This is my Skyrim fanfic, based loosely on my current play through. If you are able to use mods, I highly recommend Take Notes - Journal of the Dragonborn. Writing a journal as my character definitely made me more invested in her story.
Here is the link to the whole story on Ao3 x.
I’m a rookie fic writer, so any feedback is appreciated, but mostly I hope you enjoy it, and that it serves as a good distraction from the hellscape we live in (Americans).
Title: Winter to Spring
Chapters: 4/?
Warnings: Rape/Non-con (the MC experienced some in her past, and is experiencing sexual harassment in the first chapter.)
Rating: M (for violence, eventual sexual content)
Relationship: Brynjolf / Female Dovahkiin
Chapter 1
Aerlith woke alone, drowsily opening her eyes as the sounds of morning birds and running water filtered into her consciousness. A piney scent permeated the little fur tent. She rolled to one side, her sore muscles protesting. She closed her eyes, trying to fall back into the delicious dream she had been having. All she recalled were light touches, warm embraces, and a soft, deep voice calling her name. Well, not her name precisely. No one knew her true name, only the false one she used day to day. She sighed. For the thousandth time in her life, she cursed her past for making her a fugitive. She rolled over again, restlessly seeking sleep, but hunger nagged at her stomach, so she reluctantly got up and exited the tent.
Sitting on a boulder next to the stream babbling by, she stared up at the entrance of the ruin before her. The Twilight Sepulcher. The trials of the Pilgrim’s Path were still painfully fresh in her mind. Aerlith never liked ruins. The smell of decay, the damp darkness, and worst of all, the deafening silence, which often signaled the presence of slumbering draugr. She shuddered, recalling their evil glowing eyes and hollow flesh.
Despite her fear, Aerlith had been successful in her mission to return the Skeleton Key to its rightful place. She felt apathetic about Nocturnal, and suspected the lady of twilight felt similarly about her. Daedric princes were never concerned with the fates of their human worshippers, and to Aerlith it seemed a tad foolish to risk one’s life in exchange for unreliable favor. But no matter her skepticism, she’d completed Nocturnal’s trial, and at last reached the Ebonmere, where she returned the Skeleton Key. She didn’t do it for Nocturnal. She did it for her family.
She smiled sadly, thinking about Karliah and Gallus, saying their final goodbyes before he faded into the Evergloam. Gallus had extended his spectral hand to touch his beloved’s cheek with such tenderness and sincerity it made her heart ache. “Farewell,” Karliah had intoned softly, leaning into his intangible touch. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Her voice was even, and Aerlith couldn’t see her face, but something in her tone betrayed absolute misery at the parting.
Aerlith took the last bite of her apple and stood. She stretched, then set about packing up her camp. She was tired, yes, but she was also brimming with excitement. Nocturnal would no longer sabotage the luck of the guild, and their chances of success would increase. The wealth would marginally improve the lives of her newfound family, and she couldn’t wait to share in their happiness. And, of course, she was curious about what he would have to say.
Aerlith hired a carriage to take her from Falkreath to Riften, opting for comfort and rest in exchange for one hundred-fifty hard earned septims. But it was worth it, she thought, snuggled under a warm fur cloak and hood, watching the scenery pass by idly while the horse did all the work. Her life for the past few weeks had been constant hiking, camping and delving into dangerous ruins. She was ready for a break.
One long day and night later, the carriage creaked its way up a gentle rise, and Riften Stables came into view. Feeling lethargic and in need of exercise, Aerlith tapped the driver on the shoulder and asked him to let her off. He obliged, and urged his horse up the road without her.
She strolled languidly along the road, slowly stretching her stiff legs. The Rift was blooming. The aspens sprouted new leaves, wildflowers grew madly across the landscape, and birds were everywhere, singing their chirruping songs. Aerlith breathed in the clean spring air, intoxicated by the warmth and life of it all. After the dank Sepulcher and gloomy Falkreath hold, this was paradise.
By and by she reached the main gate of Riften, nodding to the guards in their livery, who smiled coyly at her as she passed. They knew who she was, or at least, they knew her reputation in the hold. She had been gone for a long time, and among the nosy guards there were several betting pools on whether she’d make it back alive. The guard guffawed and shook hands with his partner, who reluctantly tossed him a purse. Arielle had returned home at last, and he was rich.
Aerlith skirted the marketplace, moving quickly along the perimeter towards the keep. Though it was a warm day, she pulled her hood securely over her face, and kept her head down. Thankfully, it was a busy time in the market, so she was able to slip through without attracting much attention.
At the secret back entrance to the cistern, she nudged the button and waited for the coffin to slide back. As usual it made an unpleasantly loud grinding sound, and she wondered for the hundredth time why none of the citizens ever commented on it, or attempted to gain entry. It was another strange feature of Riften life. She still wasn’t used to the confounding apathy that permeated the city.
Below, she lifted the hatch and descended the ladder into the darkness. Though the cistern was damp and cool, warmth spread from her heart when she saw her guildmates gathered on the center dais. Everyone was here, safe, and from the looks of it listening raptly to Karliah. The dark elf stood beside Brynjolf, entertaining the small crowd with her part of the tale of the Skeleton Key’s return. Arielle approached silently to listen.
“I was working to clear some rubble when I saw the portal glow to life. I knew what must have happened, and I eagerly stepped through it and into Nocturnal’s sanctum. I just managed to catch the lady fading back into her realm, and then I saw Arielle. Her face was the perfect picture of shock. I called out to her and she looked at me as if from a hundred miles away. I swear I’ve never seen her look so bewildered.” Karliah smiled, and Brynjolf chuckled softly, looking thoughtful.
“In all fairness,” Aerlith said softly, feeling the eyes of her guildmates shift to her, “If you’d just taken a leap of faith, fallen toward your certain death, and then come face to face with a daedric prince for the first time, I imagine you’d look the same, Karliah,” she smiled, meeting her friends’ eyes.
Karliah beamed at her. “Welcome back Arielle!” She crossed the dais and pulled her into a tight hug. “Would you care to share your side of the story?”
“At the moment, all I would like is a bath and a bottle of Surilie wine,” she said, smiling. “And, to be honest, I think our lady would like to keep some of her secrets sacred.” Aerlith winked at Rune, who was staring at her with boldfaced shock.
Brynjolf stepped toward her, smiling. “Well done, lass. It’s good to see you in one piece.” He clapped her shoulder, then became more serious. “I’m not much good at things like this, but I need to thank you for all you’ve done for the guild. I’m so proud-”
“Oh, enough fluff Brynjolf,” Vex said exasperatedly. “We’re all happy. Let the poor woman have her bath in peace.”
Karliah grinned and squeezed Aerlith’s hand. “Indeed. Let’s all go to the Flagon and have a proper celebration!”
The guild all made approving noises and began to filter out, several of the members stopping to offer words of encouragement to Aerlith.
“Arielle!” exclaimed one, a handsome, burly nord with striking warpaint beneath his eyes. “I’m so glad you returned safely. ” He took her hand and kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “My sword and bow are always at the ready for you. You need not fear any foe with me by your side.”
“Hello Thrynn,” Aerith said tiredly. “Pleasure as always.” She pulled her hand away. “But I really would like to go relax now. It was a long journey from Falkreath. If you’ll excuse me.”
He stepped closer, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps you’d like some company in the bath, little dove,” he growled softly, his voice like the ragged edge of an old battleaxe. She could feel his breath on her ear. A chill ran down her neck, goosebumps rising.
“No,” she said firmly, “Thank you.” She pulled away from him, and strode, head held high across the cistern to the entrance of the baths.
Thrynn admired her retreating figure until it vanished into darkness. He turned to go to the Flagon, but was stopped short in his tracks by Brynjolf, who leaned against a wall by the door, face wreathed in shadow. Thrynn scowled. “What are you doing skulking around like that, Brynjolf? Out of the way.” He tried to push past, but Brynjolf stopped him.
“When will you give it up, Thrynn?”
“Give what up?”
“Arielle. I don’t know how many times you need to be rejected for the message to come across loud and clear,” Brynjolf stood up, taking a step closer.
Thrynn laughed heartily at the threat. “You know nothing of women if you thought that was rejection,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “Women always play hard to get.” He smiled lasciviously then continued, “That’s what makes Arielle so irresistibly delicious.”
Brynjolf’s mouth set into a grim line. “Don’t talk about her that way. She’s not a blushing lady for you to seduce. She is your sister in arms,” he said forcefully.
The bandit chuckled. “Not like you to be so hypocritical, Brynjolf. You hold your subordinates to a higher standard than yourself.”
“Not sure what you are implying, but I advise you to choose your next words very carefully.” Brynjolf’s green eyes hardened, the anger in them sharper than the finest glass dagger.
Thrynn swallowed. “Everyone knows about you and the fence,” he said boldly.
“Oh yes?” Brynjolf smiled darkly at Thrynn, and the bandit wondered for a moment if he should be ready to brawl. “Get out of my sight,” the second in command spat at him.
Relieved, Thrynn pushed past his superior and rushed through the door to the Flagon. Brynjolf frowned, his brow furrowed, and stared off into the darkness where Arielle had been a moment before.
Aerlith had never been so happy to sink into a hot bath. She wasted no time, quickly shimmying out of her light armor, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She lowered herself indulgently into the water. The grime from the Sepulcher, the dust from the road, and the cold of Skyrim that permeated her bones gave way to the warmth of the water. She glowed with happy contentment. She was home among her friends again. The faces of Karliah, Vex, Brynjolf and Delvin brought such joy to her. After her lonely sojourn through Skyrim, she had everything she needed. And Brynjolf was proud of her. His warm green eyes and welcome smile made her glow even brighter. She grabbed up her soap and began to wash, smiling to herself.
Her mind wandered unbidden back to Thrynn. The former bandit was friendly enough, though difficult to trust at the best of times. But his constant flirting was beginning to be more than just a minor annoyance. She’d failed to reject him firmly enough the first time, and he had been ignoring her subsequent tries with horrifyingly admirable gumption.
When Aerlith first joined the guild, Thrynn, along with practically every other man with eyes had been quite open about their interest in her. At first she had blushed furiously red when they complimented her, or touched her. She would always freeze in place and clam up, her mind unable to form thoughts, her mouth unable to speak. Her innocent reaction made them laugh, at which point they would ruffle her hair and leave her to go about their business. Aerlith began spending more time with Vex, observing how her friend would openly laugh at the men accosting her, and she learned how to handle unwanted advances with more confidence. As she rejected the men, one by one they moved on. It was better this way. She hoped their interest stemmed merely from her novelty, and not from any other motives.
Thrynn was not as easy to deal with. He pushed past her discouragement, whether it was polite or harsh. He continued to harass her, to touch her, to whisper vile things in her ear that made her blush. She felt beat down by his constant disregard for her wish to be left alone, and had resolved to just ignore him when she could. It reminded her a little too much of the way Jarl Siddgeir’s sneering, lecherous expression, when he cornered her in the darkened servant’s quarters all those months ago. She shuddered at the memory. She could still feel his body weight pressing her into the wall, the hard length of his arousal grinding into her angrily. Something died within her that night. She had no skills, no strength, and no way out. Her silver eyes hardened. Things had changed. If she ever met Siddgeir again, she would have her revenge.
Aerlith soaped her long, pale blonde hair, gently teasing out the tangles. She never felt more powerful, more able to protect herself at this moment. The frightened and helpless girl she once was had grown into a dangerous woman. Her mediocre skills with a dagger, which had been scoffed at by Vilkas of Jorrvaskr, had improved under Brynjolf’s friendly tutelage. Thanks to him, and to the other members of the guild who shared their expertise, Aerlith was silent, fast, and deadly.
Feeling clean and refreshed, Aerlith allowed herself a moment to wallow in the hot water. There was one man in the guild who was ostensibly uninterested in her: Brynjolf. His attentions to her were friendly, but professional. He patiently taught her the tools of a thief’s trade, gently correcting her when she needed it. She was grateful that he did not ridicule her inexperience. He offered his advice after giving her a job, and usually ended by staring her down with his shiny green eyes as he said, “And be careful, lass.”
When she returned successful and pocket jingling with coin, he would clap her on the back or shoulder, offering her encouragement and smiles that she hoped contained pride. She was his protege, after all. Thanks to Brynjolf, Aerlith had a safe place to sleep, and a well paying job that allowed her to keep a low profile. She was more than grateful to him, and their relationship was more than a simple friendship. But whether her feelings for him were platonic was a question she desperately tried to avoid. She knew he didn’t see her as anything more than a pupil.
However, Aerlith occasionally caught him staring at her from across rooms, his eyes serious as he contemplated her. It seemed unfair to her that she couldn’t decipher the meaning behind this. It was all too easy to imagine that he felt something for her too. On the night they met, Brynjolf flirted with her shamelessly, and though she knew now that his attention had been false, simply a means to an end, her attraction and interest in him that night was real.
Another memory fought its way to the surface. The guild threw a large celebration when the three Nightingales returned successful, Mercer dead and Karliah safely home again with her honor restored. That night, Aerlith begged off an arm wrestling match with Vex, opting to take a cup of wine to a quiet table on the outer ring of the din. There she sat and watched the merriment, laughing as Vekel hit on Tonilia and she slapped him forcefully for his impertinence, nearly knocking the slight man down. Tonilia huffed away, going to sit across from Brynjolf at his table. As Aerlith’s eyes followed the woman in amusement, they lit upon Brynjolf and stuck there. He was watching her again. She looked back at him, surprised. She couldn’t make out the expression on his face. The shadows made it too difficult to see, but the glint in his eyes couldn’t be mistaken.
She didn’t look away. Neither did he. Aerlith felt heat beginning to rise in her cheeks, but she was transfixed. His green eyes shone at her as he leaned forward into the candlelight, resting his chin on his hand. The light revealed his faintly amused smile, which she returned hesitantly. But then, Tonilia said something to him and he looked away, the tension released. Aerlith felt let down. The rumors of Brynjolf and Tonilia’s romantic involvement may not have been true, but to Aerlith it seemed they shared a closer relationship than was usual. It pricked her to see him smile so easily and openly with Tonilia, joking raunchily and teasing her. With Aerlith, Brynjolf acted as the wise teacher, the helpful mentor. Her gratitude prevented her from feeling resentment, but her disappointment could not be helped.
Aerlith finished scrubbing her hair and rose from the bath. She toweled herself quickly and dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, pulling on her stockings and boots. She didn’t bother to arrange her hair or apply any cosmetics. Fatigue wore on her, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the giddy depths of a bottle.
She entered the tavern a few minutes later. Karliah, sitting with Vex and Delvin, saw her come in and motioned for her to join them. Aerlith smiled and went over.
“Here you are, yer ladyship,” Delvin said gruffly, pouring her a cup of her favorite Surilie vintage. “Only the best for the woman of the hour.”
Aerlith sat down and picked up the cup. Seized by a sudden emotion, she raised it and said, “To the guild! May it last another thousand years.” The others raised their flagons as well, adding their “Hear, hear”s and “To the guild!”s. Aerlith drank deeply, draining half her cup in one go. She wasn’t planning on drinking lightly.
“So,” Vex said, “Care to tell us more about your exploits, Arielle? Delvin is practically foaming at the mouth with curiosity.” She smiled wickedly at him, and he smacked her hand.
Aerlith laughed. She had missed the banter of her friends during her long journey alone. She drank again, considering. Vex was still looking at her curiously, so she said, “Not much to tell I’m afraid, Vex.”
Vex scowled. “You Nightingales and your secrets,” she muttered darkly. But she brightened up quickly when she spotted something over Aerlith’s shoulder. “Watch out,” she said, smiling sneakily at Aerlith and rising from the table. “Delvin, Karliah, come here. I want to show you something.” Vex beckoned them across the room, leaving Aerlith alone with her wine.
Puzzled, Aerlith drained the rest of her cup, and reached for the bottle to pour another. A larger, rougher hand covered hers and tightened it against the glass bottleneck.
“Thirsty tonight, eh little dove?” Thrynn’s rough voice whispered in her ear. Aerlith pulled her hand away, and watched as Thrynn poured her wine, filling her cup nearly to the brim. He moved and sat down in the chair next to hers, resting his head on one hand lazily. “I can think of many more delicious ways to quench your thirst.” He licked his lips, the suggestion obvious.
Aerlith rolled her eyes. “Thank you for your input Thrynn.”
He chuckled. “So cold. Any other man would think you hated him.”
“Then why don’t you take the hint?” Aerlith asked sharply.
Thrynn leaned back in his chair and regarded her. She felt his eyes roaming over her face and body. “I want you to sing for me, little dove,” he crooned, taking her hand in his. “I’ve the skilled hands of a thief and the strength of a barbarian...care to take a ride?”
Aerlith yanked her hand away, standing unsteadily and staring down at him. She swallowed her nerves and said, “I am not your little dove , Thrynn. I am a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal. And believe me,” she said, her words pure venomous threat, “I am more than capable of making you sing for me.” She rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger, staring at him pointedly.
Thrynn stood and pulled her to him, his hands tight on her waist. His eyes burned with desire. “That’s the fire I love about you,” he said roughly. Before she could react, he pressed his mouth hungrily to hers.
Panic took hold of her, and she tried to wrench away, but he was too strong for her. Desperately, she fumbled for her dagger, drew it, and stabbed it mercilessly into his thigh. Thrynn howled and released her. Aerlith pulled her dagger back and brandished it, sinking into her fighting stance.
“Little bitch,” Thrynn spat. He reached for his battle axe.
“Enough,” Delvin said, stepping between Aerlith and Thrynn. “Calm down the lot of you.” He looked over his shoulder at Aerlith. “All right?” She nodded. “Good. Now, get yer hackles down Thrynn, before I gut you like a fish.”
Thrynn looked from her and back to Delvin. The tavern had gone quiet. Aerlith did not turn around, but from Thrynn’s mild panic, she could tell the thieves were watching the scene with little love for the bandit. “Fuck you,” Thrynn spat at Delvin, and turned to leave the Flagon from the front entrance. The door slammed behind him.
Aerlith breathed out, slow and steady. She grabbed a linen from the table and wiped her dagger on it, sliding it back into the sheathe. Karliah appeared at her shoulder. “Are you alright, Arielle?” she said with concern.
“Fine,” Aerlith said, anger still coursing through her. “That bastard deserved it.”
“He did indeed,” Karliah said, a smile curling her lips. Around them, the thieves returned to their drinks, and conversation began to buzz again.
“I need a drink,” Aerlith said, beginning to relax again.
“It’s on me,” Karliah laughed and headed to the bar to procure another bottle.
Aerlith sat with Karliah, watching her guildmates fraternize and drink. Delvin brought out his lute, and Dirge his drum, and the two began playing a lively tune. Tonilia got up and started to dance, her lithe body and agile feet drawing the eyes of every man in the room. Aerlith’s eyes drifted to the bar, where she saw Brynjolf sitting the wrong way round on his stool, leaning back on the bar as he watched Tonilia dance, smiling and occasionally sipping his drink.
He is so handsome , Aerlith mused. Brynjolf had shiny long hair the color of garnet, which set off the color of his deep set green eyes. But it wasn’t his appearance as much as his personality that made him stand out. He had a habit of catching her off guard with a sly look in his eyes, saying her name with his lilting accent, catching her in a daydream when she was supposed to be learning lockpicking. She would snap out of her trance and meet his eyes, and get lost again for a moment before smiling apologetically and telling him to continue with his teaching.
All the lifesaving lessons he taught were sorely needed. After her family went missing, she arrived in Skyrim and became a ward of the old Jarl of Falkreath, the suspicious and feeble Dengeir. Her mother had a cousin who worked in the longhouse, so Aerlith was allowed to live there in return for working in the kitchen and cleaning up after the Jarl’s family. She didn’t hate it there, but when Dengeir’s nephew Siddgeir assumed the throne, the trouble began. Siddgeir took an unhealthy interest in his ward, resulting in the terrifying night he had confronted her in her room. Worse, once he had his fun, he threw Aerlith cruelly out into the street, claiming that she was a liability he couldn’t afford any longer. He may very well have been correct, but without his protection, Aerlith was a sitting duck.
The day two strangers came through Falkreath asking after a pale haired girl with silver eyes, she fled with her few possessions and never looked back. Aerlith didn’t adjust well to life on the run. She arrived in Riverwood hungry, filthy and tired, and nearly collapsed on the porch of the inn. She had enough money to pay her way, but being a weak young lady with riches and no protection, she soon lost half her purse to a sneak thief in the night. Desperate, she moved on from Riverwood to Whiterun, with shallow hope that she would find sanctuary at the Temple of Kynareth.
Lost in reverie, she realized she was still staring at Brynjolf. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she turned back to her bottle, attempting to drown out her thoughts with the intoxicating liquid. Karliah regarded her, sipping from her own cup. “Something on your mind, friend?”
“That business with Thrynn took me back to a different time,” she said, her face hard. “I haven’t always been as good with a blade.” Aerlith wanted to unburden herself and share her troubles with Karliah, but she couldn’t risk it. From Falkreath to Riften, she was hunted by various heavily armed strangers. She suspected they were the same men who took her parents away, come to finish the job. Telling her story to anyone was foolish and could possibly bring harm to them.
Karliah smiled sadly. “Being a woman in Skyrim is tough. But you are strong and worth their respect,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the gathered guild. “It is good that you remind them now and then.”
Aerlith grinned. Though Karliah knew nothing of her past, Aerlith always felt that her friend understood her perfectly. It was a comfort beyond measure. “At least I have you, my friend. I couldn’t ask for a better sister in darkness.”
The dark elf laughed and patted her hand. “I’m off to bed,” she said, standing. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Aerlith nodded at the familiar send off.
“Good night.”
Some time later, when the music had ceased and most guild members had stumbled off to bed, Aerlith tipped the bottle into her cup once more, only to be disappointed when nothing poured out. She sighed and leaned over the table, contemplating throwing in the towel and going to bed. Questing in the interest of the guild was great and noble, but it definitely didn’t make her rich. She tiredly imagined how many jobs she would have to take on before she made up for all the traveling expenses.
While she was lost in thought, Brynjolf came over silently and plunked a full bottle of wine on her table, making her jump a bit. “You shouldn’t have an empty cup, lass,” He said, looking down at her with playful eyes and a warm smile.
Aerlith nodded her approval and reached for the bottle. She noted that Brynjolf also looked pretty deep in his cups. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes were extra shiny.
“May I join you?”
“Of course,” she replied, taking a sip and offering him the bottle when he sat opposite her. He poured out a cup for himself, then looked at her for a moment.
“I never got to thank you properly earlier,” he said.
Her heart swelled, but she kept her voice even as she said, “I got all the thanks necessary from Lady Nocturnal herself.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he laughed. “But truly, without your help, the guild would still be under the thumb of Mercer and suffering from a daedra’s displeasure.” He looked at her seriously, and she felt herself beginning to blush. “I’m very glad I chose to scam you of all the people in the city that day,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Aerlith took a swig of wine to cool herself. Feeling vulnerable, she spoke quietly, “If you hadn’t tried to rob me, I never would have joined the guild, and would have wandered alone forever.” She chanced a look up at him. “All the skills you’ve taught me have saved my life countless times already. Performing this task for the guild was nothing in comparison to what I’ve received.” Saying it felt right, but Aerlith thought Brynjolf would laugh at her sincerity as he usually did.
He surprised her by reaching across the table and grasping her hand tightly in his. His grip was warm, his calloused fingers rough as they held hers fast. “Don’t be silly. You’ve accomplished something great, and I’m proud of you, Arielle.” He stared intensely into her eyes, burning her with the heat of his conviction.
She pulled her hand back and took another long drink from her cup. She grinned at him. “It’s a strange thing, hearing a thief speak so earnestly,” she joked, trying to dispel the tension she felt.
“As I said, I’m not one for sincerity. Enjoy it while it lasts, lass.” She relaxed a bit, knowing that the hard part was over. “Now, about that bandit,” he said, looking at her smugly.
“What about him?” She asked, twisting the silver ring on her right hand repetitively. Maybe the ‘hard part’ would never really be over with Bryn.
“I enjoy seeing Thrynn being put in his place. Well done indeed, Arielle,” he replied, a sly smile playing over his lips.
Oh. He saw that . Shame burned a blush in her cheeks. She didn’t like to imagine what Brynjolf must have thought, seeing her with him. The memory of Thrynn’s hands on her felt dirty. “He wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said, looking down. “I did what had to be done.”
“And did it well,” he said gently. Aerlith raised her eyes to his. Brynjolf smiled. “Chin up, lass. That bastard couldn’t best you if he trained for a hundred years.”
A poignant feeling of relief and sadness stung her. Aerlith fought back tears, disguising her pain by gulping deeply from her cup. She wanted to say something, but her thoughts were scattered. Her mind’s eye kept flashing to Thrynn’s face, his mouth stealing hers, his hands gripping her painfully. Siddgeir slid into her thoughts too, clouding her vision with fear and shame. She breathed out shakily, carefully training her gaze into her cup.
“Arielle? Are you alright?” His chair scraped the floor as he stood, coming up close beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder.
Finally, she looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said, voice breaking. She felt tears begin to fall and blushed, looking down again. Brynjolf knelt down and leveled with her gaze.
Tentatively, his eyes searching hers, he reached up and touched her cheek. His thumb brushed a tear away, and she inhaled shakily, unsure of how to react to his touch. “It’s all right, lass. Whatever the trouble is, we can make it right,” he said slowly.
“I can’t shake them, Brynjolf,” she said, trying to speak through the sob choking her. “No matter where I go.” She hung her head again, resting it in his palm. “I will never be free from my past,” she concluded, and despair overwhelmed her. She cried softly in front of him, hating herself and hating her weakness. But she was tired, so very tired, and his kindness had opened a floodgate within her.
For a horrible moment, Brynjolf stayed very still, and she dreaded his reaction. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took her hands in his and pulled her to him, carefully encircling her in a gentle embrace. “All right, Arielle. It’s all right,” he whispered. He stroked her hair, letting her ride out the sadness. Finally, her crying quieted into sniffles, and she felt him pull her tighter to him “That’s it, lass.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.
Aerlith tried to calm her breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut as visions of the past threatened to take her over again. With her head pressed against his chest, Aerlith could hear Brynjolf’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm pulled her focus back to the present. Gradually, she felt herself coming down to earth as her breathing slowed and her thoughts cleared.
Reality rushed back in like frigid water, a cruel reminder of who she was, who he was, and where they were. Aerlith pulled away from Brynjolf quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. “I should go.” She nodded to him and tried to make a hasty exit.
“Wait,” he said, and grabbed her arm. Aerlith didn’t look at him. She couldn't. “I’m worried about you, Arielle. Can’t I help you?” The worried kindness in his voice almost made her break again.
Aerlith steeled herself. Turning to her mentor and smiling brightly, she said, “Nothing’s much wrong, Bryn.” His brow furrowed as he watched her skeptically. “I’m just very, very tired, and I think I’ve had too much wine. I’m sorry to make a scene.”
“Alright, lass, if that’s really how you feel.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then pulled her into him again, wrapping her in his arms tightly. He held her silently for a long moment. Aerlith listened to his heartbeat again, wishing she could hear it forever. I broke so easily for him , she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Wrapped up in his warmth, she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she felt totally safe. Safe enough that the iron doors of her resolve cracked open, revealing the vulnerability and fear within. The revelation scared her, but she didn’t pull away this time. She breathed him in. His scent was leather, wine, smoke, and just a hint of sweat. Eyes closed, she let him lull her into a state of serenity.
Finally, he held her out at arms length. “Get some rest then,” he said, smiling gently. Before she could move, he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, lingering there. Aerlith's eyes widened in surprise. So many invisible lines had been crossed tonight, but what truly surprised her was how right it all felt. Brynjolf took a deep breath and pulled away, blowing it out slowly as he stared at her. The look in his eyes confounded her. It was a cross between tenderness and fiery determination, with a touch of heated aggression that made her breath catch in her chest.
Aerlith smiled. “Thank you, Bryn,” she whispered. He nodded, his eyes still burning with that mysterious energy. “Good night, then.” Aerlith walked off to bed, praying to the divines that it hadn’t been a dream.
A Thief In Wolf’s Clothing, Part I:Chapter 3, “Well Done, Footpad”
Full chapter here on Ao3!
Training went on, and Aerisif did find her strength to be increasing. She never dropped the greatsword anymore, and she blocked more blows than she took. Farkas, Aela, and Vilkas regularly came to The Bannered Mare to drink with Aerisif after training was done. Sometimes they’d wander outside of the tavern and through the streets of Whiterun. It seemed the Companions enjoyed drunken debauchery as much as thieves did.
Aerisif enjoyed their company. It was easy to be around them, and they were never without mead or ale. Aerisif could so easily just hide her thoughts behind the bottle and listen to them share stories of their victories, and there were many to be shared. They would orate magnificent tales of glory, and Aerisif just had to sit and listen. Never had to open her mouth.
One night after training, Aerisif and Farkas sat perched on the roof of the Drunken Huntsman. It was easily closer to dawn than dusk, and several empty bottles lay strewn about them. Aerisif had bet Farkas that she could climb to the rooftop faster than he could. Even with her newly developed muscles, her nimble frame easily won the bet.
Hours later, the pair had lost steam but were not yet ready to call it a night.
“The moon is bright tonight,” Aerisif commented lazily. She took a sip from her ale.
Farkas looked up at the moon with reverence. “It is.”
A peaceful silence sat between them.
“Kjolti?” Farkas broke the calm.
“Yeah?” Aerisif slurred.
“What did you do before you came here?”
She felt a dull thumping in her chest. She knew she should be more worried than she was. “What do you mean?”
Farkas turned to look at her, the moonlight reflected in his eyes. “Before you came here to join the Companions, what did you do?”
Aerisif blinked slowly.“I lived in Markarth.”
Farkas considered that. “I like Markarth. But what did you do there?”
Aerisif looked down at her boots. She didn’t like the idea of lying to Farkas anymore. He was so pure, it felt wrong. He didn’t mean any harm by asking about her, she could tell.
She took a deep breath in, but continued to fix her gaze on her boots. Aerisif felt panic thump behind a screen of mead, unable to break through to stop her. “I was a thief.”
Farkas snapped his head toward her, his wild hair swinging around him. “A thief?” His voice was dark.
Aerisif met his eyes. They were angry, and his brow was furrowed. “A thief. What of it?” She had found some anger left herself.
“Your new armor. You stole it.” She could see the anger brewing in his eyes.
Uncaring, she matched his gaze. “Yes.”
“That isn’t honorable, Kjolti.”
“Yeah, well, life isn’t always full of honor, Farkas.” She didn’t mean to spit the words out but they fired like arrows over her lips anyways. “Sometimes, life is shit and you just gotta make the best of it. So I did.”
Farkas glared at her and stood. He jumped off the roof, landed with a heavy thud, and walked away.
Fuck, what have I done?
***
In her anxiety, Aerisif arrived at Jorrvaskr before dawn. She didn’t sleep at all. The possible consequences of her admission to Farkas were running in circles in her head.
If Farkas had told Kodlak, or any of the other Companions for that matter, she was done for. While the occupants of Jorrvaskr may be wild and belligerent warriors, the one moral they held to was honor.
She turned the corner to the back side of Jorrvaskr, unsure of what to see there. The yard was empty. The pre-dawn blue glow filled the grounds.
Better get going anyways, she thought as she walked over to the weapon rack. She picked up her dulled training blade. Gripping it with both hands, Aerisif practiced the stances and movements Farkas had taught her.
Soon she began moving through the training grounds, blocking and swiping at invisible opponents. Her feet never faltered, the blade slicing exactly where she wanted it to strike.
In her focus, Aerisif did not notice the passing of time. It wasn’t until a sound from behind her disturbed her intensity that she realized the sun was high overhead.
She whirled around, panting, blade poised to strike. It was Farkas.
Aerisif lowered her greatsword, embarrassed. She was unsure what to say. Her eyes searched Farkas’s face and body language for some indication of his mood, but the man was stoic as always.
“Your form has improved a lot.” He finally said.
Aerisif relaxed a little. “You’ve taught me well.”
“Kjolti, I—“
“Have you told anyone?” She interrupted. Her nerves couldn’t handle it.
He shook his head. “No. I haven’t.”
She released the breath she had been holding. “Will you?”
“No.”
Relief flooded over her.
“I want to show you something.” Farkas sounded so grave.
Aerisif was intrigued. “What is it?”
Farkas looked around. “Not here. Follow me.”
“Farkas, what—“ But he had already taken off in a light jog away from Jorrvaskr.
What the hell? Aerisif dropped the blade and ran to catch up.
She followed him through the Cloud District, as he wound through the houses. Farkas abruptly slowed to a walk and tried his hardest to look inconspicuous. He was unsuccessful. It almost made Aerisif laugh, watching this beast of man try to sneak.
Farkas finally stopped between an empty house and the city wall. He glanced around again, suspicious of even the bushes.
“Divines, Farkas, what has gotten into you?” Aerisif was a little winded, still unused to running in full armor.
“Here.” Farkas shoved a small burlap sack into her hands.
Now she was worried. “Farkas, what is in here?”
He looked excited. “Open it!”
Aerisif held the bag out at arms length, half expecting something to jump out at her. When nothing did, she peered inside. She pulled out the object inside.
A tankard…?
She examined the tankard, totally bewildered.
Aerisif raised an eyebrow. “Farkas, have you been touched by Sheogorath?”
“Look at it closer.”
The tankard was finely crafted. It had intricate engravings around the base and on the handle.
“This isn’t from Jorrvaskr.”
“It isn’t.” Farkas looked…proud?
Aerisif eyed him suspiciously. “Farkas, where did you get this?”
“From Dragonsreach.”
She blinked in surprise. “From Dragonsreach?”
“I stole it.”
Aerisif was dumbstruck. “You stole it?”
He nodded, beaming.
She considered the tankard again. He stole this. Aerisif smiled, a real smile this time.
Aerisif looked up at Farkas and grinned. “Well done, footpad.”
***
“Come closer,” Aela ordered. “But move silently.”
Bow still drawn, Aerisif did as she had been commanded. The tall grass of the Whiterun plains swished around her legs.
“Remember, focus on the target, not the arrow,” the huntress instructed. “Breathe in, and release.”
On the final word, Aerisif released the arrow into the crisp morning air. It struck the elk in the neck. The elk staggered. It regained its balance, and wide eyed it tried to run away from the predators. Before it had gone two paces, Aela’s arrow struck it in the eye and the elk crumpled.
“Well done!” Aela praised.
“You brought it down,” Aerisif pointed out.
“Your shot was excellent and your aim true. This kill is ours. It does not belong to either of us alone.”
Aerisif pondered on that as they approached the felled elk. Aela knelt before it. She pulled a hide roll from her pack, and unrolled it to display the various knives and skinning tools within.
Aela skillfully cut open the carcass and withdrew the heart. Aerisif watched with curiosity. Aela pulled the most ornate of her knives out. The steel was clearly Eorland’s handiwork, but the handle was intricately carved antler, carefully polished to display the inlaid carvings.
Placing the heart gently in front of her, Aela took the ceremonial knife with both hands and raised it above her head. “To Hircine!” she cried, bringing the knife down into the elk’s heart.
She worships Daedra, Aerisif noted with surprise. Thoughts of the enigmatic mistress Aerisif served crossed her mind briefly before fluttering out again. Noctural didn’t much care for this kind of thing.
Aerisif knelt and helped Aela clean the kill.
“It’s always best to clean it right away, before you get to the city,” Aela instructed. “The sooner you can wrap it, the easier it will be. If you leave the offal out in the plains, the wolves and sabre cats go for that instead of your meat.”
Aerisif nodded silently as she wrapped meat in burlap.
“My mother was a Companion, before me.” Aela made conversation while they worked. She looked over to Aerisif, who was working with more focus that what was required. “My father trained me to hunt early on, so as to begin my preparations to follow in her footsteps.” Still, the recruit said nothing. “Unfortunately, my mother died before she could see me inducted into the ranks.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aerisif managed stiffly.
Aela perked up, pleased to get a response. “She died with honor, and that is all a true Nord can hope for. I am very proud to be her daughter.”
Aerisif skinned the animal with more force, and resumed her silence.
“I often go hunting with Skjor,” Aela continued to chatter. “I find that hunting with your partner builds trust and strengthens a relationship.” She was carefully watching Aerisif’s face. The raven haired woman was working hard to show no emotion. “The patience required, the communication, they are all boons to a couple.”
Aerisif swallowed. “Quite the romantic date,” she jested, but there was some underlying edge to the joke.
Aela smiled anyways. “In our age, I find we have less need of grand romantic gestures. We would rather build a solid structure than go out and paint the town.”
Aerisif only nodded, but her face was struggling to maintain composure.
Aela sighed. Clearly, she was not going to coax an answer out of her. She would need to be direct. “Kjolti, what troubles you? What past are you running away from?”
Aerisif stopped working. She looked up at High Hrothgar with sad eyes. “Why are you so sure it is my past I am running from?”
“You arrive on our doorstep, untrained in combat. Your race to become a warrior is like a deer fleeing from a sabre cat. You are running from something, or from someone.”
Aerisif turned to look at her. “I’m running from nothing. Everything I had has been destroyed.”
“Everything? No family?” Aela raised an eyebrow.
“All gone. Everything, and everyone. Gone.” Aerisif was staring her fiercely in the eye, despite a renegade tear or two trickling down her face.
Aela nodded with understanding. She placed a gentle hand on Aerisif’s shoulder. “Then all there is to do is run toward, now.”
When they had finished, the woman had two equal piles between them. Aela had insisted Aerisif take half the kill before they had gone hunting.
“And this too, Shield-Sister,” Aela thrust the hide into Aerisif’s arms.
“Aela, I’m not a—“
The fire haired huntress cut her off. “I don’t care. You will be.”
“I can’t take this, you earned it. Not me.”
“Kjolti. Just take it.”
“No.”
Aela sighed. “You are already stubborn as any Companion I know. Take the pelt, Kjolti. You need it more than I do.”
Aerisif’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Aela stared back, unafraid of her show of intimidation. “I sleep comfortably in Jorrvaskr every night. My meals are made for me, the mead flows freely, and the fire burns constantly. My needs are met.” Aela was respectful enough to not point out directly that Aerisif had none of these things.
Aerisif looked at the bloodied grass in front of her. “Right.” She looked up. “Well, thank you.”
Aela smiled. “You are welcome, Kjolti. I’m sure you can sell the meat to Anoriath, or even to Hulda, and I know Adrianne pays well for pelts. You could use the coin to buy some new boots to go with that new armor of yours.”
Aerisif glanced down at her boots. She had pulled them off some Imperial in the aftermath of Helgen. “I suppose I could,” she said.
“You’ll want the best equipment possible for your Testing on Sundas,” Aela called. She was already a few paces ahead of Aerisif. “I know Vilkas is probably polishing his armor as we speak.”
Aerisif caught up. “He may be, but while Vilkas is shining his armor, I am out here honing my skills. Who is the true warrior among us?”
Aela laughed, tilting her head back. The huntress’s hearty laugh always lifted spirits. “Well said, kinsman!”
Y’all never seen a clear shot of my Dragonborn before, huh? Meet Lyra, an Imperial. (Okay, well, in-game her name is my first name just for immersion’s sake, but she’s actually named Lyra, haha.)
“Let me see if I’ve got this right.” Colrina placed a hand on her hip. “You want me to steal from somebody who can barely make ends meet, and put someone else out of business?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
The man—Brynjolf—shrugged and leaned against the tavern wall. His eyes, a calculating green, met her glare fearlessly.
“Suit yourself, Lass,” he said. “But if I were you, I’d reconsider. Work that pays this well is hard to come by in Riften. And judging by how empty your pockets are, I’d say you need the coin.”
Colrina took half a step back. “How could you possibly know that?” She demanded, knowing there was no sense in lying; he would obviously see through it.
A smirk crossed Brynjolf’s lips, and he shrugged again. “I have a knack for this sort of thing.” His eyes flashed in the dim candlelight. “And I think you do, too. You just don’t listen to it.”
“I’m not a thief.” Colrina started to turn away. She thought of the Companions, of the gold she’d lifted from Jorrvaskr before she’d fled. She sighed. “And I just want to be left alone.”
Understanding briefly flew across Brynjolf’s face before he apparently regained control. Pushing away from the wall, he began walking toward the exit. “Well, if you change your mind,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the market tomorrow morning.”
And with that, he went outside, leaving Colrina to ponder his offer.
A/N: So, this is a little sneak peek of my Brynjolf/F!Dragonborn fanfic. I hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are much appreciated. Just please don’t repost.
Okay, y’know how I just showed you guys my Dragonborn? Well, I lied. Haha. And don’t worry, she’s not a Stormcloak, but she does look pretty damn good in blue! Too bad. But anyway, I just had to edit her after I saw and actually stared at that picture I posted of her because I’ve always been unhappy with how close almost all of her sliders were to zero or how many ARE at zero. But at the same time, I couldn’t be bothered to take the time to create her properly because of all the literally countless times I’ve spent restarting the whole game from the very beginning because my indecisive ass can’t make up my mind about which mods I want in my game. And two of those characters have even reached Level 49 and 50, so like, I just want to get started with the game, damnit! Haha.
Also, yep. This is at Riverwood. Starting over for the millionth time. But y’know what? Even after restarting, I STILL forgot to take out that touring carriages mod.
Catrin - a blue eyed, brown haired, taller than tall, tanned Nord who is the sneakiest of sneaks and loves taking out 30+ people at a time with her bow and arrows (also the only 'magic' she knows/attempts is restoration/conjuring)
modern? she'd be the girl who would wear 5 inch heels to tower over inferior people who tell her she can't wear heels cause shes 'too tall'
Tularia - a dark haired, golden eyed tall and thin Wood Elf who is the biggest clutz and only uses magic. she would not touch a sword or bow if you paid her 100 gold, she's kind of into necromancy but she's so cute honestly (she also won't wear shoes...at all)
modern? never grew out of the emo/scene phase
Niniane - a redheaded, brown eyed, muscular thighs Breton who could kill a man...or woman...or giant... definitely a dragon. shes got a preference for weapons more than half her size (war axes/hammers mostly) and the only magic she can do is like a little baby fire. useless.
