Chapter 21- Adventure and Deception
The sun struggled to pierce the misty layer that smothered Riften. Autumn had well and truly settled in this time, bringing with it an unpleasant, icy dampness. Hroar shivered and wrapped himself tighter in his oversized rough woolen cloak, pulling the hood over his head. Ahead of him, François Beaufort strode energetically, almost in a hurry. They were quickly distancing themselves from Honorhall Orphanage, heading out on a new adventure. Today's outing felt strange to Hroar—it was the first time they were venturing out alone during the day, and, most notably, with Constance Michelle's permission. She had allowed them to leave the orphanage on the condition that they stay near the market square, return before noon, and, most importantly, not cause any trouble.
Hroar quickened his pace to keep up with his friend, but his thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on the orphanage. Hunfen's departure a few days earlier had crushed any hope of dragging him along on their adventures again, and especially of introducing him to Brynjolf. The absence of the young Nord and his guardian left a strange emptiness, a void that Hroar felt more deeply than he had expected. Perhaps it was because, since Grelod's death, his usual torments had faded; the nights when Runa comforted him seemed to belong to a distant past. Was this what normal life was supposed to feel like, free from the old hag's grip?
François, on the other hand, seemed even more excited than usual. He kept glancing back to make sure Hroar was still following, each look accompanied by a smile that grew wider the closer they got to their destination. His eyes sparkled with impatience.
"Come on, don't drag behind, Hroar!" he called cheerfully. "I bet Brynjolf's got something huge for us today! If he wants to meet us in broad daylight, it's gotta be important. Maybe he'll finally let us into the Thieves Guild!"
Hroar shrugged without responding. His friend always got carried away by dreams of grandeur, and these past days, he had been talking nonstop about freedom and adventure. But Hroar saw things differently: joining the Guild, if they ever had the chance, had to be about protecting others. It was much riskier than François wanted to admit, especially with Maven Black-Briar lurking around.
When they reached the market square, it was already bustling. To the right, a Dunmer merchant named Brand-Shei was busy setting up his wares. His stall displayed an assortment of eclectic objects.
"Good morning, boys!" he called out jovially. "Out for a stroll today?"
"Yeah, enjoying a bit of freedom," François replied with a bright smile. "We're supposed to stay around the market square, but… we'll see about that!"
Hroar smiled timidly at the Dunmer. He liked this merchant. Even during the Grelod days, during their rare outings, Brand-Shei often slipped them small trinkets—unsellable knickknacks that the children cherished like treasures. Unfortunately, these treasures never stayed in their hands for long, as Grelod would confiscate them at the first opportunity. In Hroar's eyes, Brand-Shei was one of the few people in the city who cared about the orphanage kids. The young boy had always suspected that the Dunmer had been an adopted orphan himself, which might explain his Argonian-sounding name, though he had never dared to ask.
They made their way through the crowd, avoiding jostles and loud voices, until they finally spotted Brynjolf. Unlike his usual self, the rogue wasn't lurking in a dark alley or whispering in hushed tones. No, today he stood boldly in the open, behind a new stall, playing the role of a merchant with unsettling confidence.
François picked up the pace, pulling Hroar by the sleeve. "Come on! He's waiting for us!"
Hroar hesitated, feeling a sudden wave of confusion. This scene seemed completely out of place. Brynjolf, here, in broad daylight, out in the open? It was anything but normal. As they approached, he caught the mischievous glint in the man's eyes. The rogue looked entirely at ease, as if he controlled every detail of what was happening around him.
"Ah, there you are, boys!" Brynjolf greeted them with a broad smile, waving them over. "I've got a little job for you today. Nothing too difficult, but it requires a bit of… discretion."
François puffed out his chest with pride, clearly eager to prove himself. Hroar remained silent, watching the thief with caution. Brynjolf leaned in closer to them, lowering his voice slightly so the passersby wouldn't overhear.
"See that stall over there? The one belonging to Madesi?"
Hroar nodded. Madesi, the Argonian jeweler, was known for the quality of his goods but not for his friendliness. He always gave them suspicious looks when they passed by, as if expecting them to steal something.
"Well, let's just say I 'borrowed' something valuable from him this morning. A nice little ring." A sly smile crept across Brynjolf's face. "And while I draw everyone's attention over here, I'd like you two to slip it into Brand-Shei's pocket—quietly."
Hroar froze. His gaze instinctively turned toward the Dunmer, who was still busy at his stall, smiling at potential customers who stopped to browse his goods. A wave of unease washed over him. Why did Brynjolf want to target Brand-Shei, of all people? François, however, didn't hesitate for a second.
"No problem! We'll get it done in no time!" he exclaimed enthusiastically.
But Hroar, lips pressed tightly together, couldn't agree so easily.
"But… why are we doing this? Brand-Shei's never done anything to us. It's not fair to pull a trick like that on him!"
Brynjolf let out a dry, mocking laugh, as if he found the boy's hesitation almost endearing.
"Don't worry, kid, it's nothing serious. I know some people who want him off the market for a little while. He'll just get stuck with the guards for a day or two, until things blow over. Nothing too bad, and then everything will go back to normal. It's just a little prank!"
Hroar nodded silently, but Brynjolf's words did nothing to ease his discomfort. A prank? What kind of prank sent someone to jail, even for a few days? He glanced at François, who didn't seem to share his doubts. His friend never hesitated, and that was one of the reasons Hroar often got pulled into his adventures. But this time, it felt different.
François, eager to get started, led him toward Brand-Shei's stall. Hroar followed, his heart heavy. The market's noise seemed to fade into the distance, like a muffled hum. Brand-Shei had done nothing to deserve this. And yet, Hroar felt he had little choice but to follow his friend, out of loyalty, perhaps, or fear of disappointing him.
"This is awful, what we're doing, François," Hroar murmured as they neared the stall. "Brand-Shei's always been nice to us! How can we do this to him?"
"Look, Hroar, you don't get it," François whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Brynjolf's testing us here. If we do this right, we'll get into the Guild. This is our chance!"
"But I bet Maven Black-Briar told Brynjolf to do this! Just because Brand-Shei's too nice to us! We wanted to stop her from hurting people, and now we're doing exactly what she wants? We're betraying the orphanage!"
"We don't know if it's her. But if we get into the Guild, we can stop her plans from the inside. Trust me, Hroar, it's our only chance to make things change!"
Hroar sighed, unsure. He wanted to believe François was right, that what they were doing today could help them protect the people they cared about. But everything felt too complicated, too uncertain. Still, he nodded, reluctantly.
"Okay, but let's make it quick. And then we leave."
François grinned, satisfied, and gave his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it'll be fine!"
They moved toward Brand-Shei's stall, Hroar's heart racing with every step. François skillfully slipped behind the merchant, ready to plant the stolen ring. Hroar stayed a bit further back, keeping an eye on their surroundings to make sure no one was watching them. A few stalls away, Brynjolf kept an eye on them, all while continuing his show. When he saw François give the signal, he nodded and stood up, drawing the attention of the nearby crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, come closer! Come closer! I have something truly extraordinary here, a marvel of nature! A unique remedy, the Falmer Blood Elixir! Yes, you heard me right, Falmer blood, from the legendary Snow Elves, possessing incredible healing properties!"
He held up a small vial to the light, making it shimmer in the sunlight filtering through the clouds. Curious onlookers quickly gathered around him, captivated by his commanding voice and persuasive tone. Everything was calculated, designed to attract everyone's attention, including Brand-Shei, who took a few steps closer without losing sight of his own stall. This was their moment.
François shot a glance at Hroar before slipping discreetly toward the Dunmer. Hroar followed closely, his breathing quickening. His throat felt dry, his hands trembled slightly, but he knew he had to stay focused. François deftly moved behind the merchant, while Hroar blocked the view and watched the surroundings, ready to alert his friend if anyone spotted them. Something caught his eye: one of Brand-Shei's tunic pockets was slightly torn, a thin thread sticking out and forming a barely noticeable hole. A desperate plan flashed through his mind, and he gently tugged on François's sleeve to get his attention, whispering hurriedly, "Put it in that pocket."
François raised an eyebrow, briefly giving his friend a questioning look, but he complied without asking questions. With practiced skill, he slipped the ring into the designated pocket, then quickly moved away, casting a quick glance at Brynjolf. The rogue, still performing his theatrical pitch on the wonders of Falmer blood, gave him a subtle nod of approval, a sly smile on his lips. François returned the smile before blending into the crowd.
But Hroar didn't move. He lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the torn pocket. Now he had to follow through on his idea: make that hole a little bigger. If the ring fell out before the guards arrived, Brand-Shei wouldn't get in trouble. Maybe he could still prevent this injustice.
Adrenaline surged through him. He had to act quickly. He moved closer with measured steps, trying to calm his breathing, and discreetly pulled out a small lockpick, a gift from Brynjolf to help them "master useful skills". The tool wasn't very sharp, but it might be enough to undo the stitching.
With trembling hands, he carefully approached the loose threads of the torn pocket and gently tugged to widen the hole. Every movement brought him closer to his goal, but also closer to the danger of being discovered. He glanced around quickly. Brynjolf seemed focused on his performance, but Hroar knew he had to remain unseen. And then there were the passersby—nosy people who could spot him at any moment.
Gritting his teeth, Hroar gave one last tug. The hole widened just enough for the ring to fall out with any movement from Brand-Shei. Now he had to leave, and quickly. His heart pounding, he put the lockpick back in his tunic and quickly stepped back, casting one last glance around. No one seemed to have noticed him. Not even François, who was already waiting a bit further away, clearly eager to leave.
The young boy finally slipped away, casting a final glance at Brand-Shei, and joined François, his breath short, hoping with all his heart that what he had done would be enough to protect the Dunmer without raising suspicion.
"What were you doing?" François whispered, panicked. "I thought you were gonna get us caught!"
Hroar shook his head, trying to hide the anxiety twisting his stomach.
"Nothing, I… I was just checking something. It's fine now. We can go."
François looked at him suspiciously but didn't ask further questions. They slipped away together into the shadows of the market, quickly distancing themselves from the scene, while Brynjolf, satisfied, finished his demonstration and tended to the few fools he had convinced.
The boys regrouped with Brynjolf, who, while serving his last customers, maintained his assured smile. Hroar, his heart still pounding from his desperate attempt, tried to blend into François's shadow, who seemed to almost glow with excitement at the thought of having completed their mission.
"Ah, there you are, boys!" the rogue called out when he saw them approaching, slipping a final vial to a gullible customer. "Well, well… I saw you did your part."
François puffed out his chest proudly, while Hroar remained silent, unsure of what was to come next.
"Come on, let's see what the guards do," Brynjolf said in an almost amused tone, discreetly gesturing toward Brand-Shei's stall with a nod.
The three of them moved slightly to get a better view, closely watching the scene unfolding a few steps away. The merchant, unaware of the trap, continued selling his trinkets to a few curious customers. But soon, two Riften guards, lumbering and visibly displeased, approached his stall with a determined stride. Focused on his work, Brand-Shei hadn't noticed their approach. When one of the guards placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, the merchant jumped, startled.
"What… what's going on?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
The guard, a burly Nord, gave Brand-Shei a disdainful look before responding in a gruff tone:
"A little trinket went missing from a stall this morning—a ring. Got anything to say about that?"
Brand-Shei's eyes widened, clearly confused. He stepped back, raising his hands in protest.
"I… I don't know anything about that! I've been here since the market opened, I haven't stolen anything!"
The second guard, shorter but just as menacing, moved closer to the stall, scrutinizing every corner of the goods displayed in front of him.
"We'll see about that," he growled. "We're gonna have to search your stuff."
Hroar held his breath. The guards began rummaging through Brand-Shei's belongings, carelessly knocking over a few items, ignoring his protests.
Beside him, François watched the scene with nervous excitement, convinced everything was going according to plan. Hroar could almost feel his friend's impatience growing at the thought of successfully completing their mission, but he hoped things would take a different turn than what his friend expected.
The guard continued to search the stall, finding nothing. Rifling through the pockets of the Dunmer's tunic, he paused, staring at his finger poking through the tear in the fabric. He tugged at the hole with a sneer and nodded toward his companion.
"Hey, look at this! Can't even mend his own clothes!"
The other guard let out a boisterous laugh.
"Yeah, and he wants us to believe he's honest…"
But after a few more minutes of searching, they had to admit they had found nothing. The taller of the two stepped up to Brand-Shei and looked him square in the eyes.
"We didn't find anything. Maybe you're not the thief this time… But watch yourself, elf. We're keeping an eye on you!"
The Dunmer nodded, trying his best to keep a composed face. "I told you, I didn't do anything," he muttered through gritted teeth.
The guards shot him one last menacing glare before walking away, visibly frustrated at not finding what they were looking for. Brand-Shei hurried to put his stall back in order, clearly shaken by what had just happened.
Hroar cast a furtive glance at François, his heart still racing. His friend, who had been beaming with excitement moments earlier, froze. His triumph quickly faded, replaced by confusion and disappointment. The guards had searched Brand-Shei and found nothing, leaving the merchant intimidated but free.
François crossed his arms, frowning in frustration. "But… how did it fail?" he murmured, staring at the scene as if expecting something else to happen, some last-minute revelation. "I did exactly what I was told!"
Hroar, meanwhile, kept his head down, trying to hide the guilt gnawing at him. He knew François hadn't noticed his little trick with the torn pocket. It had been for Brand-Shei's sake, but still, a small voice inside accused him of betraying François.
Brynjolf, who had been watching the boys out of the corner of his eye, shrugged with a fatalistic smile. He didn't seem bothered or disappointed by how things had turned out. "Well, sometimes things don't go as planned, boys." He patted François gently on the shoulder, his tone strangely understanding. "Guess luck wasn't on our side today."
François looked up at him with pleading eyes. "But… I did what you said! I… I put the ring in his pocket! I really did!" He now sounded worried. Hroar could almost feel the fear rising in his friend—he was afraid Brynjolf would think they were incompetent, unable to pull off even a simple task.
Brynjolf let out a dry chuckle. "I know, I know, kid. I saw you." His voice lowered, becoming darker, more serious. "But look at that pocket! It was torn. Another twist of fate!" He shook his head with a resigned air, as if the fact that the torn pocket had foiled the plan confirmed some grim prediction. "It's been a while since my colleagues and I've been running into bad luck. And this incident… well, it just adds to the streak of misfortune. It's like a curse."
François seemed relieved not to be blamed for incompetence, but he wasn't satisfied. He crossed his arms again, sulking. "That's why it didn't work?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
Brynjolf nodded with a sly smile. "Exactly. It wasn't your fault, kid. Just bad luck, plain and simple." He rummaged through a small pouch attached to his belt and pulled out a few septims. "Here, boys. You did your part. Here's something to buy yourselves a little warmth." He handed them the coins with a wink.
François eagerly grabbed the coins, his disappointment instantly forgotten. "Thank you, Mr. Brynjolf!" he said enthusiastically, his usual confidence quickly returning. But Hroar couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness. He accepted the septims with a hesitant hand, avoiding Brynjolf's gaze. The whole situation
left a bitter taste in his mouth. The way François was getting excited about joining the Thieves Guild, the way Brynjolf talked about bad luck as if it were a valid excuse for their actions… everything felt off. And what worried him most was that he wasn't sure he could talk to François about it without risking his friend's wrath.
Brynjolf watched the two boys with amusement in his eyes, as if evaluating their potential for something even bigger. He crossed his arms and leaned in slightly, as if about to share a secret.
"Well, boys, despite this little setback, you did well. And I think it might be time to show you some… more interesting things. But that doesn't happen here, in the market square."
The two boys exchanged curious glances. François, full of enthusiasm, nodded eagerly, ready for whatever Brynjolf had to offer. Hroar, however, still felt troubled by the day's events, though part of him was curious about what the rogue had to say.
Brynjolf leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you want to see where my friends and I really do business, meet me tomorrow night, around midnight. Head to the entrance to the Ratway. You know where that is, right?"
Hroar shivered slightly. He knew the place by reputation—the old sewer system under Riften, now home to unsavory individuals. There was an entrance down by the canals, but the place was never mentioned without a tone of warning or distrust.
François, however, straightened up, excited by the idea. "Yeah, we know where it is. And what'll we do there?"
"Let's just say you'll see things you won't see anywhere else. That's where my friends and I meet and… do business. If you're interested, meet me there tomorrow night, around midnight."
Brynjolf straightened up, brushing off his sleeve with a casual air. "But remember, boys, this isn't a game. If you deal with us, it might just change your lives. It's up to you to decide if you're ready for that."
François eagerly nodded again, while Hroar remained silent, his brows slightly furrowed. Brynjolf gave them one last wink before disappearing back into the bustling crowd of the market.
The two friends watched for a moment as Brynjolf vanished into the crowd. Hroar turned to François, who was practically bouncing with excitement, clutching the septims in his fist as if they were the first step toward a grand adventure.
"Do you realize, Hroar? This is it! Tomorrow, we're joining the Thieves Guild!" he exclaimed, his face lit up with a broad smile.
Hroar nodded, but his enthusiasm wasn't as overwhelming. Yes, he wanted to join the Guild, just like his friend, but after what he had done to save Brand-Shei, he knew things would be far more complicated than expected. They would have to be even smarter, smarter than the Guild members themselves, if they didn't want to be manipulated along the way.