, pushing away from the railing and closing the space between them. He positions himself next to her, so close their thighs share a feather-touch, and drapes a lean arm around her hips. Determinedly, she stares straight ahead, fighting her longing to melt into his embrace and let him have his way with her.

She hates the way he makes her feel. She knows that she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she knows that she has an instinct, a responsibility, to be in control of whatever situation she faces. But with Brynjolf's fingers whispering across her skin, she becomes putty in his skillful hands. He can make her do almost anything if he accompanies the request with secret kisses and breathy promises, and he knows it. He uses it to his advantage, and she resents him as much as she craves him.

"What are you even doing here?" She shrugs his arm away and moves from the railing, feeling a cold emptiness where he had been. "And how did you get in? I told Rayya to get new locks…"

"She did." Brynjolf chuckles. "Have you forgotten my profession so soon, lass?"

"I ordered extremely difficult locks," she snaps in response. "You may be able to pick normal locks, but these were designed by a thief to use against thieves. And I had Enthir get them enchanted at the College." Brynjolf nods.

"Aye, he and Vex did a good job. I would never have been able to pick them. Luckily, Vex keeps a key for every lock she encounters." Smirking, Brynjolf dips his fingers into a pocket in his armor, producing a small, bronze key. Mayenor scowls and lunges for it, but he lifts it out of her reach, taking advantage of her momentum by grabbing her tightly around the waist and pulling her up against him.

"Now, lass, why are you trying to keep me out? That ship sailed long ago…" His voice is a low rumble in her ears, and she feels chills spread down her arms.

"I only let friends have keys, and since you don't have time for me anymore…" She wrenches out of his grasp and glowers at him, trying not to notice that she sounds petulant and childish. Brynjolf sighs, lifting a hand to rub his temples.

"Is that why you haven't been home in so long? Lass, it's nothing personal. I've just had my hands full-"

"Full of a certain Dunmer!" Her shrill accusation surprises them both, and, for a moment, Brynjolf's calm demeanor slips into an expression of shock.

"Karliah? Lass, what we had ended decades ago, before she even went into hiding." Mayenor looks away from the redhead, and he lets out a long sigh. "I knew I shouldn't have told you about our relationship…" He steps over to her and takes a gentle hold of her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "That was a long time ago, Mayenor, and it barely meant anything then. She always loved Gallus; I was just a distraction when he didn't have time for her." Mayenor risks a glance toward him and sees that his lips are twisted into a wry smile. "Same as I am for you, if your friend down there is any indication."

It takes Mayenor a moment to realize that Brynjolf is referring to Vilkas; when she does, she nearly chokes on a laugh.

"Who, Vilkas? Don't be an idiot, Bryn. We only tolerate each other because there's gold in it for us."

"Aye, you may feel that way." His voice is serious. "But he does not." Mayenor resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"You're paranoid."

"I know men," he insists, frowning. "And I don't trust him."

"You know thieves," Mayenor corrects, shaking her head. "Vilkas isn't like you – like us. He's all about honor and loyalty. Your intentions may not be pure, but his are. If they even exist, which I doubt."

"My intentions?" A playful, wicked smirk flickers across his lips, and he steps toward her once more. She knows what's coming, but she can't bring herself to move away. "Intention suggests there's no guarantee I'll get what I want, and we both know you won't say no to me." He bends to kiss her, but she gathers her willpower and ducks away from him, heading for the door that leads back into the house. She turns the handle, then pauses and looks back at him, a slight frown shadowing her face in the orange light of dusk.

"I do what I please."