#Brynjolf x OC

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 12

A Ghost From the Past

Prev: Ch.11 Misdirection || Next: Ch.13 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 is used to dealing with Mercer's temper, but when an old enemy of the Guild resurfaces, not even he is prepared for the explosion that follows...or for its fallout.

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

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 3,602

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — —

“You forgot to get intel from the girl before she left?” 

Brynjolf closed his hands into fists, forcing his face to remain a mask of calm. 

It was difficult; he was sore and exhausted after his long day of travel. When he’d arrived back at the Guild, he’d intended to share the good news that the payout from the Markarth job was likely to be double what they’d expected and then take a well deserved nap. Before he could get out a single word though, Mercer had asked him about the Solitude job. 

Which of course, he’d completely forgotten to get an update on before sending Ariene off to Markarth.

“What do you mean you FORGOT?!” Mercer shouted, and Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

“Is there another meaning of the word ‘forgot’ that I don’t know about?” he asked lightly, and Mercer glared at him. 

“Don’t test me right now Brynjolf, I’m not in the mood for your games.” 

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Brynjolf said with a sigh. “We were being watched in town, and the job turned out to be just as dangerous as Ariene feared. In all the excitement, the mission to Solitude slipped my mind.”

“I seem to recall one of your main arguments for going to help her was so that we could get the intel from Gulum-Ei sooner,” Mercer snapped. 

“She had to rendezvous–”

“Rendezvous with the client in Markarth, I understand that,” Mercer interrupted. “What I don’t understand is why you failed to do the most basic part of your job and get a report from her before heading back here.”

Brynjolf didn’t answer, mostly because deep down, he knew Mercer was right. He should have thought to ask Ariene about what Gulum-Ei said before letting her ride off into the sunset, but after their near death experience and subsequent conversation, he’d been more than a little bit preoccupied.

Mercer, apparently taking Brynjolf’s silence as confirmation of his suspicions, shook his head, his face twisted with distaste. 

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” he growled. “Gallus was getting sloppy towards the end too, you know.” 

“That’s not fair,” Brynjolf protested instantly. “I told you–”

“That this won’t turn out like last time? You don’t know that,” Mercer shot back. He huffed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, regardless of our differences, I don’t want you getting a knife in the back because you got distracted.”

“She saved my life, Mercer,” Brynjolf hissed. “What, you think now she’s going to turn around and murder me?”

“More than once, I’ve been burned by someone who used to have my back,” Mercer said simply. “In this line of work, loyalty means nothing.” 

Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest more, but Mercer waved his hand dismissively. 

“I’m not saying the girl will turn traitor, Brynjolf. Just that, so far? You’re not doing a great job of proving to me that she’s not a liability.” 

“So you’re just going to ignore her record?” Brynjolf asked. “Take a look around, Mercer. The Guild is finally starting to gain some footing again, and it’s nearly all thanks to her. She’s even managed to win over Vex and Delvin. Just because she reminds you of Karliah–”

“Don’t say her name,” Mercer cut him off, his eyes flashing with anger. “This isn’t about her.”  

Brynjolf ground his teeth in irritation, biting back his urge to reply:

Yes, it clearly is. 

Instead, he took a deep breath and folded his arms, fixing Mercer with a steady look. 

“So do you not want to hear about the massive payout we got from the Markarth job, then?” 

Mercer’s expression was still glowering, but at the mention of money, he raised a curious eyebrow. 

“Payout?” 

Brynjolf’s assurance to Ariene that coin would cheer Mercer up didn’t end up ringing completely true. Mercer was still angry, and Brynjolf’s haul of septims wasn’t enough to totally soothe his temper. However, the promise of even more coin when Ariene returned was enough to spare Brynjolf any further scolding.

He retreated from the cistern, and decided that what he really needed wasn’t a nap, but a drink. He made his way into the Ragged Flagon and fell into a chair, burying his face in his hands and letting out a frustrated groan. 

Delvin looked up from his table and grimaced in sympathy. 

“Mercer’s in a mood, I take it?” he asked.

“What do you think?” Brynjolf quipped as Vekel approached with a tankard for him.

“I think that when even coin isn’t enough to calm that rotten old skeever down, then it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep clear of him for a few days,” Delvin said, and Brynjolf snorted.

He took a sip of his ale, then looked at Delvin thoughtfully. As one of the few holdovers from the time that Gallus had been Guildmaster, the old thief had been a constant in the Guild for as long as Brynjolf could remember. He knew the younger thieves in the Guild thought the same thing about him and Vex now, but that was hard for him to wrap his head around. 

Brynjolf had been only nineteen when Gallus was killed, and had only been with the Guild for a few years. Just long enough to come to idolize Gallus, Mercer, and Karliah, but not long enough to really get to know them. Delvin, meanwhile, had been one of the Guild’s top members even in those days. He was even the first person that Mercer had made a lieutenant, though he had always been firm that he didn’t want to lead anyone. A sentiment that Brynjolf hadn’t understood at the time, but now that he was a lieutenant himself, he couldn’t help but  sympathize. 

Being a thief was hard enough; it was so much more daunting when you knew that everyone else was looking to you for direction.

A thought struck him, and he found himself wanting to ask something that he’d never really considered before.

“Delvin?” he asked, and the older man looked up. “Why exactly do you think the Guild is cursed?” 

Delvin looked surprised at the question, but he leaned forward, eager to have someone listen to his theories willingly. 

“It just ain’t natural, Bryn,” he insisted. “I’ve been doing this a long time, longer than even you or Mercer. I’ve seen bad thieves, and I’ve seen bad luck. This? It’s different. It’s affectin’ every single member of the Guild, even the most experienced. Vex got made on a job, for cryin’ out loud. Vex!”

“There were over a dozen guards…” Brynjolf offered lamely, but Delvin waved his protest away. 

“Guards, yes, but guards that she should have noticed sooner than she did. The fact that she didn’t is just plain bad–” 

“Bad luck,” Brynjolf finished, and Delvin nodded. 

“Exactly. And it’s like that every time. Things that shouldn’t happen, happenin’ to folks it shouldn’t happen to. Look, I know you lot think I’m crazy, but I can feel it. Something out there is doing this to us.” 

Brynjolf thought of the crypt in Pinewatch, of the way Rigel had appeared seemingly out of thin air without either of them noticing. It had certainly felt unnatural at the time. But how on earth could you be sure of something like that? 

Delvin swirled his mug of ale thoughtfully, then he smirked at Brynjolf. 

“At least, that’s what it has been like. I can’t deny that over the last few months we’ve actually been on the up and up, for what feels like the first time in ages. Maybe that girl of yours is some kinda good luck charm.” 

“She’s not my–” Brynjolf began, and Delvin chuckled, cutting him off. 

“Don’t give me that, Bryn. Maybe it ain’t official yet, but everyone knows the two of you’ll be an item soon.”

“Are you going to scold me about it like everyone else?” Brynjolf asked tiredly, but Delvin shook his head. 

“Nah. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a good match for you. Besides, she’s nearly single-handedly pulled this Guild outta the gutter. How could I complain? A word of advice, though.” 

Brynjolf leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow.

“Vekel I could understand, but what makes you qualified to advise me on my love life?”

“Very funny,” Delvin said flatly. “Look, all I was gonna say is this: the girl’s a free spirit. And you’ve gotta be quick to make your intentions clear with ladies like that, or you’ll find that they’ve slipped through your fingers.” 

“Do I pay you to sit around and gossip?” a familiar voice growled, and Brynjolf suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. 

Mercer walked up and grabbed a piece of bread off of the plate that Vekel was bringing Delvin, before dropping one of the ledger books in front of Brynjolf. 

“Look over this, and see if your projected take on this oh so special Markarth job will allow us to pay a portion of what Maven plans to give the jarl. She’s not too happy with the idea of paying for the entire bribe herself.”   

Mercer turned and stalked out of the cistern, and Brynjolf sighed. He reached a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples, then grabbed the ledger and stood up.

“You’re not actually going to work on that now, are you?” Delvin asked.

“Gods no,” Brynjolf said. “I’m going to bed. And if Maven and Mercer are lucky, I’ll wake up sometime before the fifth era and I can finish crunching their precious numbers for them.” 

— — — 

Brynjolf did not, in fact, sleep for hundreds of years. However, he did make himself scarce around the cistern for the next several days, opting to do his accounting work from the relative privacy of what passed for his quarters down in the Ratway tunnels that surrounded the Flagon. 

Fortunately, the gold he’d brought back did provide the Guild enough extra funds to foot half of Maven’s “donation” to Mistveil Keep, and Mercer’s mood improved considerably after the guard patrols were pulled back to their normal rotations. He didn’t apologize, Brynjolf could count on one hand the number of times the Guildmaster had done that, but at least he’d cooled down enough for Brynjolf to walk through the cistern again without being treated to withering glares and backhanded remarks. 

Still, when Ariene finally returned from Markarth, Brynjolf made sure to pull her aside before she went to report to Mercer. 

“It’s my fault, not yours, lass,” he said quietly. “But Mercer’s not pleased that he’s had to wait an extra week for the news from Solitude. Tread lightly, alright?”

Ariene’s face twisted in a grimace.

“Honestly, he could be in the best damn mood of his life and he’d be more livid than a cave troll after getting this news. No sense beating around the bush.” 

“Gulum-Ei didn’t have good intel?” Brynjolf guessed, but Ariene shook her head. 

“Worse.” 

She headed into the cistern without another word, and Brynjolf followed, unease stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

Ariene marched right up to where Mercer was bent over his desk, and the Guildmaster frowned at her as she approached. 

“About damn time you got back,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Please tell me Gulum-Ei gave up some information on our buyer.” 

“He did,” Ariene said bluntly. “It’s Karliah.” 

Mercer’s head snapped up and the room went dead silent. 

“She’s the lieutenant you told me about, isn’t she?” Ariene said, looking at Brynjolf. “The one who murdered Gallus?”

“Aye, lass,” Brynjolf said quietly. “If she’s back…” 

His blood ran cold at the thought.

“You’re absolutely certain?” Mercer asked, his voice low and dangerous, and Ariene nodded. 

“Gulum-Ei acted as a go-between for her with Aringoth, though he swore up and down he didn’t know it was her until after he’d agreed to broker the sale.” 

Mercer swore and slammed his fist down on his desk, and Brynjolf didn’t miss the way Ariene flinched before quickly regaining her composure. 

“Damn that Dunmer to Oblivion! I hoped we’d never have to cross paths with her again, but it seems she won’t be satisfied until she’s destroyed the Guild for good. Did Gulum-Ei have any information about her current whereabouts?” 

“Nothing concrete,” Ariene said carefully. “But apparently she told him she was going ‘where the end began.’ I pressed him for details, but he insisted that’s all he knows.”

“Where the end began…” Mercer repeated, his face darkening. 

He began to pace back and forth behind his desk, muttering the phrase to himself over and over. Ariene glanced at Brynjolf, a questioning look in her eyes, but he could only shrug in confusion.

“There's only one place that could be,” Mercer said finally. “The place where Karliah killed Gallus over twenty years ago…a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum.” 

“That’s a few hours north of Windhelm, right?” Brynjolf asked, and Mercer nodded absently, still muttering to himself. 

“I’m the only one left who knows all Karliah’s techniques, all her skills. If she manages to take me out…” He looked up sharply. “We have to go out there and stop her before she does anymore damage.” 

“We as in…?” Ariene asked hesitantly, and Mercer glared at her.

“As in you and me, obviously. We’re going to go out there together and kill her. That should put a stop to any more of her attempts to bring the Guild down.”

“Mercer,” Brynjolf cut in, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Mercer snapped. “This needs to be done, and I won’t hear any argument otherwise.”

“Aye, and I’m not saying it doesn’t, but the two of you can’t go on your own.” 

“I think you’ll find I can do whatever I damn well please, Brynjolf.” 

“This is Karliah we’re talking about, for Shor’s sake!” Brynjolf exclaimed. “She killed Gallus, and she almost killed you! Vex and I should–”

“I don’t need you to remind me what she’s done,” Mercer interrupted, shooting him a withering look. “I am well aware of exactly how capable she is.” 

“So don’t rely on one new recruit for your backup,” Brynjolf insisted. 

“A recruit who’s proven herself capable in combat multiple times over.”  

A part of Brynjolf urged him to back down. He argued with Mercer often, but he could always tell when it was best to put his own concerns aside in favor of the Guildmaster’s will. It wasn’t exactly good for morale if the underlings saw the Guild’s head and second in command fighting over decisions. This would ordinarily be the type of argument where he had to swallow his pride and concede. 

And yet, this time he found that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“Not three days ago you were complaining that she was a liability,” Brynjolf pressed. “Now you want her to help you hunt down Karliah?”  

“She’s a liability for you, Brynjolf,” Mercer growled. “I’ll be just fine. Which is it, exactly? That she’s a competent thief who deserves my respect, or a green recruit who has no business putting herself in danger? It seems to me the answer is whichever is more convenient for you in any given argument.” 

Brynjolf’s face burned, more from anger than embarrassment, though he could feel the eyes of everyone in the cistern on the two of them as they argued.

“You’re making a mistake,” he insisted, forcing himself to ignore the staring. “This isn’t just another job. Leave the lass behind and let me and Vex come with you.” 

“Karliah is trying to destroy the Guild! I’m not putting my best lieutenants in her path.” 

“You’re too close to this, Mercer,” Brynjolf hissed. “You’re not thinking straight. You shouldn’t–” 

“I am your GUILDMASTER!” Mercer roared. “I’ve made my decision, and you are in NO position to question me!”

The shout echoed around the cistern, and any murmuring from the other Guildmembers stopped instantly. Brynjolf and Mercer openly glared at each other, but before things could escalate further, Ariene’s voice cut through the rising tension. 

“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll go.” 

“Damn right you will,” Mercer spat without taking his eyes off Brynjolf. “Get your things ready and meet me at the stables within the hour.” 

Brynjolf felt a muscle jump in his jaw, but he didn’t speak or break their eye contact, and eventually Mercer turned and stomped out of the cistern. Brynjolf had half a mind to march right out after him, but Ariene’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “It’s not worth it.” 

“It’s not right,” Brynjolf said through gritted teeth, and Ariene shrugged, flashing a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but came off as slightly manic.

“Well, look at it this way,” she said, her voice full of false cheer. “Maybe after this, he’ll stop seeing me as a liability.”

She turned and started walking towards the Flagon, and Brynjolf winced.

Damn you, Mercer.

“You don’t have to do this, lass,” he said, falling into step beside her.

“Actually, I do,” Ariene said, ducking through the passageway and into the dingy tavern. “I think he’d kick me out of the Guild altogether if I refuse him.” 

Brynjolf shook his head immediately. 

“I wouldn’t let that happen. Mercer may be too dense to see it, but you’re one of the best we have.”

“I can’t let you use up all your good will with him on my account,” Ariene protested. “You’ve done enough for me already. Syndus!” 

The last was to the fletcher who kept shop beside the Ragged Flagon, who looked up as they approached his alcove. Ariene pulled a coin purse from the satchel at her side and held it up for him to see.

“I need fresh arrows. Two quiverfull.” 

The Bosmer quickly filled her order, and she pulled out a few coins from the purse and handed them over. She turned to Brynjolf and held out the rest of the purse to him. 

“Here. The profits from Markarth. I didn’t get a chance to report to Delvin, but tell him that Endon is happy to open whatever doors are necessary in the city. With any luck, we’ll be able to use the foothold there to start operating more in Haafingar.” 

Brynjolf took the purse, not missing the way that Ariene didn’t quite meet his eyes as she spoke. 

“Are you certain about this, lass?” he asked in a low voice. “Karliah’s too damn smart to let slip where she was going by accident…this is more than likely a trap.”

Ariene sighed, running a hand through her dark hair. 

“I know, but that’s a chance we'll have to take. Mercer is an asshole, but he’s also right. Putting more of the Guild’s leadership in harm’s way than is necessary doesn’t make tactical sense. It’s…it’s better for everyone if I’m the one to go.” 

Brynjolf moved without thinking, stepping forward and taking one of her hands in his. She startled at the touch, but she didn’t pull away. 

“You’re not expendable, lass,” he said softly. “You know that, right? I– the Guild needs you in one piece as much as it needs me or the other lieutenants.” 

Ariene’s looked from where their hands were joined up to Brynjolf’s face. Reflected torchlight danced in her eyes, so deep and blue that he felt as though he could drown in them, and he felt his pulse quicken.

“The Guild needs me?” she repeated, her voice low, and he swallowed. 

Standing inches apart, it was like all rational thought flooded from his mind in an instant. Absently, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and he let his hand linger beside her face. It would be so easy to cup her cheek, lean forward and…

The creak of a door and sudden footsteps cut through the silence, and the two jumped apart on instinct. Brynjolf dropped her hand, wondering briefly if he was imagining the flicker of disappointment on her face. 

Damn this sewer’s lack of privacy!

“Well. Good luck, lass,” he said lamely.

She nodded, swinging one of the quivers of arrows she’d bought over her shoulder. The movement made her knapsack shift, and he saw the empty space on her belt where her steel dagger had sat. 

On impulse, he reached for his own belt, unbuckling the sheath of the dagger on his left side. He held the weapon out to her hilt first, and her eyes widened. 

“Here. To replace the one that broke in Pinewatch,” he said.

“I– Brynjolf, I can’t accept that. It was a gift!”

“A gift from Gallus,” Brynjolf agreed. “If you’re going out to avenge him, you may as well take a piece of him with you.”

Reluctantly, Ariene took the dwarven blade and strapped it into place. The silence between them stretched into awkwardness as she fiddled with the straps and straightened the sheath. 

“I guess I should go,” she said eventually. “Don’t want to keep the Guildmaster waiting.” 

She turned to leave, but before she could walk away, Brynjolf called after her. 

“Ariene.”

She looked back at him, and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt he had to say something before she left, something important, but for once in his life he couldn’t find the right words.

“Just…come back to me in one piece, alright lass?” 

She smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Of course I will,” she said. “You still owe me a drink, remember?”

— — —

Prev: Ch.11 Misdirection || Next: Ch.13 Fic Masterpost

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday! 💛

And hoo boy, it is a long one. I'm talking over 3,100 words here. Making a new character in Skyrim has somewhat broken me out of the writers block I've been stuck with for the past few weeks. I'll get back to writing stuff for Elyse eventually, but for now, Thorne is in the spotlight! Plus, I'm having Elyse and Thorne co-exist because I can as Thorne isn't Dragonborn. Will need to take some liberties with the Thieves Guild backstory for Thorne though as a result as Elyse has done some stuff related to Honningbrew Meadery...

I'm relatively happy with it as it currently stands, though whether I make any further edits such as try to add a bit more padding around the dialogue or editing out my million and one mentions of people inhaling/exhaling or post it on AO3 any time soon I'm not so certain about. Thorne needs a hug. And honestly, at the end of this, Brynjolf needs one too.

Tagged by @hircines-hunter and @thequeenofthewinter! Not tagging anyone today but feel free to say that I tagged if you wish 💛

There is implied sexual content near to the end, it's essentially a fade to black situation, so please bear that in mind. I've marked as mature just in case, but it's only implied and nothing actually happens in text.

----------

"Boss. Talk to me – what's the matter? You've got an awfully long face." Thorne's brow scrunched up as she watched Delvin slip onto the seat opposite her in the Ragged Flagon. "Is it Maven? Is she breathing down your neck about something again?" She watched as Delvin leaned closer, attempting to read her expression. "Guild finances in trouble?" A quiet groan escaped her, before her eyes darted to the side at the first sign of movement. That action on its own made Delvin begin to chuckle. "Ah… Brynjolf. Trouble in paradise, hm?"

Thorne's eyes widened at that remark, before she scowled once more and silently stood up. "It's none of your business what the matter is, Delvin."

"You know, if Bryn ain't treating you right… Vex and I could always have a word with him, tell him to-"

"It is nothing to do with Brynjolf!" Her hands slammed down onto the table. It was very much an open secret that she and Brynjolf were together, but that wasn't the problem. It wasn't the problem in the slightest. If anything, Brynjolf was the only reason as to why she remained in Riften, remained the guildmaster of the Thieves Guild following the demise of Mercer Frey many months ago. But how could she tell the guild any of that? That she just… didn't want to be there? "I just… I just need some space to think. Clearly, the Ragged Flagon is not the place for it."

As she began to walk out of the Flagon, everyone's attention now clearly on her, Delvin attempted to follow. "H-Hey! Boss, you don't have to-"

She didn't look back when she heard Brynjolf's voice quietly addressing Delvin, though she did have to blink away the tears in the corner of her eyes as the door to the Flagon slammed shut behind her as she made her way into the Ratways. She hated that she felt this way. She couldn't live like this forever, wallowing in despair, wanting something better for herself… Even if her talents perfectly gave themselves to the line of work of a thief. It was why Brynjolf had took notice of her in the crowds of Riften that day, in spite of her having not long staggered into the city after being attacked and left for dead on the road after all.

Riften was eerily quiet as she stepped out from the Ratways, the smell of fish and salt hanging heavy in the air as the planks of the walkway beneath her creaked with every step. Rain, misty and light yet cold enough to chill her to the bone, fell to the ground around her. The clouds above the city were a dull grey for as far as the eye could see, and honestly… it felt very fitting for the melancholy she was feeling.

Her pace was slow as she made her way up to the upper levels of the city, before reaching the Bee and Barb, with her lethargic attempt at opening the door almost failing to catch Keerava by surprise if not for the sound of her reaching a table and scraping a seat across the floor in order to sit on it. She wasn't paying too much attention as Talen-Jei then tried asking if she wanted her usual drink, though she did give her thanks when a bottle of Black-Briar Mead was placed in front of her, both verbally and through coin.

For a while, she simply sat there, holding onto her drink whilst taking the occasional sip and holding her head in her other hand. It was so much quieter there than in the Ragged Flagon, it gave her a chance to get lost in her thoughts without much distraction. On the other hand, perhaps being left to her thoughts was not the best of situations for her to be in given how negative her mindset had been as of late.

At some point, the doors to the inn opened once more, somebody new coming in – no doubt a regular. She didn't care to look at who it was. Nor did she really care that, of anywhere, they chose to approach her table and put their own drink down on it.

"Lass… You okay? You left the Flagon quite suddenly." Thorne's head shot up at the sound of Brynjolf's voice, before taking a deep breath and nodding, not really paying much attention to the question which she had been asked. He frowned, then slipped into the seat beside hers and reached out for the hand which wasn't firmly wrapped around the bottle of mead. "Talk to me. Something is the matter, and I'm worried about you. I can tell these things, remember? It's all about-"

"Sizing up your mark…" She let out a quiet laugh. "I remember you saying that when we first met." After a moment, she brought her drink up to her lips, before sighing. "What made you decide to join me?"

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow at her question. "I think it's quite obvious, Thorne." Her pulse quickened at his use of her name rather than 'lass' – it was very rare that he would use it, but when he did… She knew that he was being serious. "You're not happy. You've got these little furrows in your brow that never used to be there, dark circles under your eyes, and it's not often you smile anymore." His hand gently squeezed hers. "As I said, I'm worried about you."

Hesitation made her body freeze after she opened her mouth just slightly, though tears were once more pricking at the corners of her eyes as she felt him looking at her. She was like an open book to him, she always had been, but hearing what he had to say… hearing that last sentence… she felt as though time was running out on keeping her innermost thoughts concealed. But she didn't want to hurt anyone-

"… You're not happy in the guild, are you?"

Her mouth fell dry. "N-No, it's not that-"

"Thorne…" His tone insinuated that he knew that she was lying.

"At times, the guild is like the family I never had," she whispered, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Not to mention that I love you, but-"

A warm hand came to rest on her cheek, and she felt Brynjolf's thumb wipe away the tears which were slipping down her face. "Don't force it… Take your time, lass."

"But I'm… I don't know if this life is for me, Brynjolf. Being… Being guildmaster, all the cloak and dagger, being under the constant scrutiny of the law and just hoping that I'm not recognised as a thief by any guard we haven't been able to get into our pockets-" She inhaled sharply. "Two years, Brynjolf… I've been here for two years, and I… still feel like I don't fit in. Except for when I'm with you." Carefully, his chair shuffled closer to hers and slowly her head fell into his shoulders as she stifled her tears. "I'm just… I'm not happy. I thought if I gave it time, then I would feel better but…"

"I understand. You don't need to say anything more."

Remaining leaned against him, she brought her drink to her lips once more and downed as much as she could without choking. One of his arms wrapped around her, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

When he finished his own drink was when the silence was broken, and it was with a question she wasn't quite expecting. "Lass… Do you want to take a step back from the guild? "

She stared at him in a dumbfounded silence for a moment, her back straightening out as she sat up and processed the question. "What…?" She then bit at her bottom lip. "I don't want to inconvenience-"

"Don't think about what is best for the guild, lass. This is about what you want."

But… what did she want, exactly? She was so tempted to simply leave, but she didn't want that on her conscious…

"It was selfish of me to have made you take up the position of Guildmaster, I will admit that… But you have done incredibly lass, even if you cannot see it yourself. I've never seen the guild so prosperous, never seen the rest of the guild so happy. If I knew that it came at the cost of your happiness…" He sighed quietly, before taking hold of her cheek and leaning in. "I never would have proposed it. It should have been me taking that role in the first place."

"Bryn…" She was having to choke back her tears yet again. "I don't know. I- I just… I like to think that I'm good at what we do, but… I don't think that it's for me." Thorne tilted her head back, and inhaled deeply. "I… might have to. Pass on my role to somebody else. Somebody who is happy with what they do, and do it well. Somebody like you."

He quietly whispered her name as he acknowledged what she had said, though allowed her to take a few moments to dwell on it. It came as a shock to him, though it was just as much one to her – she had finally said what had been on her mind for months, from the moment that she was taken to the centre of the Cistern, and the members of the guild unanimously named her their new guildmaster.

A throat being cleared beside the table drew their attention after a few long moments, and they saw Keerava staring at them both. "Did either of you hear me? I suppose not… If you are not ordering any more drinks, then please leave. I need to clean up before the evening crowds come in."

They exchanged a brief look, before Brynjolf rose to his feet, and took hold of her hand. "Come on, lass. We can finish this conversation in Honeyside."

A warmth flooded her face as he mentioned his home. With the money which the guild had been making over recent months, she had thought it fair to split some of the excess wealth between members and associates of the guild. Somehow, Brynjolf had managed to persuade Jarl Laila to grant him the deed to a house with his cut. It was like their own private sanctuary away from the Cistern or the Ragged Flagon, and the only place where nobody dared to disturb them.

The rain hadn't let up as the doors to the Bee and Barb opened, and had in fact grew heavier during their time indoors. Fortunately, their destination was not far, so they wouldn't be looking like drowned rats once back indoors once more.

"Lass… what do you say to making your stepping down from the position of guildmaster something to remember?" Brynjolf asked once they had stepped out onto the streets, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Go out on a high which nobody else could ever live up to. Leave a bigger mark on guild history than you already have."

Thorne raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips together. "What high-profile heist did Delvin try to rope you into this time?"

Brynjolf let out a hearty chuckle at her response as he put his arm over her shoulders. "I always forget you can read me just as I can read you. Just before he started talking to you earlier, he was telling me about some reliable information that there are going to be some very notable targets passing through little old Helgen in a few days' time. I'm talking Jarls. High-ranking soldiers. People who have both expendable money and expensive little trinkets that can easily be replaced if they were to… misplace them, so to speak."

She rolled her eyes and let out a quiet laugh of her own. "And you weren't too keen on doing that, were you?"

"Well, Delvin felt that given our… abilities which Nocturnal granted us, it would be a safe job in the hands of one of us two. And I feel that you have a safer pair of hands than I do."

For a few moments, she thought the proposal over, the sound of both rain and their feet landing in puddles being the only noise which broke the silence. Eventually, she exhaled quietly, then nodded. "Okay. I'll do it. My last job. Go out on a high, as you said."

The rest of their short journey was quiet, in part driven by the fact that she was thinking about what sorts of targets would be in Helgen, and what possibly could have happened to bring together numerous figureheads of Skyrim to such a small mountain town.

When they arrived, he opened the door, and allowed her in first. As soon as the door to Honeyside fell shut behind him though, she turned on her heel and exhaled quietly, before pressing a brief kiss to his lips. "When I return from Helgen… I don't think I will stay once I've fenced everything to Tonilia. I'll pass the torch on to you. I will obviously return to Riften on occasion, but… Knowing that my last job will be one that will go down in guild history, I can at least say I accomplished something in my time here."

"You've done a lot to be proud of, Thorne… Don't put yourself down like that." He then exhaled quietly, and took her cheeks into his hands. "But I assume that this means that… between us is…"

The topic she had been dancing around all night, the thought which had been lingering in the back of her head from the moment he had asked if she wanted to take a step away from everything. It was possible that she could continue her relationship with Brynjolf… but a future in Riften was not on the cards for her, and Riften was his home. The guild's home. She couldn't tear him away from that. "A clean break may be what I need to figure out what I want to do with myself. But…" Her breath trembled as she inhaled. "I won't say that it doesn't hurt suggesting that we break up."

He nodded silently, though she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a smile.

"We still have time before that comes to pass though. And before you get all mopey over mead as you did when Mercer tricked you into thinking I was dead, remember that it isn't because of you. This is because of me, okay? You've been the light in my darkness, and I cannot thank you enough for it."

Slowly and delicately, he leaned over and pressed a feather-light kiss to her lips, a smirk once more across his face. "Then if this is to be one of our last nights together… Shall we make the most of it?"

...

When Thorne woke up, it was to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight breaking through Honeyside's windows. Brynjolf appeared to still be in a deep sleep beside her, one of his arms draped over her torso as he quietly snored. Slowly, she eased herself out from beneath his arm and the bedsheets, and went around the room, gathering together her clothes from the night before just to throw them into a nearby basket. She then went over to the drawers which she had hastily thrown some spare clothes into one of the last times she had spent the night there to get some of them, and pulled them on as quickly and quietly as she could.

Once dressed, she ran a hand through her hair quickly, just enough to make it not look as though she had just gotten out of bed, then walked over to the kitchen and grabbed one of the pastries which were there. It was somewhat stale, possibly from a day or two ago, but she didn't really care.

The quiet sound of Brynjolf stirring caught her attention as she wiped the crumbs from her face, and she silently gulped. She had wanted to make parting as painless as she could, without the need for goodbyes – even though she knew that she would be back, to return with what she could get away with stealing from Helgen. She wanted to make things easy for him by slipping out before he woke up.

"Lass…?"

She was frozen to the spot as he walked into the kitchen, and by Nocturnal he hadn't even bothered with getting dressed.

"Are you leaving? Already? It's barely sunrise…" He was rubbing at his eyes as he glanced between her and the window. "You were at least gonna say bye to me before you left, right?"

He walked over to her as her lips parted only slightly, uncertain as to whether she was going to tell him the truth of what she had wanted to do. She quickly settled on not doing so as he took hold of her shoulders and squeezed them as best as he could given his half-asleep state.

"… Promise me you will keep in contact, lass," he murmured, pulling her close to him in a quick embrace. "Even if we're not together, we are still a family. I want to know if you ever find the happiness which you are after... Promise me, yeah?"

She was silent for a moment, before nodding quietly. "I promise." She then stepped back, and took a deep breath. "I'm… going to go over to the Cistern to grab some stuff. Give Vex my vault key. Then make my way to Helgen. I don't suppose that whilst I'm gone… you could put some pants on and let everyone know that I'm stepping down as guildmaster?"

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow, now seeming much more alert than he previously had been upon hearing her plans. "I will. But remember that you're coming back after the Helgen job. You can tell everyone when you return…"

"… I know. But I just thought… hearing the news from you will soften the blow a bit. They all know and trust you. I still feel like a stranger to some people. I mean, they go to you to handle their problems more than they do me, so I don't feel that it will make much of a change to the guild dynamic…"

His hands gently cupped her face. "You'd be surprised, lass. Losing you will leave a bigger gap than you could possibly anticipate…" He then took a deep breath. "We will miss you. I will miss you. And if you ever want to come back, or if things don't work out as you venture out into the world, the doors to the Cistern will always be open for you."

Her eyes fell to the floor, before she took a step back. "… I'll… bear that in mind. Thank you, Bryn."

She needed to leave before she changed her mind.

[nocturnalswarehouse]

Chapter 30 - The Jarl's Gratitude

Fic Series: At Long Last

Pairing: Brynjolf x Female Dovahkiin|Dragonborn (Adranelle Rolaine)

Premise: Eight years after being declared the Dragonborn, and three years after Alduin is defeated, Adranelle (Adi) Rolaine finds herself back in Riften to help Brynjolf with the Thieves Guild's reputation.

Masterlist

Taglist: @thequeenofthewinter, @oblivions-dawn

Word count: 1, 279

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter! I have never been able to make it through a full novel-length fic, but thanks to support from friends and comments from readers, I had the motivation to finish the piece :) There will be a sequel coming, and I will work on it as much as possible with school happening, but I won't be posting it until the spring. For now, I'll be posting snippets here and there when I can be active in ask games and in general. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Despite being called in together, Jarl Laila addressed the thieves separately. Brynjolf was first, Laila granting him ownership to Riftweald Manor. “I understand that Mercer Frey is not the man we all thought. I thank you both for putting an end to his reign. Brynjolf, Riftweald is yours if you so wish. Anuriel will speak with you about the terms while I speak with your partner.”

“Thank you, my Jarl,” Brynjolf gave her a genuine smile and bowed his head before following the Bosmer into a separate room. 

“Adranelle Rolaine.” Jarl Laila smiled warmly as the half-Breton. Adi felt uncomfortable under the Jarl’s gaze, hearing her full name out loud for the first time. Even more so with Maven’s piercing glare directed at the half-Breton behind the Jarl. 

“How-”

“You’re the talk of the town lately,” Jarl Laila held up her hand, stopping Adi from speaking. “My steward has informed me that you’ve made quite an impression in the Rift; several of our citizens have expressed their admiration. Much like Mjoll, you’ve become a champion of our hold. Your willingness to help people with their difficulties and providing assistance for their needs has caused many to sing your praises. As the Jarl of Riften, I feel it is my duty to honour your selfless behaviour by honouring you with the title Thane of Riften.”

“I would be honoured to accept, my Jarl,” Adi showed gratitude, although felt unsure. The last thing she needed was another title that screamed ‘hero,’ but who was she to decline the Jarl?"

“Before I can present you with the title, there is but a single requirement you must fulfill,” Laila continued. “A Thane of Riften is required to maintain permanent residence within the city walls. My steward-”

“Sorry to interrupt, my Jarl,” Brynjolf took his place next to Adi once again, slinging an arm around her waist. “But that’s not an issue. Adi will be living with me.” 

“I am?” Adi looked up at the Nord, confused. Living together wasn’t something they had discussed quite yet, so his statement was quite a surprise.

“Only if you want to, lass,” he looked at her. When their eyes locked, Adi knew her answer right away. She would not turn him down when he had unadulterated love for her. 

“Of course I do,” she smiled. “That just caught me off guard.”

“Then it’s settled,” Jarl Laila pulled them back. “I officially bestow the title Thane of Riften on you.”

“Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” Jarl Laila shook her head. “You’ve solved more problems in the short time you’ve been here than anyone in my court has their entire careers. You’ve been a beacon of hope in these dark times for my people, and I will never forget it. Therefore, by my authority as Jarl, I pronounce you Thane of Riften and award you all the benefits befitting your station. Congratulations.” 

That comment made Maven sneer, and her eyes darken. That reaction alone caused Adi’s smile to grow. Not only was she receiving a Noble title, but Maven’s disgust towards the recognition Adi was getting made it worth accepting. 

“Your Housecarl, Iona, will meet you in Riftweald Manor. Please ensure you will have a room for her, should you choose to redecorate.” Jarl Laila dismissed the thieves. 

Hand-in-hand, they left Mistveil and made a beeline for Riftweald, Brynjolf handing Adi a key to their new home. Brynjolf told Adi that the process was easy. Anuriel had the paperwork in order and just needed him to sign it. He added Adi’s name right then and there. The Steward would hear about the Manor’s redesign by the end of the week. 

“My Thane, may I speak with you for a moment?” if it were any other voice, Adi would be baffled as to how word spread so quickly. However, Adi recognized it to be Maven. She was not keen on hearing what the Nord woman had to say to her. 

“I’ll meet you inside,” Adi told Bryn, squeezing his hand before approaching her mother. Brynjolf nodded and climbed up the ladder to the top floor entrance.

“What is it, Lady Maven?” she asked innocently. 

“I know who you are, and I’m aware you have found out who I am to you,” her tone was low, menacing. “If word of this were to spill to anyone other than yourself and Leo, I will not hesitate to remove you from this situation. We both know how quickly word spreads in this town.”

“Word spreads this quickly in any of the Hold’s towns,” Adi shrugged. “And I can assure you, the news I received before I left to end Mercer’s life isn’t one I’d be keen on anyone finding out, either. Besides, I know things about you that would tarnish your reputation even more than the town finding out you abandoned a baby almost 30 years ago. I suggest you back off and leave myself, Brynjolf, and the Guild alone; otherwise, your luck will run dry.” 

“I won’t give up that easily, dear daughter,” she smirked, knowing how much that word would irk Adi. “You’ve just threatened the wrong woman.”

“And so have you.” 

***

Six weeks later, Riftweald Manor looked completely different from the dump Mercer left it. All traps and triggers were gone, the bottom tunnels into the Ratway were blocked off, the top floor door lead to a closed-off balcony, and the ground entrances were usable. Given a well-deserved break from the Guild, Adi and Brynjolf focused fully on redesigning their home together. The final floor plan was approved by Iona and sent to Anuriel. Renovations took little time and made the space warm and welcoming. It was perfect. The thieves couldn’t be happier. 

After Adi and Brynjolf hung up their final decoration - a drawing made by Delvin of one of the Guild’s celebrations in the Flagon - they collapsed onto a loveseat, Brynjolf pulling Adi into his chest. “You think the place is ready for our friends tonight?”

“I think it’s perfect.” she looked up and kissed him deeply. The previous week, they had entered the Cistern and invited the Guild members to a small Housewarming party. Everything remotely fragile was thought about, in consideration of drunken thieves in one place, and Adi made sure they were either too high to reach or unmovable. Mostly both, if she was going, to be honest. 

“You’re perfect,” Brynjolf shifted, so Adi straddled him, tangling his fingers in her hair. He deepened the kiss, Adi reciprocating with no hesitation, and moved to start removing her civilian clothes when a loud knock sounded at their front door. “You’d think that we wouldn’t get interrupted as much being away from the Cistern, but alas, I was wrong.” 

“I’m sure it’s just the courier or something,” Adi laughed. She kissed him again, then headed to their front door and met with Nazir. 

“Congratulations on the new place, Adranelle,” Nazir gave her a curt nod and handed her a bottle of Mead - packaged as a gift.

“Thank you, Nazir,” she took the mead and invited him in. “You do know the housewarming party isn’t until later, right?” 

“Yes, but I came early because I have… some unpleasant news.” 

“What is it?” Adi set the mead on a shelf, then turned the assassin. 

“The Night Mother informed me of a new… complicated contract.”

“One that only I can handle? What are the details.” 

“It involves you, yes,” Nazir hesitated. He wished not to ruin her day, but this was not something that could wait. “But not in the way that you think.” 

“Nazir, spit it out.”

“Someone wants you dead.” 

[knightfuryvawannabee]

OSHA approved drawing of Shodara and Brynjolf. Looove the lighting.

[undeadcryztal]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls) Characters: Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Love at First Sight, Idiots in Love, the dragonborn needs a nap, Brynjolf needs a hug, WIP, I'll defeat this writers block before it defeats me, FUCK, this writer's block got hands, idk how to use commas and at this point im too afraid to ask, BAMF Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls) Summary:

Morgana was just trying to calmly relax before having to go back to the whole "saving the world" business when she accidentally stumbled into a VERY one-sided fight between a charming red-headed man and a dragon. Without a second thought, she saves the stranger and now finds herself on a little vacation to Riften with the terribly handsome and mysterious stranger as a companion. _______________ Coming back from a (surprisingly good) job in Windhelm, Brynjolf has a nasty encounter with a dragon and almost gets himself burned to a crisp, thankfully a stranger with even stranger abilities saves the day just in time. Brynjolf not being one to be used to being in debt to people especially when it's his life, offers that they should travel together to Riften, to pay her back and for safety reasons (and to possibly recruit her, definitely not because he finds himself a tiny bit attracted to her, yep, just thankful she saved his life, nothing more) ______________ Are the rumors true? is the world eater truly back? Is the Thieves Guild Cursed? Will the Dragonborn go a day without being given a side quest? What will become of these two emotionally constipated idiots?

[sigsomething]

I really can't think of a clever caption for this one so uhhhhh, have some more gay shit

enjoy ✌️

[thief-dd]

*sweating profusely* u..uh...

[throughtrialbyfire]

Friday Kiss Tag Game ♥

wooooo!! thank you so much for tagging me @boethiahspillowbook !! <3 this was so much fun to write and i'm delighted to share this piece!!

i'm tagging @totally-not-deacon @trickstarbrave @your-talos-is-problematic @skyrim-forever @orfeoarte @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @umbracirrus and anyone who wants to do it, if you're not tagged, feel free to hop in!! and no pressure as always!!

Rules: post a smooch between your OCs for Friday. It can be as light as a peck or as intense as a makeout. It can be romantic or platonic or familial. As long as a smooch takes place it’s free reign!

decided to bring a little treat, this features my very first LDB oc, Hyron Aedther! he's such a challenge and a joy to write. this is fresh out of the brain, and i hope you enjoy it!!

Hyron was not a very tactful man, but he was good at what he did. Stealing seemed to run in the family, as whispers of his grandfather's history with the Thieves Guild of Cyrodiil echoed down the branches of his lineage like a harsh and hollow wind. Still, wind nonetheless, and he tended not to reflect on the dead too long. The Altmer wound his way through the streets of Riften, noon sunlight dripping along the mountains like cupped hands desperately dragging water from a stream, in hopes this would quench the thirst. He had found himself doing this more than he liked. His silver hair tied behind him, the world at his back, he wondered if this would all come to a peaceful end. No, he chastised himself, don't be so dramatic, Hyron. It's only a crush. He seldom found himself in these positions, heart bent over backwards for the attentions of someone who he didn't know if would or could return his feelings. But he'd found himself watching the other man in the Ragged Flagon with increasing interest over the past few weeks, the way the ginger joked with Vekel and Delvin, the way he laughed at Vex's dry humor, the sound of his laugh, gods, the sound of his laugh. It battered Hyron open entirely, the sound of that thief's laugh. Brynjolf. Gods, his name even felt right in his mouth. Brynjolf, his friend, Brynjolf, his fellow thief, Bryn… Gods. Gods, he was utterly pathetic.

Pathetic. Like a soggy, sopping wet hound back from a hunt with nothing to show for it, to a master who would only feed him half the scraps he'd saved that night as punishment for his effort. His stomach churned with the weight of it. The thought of Brynjolf rejecting him made him want to tear his hair out, the image of the man's mouth moving in such a way to say, 'I'm sorry, lad, I just don't feel the same.' Or worse, what if he laughed at him? What if he thought Hyron was a lovesick fool, unfit to handle being in the same room as him? What if he hated Hyron for this, solely on the basis that Hyron had shown one fleck of weakness in the wild portrait of his life, the intensity of the color so rotten and bare it turned all away with it? What if… "Ah, there you are, lad. I've been looking for you."

The sound of his voice made the Altmer jump. He turned, the other thief rushing to catch up to him, his guild boots - mismatched with his regular dayclothes, his blue coat wrapped around his arms - thudding the wooden boards of the bridge over the canal. "Oh." Brynjolf furrowed his brow, slowing his pace as he approached the taller man. "Something on your mind?" Hyron shook his head. "No." A moment passed between them, before the other shrugged his shoulders, taking in their surroundings with familiarity, a boredom passing into his face. "What'd'you say we head to the Bee and Barb, get something to drink?" Hyron scoffed with a frail smirk, "why not the Flagon?" Brynjolf returned the smirk with a shrug. "Need a change of scenery, of course." Much to Keerava and Talen-Jei's displeasure, they found the two thieves in their tavern, keeping a distance from the bar, choosing instead to sit by the stairs. After a couple of small drinks and a paltry meal, Brynjolf turned to Hyron, his sharp gaze not missing the slight flinch of the elf's shoulders. "Alright, come on," he said in a quiet voice, "what's on your mind, lad?" Hyron knit his brow, and Brynjolf rolled his eyes. "You've been quieter than usual, and that's saying something."

Hyron's pulse quickened. "Nothing." He paused, and before Brynjolf could interject, he piped up, "I'm adjusting to my new life. It's hard." Brynjolf thought this over, rubbing at his chin, the bristle of it against his hand making a noise that Hyron only wished could be caused by his hand in the same place on the man's face, only wished he could rub his cheek, thumb his cheekbone, run his fingers though his fire-red hair, look into his eyes so intensely it was as though staring into a chasm of ice back in Winterhold- "You seem to be doing a lot of adjusting lately. I'm guessing this has something to do with that whole Dragonborn business." Hyron nodded. A lie. It worked. "I see." Brynjolf didn't seem satisfied, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his barrel chest. He looked towards the bar, flitting his gaze between Hyron and Keerava, before rising. A few moments passed of him exchanging quiet words with the Argonian woman, before she handed him a key. Approaching Hyron, he cocked his head quickly to the stairs. "Come on, let's talk somewhere private." His heart hammered against his chest. In his throat. No way out. Mouse. Mouse in a trap. Hyron stood there with the door behind him and the bed before and Brynjolf opening the window to let some fresh air in - as fresh as it got here - and turned back to him, noon sun golden on his skin. "Come on, out with it, lad. I know it can't just be this Dragonborn mess that's got you all worked up." Hyron swallowed hard. His chest hurt. He sat on the edge of the bed and released a loud, exasperated sigh, cradling his face in his hands. The pressure next to him told him that Brynjolf was seated right there, right there, next to him, gods, he could feel his body heat, it made Hyron dizzy. Intoxicating, the feel of the other's presence. "Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't," he grunted in his typical manner, cursing himself internally for it. He was never one for words. Never found them useful. So, instead, he remained quiet most often, but here and now with Brynjolf beside him…

"I may be in over my head with something." He finally decided that this was a conclusive enough answer. He looked through his long, golden fingers to Brynjolf, who appeared taken aback. "It's not something I'm used to." "Well, if it's debts you need settling, that's your own business, I'm afraid. We look out for each other in the Guild, but we pay our own ways." Hyron waited, then shook his head, silver eyes latched to the other. Brynjolf relaxed only momentarily, before leaning closer, intrigued. "…Oh, lad," he grinned now, a waggle of his brow catching Hyron off-guard, "is it perhaps a lady you're in trouble with?" Hyron waited. Shook his head. Brynjolf, this time, cocked his head to the side for a second before it hit him, and he nodded slow, almost sagely. "A man." Hyron nodded. "I see." The silence threw Hyron under the weight of the entire lake, an entire mountain's worth of pressure in his spine, his stomach tying furious knots, a sailor afraid of falling overboard. Before too long could pass, before the moment could fall apart, Brynjolf raked his fingers through his hair and rested his elbows against his knees, leaning forward, something bitter crossing his eyes. "I understand." What?

Hyron removed his hands from his face as the other began to speak, picking his words carefully. "I've had relationships that have gone… Well, for lack of better words to describe it, terribly. But I've also had some lovely ones. Sometimes someone comes along and everything about them tears you open like a ragged purse, reminds you of all the things you once wanted when you were a young man. I don't really chase these sorts of urges, to spill open for people, but…" Neither spoke a while. The noon crept closer to evening. Hyron watched Brynjolf and Brynjolf watched Hyron and before the Altmer could find the words for it, he cradled the other's face in his long, spindly hand, and when Brynjolf pressed his own palm against it, terror seized him that it was to push his hand away and to tell him to leave and to never come back and to forever fade from Brynjolf's memory, but now, no, he did not do that, instead the Nord ran his fingers along Hyron's and seemed to grow closer to him, closer in a way that made Hyron's stomach ache and his chest burn and bleed open with his pulse, so loud he swore the Nord heard it. It was a soft kiss, much softer than the Altmer anticipated. Brynjolf's lips were rough, not unexpected, but warm, and he was so tender with the other, so unexpectedly comforting. Hyron swore he glimpsed the gods a moment there, and he found his arms around Brynjolf's neck, deepening their kiss until he thought he might break his own nose against the other. When Brynjolf pulled away, he laughed, heartfelt and soothing. Worry turned away from Hyron's mind, no longer interested in haunting him, his eyes locked on the Nord. "The night's still young. There's loose coin for the taking, and plenty of room in this bed afterwards." The promise of more tore Hyron open with light, a burning, a brightness that he hadn't felt in so many years. All he could do was nod, and together, the pair departed, off to fill the Guild coffers with gold and their time with each other.

[maysoulrose]

The Thief and The Moon chpt 1

You guys i’m doing it. I’ve been writing a fanfic about one of my skyrim oc’s and her relationship with Brynjolf because i’m a sucker for the man. I posted the first chapter on Fanfic . net if you’d rather read it there, but I’mma try and post here too!!!!!!!!!!! I finally finished enough chapters to where I feel like it could be at a stopping point, in case I take a long break or something, so here they come! I’ll try to link each chapter on every post for convenience sake!

here’s my story on the website of the fiction : @ maysoulrose

ALSO this whole thing started because I stumbled upon THIS STORY ABOUT FARKAS AND I’M DYING. it really inspired me to write my own.

it’s freaking steamy as HECK so get your eyeballs READY.

Chapter 1

“Pay up.” Brynjolf held out his hand in anticipation. The two guards at the front gate of Riften eyed each other. Bashfully, the one on the left scratched the back of his head before confessing.

“Sorry Brynjolf, the only person who came through today saw right past our scheme… and…”

“She scared the pants off of us!!!” the other guard burst out. Brynjolf gave his eyebrow a good raise.

“Really?” He folded his arms in thought.  “What did this person look like?” 

“Terrifying” The guard on the right said, followed by a smack on the back of the head by the other.

“He wants physical features, dimwit.”

“Oh. uh…” He collected his thoughts for a moment. “Tall, really long hair, like, super long. Dark elf… I… I think.” 

“... Fine.  But I expect payment later. Don’t mess the next one up.” Brynjolf jabbed the closest guard in the shoulder.

“Yessir” the two say in unison. Brynjolf swings open the giant gate and enters the city. 

It was just past midday. The market was gathering the usual attendees. Brynjolf scoured the crowd. No sign of this mysterious Dark elf. He had been meaning to find a new recruit or two for the guild and since she caught his little shake down, maybe this elf would be a good fit. She’s probably still here in the city since the guards hadn’t seen her leave. 

“Better take my usual spot at the snake oil counter and see if she shows.” He muttered to himself. He adjusted the quilted fine hat that sat atop his head and straightened out the matching tunic.  He felt a little uncomfortable in the getup he wore, for his merchant ploy to lure In a possible victim- I mean… Customer.. But it helped with the whole … ‘outfit.’

He leaned his hips against his booth and took in the crowd. Grelka was her usual angry self. Marise was over there, chiming about her crispy carrots.  Brand-Shei…  just waiting to be framed. 

“Where’s my little guinea pig…” he whispered. Balimund was working away at the forge. That one fisherman walked by, who definitely was having secret love affairs. He scoffed at the thought, then glanced back over toward the front gate.

An unfamiliar figure was making their way across the bridge and over the canal. That had to be her. Probably just coming from a visit to the town alchemist. 

Brynjolf ran through his mental list of introductions and tried to pick the best one for her as she approached the market. 

"Here we go."

His eyes traced her form from head to toe. She had a fur hood and covered most of her face with a scarf. A pouch of coin strapped around her waist. She definitely wasn’t afraid of showing a little skin. She wore a set of fur armor. Bare shoulders and arms with a thin strip of fur across her chest. Her hips draped with assorted pelts and skins. 

He continued his gaze downward… Through the fabric shifting as she walked,  Brynjolf got a glimpse of a dagger strapped to the inside of her thigh. Already promising to fit in with his crowd. 

The woman pulled back her hood, revealing a fountain of white hair, cascading down her chest and past her hips. A very small hint of purple shimmered off the waves when the sun hit it just right. 

“Wow. They weren’t kidding.” Brynjolf recalled the guard’s description of her. She then tugs on her scarf and tucks it under her chin. Brynjolf felt his heart twinge with excitement. 

She was beautiful. The closer she got, the more he felt himself entranced by her. She was elegant in the way she held herself. She was tall, and all of her features seemed to be just a bit longer than your average passer by.  Her skin is on the lighter side, for a dark elf, and a bit warm in tone. Almost purple, rather than gray.   A hint of pink revealed itself on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Her skin seemed to have a velvet texture that shimmered like glitter. As if a diamond was crushed into pure dust and was sprinkled all across it.

By the time he realized he was gawking at her, she had caught his eyes. Hers were white, with only a hint of a pupil if you looked closely. Brynjolf snapped his jaw shut and approached her. 

"So… you're the little lady that sniffed out my scheme at the front gate."

The elf stopped in front of him; he had her full attention. 

It's a good thing he was skilled in the art of speech otherwise her otherworldly eyes might've made him stutter. 

"I admire how you were able to catch that shakedown, and even more with how you handled the situation."  He continued. "How about doing a little job for me, eh? Should be easy for a Lass like you." He paused for a moment, but she just kept her eyes on him. White lashes lining her lids. 

"... not much of a talker, I see." He clears his throat. "I have a bit of an errand to run, But need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, that extra pair of hands always gets paid. Handsomely." He waited for a response. 

She shifted her weight to the other side, extending out her leg slightly, and folding her arms. 

"I'm listening." Her voice was smooth and low, almost a whisper.  Brynjolf grinned at her response. 

"See that argonian over there?"

————————————————

"EVERYONE, EVERYONE!" Brynjolf stood at his makeshift booth, waving his arms. "Please! Gather 'round. I have an AMAZING new product." 

Everyone in the market groaned and shuffled over to him.

"What is it this time?" Brand Shei huffed.  Murmurs and eye rolls were plentiful among the onlookers. 

The mysterious elf watched the crowd and disappeared into it the moment everyone had their attention on the presentation. Quite literally it seemed. One moment Brynjolf was giving her the nod of approval, the next it was as If she never existed.

She slipped away, disappearing into wisps of shadowy smoke. The Argonian had left his booth, just as Brynjolf had planned. She tackled the lock of his cabinet and the Strongbox within. As expected, there lies a silver ring. Swiping the piece of fine jewelry, and softly closing the cabinet behind her, She made her way to Brand-Shei. 

The dunmer had sat his rump on a pile of crates next to a couple of barrels.  She reached an arm between two of them, just behind his back, and slipped the ring into one of his pouches.

Brynjolf continued on about his new "limb growing serum". He scanned the crowd, and almost jumped when he saw those moonlit eyes staring right at him, as if she had never left.

"Uh, that's all from me for today! Please! 20 gold per bottle. It'll change your life!" He shook around the tall potion container, appealingly. 

Once the crowd dispersed, he jumped down from his platform and approached the mystery woman. 

"Done without a hitch! You continue to impress.. Here's your share." He handed her a small pouch of gold, holding about 200 septims. She took the bag and dumped the contents into the satchel already on her hip.           

Just a few paces behind them, sounds of a guard promptly arresting Brand-Shei for the planted ring filled the air. Brynjolf took a step closer to the lady elf and lowered his voice. 

"Listen, if you're interested in doing more jobs like this, come meet me in the ratway. Just a test to see if you really have what it takes. We could use somebody with your skills." He smirks at her. 

She ponders the invitation for a moment and shuffles around her freshly filled coin purse. 

"Sounds like a deal~" flashing him a smile. 

Brynjolf exhaled a breath of relief. He was really hoping she'd say yes.

"Good on ya. Do you have a name?" He asks. It takes her a moment to respond, like she's considering if she should trust him with it.

"... Allustria." She whispers with her alluring voice. Brynjolf smiles.

"Fitting"

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7

read it on the fanfiction site

[helgiafterdark]

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 11

Misdirection

Prev: Ch.10 ...Has a Silver Lining || Next: Ch.12 A Ghost From the Past 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!

— — —

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)

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

I CAN'T STOP CASING PEOPLE😭 They haven't even made an appearance in my fic!

Kristen Dunst as Delphine

Mel Gibson as Esbern

Michael Fassbender as Brynjolf

Sean Bean as Ulfric Stormcloak

Charlie Hunnam as Ralof

Karl Urban as Hadvar

Jason Momoa as Tsun

Raul Bova as Genral Tullius

Sebastian Stan as Vilkas and Farkas

Russel Crowe as The Emperor

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater show us the rest of your cast, girl💖

Okay this is absolutely insane, but please bear with me.

WYGTYA IF IT WAS A MOVIE?

Please note that this is SOLELY based on the actors' looks, it has nothing to do with their personality or other films they starred in!

Also neither of these are face claims, I always see my characters exactly how they're designed in-game, this is just for fun! A movie adaptation AU, if you will.

1. Megan Fox or a Black haired Scarlett Johansson as Ravonna (green contact lenses are needed, though)

✨️the crazy yet charming wizard-bard protagonist✨️

2. Chris Hemsworth as Miraak (look, he is the most mainstream viking-looking dude who has Miraak vibes 🤣) - brown contact lenses needed

✨️the sunshine boy with the gentlest heart. Healer. First Dragonborn. Will definitely cry✨️

3. Toby Regbo as Lucien

✨️the stressed and occasionally awkward academic✨️

4. Rami Malek as Inigo

✨️the loyal Khajiit who finally found his family✨️

5. Max Baldry as Marcurio

✨️the short and angry gay everyone wants to be or wants to be with✨️

6. Tom Hopper as Rumarin - gold contacts needed

✨️the tall and funny himbo who is actually really complex✨️

7. Ray Stevenson (as seen in Black Sails) as Hjaldir

✨️the og bard who is also a pirate. Very charming. Helped in raising Ravonna✨️

8. Tom Hardy as Teldryn

✨️the tired-of-this-bullshit uncle, super protective of Ravonna✨️

9. Taika Waititi as Endryn

✨️the adoptive dad, wholesome, kind, stressed, innkeeper✨️

Tagging @bougainvillea-and-saltwater - this was her idea!! and also @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thelavenderelf @shitty-drawer @totally-not-deacon you don't have to do this, I just wanted to show you my casting choices :)))) I'd tag more people who read/know about my fic, but I am so shy and scared that I'll annoy you with a random tag🤣

[nocturnalswarehouse]

Chapter 27 - Twilight Sepulcher

Fic Series: At Long Last

Pairing: Brynjolf x Female Dovahkiin|Dragonborn (Adranelle Rolaine)

Premise: Eight years after being declared the Dragonborn, and three years after Alduin is defeated, Adranelle (Adi) Rolaine finds herself back in Riften to help Brynjolf with the Thieves Guild’s reputation.

Masterlist

Taglist: @thequeenofthewinter, @oblivions-dawn

Word count: 1, 196

A/N: Happy first night of Hanukkah if anyone else celebrates it :) I wanted to get through the Twilight Sepulcher in one chapter, but it ended up being a "two-part" so we'll see the return of the key next chapter. Hope you enjoy this one!

The weight of the key grew with each step in their journey to the Twilight Sepulcher. Brynjolf had offered to carry it for Adi, but the Dragonborn refused. She had it in her head that if anyone else were to take hold of the artifact, it wouldn’t get back to Nocturnal. She didn’t expect how much of a burden it would be. 

Day and night, it would whisper to her, entice her into using it. The key’s magic would invade her dreams, giving her images of the ideal life. All the riches she could ever imagine, all the power, and the ability to expose Maven Black-Briar without even trying.

It would be wrong to assume she wasn’t tempted. It knew how to find her deepest desire and show how it could make it happen. All the power she could have… she could be more powerful than- 

“Lass, we’re here,” Brynjolf halted Shadowmere. 

“Hm?” Adi snapped out of her thoughts, looking at her surroundings. Brynjolf had taken the reins more than halfway through their journey after noticing Adi’s lack of focus. The key was messing with her mind, and he wanted her to be as safe as possible as they travelled to the Sepulcher. 

Now that they were there, Brynjolf took the key from Adi’s possession and let her dismiss Shadowmere with the weight off her shoulders. “I’ll keep it with me for the rest of the journey, lass. We need you to have a clear mind.” 

Adi nodded and faced Karliah, who had tailed them. “I don't understand why you won't come with us.” 

“I've been a Nightingale for a very long time.” She said. “I sold my allegiance to Nocturnal in exchange for many profitable years of thieving. Falling in love with Gallus was wrong. It was a distraction that allowed the Sepulcher to be desecrated, and it likely cost him his life. Until the Key is returned, I will never set foot inside that place again.”

“Tell us about the conduit inside the Sepulcher.” Brynjolf requested. 

“The conduit to Nocturnal's realm, the realm of Evergloam, has been in Skyrim... well, longer than recorded history,” Karliah explained. “The Twilight Sepulcher was constructed around it by man and mer in order to shield it from those who would exploit its power. Through this conduit, we're given Nocturnal's greatest gift, our luck. What she gains in return is a complete mystery.”

Karliah bid them good luck, and the two Nightingales headed inside. They walked into a large room, where a part of pillars led to a glowing figure - one of the sentinels - and a staircase behind him. On the upper level were higher stone pillars that formed into arches. 

“I don't recognize you, but I sense that you're one of us. Who are you?” the figure turned to them, stopping Adi and Bryn in their tracks. 

“I'd ask the same question of you,” Adi spoke calmly. Brynjolf was almost too shocked to speak. 

“The last of the Nightingale Sentinels, I'm afraid.” He sighed. The sentinel sounded sad, defeated. Almost as if he had lost something when he was living. “I've defended the Sepulcher alone for what seems like an eternity.” 

“The last? What happened to the rest?” Adi asked, taking a cautious step forward. 

“We were betrayed by one of our own kind. In fact, I'm to blame for what's happened here.”

“How are you to blame?”

“I was blinded. Blinded by dark treachery masquerading as friendship.” What was he…? “Perhaps if I had been more vigilant, then Mercer Frey wouldn't have lured me to my fate and stolen the Skeleton Key.” 

“Wait a moment... You're Gallus!” Adi and Bryn chorused together, looking at each other with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“I haven't heard that name in a long time. How do you know of me?” He brought the attention of the partners back to him.. 

“I have the Key,” Brynjolf said, showing Gallus the Skeleton Key. It felt heavy in his hand. 

“The Key! You have the Skeleton Key!” Gallus’ demeanour changed with excitement and relief in his voice. “I never thought I'd see it again. And Mercer Frey?”

“Dead,” Adi spoke with venom, eyes darkening. 

“Then... it's over, and my death wasn't in vain. I owe you both a great deal.”

“We did this to honour the Guild,” Brynjolf said truthfully.

“You've done the Guild a great deed.” Gallus gave a nod of acknowledgement, smiling under the mask. “ And although they may not show it, I'm certain they appreciate your sacrifices. My only regret is that you had to undertake this task alone.”

“Karliah helped us.” 

“Karliah... she's still alive?” It was clear he still loved her, and it made Adi smile. “I feared she'd befallen the same fate, ending up a victim of Mercer's betrayal.”

“Take the Key and right all the wrongs.” 

"Nothing would bring me more pride than to return the Key, but I'm afraid it's impossible. From the moment I arrived here, I've felt myself... well... dying."

“Then we’ll have to proceed alone.” Adi took Bryn’s hand, interlocking their fingers. 

“I'm afraid so.” Gallus nodded. “I'm weakening, and I can feel myself slipping away. The years without restoration of my power have taken their toll. Whatever damage has been caused can only be corrected by following the Pilgrim's Path to the Ebonmere and replacing the Key.”

“What will we face in the Pilgrim's Path?” Brynjolf inquired. 

“I wish I could help you, but I've been a prisoner in this very chamber for the last quarter century. The only possible help I've come across are the remains of some poor fellow who was trying to follow in your footsteps. Perhaps his journal can help?”

Gallus gestured to a skeleton East of him, and Adi and Bryn thanked him before moving to it. Adi picked up the journal and read it. 

“Shadows of their former selves, sentinels of the dark. They wander ever more and deal swift death to defilers. 

Above all, they stand, vigilance everlasting. 

Beholden the murk yet contentious of the glow. Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried.

 Direct and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish. 

The journey is complete. The Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion.”

“What do you think it means?” Brynjolf asked Adi as they read the words three times over. 

“I think the first one will have us fighting Sentinels,” Adi explained. “The second one has something to do with Nocturnal, and I believe darkness? I’m not sure what the third clue is. Those seem to be the most important.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Brynjolf shrugged. “Ready to begin, lass? I’d rather get this key returned sooner than later.”

“Let’s go, then,” Adi nodded. They returned to Gallus, journal in hand, and he greeted them. 

“I see you’re ready.”

“As ready as we can be.” Adi had a good feeling about it. It seemed like this would be the easiest part of their journey. One that was almost over. 

“Good luck, Nightingale.”

[knightfuryvawannabee]

25 days of TESCheer | Day 8 - festival

Just decided to do something cute today

@tescheer

[reachwitch]

Roar of a Wolfborn completed 46/46

After losing her family, Sifkni finds herself almost executed. After fleeing, she travels to Whiterun where she encounters the Companions. She knows their secret, as she is also a werewolf. Despite feeling that someone else is better suited for the role, she is soon thrust into the position of Dragonborn. She must learn to believe in her skills and heal from her past to fulfill her destiny. Farkas x LDB {F Werewolf Nord} | Skjor x OC {M Skaal}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | EPILOGUE |

Hunt of the Blood Moons

After defeating Alduin, Last Dragonborn Sifkni is called to Falkreath for a werewolf problem. She helps solve the mystery, only to have a Great Hunt called on her by Hircine. Sequel to Roar of a Wolfborn Farkas x LDB {F Werewolf Nord}

Chapter PROLOGUE | 1 | WIP

Sivaas

After her pack is killed, Estinan wanders around Skyrim. With no home to call her own, she makes do with hunting or selling her sword arm. She ends up in Riften on a fateful day. With her pockets emptied by a handsome thief, she tracks him through the sewers and begins her strange quest with the Thieves Guild. Brynjolf x OC {F Werewolf Bosmer}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | WIP

Fury of a Tundra Wolf

Former Harbinger of the Companions, Thea Icehammer, joins the Stormcloak army. She fights alongside the army to bring Ulfric his victory and to free Skyrim from Thalmor and Empire's clutches. Galmar x OC {F Werewolf Nord}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | WIP

What are Friends for?

Ciara Finley, an aspiring alchemist and healer, finds herself in Helgen. Her childhood friend, Ralof, sits in front of her on the carriage and her fiance, Hadvar, is holding the list for the execution. After a catastrophic breakup, Ciara joins Ralof on his way to Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks. OC x OC  ; Eventual Ralof x OC {F Breton Alchemist/Healer}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | WIP

Toe the Line

'Toe the line means to follow the rules or act in the way people expect you to' A phrase and act Dyrvina was familiar with, growing up as Jarl Skald's granddaughter. Dyrvina is now sent to Windhelm as a Political message to Jarl Ulfric. Arranged to marry the Jarl of Eastmarch, Dyrvina despises her grandfather and Jarl Ulfric. Ulfric x OC {F Nord} Slowburn

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | WIP

Mother of Hunters

Adelina, a devout Hircine follower and werewolf, is called to one of the Lord Huntsman’s Great Hunts. But as the Hare. She must survive three days with his Hunters and three nights with him personally hunting her. Adelina must survive. If only to prove she is NOT a Hare. She will not ever be a HARE. Hircine x OC {F Werewolf Nede/Nord}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | Epilogue | Lore Book

Vestige Liselle encounters another Problematic Prince ft. Dragons (and Mudcrabs)

Liselle’s encounters of Tamriel and Oblivion are detailed in mostly journals. ESO Main Questline, a couple Daggerfall Covenant Quests, Clockwork City, Original Plot: Coldfire Codex, Elsweyr, Mages’ Guild, Blackwood | Future Goals: High Isle and Necrom Abnur Tharn x Vestige {F Breton}

Just a Ruin (and Mudcrab) Advocate | 158 Chapters | Journal Coldfire Codex Chap 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 Rage of Dragons and the Vestige | 65 Chapters | Journal Mages’ Guild Fiasco: Journal of Vestige Liselle |  24 Chapters | Journal In Which Liselle’s Fist Lands upon Another’s Cheek | WIP | Journal

Blessings of the Moons

Finnki is the Thane of Whiterun. She takes frequent bounties to keep her life and mind busy. She comes across the scene of an ambush. There’s only one survivor. J'Med. He’s a Khajiit from far-off lands, traveling to Skyrim to shake off his past. Finnki helps J'Med with recovery and fitting into Skyrim. J'Med teaches Finnki about moving on and leaving one’s past. OC {F Nord/Bosmer} x OC {M Khajiit}

Chapter 1 | 2 | WIP

Shadow of the Druadach

Tiernan is the Last Dragonborn. He is also a Reachman. He is a prickly man on his quest to save his world, despite the distrust and prejudice he faces on the daily. While he is looking for an Elder Scroll for Paarthurnax, he meets Rozelia Greensly. A master Mage at the College of Winterhold. She is very interested in the Reach and Reach magic. She joins Tiernan on his adventure, to his dismay. Perhaps the buds of friendship will bloom during their trip to find the Elder Scroll. Last Dragonborn {M Reachfolk} x OC {F Breton}

Chapter 1 | WIP

[esta-elavaris]

Day 1 - "I've got you." - Thorin Oakenshield/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 2 - Family, friends, loved ones - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr / AO3 Day 3 - "You love me?" "I always have." - Papa Emeritus IV/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 4 - Cinderella Moment - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 5 - X + 1 - Brynjolf/F!Dragonborn - tumblr / AO3

Day 6 - Hot Chocolate - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 7 - Porch Swing - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 8 - Rainy Day - Theodore Groves/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 9 - Massage - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 10 - Playing With Hair - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 11 - Sweet Tooth - Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor - tumblr

Day 12 - Fire & Ice - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 13 - Reading Together - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 14 - "I hate it." "No you don't." - Cutler Beckett/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 15 - Emergency, Confession, Adventure - Jack Sparrow/OC - tumblr

Day 16 - Singing Each Other to Sleep - Thorin Oakenshield/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 17 - Encouraging Someone to Achieve a Goal - Eddie Munson/OC - tumblr Day 18 - "Did you plan for this to happen?" - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 19 - Keeping Someone Safe - Vilkas/F!Dragonborn - tumblr / AO3

Day 20 - Wearing Each Other's Clothing - Boromir/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 21 - Swoon - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 22 - Picking - Boromir/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 23 - Trinket - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 24 - [Melting Emoji] 🫠 - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr

Day 25 - Nook - Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor - tumblr

Day 26 - Fireplace - Boromir/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 27 - Outdoor Event - Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor - tumblr

Day 28 - Soothing Touch - Ulfric Stormcloak/F!Dragonborn - tumblr / AO3

Day 29 - "Hey, wake up!" - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 30 - Self-worth / Self-love - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 31 - "You told your parents?" - Arthur Morgan/OC - tumblr / AO3

find me elsewhere: AO3 ~ FF.net ~ long!fic masterpost