#Brynjolf Imagines

[lilmoonbunny]

Betrayal; Brynjolf

When Karliah appears back at the Thieves Guild after Mercer has informed them of Y/N's death, Brynjolf is quick to see red.

Spoilers for the Thieves Guild questline.

Brynjolf was a thief, there was no doubt about it. Thievery was in his blood, and always had been. Unattached, flirtatious, and talented at what he did, that was how most people would describe him, yet there was always someone who saw him differently.

Y/N, the latest addition to the thieves guild, was recruited by Brynjolf a few months ago now and the pair became fast friends. Having been the one to recruit and train her, Brynjolf knew a lot about the woman, including her distrust of those around her.

It took Y/N a while to open up to Brynjolf, for reasons unbeknownst to him. Naturally, he assumed there was something in her past, a lover, perhaps? Brynjolf didn’t like the way that thought made him feel, so he did what he did best and ignored it. He didn’t have feelings for her, he couldn’t…

So why did he feel so depressed when Mercer told him how Karliah had killed the woman in cold blood? Why did he lock himself away for days on end? Surely it was just a friend thing, right? He totally didn’t regret not telling her how he felt. Why would he?

“You better have a good reason for coming here, Karliah.” Brynjolf spat, being held back from attacking by Rune. “I should kill you where you stand.”

“It was not I who betrayed the guild,” she spoke softly, sensing Brynjolf’s anger.

“That is not what I am talking about,” he raged, freeing himself from Rune’s grasp and flying towards Karliah, only to be grabbed once again.

“She is telling the truth, Bryn,”

That voice…? It can’t be, surely.

“Y/N!?” Brynjolf immediately sprung backwards, holding the speaker at arm’s length. “You’re alive? Mercer said-“

“Mercer tried to kill me, Brynjolf. You’ve been lied to this whole time. Karliah saved my life.” She spoke quietly as she stared into Brynjolf’s erratic eyes.

He couldn’t believe that she was here in front of him. Mercer said that she had been killed, yet here she stood with Karliah, claiming that Mercer – the man who he trusted more than anything – had betrayed them.

There was no doubt that Y/N had been injured, the way she stood was enough proof of that, but by Mercer? That was not possible… So why did he trust her more than Mercer?

A sudden tug on his hand pulled Brynjolf from his thoughts. “Listen to her, Bryn. For me.”

He could never deny her anything.

And so he listened to Karliah. Every single word she spoke angered him and made him resent Mercer. His hand was still in Y/N’s, and he never wanted to let go, squeezing it gently to calm himself, as well as to remind himself that she was alive.

“I’ll kill him,” Brynjolf snarled. He wasn’t entirely sure what angered him more. That he had betrayed the entire guild, or that he had tried to kill Y/N whose hand was still in his own, earning more than a few confused looks from the other guild members, yet a knowing one from Karliah.

A soft squeeze on his hand pulled him from his anger, however, and his gaze fell on the woman beside him as she gave him a comforting smile. He nodded at her, taking a deep breath to completely calm himself.

She is alive and here. Everything is fine, Brynjolf.

Most people had left the Flagon by now - their anger at Mercer’s betrayal fuelling their plans for revenge – leaving only Brynjolf, Y/N, and Karliah, the latter being quick to excuse herself.

“Thank you for trusting me, Brynjolf,” Y/N whispered, as though she was ashamed of what she was saying. “I didn’t know if you would.” Her words had the red-heads eyes widening as he quickly spun to face her with a force that almost sent him flying.

“I’ll always trust you. I’m just… I’m glad you are alive.” He admitted, one hand resting on the table in front of them whilst the other nursed his drink.

Y/N smiled to herself, a blush running up her cheeks as she took his hand in hers again.

“I’m glad to be back here with you.”

Now it was his turn to blush as he cleared his throat, unsure at what to say.

As he glanced over at Y/N, he noticed that she was already staring at him, and for the first time for as long as she had known him, Brynjolf was rendered speechless.

“I think I should be getting some rest,” Y/N said before he could think of something to say. She lifted herself from the seat she occupied, releasing Brynjolf’s hand in the process. “You should too.”

Brynjolf stared at her for a moment as she turned to leave.

“Y/N,” he called out, abruptly standing up.

Y/N turned to face him, confusion on her features. “What is it, Bryn?”

He hesitated.

“Please never leave me again,”

[smuttywriter]

..under the stars

“Listen, if Vekel assures me that Fevyn Telleno has important information, then I believe him. I know you don't think much of him, but he's good at what he does.”

“Bryn, don't get me wrong, I know he's part of the guild and our keenest talker, but sometimes I'd like to personally punch him in the throat for that”, I state, staring at the stars. 

“Aye, he'd deserve that”, he sighs and moves his arm under his head. “Do you still remember what he said when I first told them about you, lass? You were standing right behind me.”

“I remember him saying that you, Delvin and Vex were part of a dying breed”, I say. 

Finally, he climbs on top of me, his guilds armour barely rubs on mine as he balances his weight on his arms. 

“Dying breed, eh? Well, what do you call this then!”, he says, nodding towards me. 

I smile, only seconds before feeling his lips on mine. 

“Even old Delvin was fond of you the second he first saw you”, he adds.

“I still can't believe you didn't tell me Delvin had a brother.”

“You two are getting along a little too well, aren't you?”, he teases.

“What can I say, you know I've got a weakness for blacksmiths. Especially for such talented ones”, I admit. 

“I may not be able to perform miracles with steel, lass, but I certainly could manage to make an emerald like you pop.”

“Oh, you do?”, I ask, arching upward to meet his lips. 

He slightly pulls back, knowing I'd be yearning for his touch. A subtle smile is rising on his face, as I try to grab him a second time. Then, immediately after leading me on, he leans in and kisses me. Once I start feeling the weight of his body pressing against mine, a shiver is sent through my entire being.

Suddenly Rune stirs heavily in his sleep. 

Bryn abruptly rolls over. When he catches me smiling, he himself has to restrain from laughter. Then, he draws closer, and pulls me in a tight but loving embrace.

I feel his body behind me and immediately catch myself wishing that Bryn and I were here alone. But we both know giving in to our appetite is an irresponsible thing to do right now, as it wouldn't be the most pleasant sight for Rune to wake up to. 

Knowing Bryn, I'm certain Rune would have been pulled from his slumber.

[bethrnoora]

pov youre in riften and about to get alllll your shit stolen by a pair of bisexuals

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

Opal, finally letting her hair down, and now a full member of the thieves guild.

can we talk about the fact Brynjolf made Mercer say "welcome" lmao

[jackoboltrades]

@incorrectskyrimquotes​ You’re valid and that makes sense.

However.

The man lives in the same town as Haelga “The Bunkhouse” Far-Shield.

Whatever Brynjolf believes Dibella is, it’s for sure not divine.

when you find out mercers emptied the guild safe and stolen everything brynjolf says “by the eight” but later if you talk to him in irkngthand he says “by talos, mercer has a lot to answer for” which is probably just an inconsistency but also i feel like it could imply he’s excluding one of the other divines from the eight

[hiddenbeks]

hmm. isabeau teaching brynjolf ballroom dances

[argisthebulwark]

Most Ardently

summary: Terms of endearment Skyrim men would use for you as your partner. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Cicero, Brynjolf, Farkas, Miraak, Erandur, Teldryn, Arnbjorn warnings: minor allusion to suggestive content, mention of blood. and some swears.

Darling Vilkas, who wields terms of endearment with both kindness and sarcasm. Who knows how to get under your skin or comfort you with just one word. "Oh darling, have you forgotten who trained you? More than anyone else, I know your limits." He would sneer, face flushed when he rounds on you after a disagreement. "My darling," Vilkas would whisper in the dead of night, when your hands are tangled in his hair and you can taste the wine on his breath. "My darling." He breathes just before kissing you, all worries melting away. Cicero is giddy at the idea of his Listener having special titles only he is permitted to use. Who spins you around the Sanctuary when your mood is low, showering you in kisses and praise until he sees the smile he loves so dearly. He would say it often, soft and full of love during a stolen moment alone or brashly in front of any new recruit whose eyes lingered a touch too long. "Oh, darling Listener." He would sigh, gazing at you with unabashed adoration. "Cicero loves you more than words can say."

Sweetheart Brynjolf, who says it with that crooked smile that never fails to melt your heart. Who murmurs the pet name when he finds you slumped behind the Guild Master's desk glaring at the rolls of parchment piled haphazardly before you. Brynjolf who scoops you into his arms, planting a kiss on your forehead and allowing you to grumble about your day. "Hold still, sweetheart." Brynjolf would breathe against your skin, clutching you to his chest as the manor's steward paces its hallways. Farkas, who cups your face so gently and speaks as if you are the only one in his world. Who calls you his sweetheart as he wipes the blood of fallen bandits from your cheeks and checks you for injuries. Who helps you out of your armor after a hard day, sinking into a warm bath and combing the hair away from your face. "You alright, sweetheart?" Farkas would call over the clashing of swords, needing an assurance that you haven't fallen.

My love/My beloved Miraak, whose voice drips with devotion when he calls out to you. That touch of reverence never fades from his tone, eyes softening when he stares at you. Miraak who attempts to cover the depth of his love with sarcasm but would fall to his knees for you if asked, who believes his unnaturally long life's only purpose is to adore you. "My beloved," that deep voice rumbles through his chest as he gazes up at you, ungloved hands twisted in your robes. "One whose soul speaks to mine." Erandur, who speaks tender words of love as a form of worship. Who sings your praises with every breath. Whether it's a retelling of his salvation to an enraptured crowd in some small tavern or against the skin of your thighs he devotes himself to you, the one he loves. "My love," he would murmur over and over, lavishing attention upon you. "My most beloved, you must take better care of yourself. I cannot imagine this world without you, my heart."

Fucker Teldryn, who slaps a hand on your thigh with his head thrown back in laughter. Your gut muscles ache and your voice is hoarse from hours of laughing at each other's stories but you never want such a night to end. Other patrons have stumbled off to bed and you're sure that Geldis is glaring daggers at the pair of you but Teldryn's easy laugh is far more intoxicating than the drinks forgotten on a nearby table. "Oh, you fucker." Teldryn would say, the affection clear in his voice. He drags your chair closer to his, allowing you a closer look at his flushed cheeks and sharp teeth. Arnbjorn, with his gruff exterior that you somehow cracked through. His tough heart that you wormed your way into, the softness he saves for the rare moment alone. He is not one for tenderness but conveys his feelings in a way you understand, a subtle love language you learned over time. "Why do I like you again?" He would grumble, forced annoyance coating the affection in his tone when you squirm closer to him. "Fucker." The word is harsh, a contrast to the soft way his calloused hands brush over your skin. "I didn't want to fall for you, y'know."

[daedrabait]

How does Brynjolf *really* know if you're rich or not

"Its all about sizing up your mark, lad" Yeah whatever I don't buy it

Yeah yeah he's a good thief and can tell if you're shifty blah blah but imagine if his process was more mundane

He slipped his hand in your pocket for sure. He definitely gave a lil swipe or something. Idk I think it's funnier that way

Or did he see a suspicious looking guy and he was like "I'm going to go and examine this creature" and then tried to act cool about it. What if he was randomly guessing and turned out he was completely wrong. I like these situations much better

[ariveth]

          HOME, IF IT COULD EVEN BE CALLED THAT, was a place in which she spent so little time these days it was a miracle it hadn't been sold away in her absence — then again, it wasn't as if the hovel would be much of a steal. It serves more as a place of respite, of privacy, and that serves her well when a courier of a more shadowy ilk comes knocking with word from a well-known associate. Brynjolf.

          The letter, full of tempting promises in his unique and well-honed brand of peddler's persuasion, does far more than pique her interest. Working alone was almost entirely comprised of small-scale work, subtle and with fewer turning gears, but it granted her the independence and freedom she desired, with the added benefit of no spoils shared. However. What Brynjolf's message promises, even just vaguely, isn't just wealth beyond measure ( which truly would be enough on it's own ) but a challenge, an adventure to terrify and test and thrill from start to finish. That elven lifespan bred boredom easily, and made Ariveth ravenous for that sort of uncertain, exigent risk to sink her teeth into.

          And so of course, she'd immediately agreed to hear him out. Although, even without the specifics, it was practically a formality — she knows any sort of plan concocted by the Guild's second is an opportunity squandered only by the foolish.

          With linen in place of her leathered armor and without her usual assortment of daggers and knives strapped to her, Ariveth looks almost homely, plain with the exception of the scar that runs across one side of her face. Typically, it's another beneficial tool in her arsenal; today, it's merely comfort as she cleans and puts both soup and tea on the boil in anticipation for her guest.

          When Brynjolf finally does appear on her doorstep, arriving with that considerately-precautionary knock, he's a stunning mess. Even braided out of his face, his hair had been whipped by wind, his armor softened by travel and its related toils; his unshaven face completing what was quite a good look on him. Ariveth crosses her arms briefly, grinning. "I'd say you look awful, but I'd be lying."

          She steps aside enough to let him in and shut the door before she's stretching to meet his extensive height, wrapping her arms around his neck then relaxing back on her heels to bring him bending down with her once she'd caught him in her embrace. "No trouble on the road, I hope?" She eventually releases him, guiding him to the kitchen by the firepit. "Come, sit. I'm dying to hear what you've got for me. Are you hungry, or is it just tea for you? Got mead too, if you'd like to start drinking early."

》》 starter for @ariveth

The hammering of hooves on frozen ground thundered over the path; the breakneck speed in which the horse galloped left his cheeks flushed from cold, his breath no more than a puff of steam in the passing wind. By the Nine, Brynjolf loathed riding, but it was the only way he’d be able to shake the sharp-eyed peer of his. Mercer’d not seen him ride in nearly a decade. Old bugger would never reckon the auburn-haired thief would take to mare snatching, but, well, times were changing. Aye, if he was going to pull a heist of a century, he’d have to leave the pissin’ half-pint back home. Poor lad. With enough honeyed words and hefty coin, the Second of Thieves knew he’d be able to soften the other’s fury once he returned.

From there, he’d plucked up some wet-eared sod outside of Oakwood. Through a letter to the Guild, he’d told them he’d a new recruit he’d be bringing in, that travel would be slow due to weather and an alleged movement of Imperialist troops. Of course, the farmer’s boy he’d paid as a ‘guide’ was none the wiser to such a proposal, let alone his own true identity. In fact, the gawky thing initially knew the strapping Nord as a merchant named ‘Brynjar’ who’d unfortunately been robbed of his caravan and simply needed guidance to the town over. That was all till they reached a humble stable. They were an old trade partner, the boy claimed, and would likely be able to help the stranded salesman. A dagger to the throat later, the boy was given a new tale: a bandit, Brynjolf called himself, pressed the poor thing to bind up his own wrists while he made off with his horse. The boy would be found, surely, and from there would prattle on all the false sob stories he’d told him, leading both foe and friend all over Skyrim.

He rode hard through the night, avoiding much of the main roads and sleeping little in the rugged wilderness. Roughly a few days walk from Windhelm, he came across another stable. There, he sold his stolen prize for a handsome sum. After all, without the Guild’s contacts at his fingertips, his resources were limited. Not that he minded. What was life without a bit of challenge? One couldn’t be the best in business if he did not adapt, no? Truly, the whole journey had left him remarkably spirited, a feeling that persisted as he finally stepped through the wintry gates of Windhelm. Brynjolf had penned his (potential) partner only a week prior. Written honeyed words had told of a grand scheme, yet no details had been put into ink as to not risk their whole operation before it ever even began.

Nodding to the passing guardsman, he couldn’t help but smirk at the polite greeting returned. Aye, he supposed he looked a proper Nord by now. Snow-dusted leathers were well-worn from travel. The Ebony blade he typically strapped to his side was covered in a simple sheath of hare-hide and string; most did not carry such fine weaponry. Better to appear no more than a passing soldier-for-hire, especially in these turbulent times, than a man of the shadows. In fact, the crest of his Guild was buried deep under furs and pelts. As a token of luck gifted by their dear Treasurer, he'd be a fool to not carry it. Auburn hair had been braided tight and pulled back from his roguish features, which now sported the fine beginnings of a beard. Emerald eyes were the same, naturally. Alight with mischief and renewed vigor, he had foregone the hood of his mottled cloak so as to not spurn suspicion of passerby. No time to waste, he promptly reached out and rapped a gloved hand to her door; a rhythmic knock followed, the sound simply spelt out safe, a humble code spoken only between those with a penchant for crime.

[thee-fool-of-hearts]

Imagine being the dev who decided to make it impossible to marry cicero and brynjolf. Couldn’t be me

[wolftoes]

Yeah sure "brynjolf wouldn't be a good dad" this, "brynjolf shouldn't be around kids that," but imagine him as a foster parent, or whatever Skyrim's equivalent is. Understanding that his situation isn't optimal, and in fact quite dangerous, so he helps children in unfortunate situations avoid it.

[noah-moth-cursed-chaos]

Mercer stared at Azaril as if that request was some great insult. As if it was not the bare minimum compensation for years of emotional torment.

"I could-"

"Ruin me, kill me, destroy my reputation, chase me out of the country again Mercer I know. One night. That is all I want. You have stolen decades from me. Give me one night." Mercer scowled, he took a deep breath, "Go on ahead, make camp, I will meet you, if I don't you are free to return, tell them anything you want, any lie, any accusation, I won't argue. I want one night that is only mine, before I die. Is that such a crime?" Azaril stared at him, daring him to deny him this one thing. After over twenty five fucking years of torment. "If you say no I'll tell them all. I'll tell them everything, they won't believe me but imagine how careful you'll have to be to keep what I know covered from then on out." A stupid threat, a risky threat, he knew Mercer was more trusted, more believed than him. He'd heard the rumors that circulated, he'd seen the ways Vipir and Niruin looked at him. Even Delvin and Vekel, who he'd grown up beside, regarded him differently now. If it came down to him or Mercer he had no doubt who the guild would choose. But maybe it'd be worth it to know he'd inflicted a fraction of the constant gut wrenching paranoia Mercer had plagued him with.

"... Fine. Have your one night. You better show." Mercer got up, and went to gather his things. Azaril let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He went to the chest at the foot of the bed he'd been sleeping in in the Flagon, grabbed a small bag and clipped it to his belt. Despite its contents being hidden he tried to ensure Mercer didn't see.

And then, what did he do? With one night of freedom?

He found Brynjolf.

How could he do anything else?

He found him in the training room, and the smile that graced that absolutely perfect face the second Azzy walked in broke his heart. Especially knowing after this night he would never see that smile again.

"You look happy to see me."

"I always am, lad. Do you need something?" Azzy had to stop himself from just blurting out 'You' with no further explanation.

"Listen I know I haven't... Been. As available as I'd like to be since I've come back. I thought maybe we could get a room at the inn, and you and me could just. Talk. Like we used to. Have a night together." Azaril watched Brynjolf think for a moment, so afraid he'd be turned down, that his one night for himself would involve no closure.

"I just need to let the others know I'll be back tomorrow." Came the response instead.

And before long they were in a room at the Bee and Barb, much to Keerava's disdain, which was fair honestly.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Brynjolf asked him, sitting down on the bed and taking his shoes off. Azaril locked and leaned on the door, hesitating before...

"I missed you." He said, "I really did, every single day I was gone it was like a piece of me was missing, Bryn. Being away from Riften, but especially being away from *you* might be the hardest thing I've ever done, and I've killed an immortal world eating dragon."

There was that smiled again. Like Azaril was somehow the secret to all the good in Bryn's life, like Azaril just made everything that much better. A part of him wished he could see himself the way Brynjolf seemed to.

"I missed you too lad, more than I know how to express... Even if you haven't been able to tell me what happened yet, I couldn't be happier just to have you home."

Home.

Home...

God how Azaril had missed thinking of any place as that. Anywhere. Anyone.

Home.

Azzy was home.

He kicked off his shoes before joining Bryn on the bed and embracing him, pressing his head into his chest right over his heart, listening to the steady beat, feeling the warmth. Home.

Right here.

He couldn't help but smile.

He felt Brynjolf's hand run through his hair, gently, affectionately.

"I love you, I have loved you for-for so long, by the time I realized I knew I had to leave so it didn't seem fair to admit it." It wasn't fair now, but after all this time he could be selfish, just this once, just before the end, "But all this time without you has been torture, and now I'm back and I don't want to hide this anymore. Brynjolf I love you, you are my home." He pulled away enough to make eye contact with Bryn, to take in the flustered look of surprise on his face. To memorize as many details as possible while he still could.

"Lad I-" He paused, it was so rare Brynjolf was at a loss for words. For a moment Azaril was afraid, that he'd come on too strong, this his feelings weren't reciprocated.

And then Brynjolf kissed him.

Gods what a kiss.

One worth waiting decades for, more than worth risking Mercer's anger for this one night.

When their lips finally parted, Azaril pushed Brynjolf back in the bed, climbing on top of him and kissing him again, desperate and hungry to make up for the time he'd lost.

He pulled away a moment, just to admire the man under him more, this gorgeous perfect being that somehow chose him. He cupped Brynjolf's cheek, and smiled affectionately when Brynjolf took his hand in his and kissed it. "I've wanted this for so long." Brynjolf said, "I never want to be without you again."

Azaril's heart ached hearing that, how badly he wished he could promise he wouldn't have to, how he wished he could promise not one more day would pass when Brynjolf would wake up alone.

But tonight was all they had. After tonight he'd leave Brynjolf with only the truth for comfort.

But he could promise one thing.

"Tonight's going to be perfect."

When Brynjolf woke up in the morning he reached across the bed to-

...

Where was Azzy?

His eyes snapped open and he stared at the empty bed space next to him in confusion.

Why would he just leave?

A shape on the bedside table caught his eye, an envelope, with a note left lying over it.

He sat up and grabbed it, his eyes scanning the page and his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach.

'Brynjolf,

You have no idea how much it pains me to do this to you, but you may never see me again.

Me and Mercer are going to Snow Viel Sanctum to confront Karliah once and for all.

I know you have questions, a lot, and I owe you answers. The letter under this note will answer them all, but please don't open it unless you know for sure I'm dead, otherwise when I come back I'll explain everything, I promise.

I love you more than words can express, Azaril Avalaron'

This couldn't be real.

He just got him back.

He just got him back he couldn't lose him again.

[smuttywriter]

Nasty business with Brynjolf - Part II

While I made a detour to the official entrance of the Ragged Flagon – so Vipir wouldn't be suspicious as to what I was doing in the Ratway Vaults – I finally got myself to stop smiling. 

Every time Bryn comes near me, I feel a sudden urge to stop worrying about every single one of my questionable choices. It almost feels like his presence lifts the dark shadows surrounding me, because I know he does not judge me. He did and never will judge anything I do. 

If anybody understands what it means to try and survive in the Rift, it's Brynjolf. Together we not only make ends meet, we find solace in each other. 

As soon as I enter, I make my way straight to Delvin. After all, I still have some questions regarding that fishing job in Whiterun. I can't believe he makes me steal from Idolaf Battle-Born. Everyone knows Idolaf is my favourite Battle-Born. 

In fact, Idolaf and I are friends, which makes finishing the job even harder. But I learned quite early that personal emotions better not get in my way. 

So I will do it. 

It's how that troubles me. 

As I pass Dirge, he steadies himself and looks me directly in the eyes, his expression indifferent. 

“Even if you're one of us, you better not cause trouble”, he scoffs.

As I'm about to comment on his bitterness, I catch sight of Bryn sitting next to Tonilia. Seeing me makes him smirk, and he doesn't take his eyes off of me while he takes a big gulp of his mead. 

I begin to think of everything else he could gobble that way and start getting lost in my thoughts. 

Suddenly I realise Dirge still standing in front of me. “Stay out of trouble, or there's gonna be trouble”, he says as he crosses his arms and walks away.

I shake my head. 

Does Dirge really believe I give a fuck about what he thinks of me? 

What did catch my attention, however, is that Bryn is seated next to Tonilia. 

The way she smiles and touches his arm as soon as he says something remotely funny reminds of the fact they both once had an affair – long before I joined the guild. 

I glance at him, slowly rolling my eyes. For a second I'm sure I caught him off guard, but he quickly peeks at Tonilia and then shrugs his shoulders, while he smiles. 

He knows I'm not a jealous woman, but sometimes I believe that's what he'd like me to be. So I'll let him have it this time. 

Certain that Bryn would take the bait, I refrain from flashing him a second glance and walk straight to the cistern. I don't even bother talking to Delvin, the questions I need answered surely could wait a few more moments. 

Abruptly, I sense him following me.

As I reach the hidden corridor between the Ragged Flagon and the cistern, I turn to face him. 

He doesn't say a word. Instead, he examines my face, before his gaze slowly trails down to my body, eventually returning to meet my eyes. 

As his eyes trace the silhouette of my body again, I lean my shoulders back and enjoy watching him. 

He steps closer to me and I take a step back, trying to figure out what his next move might be. As I feel the wooden door behind me pressing against my back, I raise my right eyebrow at him.  “Again?”, I tease.

His fingers touch the door merely millimetres next to my shoulders, while he leans forward. 

“Didn't we have unfinished business together?”, he whispers in my left ear.

I feel his cheek brush mine before he takes a step back. 

“We do”, I agree breathlessly. “But rats are a rather hideous audience don't you think?”

“I arranged a room in the Bee and Barb”, he says. 

Then he finally wraps his arms around my waist. 

“Sounds dreamy”, I stutter, as I feel his lips delightfully igniting my neck. 

Even though I know I shouldn't lose myself in his embrace right now, I rest my hands on his shoulders.

“I – I should concentrate on the job I need to get done”, I mumble, although I desperately don't want this moment to end. 

“A'right, lass”, he whispers, his hands not yet leaving my waist. “But you take good care of yourself over there. Those Battle-Borns aren't messed with easily.”

His concern brings a soft smile on my face. “It will turn out just fine, don't worry about it.”

“You're probably right”, he utters with a low smile. “Oh and about that unfinished business - I'll await you at midnight”, he adds. 

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 13

Lacking in Virtue

Prev: Ch.12 A Ghost from the Past || Next: Ch.14 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: With Mercer and Ariene gone, Brynjolf does his best to keep the Guild in one piece...but he can't stop his mind from dwelling on potential worst case scenarios.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 2,414

Check the relogs for a link to read on AO3!

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Patience was a skill essential to every thief. While most young footpads imagined thieving to be an exciting profession full of daring deeds and narrow escapes, the reality was that there was also a lot of waiting involved. Waiting for a mark to be alone before you pounced, waiting for a house to be empty before creeping in, waiting for a distraction to begin before you slipped past a guard…if you weren’t patient, you didn’t last long in this business. 

Brynjolf had been doing this nearly his entire life, and never before had he found himself so quickly out of patience. He couldn’t help lying in bed and staring at the ceiling the first night Ariene and Mercer were gone, unable to let himself rest. It would take days for them to even reach Snow Veil Sanctum, and yet he couldn’t help but worry about what might happen when they actually arrived at the ruin.

His mind drifted back to when he’d been a young boy– maybe nine or ten years old– and staking out the city’s local bakery. He’d watched and waited for hours for just the right moment to present itself before sneaking in and nabbing a sweet roll from the counter. The anticipation had felt like torture to him at the time, but he’d dealt with the feeling by imagining the sweetness of the prize at the end. 

Those experiences had unexpectedly served as preparation for his eventual career. Whether he was the one out on a heist or whether he was waiting on someone else to report back to him, he just had to hold onto the same mindset he’d had as a boy stealing sweets: no matter how long a job took, the payout would make all the waiting worthwhile. 

And what if that payout isn’t worth it?

Karliah was dangerous, so much so that she had already defeated the Guild’s very best over twenty years ago. As satisfying as revenge would be, Brynjolf couldn’t stop the gnawing suspicion that it wouldn’t be worth the risk that Mercer was taking, not just with his own life, but with Ariene’s life.

What if Karliah beats her? 

No, he couldn’t afford to think like that, not when there was nothing he could do about it now. He did his best to distract himself, and with Mercer away there was at least plenty of work to take up his attention. He threw himself full force into keeping the Guild running at peak efficiency, determined to make up for the time they had lost avoiding the guards. 

He had Cynric head to Markarth to case a few houses and get a feel for the city, sent Thrynn and Sapphire to check on Mallus and the new meadery in Whiterun, and told the rest of the footpads that they could go back to mingling amongst the public, listening for gossip and picking pockets. 

The guards that Brynjolf had on payroll also finally started taking their orders again, and he took advantage of that opportunity to arrange for some of Tonilia’s contraband to be smuggled out of the city. The tension that the Guild had been carrying for weeks started to evaporate as everyone got to work, and for the first time in a long time, the Guild felt almost normal. 

Brynjolf just wished he could enjoy it. 

Unfortunately, no matter how much he pushed himself to focus on the day to day Guild business, his nights remained restless as dozens of worst-case scenarios ran through his mind. After a few days without much sleep, he resorted to chewing on chokeweed stems during the day to stay alert– something he normally only used on overnight heists. 

He tried to tell himself that his anxiety had nothing to do with Ariene, and that he’d be just as worried no matter who ended up going with Mercer. After all, at the end of the day they were all thieves, not assassins. Astrid or one of her “family members” would be far better suited to taking down someone as dangerous as Karliah, but the Guild had that pesky agreement with the Brotherhood about taking out its own members. 

Brynjolf probably could have convinced Astrid that Karliah was an ex-member and thus exempt from that rule, but Mercer doubtless wanted to run the Dunmer through himself, if only for the satisfaction. 

So why does he need her to go with him? 

“Hey!” 

Vex’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he shook himself. He looked up to see his fellow lieutenant standing at his desk, hands on her hips. Her face was twisted in an annoyed expression, which with Vex especially was never a good sign. 

“Are you even listening to me?” she demanded, and Brynjolf flashed her what he hoped was a confident smile. 

“Sorry lass, I guess I was drifting for a moment there. What were you saying?”

Vex frowned, clearly unimpressed by his display. 

“Alright, that’s it,” she said. 

She grabbed Brynjolf by the arm, and before he could protest she yanked him up from his chair and pulled him away from his pile of papers. 

“Where are we–”

“Shut it,” Vex commanded, and Brynjolf complied. 

He’d learned a long time ago that arguing with Vex was one of the most futile things you could do; once she had her mind set on something, there was no changing it. 

Vex had been in the Guild nearly as long as he had, joining as a scrappy young thing of fifteen only a few years after Brynjolf’s own recruitment. She’d been with the Guild for barely a month when Gallus had been murdered and the Guild thrown into disarray, but she’d taken it in perfect stride. While many other members fled the organization, she’d risen tall within it, and to this day was one of the Guild’s best and brightest, not to mention most dangerous.

Which was why Brynjolf didn’t bother to struggle as she dragged him through the cistern and into the training room. 

“Out!” she snapped at Rune, who was squatting next to one of the practice chests, lockpicks in hand. 

Her shout made him jump, and he swore as the sudden motion broke his pick in two. He looked up and opened his mouth, presumably to complain, but he thought better of it when he saw Vex’s face and quickly ducked out of the room.

Vex spun on Brynjolf the second they were alone, pulling out a twin pair of wickedly sharp elven daggers. 

“Alright,” she said, stepping into a combat stance. “Come on, then.”

“What are you doing?” Brynjolf asked, and she snorted. 

“I’d have thought that was obvious. I’m sparring with you. Weapons out, now.” 

“I– I’m down a blade at the moment,” he said.

Vex raised an eyebrow at him, then she sheathed one of her daggers and adjusted her stance.

“Not a problem. Let’s go.”

“Vex, I don’t have time to—”

She didn’t bother letting him finish; she just darted towards him, swinging her blade in a wide arc.

Brynjolf reacted on instinct, dodging to the side and drawing his weapon to block Vex’s next attack. For a moment, he fell into the familiar rhythm of combat: dodge, strike, duck, slash. It’d been a little while since he’d fought with one blade, and it was good to refamiliarize himself with the technique.

After trading a few blows though, his fatigue began to show in his movements, and Vex began to prod at him. 

“You’re a bit rusty. Haven’t seen you practice in a few days.” 

“Didn’t realize you cared one way or the other,” Brynjolf said as he parried one of her attacks. 

“Why is that, exactly?” she asked, ignoring his deflection. 

“I don’t know,” he grunted. “I’ve been busy. I don’t have both daggers right now. I don’t need to. What’s it to you, lass?”

Brynjolf aimed high with his next strike, and Vex ducked beneath him, kicking at his legs as she did so. He stumbled back, and barely raised his blade in time to block her incoming blow.

“You’ve been off ever since Mercer went out on his little revenge mission,” Vex said, and Brynjolf’s expression hardened. 

“I’ve been left with a lot of responsibility in the meantime,” he said, pushing her blade away and regaining his footing. 

The two circled one another, and Vex gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Mercer goes off on his own all the time; this shouldn’t be different.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but things at the Guild have been stressful lately,” Brynjolf said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I have.” 

Vex attacked again, and for a moment it was all Brynjolf could do to keep up with her as she spun, her elven blade glinting in the torchlight. 

“The thing is,” Vex said, panting only slightly as they continued to spar, “when you’re stressed, you usually come here. Blow off steam. Which you haven’t been doing.”

“Like I said,” Brynjolf said, stepping back for a moment to catch his breath. “I’m down a dagger at the moment.”

“Not stopping you now, is it?”

“Only because you forced me,” Brynjolf said, and Vex chuckled wryly.

“Funny, you being short a blade,” she said. She nodded towards the dwarven dagger in Brynjolf’s hand. “Seeing as Gallus gave you those. Never seen you part ways with one willingly.” 

“First time for everything,” Brynjolf pointed out. 

“Is there a first time for acting like an imbecile?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You heard me.” 

“What do you want, lass?”

“I want you at the top of your game,” Vex said. “And right now you aren’t, because you’ve got all your thoughts bottled up more tightly than a batch of mead.” 

“And kicking my ass is supposed to help how, exactly?”

A smirk flashed across her face, but her expression turned pensive as she looked at him. She lowered her dagger, but she didn’t let her stance drop, so Brynjolf kept his own weapon raised, just in case. 

“Look, I know that you like to put on a front for the rest of the Guild,” she said. “Give the footpads a strong leader to look to and all that. But your mask is starting to crack, and I’d bet my last septim it’s because you’re not dealing with what’s bothering you. So either talk to me or fight me, but don’t act like everything is fine. I know you better than that.” 

Brynjolf stared at her for a moment, then he laughed wryly. 

“Anyone who says that you’re no good with people is a damn fool,” he said. 

“I can read people just fine. Winning them over, that’s your job.” Vex slid her dagger into its sheath and folded her arms, looking at him expectantly. “Go on, then. Spill it.” 

Brynjolf sighed, sheathing his own blade as well.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, lass.”

“Whatever you need to. Whatever you don’t want to show through to the rest of the Guild. It’s about your little protege, right?” 

Brynjolf looked away, which was all the answer Vex needed. 

“Look,” she said. “I think it’s bullshit too. Mercer’s too far up his own ass about Karliah to realize he’s not thinking straight. He should’ve at least taken one of us with him.” 

“I just…why her?” Brynjolf found himself saying. “He can barely stand her. What is he hoping to accomplish, exactly?” 

“I mean, she did pull off the Goldenglow job,” Vex pointed out. “And took out all those Summerset Shades, or Shadows, or whatever they were calling themselves.” 

“Maybe so, but he’s never actually seen her fight. If I needed someone to watch my back while hunting down a murderer, I’d go with someone who I knew for sure I could count on.”

“Well, neither of us are archers. Could be he wants to level the playing field with Karliah.” 

“So take Niruin!” Brynjolf exclaimed. “Seriously Vex, I don’t know if you ever heard us fight about it, but I honestly think he hates Ariene. I’m half convinced he took her just to spite me. I should have–” 

He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath in through his nose. 

“So you’re not just worried,” Vex said, nodding in understanding. “You feel guilty.”

“I…I told her she wouldn’t have to be a killer for us,” Brynjolf said quietly. “I swore that I wouldn’t let Mercer put her in danger for no reason. And now…I don’t know. I should have tried harder to change his mind, should have insisted on going with them, should have done something.” 

“You’re not responsible for Mercer’s decisions, you know,” Vex said. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I know you try and shield the rest of us from his bad moods as much as you can. Especially the new recruits.”

“You make him sound like a belligerent father,” Brynjolf scoffed, and Vex shrugged.

“There are worse descriptions. My point is, I know how hard you work to keep his temper under control. But he’s a grown ass man, and babysitting his emotions isn’t your job.”

“Keeping this place afloat is my job,” Brynjolf said, his voice grim, and Vex nodded.

“Exactly. So stop worrying about what you can’t change and focus on that.”

Brynjolf smiled wanly.

“Would you be able to do the same if it was a girl that you were sweet on, lass?”

Vex didn’t answer, and Brynjolf nodded. 

“That’s what I thought.”

“Listen, Bryn,” Vex said, “I’m not telling you to stop feeling whatever it is you’re feeling. I’m just asking you to stop ignoring it. If nothing else, go see Ingun about a sleeping tonic or something. You can’t run on nothing but ale and chokeweed until Ariene gets back.” 

“Am I that obvious?” Brynjolf asked, wincing. 

“Maybe not to everyone,” Vex admitted. “But to me, and probably Vekel and Delvin? Yes.” 

“Fine, fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I suppose a tonic couldn’t hurt, at least.”

Vex nodded, then drew her dagger again, shifting back into a combat stance. 

“Good. Now, are we gonna finish this, or what?” 

Brynjolf grinned, and drew his own weapon.

“Just don’t cry when I beat you, lass.” 

Vex laughed, and Brynjolf took a deep breath in, forcing his worry out of his mind. He exhaled and looked Vex in the eyes, then swung. Her blade rushed up to meet his, and as the room echoed with the clash of metal, he told himself that everything would turn out fine. 

He just needed to have patience. 

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I am now obsessed with the Brynjolf & Vex sibling dynamic that made itself known to me in writing this chapter. Also, Lesbian Vex rights! 👏

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

I can just imagine Brynjolf and Opal making INTENSE eye contact as Opal walks in with Karliah. Brynjolf pulls his weapon and Opal pulls hers. Neither of them want to stand down, and they're both stubborn bitches so they don't. But Brynjolf absolutely still wants to murder Karliah, she did kill Gallus!

But he can't bring himself to hurt Opal. And Opal is bluffing just as much. She may have her fan up, ready to defend herself, but she wouldn't strike him first.

And Delvin breaks both the silence and the ice by saying "Ah, young love."

[hircinesring]

imagine coming to a new city and some guy you dont know with a fake scottish accent, dressed all fancy but smelling like piss, comes up to you like. 'you look poor. wanna join my gang?'

that's what meeting brynjolf is like.