Chapter Four: Liberty
Maven Black-Briar was not a woman known for her patience. Though she could keep a seemingly calm exterior, everyone knew there were serious ramifications for not giving Maven exactly what she wanted exactly when she wanted it. Over the years, she had found, as long as others knew she would live up to her word, that the threat of pain was far better for keeping the little vermin in line than the feeling of pain and that dead bodies made for poor workers. She had just about perfected the art of intimidation and had the entire city of Riften wrapped around her pinkie finger. No one ever so much as dared breathe in her direction and scurried like rats away from her as she walked down the streets. As she sat in the Black-Briar Manor, drinking her tea and reading over her latest business contracts, she felt herself growing impatient.
It had been an infuriatingly bad year for the business woman. First, that swine, Aringoth, had crossed her by selling Goldenglow, an act that had inevitably cost him more than it had her. Now with this growing interest in Honningbrew Mead that had come out of nowhere, her sales figures had drastically dropped over the past couple years and she would not stand for this new competition. The previous night, she had sent word to Mercer that she needed assistance, but the woman she had requested was taking her sweet time getting around to meeting with her. Maven would have to remember to inform the thief of the error of her ways so she would not make this mistake again. Taking a sip from her tea to calm her nerves, she dabbed her mouth with a cloth and continued looking over her work.
Mercer Frey's little band of crooks would very well be the death of her. Over the years, they had been nothing but a headache and several grey hairs, and Maven was very close to cutting her losses with them. Then, she had heard word of a new recruit that had picked up the failings of the others, quickly climbing the ladder of the Guild. This, coupled with the work the woman had done with Goldenglow, had quite frankly impressed Maven. It had been so long since anyone within her ranks had shown any signs of competency, and this ambitious, young woman could prove to make a very powerful ally. Maven missed the days when she saw that same determined proficiency in Mercer. It had been Mercer who had convinced Maven to align herself with the guild in the first place.
The pair had met when they were both much younger. Mercer had just joined the ranks of the Guild, and Maven had recently started up her meadery. Both had an eye for opportunity and proved to make quite the formidable partnership. Over the next few years, she had grown quite fond of the thief, developing a strange admiration and respect she had never felt for anyone other than herself. Mercer had been everything Maven needed in an ally. Headstrong and resilient, he was able to converse with Maven on her level, but as a thief he could get his hands dirty while she played the role of the innocent business woman. When Gallus departed and Mercer seized control of the Thieves Guild, Maven had hoped that this would make them unstoppable, but sadly, Mercer's ability as a leader proved to be horribly disappointing. Though ruthlessly cunning and a brilliant thief, he simply did not have the planning skills and foresight necessary for the position.
After that, Maven's relationship with Mercer became strained to the point that she now only communicated with him through letters. As she realized that he was no more than the common rabble, her respect and admiration for him floundered, and the mere sight of him began to remind her of his wasted potential. The letdown of it all was heartbreaking, really. What she had found in Mercer was more than an ally. She had thought that he understood her, that he was so much more than what he turned out to be, but it made her stronger. Mercer had taught her that no one was more capable than she was and that others were only good for underlings and enemies. Though it was quite possible the girl would fail as all others did, even if this recruit proved not to be a bumbling idiot, she would still never be worthy of Maven's respect.
Pouring more tea into her cup, she heard the sound of the front door opening and muffled voices. Quiet footsteps made their way down the hall toward her study. Looking up, she saw Hemming enter the door frame.
"Mother, there's someone here to see you."
Behind him stood an unfamiliar Breton girl – if it even was a girl – who had no business being in Maven's house. Her face dirty and her body skeletal, she looked like she had just rolled out of the gutter with the rest of the riffraff in this town. She wore the traditional Thieves Guild armor. Maven narrowed her eyes and made a mental note to remind Mercer to be more thorough when choosing new members or he might just lose her as a client. Frowning, Maven looked back to her parchment.
"If you have a bounty on your head, I don't care. I am not going to fix it for you."
"Actually, I was told you had a job for me."
Shaking her head, Maven waved her off. Mercer clearly hadn't understood that when she expressly requested one of his subordinates, she wanted that specific one. This was not the ambitious young woman whom she had sent for. This was some street urchin that Brynjolf had sent as a half-witted joke.
"No, no. I wanted the other one, the one with the man's name. Sam, I think it was."
"Tom, and that's me."
Lifting her chin, Maven inspected the girl with a condescending glare. Though she tried to project confidence, this Tom girl had no presence and looked as if she might crumble over at any given second. Looking into the girl's eyes, Maven saw her fear and knew immediately what type of person she was dealing with. Maven had seen a thousand people just like this girl, and she knew before she died she would see a thousand more. They were weak, little children pretending to be someone important.
"Very well, then. Hemming, go make yourself scarce. Mother has business to attend to."
As her son left obediently, Maven took another sip from her tea and motioned for Tom to sit in the chair adjacent to her. Trying to hide her anxiety, she did as told and looked around the room feigning interest in the tapestries on the walls. She was so pathetic. Not a day older than Maven's own Ingun, the girl's dirt-covered face was so plain, nothing remarkable about it other than a few scars. This miserable excuse for a person just could not be the one she had heard so much about. Either that or the Guild was worse off than Maven had heard and this was the closest thing they had to hope.
"So, you're the one I've heard so much about. I was expecting you to be a little more – impressive."
"Brynjolf told me to come, and I did."
"Obedience? An admirable quality, but I've found it only useful for servants and house pets." – She took a calculated pause and watched the girl try to control the urge to squirm. – "So which are you, a servant or a house pet?"
"I don't follow."
"It's simple. A house pet follows its master out of blind loyalty. A servant reluctantly obeys its master out of fear, grumbling empty threats under its breath, but it does as told just the same."
"Sometimes servants rise up against their masters."
Her eyes quickly flickering up from her cup, the Nord woman's stomach quickly filled with a strange mix of anger and excitement. She kept her calm as she spoke.
"Was that a threat?"
Losing all sense of poise, the girl grew pale in fear and began to stammer.
"N-no. I'm so sorry. I w– I was just running my mouth."
It had been all too easy to put the girl in line. The muscles of her mouth tightened, and she began to pick methodically at the loose threads on her armor. As she took a breath, her brown eyes focused on the floor in order to avoid eye contact. Smirking to herself, Maven lifted her chin and looked down her nose at the girl.
"Well, then it would be best you keep it shut then, hm? Don't want you making a fool of yourself. Besides, we have business to discuss. There's this problem I have been having that has been a thorn in my side for far too long. I need you to go to Whiterun and speak to Mallus Maccius in The Bannered Mare. He will be able to fill you in on the details."
"Understood."
Standing up, Tom began to walk away, scurrying off like a frightened rabbit. Overcome with the satisfaction that came from the girl's unease, Maven set down her cup on the end table and let the girl get just a couple feet away before calling out to her.
"Oh, and Tom–"
Anxiously, the girl spun around as Maven straightened out her dress, an insincere smile on her lips.
"You never answered my question, but I know which one you are. You would do well to remember who is the servant and who is the master. Butcher this job, and you will regret it. Understand?"
. . .
"–I'm sorry, but do I know you?"
The gaunt-faced Imperial man had been explaining the job when he interrupted himself to ask this question. It had been a question she had been dreading. Since joining the guild, she had been required to make a few trips up to Whiterun, and every time she did, she wore her cowl in order to obscure the majority of her face. So far, no one had given her any trouble. The people who even noticed her presence ignored her in hopes that if they left her alone, the shady figure wouldn't cause them any trouble. This seemingly harmless question that this man – Mallus Maccius, Maven had called him – had asked her had been the one question she had been dreading, the reason she hid her face in Whiterun. He had recognized her.
She had to tread carefully. Bluntly denying any connection to him would draw suspicion and curiosity. Tilting her head, she feigned a pensive look and pretended to try to remember where she might know him from. Quickly, she snapped her fingers and leaned forward.
"Imperial City, 198? The Ivantus Ilarius performance on the steps of the White-Gold Tower? My hair was much longer then."
"Yeah! Damn, I think I had maybe just a pint too many that night."
Grinning to himself, Mallus leaned back in his chair, his tired eyes full of nostalgic longing for happier times. It had been an easy guess that he had attended that performance. The man was an Imperial and had that accent that marked him as someone who had grown up in Cyrodiil. Just about everyone in the country had gone to see the bard's performance, even some of the Emperor's family had been in attendance. Though Tom had been in the city at the time, she opted to miss the performance itself. The crowds of thousands of rowdy drunkards had packed into the tight area of the Palace district. They were so wild and unruly, but they still kept their smiles tight as they shouted song requests at a flustered Ivantus Ilarius. The guards had been on full alert for any suspicious behavior, but that didn't stop the shady dealers in the corners from peddling skooma to the concert-goers. Still, Tom hadn't wanted to risk being seen and had spent the night on the waterfront, listening to the low hum of the distant music and dull roar of the crowd.
As he snapped out of his memories, Mallus shook his head and continued to explain the job. The owner of the meadery, a man by the name of Sabjorn, was holding a tasting for the Whiterun guard but had recently ran into a bit of trouble with a skeever infestation. She was to pose as a friendly passerby willing to help rid the meadery of a pest problem then dump the poison in a mead vat to rid Maven of her competition. It was all so underhanded, but Maven had made it perfectly clear that Tom had little say in the matter. Restlessly readjusting herself in her chair, she leaned forward.
"Why are you doing this?"
The man's mouth twitched, and he looked to his drink with his eyes full of emotion. There was a defeated look on his bony face. Tom knew that look well. This was a man who had been beaten down by his life and was desperate for a chance to get out.
"A while back I borrowed coin from Sabjorn. He's letting me work it off, but he's working me to the bone. I'm just his slave now. I have to do every nasty job he gives me." – He smiled. – "But if this goes well, not only is my debt gone, but Maven and I worked out a little deal. Sabjorn goes to jail, and you're looking at the new manager of the Black-Briar Meadery in Whiterun. I'll be set up for life."
A small smile on her lips, Tom stood up and grabbed her pack off the ground. "Then I guess I have work to do."
"I guess you do."
As she headed out for Honningbrew Meadery, she began to feel like she was no longer walking on her own free will, as if someone had tied her up and was dragging her along to a destination and she had given up on fighting them. Her thoughts turned to what Maven had said to her about servants and masters. After their conversation, she had headed back to the undercity in a dizzy huff, grumbling to herself about how she was no one's serving girl. Her erratic behavior had rightfully garnered a couple perplexed stares from her fellow thieves, but at the time she hadn't cared. She had felt so weak and powerless as if she had no choice in what she did, and that feeling had not left her since Riften. On the road to the meadery with the midday sun directly overhead in the nearly cloudless sky, she was hit with the urge to run and to keep running until she collapsed somewhere far, far away from all her responsibilities to Maven, to the Guild, to the world.
There must have been something about Whiterun that had that effect on her. Being in that city always made her feel trapped, and she would soon find herself struck with wanderlust. It made her feel so pathetic and cowardly as if she had asked to be the hero. She didn't want it. She had never wanted anything but freedom. That was why she had left Whiterun when that guard had pronounced her that awful, hideous word. It was why she had spent six months of her life wandering aimlessly from town to town in a winter wasteland, trying to find somewhere she could hide and not have to worry about soldiers and dragons and destiny. It was why she stayed in Riften after Brynjolf had told her that her debt was cleared. The Guild was supposed to be a chance for her to have a purpose. It was a place to be protected and be able to come and go as she pleased.
Brynjolf had promised her freedom if she just stuck a ring in a merchant's pocket, but the damned Nord had lied to her. He had tricked her into a gilded cage where she was just as trapped but with the added pain of knowing it was by her own damn choice. Worst of all, he had tricked her into trusting him and feeling safe in her new little prison. Now she was Maven Black-Briar's servant. That was why the woman's words had upset her so much, because it was true. If she ran now, Maven would have her tracked down for failing to do her assignment. She had no choice but to continue down the road to the meadery and follow through with the job. She told herself it was for Mallus. She was going to do this to free him of Sabjorn's hold on him, and then she was going to go back to Riften pack her things and leave. Brynjolf had promised she could leave whenever she wanted, and it was time to put that to the test. She would find out just how much he had lied to her.
Sometimes servants turn on their masters. The words had been an accident, an absentminded slip of the tongue, but they still held true. People got so comfortable in their little routines that they often forgot that the ones closest to them could just as easily betray as a stranger could. From familiarity came comfort, and comfort was the enemy of the watchful eye. Sometimes that was a superior who blinded by their power, didn't believe that their subordinates were capable of overthrowing them, but sometimes it was more tragic than that. More often than not, to use Maven's analogy, betrayal came from the master to the house pet. One person would be truly devoted to another, only to find that the other never saw them as anything more than an object, something to be possessed and used. True loyalty – the kind that came out of genuine care from both parties – was rare, and when it did happen, it was the purest thing in the world.
Tom thought about the Guild: Brynjolf, Vex, Niruin, Vipir, and all the rest. Over the past weeks, she had grown fond of certain members and started to take comfort in the confines of the cistern, which was always so absurdly loud and quiet at the same time. Still, she did not know if her guild mates truly felt as dedicated to each other as Brynjolf said they did. Family, he had called them that first night. She hated to admit it, but some days the Ratway really did feel like a home. Still, she couldn't believe that people whose lives revolved around dishonesty could really care enough put another's needs before their own. Tom knew she struggled with loyalty in the past, and she was the most dishonest person she knew. She had to leave the Guild before she got in too deep.
. . .
Brynjolf was on his way up to the market when he saw the Breton girl enter into the cistern. Word had arrived the previous night that she had been successful in taking Sabjorn out of business, something that had greatly pleased Maven. Even Mercer had cracked a smile at the news. As she walked toward her bed, she looked as tired as ever. There was something about her face that made it seem as if no amount of sleep would ever make her appear rested, like even if she slept for a month straight, she would still look just as exhausted as she did when she went to bed.
"How was the job, lass?"
Not bothering to look over at him, she knelt down in front of her chest and began to dig through it and set the contents out on the floor. Brynjolf walked over to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Curiously he watched her at work as she answered his question in a distracted tone.
"The usual. Did something underhanded, was nearly fried to a crisp by a madman, killed a bunch of skeevers – why is it always skeevers?"
"I don't know. Skyrim's been full of them so long as I can remember."
Tom didn't reply. Instead she focused on taking everything out of the chest. At first, it had just seemed like her usual bizarre behavior. Brynjolf had naturally assumed that she had decided to reorganize her possessions on some frenzied whim, but as she finished cleaning out the chest and started stuffing the objects strewn about the floor into that worn, old pack of hers, his smile began to fade.
"What are you doing, lass?"
"I'm leaving."
The curtness of her answer was what struck him the hardest. It felt like a jab to the gut that knocked him breathless. He had taken a risk with her, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. Since she hadn't botched anything, Mercer would most likely not blame him for her departure, but she still had proved to be a reliable asset for the Guild. Losing her could undo all the progress that had been made, and the Guild would slip back to barely making it by. He couldn't stop her from leaving. They had no contract. She was free to go whenever she pleased, but he didn't want her to go. There was simply too much at stake.
"Can I ask why?"
"Tell me something, Brynjolf. Why did you pay me for that first job?"
The question was a hard one to answer. If he lied to her and she found out the truth later, she would most definitely leave, but he also couldn't tell her the truth, that he had been lying to her from the beginning. Swallowing his pride, he opted for the truth and prayed to the gods he didn't believe in that she would be able to appreciate his honesty.
"I was never going to call the guards."
Immediately, she stopped packing. "You what?"
"That night when you picked my pocket, I had no intention of calling the guards on you. I just wanted you to do the job."
Slowly, she got on her feet. Her skinny legs were shaking as her face barely contained her inner rage. He hadn't seen her this emotional since that first night. Quickly grabbing a hold of herself, she covered her face with her hands and took a couple deep breaths. He readied himself for the impending explosion.
"Why?" The word came strangled out of her mouth in the most pitiful manner possible.
"I didn't think about it, lass. We were doing so poorly, and I saw you. I could tell you'd make an exceptional thief, but you wouldn't talk to me. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I didn't think."
Removing her hands from her face, she looked down at him with disgust. She bit down hard on her bottom lip and shook her head.
"You didn't think. I knew I couldn't trust you. You just wanted a new pet, didn't you? Well, I'm not your little protégée, I'm not your errand girl, and I'm certainly not your pet."
Stunned by this wild accusation, he just watched in silence as Tom dropped back down to her knees, scraping them against the stone, and began packing more hastily than before. Brynjolf tried to reason why in that messed up little head of hers she would come to believe he saw her that way. He had done his best to welcome her into the family. Before she had left, she seemed like she was finally beginning to warm up to everyone, but something must have happened in the past couple of days to make her change her mind this drastically. Finally he found himself able to move again and reached his hand out to her shoulder, but she instantly batted it away.
"Look lass, I'm sorry I lied to you. I'll make it up to you if you just stay."
"You said I could leave whenever I wanted."
"You can. I just – Look. I'd be lying if I said this was completely because I like you and don't want to see you go. Don't get me wrong, lass. I do like you, but I have to think about what's best for the Guild, and you are what's best for the Guild."
Pausing for a second, she tilted her head in that inquisitive way of hers.
"What do you mean?"
"We have been doing so much better ever since you showed up. Sure, it's not much better, but it's a start, and it's because of you. It might not mean much to Vex or Mercer or anyone else, but it means the world to me because this place is my home and these people are my family. Sure, I know Delvin steals Vex's underclothes, and Cynric and Niruin argue like an old married couple, and Sapphire snaps at everyone, and you are an irrational lunatic, but that doesn't mean I don't care for every single one of them. I want what's best for them, and if we don't start making coin, we're going to die out, and I can't let that happen. This is my home, and don't tell me you haven't started feeling like this is your home too."
It was Tom's turn to be dumbstruck now. Her mouth in a slight pout, she sat down on the ground, crossing her legs. There was an uncomfortable silence as she thought over his little tirade and unconsciously picked at the scabs on her lip. Finally, she lifted her chin and locked those wild brown eyes of hers with his blue.
"I'm still mad at you."
"Fair enough."
"I think I overreacted. Not about you lying, though. That was still a really shitty move on your part."
"I completely agree."
Sighing, she looked down at the ground. The way she hid her face from him gave a slight air of shame to her posture.
"You're right though. I am an irrational lunatic, and I'm not going to stop being irrational. Places feel like cages sometimes, and little things set me off. I know that probably sounds crazy, but it's how I get. I focus in on the stupidest things and convince myself they're true when there's no reason for it to be. The truth is this place has started to feel so much like home, and I think that scared me the most. I'm not used to having a place to stay and feel safe – Mara's grace, I must sound so pathetic."
"We all have our hang-ups. If you ask me, random bouts of irrationality sound like a lot better of a quirk than stealing women's knickers."
She gave a halfhearted laugh, still not looking him directly in the eye.
"I can't promise you that I'll stay, but I'm going to give it another month to see if I can adjust to this living situation. At the end of the month, I'll tell you my decision, but I swear if you lie to me one more time about something that directly affects me, I'm out of here. No discussion. No bargaining."
"That sounds more than fair."
"Good."
"Can I ask you something or are we not talking?"
"Oh no, I'm definitely not speaking with you for at least a week, but I will answer one question."
"What changed your mind about leaving?"
There was a pause as she bit her lip, more gently this time, and thought over her answer. For a second, Brynjolf thought she might not answer him.
"When I'm around other people, it's easier for me to realize when I'm being unreasonable. When you were talking about family, I don't know. I guess I believed you. Pretty stupid, considering I just found out you've done nothing but lie to me since we met."
"In my defense, you haven't exactly been honest with me either, Princess Fish."
"Shut up. You blackmailed me, bigger deal. What I'm trying to say is that maybe being here is good for me. Having people to talk to – a family. Maybe it will keep me from getting so damn paranoid all the time." – She paused. – "Now get off of my bed. I haven't slept since Niruin woke me up for that blasted hunting trip."
"I thought you weren't talking to me."
Smiling, she stood up and pushed against his shoulder. "That starts when I go to sleep. Now off."
Brynjolf faked a groan and stood up. "As you wish, lass."
. . .
Never had something as simple as city gates put such a warm feeling in her chest as the sight of gates to Riften did as the carriage neared the city after a particularly exhausting trip to Solitude. It frightened her how excited she was to see the city, but she quickly repressed her fears. It was still early in the day which meant Brynjolf would be in the market. It had been two weeks since the Honningbrew job and her subsequent breakdown in front of him. Unsurprisingly, she had kept true to her word about not speaking with him, though her threatening to not speak to someone was almost as inane as her threatening not to stab someone in the face. Still, since the incident, she had felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. She found herself smiling much easier and speaking up much more frequently, at least within the confines of the Ratway. Outside the Guild, she was still as much a nervous wreck as ever, but even slight progress was progress. Brynjolf would be so proud of her optimism.
The cart rolled to a stop, and Tom thanked the driver as she hopped off the back. Quickly making her way into the city and over to the relatively empty marketplace, she stopped in front of Brynjolf's stand pretending to check out his merchandise. As he noticed her excitement, the red-haired Nord smiled down at her and shook his head.
"Look who's back. What's got you all sunshine and butterflies?"
"Oh nothing, I just got back from pulling a double job in Solitude."
Playing coy, she leaned casually against the post of the stand and did her best not to smile. He raised his eyebrows in dull surprise.
"That doesn't sound all that exciting."
"Well, after I was done with the job, I decided to go do some freelance work."
Looking around cautiously, he lowered his voice and leaned in toward her. "What did you take?"
"Secrets." She brought her finger to her lip in a silencing gesture. "You'll find out soon enough."
Tapping his fingers against the wood of the stall, Brynjolf puckered his lips to the side and gave her a suspicious glare before shrugging his shoulders and standing back up straight.
"Fine. Look, it's been a slow day. Do you want to get lunch at The Bee and Barb before you go back to being sullen?"
After a simple nod of confirmation on her part, he packed away his counterfeit potions into a small bag, and they headed toward the inn. It had been a good two months since she last stepped foot in The Bee and Barb. She had been avoiding it out of shame, and the look Talen-Jei gave her as she and Brynjolf to a seat at the far table did nothing to help her guilt. Of course, Brynjolf, his face bored and uninterested, paid no attention to the Argonian man's hostility as he approached the table to take their orders.
"What do you two want?"
"Do you still make that Velvet Lachance?" Brynjolf asked. "Because if you do, I'll have that and a salmon steak."
"I'll just have some bread. Oh, and I have something for you."
Both Brynjolf and Talen-Jei looked surprised by this as Tom leaned down and began rummaging through her pack. Spotting the gems, she pulled them out and gently placed the three flawless amethysts in the Argonian's hand. Dumbstruck, he looked down at them and opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
"You told me about this awhile back ago. Sorry it took so long."
"Thank you."
As the Argonian walked off, Brynjolf gave Tom an incredulous look. "What was that about?"
Tom just shrugged and leaned back. Realizing she wasn't going to answer, Brynjolf began to tell her about some mishap Vipir the Fleet had managed to get himself into while she was away. Talen-Jei returned with their meals, and Tom began to pick off tiny pieces of the bread like a mouse. Looking up from his food, Brynjolf rolled his eyes at her.
"Is that really all you're eating?"
"I'm not that hungry."
"No wonder you're so skinny." – He paused. – "I have to ask. What's your story, lass?"
"My story?" she repeated the words distractedly. "I don't have a story."
"Everyone has a story, and I know everyone in the Guild's story except yours."
"You're telling me you know Vex's story."
"Aye, I surprisingly do. Now there's a tale for you."
Giving a small giggle, Tom shook her head. "What did I say about lying to me?"
"It's not a lie. She told me about a year back. I was just wondering what yours was."
Suddenly serious, she stopped picking at her bread and pursed her lips. Her story was a closely guarded secret that she had no intention of ever telling anyone. If anyone found out her history, they would know her cowardice. They turn her in to the authorities, and they would drag her back to Cyrodiil in chains – or worse yet, they would force her back into that terrible responsibility that had been thrust upon her. They would claim it was her destiny, dress her up like a hero, and set her off on her noble quest, and she inevitably would fail them like she had everyone else. It was better for everyone if she just remained a nameless stranger. If she laid low long enough, they would find another champion, a better one who was worth the glory and honor that came with the title.
Because of this, if Tom ever told anyone, she would have to trust them with her life. Brynjolf was a likeable enough man. It had been impossible to stay angry at him after her little fit that morning in the cistern. He had this charismatic air about him and a sly grin that could only match the charm of a fair-haired sailor she had known back in Cyrodiil. She had always been drawn to those who wielded cunning words like others would a sword, but almost all of them had led her into some less than savory situations. As charming as he was, Brynjolf seemed to be no exception. He toed the line between altruism and selfishness so much that it made it impossible to know if he was the perfect confidante or a master of manipulation, and she wondered if maybe he was both. Still, this man didn't have half her trust, and it took a lot more than that to hear her story.
"So Stormcloaks," she said, quickly changing the subject, "virtuous patriots fighting for their god and homeland or backwards hillfolk causing trouble for a racist, narcissistic murderer?"
"Great deflection lass," Brynjolf replied with a small chuckle. "I'm probably going to have to go with the second one."
"Really? You don't share your countrymen's steadfast belief in the will of Talos and Skyrim is for the Nords and all that?"
"Bah, that's just intolerant dribble masquerading itself as patriotism. To be honest, lass, while I have no love for the Empire either, I just don't feel that strongly toward my homeland, and I definitely don't care who worships what made-up gods. I'm a thief, not a politician, not a soldier, and certainly not a priest. There will be a people to steal from no matter who wins this war, and that's all I care about. The politics of others don't concern me."
Tom took solace in his indifference. It was rare these days to find someone who didn't have a strong opinion on everything. The world had grown too noisy, too full of opinions and strife. Maybe this shared apathy made them heartless, but it was nice to know someone felt the same. Brynjolf leaned back in his chair and made a face.
"I just wish someone would take care of the damned dragons flying about. They're getting closer and closer to Riften, and that does concern me."
With that, her comfort was gone as quickly as it had come. Leaving what was left of her bread on the table, she picked up her pack and stood up quickly. Brynjolf watched her with a puzzled look on his brow.
"Where you going in such a hurry?"
"I have to get back to Vex and Delvin. I'll see you later."
Clearly still puzzled, Brynjolf let it go with a small shrug. "All right."
Tom headed out the door in a bit of a rush and made her way down to the Ratway. Once she reached The Ragged Flagon, she felt her nerves ease as she found Delvin and Vex drinking at the bar. Tom threw her pack on a nearby table, and the noise caught their attention. A familiar smirk on her lips, Vex turned around and leaned her slender body back against the bar, arching her spine like a cat.
"Look what the skeevers dragged in. You bring me something shiny, girl?"
Pulling a ruby out of the pack, Tom tossed it to the Imperial woman. Catching it with ease, Vex's eyes lit up as she inspected the beautiful gem. Her smirk fading, her face instantly went back to her usual apathy. She pocketed the ruby and handed the Breton girl the gold due.
"I'm starting to think you're not as useless as you look."
By this point, Tom knew that was the closest Vex gave to a compliment. She stuck the coin purse in her pack as Delvin sauntered over to the table. Before he could say anything, Tom handed him the ring she'd picked from a noblewoman's pocket.
"There's a good girl." Delvin smiled and looked to see that Vex was out of earshot. "Don't mind Vex. She's just as impressed as I am."
"I know."
"So you got a thrilling tale for me?"
Continuing to rummage through her trusty sack, she tilted her head in thought as she pocketed her lockpicks and stuck her dagger in her boot. Delvin's questioning eyes watching her, Tom started to clear off the table to make room for what she was about to show him.
"Not necessarily a tale, but I think Mercer will be able to appreciate some of the things I stumbled upon in Solitude."
Once the table was cleared, she emptied a good portion of the contents of the old, leather pack onto it and began to sort out the polished jewelry and shining gems. There were a couple jewel-encrusted circlets in silver and gold, an enchanted sapphire necklace that glowed a pretty shade of green, and a good amount of assorted rings that varied in worth from simple silver bands to a particularly beautiful, gold diamond ring. The gems as well ranged from some cheap garnets to a pair of flawless diamonds. Astounded by the sheer amount of it all, Delvin's mouth hung slightly open as he brought his hand to his face.
"Shit, Tom. Did you raid every house in Solitude?"
"Nope, just one."
"Tell me you didn't steal from the Blue Palace."
Shaking her head, Tom held back a smile at his astonishment. "No, no. Nothing that gutsy, but I'm certain the cousin of the Emperor will heighten her security after this."
The old Breton began to stammer as he spotted a certain piece of jewelry on the table. With trembling hands, he picked up the diamond ring on the table and scrambled wildly over to Vex. Uncertain what was the matter, Tom took a couple cautious steps forward as Delvin held the ring in front of Vex's unimpressed face.
"Delvin, I'm not marrying you."
Delvin scoffed. "Please, as if I'd want to marry your smart mouth. Do you know what this is?"
Frowning, Vex carefully picked the golden band out of his shaking hand and examined it with great scrutiny. "It's an engagement ring. What of it?"
"Do you know whose engagement ring?"
"No."
Suddenly aware of what she had stolen, Tom stumbled back a few steps and collapsed down onto a nearby chair. It had been one thing to steal from the Emperor's cousin. She had anticipated finding a good amount of valuables, but nothing this monumental. When she had been rummaging through Vittoria's safe, she had figured the ring was just another piece of jewelry. Vittoria would certainly have been wearing her own damn engagement ring.
"It's Vittoria Vici's engagement ring given to her by our own dear Asgeir Snow-Shod. Do you have any idea how much this is worth? I heard he had it specially made just for her and spared no expense for his blushing bride to be."
Snapping her hand shut around the ring, Vex jerked her head toward Tom. The Imperial woman's face remained as stony as ever, but her cold eyes were wide with shock. Her hand firmly clasped around her mouth, Tom tried to remember how to think. There were so many thoughts swimming around in her head, but none of them made any sense. Regaining her poise, Vex slowly stepped toward where Tom was sitting and eyed the table full of jewelry.
"Delvin, go find Tonilia. We'll be needing her for the rest of this."
Obediently, Delvin went off searching for the fence. As she approached Tom, Vex's hand still tightly held the ring as if she feared opening it in the slightest would result in it being lost forever.
"Call me crazy, but it turns out you might actually be useful after all – if only by dumb luck. I'll hold onto this. It's not just something we can just sell to Tonilia like any other garbage we bring down here, so I can't pay you now. I'm going to go through some contacts see if we can find a buyer, but when I do, you're going to be a very rich woman. Keep this shit up, and things might actually start to change around here."
. . .
The dark house was quiet save for a few quiet snores from the Nord man as he lay deep in slumber, facing away from his wife. They were a sad picture of a loveless marriage. Everyone in Riften knew their story and looked on them with pity. They had been in love once, a long time ago, but money had spoiled the wife and she grew greedy with age. Her husband, on the other hand, had a charitable soul, always freely giving coin to beggars on the street and the orphans down in Honorhall. This dissatisfied his wife, and she began to resent his giving nature. Her bitterness led her into the arms of other men. The husband knew about it too, but he still kept a smile on his face as he walked through the town, going about his business as if nothing were wrong. The worst part of it all was he still loved her. The thief always felt a tinge of guilt whenever a contract required him to steal from the miserable couple. The wife, Nivenor, was a terrible shrew of a woman, but even though the husband knew he was in with the Guild he loathed so much, Bolli always treated the thief with respect out of basic human decency.
Still, Vex didn't take kindly to others turning down her jobs and would most likely snap his neck if he simply refused to do it so he quietly snuck toward the bedside table on which a shiny, golden jeweled horn sat waiting for the thief to snatch it. As he crept closer to the table, he heard a quiet mumble escape the Bosmer woman's lips, and he held his breath in fear. When it became evident that she wasn't going to wake, he continued toward the target, more cautiously than before. Carefully, he grabbed the horn and stuck it in his bag along with the flagon and candlestick he had already stolen from the first floor. Sighing softly, he turned and headed quietly toward the stairs. As he snuck down the stairs, the wood creaked loudly under his foot, and he heard stirring coming from the bedroom. His heart racing, he jumped off the side of the stairs with only a quiet thud of his feet as he landed on the floor below and instantly threw himself into skillful roll toward the door. Quickly, he turned the knob quietly and slipped out before he was discovered.
Once outside, he caught his breath with the fresh night air of early spring. A patrolling guard passed by and he clung to the shadows outside the house. As the guard passed him by without so much as a glance in his direction, the thief stood up and sauntered through the back alleys of Riften toward the cemetery behind the Temple of Mara. Walking by Riftweald Manor, he waved flippantly to Vald as he stood with his arms crossed at the gate, resembling an angry watchdog. The Nord snorted at the thief's passing, but thief paid him no mind as he grinned and continued on his way. Before he turned toward the secret entrance, he spotted a strange sight out of his peripheral vision. A small figure sat atop the stone walls of the city with its back to him. Though all he could see was its silhouette, he could discern from the dim glow of the moonlight the figure's familiar, short black hair and thin frame, and he recognized it immediately.
"Is that you, kid?" he called out.
The figure turned her head toward the thief. He couldn't see her expression, but her voice sounded pleasantly surprised by his presence.
"Yeah."
"Why are you up there?"
"Needed some air."
"And just how did you get up there?"
"Climbed. You should come up here. The view's beautiful."
Chuckling, the thief placed his hands on his hips and looked down. "I'm afraid I'm too old for that, girl."
"Says the man who taunted a bear."
With a slight nod of agreement, the Breton man thought it over and decided to throw all caution into the wind. He stepped toward the wall and placed his hands in the creases between the stone before looking up and calling back to the girl.
"I break my neck, and it's your fault."
"Deal."
Getting a proper footing, he began to scale the wall with great difficulty. He hadn't been lying when he said he was too old for this. Eventually, he managed to make it to the top after nearly losing his hold one too many times, and she held her hand out to him. Reluctantly, he took it, fearful that her small body wouldn't be able to support him and they would both go plummeting to the ground, but she turned out to be a bit stronger than she appeared as she pulled him on top of the wall. Breathless from the exertion, he sat down next to her, letting his legs dangle off the side of the stone wall, and he looked out over the horizon. She hadn't been kidding about the view. The bright stars were scattered across the black sky and twinkled in their little constellations. Above them, the nearly full moons dimly lit the forest that surrounded the city, and in the far distance, he could have sworn he saw the sky glow green.
Cynric turned his head back to Tom, who was gently smiling in perfect contentment as she looked out at the horizon. He hadn't seen her much in the past month. Since the hunting trip, she had been keeping herself busy working jobs and stealing priceless rings. Gods had that little stunt put every thief in the Guild to shame. After that, nearly everyone had started picking up more jobs just so they wouldn't look lazy and incompetent in comparison, but Tom didn't seem to have let the glory go to her head. In fact, modesty didn't even begin to cover how she had been handling it. She was downright embarrassed by the attention she'd been getting and seemed ill at ease whenever someone brought it up. There was a rumor going around that she was thinking of leaving, and he assumed that was the reason for her discomfort. He figured she didn't want to be the hero and then just disappear.
"Your husband was looking for you earlier," she told him. "Said something about you taking something – I don't know. He talks so much."
Grinning, Cynric pointed his finger at her. "Hey, let's get one thing straight. Niruin is not my husband. He's my wife."
"Noted."
"So where have you been all week?"
She rolled her eyes and bitterly muttered, "Markarth."
"Didn't go well, I take?"
"No, it was fine. I just hate that city. Too much corruption and Reachmen and mines and cannibals."
"Cannibals?" he repeated incredulously. It was wholly possible that this was another one of her strange little fictions, but she'd cut down on those ever since people stopped asking who she was.
"You really don't want to know."
His gaze turned toward the forest, and he scratched his jaw in thought. To be honest, he hated Markarth jobs as well, though he didn't have the same bizarre reasons. Knowing that the Cidhna Mine was waiting for him if he got caught was enough to send chills down his spine. Even though he knew he was good enough not to get caught, the terrible luck that followed the Guild as of late was hard to ignore. Plenty of Brynjolf's recruits before Tom had gotten themselves arrested, and even Vex was nearly sent to the dreaded Cidhna Mine itself about two years back after a particularly unfortunate mishap.
"I understand, I guess. Doing jobs in Markarth always keeps me on my toes. Always you know. Makes me shudder just thinking of that mine."
A confused look crossed her face before her eyes lit up in remembrance. "Oh, right. You have a thing about prisons, too."
"You ever spend time in a jail cell, kid?"
"Yeah, once. I don't know how you could make a career out of it."
"Well, I was never in there for more than a day or two. Never long enough to get the full flavor that comes from being stuck behind bars in some dungeon for three damn years with nothing to do but watch the guards smugly patrol by and listen to the other prisoners blather on and on about their supposed innocence or brag about who they had to kill to get in there. Then, every once in awhile the guards cart you out and beat on you for sport, but hey, at least that's a bit of a relief from the monotony, you know. I swear, looking back on it, it's a gods-damn miracle I came out with my sanity intact."
A distant look in her wild eyes, Tom nodded and bit her lip. Cynric considered asking her how long her sentence had been, but she would probably just deflect the question.
"So word is you're thinking of leaving."
"I didn't think Brynjolf would tell anyone."
"Eh, the way rumors travel 'round the Guild you'd think we were a band of old women knitting blankets and gossiping about the indecencies of the young folk these days."
Tom giggled slightly and put on her best old woman voice. "Did'ja hear? Vex caught Delvin watchin' her change again."
"That's nothin'. I heard Tonilia and Brynjolf were caught doin' the deed in the trainin' room. Vekel the Man's gonna be right pissed when he finds out."
"Wait, really?"
"You didn't know about that?"
"I don't keep up with the Guild gossip."
Cynric leaned back a bit, careful not to lose his balance. "I didn't either when I first joined up, but it becomes horribly entertaining after awhile, so long as it's not about you."
"Too late for that."
"Heh, true. You telling people things like that you were an Alik'r warrior and a priestess of Sanguine really didn't help you lay low." – He paused. – "So are you going to? Leave, I mean."
"I haven't decided yet."
"Can I ask why?"
It took her a second to reply. "It's so hard to stay in one place, especially one where I'm constantly surrounded by people."
That was a sentiment the Breton man was all too familiar with. It had been his entire personality in his younger years. Blinded by the stubbornness of youth, he had convinced himself other people would just tie him down, but as it always did, time had taught him the error of his ways. Tom didn't seem to be the cocky, self-assured type as he had been, but she was definitely on the same fruitless search for liberty, which unsurprising considering how much of his younger self he saw in her. Of course, he had never been as bizarre as she was, but there was something about her withdrawn nature that he could relate to.
"Want a piece of advice from an old man?"
"Sure."
"Stay. I know the idiots around these parts can be too much to handle sometimes, but it's better than being on your own. Trust me. I wasted too many years thinking I could take on the world. Total freedom's a pretty thought and all, but that's all it is, you know? An idea. You have to tie yourself to something or you're never going to make it in this world. You need people to back you up when things get hard."
Her mouth shut tight, Tom tilted her chin and rubbed the side of her brow. She sighed in defeat.
"I know. I know. It's just–"
"Boring as shit?"
"–Exhausting. Things have been going so well, but it's still so hard to believe that they'll continue going this way. What if the people I trust turn on me, or worse, leave?"
"Easy there, kid. No one's leaving any time soon. As for people turning on you, don't worry. Brynjolf and I got your back."
As he said that last sentence, he made a completely deadpan face as he softly punched his fist into his open palm in a mock threatening gesture. Tom smiled weakly and ran her hand through her hair. Cynric looked down at the ground beneath them, suddenly aware of how high up they were. He imagined Vex would be rather cross with him if he didn't get back to the Flagon soon. Getting up there had been a bit of a hassle, but going back down wouldn't be too difficult.
"Well, I need to get back to Vex. You coming?"
"Sure."
Carefully, the two Bretons began to descend down the wall. Once about eight feet from the ground, Cynric repelled himself from the stone and dropped to the ground with no more trouble than a slight twist in his ankle, which caused him to trip backwards and fall on his backside. Swearing quietly to himself, he brushed himself off and looked back up at Tom still clinging to the wall as she stared down at him with her eyes wide in shock.
"Are you completely mad?"
Standing up, he crossed his arms. "Just jump. It's not that far."
"Catch me?" There was a playful tone in her voice that he had not heard from her before, and he could have sworn he saw a smirk on her face.
"Fine."
Shrugging, Cynric uncrossed his arms and took a couple steps to about where he figured she would fall. Once he was in position, Tom let go of her hold on the stone and fell down toward him. Holding his arms out, he caught the tiny girl, who seemed honestly surprised by this judging by the dazed look on her face, and staggered a couple steps back to maintain his balance before set her down on the ground. Still impressed, Tom rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.
"I was not expecting that to work."
"With your fat ass, I wasn't either."
After making a face at him, she started toward the stone tomb that housed the hidden entrance to the cistern. Grinning, he followed her down the ladder and into the Ratway below.
. . .
On the twenty-ninth of First Seed, the day had started out like any other. Delvin had risen from his slumber half past noon with a revolting taste in his mouth and a throbbing headache. He'd gotten himself dressed, checked out Sapphire as she bent over to lace up her shoe, and stumbled into the tavern. He sat down at his usual table and cleared a space for him to lay his head down while he waited for his hangover to pass. After a couple minutes, he heard Vex sat down next to him. She only ever paid any attention to him when he was in pain. She was such a cruel little temptress.
"Rough night, Del?"
He didn't bother to raise his head. Instead, he just muttered, "I think I'm dying."
"Whatever. A letter came for you earlier. Don't worry. I didn't read it."
Delvin listened as she scooted back her chair and walked off. He waited a couple more minutes before sitting up and staring at the folded parchment Vex had left on the table. Slumping forward, he propped his head up with his fist and used his free hand to drag the letter closer to him. It was of nicer material than the usual torn notes he recieved, and there was some fancy, wax seal keeping it shut. Either Astrid was moving up in the world or this wasn't from his usual contacts. Groaning, he opened up the letter. It took a couple seconds for the words to come into focus, and even once they did, Delvin couldn't believe his eyes. There was simply no way this was happening. He must have still been drunk or dreaming. He reread the letter about four times before he set it down with shaking hands. He then instantly picked it back up and read it for a sixth time.
Delvin Mallory,
I have heard word that your organization is back on its feet and capable of fixing problems discreetly. I have also heard that one of your members – Tom, I believe the name was, though it could have been an alias – is rather skilled in handling such delicate matters. Regrettably, I have recently encountered a minor setback with a former business partner and have immediate need of your organization's services. If this Tom proves to be as talented as I've heard, I can easily foresee a long and lucrative partnership between us.
–Erikur
"Vex," he called out, "get Mercer. Get Mercer now."
Rolling her eyes, Vex sauntered out of the Flagon toward the cistern. She returned several minutes later with Mercer, whose face was slightly more agitated than usual.
"This better be good, Delvin. I'm a little busy at the moment."
Still stunned, Delvin simply handed Mercer the letter. As he read it, the guild master's furrowed brow slowly rose, and his eyes widened in astonishment. Over his shoulder, Vex read the note as well and pursed her lips, attempting to hide her emotions. Shaking his head, Mercer exhaled loudly and set the letter on the table. He distractedly patted Delvin on the shoulder as his lips formed an almost smile.
"Well, go find that girl of Brynjolf's and get her to Solitude as soon as possible."
Author's Notes: One: Tom, you are an irrational hypocrite, and I hate you. Two: I hate that moment when I'm writing a scene that's meant to set up a shared connection between two characters and establish a growing friendship and trust, and all I can think is "Oh, stop being cute and just get it on already." Then I have to remind myself that I'm not intending this to be a romance and I cannot write sloppy make-out scenes.