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Fic Masterpost
Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.
Chapter Summary: Facing the wrong end of a bandit's sword, Brynjolf must rely on his wit if he and Ariene want to make it out of this crypt alive.
Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.
Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)
Word Count: 2,965
Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!
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Brynjolf had lost track of the number of times over the years that he’d been threatened. No thief, no matter how skilled they were, could avoid being found out on a job from time to time, and Brynjolf was no exception to that. Getting caught wasn’t what ended a heist, it was how you handled getting caught.
So even as he knelt in an ancient crypt, the blade of a bandit leader’s sword pressed against his throat, Brynjolf forced himself not to panic. Gallus’s teachings echoed in his mind.
Take stock of your surroundings, identify your assets. What are your options?
Fighting was out of the question. He couldn’t even stand, not when the slightest movement might set the woman off. She was ranting about disloyalty and laziness and greed, almost more to herself than the pair of them. Brynjolf risked a look behind him at Ariene. She stood with her hands held up in surrender, her face pinched in worry.
The lass was quick; if Brynjolf kept the bandit distracted enough then he had no doubt she’d make a move. His mind wandered back to the letter he’d read in the last chamber. It had been signed by someone called Rigel Strong-Arm, which was very likely the woman before them. Was there something in it he could use? He took a deep breath, and turned his focus back to what she was saying.
“...what I did to Roar obviously wasn’t harsh enough. I’ll show those good for nothing louts what happens when they mess with me! So who was it? Who hired you?”
“Hired us?” Brynjolf repeated, and Rigel snarled.
“No bullshitting, you hear? That armor you’re wearing’s no good for banditing, it’s for sneaking around all quiet like! They couldn’t get past my traps themselves so they thought they’d hire thieves to steal my treasure, but nothing gets past me! Now tell me who hired you, and I’ll do you the courtesy of making your death painless.”
“Your crew didn’t hire us,” Ariene said, and Rigel laughed.
“I said no bullshit,” she said. “Why would thieves come to a bandit camp unless you were hired? Now give me a name, or this one starts losing blood.”
Brynjolf’s mind raced. What could he say to appease her? He focused on his memory of the letter, trying to pull out any useful information, and a line flitted into his head.
Your 'little sabrecat' has a tidy operation out here and I'm not going to give it up just cause you're afraid of getting caught.
“I’m not bullshitting you,” Ariene was saying, her voice tight. “Your crew didn’t hire–”
“It was your father,” Brynjolf blurted out, and Ariene paused, glancing at him. He made a show of shrugging, and held out his hands. “Look lass, I know he swore us to secrecy, but he hasn’t paid us enough for me to bleed for him.” He looked up at Rigel, whose eyes had gone wide.
“Da? No, that doesn’t make any sense–”
“It was him,” Brynjolf insisted. “He said his little sabrecat needed taming.”
The woman reeled back, shock and anger written on her face, and Brynjolf slowly got to his feet, hands raised where she could see them. He had to keep her attention focused on him. What else had the letter said?
Oh, and quit trying to send back the money.
“Since you wouldn’t let him send back the money you gave, he used it to hire us,” Brynjolf said carefully. “He thought that if your stash was raided, if you were left penniless, then you’d become discouraged and give up this life. You know he doesn’t approve.”
“He’s never approved of anything I’ve done in my life,” Rigel nearly shouted. “Anyway, what does he know? I could easily make back anything you tried to take in less than a month. I wouldn’t just give up.”
“With no payment to give your crew?” Brynjolf countered.
He risked taking a step forward and Rigel brandished her sword, bringing him to a halt.
“They barely trust you as a leader,” he continued. “They obviously don’t respect you. How could you guarantee their loyalty without the promise of coin?”
“I don’t need their loyalty,” she spat. “I just need them to do their jobs and stay out of my way.”
“But can you count on men to do that when you can’t pay them?” Brynjolf asked. He heard a quiet *shink* from behind him and he took another step forward. “Face it lass, you’re barely holding this operation together.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rigel said. “Even if you did manage to rob me, it’d only take one successful raid for things to go right back to the way they were.”
“Your father–”
“My father is a fool!” she interrupted with a shout. “He shouldn’t have wasted the money on your corpses.”
Rigel lifted her sword up, preparing to bring it down in a killing blow, and in that instant, Brynjolf realized he’d made a mistake. His arms were still held out in front of him and he was standing too close to the bandit leader…he had no time to draw his weapon and no room in the tight space to dodge past the attack. The sword swung down and he lurched backward, hands flying up instinctively to shield his face, though he knew it would be no use.
He braced himself for the pain…but it never came. Instead the cavern echoed with the clang of steel hitting steel, and Brynjolf inhaled sharply.
Ariene had appeared in front of him in the blink of an eye and blocked Rigel’s strike with her steel dagger. The force of the blow sent her staggering back, but she managed to parry the larger blade away despite her lack of footing. She righted herself just in time to dodge another swing, and lashed out with a kick to the bandit’s abdomen.
Rigel grunted in pain but stayed upright, and as she prepared to swing her sword again Ariene shifted her stance. As Rigel attacked, Ariene moved in close and caught the hilt of the bandit’s sword between her blades, just as Brynjolf had shown her back in the Guild’s training room.
She twisted her weapons, wrenching Rigel’s sword from her hand, but the strain of the maneuver was too much for the cheap steel dagger she was using. The blade snapped under the force of the sword and Ariene yelped, letting the dagger fall next to the sword with a clatter
Rigel looked between her sword and Ariene, who now stood armed with only one of her daggers. Brynjolf could see the moment that an idea formed in the bandit’s head, and his hand moved to his own weapons.
“Don’t try it lass,” he warned, but Rigel ignored him.
She darted forward, arm stretched out to retrieve her sword. Brynjolf drew his daggers, but by then, it didn’t matter. In one quick motion, Ariene slashed her blade across Rigel’s throat. Blood sprayed from the wound and the bandit’s eyes widened in shock before slowly rolling back into her head as she crumpled to the ground, dead.
The utter stillness that follows battle fell over the room, and for a moment, Brynjolf was aware only of the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. Then Ariene let out a loud sigh of relief, breaking the spell. She leaned over and rested against her knees, and Brynjolf winced, unable to help the twist of guilt he felt in his stomach.
That had been close…too close. How had they missed checking the back of the previous chamber? Why hadn’t one of them heard Rigel sneaking up on them? He was a Guild lieutenant, he should have had better control over the situation.
“Well,” Ariene said breathlessly. “I guess I owe Cynric a new dagger.”
She knelt and retrieved her fallen weapon, turning it in her hands and staring at the shattered blade.
“I don’t think the lad will mind too much,” Brynjolf said absently.
What had come over him? Unbidden, something Delvin had once said to him in the Ragged Flagon came to the front of his mind.
“Whatever’s going on with the Guild is beyond just you and me.”
Brynjolf had never put much stock in the old man’s insistence that they were cursed…but then again, he hadn’t been out in the field much since the run of bad luck had gotten really bad. Could there be credence to the curse after all?
“Look what we have here.” Ariene said, pulling him from his thoughts. She’d moved to examine Rigel’s body, and held up a small key ring that she found on the bandit’s belt. “How much would you bet that one of these keys is for this door?” she asked.
Brynjolf made a noncommittal noise, and Ariene frowned.
“Bryn?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Is everything alright?”
He let out a hollow laugh, and shook his head. Regardless of why it had happened, the simple fact was that he had messed up severely, and it had nearly cost both of them their lives.
“I should be asking you that question, lass.”
“Why?” Ariene asked, tilting her head. “You’re the one who almost got hacked to pieces by that maniac.”
“And you’re the one who had to step in to stop her,” Brynjolf countered. “All because I wasn’t quick enough on my own.” He took a deep breath, and met her eyes. “I know how you feel about killing, lass. And I’m sorry that you had to on my account. For what it’s worth, I owe you a debt. You saved my life.”
Ariene met his gaze, an unreadable expression on her face. She fiddled with the keys in her hands, the soft clink of the metal deafening in the silence that had fallen between them. She opened her mouth, then closed it again with a grimace and pushed herself to her feet.
“It’s not…I don’t have a problem with killing, exactly,” she said finally. “The world is a dangerous place, and I’ll do what I have to do to survive it. It’s…”
She sighed, shaking her head, and Brynjolf felt another stab of guilt.
“Lass, I–”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to not have any control over your life?” she asked suddenly, the words practically exploding out of her. “To have the world decide who you are and what you’ll be, just because of what you can do? I didn’t ask to be good at killing. I just am, and everywhere I go someone thinks they can use me because of it.”
She threw the pieces of her broken dagger back down on the ground, a look of disgust on her face.
“First my father thought he could keep me tied to him, then Legate Aetius thought he could exploit my criminal history, and then I finally get away from Cyrodiil and apparently the universe itself has its own idea of what–”
She stopped abruptly and took a shuddering breath in, calming herself. Brynjolf stared at her, shocked by the outburst, and she shot him a wan smile.
“I didn’t expect the Guild to be any different, at first. I made a promise to myself when I deserted: that I wouldn’t let myself live under anyone else’s thumb anymore. So after the debacle at Goldenglow, I was fully prepared to pack my bags and disappear again.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Well…you,” she admitted.
A blush spread across her face, and the sight made the knot of guilt in Brynjolf’s stomach loosen ever so slightly.
“What you said when I got back, I mean,” Ariene continued hurriedly. “The fact that you took my side, that you were willing to go against Mercer on my behalf, even though I’d just joined…I decided to stay and give the Guild another chance.”
“Well I’m glad you did, lass,” Brynjolf said before he could stop himself. His own cheeks warmed, but the small smile that Ariene gave him in return was worth the embarrassment that came with being earnest.
“Me too,” she said quietly. Then she took a sharp breath, as if clearing her head. “Now, let’s finish this job and get out of here. I’ve had enough of old ruins for one day.”
After a few attempts, they found the right key on Rigel’s ring to unlock the chamber’s door and were able to make their way through. The bandit leader had clearly been paranoid, as the corridors that followed were riddled with booby traps, though Brynjolf and Ariene didn’t have any trouble avoiding them. They were rewarded at the end with the bandits’ cache of valuables, which included the silver mold that the Guild had been hired to retrieve.
They quickly scouted ahead, only to find that the tunnels had looped them back to the large open cavern that led back to the woodcutter’s hut. They returned to the treasure room and cleaned out the cache, taking the mold and as much of the loot as they could carry between them. By the time they emerged back into the forest, the late day sun was streaming through the branches overhead.
Ariene looked up, raising one hand to shield her eyes against the afternoon light, and swore under her breath.
“It’s later than I thought…I won’t be able to make Old Hroldan Inn before nightfall and I don’t have any camping supplies. I’ll have to stay one more night in Falkreath.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I was hoping to avoid any more run-ins with Legate Skulnar before this job was done.”
“Tell you what, lass,” Brynjolf said as they started down the road back to town. “Take my horse. You have further to travel anyway; it makes more sense for you to ride than it does for me to. I can make it to Riverwood on foot tonight.”
“Oh, I can’t make you do that,” Ariene began, but Brynjolf shook his head.
“There’s no use arguing, lass, my mind’s made up. Besides, this way you can use the saddlebags to take the bulk of this treasure haul up to Markarth with you. Sell as much as you can legally and bring the earnings home. It’ll be good to bring some clean coin into the Guild’s coffers.”
They made it back to Dead Man’s Drink, and set about packing the horse’s saddlebags with the jewelry, metal ingots, and gemstones that Ariene would sell in Markarth. Brynjolf loaded the septims into his own pack, along with a few items that he knew Tonillia would be interested in.
“Hopefully showing up with a sack load of coin will be enough to soothe Mercer’s temper,” he said casually, and Ariene looked up at him, a frown on her face.
“Did he give you a hard time over coming here?” she asked, and Brynjolf nodded.
“He did, but don’t let it bother you. He gives me a hard time over just about everything these days.”
“Maybe you should take the horse,” Ariene said. “You could get back sooner that way, and–”
“You need it more than I do, lass,” Brynjolf interrupted. “Besides, it’s not like there’s been anything for me to do back at the Guild. The city’s been on high alert since that little mishap in the market. Mercer just likes to take his problems out on me, I can handle it.”
Ariene looked at him for a moment, hesitation written on her face, before she said quietly,
“Someone very clever recently told me that just because you can handle something on your own doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Brynjolf raised an eyebrow, a playful grin pulling at the edge of his mouth.
“You think I’m clever?” he asked, and Ariene rolled her eyes.
“I was being serious, Brynjolf!” she chided, and he laughed.
“I know lass, I know.” He softened, and took a step closer. “And I appreciate the sentiment. But it’ll be fine, I promise. I know how to deal with Mercer’s moods. And one of the quickest ways to cheer him up is with a lot of coin.”
Ariene looked into his eyes for a long moment, as though searching for some hidden truth there. Finally, she nodded
“You sure I can’t convince you to take the horse?” she asked, and Brynjolf shook his head.
“I’m afraid not, lass. The beast is yours, at least until you get back to Riften.”
“Very well,” she said with an overly dramatic sigh.
Ariene swung herself into the saddle with ease, and Brynjolf had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.
“Take care of yourself out there,” he said, and she nodded, gathering up the reins.
“Hopefully I’ll only be a few days. We’ll get to have that drink of ours eventually.”
“Is that a promise?” Brynjolf asked with a smirk, and Ariene raised an eyebrow.
“I never make promises,” she said simply. “There are fewer disappointments that way.”
With that, she dug her heels into the horse’s side and it broke into a brisk trot. Brynjolf watched her ride away until she turned around a bend in the road and was out of sight.
Gods above, he thought, I really am gone on this woman, aren’t I?
He shook himself and hoisted his knapsack onto his shoulders, turning to take the northern route out of town. His usual temper aside, Brynjolf couldn’t see any real reason why Mercer would be upset with how this venture had gone. They’d fulfilled the client’s wishes, and made a tidy little profit on top of that. Maybe even enough to do something about the extra patrol problem they were having.
Brynjolf set off down the road, and for the first time in a long time, he actually felt optimistic about the future.
— — —
Author's Notes: Optimism! Cuteness! Nothing Ominous on the horizon at all! :D :D :D
(I am very excited for the next few chapters, they're what this whole fic has been leading up to in my mind)
We're in Falkreath, and Sweet Mara, do I have NEWS!
Lydia's a NOBLEWOMAN!
Not just because her family is rich, but she's actual nobility! As in, royal blood.
Right now, Her Ladyship is sleeping off at least four pints of ale and two bottles of strong mead.
All right, before I get ahead of myself - Morning:
We didn't sleep in until noon, but it was about then by the time we had breakfast and got ready to find the treasure room.
We didn't have to look far.
Rigel wasn't kidding in her warning note about the traps! I actually lost count of how many there were. I nearly set one off when I almost missed my jump over a trap tile, too.
Her treasure room was a crypt, and she kept her loot in a sarcophagus surrounded by bodies in niches.
There was a trap there, too, probably to discourage grave robbers, along with a chest.
When I pictured hoards of pirate treasure as a child, that is what I was thinking of! The sarcophagus was partially filled with grave dirt, but on top were gold and silver ingots, precious ores, gems, potions, a nice enchanted helmet, and bags of coins with lots of loose gold pieces scattered around.
All that was missing was a crown and a strand of pearls.
Erandur nodded approvingly as we looked it over. He said, "You know, for a bandit, the lady had style."
That she did! She could've just used the chest that was right there. There was plenty of room in it, but she made a satisfying pile of loot, instead.
I should do that in my room. Bowl of gems, at least.
We emptied the treasure room, and got back on the road.
Not far down the road we could see a trio of bandits (probably connected to Rigel's group) manning a rockfall trap hung over the road. We got ready for a fight, but a dragon showed up and started in on them!
I decided to let the beast be the bandit's problem, and gestured for the others to follow me. We ran past the bandit's trap and down the road, and left the fight behind us.
Soon enough a mist began to creep over the road, and the weather went from clear and bright to dark and gloomy.
Valdimar said that we must be almost to Falkreath, and laughed.
I asked what he meant by that, and he told me how he'd been there a few times on behalf of Idgrod. The town is known for its cemetery, and everyone there sort of latched on to the theme.
As we walked up to the gates, a guard stopped us and asked if we'd seen a dog. Lod, the blacksmith, is offering a reward for it.
Aside from Septim, we hadn't seen any, but said we'd keep an eye out.
When we got into town and walked down the street, I saw what Valdimar meant! There's Dead Man's Drink, Grave Concoctions, Gray Pine Goods, Corpselight Farm… It's actually a bit impressive!
It wasn't that late, so we decided to get all of our trading taken care before going to see the jarl.
We went to the smithy first, and sold off our extra weapons and armor to Lod. He's very keen on getting his hands on that dog. He's looking for a good guard dog; Falkreath's a nice town, but the hold is mostly wilderness. That's smart! Septim's saved us more than once.
I chatted with Lod while we traded, and told him how we'd found Septim battling a pack of wolves in the mountains above Solitude. He was impressed, and handed us some meat so I could hopefully catch that dog for him. Maybe having another dog around will tempt it?
Worth a shot.
I finished up there, and went into Gray Pine Goods. The owner, Solaf, was talkative as we bargained, and told me about how he used to be a Stormcloak until he was injured near Windhelm. He said his brother Bolund wasn't as friendly as he was, and that we shouldn't be offended if we have business with him at the mill.
I need to order some lumber, so I thanked him for the warning, and we went on our way to the next shop, Grave Concoctions.
The alchemist who runs it, Zaria, is a Redguard woman who moved here from Hammerfell because her family didn't approve of her interest in poisons. She loves it here in Falkreath, and feels right at home in the gloom!
She's got some interesting stock, that's for sure. She's got the usual run of potions, but more poisons than I usually see. Strong ones, too. As for ingredients, well… She had TWO Daedra hearts! Erandur shot me a look and I bought them immediately. They were expensive, but he said they make for very strong healing potions.
I made a note of that, and we went on to the mill.
Bolund doesn't seem too bad. He said hello, and asked if I needed anything, so I ordered some wood and left. Nothing special, but Bolund did cast a sideways glance at Erandur. Maybe he was just being polite because he could smell gold coming his way.
Anyway, this is where Lydia started to act strange. I don't blame her for it, either.
As we walked to the Jarl's longhouse, she mentioned that she'd heard Dengeir was a good Jarl, if getting on in years. Valdimar gave her a strange look. Dengeir stepped down not long ago, he said.
Lydia's eyes went wide and she demanded to know when that happened. I've never seen her look so… Shocked? I don't know. She can be hard to read, sometimes.
Valdimar said Idgrod received notice of it about a week or so before he joined up with us.
Lydia looked irritated, and said that she'd stay outside to "guard the door".
Erandur pointed out that there were already two guards stationed outside, but she gave us a look that could scare a Death Hound, so we went inside and left her there.
I'm not going to even try and be polite about this. There's no point.
Siddgeir, the Jarl, is awful.
I know his type. I can spot them a mile away; I've had to put up with enough of them back in the Capital. Rich boys like him would come to my part of town, looking for a wild time slumming it so they'd have a good story to tell their friends later. They make excellent marks, because they don't have a clue about what things actually cost, so conning them out of days worth of gold for a single meal and a rented room is easy. Add a bit of flattery, and I usually have them eating out of my hand within the hour.
Sometimes literally! HAH!
As much as they make my skin crawl, men like him do have their uses. So, I put on all the charm I could, given that I'm dressed in bloodstained mage robes and haven't had a bath in a few days, and bade him a good evening.
He asked what I wanted, and when I mentioned his letter, he looked surprised. Yes, I'm the Bronwen he's heard about. He made no secret of looking me over, and while I was able to fall back on my old habits, it felt strange, like putting on shoes I haven't worn in a while.
He said he summoned me because there were some bandits causing him problems. He beckoned me closer before he continued (why do they always wear the worst-smelling perfumes?) and said that he couldn't ask just anyone because he had some "dealings" with those bandits in the past. At first, they gave him a good cut, but they stopped paying once he became jarl.
I told him not to worry about it, and then made some small talk. I wanted to know exactly how rotten he is.
He said he became Jarl because his uncle, Dengeir, was sadly feeling his years and had to step down. He's now a Thane, and Siddgeir feels that his takeover is of great benefit to the hold.
I asked him if it was difficult being a Jarl, especially with his inexperience, and he said it was the easiest job in the world. He gets to enjoy the finest food and drink on offer, and spend his days hunting with the finest hounds in the wilds of his hold. His steward handles everything to do with "the smallfolk." He said I should try it sometime!
I smiled and laughed, and said I just might "try a jarl"! I made sure to give him a little wink, before bidding him good evening and walking out.
Erandur and Valdimar had been hanging back, but within earshot, the whole time. They looked astonished as I turned around, but didn't say anything until we rejoined Lydia and got away from the guards.
They asked why I'd agreed to help him - Money - but more than that - Was I actually flirting with him?
Lydia actually cussed and spat at that, and I started to cackle. I explained my experience with guys like him, and how I was just trying to get all the gold out of him I could. Besides, as we've seen, the bandits around here have some good loot!
They admitted that I had a point, and I asked Lydia what her history was with Siddgeir. She obviously knew him!
She looked uneasy before she sighed and said that she'd tell us over dinner and drinks.
"Lots of drinks."
Once we were settled around a table in Dead Man's Drink and had rooms squared away for the night, Lydia told us that she was "acquainted" with Siddgeir.
I asked how well "acquainted" they were, and she must have caught the insinuating tone in my voice, because she glared and said what she meant was that her fist was well acquainted with his face.
We burst out laughing, and she said that she punched him in the face at a party in Whiterun two years ago. Valdimar asked why Irileth didn't skin her alive for laying hands on a Jarl's nephew while on duty, and Lydia chugged the rest of her ale before she said she wasn't there on duty.
She was a guest.
Now it was my turn to be confused. How did she get invited to a fancy party like that?
Lydia ordered some mead, and drained half the bottle before she had us huddle in and whispered that her full name is Lady Lydia Clawthane.
She was at the party with Siddgeir because her mother's been trying to marry her off to some noble or other for YEARS.
When I heard that, so many things made sense. Her knowledge of how to run a household, history, maps, tactics, her manners… Everything a noblewoman would be expected to know. I asked her to tell us more, and she explained that the whole reason she and her little sister, Elfa, were born is because their big brother didn't "work out" like their parents planned.
Valdimar interrupted here, and asked if her big brother was the same young Clawthane who used to stop by the College of Winterhold with a bunch of attendants to take tests and gather study materials every so often.
Lydia said yes, that was him! His name is Onfin.
Valdimar never actually met him, but watched some of his tests and helped put together study materials for him. He said Onfin was a natural! Absolutely terrifying, too.
Lydia laughed and nodded. That's why he didn't work out! Their parents had hoped for a strapping youth they could turn into the most eligible bachelor in all of Skyrim. Instead, they ended up with a son "built like a Spriggan" who was more interested in magic than anything else.
That didn't stop them from trying to turn him into a warrior, she said, but he rebelled "like a true Clawthane". He rigged up a weighted greataxe and used it to cut off his right hand when he was only nine years old!
I've said it before and I'll say it again - They grow them different here in Skyrim.
Valdimar was shocked. All the students wondered what was wrong with his hand on account of the enchanted glove he wore. They had no idea there wasn't even a hand in it!
Lydia explained that his glove moved like a regular hand, but since there was no substance to it, he couldn't use it to hold on to things or even write with it. It was so he could cast spells with both hands.
I couldn't believe it! He has a special glove made just for spell-casting!
Anyway, since he couldn't swing a sword any more, he was free to practice magic, and that's how she and her sister came to be.
Erandur grumbled about that. Having children just to use them as political bargaining chips was hardly what you would call "loving", he said, and Lydia half-agreed. Her parents love them and want the best for them, but they can't accept that their children might have different ideas about what "best" means.
At least her sister didn't disappoint them. She said Elfa was more than happy to pursue life as a noblewoman, but not because of duty or anything like that. Elfa wanted the power, influence, and money. She had plenty of that as a Clawthane, but to get more she'd have to marry. Lydia said she'd even fallen in love, but their parents wouldn't allow it until Lydia found someone and got married, first.
Isn't that awful? I can't imagine forcing someone's hand like that!
We were all saying as much, and Lydia nodded as she started to kick back a new bottle of ale.
She'd had at least four drinks by that point, maybe one more, but she needed it.
She confessed that she didn't join the Guard because she loved upholding the law or had any special loyalty to Whiterun. She did it because she's good with a sword and wanted to get away from her mother! She also figured that if she joined up her parents would finally leave her alone and let her sister get married.
While they did let Elfa get married, they didn't leave Lydia alone for long. Her mother was an absolute pest around Dragonsreach, apparently, and used to drop by to check on her. She would make sure Lydia had certain nights off to attend fancy parties, and was constantly asking after her guard postings to make sure they weren't "too dangerous". Irileth didn't care what she said and posted Lydia where she pleased, but having Lady Clawthane stop by and send letters so often was a nuisance.
I could tell Lydia was starting to get a bit grumpy at this point, so I asked her about the party where she punched Siddgeir, and she brightened right up.
Apparently her mother was really pushing for her to get to know him because they all knew he'd be Jarl of Falkreath someday, and he's considered quite the catch!
I said I'd rather kiss the catch of the day, and Erandur almost choked on his wine.
Anyway, Siddgeir said something to Lydia about how much he liked "conquering wild territories" and "hunting in the bush". (so gross) She said she was just going to walk away, but he put his hand on her waist and tried to pull her back!
So, she broke his nose and laid him out flat with one hit.
Valdimar pointed out that was nice of her. At least his organs were still on the inside!
Lydia cackled, and ordered us another round.
I whispered to the guys that we should probably start winding things down, and they agreed. Lydia was red in the face, and getting to that sleepy, giggly stage of drunk. I wanted her to still be mobile so I could get her to bed!
I went up to the bar and chatted a bit with Valga, the owner of Dead Man's Drink, while she got me some bread for Lydia. I don't want her being too hungover in the morning! We've got work to do.
Valga had caught on that we were adventurers, and told me that people have been going missing lately. She'd even heard that some of their hunters were gone. They'd been hunting bear up north of Falkreath, and she asked if we could look for them.
I said I'd be glad to, and she showed me roughly where she thought they would be. She said the leader of the group is a man named Valdr.
Right before I left to go back to our table, an old man with long white hair and wearing a set of leather armor that looks like its seen more battles than I have days came up to order a drink. He told me that unless I came to Falkreath to bury someone, I came to the wrong place.
I said I wasn't planning on burying anyone anytime soon, and he said he just got done giving his old war companion, Berit, a proper Nord burial on a pyre.
I paid for his drink to show my condolences, and he introduced himself as Thadgeir, the Jarl's other uncle. He said I seemed a decent sort, and asked if I'd be willing to do him one more favor. He asked me to deliver his friend's ashes to Runil, the Priest of Arkay. He'd know what to do with them.
Of course I said I'd be honored, and took the ashes to our room before I headed back to the table with the bread for Lydia. Luckily, she ate some of it before she declared that she was getting too warm and sleepy, and wanted to go to bed.
I'm so glad she's a happy drunk. I'd hate to see what sort of damage she could do if she was one of the fighty ones!
I got her into bed and grabbed this thing so I could write out here, where it's quieter. Lydia snores like a horker after she's had a few, even though she'll swear from here to Secundus that she doesn't.
Even Septim left our room to sleep out here by the fire.
Anyway, Erandur and Valdimar have gone to bed. They spent most of the time I was writing pointing out all the little things about Lydia that hinted at her background, and now I'm one of three patrons left.
I feel like I didn't do a lot today, but I'm dead tired. We have three things to do tomorrow, and with luck we'll be back here by nightfall with a nice haul.
Overheard a bandit complaining that a harlot is claiming a kid is his and she won't get one rusty septim from him..... implying Skyrim has some sort of child support system?? I'd love to see the inner workings of that.
Ignore what everyone tells you about summoning a doggo and burninating it for hours and hours on end.
Get an unlimited conjuration suit (ring, necklace, headgear & armor/clothing, all enchanted with fortify conjuration by 25%) and some summoning spells.
Go somewhere with bandits and a spot you can get to that's unreachable by said bandits.
Get on that spot, equipt the summoning spell in both hands, and then spam the ever loving fuck out of it in an alternating pattern. Like charging one hand while releasing the other.
???
Profit!
I did it in pinewatch on that one rock you can jump onto just before the door to the second area. The summon doesn't have enough time to attack the bandit that guards said door before it's replaced by the next summon. you might have to kite the bandit closer to your perch with throw voice or some such. I went from level 75 to 100 in less than 5 minutes!
This also works with illusion, but instead of fuxxing with bandits, just get an unlimited illusion suit, go somewhere safe, and dual spam the fuck out of muffle. Not *as* quick as conjuration, though.
Update: get the summon dremora lord spell as soon as you can, cause it's fun as hell watching him kicking the shit out of a bunch of bandits.
Update: room full of bandits + mayhem spell: also hella fun.
Update: okay, I'm going to have to make a suit that fortifies both conjuration and illusion at the same time, cause this shit just too fun to go back to boring old bow sniping.
Update: "I smell weakness!" "no one escapes!" and then, right as he cut down the last bandit standing, "oof!"
pinewatch replied to your post: pinewatch replied to your video:1) josee is like....
conflicted emotions bc i’m in love with her but extremely jealous that she just looks like that
SAME like looking like a handsome butch harry potter was a secret dream of mine as a kid, and discovering that someone else just looks like that normally is A Lot
Prev: Ch.9 Every Cloud... || Next: Ch.11 Misdirection
Fic Masterpost
Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.
Chapter Summary: Brynjolf finds Ariene in Falkreath, and after helping her out of a jam, the two prepare to storm the bandit camp at Pinewatch to retrieve a stolen silver mold for their client Endon.
Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.
Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)
Word Count: 4,203
Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!
— — —
Brynjolf swore he could feel time slowing as all eyes in the inn landed on him. The few other patrons didn’t bother to hide their stares as they watched the growing drama unfold, and the Legate he’d confronted was glaring at him with enough ferocity to kill a sabre cat. Even Ariene was staring, though she let her shock show on her face for only a moment.
“Now brother,” she said loudly, catching on to Brynjolf’s ruse immediately. “There's no need to cause a scene. Legate Skulnar and I were simply having a…disagreement.”
Legate Skulnar looked back and forth between the two, skepticism written plainly on his face.
“Brother?” he asked, shrugging Brynjolf’s hand off his shoulder with a snarl. “I don’t see much resemblance between the two of you, kinsman.”
Brynjolf silently cursed the fact that Ariene’s features were so distinctly imperial before giving the Legate his best eyebrow raise.
“Half-brother, if you must know. My father took an imperial wife after my own ma died; not that it’s any of your business, sir.”
Legate Skulnar didn’t look convinced, and Ariene stepped forward deftly, standing so that she was next to Brynjolf and no longer backed into the corner.
“I tried to explain to the Legate that I was here on business, but he wouldn’t listen,” she said. “Insisted I was some kind of runaway from the legion. As if ‘Ariene’ isn’t one of the most common Imperial names of the last decade.”
Brynjolf had no idea if that was true or not, but he supposed that if he didn’t, then Skulnar might not either.
“The legion?” he repeated with a laugh. “Ari’s ma is in the timber business. Why else would we come to this little splinter of a city? Certainly not for the hospitality.”
The Legate was still clearly suspicious, but Brynjolf saw the moment that he realized that his catch had slipped away. The gaze of the other patrons had turned from Brynjolf to Skulnar, and while he could arrest the both of them right there, it definitely wouldn’t do him any favors with the locals. Falkreath’s allegiances did technically lie with the empire, but this was due more to the Jarl’s personal greed than the consensus of the citizens, and Brynjolf would be willing to bet that keeping up a good image for the Legion was one of the Legate’s top priorities.
“Fine,” Skulnar eventually growled. “You can move along. But I’ll be keeping my eye on the two of you while you’re here, is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” Brynjolf drawled, his tone anything but respectful, and Skulnar glared.
“Stop antagonizing him, brother,” Ariene said, taking his arm. “Come, let me tell you about the spot I found in the woods. It’s a perfect place to plant our next business venture.”
She led him to a tiny room off the side of the bar, motioning for him to shut the door behind him. As soon as they were alone, she dropped his arm and put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Brother?” she repeated, and Brynjolf shrugged.
“I wanted to distract him from who you are. Passing you off as a Skyrim native seemed the best bet, considering the circumstances.”
“I suppose since it worked, I can’t complain too much…” Ariene trailed off, her expression changing as she gave Brynjolf a once over. “By the Nine, Bryn, what happened to you?”
It was then that Brynjolf remembered that his clothes were still torn and muddy, that his hair was a stringy mess falling into his eyes, and that there were still traces of the makeshift blood on his face. He'd probably looked like a madman, stalking up to a Legate and challenging him right there in the inn.
“Oh, right,” he said, wiping a few flecks of the red-stained mud from his cheek. “This is nothing, I just had to pull one over on some bandits camping out in Helgen. No actual fighting was done.”
Ariene sighed, then sat on the edge of her bed, gesturing for Brynjolf to sit in the room’s only chair.
Brynjolf sat, frowning at her.
“Are you alright, lass?”
“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just been a long few weeks. Gulum-Ei is a stubborn son of a bitch, and traveling in the Reach right now is a nightmare. Those ‘Forsworn’ are around just about every other hill. Then there’s this nonsense with the Markarth job, and to top it all off that Legate out there’s been on my ass for the past three days. I was certain I was going to have to have a mysterious ‘accident’ in the woods and disappear to get away from him.”
“Now that sounds time consuming,” Brynjolf said. “I’m glad I showed up when I did so we could avoid it.” His tone was light, playful, but Ariene wouldn’t look directly at him as she spoke.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “I worried that the message would arrive too late, or that you wouldn’t understand the code, or…”
She trailed off, but Brynjolf heard the unspoken doubt loud and clear.
I wasn’t sure you’d even come.
“One of the Guild’s best and brightest calls in for backup?” She looked up at him and he smiled at her, causing a faint blush to rise to her cheeks. “Of course I came, lass. And your code was perfect. The little clue about the First of Frostfall was a neat trick.”
“Thank you,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have bothered to encode it at all, but Skulnar was already suspicious of me, and I was worried he’d confiscate the letter from the courier.”
“I wouldn’t have put it past him,” Brynjolf agreed. “But you didn’t even mention him in your note. Which means that what you need help with has nothing to do with the Legion, and everything to do with bandits and this silversmith job. Tell me about it.”
Ariene nodded, and just like that, she was all business, every trace of worry and doubt vanishing from her in an instant.
“I went to Markarth to meet the client, Endon. I was expecting some kind of job targeting a competitor of his, or perhaps a robbery to bring some extra cash flow to his business. But no.” She shook her head ruefully. “He wants us to raid a bandit camp to retrieve a stolen item.”
Brynjolf raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that a job for the Jarl’s guards? Or even the Companions?” he asked, and Ariene sighed.
“Apparently, all official channels are too busy with the civil war and Forsworn attacks. I guess he heard that the Guild was returning to power and figured ‘who better to steal back something that was stolen?’ Their camp is at the base of the mountain range just northeast of here.”
“You’ve staked the place out?” Brynjolf asked, and Ariene nodded.
“This is the problem: it’s not a normal camp. There’s this old woodcutter’s hut in the forest, and I’m convinced it’s bigger than it seems. I’ve seen more men go in and out over the past three days than should be able to fit comfortably inside.”
“Maybe it’s connected to some kind of cave system,” Brynjolf mused, and Ariene nodded again.
“My thoughts exactly. But if that’s true, I have no way of knowing how many opponents I’m dealing with until I’m already inside. That’s why I wrote to you for help…though I was prepared to attempt the raid alone if I got no response in a few days.”
“Well, I’m glad I made it before you tried something like that,” Brynjolf repeated. “So when do you want to make your move? Tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” Ariene replied. “I think we both could use some sleep. Besides, the best time to hit them would probably be midmorning. From what I can tell, that’s when most of them come out to do…whatever it is bandits do during the day. Pillage, and so on.”
“Sounds like a plan, lass,” Brynjolf said, getting to his feet. “Now, what kind of drink do they serve here?”
They ordered a small meal, and since talking about business in the open areas of the inn seemed a foolhardy choice, they spent the rest of the evening having a mostly improvised conversation about their imaginary family members back in Riften.
As they talked, Brynjolf noticed the tension slowly bleeding out of Ariene’s shoulders, and he found himself relaxing as well, for what he realized was the first time in weeks. It was fun, sitting by the fire with a drink in his hand and making up stories about how Cousin Joric had fallen into the breeding pool at the Riften Fishery and thus was sentenced to a week of floor scrubbing. Being on a con again– even one as simple as pretending to be a family of timber workers– was energizing, and he couldn’t help but smile as he and Ariene shared a block of cheese and traded tales.
Despite his long day, Brynjolf found sleep that night to be elusive. Lying in one of the inn’s creaky beds and staring at the ceiling, he could feel the anticipation rising in his chest. Tomorrow, they would head into the woods to face down an entire encampment of bloodthirsty bandits. And this time, he probably couldn’t trick his way out of dealing with them.
— — —
The next morning, Ariene led the way through the woods to where the bandits had made their base. Brynjolf realized he’d never actually seen her out in the field besides that first job in the marketplace, and was impressed by how silently the lass moved through the dense underbrush of the old forests of Falkreath. He typically associated thieves with back alleys and city streets, but he supposed that Ariene’s history as a mercenary in her father’s crew had garnered her plenty of experience with the wilderness.
It didn’t take them long to reach what on the outside looked like a perfectly convincing woodcutter’s hut, and they crouched down in the bushes across the road to watch the door. Sure enough, clusters of bandits began exiting the hut, a few at a time spread out across the morning. About half of those who left headed up the road to the east, while the other half took the road west, and Brynjolf could picture them meeting up with their fellows and staging traps for unsuspecting travelers.
“Alright, lass,” he said in a low voice once it had been a good half hour since anyone left the cabin. “How do you want to handle this?”
“If there really is a secret passageway, then they’ve probably left at least one man left inside to guard it,” Ariene replied. “It’s what I’d do. I say we go in through the front here, take the guard by surprise if we can, and figure out our next move from there.”
Brynjolf nodded, and once they were sure there was no one else on the road to see them, they both rose to their feet and made their way to the cottage door. Ariene’s picks made quick work of the lock, and she looked up at Brynjolf, a question in her eyes.
He nodded to her and she pulled the door open by a hair, allowing Brynjolf to peer inside. He quickly scanned the interior, noting a cluttered workbench, a low burning fire in the hearth, and a wooden railing in the corner that indicated stairs.
“You were right, lass,” he whispered. “There is a basement. Up top here looks all clear for now.”
“Take point,” she whispered back, sliding her picks into her pocket and pulling her bow off her shoulder. “I’ll cover you from behind.”
Brynjolf nodded, and the two of them slipped into the house. They approached the stairs, and Brynjolf crouched low, peering down into the basement through the gap in the floor.
There was a single man sitting at a table with his back to them, an open bottle of wine in his hand. Brynjolf slowly descended the stairs, wincing as the wood boards creaked beneath his feet, but the man did not stir. As soon as his feet were on the stone floor, Ariene called out in a clear voice:
“If you scream, you’re a dead man.”
The bandit whirled around, his hand moving to an axe he wore on his belt, but he froze when he saw the tip of Ariene’s arrow pointed at his heart.
“What do you want?” he asked, and Brynjolf smiled.
“Just to have a chat, lad, maybe a look around. You see, we’re looking for some particular merchandise.”
“Endon’s stolen mold,” Ariene added.
“Endon's mold?” the man repeated. He offered a nervous smile. “I'm afraid you have the wrong place, my friends. You'll find no silversmiths here. I assure you, I have nothing of value. I'm nothing but a poor woodcutter just trying to make ends meet."
Brynjolf glanced at Ariene, who had a triumphant glint in her eye.
“I never said it was a silver mold,” she said, and the man licked his lips.
“Oh? Well uh, Endon is a silversmith in Markarth, so I just assumed…”
“Look, lad,” Brynjolf interrupted. “We’d like to avoid a fight just as much as you would. If you just tell us where the mold is, we can all be on our way, no harm no foul.”
The man bit his lip, eyes flitting between the two thieves.
“We can make it worth your while,” Ariene said, and Brynjolf nodded, pulling out his coin pouch and giving it a shake.
“I see…” the man said slowly, his gaze fixed on the purse. After a moment, he nodded to himself and got to his feet.
“Well, I can't say exactly where the mold is, but something does spring to mind,” he said casually. “It seems there's this strange button on the wall opposite the fireplace in my house. Always wondered what it was for.”
Brynjolf glanced at Ariene, and she gave a single nod of her head.
“Fair enough,” Brynjolf said, and tossed the coin to the bandit. The man caught it deftly and nodded to them.
“Thank you kindly, friends. Think I'm going to head out now. Take a long vacation from woodcutting, you know? Good luck.”
He edged past Ariene, who kept her bow trained on him as he climbed back up the stairs, only lowering it once he had left the cottage and closed the door behind him.
“Well, so much for finding it in the house,” she muttered when the man was gone.
“When has the Guild ever had that kind of luck?” Brynjolf pointed out, and Ariene snorted.
“Good point. After you, then,” she added, gesturing towards the button.
Brynjolf pressed it, and the bookshelf against the wall swung open, revealing a tunnel leading down deeper into the earth.
“So there is a cave back here. I wonder if they dug this out, or if it was here naturally?” Ariene mused as they made their way down the tunnel.
Brynjolf opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he rounded a corner and found the end of the tunnel opening out into a large open room.
“I don’t know, but that doesn’t look like any rock formations I’ve ever seen,” he said, pointing at a scaffolding rig that blocked their view of most of the cave.
“Get down,” Ariene whispered, and Brynjolf immediately dropped to one knee, his hand moving to his daggers.
A second later, he saw the bandit.
Through gaps in the old wooden boards, he could just make out a rope bridge connecting the outcropping of rock they were standing on to another part of the cave system, and standing on that bridge with his arms folded was a burly looking man in iron armor. He was positioned so that he’d see whoever came walking out of the tunnel, but he hadn’t startled at the sight of them, so it was just possible that they were hidden from his sight where they were crouching.
“Let me by,” Ariene breathed, and Brynjolf nodded, letting the lass slip past him.
She crept forward into the cave, angling herself so that the makeshift wooden wall was between her and the bandit’s line of sight. She scanned the room, a frown creasing her forehead as she did so. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow as she made her way back to him, and she shot him a grim look.
“There’s no way around him that he wouldn’t notice and raise the alarm,” she murmured. “But I think he’s the only one on guard in this chamber.”
“Your call, lass,” Brynjolf whispered. “However you want to handle this, I’ll follow your lead.”
Ariene didn’t say anything for several seconds, and Brynjolf almost wondered if she hadn’t heard him, but then she met his eyes, her gaze hard.
“I’d draw your weapon if I were you.”
Brynjolf immediately pulled his daggers free from their sheaths as Ariene turned back towards the bandit. She lifted her bow and pulled back the string, aiming her shot through a gap in the scaffolding. She took a breath in, and on the exhale, let the arrow fly.
The arrow struck the bandit square in the neck, and he fell back immediately with a gurgled cry. Ariene started to straighten, then cursed and ducked back down, drawing another arrow as a confused call echoed in the room.
“Rogjar? Are you alright?”
A moment later, a bandit rounded the corner, and on seeing the body on the bridge, he gave a cry of alarm, drawing a sword from his belt. Another bandit joined him in an instant, his own weapon drawn and his eyes hard. They both ignored their fallen comrade and headed across the bridge, right for where Brynjolf and Ariene were hiding.
Ariene let her second arrow loose, and it caught the bigger of the two bandits on the shoulder. The man staggered, then grunted and shifted his grip on his warhammer. Brynjolf had just enough time to think “Well that’s not a good sign” before a third arrow shot by and caught the first bandit in the thigh, causing him to stumble forward.
Ariene shot one more arrow, but it missed both targets, and then the larger of the two bandits was on the pair of them, swinging his warhammer towards their heads. Brynjolf rolled forward, slashing out at the man’s legs with his daggers. The thug gave a cry of both pain and surprise as the blades sliced into his flesh; no doubt he was used to people trying to move away from his wide, slow swings, not towards them.
Brynjolf spun quickly, jabbing one dagger into the back of the man’s neck before he could turn around. The bandit fell forward, and Brynjolf slammed the hilt of his dagger on the top of the man’s skull, just to be safe. He turned back towards the other bandit, just in time to see Ariene strike him across the face with the arm of her bow, knocking him to the ground. She drew her own blade and followed him down, pressing her knee against his chest and slitting his throat before he had a chance to recover.
She looked up at him, panting slightly, and he nodded to her.
“Alright, Ariene?”
“Fine,” she said, getting to her feet with a grunt and wiping the blood off her blade. “You?”
Brynjolf turned back to his fallen foe and pulled his dagger out of the man’s back.
“Right as rain, lass.”
The two spared a few minutes to roll the bandits’ bodies off the bridge and hide them among the boxes and crates in the pit below. The cavern was far too vast for the bandits to have dug themselves, and Brynjolf spotted a few old burial urns and nordic weapons shoved up against the wall in one corner.
“Looks like our marks here found an ancient burial ground and converted it into a hideout,” he said conversationally as he rolled one of the corpses behind a pillar and out of sight.
“And they’re making good use of it, too,” Ariene said. “Look at this.”
Brynjolf looked to where she was pointing. Crates and barrels full of produce, cured meats, clothing, and other simple goods were stacked along one wall. Beside the crates were entire wagons in various stages of being broken apart, and there, in a shallow pit just off to the side, was a pile of khajiit corpses.
“They’re not just hassling random travelers or raiding villages,” Ariene said quietly. “They’re attacking whole trade caravans. My guess is they overtake them on the road and force them to unload their goods in here, then kill them so they can’t report on their location.”
Brynjolf shook his head at the brutality.
“It’s a damn shame. And Khajiit traders are some of our best customers.” He paused, a fraction of a conversation floating back to his mind. “Tonilia mentioned that there’d been delays along the southwest routes.”
“Looks like we found the culprits,” Ariene said as she stashed a bandit’s body behind one of the carts. “Or some of them, anyway.”
“I’m no lover of law and order, but I’m amazed that the hold guards were too busy to deal with this,” Brynjolf mused. “I understand not wanting to track down one man’s missing shipment, but these are entire caravans disappearing.”
“Well, I’m sure if they were nord caravans then the local authorities could find it in themselves to spare the resources,” Ariene said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. Brynjolf grimaced.
“Aye…you’re probably right, lass,” he said. “Good thing we’re here to pick up the slack then, eh?”
Ariene smiled briefly, then straightened and drew her bow again.
“At any rate, I don’t see the mold with these crates; I’d wager the more valuable cargo is stashed deeper in the cave. Let’s move further in and see what we can find.”
The two made their way back up to the upper level and followed the tunnels through the old burial chambers. In one of the large chambers, a makeshift bar had been set up with a few tables and chairs, though the room was thankfully deserted as they passed through. They found more evidence that the ancient nords had used the caves as a burial ground, with more funeral urns, looted crypts, and carved stone doors around every corner.
True to Ariene’s prediction, most of the bandits were out raiding, leaving the cave system mostly empty. There were a few stragglers here and there, but with the element of surprise on their side, she and Brynjolf had little trouble in dispatching them. Upon entering yet another wide open room set with a few tables and chairs, Ariene turned to Brynjolf and smiled sheepishly.
“I almost feel bad for dragging you all the way out here now, it seems I would have been able to manage this on my own after all.”
“Perhaps,” Brynjolf said, picking up a letter from the table and scanning it with little interest. “But between you and me, lass, even if we don’t draw our blades again for the rest of the day, I’m still glad I came. Just because you can handle a job like this on your own doesn’t mean you should have to without backup. Besides, the Guild’s been terribly dull the last few weeks; it’s nice to get out and about for once.”
They followed another narrow tunnel out of the room, and found themselves in a small chamber with a wooden door blocking their way. Ariene walked up and tested the handle experimentally, then stowed her bow on her back and pulled out her picks.
“Locked,” she said as she began fiddling with the lock, and Brynjolf snorted. ‘
“Never would have guessed,” he quipped, and Ariene rolled her eyes.
There was a beat of silence, then Ariene frowned.
“Odd,” she murmured. “Bryn, give this a try, would you?”
Brynjolf sheathed his daggers and knelt beside her, taking the picks in his hands. He wasn’t as good at lockpicking as Vex, but he was still pretty damn good at it, so he was surprised when, after a minute or so of trying, one of the picks broke inside the lock.
“Shit,” Brynjolf swore quietly as he pulled the broken pieces out.
“This lock is far too strong for a random door in a bandit hole,” Ariene said as Brynjolf pulled out his own pair of picks. “What could be hidden back here?”
“Take a wild guess,” said a gruff voice.
Brynjolf turned, only to find himself on the wrong end of a very sharp looking sword. He looked up to see a bandit woman in plate armor with war paint in harsh lines across her face glaring down at them. Ariene cursed and reached for her bow, but the woman shook her head and stepped closer, pointing her sword mere inches from Brynjolf’s neck. Ariene froze, and a sneer spread across the woman’s face.
“Now then,” she said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “What am I going to do with you?”
— — —
AN: Honestly I love that we've wound up on an entire side quest barely related to the main focus of the story, it feels very on brand for a skyrim story (also I'll talk any excuse to keep having these two dance around each other. :3 )
Prev: Ch.9 Every Cloud... || Next: Ch.11
Fic Masterpost
