#pov: gallus

[gallusneve]

beautiful wife, neve gallus: minrathous is my city dock town is my home it's the heart of the tevinter imperium this is where I grew up i love my city let me take you on a tour rook <3

rook's pov:

[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

[justbr0s]

Rating: Mature

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games) Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game)

Relationship: Rook/Solas (Dragon Age)

Characters:

Lucanis Dellamorte

Emmrich Volkarin

Bellara Lutare

Lace Harding

Taash (Dragon Age)

Davrin (Dragon Age)

Solas (Dragon Age)

Rook (Dragon Age)

Neve Gallus

Additional Tags:

POV Third Person

POV Outsider

First Time

Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Summary:

Rook and Solas through the eyes of the companions.

Notes:

1. There are 7 chapters for each companion (rated T to M), and 1 bonus chapter for Solas and Rook (rated M-E).

2. Rook in this is a human male, and there are references to this throughout the story.

[wordsandrobots]

Not to be all final-final-v3 on everyone but I think that actually is it. Having now accounted for a sudden last-minute extra scene in the last fic, I believe that's now a section break icon for every individual point of view in Wishing on Space Hardware.

Some of these won't actually end up being used, since the POVs only occur at the start of chapters, but I like to be thorough. There are still two POVs not covered here: the omnipresent narrator who shows up occasionally to address the reader directly (which is *technically* another character POV, because the narrator has a definite voice, but that'll remain my little secret); and one you'll find out about in the very last fic in the series, which has an icon prepared already, but isn't a singular point of view, exactly.

So yes. Hah! Done.

Now I just need to finish writing that last fic.

Key to the characters represented below this cut:

Eugene | Kudelia | Elion | Almiria | Azee

Shino | Atra | Julieta | Asher | Eco

Yamagi | Akatsuki | Toka | Embi | Argi

Chad | Yukinojo | Gallus | Lin | Liarina

Dante | Merribit | Gaelio | Reuben | Volco

Derma | Dexter | Iverson | Isurugi | Ilyana

Zack | Takaki | Ordsley | Carta | McMurdro

Dane | Sri | Mackenzie | the pluma | Cricthlow

Ride | Sakura | Ahmed | Gargin | The Chief

Hirume | Cucubita | Iznario | Nobliss | Greyling

Pel | Victor | Deira | Dominic | Ms Phiri

[teganstable]

Rwby Cupids Booth pt 6

Tauradonna (Blakes pov)

Tauradonna (Adam's pov)

(I think if u listen to the lyrics of both songs it really captures how each of them saw themselves in their relationship.)

Knightfall (Cinders pov)

Knightfall (Jaunes pov)

(The guilt would actually bring them both to their knees is how this feels to me)

Achilles heel (Pyrrhas pov)

Achilles heel (cinders pov)

(this ship to me feels like it wouldn't last a month)

Daddy issues (Weiss is pov)

Daddy issues (Mercurys pov)

(another ship that gives me aesthetic toxic vibes.)

Willow × Jacques

Willow × Jacques

(I mean... the songs say it all)

[uchidachi]

Dragon Age Exchange Letter 2024

Hello Black Emporium Rare Pair Exchange Writer/Artist!

Thank you for making this gift for me! I know I will love whatever you come up with, but for those who like a little more guidance I have left many prompts in the signup and some general likes & dislikes here.

I'm open to treats of Fic and/or Art and multi-recip treats!

General Likes:  I really like UST and mutual pining, also the corny stuff like “fake married” or “bed sharing” or “arranged marriage” tropes. I LOVE Soulmate AUs more than anything else, I’m an absolute sucker for those. I also like the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers trope. I also really like cats, so if you give a character a cat, I will be happy

General dislikes: I love angst, but not really hurt/comfort. I love canon deviation and certain AUs, but I really don’t get into any AUs that change the setting for Dragon Age

DNW: any kind of abuse, bathroom kinks, bestiality, crossovers, humiliation, incest, modern AUs, mundane AUs, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse, pregnancy, PWP, second-person POV, underage, whump.

Specific Character/Pairing notes: I tag all my ships on this blog with “character a x character b” in alphabetical order, so if you want to look up what I’ve reblogged/posted on Krem/Harding for instance, look for the tag “harding x krem” and Adaar/Vivienne would be under both “inquisitor x vivienne” and “adaar x vivienne”. OT3s are under the tag “ot3″. A lot of the pairings this year are truly the rarest of rare, so for some of them I may not have any content yet!

For the many Vivienne ships I requested; I do headcanon her and Bastien having an open relationship when they are together, so feel free to use that headcanon if you want!

Now for the spoiler part of the letter. Please let this photo of my cat protect you if you wish to not read Veilguard prompts. Otherwise please scroll past the cat & click read more for more prompts.

Male Adaar/Solas or Female Cadash/Solas - I put this under the spoiler group because I am in love with the idea that maybe Inquisitors who were shot down by Solas during Inquisition get a second chance at romance in Veilguard. Just imagine the possibilities…

Vivienne/Emmrich Volkarin - Well, she does canonically like silver foxes ;)

Davrin & Merrill (Dragon Age) - LET! MERRILL! PET! THE! BABY! GRIFFON! Ok apart from Assan, I really would love to see Merrill able to make friends with another Dalish elf, and as a Grey Warden Davrin is likely less anti-blood-magic than average. Or at least I’m going to headcanon that he is, until proven otherwise. 

Fenris/Neve Gallus - All the joy of pairing Fenris with a mage, with less drama because she’s 100% with him on hunting down maleficars & helping Tevinter slaves. Also I have one word for you: Casefic.

For general Veilguard stuff: I'm planning to play as a lady Rook that is a Dwarven rogue archer named Rhea. If there's a background for Rook that doesn't involve being part of the Carta I'll be over the moon. That's not at all required to include, but I thought I might as well include it

[buffintruder]

I’m making up an end of year fic writing ask thing because why not, all these answers apply to the past year

Most Popular fic

what if the real steel samurai fandom was the friends we made along the way by a long shot in every single measure. I did not expect this to be so popular

Favorite fic

To Turn the World Upside Down, my ace attorney au where Phoenix’s family is ‘blessed’ by a trickster god. Honestly I think it ranks among the best things I’ve written? I’m still in the middle of posting it, but I just think I do a good job with descriptions and character interactions and character growth in this one

Most unexpected fic

This is a tie between two Kamen Rider fics:

Endless Futures Ahead because it’s a Gou/Chase fic and I started writing this (in 2021 actually but whatever) before I’d even seen a full Kamen Rider series. I knew this show was going to suck me in if I ever started watching it (and it did), but I did not think I would write 20k+ words about characters in a show I had only seen a handful of episodes about

Across the River of Stars. I read the Blade novel, sat on it for like a week, particularly the ending where Kenzaki and Hajime agree to meet one night a year (just like the cowherd and weaver of myth, i thought!), and then out of nowhere I wrote 2k words at work about them meeting once a year in modern times. I started it about exactly a month ago and posted it today, so I think this is also the fic I’ve finished the quickest this year (that or my other Blade fic, idk how long that one took to write)

Fics for next year:

The next one I will post is a toss up between:

-the as of yet unnamed sequel to my steel samurai fic. this is 50% Klavier during aa4 having the Worst Year of His Life and 50% Klavier being heart eyes over Apollo, as seen through his unofficial social media (right now about 5k long, i’ve gotten past aa4-4 and the immediate aftermath, i just need to figure out where i want this to end, go over it a couple times, and then do all the formatting)

-The Future Where All Sorrows End (title subject to change) my Kamen Rider Blade soul nemesis au where Kenzaki and Hajime know that they are fated to be each other’s undoing from the moment they meet (right now somewhere in the 50-60k range. i need to finish the last scene, decide if i want to add a post-canon scene where Kenzaki hangs out with Kotaro and Hirose, and then do a bunch of editing but a lot of that i’ll do after i start posting chapters)

The next fic I plan to start writing:

Honestly probably a Kamen Rider W fic. I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this premise, but I’ve had the rough idea in my head for 6ish months now and watching Fuuto PI + rewatching W with my brother is giving me feels. The basic premise is that instead of Gaia memories, it’s ghosts. Akiko shows up at the PI agency one day and is like “guys your business model sucks, we’re making a ghost investigating youtube channel as well as being private investigators”. Philip is the camera man never on screen but often making snarky comments from the background. The fic alternates between Wakana’s pov who is like ‘what is up with these youtubers that keep referencing my radio show’ and Philip who is like ‘i’m weirdly obsessed with this radio host but i don’t think it’s in a romantic way’. And then they start talking like in canon but no one dies and everything ends happily :) including for Kirihiko

Tagging @arofili @gallus-rising @queerfandommiscellany @moth-time and anyone else who wants to do this, my internet is wonky so i can’t see who follows me and i don’t have a good memory. Also feel free to change the questions if you want, I came up with these just now while sleepy

[soulstealer1987]

Arc 3, Chapter 1

Ziist Grozein

Gallus joins the Companions! Actually, no. It's complicated. But hey, at least he'll finally get some sort of training with his sword? It's probably too much to hope that he won't end up involved in the Companions questline, though, let's be honest.

Crossposted from AO3. Masterpost is here.

Arc 3: Live by the Sword

Interlude: Erandur ~ Arc 3, Chapter 2

Gallus has been to Whiterun once before, although he never actually set foot inside the city walls. The last time he was here had been with Aranea and Erandur, when they were on their way to Ilinalta’s Deep for what Gallus has been referring to lately as simply that whole mess with Azura’s Star, much to Erandur’s amusement. The group had bypassed the city on the way back, which was probably a good idea, in retrospect, considering that the goal at the time was to get back to the Shrine of Azura as fast as possible.

Now, though, is a different story entirely. From what he’s heard of the Companions - which was almost exclusively from one person, but still - they’re rather selective about who they let in. Gallus is fine with that, he understands perfectly. After all, if they let in every random warrior who walked through their doors,  they wouldn’t have anywhere near as good a reputation.

He’s changed out of his mage robes, for several reasons. One, he’s not a mage, he just happens to have a knack for Illusion magic. Two, Nords tend to distrust mages, if Onmund’s ranting about his family to anyone who’ll listen is any indication. Three, mage robes are really, really hard to move in, and he likes being able to move around, thanks.

While he probably could have gotten quite a bit of money for them maybe enough for a decent set of armor, he didn’t sell them. Why, he’s not entirely sure, although he could hazard a few guesses if he really wanted to. So, the mage robes stayed folded up in his pack and, for the time being, Gallus is wearing an admittedly-crappy set of armor that he knows he needs to replace at some point. After all, he did find it in a cave full of Falmer.

It’s still better than the mage robes.

“Hello,” Gallus says, a little awkwardly. One of the guards eyes him suspiciously, even if Gallus really isn’t sure how he can tell when the guard is wearing a helmet. The other one looks more bored than anything else. Probably about to be done for the day or, at the very least, wanting to be.

“What business do you have in Whiterun?” The suspicious guard asks. Gallus shrugs.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, actua-”

“Oh, lay off it, you snowback, he’s even less likely to answer you than the Dark Elf earlier,” his partner mutters dryly, then looks to Gallus. “You don’t actually have to tell us, he’s just been trying to compensate lately. Took an arrow to the knee in training and won’t shut up about it. Don’t indulge him.”

“Fair enough,” Gallus says after a moment. “I’m… actually coming to visit someone I met out near Winterhold. Companion. Her name’s Ria, you know her?”

“Ria? That’s the newest one, if I remember correctly. You’ll probably find her in Jorrvaskr, with the rest of them. Start heading up to the Cloud District, then turn right at the Shrine of Talos. If you climb all the way up to Dragonsreach, you’ve gone too far.”

The less hostile guard steps aside, nodding for him to go in, and it’s only when Gallus is already inside the city and there’s no going back that he realizes something particularly important.

He has no idea where any of those places are.

“No lollygagging,” a nearby guard says, and Gallus resigns himself to the fact that this is definitely going to take a while. How fun.

It takes Gallus a good couple of hours to actually find Jorrvaskr, although it only takes him a good couple of minutes once an old woman in the marketplace takes pity on him, asks what he’s looking for, and quickly directs him to the building made from an upside-down boat. It’s probably a testament to how long Gallus has been wandering the streets of Whiterun that he knows exactly the building she means once he actually gets a description.

Gods damn it.

In any case, Gallus really wasn’t at all sure what to expect when he quietly pushed the doors open and slipped inside, but he never in a million years would have expected an impromptu drinking contest going on in the middle of the main room. (At least, he figured it was probably impromptu, since most of the people involved were, in fact, Nords.)

Seeing as nothing seems to be changing, and the two main competitors (neither of whom are Ria, or Vilkas for that matter) are still draining their tankards, Gallus takes the opportunity to look around. Jorrvaskr looked big from the outside, but on the inside, it’s even bigger. There’s one long table down the middle, and most of the people in the room are gathered around one end, where the, ah, fun stuff is happening. There’s a couple of stairwells heading… well, downstairs, presumably, although Gallus wouldn’t have guessed Jorrvaskr had an underground part. Clearly, he would have guessed wrong.

Gallus looks again, looks for anyone he recognizes. He doesn’t see Ria anywhere, or Vilkas… actually, wait. At the edge of the crowd, nursing his own tankard and looking surprisingly excited about the drinking contest is… well, he doesn’t look exactly like Vilkas, his hair’s a little different and he’s wearing different armor, but yeah, that’s definitely Vilkas. So Gallus heads over to Vilkas, and taps him on the shoulder. Vilkas turns, and suddenly looks very confused.

“Vilkas, right?” Gallus asks. “It’s me, Gallus. From Winterhold. Ria said I should stop by, so… I did. You know where she is?”

“Well, uh,” Vilkas begins a little too cheerfully, considering that this is Vilkas, “I don’t recognize you, but that’s ‘cause I’m not Vilkas. That’s my brother. I’m Farkas. Sorry.” Vilkas - no, Farkas, apparently - grins sheepishly. Yeah, definitely not Vilkas. In Gallus’ (admittedly limited) experience, Vilkas wouldn’t smile if his life depended on it. That… probably should have been a red flag from the beginning, to be honest.

“Oh,” Gallus freezes as it really sinks in. “Shit. Sorry.”

Farkas shrugs, “Not the first time someone’s mixed us up. Won’t be the last. Friend of his?”

“I… wouldn’t call it that. Looking for Ria, in any case. Is she downstairs, or…?”

“She’s out,” Farkas punctuates his statement with a nod towards the doors. “Vilkas is downstairs, if you want to talk to him.”

“I… right. I’ll do that,” Gallus says, and smiles. “Thanks.”

Farkas flashes Gallus a grin, then returns his attention to the drinking contest. While the two competitors had seemed pretty evenly matched to begin with, now it’s clear one of them is pulling ahead, and the other looks ready to hurl.

As Gallus slips downstairs, he hears the sound of someone barfing. (Who is he kidding, he knows exactly who, he just doesn’t know his name.) Gallus does his best to ignore it, and in doing so, he hears a conversation not far away.

“But I still hear the call of the blood,” someone says, just around the corner. Possibly Vilkas, although Gallus didn’t spend enough time around him to say for sure just from the man’s voice. Gallus, meanwhile, stops in his tracks, and listens.

“We all do,” someone else says, someone quite different. An old man, maybe, although there’s still a certain strength to his voice that’s probably matched in his combat skills. “It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.”

“You have my brother and I, obviously,” Vilkas says - because this is definitely Vilkas, Gallus realizes. “But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”

The old man chuckles. “Leave that to me,” he says.

By now, Gallus has realized that whatever they’re talking about, he wants no part in it. So he sneaks backwards until he’s back at the doors to upstairs, then opens one of them as loudly and obviously as he can. Both Vilkas and the old man shut up, and Gallus takes the opportunity to walk forward, around the corner, like he didn’t just accidentally eavesdrop on something that’s probably rather private. Nope. Of course not.

“Hello,” Gallus greets as he rounds the corner and comes across Vilkas and an old man (because he is an old man, Gallus was right) sitting at a table. His gaze meets the old man’s, then Vilkas’ own. “Vilkas. Good to see you.”

Vilkas groans, “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Gallus shrugs, “Ria said that if I was ever in the area, I should stop by. So I did. Your brother said she was out, and sent me down here.”

The old man, whoever he is, cracks a smile, and says, “You mixed up Farkas and Vilkas, didn’t you?”

“No,” Gallus says a little too quickly. He sticks out a hand. “I’m Gallus, by the way.”

“Kodlak,” the old man takes it, and shakes with a surprisingly firm grip for an old man with long-since-greyed hair.. “Kodlak Whitemane. Now… tell me. How do you know Vilkas and Ria?”

“I… ran into them near Winterhold,” Gallus says. He doesn’t exactly want to advertise the fact that he was running around outside in the middle of a blizzard like an idiot, of course. Not that he thinks Vilkas won’t mention that. “There’s not much to tell, honesty. They did save my life.”

Vilkas coughs, and while the cough sounds suspiciously like something along the lines of notmyidea, Kodlak doesn’t acknowledge it, so neither does Gallus. Gallus probably wouldn’t acknowledge it, anyway. In his experience, the best way to deal with people like him is to just ignore them when they’re being egotistical pricks and treat them the same as anyone else the rest of the time.

Hang on, Gallus thinks suddenly. What experience?

He thinks he might have known someone not unlike Vilkas, at least in terms of how they acted towards other people, or at least most other people. He can almost remember a face, and a name’s at the tip of his tongue, but… no. He’s not remembering. Not today. Damn it.

“It was kind of your own fault for being outside in that,” Vilkas says, and there it is.

“In my defense,” Gallus almost smiles, “I had absolutely no idea what I was doing at the time.”

“That’s changed?”

“Yes, actually. I know much better now, but thanks.”

Kodlak looks between the two of them, and raises an eyebrow. “I feel like I’m missing something here,” he says. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Amnesia,” Gallus says. “I have amnesia. I’ve been traveling around Skyrim trying to find someone who recognizes me, and that hasn’t exactly been going well. Funny thing, Skyrim’s really rather dangerous.”

Kodlak looks very much like he’s holding back a laugh at that last remark, and Gallus decides he likes him. Kodlak’s amusement, however, is a direct contrast to Vilkas’ possibly-permanent scowl. His loss.

“Actually,” Vilkas begins, but Kodlak raises a hand.

“Let him continue, Vilkas,” Kodlak says. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

So, apparently Kodlak Whitemane is some sort of leader, or at least someone extremely well-respected in the Companions. Gallus can see why. He files away that information for future reference, takes a deep breath, and goes to the hard part.

“I’m really not great when it comes to combat,” Gallus admits. “Which is bad when you can’t run or hide. So… I’m not saying I’d necessarily be the best warrior there ever was, but I’d like to learn from you, all of you. If you’d let me.”

“Lad, with all due respect, you might be a better fit in the Bards College or the Thieves Guild,” Kodlak smiles, and shakes his head slowly. “But yes, perhaps… you do have a certain strength of spirit, one I don’t see often outside these halls.”

“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting him?” Vilkas cuts in. He doesn’t look at Gallus, which is probably a good thing considering that Gallus is currently trying not to glare daggers at him and also not exactly succeeding. Bastard.

“Well, thanks,” Gallus mutters under his breath. “Good to know you think so highly of me.”

Kodlak, for his part, either doesn’t hear or pretends not to hear Gallus at that point. Instead, he lays a hand on Vilkas’ shoulder, looks him in the eyes, and says, “I am nobody’s master, Vilkas.”

So much for him being in charge, Gallus thinks, and makes a mental note to ask someone about what exactly Kodlak’s position is later. He knows full well that this someone is probably going to be Ria.

“And last I checked,” Kodlak continues with a smile in Gallus’ direction, “we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts, especially those willing and ready to learn.”

“Great,” Gallus says. “So when do I start?”

[female-lord-is-our-wife]

Help—

I suddenly get stuck at Gallus Empire West,

[hylfystt]

rating: gen word count: 700 characters: mercer frey, aurelia livia (oc) warnings: none

aurelia reminds him of a past he left buried in snow veil sanctum. he loathes that. (a short little thing set right before the mission "scoundrel's folly")

Laughter carried it's way through the cistern, raucous and free, as Mercer Frey leaned over his desk. The thief looked up sharply and scowled at it's source.

She strode in through the Flagon's entrance alongside Delvin and Brynjolf. She was grinning, arm thrown around Delvin's shoulders, and though Mercer could not make out what she was saying her voice carried infectious enthusiasm throughout the chamber. Delvin said something in reply, causing the woman to laugh and remove her arm. Brynjolf shook his head, though Mercer could make out the amused expression on his face.

He watched the group talk for several moments more before they began to drift apart, citing their partings. Mercer's eyes narrowed as Brynjolf lingered, enough to touch the woman's arm in parting, his expression fond as he spoke his goodbye. The woman looked on has he drew away, wearing that same love-struck expression he used to see on Gallus' and Karliah's faces all those years ago.

That drew a scoff from the grizzled thief. Fools. He really had to do something about that woman.

Aurelia - the persistent thorn in his side.

Every day since her arrival Mercer regretted allowing her to stay more and more. He still didn't know how she had managed to wrap Brynjolf around her little finger, but his second seemed completely taken. Delvin was no surprise, he always was too soft on a pretty face, but he even heard Vex speak highly of the other woman.

Several others greeted her as she made the rounds across the cistern, all smiles and witty barbs. It was more apparent than ever that Aurelia had wormed her way into the esteem of the entire guild.

Worse still was even Mercer had to admit that she was a damn fine thief.

Smart too.

Too damn charming for her own good.

He loathed her.

Every time he looked at her he was reminded of a past he left buried in Snow Veil Sanctum.

Mercer clenched his fist.

She should have died like she was supposed to in Goldenglow and made his life easier.

He needed to find a way to be rid of her, he decided. With each passing day she entrenched herself further and further into the guild, making his job that much harder.

He wouldn't be able to accuse her of betrayal for certain, not without solid evidence to back the claim. He could get it done of course, a few forgeries here, some well placed words there. He had enough contacts beyond the scope of the guild that could do it for him. Still, the amount of time it would take to make it believable after all this time...

No, his best hope was still her death.

Of course, he had his contacts for that as well but that path carried it's own risks and extended timelines. He couldn't risk the questions that would come with a targeted hit - especially from Brynjolf.

If only she wasn't so damn crafty - so alike Gallus in all the ways that made his skin itch.

Gallus.

Now there was an idea that gave him pause.

He glanced at a half-buried letter on his desk, an idea coming to mind.

Mercer Frey smiled.

Well now, that could work perfectly. The very mystery Aurelia had helped him uncover could be his key to getting rid of her.

He was almost certain he knew who it was that dogged the guild's every step, who dared to wage war against Mercer himself. After all, it was a war that he had started so many years ago. If he was right, which he usually was, he was almost certain he could force a confrontation back at Snow Veil. Hell, he was willing to bet his last Septim that she was already planning the same thing.

Karliah always was a poetic little thing.

He just needed solid proof before making his move - and he knew just who to send to get it.

"Aurelia," he barked across the Cistern. The woman met his eye, a careful look of neutrality on her face. Mercer nearly sneered. At least their dislike was mutual. To her credit, however, she appeared in front of him with haste - always ready to serve.

"Mercer?"

Mercer smiled sharp. Aurelia narrowed her eyes.

"I've got a job for you."

[rose-like-the-phoenix]

Work in progress Wednesday

Now, I've never done this before (nor do I know if I will do continue to do this but thought I'd at least do it once) this WIP doesn't need much more work, other then a read through and maybe a few word changes here and there but enough of that, enjoy this draft from my skyrim thieves guild fanfiction "The one who lived". Inspiration for this post: @thequeenofthewinter

(Brynjolf's pov)

"Did you get what I told you?" Raven questioned, as I walked in. "Yep" I smiled, tossing her a coin purse "just hope they don't mind a couple missing gems" I grinned, folding my arms. "Brynjolf" Raven exclaimed, as I pulled a couple flawless emeralds from my pocket. "You know I can't help myself lass" I chuckled, earning a deserved look of disapproval from the guildmaster. "Fuck off" she retorted, walking away. I shook my head with a smirk and repocketed the two green gemstones, taking a seat between Delvin and Vex "you sure are good at getting yourself in trouble" Vex snickered, shoving some drink down her gullet. "Like everyone else in this gods forsaken cistern, the trick is to get yourself out of it" I replied. "Whatever" she said, leaning back in her chair. Heh, good ol' Vex. Suddenly, the tavern went still and silent. I looked around trying to figure out why, as I did, I noticed a blue spectral mist hovering over me. "For once. Someone tell me they can see what I'm seeing" I exclaimed, I'd bet money this is Mercer. Delvin and Vex nodded, one right after the other. I sighed, this is going to sound crazy "Mercer?" I asked staring at the anomaly. The mist moved to the side, "the one and only" he smirked, his transparent from taking shape. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the table, hoping ignoring the situation would have some sort of desirable effect

"Am I drunk or are you weirdly calm about this Brynjolf?" Delvin spoke up, doing what the others seem to be too afraid of, breaking the silence. "Maybe it's because he's been pestering me for weeks at this point" I explained annoyedly. "You can blame Nocturnal for that" Mercer laughed. "I don't blame Nocturn for anything asshole" I grumbled. "You could've told us about this" Vex snapped. "Are you daft?" I shot the Imperial a frustrated look, "you really think I would just tell you I had Mercer Frey's fucking ghost following me around and make myself out to be a madman?" I added. "I thought you already were a madman" Mercer said, a smile plastered to his deathly face. "You shut the fuck up" I exclaimed, the chair falling to the floor as I stood up. "You killed Gallus and tried to kill Raven and you expect me to not be piss'd off" I exclaimed, "first bandits ruin the only home I ever knew and then you try to fuck up everything else, hell, if it weren't for Aisha, Raven and Sofie I'd be convinced the soul reason I existed was to be miserable. Now leave me the fuck alone" I yelled, anger engulfing me. With heavy breaths, I made my way out of the tavern, slamming the door behind me.

(Vex's pov)

Wow, not sure I've ever seen Brynjolf this mad. Mercer's ghost stood silently in the middle of the room "just let it be known, you deserved every bit of that and then some" Sapphire barked, knowing more of the story behind Bryn's outlash then anyone else in the room. The ghost of our former colleague evaporated as Raven, Aisha and Annabelle walked in. "What was all the yelling about?" Raven exclaimed. "I'm not sure what else to say, except you need to go find you're husband" I explained, gesturing towards the door. Raven stared at the door for a moment "Vex keep things in order, Aisha you're coming with me" the dunmer exclaimed, she and Aisha walked out in search of their firey redhead. I wonder where he took off to?

[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)

[nocturnalswarehouse]

WIP Wednesday

Once again, I couldn't do it last week because of work so this week I'm tagging @thequeenofthewinter and @oblivions-dawn :)

This excerpt is from chapter 16, where the entire chapter is in Mercer's POV (That's right! I get into his head!). In this, we see part of his plans and how Maven entirely fits into Adi's story. We're almost at Snow Veil, y'all!

Echoes within the Ratway were somewhat comforting to Mercer. The Breton was holed up in his hidden office underneath Riftweald, leaning over drawn-out plans to steal the Eye of the Falmer. They were initially Gallus’ plans, but Mercer was determined to fulfill what the Imperial could not. He hoped to execute it soon, but the Breton had to deal with the Dragonborn before anything else. She was his biggest threat, the one person that could foil his plans. 

And it was all thanks to Maven Black-Briar for the tip off. 

The Nord woman had met with Mercer soon after Adi and Brynjolf had left for Solitude. She had revealed Adi’s status, and how she is the child Grelod had raised, and how the Dragonborn was nothing but a thorn in her side. Sure she had saved the world from Alduin, but there was no more use for someone of her power and status. If Adi stuck around Riften any longer… Maven feared she’d be dethroned. 

He was tasked with killing her. The Nord woman did not care how, but she cared that it happened soon. Now with Karliah’s whereabouts known, he hoped that his plan would cause Karliah to end her life for him. Worst case, he’d do it himself after Karliah was taken care of. 

Mercer thought that delivering the news to Brynjolf would be the sweetest part. Adi caused him to grow soft. If the Guild Master wanted his protege to see the Guild’s fullest potential, he had to lose the girl. It was the only way to toughen him up. Anger was a powerful feeling, and once Brynjolf feels it, there won’t be any stopping him. The Guild’s success would grow, and Mercer would be one step closer to taking all their wealth for himself.

[argisthebulwark]

ok but what if bryn & tld switched places like hes the one that went with mercer & when mercer “kills” him his last thoughts are of you & how now you’re gonna think he’s dead & when karliah saves him the first words off his lips are your name & he is INSTANTLY up on his feet to go back to you & even when she’s like hey let me at least stitch you up he has to practically be tied down cuz he just is desperate to get back to you & on the way back he breaks his stitches like 50 times but he doesn’t care cuz he is hellbent on getting back to you and making sure mercer hasn’t done the same to you, which is something he can’t even let himself think about…………

(was gonna send this as an ask but it was too long) 

honestly, incredible. it’s so angsty. thank u @somethingscarlet13 this was actually fun to write. i guess i like writing from his pov lol

Content warnings: Canonical character death and violence. Explicit displays of violence and blood throughout. Mention of anxiety. Explicit language. 

here’s the song i listened to while writing. 

“I’m not letting you go after Karliah, lass.” Brynjolf had insisted, stoic in the face of her glare. He placed his hands on her shoulders in an effort to calm whatever storm was coming. “Gallus was my friend. This is my revenge.” 

“Come home to me.” Felyce instructed, leaving no room for argument. 

“If it’s the last thing I do.” 

Brynjolf was a liar. He hadn’t meant to lie. He’d promised Felyce to come home and Mercer was going to make him a liar. He hated Mercer for it and so much more. 

Pain lashed out from his chest, each breath an agony of sharp stabbing over his ribs. The arrow was still stuck sickeningly into his chest, muscles locked and unmoving against what was surely some horrid poison. His vision was starting to blur as Mercer droned on and Brynjolf clung to consciousness, even if it meant talking to the bastard. 

“Do you know what intrigues me the most?” Mercer stopped, glaring down at Brynjolf as if expecting an answer. “The fact that this was all possible because of you.” 

“I had no hand in this.” Brynjolf spit out from behind his gritted teeth. He could no longer clench his fingers. He couldn’t even form a fist. Bad sign. He struggled to speak, to damn Mercer to some ugly plane of Oblivion, but it seemed the paralytic had stolen his ability to speak. 

“Of course you did, Brynjolf. You brought her in. You recruited her.” Mercer grinned and Brynjolf felt anxiety tear through his body. Felyce. The bastard was going to go after Felyce next while Brynjolf rotted in this old cavern. “I’ll be certain to give Felyce your regards.”

The dagger slammed into Brynjolf’s ribs with a terrible crunch before he knew what was happening. With a blinding pain he lost his last tether to reality and was set adrift. 

There was no more pain. There was no arrow in his chest, there was no gash in his side where he’d bled out. There was only a cool numbness, a confusing lightness to his limbs. It wasn’t quite painful, but was better than multiple grievous wounds. He could handle some numbness. 

Brynjolf saw her face. It couldn’t be real, it felt like he was seeing her through a thick haze, but there she was. Felyce was staring up at him just as she had the day he’d left the Cistern in search of Karliah, his hands resting on her shoulders. He listened to himself promise over and over, her eyes wary but trusting. 

“Come home to me.” She’d said it a dozen times. He’d never broken his promise before. Brynjolf knew that he wasn’t headed for Sovngarde but was resigned to staying in this moment forever; listening to himself make a promise he wouldn’t keep to a woman who would surely wait for him. 

Felyce would wait for him to come home. She would be waiting in their bed for him to return with tales of victory. She wouldn’t know that Mercer was behind it all. Mercer would return to the Cistern with his false fucking apologies about how Brynjolf died at Karliah’s hands. Mercer could kill Felyce.

No. 

Mercer couldn’t get to her. He’d taken too much from Brynjolf already. 

“Easy, easy.” Brynjolf heard a raspy voice that sounded so far away but he couldn’t stop fighting. He had to find a way out. It felt like he’d been shoved underwater and was running out of breath, kicking wildly and hoping that he could find the surface. The comfortable numbness was washing away and he could feel all of it; the arrow in his chest, the dagger in his side, the terror gripping his heart. He could feel every bit of his body while it screamed at him to stay asleep. 

Brynjolf swore he was screaming her name as the image of her slipped away but it felt like no more than a whisper on his lips. She was swallowed by the darkness as the pain increased, enveloping all of his body in chills. 

“Felyce.” Brynjolf jolted upright, eyes flying open. Snow. He was outside in the snow. He was alive. In pain, but alive. 

“Don’t get up so quickly.” The voice instructed from beside him, the same one that had dragged him back. Brynjolf glanced down - no arrow. Lots of bandages. Definitely alive. 

“Where is she?” Brynjolf could feel the pain threatening to swallow him again, his vision still blurry and limbs too heavy. He couldn’t move. “I have to go home.” 

“Not so fast. How are you feeling?” Karliah.

Whirling around, Brynjolf found himself face to face with a woman he thought he’d lost decades ago. Her violet eyes met his from under her hood, fingers dancing over the weapon strapped to her back. She still thought he was a threat. Perhaps he was. 

“You shot me.” Brynjolf growled, the rumbling in his chest setting loose a new wave of pain. He smacked a hand over where the arrow had been, met with layers of bandages. 

“I saved your life.” She shot back, somehow just as angry. “My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Why save me?” Brynjolf grumbled as he rolled his ankles, trying to assess the level of sensation in his body. He could feel all ten toes, though the pain from Mercer’s dagger radiated down to his hip. Running would be difficult but not impossible. 

“My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot.” He felt like vomiting when he recalled everything he’d learned in the moments before death; Karliah was innocent, Gallus was dead, Mercer was a traitor. Brynjolf had blindly hated Karliah at Mercer’s behest. “I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death."

“Then I’m in your debt.” He laughed sarcastically as he rose to his feet. Putting weight on it definitely hurt more than he’d be able to manage all the way back to Riften, but he could make it to a carriage. Probably. 

"More than you'll ever realize. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive." Brynjolf could feel that Karliah was going to be calling in that debt immediately, but he couldn’t spare the time. He had to warn Felyce. 

“Why should I believe you?” He took a careful step around the camp - horses were out of the question. It seemed that Mercer had anticipated a chase. 

"Without the antidote I administered, you'd be as still as a statue. I treated your wounds and didn't leave you defenseless. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot and yet I used it on you. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive."

 “You should’ve shot the bastard.” Nervousness was making him angry. 

“I thought about it.” Karliah was eyeing him like a predator. He couldn’t outrun her. “He needs to pay for Gallus’s murder.” 

“How will you prove it now?” The emotion in Karliah’s voice made Brynjolf flinch. He’d purposely blocked out the early portion of his life as a thief; Gallus teaching him to sneak, Karliah teaching him to shoot, Mercer always promising to teach him lockpicking some other time. Gallus’s death had made the memories feel like an insult. 

"My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake. Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside. It’s written in some sort of language I've never seen before. Enthir, an old friend from the College of Winterhold, he could decode it.”

“I don’t have time to go to Winterhold.” Karliah was going to ask him to help decode the journal. She was going to drag him across the continent in the wrong direction for her proof. “I have to go to Riften.”

“Gallus was your friend.” Karliah’s voice sounded tight. Guilt was choking Brynjolf but he couldn’t think of anything other than Felyce. Was Mercer already on his way there? 

“I couldn’t save Gallus.” The words cut as they left his tongue. “But I can save Felyce. I promised her.”

Karliah thought for a moment, the toe of her boot kicking at the snow. Something wild and fierce raged in his chest at the sight but Brynjolf kept it inside. Yelling at her to hurry up wasn’t going to make the situation any easier. 

“You don’t think she can hold her own against Mercer?” 

“He’s going to tell everyone that you killed me. Then he’s going to kill her.” 

“Fine.” Her temper clearly hadn’t changed. One of her leather packs fell at his feet, her eyes narrowed in a glare. “Run home. Save her. Then you will meet me at the Frozen Hearth.” 

“Thank you.” Brynjolf scooped the pack up, already turning South. 

“Don’t tear your stitches!” Karliah’s voice was barely audible over the whipping wind. He couldn’t think of a reply. Couldn’t think of anything other than getting back to Riften. He just had to put one foot in front of the other. He could stomp through the snow long enough to get to Windhelm. 

Brynjolf could only pray that he was moving in the right direction. The trees were leaning in the wind, the sun hidden behind the layers of swirling snow and low clouds. It felt like he’d been trudging along for hours, possibly days. Had he turned around? He couldn’t have, he didn’t remember turning. 

Each breath shot cold air into his lungs, only causing the wounds on his chest to burn. The bandages were keeping pressure applied but he could feel them loosening with each step. Panic was only adding to the numbness in his fingers in his toes. His armor hadn’t been built with snow in mind. 

“Felyce.” Brynjolf huffed out her name as his legs shook, finally opening the pack. A knife. A few small potions. Some loose coins. Lots of bandages. He wasn’t a fan of healing potions but chugged one of the red bottles, the momentary tingling itching at the edges of his wounds. He’d need something far stronger to fix the multitude of wounds but it made the next few steps easier, finally cresting a hill to be met with the black, icy walls of Windhelm. 

“Finally.” Brynjolf hardly resisted the urge to fall to his knees. He wasn’t lost out on the tundra. He could find a horse or a carriage to make the rest of the journey to Riften. If Mercer had other plans before returning, he could beat the bastard there. 

Brynjolf drew his hood up as he entered the city from the docks, slipping easily into the crowds. He wasn’t a fan of Windhelm. The old walls didn’t leave many places to disappear once he’d taken what he needed.

The marketplace was bustling in the early afternoon, bodies bumping together as they milled toward stalls. Someone’s elbow jammed into Brynjolf’s rib and he fell with a strangled huff, grasping at the bandages as his vision exploded in stars. He’d never felt pain like that. The man didn’t even stop when Brynjolf’s knees slapped into the stone street. 

He felt nauseous. With his free hand clutching the soaked bandages to his ribs Brynjolf easily freed the culprit of his coin purse. It felt heavy enough to hire a carriage. Good. Brynjolf wasn’t sure his body could withstand a few hours on horseback. 

Trying his best to look uninjured, Brynjolf shuffled down the long bridge. Windhelm was at his back and none of the guards had hauled him off to face Ulfric’s judgement. He wasn’t in the mood to be shouted at, Thu’um or otherwise. 

“Ya alright, kid?” The man at the stables eyed Brynjolf warily. He didn’t seem convinced by the dizzy smile and thumbs up he received in answer. 

“Riften.” Brynjolf tossed the coin purse to the driver, already hauling himself into the back. The man muttered something about stains but Brynjolf was already unconscious. 

Unfortunately, Felyce was not there to greet him. Instead, his mind looped through the last conversation with Mercer over and over. He replayed each word, each grin, each stabbing pain in his chest. 

“I had no hand in this.” 

“Of course you did, Brynjolf. You brought her in. You recruited her.”

It was all his fault. Felyce was in danger because Brynjolf hadn’t been strong enough to leave her alone. He’d watched her in the market while she swiped a dagger from Grelka and pocketed it. He’d approached her in the Bee and Barb, heart pounding when he mentioned the Guild. Her eyes had lit up, a mischievous smile on her face, and he’d known that his heart belonged to her. 

He should’ve left her alone. If he hadn’t brought Felyce into the Guild she could be in a better city with a safer life. She wouldn’t even remember Brynjolf’s name. 

A jolt in the cart stole Brynjolf from unconsciousness. There was a moment as he watched the sky that he was at peace; the pain hadn’t caught up yet, he could smell the wildflowers that bloomed along the lake. The clouds were passing easily overhead as they rattled down the road. 

“Aye, lad.” The driver called, startling Brynjolf from his daydream. The pain and anxiety slammed into him again when he realized where he was. Scrambling back up into his seat Brynjolf’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw the gates of Riften only a few steps away. “You still alive back there?”

“Enough.” He grunted as he fell from the cart onto unsteady feet. The world seemed to tilt when he took his first step, a hand slapping into the gate. 

“You overpaid.” The man called but made no move to follow.

Brynjolf didn’t have a moment to think. He fell through the gates, blood slipping down into his armor as the bandages fell away. He didn’t have time to rewrap them. He just had a few more turns, a few more steps until he was home. His vision was tilting again as the stone coffin slid away, sliding down the steps until he was in the Cistern. 

Luckily, it seemed that everyone was in the Flagon. If Mercer had returned Brynjolf didn’t think that a confrontation was something he could win in his current state. The panic to find Felyce dragged him on, doing his best to sneak through the shadows whenever possible as he rounded the Cistern. It was quiet, a few voices echoing through the hallway as he edged closer to the wooden door. If Mercer was in there with the rest of them he couldn’t exactly burst in.

“Can’t believe Mercer just up and left after he dumped that news on her.” Brynjolf paused, ears pricking up at Vex’s words. Mercer left?

“He said he was going after Karliah to avenge Brynjolf and Gallus.” That absolute fucker had the audacity to go on a crusade in his name? “How you holding up?” 

“I just,” Felyce’s voice broke as Brynjolf shuffled around the corner. He couldn’t try to be stealthy anymore. Every alarm in his mind was blaring she’s alive she’s alive she’s alive. “Mercer said he was thinking about me. At the end.” 

“Felyce.” Brynjolf felt his legs give out, barely catching himself on the edge of the bar. He felt every pair of eyes shoot to him as he struggled to keep himself upright, falling to his knees once more. 

“Fucking hell - Bryn.” Her wonderfully warm hands were cupping his face, dragging him into her lap. The numbness was closing in again and Brynjolf let himself lean into Felyce’s touch. 

“You’re alive.” Brynjolf felt himself smile as his hand brushed through her hair, leaving an ugly streak of red. “You’re safe.”

“Mercer said you died.” She sobbed, clutching him closer. The others seemed to be gathering around them but he couldn’t see past the bleary darkness of his vision. He didn’t mind the pain because he could feel her hands fluttering over him, pressing into his side. 

“It was him.” Brynjolf whispered against her arm, the relief washing away the day of anxiety. “Mercer killed Gallus. Mercer stabbed me.” 

“I’ll kill him.” He heart Felyce growl, her hot tears splashing onto his face. “I’m going to force feed you healing potions and then I’m going to kill him.” She paused and Brynjolf felt the pain in his side recede to a dull throb. He knew that Felyce had tried magic once or twice, but she claimed to not be any good. The warm tingles over his skin made him wonder if she’d really been bad or just found College boring. 

“I’m sorry you were worried.” He mumbled into her skin, the choked laugh he earned from her receding some of the pain. “I didn’t break my promise, though.” 

“Next time I’ll be specific - come home intact.” 

[starscout-sunny]

pov you are me getting hyperfixated on gallus griffon and weeping at the desert of content for him

[felassan]

New LGBTQ+ chars from Tevinter Nights

Compiling this list because I wanna and it makes me happy to see more. It’s not intended to be detailed description of the chars nor an examination/judgement on the quality of representation, tis just a brief note cause I wanna have it to hand. [written from the pov of being a bi+ nb person in case it matters.] Under a cut for spoilers. 

Myrion of Ventus: Young human male Tevinter mage originally from a slave-family background, was adopted into the non-slave class due to his magic. A Desire demon took the form of a boy he liked during his Harrowing when he was 14. mlm

Senior Warden Ramesh: Human? Warden of 23+ years. Dagger rogue. Good to see some older dudes. He was clearly in love with Senior Warden Jorvis. mlm. Edit: His writer has since confirmed he is Indian, or the Thedosian equivalent 

Senior Warden Jovis: Human? Fereldan. Was clearly in love with Warden Ramesh. Must also be an older dude. mlm

‘Hollix’ the Lord of Fortune: Rivaini, species left unknown. Hollix is a pseudonym. Gender never specified and they are a master of disguise, able to use clothes, makeup, wigs and voice changes to emulate different genders and species. All Lords of Fortune are called “Lord” regardless of gender. Hollix really reads to me as non-binary, genderfluid, bigender or something similar. They don’t mind being called “sir” or “madam” and have always just thought of themselves as themselves, and had great fun in the bargain. They express an interest in Fereldan lads. They seem like a rogue. Their weapon is a saber and they spent 5 years as an acrobat or similar in a Rivaini circus. Edit: Hollix’ writer has since confirmed they are genderfluid!!

formerly Sister Laudine ?: A writer, secretly a mage. Orlesian human female, ex-Chantry sister, late 20s. Documenter of “all things sensual and denied in falsely prim Orlais”. She has a “quirk of perception” which basically sounds like Thedas’ answer to synesthesia. Occasionally sleeps with the dude Philliam, but she also gets distracted during conversation by a female Qunari-Rivaini seer she sees at the bar and they exchange glances. Bi+ flags

Lera Valisti, Third Talon of the Antivan Crows: Human female, 20 years older than one of the other Talons so on the older side. Crow, so Antivan rogue? Her lover was Guili. wlw

Guili Arainai, Eighth Talon of the Antivan Crows: Female elf. Crow, so Antivan rogue? Her lover was Lera. If they’re similar in age she is also on the older side. wlw

Andarateia Cantori, Sixth Talon of the Antivan Crows ?: Female elf, 28. Also known as Teia. Crow, so Antivan rogue? Bronze skin, curly hair, gold eyes. She’s interested in men but also specifically says she has a history with a lot of “people”. Bi+ flags

Vadis: Tevinter mage, human female. Vadis is her surname. Thief. Formerly an altus, daughter of a Magister, disgraced for falling in love with an elven servant of their family. They didn’t begin their relationship until the elf was no longer a servant of the family and instead held a high-ranking post in the Magisterium. Her father gave her a choice but she chose her lover Irian. He cut her off but she doesn’t care. Neither of them give a damn what others think and their relationship is strong, they’re a good team. They’ve known each other for years. wlw

Irian Cestes: Female elf. Might be able to pass for a local in Rivain. Thick black hair. Expert hunter and staff-fighter. Thief. Skilled and knowledgeable, both Qunari and Solas’ followers tried to recruit her. Warrior or rogue. Her lover is Vadis. wlw

Neve Gallus: Female human Tevinter mage, private investigator. one leg below the knee is missing and she instead has a prosthetic replacement, metal of dwarven craftsmanship. There’s a bit of implied tension between her and the female Tevinter templar, Knight-Templar Rana Savas. Not sure if it’s both ways or not but her writer has since confirmed that Neve definitely thinks Rana is attractive. wlw

There may be others depending on how you read them/cues, but these are the obvious ones. Pls let me know if I missed any.