A/N: I'm becoming increasingly aware that "Opheliac" by Emilie Autumn seems to suit Gaella fairly well at this point. At the end of this fic I'll be attaching 'Author's Notes' detailing all the tracks that fit, as well as the motifs, symbolism, and themes I'm attempting to employ in this piece. I'd also be happy to talk about them if anyone's interested. Just leave a comment and I'll message you. :)

Thank you to all of you for reading, it means a lot to me. :) Knowing that people enjoy my work makes writing this for you that much more amazing.

I've been so disillusioned
I know you'd take me back
But still I feign confusion
I couldn't be your friend
My world was too unstable
You might have seen the end...

"Opheliac", Emilie Autumn

He couldn't go through the main gates. He had no way to cover her, and in Stormcloak territory, she'd be recognized for sure.

So he went around the back, worrying more with every second because, every second, her grip on him was lessening. "Lass," He murmured, "Stay with me. Please. I can't have you dying in my care. I'd hang for sure." Hang if he was lucky. Likely they'd torture him to death. Ulfric was not known for his mercy.

"Yeah," She muttered, "Hang."

And then, he felt guilty for his selfishness. "...Besides. I don't want my newest apprentice dying on me. I'd be a crappy master, then, wouldn't I?"

She didn't answer, and he went from feeling worried to feeling awful. How could he be thinking of his own hide, first, at a time like this?

He urged the horse to go faster, and soon enough they came in through the back of the city. He took the horse as close as he could to the secret entrance to the guild without attracting attention. He'd take her down into the guild and cut up a blanket, covering her face and hair, and pass her off as his sister when they went to the temple.

"Lass. I'm going to get off now. Please fall towards me, if you can.."

"Stupid," She murmured into his back, which he took as a good sign.

He dismounted, and of course, she fell away from him. He belatedly wondered if she did it on purpose just to be a pain in the ass. Either way, he managed to grab onto her before she slipped off the horse and heft her over his shoulder.

"What about Mister Horse?"

"Lass, stop talking."

"But the horse..."

"Leave it alone!" Brynjolf was half tempted to shake her. "Keep your strength for staying conscious and alive until I can get you to the temple!"

"Why aren't we at the temple?"

"I can't carry you in there. You look too distinctive without cover." He tugged on the chain that would open the way to the back of the thieves' guild. He finally felt somewhat relieved, watching the door open. He hurried through the back rooms and dropped her on one of the beds, taking a spare knife from one of his pockets and starting to cut up the sheets to better hide her.

Damn, his daggers. He hoped that they would be there later when he went back to retrieve them.

"...Oy, Brynjolf. What's this?" Delvin asked from behind him. Brynjolf hadn't even noticed the Breton approaching; for a fat man, he was remarkably silent. That, of course, was the reason he was chosen to instruct the others in the art of stealth.

"What does it look like, Delvin?" He snapped, starting to wrap the strips of fabric around Gaella's hair and face. "She needs a damn temple healer, and I can't take her in there with her face showing.

"Did you sanitize those wounds?"

"Hell if I know. I just poured some potions on it like she told me to."

He had felt Gaella stiffen beneath him as soon as Delvin approached. Why? He would have to ask her later. But if she had enough strength to be nervous, then that was a good sign. A very good sign.

"Better to be sure. Hold on, I'll clean her up before you take her to the temple."

Delvin was gone before Brynjolf could tell him not to bother, though he supposed he would have noticed him leave if he was bothering to pay attention to the man right now.

"Lass," Brynjolf muttered, leaning down and sitting Gaella up, bracing her against the wall. "I'm sorry. We're going to need to take off the armor to get to your wounds."

"No..."

Gods, she sounded so weak. It broke his heart. "Yes," He said firmly, "I can't say you that no one's going to be having a look at you, but I will say this: no matter how pretty you are, I promise that they'll be looking at the killer wounds you have...likely they'll even draw more attention than your body would."

She didn't answer, and he sighed, taking her hand in his. "...Why are you nervous around Delvin? What is it about him that you don't like?"

But Delvin was back, too soon. "Nervous or not, this needs to be done. Now come on, get that armor off her."

Brynjolf reluctantly unzipped her armor, and because some things never changed, the first thought that came across his mind was, Why couldn't I be undressing her under more desirable circumstances?

Though,any thoughts in that direction were instantly derailed when he saw the extent of the wounds and her blood-streaked torso. "Gods," He exclaimed breathlessly, "I'm going to get a rag to clean her off."

Delvin nodded and started to ready the antiseptic and bandages. Brynjolf cut a few more strips of cloth off of the bedsheet and, without a better alternative, dunked them into the waters of the cistern. To his knowledge, the water was clean, and even if it wasn't-well, that was what the antiseptic and church healers were for. He hurriedly returned to her side, mopping up the blood as best he could.

He realized that he was right about her skin tone. Once he had cleared most of the blood away, he saw that beneath the armor her skin was a creamy pale. It looked so soft, and the wounds looked so...wrong on her body. But, do wounds ever look right? He sighed and tossed the blood-soaked rags to the side.

"Alright, beautiful. This is going to hurt."

Brynjolf took her hand in his, again. "You squeeze if it does." He wondered why Delvin felt it necessary to warn her. Most antiseptics hurt, but Gaella had been a soldier. She knew pain. The slight sting of an antiseptic would be nothing.

….Apparently, this wasn't just any antiseptic. Consequently, she was screaming and holding onto his hand so tight he feared she was breaking it.

If this is what it felt like to be saved, she didn't want to be saved. Death would be a blessed release from this pain. Originally, she had thought she was dying when she opened her eyes she saw only black for a few seconds. Her vision, even as the black slowly faded, was still blurry and out of focus. She barely registered something about an antiseptic on the corner of her awareness.

O, Agony.

She heard a scream, and she was barely even aware that it was hers. She didn't know anything, anymore. Not her name. Not where she was. Not how or why this man was hurting her.

It was too much for her to take, and unconsciousness took her like an anvil to the face.

"Gods, what did she get bitten by?" Delvin asked incredulously, "Look at how it's bubblin'."

Brynjolf was not interested in the fact that the antiseptic was bubbling in her wounds. He was interested in the fact that all of a sudden her grip had gone limp and he was able to pull his hand free. He flexed his hand, trying to get some feeling back into it (other than soreness). "Damn it, Delvin. Why was it hurting her that badly?"

"Why do you think I asked what bit her? It shouldn't."

"Well, the pain of it finally knocked her out. Something I had been hoping to avoid, by the way." He shot back crossly.

"Don't you start blaming me for this, Brynjolf."

Brynjolf rubbed his face. "Fine, fine. Sorry."

Delvin started to wrap her wounds tightly in bandages, as best he could. They were bleeding again, and making his job harder than it needed to be.

Brynjolf went and rifled around in the trunk at the edge of his bed until he found a spare shirt. He brought it back and, as soon as Delvin had finished wrapping Gaella's wounds, tugged it over her torso. The girl looked absolutely ridiculous, and that was going to solicit questions. But he didn't have time to think up a proper disguise. He had to get her help now. He was going to have to run all the way to the temple. He gathered her in his arms. "Thanks," He muttered, and started sprinting back towards the nearest exit.

"Don't mention it...really. Don't tell 'er it was me."

Brynjolf would have laughed any other time but this. He had nothing on his mind then but getting to temple before this girl died and damned them all.

...Before she died without telling him anything about her past.

He knew that in reality, it probably had been less than five minutes of travel when he finally arrived, but it had felt like five hours. His legs couldn't carry him fast enough. He burst through the temple gates.

"I need a healer! Please! My sister is dying!"

The priests were on him immediately. "What happened? She's so pale..."

"She got bitten by a dragon. She's lost so much blood, please..." He made sure his voice sounded strained- but he didn't have to try very hard, given the circumstances.

The priests ushered him toward the back of the temple, where he laid her upon the indicated table. When bidden, he lifted her shirt, showing the bloodstained bandages. He was unceremoniously shoved out of the way as prayers were shouted and healing spells began.

He almost lost his balance at the shove, but managed to stay standing. He moved back out of the way, watching the frenzy of priests swarm around her.

The week had been insane. Finding out about Mercer's betrayal had been daunting enough, and then on top of that, he had acquired an apprentice - but not just any apprentice! The dragonborn, who also happened to be engaged to Ulfric Stormcloak. And who, now, was mere inches from death.

"Don't die, lass," He said uselessly. "Please. I can't take any more this week."

He liked to think that if she were able, she would have offered him a helpful 'fuck you.'

It took hours.

"Wake up. Wake up, Brynjolf. I have good news." One of the priests was shaking him from his restless slumber.

He groaned, opening his eyes. He had been so exhausted that he had curled up on one of the other 'healing tables' and fallen asleep. He hadn't been able to do anything, anyway, might as well get some rest while he still could. "Tell me that's not a dream, lad. Tell me you said good news." He blinked a few times, throwing sleep off like a blanket and letting his eyes focus. The light filtering in from the windows indicated that it was late afternoon, now.

"I did! Your sister is going to be just fine, Brynjolf. It took us a long time, but Mother Mara heard our prayers and came to her aid. Praise be to Mara!"

Or was it Akatosh, he wondered, standing up. Wasn't Akatosh sometimes pictured as a dragon? Then surely, he thought, as he strode closer to his "sister," surely it had been Akatosh that helped the dragonborn live. "Thank you," He said, turning to face the priests and priestesses, and he didn't have to fake the sincerity in his voice in the slightest. "Thank you so much."

"Of course," said the head priestess, "These are hard times...see to it that you two take better care when traveling."

"Aye," Brynjolf said, and turned to gather the girl in his arms. "That we will."

"...Why is she wearing such strange garments upon her head?"

They had been so close to dodging that question...thankfully, he'd been ready, just in case. "She is very badly scarred. Our father wasn't the kindest man, and he did some nasty things before the law finally took him in."

The answer, just as he had planned, caused the holy crowd to fall silent and radiate quiet sympathy.

There was nothing as sweet as playing someone for a fool. At times like this, when there were several someones, it was especially magnificent. This was what separated him from the common swindler: the experience that taught him when and how to lie, and when and how to tell the truth. Even if the priests suspected that he was lying, they would never ask. Never pry. Genius.

And with that he was gone, carrying the princess into the dusk of the evening.

He set her in his bed, so she wouldn't be disturbed, and then sat down on the other side of her, leaning his head back against the wall. He couldn't believe this week. All he wanted to do right now was sleep, but he knew he couldn't. There was still so much more to be done, and who knew how long he would have to take a breather?

Five minutes. Maybe even less than.

"Brynjolf," Delvin called.

Bryn straightened up and looked at his friend, sighing. "Can't I just get ten minutes, lad? It's been one hell of a week."

"'Fraid not. We has some issues that need discussin'. First and foremost, the new leadership of the guild..." He trailed off pointedly.

"Damnit, Delvin. I don't want to be the guild leader."

Delvin sighed. "We already put it to a vote. You're it. It makes sense anyway, Bryn, ya been here longer than all of us, and more charisma than all of us lot combined."

"Fuck the vote," He said, finally letting some of his frustration show through, "You take it. Or Vex. Or even Karliah."

"Ain't none of us want it, either. And it's not really much different from what you been doing."

"Except it's more responsibility. A lot more responsibility."

"No one else could deal with it."

"I can't deal with it."

"Sure you can."

Brynjolf growled, knowing a losing argument when he saw one. But, he wasn't going to let it slide that easily. He just wouldn't deal with it right now, that was all. "We'll talk about it later. What else?"

Gaella stirred next to him, and he looked over at her. She was still asleep, but she probably wouldn't be if he and Delvin kept fighting next to her. "On second thought, let's move. Let her sleep."

Delvin shrugged and followed him as he led them into the back, near the archery targets.

"Alright. So...what else, now?"

"What're we going to do about Karliah?"

"What about her? She's a member of the guild, now. Her name is cleared."

"Right. But are we going to consider her to fill the empty officer slot we have now? Her skills are downright inspirin'."

Brynjolf pondered that, rubbing his beard. "I would say definitely. What does Vex think?"

"Vex don't have no opinion. She wants to wait and see what kind of coin Karliah can bring in."

"Fair enough. I don't think Karliah'll mind doing that. She made it back alright, then?"

"Yeah."

"Where is she now?"

"She said somefin' about running a quick job or two, waiting for you to get back."

"Of course..." Brynjolf sighed, rubbing his face. He had to return the key to Nocturnal and fulfill his duty as a Nightingale. So much to take care of, so little time. Wait a second...

The key! "Delvin, where did you put Mercer's old shirt?"

"That old thing? Hell, I threw it away. It had holes in it from whatever bit her, and it was stained with blood."

Brynjolf stared at him in horror. "You...threw it away?" The blood started draining from his face.

"Yeah, why?"

"...Tell me you went through the pockets."

"I did."

Brynjolf finally remembered how to breathe. "And? What did you find?"

"Nothing."

"...Nothing?"

"Nothing. Quite disappointin', actually."

Brynjolf rubbed his face. "Gods," he muttered. He really, really hoped that Gaella had just put it somewhere else. This was too much stress for his poor heart.

"You okay, friend? You really look like you need a drink."

"I need a drink more than I've ever needed in my life."

"Well, come on then. I'll treat ya."

Of course, Delvin waited until after Brynjolf had finished his first ale before asking the obvious questions, "So...when are we takin' the princess back? She's agreed not to turn us in, right?"

Brynjolf looked up at the man, and pondered just how to put this. After a few seconds, he figured there really was no good way to put it. "She's my apprentice."

"...Your what?"

"My apprentice. She saved my life, recovered an artifact that Karliah and I were after, and agreed not to turn us in. In return, she wants me to teach her how to become a good thief and allow her to join the guild."

The look on Delvin's face suggested that he didn't understand at all. "So, let me get this straight. She is set to get married to someone who will probably become High King in less than two months, and she'd rather hole up with a bunch of lowlife cutpurses in the sewer?"

Brynjolf shrugged. He didn't necessarily understand it either. He knew she didn't hate Ulfric, despite the fact that he was going to allow her to be forced into a life and marriage she didn't want. He even suspected that she actually loved him, at least a little bit, but that wasn't something he could confirm until he got her to talk more.

"...Sounds like our friend Niruin."

"Really?" Brynjolf raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. You ain't never talked to him? He used to be a high ranking noble, with a beautiful wife and lots of coin. He left it. Said it was too borin'. That, I ain't never gonna understand. I love coin more than I could ever love anyone else. And the more there is available to me, the better."

He laughed at that, and Delvin grinned in response. "Boring...I don't know. That doesn't sound like her."

"I 'unno, mate. She's never talked to me."

"...Never?" Brynjolf boggled at that. "But you guarded her every day for hours."

"Not a peep. I thought she was a mute 'till jus' now."

"Why doesn't she like you, Delvin? Did you do something?"

"Hell if I know. I brought her her damn quills and gave her first aid. She ought to love me, like everyone else."

Brynjolf laughed again. "That's why you're my best friend, Delvin. You keep the mead flowing and the laughter coming."

"Bryn, buddy, that ain't the only thing I can keep coming, but that only applies to women."

"I'll toast to that." He clinked his mug with his friend's. "You and me both. Though..." Though he had never met a woman that was so deliberately against any sort of romantic contact with him. Unless it was to ensure a successful picked pocket, of course.

"Though what?"

"Though I have to tell you, even though she doesn't seem to want to marry him...Gaella's awfully loyal to Ulfric."

"Well, of course. You think you could ever fuck her like the High King?"

"No," Brynjolf said, "I think I could do it better."

And then they both succumbed to uproarious laughter.

He spent the rest of the night drinking mead, tying loose ends, and hammering out the fine details. Much to his dismay, he found himself agreeing to the title of guild leader. He didn't know which was to blame, by that point: his slight intoxication or his fatigue. Maybe it was both.

Needless to say, he plastered when he crawled into his bed.

She awoke to someone moving her. It was late, she knew that much, and fatigue clung to her like spiderwebs. She swore she could see dust rising off of her when she opened her eyes. Whoever was moving her, though, hadn't really moved her much. She tried to focus her vision. Where was she?

She didn't know. It was a cistern of some sort- filled with beds (what the fuck?)- and someone was holding her against him while he slept. Whoever this person was, he was holding her very tightly, and he was much too warm. The stench of alcohol drifted over her when she felt him bury his face in her hair.

"What the hell?" She asked angrily, and her voice sounded rusty, like hinges on a coffin. She supposed that the mist she had been seeing, presumably hours prior, were the mists of Sovngarde or whatever heaven or plane of oblivion she would have ended up in. That would explain why she felt this way.

"Mmm...your hair...smells...so good, lass." Bryn's words were slow and slurred; barely even coherent.

"Oh, Gods. You're drunk."

"I am not drunk!"

"..."

"Okay, maybe a lil' drunk..."

"What time is it?"

"Night time."

Gaella groaned. "Let go of me. I'm sore, and I'm not your damned stuffed animal."

"Nooo."

Gaella grunted as he pulled her even tighter, making it hard to breath. She was sore, but a little bit of soreness never hurt anyone – it wasn't that that annoyed her. It was the fact that someone she barely knew was spooning her. "Let go of me or I'll set you on fire."

The only response she got to that was a snore. The asshole had fallen asleep!

"Bastard!" She tried to struggle free of his grip, but even in slumber his arms were clamped around her like iron shackles. "Damn it..."

"You're going to be stuck there for a while. When Bryn gets that drunk, he latches onto the nearest warm body and passes out. Last time, we had to grease his arms to get Dirge out."

Gaella looked up to see who spoke. It was Vex- that tall blonde woman from before-and she looked like she was finding this entire ordeal hilarious.

"Then get the damn grease."

"Oh, no way. This is too funny."

Gaella growled, now truly considering making good on her threat to Brynjolf and then setting Vex on fire as well.

She spent a good amount of time trying to pry the man off of her, unsuccessfully. This made no sense. She may have been a mage, but the Stormcloaks trained all of their soldiers the same, mage or not. Therefore she had a lot more strength than a random spellcaster. And the man was asleep! But, she supposed, even if Brynjolf was just a thief, he was still a Nord. And there had never been any question about his physique under that armor. She supposed that it was possible that Nords could utilize their legendary strength even in their sleep.

After a good ten minutes of struggling, she finally gave up. She was still exhausted, and this was only causing further fatigue. Furthermore, she supposed she didn't have to worry about him feeling her up anymore (given what happened last time he tried). So, with one final glare at Vex, who had been watching the whole time, she laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, returning again to the dream realm.