Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The denizens of Windhelm paid little attention to the cloaked figure crouching in the snow. Leaning against the cold stone wall of the dreary house behind him, Aedarnir surveyed the street around him. Passers-by barely looked at him as they went about their day and duties, seeing only the hood that obscured his features. He watched every figure who passed him, but they were not the focus of his attention.

Two houses to his left sat a three-storied house. Outside a carriage was being loaded, a serving man carrying out bags and other miscellaneous boxes. After a couple of minutes of packing, an elderly woman stepped out of the house. Elderly was a generous way of putting it; she was ancient. The snowflakes gently falling from the sky seemed as though they would have enough weight to topple her. She crept forward, hunched and using an elegantly carved walking stick. The serving man began helping her into the carriage, despite her clear and slow protests that she wanted to do it herself.

Another figure came to Aedarnir’s attention. This person was also cloaked, though not as heavily as himself; one could make out the outlines of the man’s face. It was enough to tell the man was human, perhaps a Nord, but little more. He had stayed nearby, lingering just as Aedarnir did. He was the only person so far not to move quickly through the street.

The old lady slipped. There was a clatter of the walking stick and her servant’s loud exclamations. She ordered him to help her up and barked at him about how slippery the cobblestones were. Aedarnir was shocked she didn’t break a hip, or worse. He supposed she was wearing about two bears worth of furs and cloaks which padded her landing.

The other figure was stepping closer while Aedarnir watched the old woman. Hearing the crunch of snow, Aedarnir looked back to him. While moving, the wind was just enough so the man’s cloak opened slightly. Aedarnir knew that armour and resisted swearing to himself. Thieves’ guild. While not a member himself, Aedarnir had been accosted in the past by members of the guild looking to take coin from him. Needless to say, they never succeeded.

He didn’t want to lose the gold he believed was stored away in the old lady’s house. He had spent the better part of four days waiting for her to leave. He had found information that said she usually left around this time each year, traveling to Falkreath to wait out the harshest winter months. Now she was finally leaving, but competition appeared.

Aedarnir stood, getting to his feet and stepping forward in the same swift motion. The thieves’ guild member was on the other side of the street and Aedarnir quickly closed the distance between them. He casually leaned against the same wall the thief was, positioning himself between him and the old lady’s house.

“It’s a shame, you know that?” Aedarnir said conversationally. He kept his voice quiet, pitched so only the thief could hear him. While he did not want to be overheard, he also wanted to conceal that he did not sound native to Skyrim.

The thief maintained his causal appearance, merely tilting his head to try and look at Aedarnir. Trying his best not to have his face seen, Aedarnir himself could only see the thief’s lower face, noting the closely cropped coppery red beard.

“I’m intrigued,” the thief finally replied, “Do tell, what’s this shame you’re talking about?”

“The old lady is going away and leaving all of her possessions here. It would be a shame, wouldn’t it, if someone went looking for them?”

“A good opportunity indeed, lad, though my sources say there will be hired guards to watch over her home.”

“I’m not worried about them, I’m worried about having the goods I marked stolen from me.”

The thief chuckled. “Now that would be a true shame. Sometimes I don’t know if the old adage about honour among thieves being true.”

“I’ve been here four days,” Aedarnir said, lowering his voice further. He tipped his head up and showed the thief his face, briefly displaying the dark grey Dunmer skin, red eyes and slender mer jawline. “It’s a lot easier for you to hang around here unnoticed, my presence is a bit more… unwelcome.”

“You’re not wrong,” the thief replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you expect me to simply give up and let you take what’s inside? If you do, you’re mad.”

“I don’t expect that. I’m suggesting cooperation, rather than competition. A guarantee of half the goods is a lot better than an uncertain full amount of goods.”

The thief laughed openly this time, though remained quiet enough no to draw attention. “Are you certain of that? I would quite like the entire amount, lad. But I like your tenacity, and the balls you have to walk up to me and suggest that.”

Aedarnir titled his head and flashed him a grin from underneath the hood.

There was a crack of a whip, followed by horse hooves and the rolling of carriage wheels. The carriage was led the other way down the street, eventually turning a corner and leaving their view. The outside of the house was now unoccupied, though Aedarnir knew the house itself was not empty.

“How about this,” the thief spoke as he began walking toward the house, “What of a mixture the two? We cooperate, yes, but add a little healthy competition to that.”

Aedarnir was by his side in a moment. “I think that could work.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The thief took a sudden turn, disappearing down the alleyway beside the house one down from their target. Aedarnir did not follow this time. He had already scouted the area, and knew a way he could get in. While they were attempting to steal during the day, for this Aedarnir did not believe the darkness of night would help. The guards patrolling this area were few and far between, as they are more likely to guard the Palace of the Kings, the main gates and monitor the Grey Quarter. This was the wealthier area of Windhelm, and while it still needed to be watched, the civil war had thinned out the guard considerably, meaning ‘problem areas’ had to be focused on instead.

Though, as Aedarnir was thinking of the lack of guards, he noticed one sauntering down the street toward him. The guard seemed in no hurry, and Aedarnir simply kept walking his normal pace. Being closer to winter now, his cloak and hood would hopefully just make him seem cold. As the two passed each other, the guard did not take any notice of him. The downside of this was Aedarnir had to keep walking and bypass the old lady’s house to remain unnoticed.

Once the guard was out of sight, Aedarnir doubled back and returned to the house. He was probably falling well behind the thief now but tried to push that out of his mind. He needed to get inside. There was a small passageway between this side of the old lady’s house and a wall about as tall as himself. Directly on the other side of the wall, pressed up against it, was the next home. While the alleyway was barely wide enough for his slender Dunmer figure, Aedarnir continued down until he came to a segment of the wall he had marked two days prior. He examined the dagger mark to make sure it was the correct one, then hauled himself up onto the wall. This allowed him to pull himself up onto the roof of the home beside the old lady’s, giving him a higher position than he was on the wall. The roof was slippery with ice and snow, but he maintained his balance. From there, he could see the second-story window he wanted to reach.

He removed his leather gloves, storing them away in a pouch at his hip. He took a step back, looking around to make sure no one was watching him. It would be difficult to see him from the street, and this gave him relative privacy. There was no harm in being cautious. His next action, however, was not cautious at all. He ran forward, desperately trying not to slip on the tiles of the roof. He leapt from the edge of the roof, flying to slam into the wall of the adjacent house. He hoped it didn’t make a loud noise. The stone was old and broken in places, and he scrambled for purchase. There were handholds he mentally marked to grab, but only succeeded in grasping one. The other hand slipped and found a less stable place to clutch instead. He almost laughed, glad he did not plummet from the building. While it wouldn’t have been the furthest he had fallen, it was such a narrow alleyway below him that broken bones and probably a cracked skull would have been a likely outcome.

He swung, reaching other hand holds and crawling over the side of the building. He made it to where the window was, and gripping the edge of it, pulled himself up to peer inside. Through the shutters, he saw no one. It looked to be some sort of sitting room, with a low table in the centre, flanked by two couches and ornaments on the walls. His arms were burning with the strain of holding himself up and his fingers were numb and raw. He pulled himself up onto the ledge, the space barely big enough to accommodate him. It was not a glass window, and the shutters were easy enough to break open with a dagger and a pick.

He slipped inside the window, putting the shutter roughly back together as to not arouse immediate suspicion. Walking carefully, Aedarnir stepped to the door at the back of the room. He pressed his ear to the door and listened, waiting until roughly a minute had passed. Deciding there was no one in the near vicinity, he opened the door carefully. As he did that, he put his hood on his shoulders, not wanting his vision to be obscured by the fabric.

As far as he was aware, all the other entrances to this building were on the first story. There were other windows on the second story, of course, but none easy to reach. The rest would require a large amount of difficult climbing. Therefore, he assumed the thief began on the first floor, but had no idea if that was true or if the thief was still there.

In truth, Aedarnir also only had guesses as to where any treasure was. The old lady was a widow, her deceased husband having been affiliated with Maven Black-Briar at various points. While Aedarnir did not know what business the man did, it was widely assumed the old lady still had all the riches her husband acquired. In Aedarnir’s experience, people tended to keep their most treasured items close to them. Having been watching the house, he gathered the master bedroom was on the third and highest floor.

He would start there, and rethink where to go if he was wrong. Now it was simply a matter of getting to the master bedroom.

Aedarnir closed the door behind himself before beginning to creep through the hallway. He walked nearly soundlessly, treading carefully and pausing often to listen. He needed to be quick but rushing too much would make noise; there was a happy medium, and he was attempting to find it.

Something grabbed his shoulder. Immediately he had a dagger in hand and whipped around to the person behind him. The thief had his hands up, surrendering to the blade Aedarnir held at his throat.

“You’ve quick reflexes, lad,” the thief said in hushed tones, glancing down at the dagger then back up to meet Aedarnir’s gaze. The thief also had his hood down, showing his shoulder length red hair and Nord features. “But you didn’t hear me coming.”

He was right. Aedarnir hadn’t heard him, and he was moderately impressed. He pulled the dagger away, sheathing it, and the thief relaxed somewhat.

“I’ve found the stairs,” the thief spoke quietly as he began to lead. “But came this way because I heard you. You were quiet, don’t worry yourself, I was just in the right place to hear.”

Aedarnir grabbed the thief’s arm. Something wasn’t right. Aedarnir had not heard anything, yet the back of his neck tingled. His gut told him someone was there.

The two stood completely still, and both heard the distinct creak of a floor board. The two exchanged a glance and moved swiftly and quietly. The thief led the way, but abruptly halted just as he turned a corner. Aedarnir walked into him, glancing over his shoulder to see the stairs leading to the floor above. A guard was walking up them, her sword and shield at the ready. The thief stepped back, pushing Aedarnir back as well.

They waited a good minute after they could no longer hear her until they spoke.

“I can take her,” Aedarnir murmured to the thief. They were standing very close, heads mere inches apart so they stayed very quiet.

“Thieves’ guild doesn’t kill,” the thief said, shaking his head. “We will just have to wait and watch for a pattern. Opportunities come from patience.”

“I’m not a part of your guild.”

“You’re too brash.”

Aedarnir scowled at him, and hissed, “You’re in this situation as well.”

As the thief was about to reply, Aedarnir gestured for him to be quiet. He heard footsteps, but they were not from the staircase.

Spinning on his heel, Aedarnir hurried to a door they had not long passed. The thief followed him, and together they carefully opened it. It was dark and musty inside; a barely used room was a good place to hide. They stepped in, quietly closing the door behind.

The room appeared to be some sort of storage area; there were broken chairs, a crooked table, couches with clothes draped over them and cupboards with broken hinges. The shutters were seemingly sealed with other planks of wood, allowing little room inside. The dust and dankness of the room made Aedarnir want to sneeze.

“The old lady had taken her serving staff with her,” Aedarnir commented, keeping his voice down still. “I didn’t think there would be more than one or two guards.”

“Hard to tell exactly how many but from what I saw downstairs, there’s three or four. Perhaps as many as five.” The thief looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Still think you can take them, lad?”

Aedarnir grinned widely. “I think you’d be surprised at what I can do.”

A glimmer of amusement passed over the thief’s face. The two were pushed up against the door together, keeping it closed and listening for movement beyond it. Aedarnir’s heart was pounding, the excitement of almost being caught never losing its thrill. He had been caught in the past and always wormed his way out of it, never getting into serious trouble. Yet the adrenaline didn’t lose its appeal and being wrapped up in it with an intriguing stranger added to the excitement.

Footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door. They were heavy; it was either a big person or a very well armoured person. Or perhaps both. Aedarnir’s heart continued to pound harder as the steps came closer, and he watched the doorknob for any sort of movement. Eventually the footsteps became quieter again, and Aedarnir let out a held breath of relief.

“We didn’t actually introduce ourselves, lad,” the thief said, smiling knowingly. He had an air of confidence that Aedarnir both liked and found vexing. “The name’s Brynjolf. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“I’m Aedarnir Solaryn. And I don’t think we’ve properly done business until we get some gold.”

Brynjolf tilted his head curiously. “Solaryn… the name rings a bell.”

“You’re thinking of Aevia Solaryn, the Harbinger of the Companions. She’s my sister.”

“Ah, I remember now.” Brynjolf studied him for a long moment through the dim light. “I’m somewhat surprised you told me that.”

Aedarnir shrugged. “It’s not a secret.”

They remained in that room for another ten or so minutes, until no more sounds outside had been heard for a good five minutes.

“They didn’t see me when I entered the house,” Brynjolf eventually told him, just before they opened the door. “But I think they heard something. They won’t be as alarmed by it as they would if it was night, so we will be fine to move again.”

Aedarnir nodded, opening the door. He peered out, finding nothing but an empty corridor both ways. He stepped free of the door, letting Brynjolf close it. This time Aedarnir led, creeping quietly back to where they had seen the stairway leading to the floor above. The ascent was a painfully slow one as Aedarnir seemed to step on every creaky bit of the staircase. Every time the old wood made a noise, he paused to listen for any disturbances. When he heard nothing, he continued up the stairs. Once he stepped on another loose board, the cycle repeated. Brynjolf purposefully stepped where Aedarnir had not, and while his luck was better, he also stepped on loose boards.

Once they were at the top of the staircase and no one had come to investigate, Aedarnir muttered, “I hate those stairs with a passion.”

“I’m sure they have the same feelings about you,” Brynjolf teased.

Aedarnir shot him a look of amusement before shaking his head. He glanced around, finding only more corridors and doorways. These corridors were slightly more decorated than the ones downstairs, with tapestries, portraits and old shields hung on the walls. There were no signs of movement in either direction so Aedarnir simply picked a direction.

“Master bedroom is usually in the centre rooms of these older buildings,” Brynjolf suggested. “To avoid the cold and thieving.”

“That’s what I’m looking for.”

They came to a promising door. Its handle was more ornate than those they passed previously, and it was locked when Aedarnir tried it. He immediately took out two lock picks and got to work. Brynjolf stood with his back to Aedarnir, keeping an eye and ear out for unwelcome company.

The lock was not a basic type and took Aedarnir fractionally longer than anticipated. Once it gave, however, a grin spread across his face. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The old lady’s room was spacious for what it was. To the left of the door there was a slightly raised platform, which was where a very large bed with numerous embroidered pillows sat. At the bottom of the bed sat a squat looking chest. To the right of the door was a cabinet for clothes, and a lower cabinet with a chair and mirror. As Aedarnir took the sight of the room in, Brynjolf moved passed him and made immediately for the chest. Once he closed the door Aedarnir went to the mirror cabinet, hoping to find jewellery.

Of any heist, this was the best part. While the thrill of possibly being discovered was a feeling Aedarnir lived for, he truly relished in discovering what the target had of worth. The jewellery in the cabinet was old, very old. To his experienced eye it looked expensive; from the well-cut jewels to the finely shaped gold and silver, this was a good horde. While it did appear that the old lady had taken some of her collection with her, no doubt to wear while she stayed in Falkreath, she left enough behind to be worth a decent fortune.

Aedarnir pocketed the most expensive looking, then strolled over to where Brynjolf was still picking the lock on the chest. Holding up a gold and pink diamond necklace to his throat, Aedarnir stepped into the edge of Brynjolf’s sight.

“Does it suit me?” Aedarnir asked with a wild, cocky grin.

Brynjolf glanced up at him and snorted. “That’s an expensive piece you’ve got there, lad. Careful with it.”

“Do you need some help with that?” Aedarnir queried, pocketing the necklace.

“It’s a complex lock. She’s got something important in here, otherwise there would be little point paying so much for this type of lock.”

“Move, let me try.”

“You think you’re better at lock picking than I am?” Brynjolf scoffed, standing from his crouching position. “You’re certainly not a novice thief, but you’re not exactly a veteran either, lad. I think you should know your place a little better.”

This thief frustrated Aedarnir in the best kind of way. He liked the arguing, he liked the tension. He liked the challenge. He stepped closer to Brynjolf so there was barely two inches between them. “Perhaps I’m not an older man like yourself, lacking some of your wisdom. That doesn’t mean I don’t have skill.”

Brynjolf held his gaze, though there was something unreadable passing over his expression. “There’s a difference between having skill and knowing your place. You’re impatient, rash and arrogant. It could get you killed someday.”

A glimmer of amusement sparkled in Aedarnir’s eyes. This kind of conversation and defiance was just as thrilling as any heist. He lowered his face closer to Brynjolf’s, testing his boundaries. He liked to push, test and prod. “So?” Aedarnir said, grinning widely. “That’s part of the fun isn’t it?”

The closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Brynjolf’s. To his surprise, it was Brynjolf deepened the kiss. Aedarnir wasn’t the only one who was getting off on the arguing. This new circumstance was new for Aedarnir; he had never kissed someone who was essentially a stranger in the centre of a dangerous place. His head spun, and he liked how rough Brynjolf’s beard felt against his skin.

Two hands slammed into his chest, breaking the kiss and making Aedarnir take a step back. Aedarnir gave him a wide, knowing grin.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Brynjolf spoke with a deepened voice.

“Is that a challenge?”

Brynjolf sighed deeply and gestured to the chest. “If you think you can unlock it, you’re welcome to try. Otherwise step aside and let me do it. We’ve been here too long now.”

Aedarnir crouched and began to unlock it. It was a complex lock, but Brynjolf had already done a large chunk of the work. After another minute or so the lock popped open. The two exchanged a glanced before lifting the heavy lid. The welcome sight of sparkling gems and gold greeted them. The old lady’s wealth was mostly gems; they were worth much more than gold a lot easier to carry. It was good news for the thieves.

Both froze as they heard voices. Immediately they began digging into the chest and taking what they could; filling pockets and satchels. The voices came closer and sounded like yelling.

“Shit, time to go,” Aedarnir mumbled as he shot to his feet and ran for the door.

“How do you plan on getting out?” Brynjolf hissed, following behind.

Just before Aedarnir reached the door, it flung open. The armoured woman stood in the doorway, the same as they had seen on the staircase earlier. She roared a battle cry and swung her sword toward Aedarnir. He deftly dodged, darting under her arm and coming to stand behind her. Before she could spin, he kicked her square in the back, sending her flying forward with a yell of surprise. People in heavy armour were easy to topple, but quick to anger; it only created a small window for escape. She was already halfway to her feet when Aedarnir and Brynjolf sprinted out the door.

“I have an idea!” Aedarnir yelled, running down the hallway. He knew there was a two-story building toward the back of this house; he had considered it when planning how to get in initially. If he was correct, there should be a window overlooking it.

As they came to it, Brynjolf seemed to realize what Aedarnir intended. “You’re insane.”

Aedarnir flashed him a grin before jumping into the wooden shutters and plummeting through the window. He flew through the air, cloak billowing behind him. He barely landed on his feet, hearing titles and ice crack beneath his weight. He scrambled up to the higher parts of the roof, desperately trying to keep his balance on the slippery surface. His shoulder was throbbing from the impact of the shutters.

Regardless of how Brynjolf felt about how stupid the idea was, he seemed to realize he had little choice without getting caught. He too leapt through the window, landing heavily on the roof tiles below. He seemed to handle it fine until his ankle twisted and he slipped, landing hard on his left ribs. The already broken titles were not a good place to land, and they gave way underneath him. He began to slip, gloved hands outstretched to find some sort of grip.

Aedarnir was already half way across the roof. He saw how Brynjolf landed and watched for a long moment in torn horror. He should run, and let the guards catch Brynjolf. He should save himself and let the other man be used as a decoy.

He couldn’t leave Brynjolf behind.

He dashed back over the roof, quickly grabbing Brynjolf’s wrist. They worked together to get Brynjolf back on his feet. He had evidently twisted his ankle, he could barely walk. Aedarnir pulled one of Brynjolf’s arms over his shoulder, careful of the man’s probably broke ribs, and hurried him to the other side of the roof.

“Why did I jump out of a window?” Brynjolf grumbled. “You, lad, are a terrible influence.”

Aedarnir gave a strained laugh. “You sound like my sister.”

They came to the edge of the roof. The two people in the street below glanced up at them. They were gathering far too much attention. One of them ran away, most likely to alert the city guards.

The roof they stood on was two stories, and it was a long way down. Brynjolf shook his head. “How do you plan on getting me down? Leave me here, I have connections. I can get myself out of any jail–”

“Shut up and hang on.”

Before Brynjolf could say any more, Aedarnir began stepping toward and uttering three little words. “WULD NAH KEST.”

The two of them shot forward and down, toward where Aedarnir aimed. He did not stumble, having using that shout many times. Brynjolf struggled to stay on his feet, glancing about in clear confusion. Before any questions could be asked Aedarnir began hurrying him through the streets, their feet sinking into snow. He hoped with the small boost whirlwind sprint gave them, they could outrun the guards.

People looked at them in confusion and shock as they ran toward the gates, Aedarnir still supporting Brynjolf. As they neared the gates, Aedarnir realized he did not have his hood up. A nearby guard shout, “Stop! Dark elf, you belong in the Grey Quarter, not out here!”

Aedarnir felt his heart sink but ignored the guard. The two guards flanking the gates noticed Aedarnir ignore the other guard and began to step forward to stop them. Their weapons were drawn and their body language hostile. Aedarnir took a deep and shouted, “WULD NAH KEST,” again. In a flurry of movement, they shot passed the guards and the gates.

“What kind of magic is that?” Brynjolf muttered his question breathlessly, trying to keep up with Aedarnir’s pace.

“The kind that’s saving your ass right now.”

They hurried across the ice- and snow-covered bridge. They came to the stables, where Aedarnir’s mottled grey and white mare Daisy waited for them. She was already saddled and ready to go. Aedarnir tossed some gold in the snow at the confused stable-hand’s feet. He pulled himself up onto Daisy, before extending a hand to Brynjolf. Holding his ribs with one hand, Brynjolf glanced back at the city before looking up to Aedarnir. The two locked their gaze for a long moment. Brynjolf accepted the hand. He used it and his good foot to pull himself up on to Daisy, sitting directly behind Aedarnir.

With a snap of the reins, Daisy thundered forward through the snow, carrying Aedarnir and Brynjolf far from the city where guards began pouring out after them.

Chapter Text

They rode for roughly two hours before Aedarnir guided Daisy from the road. He wished to stop for a short while, but as he did not know whether they were being followed he preferred to be somewhat discreet. He found a thicker area of forest where two trees stood side by side, entangling each other and forming an ideal area for them to stop. From the road it would be difficult to see two crouching people. Daisy’s size meant she would most likely be seen from the road, though Aedarnir was keen enough to take a break that he willing to risk it.

Daisy came to a halt. Aedarnir twisted in the saddle to glance back at Brynjolf, seeing a pained and pensive expression. “Do you need help down?” Aedarnir asked. He tried to keep his voice neutral, not wanting to offend.

Brynjolf sighed deeply. He looked tired. “I would appreciate it,” he admitted after a moment.

Aedarnir swung his leg over Daisy’s head, careful not to hit her. He landed on the grass with a small thump and offered a hand to Brynjolf. The thief took it, using it to stabilize himself as he swung his leg over the back of Daisy. Brynjolf showed little flexibility; he moved rigidly while wearing a permanent grimace. The damage to his ribs must be worse than Aedarnir initially believed. He did not put pressure on one of his feet either, the sprain still bothering him.

“Get your armour on your chest off,” Aedarnir instructed. He decided against asking. When Brynjolf had not moved and stood frowning at him instead, Aedarnir shook his head. “I’m not going to do anything bad. Don’t you have even a little trust in me after I got you out of there?”

Brynjolf evidently had little arguing left in him. He struggled with the armour, every movement hurting him. Aedarnir did not help. He knew what it was like to have your pride wounded alongside your body. He let Brynjolf struggle, turning his back and removing Daisy’s saddle for the time being. Their escape from Windhelm had been difficult on her, especially while carrying two full grown men. She trusted Aedarnir and never faltered once, going at the pace he asked and slowing when he wanted. He rubbed her neck and she twisted around to look at him, sniffing and huffing at his chest.

“You did good this morning,” he told her softly, setting a hand to her nose. “Wouldn’t have gotten away from there without you.”

She always got a glimmer in her dark eyes when praised.

When the small grunts of pain stopped, Aedarnir turned back to Brynjolf. The man had stripped from the waist up. He was certainly attractive, but it was difficult to focus on anything but the injury. Aedarnir’s eyes were immediately drawn to the spider-web of darkening bruises on one side of Brynjolf’s ribs. Now they did not have thundering hooves beneath them, Aedarnir could hear the short, pained breaths Brynjolf took as he struggled to expand his ribcage.

“Sit,” Aedarnir said, gesturing to the base of twin trees. Brynjolf put his back to the trees and slowly lowered himself into a sitting position on the mossy ground. “You know, you called me brash earlier,” Aedarnir pointed out, crouching in front of Brynjolf. “Yet you followed me out of that window. Who’s the brash one now?”

“I didn’t have much choice, lad,” Brynjolf spoke through gritted teeth. “That guard was about to swing at me. I didn’t really feel like having a sword smashed into my clavicle. Do you not hurt at all from that jump?”

“Oh, my shoulder is heavily bruised and swelling under my armour from breaking the window,” Aedarnir replied matter-of-factly. “But you are in worse shape than me.”

Aedarnir reached out to hover his hand over Brynjolf’s ribs. Brynjolf watched him closely. Aedarnir closed his eyes, focusing his will and magicka. His hand began to glow with a soft, warm, golden light. A low, gentle humming filled the air between them. He heard Brynjolf’s sigh, released from the pain for the time being. Aedarnir poured all his will into healing Brynjolf’s ribs, until he felt his magicka nearly deplete. He stopped then, opening his eyes and pulling his hand away.

“Restoration magic,” Brynjolf spoke, his tone and expression less forced. “You’re a man of many talents, it seems.”

“You’ll still feel some discomfort and aching, but they should be feeling much better.”

Brynjolf looked down to his ribs, running his hand experimentally over faded bruising. “I do, thank you.” He took a deep breath, relishing being able to breathe again.

Aedarnir sat on the ground and gestured to Brynjolf’s injured foot. “I can probably fix your ankle too, but I am feeling drained.”

Brynjolf began untying his boot, glancing repeated up at Aedarnir. “Why are you doing this, lad?”

“You’re clearly not an ordinary member of the Thieves’ Guild.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your demeanour. You have confidence, but it’s a quiet, patient kind. You’re not greedy, while still keeping your goals at the forefront of your mind. You’ve been studying me the same way I have been you.”

Brynjolf smiled, putting his boot to one side and leaning back against the tree. “You’re clearly not a normal thief either. If I’m not mistaken, that was the Voice you used back in Windhelm. There’s not many people who can do that.”

“You seem to be confirming my suspicions that you know enough about the Voice to recognize it.”

“Most people in Skyrim know what it is.”

Aedarnir shrugged. He placed a hand to Brynjolf’s injured ankle and summoned the healing energy again. “They know, yes, that doesn’t mean they would recognize it,” he replied casually.

Brynjolf seemed undeterred by Aedarnir’s attempts to change the subject back to him. “You’re not Ulfric, you’re not a Greybeard. Are you truly the Dragonborn?”

“What do you think?” Aedarnir asked, a little bitterness seeping into his voice. His magicka depleted entirely this time and he moved his hand from Brynjolf’s ankle. Sitting upright, he stared defiantly into Brynjolf’s sharp green eyes, waiting for an answer.

“You’re not what I expected. You told me your name, and who your sister is. Why?”

“It’s not a secret that I’m the Dragonborn, or that the Harbinger is related to me. It’s just that people outside of Whiterun, the Jarls and the Dominion haven’t really heard. Most locals turn out to be very disappointed I was born in Morrowind,” Aedarnir didn’t hide any bitterness now. “Many people want Skyrim’s ‘hero’ to be a Nord. You should have seen the look on Ulfric’s face when he first laid eyes on me.”

A look of regret passed over Brynjolf’s face. “I’m sorry, lad. I shouldn’t have pushed it. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.” A smile suddenly twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.”

Aedarnir cocked his chin, curious. “Go ahead.”

“Why on Nirn did the Dragonborn kiss me?”

A laugh burst out of Aedarnir. “Because it was fun, we were in a dangerous place. And I got a bit carried away.” He abruptly leaned forward, one hand pressed against the tree for balance. His face hovered just above Brynjolf’s, lips mere inches away. A wide, playful grin was on Aedarnir’s face. To Brynjolf’s credit, he did not flinch. “We could always do it again,” Aedarnir suggested knowingly.

Brynjolf chuckled. “You continue to be a bad influence.”

Aedarnir pulled away, point made. He didn’t show how much leaning against the tree with that arm hurt his shoulder. “We’ve been going toward Riften,” Aedarnir said as he rose to his feet. “I assumed that’s where you wanted to go.”

Brynjolf tested his ankle, nodding in satisfaction at its less painful state. He spoke as he pulled his boot back on. “I live there with the guild, yes. You don’t have to take me the entire way, lad. I can make my own way, especially now you’ve healed me.”

“I’m taking you,” Aedarnir asserted, beginning to saddle Daisy. She nickered softly at him. “I haven’t been to Riften in a while. I bought Daisy there not long after I first came to Skyrim.”

On his feet now, Brynjolf began donning his leather armour. “How long ago was that?”

“Six years, almost seven. Daisy’s been with me the whole time.”

Once Daisy was ready, and Brynjolf dressed, they returned to the road and their journey southward. The pace was slower now, making it much easier on Daisy. There was little conversation as they rode, the pair focusing on their surroundings and injuries instead. Aedarnir was beginning to feel increasingly unwell due to his shoulder, the swelling pressing against his shoulder armour uncomfortably. His armour was only light leather, made to be quiet while providing some protection, not to bear heavy impacts like the wooden shutters on the window. He was beginning to wonder if it would have been wise to heal himself properly while they were stationary. As they travelled, he occasionally raised a hand to his shoulder and sent healing into it. It difficult to focus on the back of a moving horse and to make the magic penetrate the leathers.

“Is your shoulder troubling you?” Brynjolf asked after seeing Aedarnir do minor healing for the third time.

“A bit,” Aedarnir admitted. “But I don’t want to stop again until it starts getting dark. It’s bruised not broken, the swelling is just uncomfortable. The small amount of healing helps.”

They passed a handful of other travellers while on the road, though no one paid them any mind. Aedarnir was grateful; he did not want to deal with bandits, not after the morning they had.

When it started getting dark, Aedarnir guided them from the road. They found the base of the mountains they travelled adjacent to, and after another half an hour of searching found an alcove in the mountain. Aedarnir did not want a cave, for something always lived inside a cave, but an alcove gave them cover from the elements while not confining them.

Brynjolf gathered wood for a small campfire while Aedarnir removed Daisy’s saddle and bridle. She shook once it was all removed and nudged at Aedarnir until he dipped his hand into one of the saddle bags to pull out a handful of grain. She happily ate it, her soft lips tickling the palm of his hand.

“She’s a well-trained mare,” Brynjolf observed, returning with an armful of sticks. “You’re confident she won’t run away.”

Brushing his hands off, Aedarnir shrugged. “She never has. I have dried rations for us to eat. Nothing fancy but it’ll get us through.”

The rations were dried bread, hard biscuits, and dried fruit, but it was nevertheless a welcome meal. As they ate, Aedarnir lit their modest campfire with a small firebolt. Once he had finished eating and laid out the single bedroll, Aedarnir began removing his armour. It did not take long, though the process was hindered by his stiff shoulder. Once he removed his undershirt, he saw the swelling. The bruising itself was not as bad as the discomfort indicated, so he was not sure what was causing such swelling. Keeping his breathing steady, he let the restoration flow into his hand. Warmth spread through his shoulder, seeping into the bones themselves. He poured as much healing as he could into himself, stopping only when his magicka ran dry. Rolling his shoulder, he was relieved to find it nearly painless. All it needed was a good amount of healing.

He looked over to Brynjolf, who watched him thoughtfully. “Can I help you?” Aedarnir asked with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

Brynjolf simultaneously shook his head and shrugged. He sat against the stone wall of the alcove and seemed too tired to move.

“You’re very hard to read at times,” Aedarnir said. He reached up and released his white hair from the leather strap which bound it. When out, the ends sat between his shoulder blades.

“Have you thought about joining the Thieves’ Guild?”

“No. Should I?”

“Perhaps you should, lad. We could use someone like you.”

“Someone like me? What, experienced? I’m barely out of my teenage years for an elf.” Being about thirty, Aedarnir certainly was an adult; it was simply difficult to be seen that way under some older elves’ gazes. He wasn’t looking at Brynjolf, instead staring out into the dark beyond their campfire’s light.

“I was thinking resourceful,” Brynjolf said. “You know what you’re doing, you’re not like a pup straight out of home, with no brain or skill.”

“I was under the impression you think I’m an arrogant, foolhardy upstart who’s going to get myself killed someday soon.”

“You’re right. I still largely believe that. But I also think you have skill and the intelligence to back it up.”

Aedarnir laughed. He returned his gaze to Brynjolf and said, “Are you trying to convince me to join your guild or trying to get me to take my trousers off?”

“Is either working?”

“You’re going to have to buy me some drinks first.”

“Or get you into another dangerous situation. You seem to like those quite a bit as well.”

Grinning, Aedarnir nodded. “You’re not wrong.”

He pulled his undershirt back on and fastened his cloak around his shoulders. He did not wear his chest armour; while he had slept in it before, he did not want to risk reaggravating his shoulder. He lay down on the bedroll, cloak tucked around him. With only one bedroll, as Aedarnir only kept one packed on Daisy’s saddle, Brynjolf remained sitting upright against the alcove’s wall.

It did not take long for Aedarnir to surrender himself to the dark of sleep.

-

It was just before dawn when Aedarnir woke. The fire had died out, leaving only embers. The sun had not get come up above the mountainous horizon but the light that signalled dawn’s arrival still made visibility decent. Daisy stood nearby, grazing on the grasses a few meters away from the alcove. Brynjolf was still asleep, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to one side uncomfortably.

Aedarnir sat up, yawning. Daisy stepped over to investigate, nosing at Aedarnir as he stood and moved to the saddle bags. He was glad nothing was taken in the night; he was a light sleeper, but it was still a concern. Daisy had been known to neigh and wake him if there was trouble, such as wolves or even a bear, so he had faith they would be safe overnight.

He pulled out the supplies of food they needed for the morning then readied the saddlebags. He packed up the bedroll and had already begun to saddle Daisy when Brynjolf finally woke.

“Big day yesterday, huh?” Aedarnir teased, grinning at the bleary-eyed man.

Brynjolf moved rolled his head, wincing and touching his neck. It was a normal symptom of sleeping sitting upright. He finally replied, “Something like that. You’re very awake for this time of morning.”

“Getting to Riften by nightfall is a priority. I think both of us would rather sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

Without much to get ready aside from eating, Brynjolf was prepared quickly for the journey. Once Daisy was ready and Aedarnir had eaten, they kicked dirt over the embers of the fireplace and set out.

The travel was much like the day before, minus the panicked beginning. The few other travellers they passed seemed entirely uninterested in them, and even the occasional patrolling guard as they neared the city paid them little mind beyond an acknowledging nod. They nearly had an encounter with a bear, who stood on two legs at the edge of the road and roared at them. Aedarnir cracked the reins and Daisy’s rapid pace meant they put a lot of distance between them and the bear.

When they could finally see the walls of Riften, the day was beginning to darken. Seeing the walls ahead of them through the trees, the lake barely being seen in the dark far to their right, Brynjolf let out a sigh. Aedarnir twisted to look at him, grinning. “Happy to be home?” he asked.

“Aye lad, very,” Brynjolf said, returning his grin. “You’ve made my trip to Windhelm a lot more… interesting, and eventful, than I thought it would be.”

“Is that a thank you?”

Brynjolf snorted and didn’t give an answer.

Aedarnir guided Daisy up to the stables and let Brynjolf dismount first. The guards at the gates were watching them, but no one came to investigate. The stable boy was busy with another horse, one apparently spooked by their arrival, but did wave to them.

Once his feet were on the ground, Aedarnir turned to Brynjolf.

“Thank you,” Brynjolf said, nodding to him. “For, well, all of yesterday. Keep in mind what I said about the guild, lad.” He reached into his pouch. Before he could bring anything out, Aedarnir reached out and put a hand on his arm.

“You don’t need to pay me back, for the ride or the rations,” Aedarnir insisted. “I’m going to be staying at The Bee and Barb, how about you just come buy me those drinks instead?”

Brynjolf chuckled. “We’ll see about that. How long do you think you’ll stay?”

“Don’t know yet, a couple days at least.”

Nodding, Brynjolf stepped away. “I’ll see you around.”

Aedarnir nodded back and felt a small sense of regret as Brynjolf walked toward the gates. Why he would feel regret was beyond him. Daisy nickered, gaining his attention. “We’ll see him again,” Aedarnir said, not sure if he was reassuring himself or the horse. “I’m certain of it.”

Chapter Text

Everyone around the table held their breath. Suspicious eyes glanced at one another, all of them eventually coming to rest on Aedarnir. He grinned at the four people sitting around him and downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. It was their eighteenth round of cards and Aedarnir had won the majority. He genuinely did not win a couple of rounds, but his luck in the rest was based on reading the other people. They weren’t very good at keeping straight faces, even though they thought they were.

Aedarnir showed his hand. Everyone else hissed and shook their heads in disappointment. As he began scooping up his winnings from the middle of the table, the Argonian to his left leaned forward. “One more round!” the Argonian insisted, eyes narrowed. “I want to earn my coin back.”

“I already said that’s my last round,” Aedarnir replied, adding a little unsteadiness to his voice. “Besides, I’ve had a lot to drink. Better to quit while I’m ahead and I can still remember the night.”

In truth, he had more than he intended to drink but was by no means incapacitated by it. He wasn’t half as drunk as he pretended to be.

“I told you lads,” an older Nord from the adjacent table called out, “Don’t play cards with an elf!”

A Breton from Aedarnir’s table wafted a hand at the man. “You’re just still bitter about that time an Altmer won your entire months’ worth of wages.”

“That’s a great reason to be wary of elves!”

Aedarnir interjected before the Breton could retort, “It was a pleasure playing with you all,” he said, standing and pretending to wobble a bit. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to go lie down and stop the world spinning.”

They didn’t pay much attention to him as he left, opting to continue arguing instead. Aedarnir disappeared up the stairs and quickly found his room. This was his second evening at The Bee and Barb. The first evening he had been tired and mostly just rested. Tonight however, he had been keener for some fun. While the company wasn’t mentally stimulating, it was still an enjoyable evening filled with crass jokes and laughter. Taking a pouch of coin from them ended up being a bonus.

He locked the door behind himself. With a flick of his wrists he lit the five candles in the room, giving him some light. While not a huge or lavish room, it was at least a comfortable place to rest.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Aedarnir began to undo the laces on his boots. He suddenly heard a whistle. He paused, wondering if he had misheard. It did not sound as though it came from inside. When no other sounds came, he stood and moved to the window. Opening the shutters, he looked out.

The street below was mostly dark. He could see the occasional bit of firelight from the wandering guards and candlelight from the insides of houses. He saw a figure standing away from all sources of light, with only the two moons providing faint silvery light to outline them. The figure, clearly cloaked, moved away when Aedarnir stuck his head out.

Curiosity got the better of him. Aedarnir retied his boots and threw his long, dark blue cloak around him. He put the hood up and left the room, locking it behind himself. He didn’t want those people downstairs knowing his room was empty, otherwise they may try to break in and search for their coin. Walking much more steadily now and with his face covered, Aedarnir did not seem to attract attention as he left The Bee and the Barb.

He was pretty sure about the identity of the figure. That didn’t stop him wanting to be certain. A part of him thrilled to be doing these kinds of activities; walking through the dark, cold streets of a disreputable city, following a cloaked person. The fun wasn’t lessened by the presumption it was Brynjolf under the cloak.

The figure was far in front of Aedarnir but walking relatively slowly. While it was difficult to be certain in the dark, it seemed like the person repeatedly looked back to see if Aedarnir followed.

Aedarnir let himself be guided passed the Temple of Mara and into a back alley of sorts. The path was now one of compacted dirt and grass instead of stone. Various flowers and bushes lined either side of the walkway, giving it an abandoned air. Despite this decrepit feeling, the pathway opened into a small grassy area with a statue of Talos toward the back. At the base of the statue was a lantern, providing a small amount of light. The edges of the clearing were no less full of vegetation than the walkway. Trees, flowers and bushes provided ideal areas for the torchbugs and luna moths to flit about, oblivious of the two people nearby.

The figure waited toward the back of the clearing, standing between the shrine and what looked to be a small, quartered off graveyard. Removing his hood, Aedarnir stepped toward him. When the figure also removed their hood, Aedarnir was relieved to see Brynjolf. While Aedarnir did bring both his daggers, he would rather avoid using them in his slightly tipsy state. The walk had sobered him, but he didn’t feel the cold as much as he should due to the alcohol.

“What’s with all the secrecy?” Aedarnir asked as he approached, coming to stand just two feet from the other man.

“I wasn’t sure how drunk you were, lad, considering your evening,” Brynjolf said as he shrugged. “Well, you seem to be sober enough for a conversation. Even if you reek of ale.”

“I was never as drunk as I let on. And I won’t ask how you know that, I assume you have your ways.”

“I’ve spoken to our Guildmaster about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

Brynjolf chuckled. “He’s somewhat keen on having the Dragonborn working for us, seeing it as a potential boon for the guild. The test I usually give possible recruits won’t do for you, so we’ve come up with another one. Interested?”

“So, this isn’t just a social meeting?” Aedarnir asked, closing the distance between the two of them. He stood just before Brynjolf now, their visible breath from the cold air mingling. “You clearly couldn’t wait for me to make up my mind about your guild.”

“Needed to know sooner rather than later if you were interested. The Guildmaster wants to know if you’re good at what you do and wants me to take you to Solitude.”

Aedarnir frowned. “Why Solitude?”

“There’s a gala there in about a week. A lot of rich people in one place, getting drunk and sleeping together. Easy pickings. Sound like your kind of place?” Brynjolf asked, the corners of his mouth upturned in a sly smile.

“If it were so easy, you wouldn’t want to use it as my test.”

“It’s not just about sneaking in and out, lad. There’s going to be a lot of lying and social interaction.”

Aedarnir nodded. He still had questions he wanted answered. “What’s your place in the Thieves’ Guild?”

Brynjolf sighed, finally relenting. “I’m a senior member. Something of a second-in-command.”

“Alright, so what would I get if I joined the guild?” Aedarnir asked, cocking his chin at Brynjolf.

“Access to fences, equipment, jobs, training, and the opportunity to earn a lot of coin.”

“Are there any rules around fraternization?”

Brynjolf openly laughed. “Why are you so keen on me, lad? I’m probably more than ten or twelve years your senior.”

Opting for honestly, Aedarnir replied, “You’re not intimidated by me, even knowing I’m the Dragonborn. You not only match my arguing, but you’re undeterred by it. Frankly, I find you interesting. If you want me to stop, just say so. I’ll stop.”

The following instant took Aedarnir by surprise. Brynjolf pressed his lips against Aedarnir’s, the contact warm despite the coldness of the air. Aedarnir opened it into a proper kiss, one hand reaching up for the back of Brynjolf’s neck. Brynjolf’s own hands found Aedarnir’s waist and pulled him closer. This was less tense, less frantic than the brief kiss in Windhelm had been. Time went still; Aedarnir had little idea how long it had been when he broke the kiss and moved his lips to Brynjolf’s throat.

An unwelcome voice jolted them apart. “So that’s why Brynjolf is keen to introduce the Dragonborn to our guild.”

It took Aedarnir a moment to realize the words weren’t spoken in Tamrielic. The words ‘Brynjolf’ and ‘Dragonborn’ were not spoken in Dunmeri, but the rest of the sentence was. He glared toward the voice, finding a pale skinned, pale haired woman standing against the metal fence of the graveyard. She had a sneer on her face and her arms across her chest.

“Was that Dunmeri?” Brynjolf asked, scowling. He clearly didn’t speak the language.

“Bad Dunmeri,” Aedarnir answered. “She has a terrible accent.”

The woman shrugged. When she spoke again it was in Tamrielic, “I’m a touch out of practice.”

Aedarnir decided to change it back to Dunmeri, even if Brynjolf seemed unable to understand. “I’m not sure why you’re here, but how about you leave us alone. Your interruption isn’t appreciated.”

The woman examined him for a moment, then laughed. “I don’t care what you two are doing,” she said in Dunmeri before switching back to Tamrielic for the following comment, “Mercer wants to meet the Dragonborn. He sent me to get you two. I didn’t think I’d walk out to witness that.”

Brynjolf sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to meet Mercer, lad?”

“Is that your Guildmaster?” Aedarnir asked, not wanting to assume.

The woman nodded. “His name’s Mercer Frey.”

“I thought Mercer was going to leave this to me,” Brynjolf said. There was a touch of frustration in his voice, but Aedarnir couldn’t ascertain whether that was from the conversation or being interrupted.

“All he said to me was that he wanted to assess the Dragonborn himself before the guild wastes any resources on him,” the woman replied, standing up straight and walking toward the crypt at the back of the graveyard. “I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Lad,” Brynjolf said to Aedarnir, lowering his voice and leaning close. “You may want to sober up a bit more. I don’t what Mercer has planned; he decided not to inform me whatever it is.”

Aedarnir nodded and closed his eyes. He held a hand to his chest and willed himself cleansed of the toxins. A warmth spread through his chest and he felt the air around him become crisp. Opening his eyes, the world seemed abruptly sharper. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

“That’s convenient,” Brynjolf murmured. “Let’s go.”

The two followed the woman into the crypt. She entered the crypt first, and Aedarnir could hear the grinding of stone as they entered. A piece of the floor was retracting inwards, opening to reveal a set of stairs leading underground.

“My name’s Vex,” the woman said to Aedarnir. She blocked the entrance, evidently wanting to say something first. “And if you do anything to harm to the guild, I’ll cut you from your throat to your navel.”

Brynjolf made a sound in the back of his throat.

“It’s not the worst I’ve been threatened,” Aedarnir said to Brynjolf, grinning widely. “I like her.”

Vex led them down the staircase with Aedarnir behind her and Brynjolf at the rare. The lantern light was dim in the cavern the staircase eventually led to, though seemed bright to Aedarnir as his eyes adjusted. The cavern was one dug from the ground rather than a natural cave, with a circular pool of water, and strange bridge in the centre. Around the edges of the cavern were various beds, chests, doors and open passageways. There were multiple people around, mostly sitting on beds or stools. To the right of where the group of three walked out from, there was a desk with a man leaning against it. Aedarnir figured he was the Guildmaster.

“So, you’re the Dragonborn,” Mercer said as they approached. His voice was harsh and grating. “Brynjolf here told me your name and a bit about your little heist together. A couple years ago, I met your sister not long after she became Harbinger. You’re quite small compared to her.”

Aedarnir shrugged, not letting his annoyance seep into his voice. “She got the brawns of the family.”

Vex veered away, letting only Aedarnir and Brynjolf stand a few meters from Mercer. Everyone’s eyes were on them.

“I spoke to her, let her know who I was. You know what she said to me?” Mercer asked, not having moved from his position against the desk.

“Enlighten me.”

“She said that if I ever crossed her, or stole anything from her or the Companions, that she would track me down and crush my skull. Does that sound like an honourable Companion?”

Aedarnir laughed, letting it ring through the cavern. “No, it doesn’t sound like an ‘honourable Companion.’ It does sound like my sister, though.”

Mercer didn’t laugh. He did not even crack a smile. “The reason I brought you down here, Dragonborn, is because I wanted to see what you were like. I openly admit I was impressed by Harbinger Aevia and wanted to know if you were made of the same stuff. So far, I’m not impressed.”

“There’s nothing to be impressed by, you’ve not seen much,” Aedarnir retorted. “And you don’t know shit about my sister.”

“There’re rumours that you’re the best fighter in Skyrim. Capable of taking on anything thrown at you, whether that be dragons, giants, draugr or men. I want you to prove it to me,” Mercer said, unsheathing the blade from his hip.

“First of all, I’m not the best fighter in Skyrim. My sister could and has kicked my ass with her eyes closed. Second, you’re on.”

He heard Brynjolf chuckle and quietly say, “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you be humble.”

Aedarnir winked at Brynjolf, unclipping his cloak. He didn’t need it hampering his movements. He pulled out two daggers, one Skyforge steel, a gift from Aevia, and the other ebony. He felt slightly underdressed, for he only wore trousers and a loose, long-sleeved shirt while Mercer wore Thieves’ Guild leather armour. At least Brynjolf had suggested he sobered up.

Mercer lunged without warning. Aedarnir parried, blocking the attack and darting to one side. The next thirty or so seconds continued much the same, with Mercer attacking and Aedarnir defending. While the Guildmaster evidently had skill, he was not quite as quick as Aedarnir. When it came to melee combat Aedarnir relied heavily on being swifter than his opponent. He was barely managing to be so against Mercer.

Suddenly Mercer changed his movements. It was partially Aedarnir’s fault; he had become complacent and struggled to abruptly break the rhythm they had fallen into. Mercer mock swung like normal, changing direction in the last moment and swinging low. The tip of the sword scraped across Aedarnir’s thigh as he barely moved out of the way. It was just a flesh wound, though blood began to soak into the fabric of his trousers.

This time Aedarnir attacked. It was Mercer’s turn to parry, but Aedarnir did not let him slip into a rhythm. After a few swings Aedarnir tried to dance around him. Mercer did not give him an opening, following his every move. Ideally Aedarnir would trip him; evidently Mercer had the same idea. He began to attack now, relentless. One of the swings caught Aedarnir off-guard and at the wrong angle, forcing the Skyforge steel dagger out of his hand. It clattered to the ground, immediately forgotten as Aedarnir attempted to hold his own with only one dagger. He was better at duel-wielding, for that was simply his preferred and practice method.

Mercer tripped him. Aedarnir fell flat on his back, ebony blade skittering across the ground. Swearing, Aedarnir began to scramble back. Grinning wildly, Mercer now stood above him. He swung down, meaning to strike hard and dangerously. Aedarnir refused to let him. With a surge of magic, a glowing, ethereal purple sword was now in his hand. It took all his strength to block Mercer’s blow. Surprise momentarily crossed over Mercer’s face upon seeing the summoned sword.

“You didn’t say anything about rules,” Aedarnir hissed out, straining to keep the Guildmaster’s sword from slashing down on him.

Mercer withdrew his blade and stepped back. His stance was no longer aggressive, though he kept his blade drawn. “Good to know you have tricks up your sleeve,” Mercer admitted, watching Aedarnir as he stood. “Assuming you can prove your worth to Brynjolf on your quest, I think you could be valuable to the guild.”

Aedarnir collected the ebony dagger, only releasing the magic on the summoned sword when he had the other weapon in hand. He looked for his Skyforge steel blade, frowning when he saw Vex holding and examining it.

“Do you truly want this back?” she asked, not looking at him. “It’s a well-made dagger, and you pretty much lost. Payment to the guild for losing?”

No longer in the mood for games, Aedarnir extended a hand. A purple void appeared both in his hand and on the ground before Vex. From it rose the lithe, humanoid figure of a flame atronach. It hovered just above the ground, flames swirling between the rock-like lines of its body.

“Give it back,” Aedarnir ordered through clenched teeth. The atronach held a long-fingered hand out to Vex. After looking between it and Aedarnir, Vex gave the dagger back after a long moment of consideration. As soon the atronach had it in hand, it drifted back to Aedarnir. He took it from its grasp, sheathing it.

Without saying another word, Aedarnir began walking back the way Vex had led them into the cavern. He picked up his cloak along the way. The flame atronach followed behind him, spinning and twisting in the air as it did. He felt someone else following, glancing back to see Brynjolf. Aedarnir said nothing, finding the mechanism to open the coffin in the crypt and stepping out into the cool night.

Once in the clearing, Aedarnir turned back and faced Brynjolf. The atronach, its fires crackling faintly, lingered nearby until he dismissed it with a thought.

“You held your own against Mercer,” Brynjolf said quietly. He was looking directly at Aedarnir, who was having difficulties meeting the man’s gaze. “That’s impressive, lad. He’s the best swordsman in the guild, I’ve not seen someone do so well against him.”

“I lost, and I feel like an idiot for it.”

“I don’t think you lost as badly as you believe you did. It was almost a draw.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better.”

Brynjolf crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not, I’m telling you the truth. Don’t give yourself so much pity.”

Aedarnir took a deep breath. “Is there a reason you followed me out here?” He asked, tone strained.

“I need a definite answer. Are you coming with me to Solitude?”

“If I go with you, regardless of how well any stealing goes, am I obligated to join the guild afterwards?” Aedarnir asked.

“No,” Brynjolf said, shaking his head. “The guild takes its share of whatever coin we get, but otherwise you don’t have any obligation to stay with us. I just wouldn’t recommend staying too much in Riften afterwards.”

“And you’ll be… assessing me?”

“Something along those lines. This trip is mostly to appease Mercer; whatever I say at the end, it’s your choice whether you want to join us. All I’m asking you is to give the guild a chance.”

Aedarnir nodded. “Fine, I’ll come with you to Solitude. We get to spend a night in Whiterun though, that’s my only traveling condition.”

Brynjolf let free a breath and smiled. “That’s fine by me, lad. Does leaving midmorning tomorrow sound good to you?”

“I can do midmorning. Goodnight, Brynjolf.”

Knowing the dismissal of the conversation, Brynjolf gave a single nod and stepped back toward the crypt. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Aedarnir watched him disappear back into the guild’s hideout, jaw tensed in thought. He swore loudly to himself. He then spun on his heel, put his hood up and returned to The Bee and the Barb.

Chapter Text

Riften was drenched by rain when Aedarnir woke. It was an inconvenience to travel in, though he did not think the weather severe enough to delay their departure. He dressed, packed his few things in the saddlebags and satchels, and went downstairs for breakfast.

The Bee and the Barb at this time of day was noticeably more subdued than the evening before. There were two people in the tavern, aside from the owner and barkeep. One was sitting at the bar itself, slouched over a bowl of something grey-brown. The other was face down on one of the tables, snoring. Aedarnir ignored them both, buying both breakfast and some supplies for travel like cheese and hard bread. He already had some other rations but topping those supplies up was never a bad idea. His meal was filling if a bit tasteless, and he left once he finished. He tossed a couple of gold to the innkeeper as he passed, hearing the Argonian thank him multiple times as he did so.

Aedarnir walked through Riften’s slippery streets with his hood up. While his heavy cloak and leather boots did not keep him entirely dry, it was certainly preferable to being completely soaked. The guards paid little mind to him as he exited through the city gates and made his way to the stables.

Brynjolf was waiting for him, cloaked. Aedarnir could see by the way he moved and the occasional glimpses of guild armour that it was him. He did not recognize the figure standing alongside Brynjolf.

“Good morning, lad,” Brynjolf greeted him. He had one hand on a piebald horse, who was absently nuzzling at the other figure. “I wanted to leave when you got here, so I asked the stable hand to ready Daisy for you.”

Aedarnir could see a cold looking young woman slipping a saddle over his dapple-grey mare. Nodding, he looked back at the stranger. He stepped into the shelter of the stables, closer to the others. “I thought it was just going to be you and me?” Aedarnir asked of Brynjolf, nodding to the stranger.

“Don’t worry, I’m not coming with you,” the person, evidently a man with a husky voice and strange accent, said. “Just thought I’d see Brynjolf off. The name’s Delvin. Saw you fighting the Guildmaster, you’re not too shabby. Your footwork and guarding stances, they were familiar. I thought about it overnight, and, well… have you heard of the Dark Brotherhood?”

Aedarnir narrowed his eyes for a moment, wondering where this was going. “I have.”

“Your style is somewhat similar to theirs. Have you any connections with them?”

“No, I don’t. And I’m not sure what you’re trying to insinuate.” Aedarnir was not lying, he had no connections with the Dark Brotherhood. He did, however, have connections elsewhere.

Delvin studied him for a long moment, before finally saying, “You have expensive blades. Cloak is a very good quality, doesn’t look like anything made in Skyrim. Boots are nice, and I got a good look at the armour you wore last night. A bit worn in and well used, but still very expensive. You get that kind of money thieving or being the Dragonborn?”

Laughing, Aedarnir shrugged. “I suppose saving cities from dragons pays well. A bit of dungeon crawling doesn’t hurt now and then either.”

“So why steal, then?”

“Let’s call it a habit. A lot of people go back to their roots and what they know best.”

Delvin nodded and looked to Brynjolf. “I should be off. Safe travels.”

Brynjolf, who looked a little amused underneath his cloak, replied, “Thank you, Delvin. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Giving a nod to Aedarnir as he passed, Delvin left them and made his way back toward the gates.

“When all is said and done, Delvin’s not a bad man,” Brynjolf said once his fellow thief was beyond earshot. “You’re cautious, but maybe give him a chance, lad. You’ve clearly given me one.”

Aedarnir chuckled quietly. “You’re a bit different. I don’t want to undress Delvin.”

Brynjolf rolled his eyes, but his knowing smile remained.

Daisy was soon saddled, and the two men began their currently very cold, damp journey. They travelled mostly abreast but very few words passed between them. It was a comfortable silence, both enjoying the simple companionship. Aedarnir spent much of that first day observing the surrounding forests, often finding himself gazing up at The Throat of the World. He wondered what Paarthurnax and the Greybeards were doing. He had spent weeks in High Hrothgar, learning how to use the Thu’um – the Greybeards were probably glad to see him gone now Alduin was dead. He was not the most patient or obedient student.

The day passed relatively quickly. They stopped not long before dusk and began to set up a camp just off the road. They used a large rock formation to give them a small degree of shelter and so they would not be so open to any attackers. It had stopped raining a few hours ago, but the ground was still soaked and the air frosty.

“Has your horse got a name?” Aedarnir asked as he unsaddled Daisy. Brynjolf was assembling the campfire, Aedarnir having offered to deal with both horses.

Brynjolf seemed amused by the idea. “She’s owned by the guild, she doesn’t have a name.”

“That’s a touch sad, isn’t it?”

“Sad?” Brynjolf said, before shaking his head and asking, “Can you light this?”

Aedarnir threw a small firebolt at the stacked wood. Daisy was unphased but Brynjolf’s horse was somewhat spooked by it. Setting Daisy’s saddle down, Aedarnir grabbed the unnamed horse’s reins and began calming her. “We should call her Buttercup,” Aedarnir announced, grinning.

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

“Is there something wrong with Buttercup?”

“No, I just don’t know why you have the need to name them.”

Aedarnir shrugged. “It’s just a bit of fun, Brynjolf.”

Finishing with Daisy and Buttercup took a few more minutes. In that time, Brynjolf began setting up both of their bedrolls and readying the evening’s meal. Aedarnir eventually joined him, noting the positions of the beds. They were positioned between the sheer face of the rock and the campfire, with their saddlebags and satchels between them for safekeeping. Aedarnir gestured at them as he sat on his bedroll. “Disappointingly far a part.”

“Yes, it would be a wonderful time to take one’s clothes off and roll around on the soggy, muddy grass.”

“Nothing I’ve not done before.”

Brynjolf faked a disapproving look before laughing. “Can I ask you something, lad?” He asked, his tone indicating a change of topic. He held out a small wooden bowl of food to Aedarnir, who took it before replying.

“I certainly can’t stop you. What’s your question?”

“I’ve been thinking about something throughout the day. When Delvin asked you about the Dark Brotherhood, were you lying? You’ve always been upfront with me, but I doubted you’d be so inclined with others.”

Aedarnir didn’t see any reason to lie or omit the truth. “I wasn’t lying about the Dark Brotherhood. Have you heard of the Morag Tong?”

Brynjolf frowned. “I’ve heard whispers. They’re a sort of Dunmer version of the Brotherhood.”

“More or less, yes. My aunt was a member, and she taught me how to wield a blade. I suppose some techniques must carry between different assassin groups, inherent to their jobs.”

“Your aunt was a member, was being past-tense?”

Aedarnir shrugged. “I don’t know, honestly. Didn’t hear from her for nearly two years before I left Blacklight, and I’ve not heard anything since arriving in Skyrim.”

The only reply Brynjolf gave was a nod. For a while they sat in silence together, listening to the soft sounds of their horses and the forest around them. Aedarnir found himself staring into the small fire, thinking over the events that brought him to this. Why he had agreed to any of this was beyond him. He duelled with the guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild and was now travelling across Skyrim with a senior member of said guild. He glanced at Brynjolf, who was absently watching the horses. Aedarnir met this man by chance only a couple days before. He had always been quick to rush into things, but now wondered why he felt so compelled to join Brynjolf in travelling to Solitude. It had to be more than simply being physically attracted to him, although anything which may come of that would be enjoyable. There had to be something else.

“I’m not so sure about that cheeky look you’re giving me, lad,” Brynjolf said, his eyes now focusing on Aedarnir.

Aedarnir laughed and looked away. “Don’t worry about it. Can you tell me anything more about this gala we’re headed to?”

“Through some connections of the guild, I secured invitations for two. The gala itself is being held for the one-year wedding anniversary of a prominent Solitude merchant couple. Most of the invitations have gone to others of similar standing, such as other traders, socialites, and political figures.”

“It really is going to be a whole load of rich people in a room getting drunk.”

“I know a couple Thalmor will be attending, and they’re the only ones I have concern about being suspicious of us.”

Aedarnir winced. “That could be a problem.

Raising an eyebrow, Brynjolf looked at him curiously. “What did you do, lad?”

“Oh, not much. The Thalmor just don’t like me.”

“Likely story,” Brynjolf said sceptically. “At any rate, we will be wearing masks like everyone else. I wouldn’t worry about any dominion folk recognizing you, my concern is them catching us in the act. They’re perceptive people.”

“And are we to attend in well-travelled armour?”

“We’ll purchase suitable clothes when we’re there.”

Aedarnir nodded. “I have to admit; a masquerade gala isn’t something I’ve been to before.”

“I have on a small, humbler scale, but certainly not with these kinds of people. It should be interesting to say the least.”

It was not long after that they settled down into their bedrolls. Aedarnir lay there for a long while, his mind racing, thoughts fluttering between the Greybeards, the gala in Solitude and his sister. Eventually he focused on the gentle, deep breathing of the other man asleep nearby, and he too fell asleep.

-

They were travelling again not long after the sun came up. While their pace was not a quick one, it would take another four nights to reach Solitude, accounting for staying in Whiterun instead of travelling passed it. Aedarnir had a few things to do there before they moved on, and they would still have plenty of time once they were in Solitude to procure whatever they needed.

Most of that day was spent travelling around the Throat of the World. They skirted the edges of Ivarstead just before midday and continued toward Whiterun. They encountered little of interest, passingly only farmers, merchants and the occasional adventurer on the roads. So close to the Throat of the World, Aedarnir was distracted much of the day. Brynjolf seemed to notice this and took the lead. Aedarnir swore he saw wings occasionally in the clouds obscuring the top of the mountain but was never fully sure.

The only incident they had on the roads was toward dusk. As it was beginning to darken the pair were attempting to find shelter, but as they were currently stuck between a mountain and a river, they were not having much luck. They passed a fort, from which an armoured figure stepped out. They began to say something before seeing Aedarnir, who was grinning at them. Both recognizing him and recognizing their “road tax” scam had no effect on him, the armoured person let them travel passed without a single word. Aedarnir chuckled to himself as they continued. Brynjolf just shook his head and muttered, “I won’t ask,” under his breath.

As soon as they could make camp they did. They had made good time that day and were not far from Whiterun, only about half a day. Still, it was dark by this point and they had to rest for the evening. Their evening routine was much as it had been the night before, all necessary jobs divided and completely quickly. The two seemed to be forming a wordless rhythm, both understanding what needed to be done and seemingly knowing what task the other would do.

Also like the previous evening, the talking came as they ate their modest meal.

“I assume you will be meeting with your sister while in Whiterun,” Brynjolf said, popping a piece of salted meat into his mouth.

“I will be, but I also have a few other jobs. I want to stay overnight, even if we get there by midday.”

“Easily done, lad.”

Aedarnir watched him and spoke with a light tone, “You’re welcome to join me when we’re there. I think my sister would like you. And if you tolerate me, you’ll love her. She’s a bit like me, but much nicer. And bigger.”

Brynjolf laughed. “We’ll see, I may just take you up on that.” He paused, regarding Aedarnir for a long moment. He then said, “You love your sister very much. You have a particular affection in your voice when you talk about her.”

“I do love her a lot,” Aedarnir said, smiling. “We were barely ever apart before we came here.”

“You say that like you regret coming to Skyrim.”

“No, I don’t regret it. It’s just… she would have made a much better Dragonborn than me.” Aedarnir felt both strange and comfortable saying that to Brynjolf. He had said it before, specifically to Aevia when he began found out he was Dragonborn. He was just unsure how to feel about saying it now. There was something disarming about Brynjolf he felt confident to put trust in, even though his logic told him the man was mostly an acquaintance.

Brynjolf seemed surprised. “Am I mistaken in thinking you killed Alduin, lad? Rumour has it you went to Sovngarde and came back alive.”

“Yes, that’s true. I killed Alduin and met some Nord heroes I’ve only recently heard of. I didn’t know who most of them were to be completely honest,” Aedarnir replied before trying to change the subject, “Aren’t you even a little curious as to what Sovngarde was like?”

Laughing aloud and shaking his head, Brynjolf said, “Maybe save that for when I’m a bit drunker.”

They talked for a while longer before settling down for sleep. The talk of Sovngarde and sleeping at the foothills of the Throat of the World unnerved him to a certain degree. He tried to take comfort in the fact that it was only for a night. Tomorrow they would be in Whiterun, and he would see his sister for the first time in months. The idea filled him with warmth.

Chapter Text

Whiterun, as always, was a sight to behold. There was something beautiful about approaching the city, no matter how familiar Aedarnir became with it. They travelled the road alongside the winding river toward the city, taking in the warmth. It was sunny for the first time in days, as though they were being welcomed. Passing the farms and the meadery, they eventually came to the stables. Aedarnir dismounted first and gave Daisy a pat on the neck. He took the saddlebags he needed before handing her over to the stable workers. As Brynjolf gave over Buttercup, Aedarnir was already walking toward the city.

He was briefly distracted by the caravan of Khajiit camped just before the outer gates. He recognized them, as they did him. They greeted him warmly and he spent the following few minutes browsing wares and chatting. Brynjolf lingered nearby, nodding to some of the Khajiit who passed him in greeting.

Aedarnir soon left them, pleased to have spoken to them but also keen to get into the city itself. As they walked, Brynjolf asked him a question, “How do you know these Khajiit so well? It seemed to me more than just a merchant-customer relationship.”

“I saved them from a dragon attack along a road just south-west of here,” Aedarnir admitted with a small shrug. “They are always happy to see me now.”

Brynjolf laughed quietly, shaking his head.

“What?” asked Aedarnir, incredulous.

“You’re simply very casual talking about saving folk from dragons. The act of you being able to kill dragons is more amazing than you make it out to be.”

Aedarnir shrugged again, finding himself looking down. “I guess the same thing over and over gets a little boring. I encounter a dragon, and it wants to burn me to a crisp. Oh, this one wants to freeze me. This one doesn’t want to land on the ground, oh wonderful. They’ve very intelligent, you know. They’re just like us, only huge and can fly. It’s just that they’re not interested in talking to anyone but their own kin.”

Guards opened the main Whiterun gates, allowing the two inside. Brynjolf thanked them while Aedarnir walked straight through.

“I need to go to Warmaiden’s,” Aedarnir said, gesturing to the shop as he stepped toward it. “Are you coming with me or going to the tavern?”

“I’ll come with you, lad. You always manage to provide some sort of entertainment.”

Inside the shop, Ulfberth manned the counter like always. The big Nord grinned when he saw Aedarnir, holding a hand out to clasp wrists with him over the bench. “Dragonborn,” Ulfberth said, his deep voice rumbling. “Pleased to see you. After the armour you commissioned?”

“I am,” Aedarnir replied, releasing Ulfberth’s hand and reaching into one of the saddlebags he brought in. “I have the rest of your payment.” He set a pouch on the bench. It rattled and clinked as it settled. “And there should also be enough there for Adrianne to sharpen my daggers.”

Ulfberth took the pouch and weighed it in his hand. His eyebrows rose before he glanced back at Aedarnir and nodded in respect. “Daggers?” He asked and held out his other hand. Aedarnir unsheathed his blades and put both in the man’s massive paw of a hand. Ulfberth told him to wait a bit and left through the door behind the counter.

“You don’t sharpen your own daggers, lad?” Brynjolf asked from behind him, amused.

“I am capable,” Aedarnir said, turning and grinning at him. “It’s just nice to have someone else do it from time to time.” He gave Brynjolf a small wink before falling more serious, “Besides, Adrianne is very good at what she does. I can’t ever seem to get my daggers as sharp as she does, so I don’t mind paying a little for the quality.”

They lingered in the shop for a while, browsing the wares talking. Eventually Ulfberth returned, carrying something like a crude mannequin clad in armour. Aedarnir couldn’t help but grin when he saw it. The ebony armour looked stunning; smooth and sleek while simultaneously imposing. Ulfberth looked a little puffed from carrying it in his arms, as Aedarnir imagined the heavy armour set lived up to its name.

“There you go, one set of heavy ebony armour. And here are your daggers,” Ulfberth announced, handing Aedarnir back his blades.

Adrianne appeared in the doorway Ulfberth just emerged from, leaning against it with her arms crossed. “Took me a while, that amour. Best possible quality. I hope the Harbinger appreciates it.”

“I’m sure she will,” Aedarnir replied, “Thank you, both of you.”

Together they stripped the armour from the mannequin and put the pieces into sacks Ulfberth had retrieved specifically for that purpose. Between Aedarnir and Brynjolf there were enough hands to carry the sacks without dragging or damaging anything. The pieces were indeed very hefty – Aedarnir carried the breastplate and arm pieces. As they made their way into Whiterun proper, Aedarnir mused to himself that he had no idea how his sister wore such armour let alone fought in it.

“I’m currently glad you decided to stay with me,” Aedarnir mentioned as they neared The Bannered Mare.

Brynjolf laughed. “I have no doubt.”

Once through the market place and inside The Bannered Mare, they quickly secured a room. Luckily for them, as it was only early afternoon they had their pick of rooms. Their options were between two single rooms with a small bed each or a double room with one large bed. Aedarnir glanced at Brynjolf, who smiled and shrugged. He asked for the double room and they were shown upstairs. The room turned out to be the nicer of the options, for along with the spacious area it had a small balcony overlooking the tavern below. When the innkeeper left them alone, Aedarnir sat on the bed and looked up at Brynjolf.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Brynjolf said with a playful tone and a cheeky look. “This was cheaper than two bedrooms.”

“Sure, like that had any bearing on it.”

“Are you calling me a liar, lad?”

Aedarnir snorted. “Oh, I would never.”

Brynjolf gave a small roll of his eyes and stepped closer to where Aedarnir sat. “Where to now?” He asked.

Carefully, Aedarnir set his hands on Brynjolf’s waist. He watched Brynjolf the entire time for signs of disapproval or rejection. He saw neither, only a raised eyebrow and an upturned corner of his mouth. Aedarnir then pulled Brynjolf closer, face barely two inches away from the armour covering his stomach.

“I thought we stopped in Whiterun to see your sister,” Brynjolf commented, his voice now deep.

Aedarnir looked up at him and grinned knowingly. His hands slipped down to Brynjolf’s hips as he spoke. “That doesn’t stop us from having some time to ourselves.”

Brynjolf’s hands cupped both sides of Aedarnir’s face firmly, forcing them to hold eye contact for a long moment. Aedarnir saw the new look in the other man’s eyes and knew. He let go of Brynjolf’s hips but Brynjolf did not release his face.

“Not right now. Maybe later,” said Brynjolf softly.

“Maybe later? Does that mean you do want me?” Aedarnir asked, faking any sort of coyness.

Brynjolf chuckled, the sound deep and warm. He gently ran his thumb over Aedarnir’s supple bottom lip. “It’s very hard not to want you.”

It was then Brynjolf stepped away, leaving Aedarnir grinning madly. “You know, I think it was a good idea to come with you,” Aedarnir said. “Even if you are going to keep me waiting.”

“You know I’m a man of patience. I believe not getting what you want immediately can be more gratifying.”

Aedarnir shrugged. “I guess you’re just going to have to show me.”

The look Brynjolf gave him spoke of amusement and no small amount of pleasure. “Come on, let’s go see the Harbinger.”

Leaving their gear and the new armour in their room, the two made their way up through the streets of Whiterun. Jorrvaskr was difficult to miss; stylized in the shape of an upturned ship, it sat proudly among the sights of Whiterun. Aedarnir had been inside many times before and led the way up the stairs to the mead hall. Brynjolf hung back somewhat, evidently apprehensive about being inside another guild. With no such apprehensions, Aedarnir opened the doors leading into Jorrvaskr and strode inside.

The inside of the hall was pleasantly warm and smelled heavily of mead but was disappointingly lacking in people. A man, wearing somewhat ragged clothes, sat on a bench at the end of the lowered section of the floor. There was a woman as well, her face lined with the crevasses of age, bushing the floor with a broom. Aedarnir recalled her name was Tilma and approached her.

“The Harbinger is out right now, she’s on a job,” the old lady said, her voice shaking. She spoke without looking at Aedarnir, who immediately stopped his approach when she began talking. “Come back later, Dragonborn.”

Aedarnir shifted his weight on his feel, feeling somewhat uneasy. This old woman always made him feel like he was a child again. “Would you tell her I’m at The Bannered Mare when she returns?”

Tilma simply nodded, still seemingly focused on her task of sweeping.

Brynjolf was standing just before the doorway, taking in the sights of Jorrvaskr. Aedarnir walked passed him and back out into the streets. Brynjolf soon followed, neither saying a word before they returned to The Bannered Mare.

“I suppose I’m just going to wait,” Aedarnir said once they were inside the inn. He sat at one of the corner tables, disappointment settling into his chest. He hoped Aevia would return before tomorrow. He had not seen her in several months; last time he visited Whiterun she was away doing jobs for the Companions too.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Brynjolf suggested, a smile on his lips but a frown on his brow. “We can wait together.”

The two waited for a few hours. They talked quietly, watching the patrons slowly filter into the tavern once the sun began setting. The conversation was mostly kept light; Brynjolf spoke about his guild and the kinds of jobs Aedarnir would do should he join. Toward the end of their wait, the conversation turned more person. Brynjolf asked about Aedarnir’s life in Blacklight, before leaving for Skyrim.

“I was something of a thief, as you may have gathered,” Aedarnir answered. He swilled the remainder of his ale around in his tankard, watching the liquid spin. He was beginning to tire of waiting. “I did a lot of roof-top running and hiding in alleyways. It’s why I kept my balance so well in Windhelm when we were escaping that house.”

Brynjolf nodded. “I did wonder about that. I don’t think you ever told me, but why did you leave Blacklight? Not even just Blacklight, but Morrowind as a whole.” He paused, taking in Aedarnir’s raised eyebrow before adding, “If that’s not too personal, of course.”

Aedarnir shrugged. “Nothing is really a secret. It’s a bit like being the Dragonborn in that way – not really a secret, but not exactly common knowledge. The long and the short of it is that I left Blacklight because I stole from someone I shouldn’t have. They were from one of the Great Houses, and I didn’t have much chance of survival if I stayed.”

“And your sister?”

“She didn’t want me to be by myself. It sounds a little strange, considering she now lives here in Whiterun and I’m something of a wanderer, but this way we are much closer than we would have been if she’d stayed in Blacklight.”

Nodding again, Brynjolf took a sip from his ale before asking, “What about your parents, lad?”

“We left them alive and healthy. They don’t have any idea about everything we’ve done while in Skyrim. My father’s a fisherman and my mother’s something of a local healer. They never understood why Aevia and I wanted more than that,” Aedarnir said. “I think it’s my turn to ask questions. What about you?”

“Born and raised in Riften. I don’t know my father, and my mother died of illness when I was young. Not much else to tell, really. I’m a good thief and liar, which let me rise quickly in the ranks of the guild.”

“Boring,” Aedarnir retorted and grinned. “There must be something else a bit more interesting than that.”

Brynjolf laughed aloud. “Not everyone leaves their homeland, becomes the Dragonborn and kills the World Eater.”

“Maybe you should try it sometime. It’s been pretty entertaining.”

Aedarnir heard The Bannered Mare’s door opened but did not turn his head to look. Many people were coming in and out now, and he did not want to raise his hope. Only when Brynjolf’s eyes went to the door and were fixed there did Aedarnir look.

Three figures had stepped through the door. Two were Nords, who Aedarnir recognized as Vilkas and Farkas of Companion fame. The third was a heavily armoured Dunmer woman. She was as big as the Nords beside her, slightly taller than Aedarnir. Her helmet was off and tucked beneath her arm. She shared Aedarnir’s features; dark grey skin with a faint purple hue and stark white hair. Her hair was cropped to sit at her jawline.

When Aevia walked into a room, everyone looked at her. It was not just because she was the Harbinger; she simply had a presence to her. It was magnetic, and multiple patrons in the tavern raised their tankards to her. She raised a hand in acknowledgment to them before turning toward Aedarnir and Brynjolf’s table. She grinned widely at her brother.

Aedarnir stood to greet her, being enveloped in a steel-clad hug. Despite the armour, Aedarnir felt the affection there. “I’m happy to see you, baby brother,” Aevia spoke softly, a strange contrast to her physical frame. Her accent was the same as Aedarnir’s, making it a comfortable sound.

“I’m just happy I get to see you this time,” Aedarnir said, unable to stop himself from grinning. He gestured to Brynjolf, who stood. “This is my traveling companion, Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf outstretched his hand and Aevia clasped his wrist. Brynjolf said, “It’s a pleasure, Harbinger.”

She laughed. “Just call me Aevia, please. A friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine.”

She introduced Farkas and Vilkas to Brynjolf. Aedarnir had met the twins before, and Farkas greeted him warmly while Vilkas simply gave him a cool nod. Aevia then sat as the twins went to the bar before pulling spare chairs up to the little table in the corner. It was cramped but friendly.

“What great Companion job took you out of Whiterun this time?” Aedarnir asked.

“A den of Silverhand became known to us,” Aevia said, keeping it suitably vague. Brynjolf seemed to understand this was not an answer for his ears. “We took care of them before they took care of us.”

Aedarnir nodded. He knew about the Circle and their werewolf secret. Aevia told him not long after she became one; there were no secrets between the two.

“So,” Farkas clapped a hand on Brynjolf’s shoulder as he took a seat. “Where’re you two traveling?”

Brynjolf subtly glanced at Aedarnir, evidently seeing assent there for he answered, “We’ve come from Riften and are headed for Solitude.”

“What’s in Solitude for ya?”

“A job and some gold –should everything fall into place.”

Vilkas chimed in, “What kind of jobs do you do?”

Brynjolf more blatantly looked to Aedarnir now. There was a question of trust in his eyes and Aedarnir nodded before replying himself, “He’s a member of the Thieves’ Guild. The job will ‘test’ me, see if I’m up to the guild’s standard.”

Aedarnir grinned at Brynjolf and Brynjolf simply chuckled.

“My brother, joining a guild?” Aevia said, incredulous. “I thought I’d never see the day. What have you done to him, friend?” She asked this of Brynjolf, laughing. “You must have bribed him, surely.”

Vilkas snorted. “You have a lot of faith in the man.”

Brynjolf replied to Aevia, “Bribery isn’t usually necessary when there’s already a lot of gold involved, lass. You brother can see a good opportunity.”

“I was under the impression the guild wasn’t going so well,” Vilkas said. “Where’s the money in a failing guild?”

Brynjolf’s gaze sharpened somewhat. “Like any venture, there are highs and lows. More talent only brings highs.”

Vilkas looked unconvinced as he took a gulp of his ale. Farkas looked between the two, frowning.

Aevia leaned toward Aedarnir. “Seriously, brother, what did they give you?”

Aedarnir scoffed, answering, “I haven’t joined them yet. This job is simply a trial, I’m under no obligation to join afterward. Besides, you know me. If I was to be involved in guild, one that steals as an occupation is right up my alley.”

“I thought you were an adventurer?” Farkas asked.

“I’m all of the above. I’m whatever I want to be.”

The five of them talked for a long while. Food was even brought to them; a hearty stew with crispy, fresh bread. Once they had eaten, Aedarnir stood. Brynjolf gave him a curious look but did not move.

“I have something to give you,” Aedarnir said to Aevia, extending a hand out to his sister. “If you’ll come with me.”

Aevia gave him an amused look and took his hand. She stood and continued to hold hands as he led her upstairs. He made her close her eyes once they were at the doorway, and once inside he set the ebony helmet in her hands. Her jaw dropped once her eyes were often and she repeatedly glanced between it and her brother. He gestured to the rest of the armour set.

“Aedarnir,” she said softly, “You shouldn’t have. How much did this cost?”

“Does it matter? You need the best armour money can buy.”

“Did you steal that money?”

“Some, definitely not all. How about you change into your new set? Impress everyone downstairs.”

She nodded her agreement, unable to contain her smile. Aedarnir closed the door, then began helping her remove her current heavy steel armour.

“I’m glad I got you alone,” Aevia said as they undid clasps and buckles. “There’s something I needed to tell you.”

Aedarnir cocked an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No, you shouldn’t be. But we don’t keep secrets, so you need to know. Vilkas and I are… an item.”

Freezing half way through undoing a buckle on her shoulder, Aedarnir was briefly unsure what to say. He hadn’t really gotten along with Vilkas; the two tended to clash. “What do you mean? Are you together or just fucking?”

Aevia gave him a harsh look for being crass. “Together, like a couple.”

“Why him?”

Her look was now a stare. “How can you ask me that? You don’t choose who you love. Why can’t you simply be happy for me?”

Aedarnir knew he was being an ass. He was protective of his sister and wanted the absolute best for her; he did not think Vilkas was the best. He spoke quietly, “You deserve better, Aevia.”

She shook her head and bit down on her bottom lip. After taking a deep breath in she spoke, “I knew you were going to be like this. You’re always like this. It’s why I didn’t want to tell you in front of everyone else.”

Biting his tongue, Aedarnir continued to help her remove her armour. They worked in painful silence for a few minutes; silence only between them, for there was still the sounds of laughter and faint music from downstairs. When they began putting on her new armour, Aevia broke their silence. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and this thief?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you too well for that.”

“I’m serious. We haven’t fucked yet.”

Aevia scoffed. “Yet? You’re sharing a room, I see two sets of traveling bags in here.”

“I never said I didn’t want to do anything. It hasn’t happened yet.”

Making a sound in the back of her throat, Aevia just continued doing up her armour. Once they were finished, Aedarnir stepped in front of her. “What?” He demanded, seeing the vaguely amused look on her face.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“I want to sleep with him, and I guess we’ve become friends. I wouldn’t say I ‘like’ him, no.”

“Bullshit.”

Aedarnir laughed, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“I know you too well for this, baby brother.”

“I’m not sure what you’re knowing. My thing is one-night stands and having fun. ‘Liking’ people doesn’t really go with that.”

“Mmhmm,” Aevia hummed. “You’ve never introduced me to any of these one-night stands.”

Sighing, Aedarnir looked his sister up and down. “The armour suits you. Just go to Warmaiden’s if you need something altered. Shall we go show everyone?”

“Aedarnir,” Aevia said, reaching up and gently touched her brother’s face. “I really like Vilkas and enjoy what we have together. Please, for once, keep your big mouth shut.”

“Shutting my big mouth.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The Harbinger got many looks upon walking back into the main room of The Bannered Mare. All were in approval and awe. Aevia was grinning widely as she approached the table the twins and Brynjolf were still seated.

“That’s some fancy armour you’ve got there, Aevia,” Farkas said, awed.

“Courtesy of my little brother,” Aevia said, touching Aedarnir’s shoulder as she then spoke to him, “Thank you.”

Aedarnir nodded and smiled. He was finding it difficult not to stare are at Vilkas, so was trying to look at anyone else. He and Aevia returned to their previous seats.

“Will this be your new set to wear all the time?” Farkas asked.

Smiling fondly, Aevia replied, “Of course. It seems a waste to keep armour away from what its most good at; it’s not a decoration.”

“I have little idea how you’re moving in that, lass,” Brynjolf mentioned, taking a sip of his drink. “I wouldn’t be able to move in something that heavy. You make it look elegant.”

“I’m sure you could too, with training. It’s practice, I was taught originally to wear light armour like my brother.”

The conversation carried on for some time in this vein. Aedarnir did not speak much, often biting his tongue. Eventually Aevia announced that she was tired, and she and Farkas went upstairs to retrieve her old armour.

With just him, Brynjolf and Vilkas at the table, Aedarnir found himself unable to hold back his words.

“She deserves more, you know that?” Aedarnir said, interrupting whatever Vilkas and Brynjolf were talking about. Aedarnir’s tone was cool and his eyes hard. Brynjolf looked at Aedarnir with both concern and confusion.

“Aevia?” Vilkas replied, scowling. “She does, but she also knows how to take care of herself.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t in need of someone watching her back, especially with those fucking Silverhand around. I’m not sure you’re up to that.”

Vilkas sat straighter, angry passing over his face. Brynjolf pressed his leg against Aedarnir’s underneath the table, a subtle warning. Aedarnir didn’t react, gaze fixed on Vilkas.

“I’m capable of defending my Harbinger,” Vilkas hissed, “Just as she is capable of defending me in return.”

“But she’s not just your Harbinger, is she? My sister is the most important person to me. I think she deserves better. More than just a fucking dog.”

Brynjolf kicked Aedarnir this time, and it was not a soft kick. The tavern had gone somewhat quieter.

Vilkas rose to his feet, snarling. “You best take that back.”

Aedarnir leaned forward, grinning now. “You don’t scare me. I’m fucking Dragonborn. I’ve killed dragons, I’ve been to Sovngarde. I’m not afraid of you, but you’ll be afraid of me if you do anything that’ll hurt my sister.”

That was when Aevia and Farkas returned. It took only one glance for Aevia to know what transpired in their absence. Vilkas was going for the door now, and Farkas was not far behind. Aevia was slower to follow, and murmured as she passed Aedarnir, “How could you?”

For a long, tense moment, Aedarnir and Brynjolf sat together. The tavern’s noise picked up again, overwhelming Aedarnir. He stood, only to have his wrist caught by Brynjolf.

“Stay, lad. Talk to me,” Brynjolf insisted, earnest and concern gaze looking up at Aedarnir.

He too agitated to stay, full of nervous energy and anger. Aedarnir yanked his wrist from Brynjolf’s grasp. “I’ll be back later,” he mumbled, heading for the door and stepping out into the brisk night.

Chapter Text

Aedarnir sat on the steps leading up to the Cloud District. At this time of night, there were few people around. Tipsy people stumbled out of The Bannered Mare and meandered down the street. The occasional guard passed him, nodding in acknowledgment but otherwise leaving him be. He presumed they recognized him; the people in Whiterun had more to do with him and his sister than in other parts of Skyrim.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for. It could have been an hour or three. His plan initially was to go to Jorrvaskr and apologize to Aevia. He decided against it, opting for an apology once all parties involved were calm. That included himself.

Eventually he returned to The Bannered Mare. By this time, it was quiet, with only one patron and the innkeeper left. Aedarnir ignored them both and made his way soundlessly upstairs.

He opened the door carefully, hopeful that Brynjolf was asleep. He was not so lucky. The room was lit by a single candle, nearly burned out. In the dim light Brynjolf sat on the bed, leaning up against the headboard. He looked to Aedarnir, his face a mask of calm. Aedarnir felt like a child sulking into a room, awaiting his reprimand.

“I’m glad you came back,” said Brynjolf, voice quiet and measured.

Aedarnir was stung by the comment, despite the composure in it. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” Aedarnir asked, trying not to sneer.

“I wasn’t sure. You can be very unpredictable. This night was an example of that.”

“Well, I came back. Why aren’t you asleep? It’s late.”

Brynjolf shrugged, watching Aedarnir remove most of his clothing. Already being ready for sleep, Brynjolf settled down into the bed as Aedarnir blew the single candle out. He then climbed into bed, tired and moderately grumpy. Once he settled, a silence came over the two of them. After a while, he was sure Brynjolf was asleep – that was until Brynjolf spoke.

“Did you want to talk about what happened earlier, lad?” Brynjolf asked, his voice a deep rumble.

Aedarnir scoffed. “Not really.”

“Let me rephrase, then. Do you need to talk about it?”

Sighing, Aedarnir pulled the blankets up further around his shoulders. “It’s fine, truly. I’m going to go see Aevia tomorrow morning before we leave and apologize.”

While Aedarnir could not see him Brynjolf did not seem contented with that answer. “You can be very erratic.”

Aedarnir laughed, dry and humourless. “Thanks, Brynjolf.”

“Yet, you seem aware that you’re doing it.”

“I am aware. That doesn’t mean I can stop myself. It just… happens.”

“I saw the look on your face, you also seem to enjoy it.”

“You know,” said Aedarnir, “I didn’t want to talk about it, and this is not making me feel any better. I think your bedside chat needs a little work.”

Brynjolf chuckled. The sound warmed Aedarnir. He felt a warm hand touch his upper arm and did not pull away as Brynjolf kept his hand there. They feel asleep like that.

When Aedarnir woke in the morning, he felt something on his hip. Upon exploring, he found it was Brynjolf’s hand. There wasn’t anything erotic about it; it was a reassuring kind of touch, a gesture of comfort. Aedarnir remained there for as long as he could without moving, not want to disturb the hand. When he felt Brynjolf stir and eventually pull the hand away, Aedarnir rolled out of the bed. He dressed himself in his leather armour, wanting to be prepared for the day’s travelling.

Brynjolf was somewhat more awake when Aedarnir left the room. He was not gone long, only going downstairs and getting them breakfast. He balanced the bowls and mugs of tea carefully as he made his way back upstairs. He could only knock on the door with his foot and listened to the footsteps as Brynjolf stepped to open it for him. Brynjolf was now in his armour too, though still looking slightly bleary eyed. Aedarnir wondered how much sleep he had gotten.

They sat together on the bed and ate in silence. Once they were finished, it was Aedarnir who spoke first, “Three more nights to Solitude?”

Brynjolf nodded, answering with, “If we hurried, we could make it in two full days. We don’t need to hurry though, we still have plenty of time before the gala.”

There was a knock at their door. As Brynjolf stood to answer it, Aedarnir had a sinking feeling. He swallowed his pride and stood up, waiting.

Aevia was on the other side of the door. She did not wear either her steel or ebony armour, instead opting for trousers, a white shirt and a heavy woollen shawl. She smiled warmly at Brynjolf, stepping inside. “Thank you,” she said to him, nodding. Brynjolf looked between the two and began to leave. Aevia held a hand out to stop him. “You can stay,” she insisted, “I’ll be quick, I know you two have to get on the road.”

She crossed the small distance between herself and her brother. Even without the imposing armour, her presence filled the room.

“I’m sorry,” Aedarnir said, quiet. “I know I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you’re an ass. There’s no denying that. But you’re still my little brother, and I hope that next time you come visit, things can be a little more civil between you and Vilkas.” She raised a hand to his cheek and smiled warmly. “I love you more than anyone else. Anything that happens between me and Vilkas, or me and anyone, isn’t going to change that.”

Aedarnir smiled and pulled her into a hug. It wasn’t often he was at a complete loss for words. She seemed to understand what he was trying to convey through the hug and was grinning when she stepped back. She turned to Brynjolf, who was still standing by the doorway. “It was nice meeting you,” she said to him. “I do hope we get to meet again.”

“And you.”

Aevia was walking to the door now and glanced back at Aedarnir with a wink. “Perhaps there’s still hope for my little brother.”

With that she was gone. Brynjolf closed the door, looking at Aedarnir expectantly.

“That’s a better way to leave than I hoped for,” Aedarnir admitted.

“The night gave everyone time to cool off. We should get going, lad. The sooner we begin, the better.”

They collected the horses from the stables. Daisy was pleased to see Aedarnir, excitement glowing in her dark eyes. The Khajiit caravan was gone, leaving only trampled ground and peg holes behind. Aedarnir had wanted to see them again before they left, but it clearly wasn’t to be.

The day was a bright one, with few clouds in the sky. This being Skyrim, it was still cold; the wind carried a bite. Despite the forgiveness Aevia had given him that morning, Aedarnir still felt guilt. He remained pensive through the day, and Brynjolf seemed to understand.

Rather than heading straight northward, they followed the roads. It was easier on the horses, and as Brynjolf said that morning, they had time. The road initially took them south, and then east; they knew it would lead them northward tomorrow.

They fell into a daily routine. Each evening, Aedarnir would tend to Daisy and Buttercup while Brynjolf organized their small camp. Once he had the fire wood assembled, Aedarnir would cast a small spell to light it. Brynjolf generally organized their food, and they ate together. In the morning, it was much the same; Brynjolf organized their food and rations for the day while Aedarnir readied the horses. The packed up the camp together and set off. It was a comfortable routine, without much fuss or discussion. Their travel during the day was pensive, the two opting to have long discussions at night instead.

The first two days and two nights passed without incident. There were more people and caravans of merchants traveling these roads than the ones before Whiterun, though none brought trouble with them. They did face a choice on the third day; either continue riding late into the night and arrive in Solitude or sleep at a normal time and arrive tomorrow morning. They choose the latter, deciding they had enough time.

The following morning, they arrived in Solitude. The city was a sight to behold as they approached, the harbour stretching out alongside the mountains and the Blue Palace stood proud against the cloudy sky. The horses were left in the stables, and Aedarnir and Brynjolf made the rest of the journey up the mountain on foot, their bags slung over their shoulders.

“Do you need to cover your face here, lad?” Brynjolf asked softly as they approached the intimidating gates. “You have mentioned in the passed that certain groups don’t particularly like you.”

Aedarnir pulled his hood up, making sure his face was covered before they had been seen by the guards. “The Dominion aren’t the only ones,” Aedarnir replied, “The Imperial Army attempted to recruit me. Don’t know if their leaders would like to see me around.”

“You have a way with people, you know that?”

“I refused Ulfric, I refused Tullius. This isn’t my homeland; I’m not going to get involved with their stupid civil war. I stopped Alduin, and that’s my job done. I don’t owe anyone anything else.”

Solitude’s guards paid little mind to them, merely nodding and opening the gates. Their eyes lingered longer on Aedarnir, probably due to the hood obscuring his features, but they said nothing and did not stop them.

Inside the gates, Solitude was as it always was. People bustled around, ignoring each other and going on with their business. There were children playing in the streets, laughing and chasing one another. It was a strange mixture of pompous and joyful.

They quickly found a clothing store, called the Radiant Raiment. Much to the disgust of the Altmer manning the store, they took their time in choosing their clothing; they needed fine clothes for this gala and a mask. Once they had picked out their clothes, and ordered some adjustments done so the garments would fit, they choose their masks. Brynjolf took one that was shaped to resemble a bird, with a curved metal beak and dark brown feathers along the rim. Aedarnir took a while longer deciding, opting for fox mask made of bronze. They paid the storekeeper generously and told her the clothing alterations had to be done by tomorrow. She agreed, pleased with the coin.

They found a room to stay in The Winking Skeever. There were few patrons in the tavern during the early afternoon, so Brynjolf and Aedarnir sat down for a mouthful to eat and a drink. They spoke quietly to each other, not trying to be secretive but also not be overheard.

“We should scout the location of the gala out,” said Aedarnir between mouthfuls of bread and cheese.

“I agree, but I believe we should do it under the cover of dark.”

“Sounds fine to me, and then the actual event is tomorrow night. What exactly are we going to be looking for in there?”

Brynjolf shrugged. “Anything really. Each guest and their plus one has been given a room for the night in the manor house. My idea was to pretend to get drunk, go to bed late, and then sneak back out and have a look around. By then, we should know what and who is worth targeting. All we need to do tonight then is identify escape routes and good places to hide our goods if needed.”

“I can work with that. So, we focus on jewels, jewellery and magic items?” Aedarnir asked.

Nodding, Brynjolf replied, “Any of that and anything else we can carry or fit in our bags. I suggest leaving very early in the morning.”

They waited until evening, and then waited a little while longer until it was closer to midnight. They did not wear their armour, opting for normal clothes so they would not look dangerous if they were caught. Cloaks on and hoods up, they set out from The Winking Skeever and quietly ventured further into Solitude. Brynjolf lead the way, Aedarnir following a few paces behind. Solitude had a strange aura at night; it was too quiet, too still. The occasional lunar moth flitted by, and guards were placed sporadically around the city. There was little other life, save the two thieves moving through the shadows.

The house Brynjolf eventually pointed out to Aedarnir could barely be called a house. He supposed it was a manor and wasn’t as lavish as some of the houses belonging to important Dunmer back in Blacklight, but there wasn’t much like it in the rest of Skyrim. It was more Imperial; the structure was pointed and tall than most Skyrim buildings, much like most of Solitude. It was adjacent to another building, but otherwise had plenty of space to all other sides. At the very least, it would be easy to escape from. Aedarnir’s main issue was getting to the horses, as the stable was some distance from Solitude, especially as this manor house was on the opposite side from the gates.

They spent twenty or so minutes having a look around, burning the images and locations into their memories. The longer they spent there, the more likely they would be discovered. Once they were done, they quietly returned to their room in The Winking Skeever.

“My worry is getting out of Solitude,” Brynjolf said once the door was shut and locked. “It’s a big city, with only one main way out.”

“I was thinking the same. The stable is a long way away, and I can’t use shouts all that often.”

“And they’re loud,” Brynjolf reminded him with a smile, “Very loud.”

Aedarnir laughed quietly and shrugged. He discarded his cloak and sat on the edge of the bed as he spoke. “Well, an emergency measure. I got you out of Windhelm, remember?”

“I remember. I also remember I broke my ribs because I followed you out a window.”

“It’s not my fault you’re not used to roof-running. It was my childhood.”

Brynjolf began removing his cloak, watching Aedarnir thoughtfully. Once his cloak was off his shoulders, Brynjolf stepped to the bed and stood before Aedarnir. After a moment, Aedarnir opened his mouth to ask what the other man was doing. He was interrupted by Brynjolf bending down and kissing him. It was gentle at first, almost questioning. When Aedarnir returned it, the kiss deepened. Aedarnir was somewhat surprised; they had not kissed since they left Whiterun. Aedarnir had quietly wondered to himself if Brynjolf was no longer interested. He would have understood, knowing his outbursts can be off-putting.

When Brynjolf finally pulled back, his hands cupped Aedarnir’s face. His green eyes were dark and unfocused for a moment, before their attention refocused on Aedarnir.

“I’m surprised,” Aedarnir admitted, not pulling away from the touch. He could feel how deep his voice was. “I thought I’d put you off.”

Brynjolf seemed confused for a moment before realization dawned on him. “No, you haven’t. No one is a saint.”

Aedarnir was unsure what to say. That seemed to be happening a lot recently. After a hesitant moment, he settled on, “I want you to take your shirt off.”

This amused Brynjolf, but he complied with a chuckle. Aedarnir’s face was cool as Brynjolf lifted away his warm hands. As Brynjolf removed his shirt, Aedarnir’s hands touched his ribs, running down both sides of his body until they reached his hips. He pulled Brynjolf back down for another kiss. That kiss was deeper than the first, its heat turning into friction along their bodies as Brynjolf pushed Aedarnir onto his back and leaned over him. Aedarnir was happy to let him lead. He felt Brynjolf’s hips buckle against him and chuckled quietly into the kiss.

Brynjolf pulled back, giving Aedarnir an amused look. “Why are you laughing?”

Before Aedarnir had the chance to reply, Brynjolf began kissing his jaw and trailing those kisses down his throat. Aedarnir arched into the touch, his hands finding Brynjolf’s hips and pulling him closer.

“I think I’m just enjoying having this finally happen,” Aedarnir admitted between husky breaths. “Being wanted is nice.”

Brynjolf reached his collarbone, sucking at the skin there for a blissful moment. Much to Aedarnir’s displeasure he then paused, tugging at Aedarnir’s shirt. The two removed it together, flinging it somewhere on the other side of the room before continuing. Aedarnir captured the other man’s lips for a moment before Brynjolf pulled away to resume kissing down Aedarnir’s collar bone. He nibbled at the collar bone for a few moments before moving further and further down, trailing kisses along the exposed skin of Aedarnir’s chest. The night was cold despite the attempts to heat the building, but Aedarnir’s body was rapidly warming from Brynjolf’s attention.

This warmth increased wildly as Brynjolf reached Aedarnir’s lower stomach. Once at the edge of his trousers, Brynjolf looked up in question. Aedarnir had propped himself up on one elbow to watch him with unfocused eyes. His other hand went to Brynjolf’s face, gently rubbing his thumb against his cheek. Brynjolf kissed the palm of his hand before returning his attention to Aedarnir’s trousers. He kissed his lower stomach while his hands worked on undoing the trousers’ buttons. Once undone, Aedarnir arched his hips up and let Brynjolf pull them down and then entirely off.

When Brynjolf’s lips wrapped around Aedarnir’s cock, he lay fully on his back and enjoyed the warmth spreading through him. A moan slipped from his lips and he felt Brynjolf’s soft chuckle vibrate through him. Aedarnir’s hips bucked unwillingly, seeking more of that warmth. Brynjolf obliged, his head bobbing up and down. Aedarnir was not sure how much time passed; it had been a while since he was last with someone and he was simply relishing the touch. When Brynjolf pulled away abruptly, Aedarnir frowned at him questioningly.

Brynjolf removed his own trousers before returning to the bed and leaning over Aedarnir for another kiss. After a moment Aedarnir broke the kiss, pushing Brynjolf to the side and onto his back. Aedarnir was above him now, legs entangled and hips together, and resume their kiss. His hand found his way down Brynjolf’s hip and to his cock, where he began to stroke and pump. He felt Brynjolf’s body react, his arms enveloping Aedarnir and trying to pull him closer even though they were already skin to bare skin. Evidently it had been a while for Brynjolf as well; his breathing soon became heavy and his hips moved in time to Aedarnir’s hand. Aedarnir kissed his lips, face and throat while he brought Brynjolf to the edge and over. He held a kiss against Brynjolf’s temple as the other finished, spilling himself over his own stomach.

Not waiting to clean up first, Brynjolf’s hand found Aedarnir’s own cock and began returning the favour. Aedarnir did not move from his tangle position on top of Brynjolf, too lost in the moment to care. Between the friction of rubbing himself against Brynjolf and seeing him orgasm – causing his orgasm – Aedarnir was already close. It did not take long until he moaned and finished over Brynjolf, the heat building up inside of him reaching climax.

For a long moment, the two simply stayed like that, both breathing loudly and still tangled. Eventually Aedarnir looked up from where he had tucked his head into Brynjolf’s shoulder. The two burst into laughter; it was pure joy, not because either found the situation funny.

The sweat on their bodies cooled quickly and prompted them to move. They found a rag and cleaned up before slipping under the covers of the bed together. Little was said, a quiet understanding forming between the two. Just before Aedarnir gave into sleep and warmth of being pressed against Brynjolf, he felt lips against his forehead and a quiet murmur against his skin.

Chapter Text

The gala took place the following evening, just as the sun was setting. For Aedarnir, watching the other guests was somewhat like looking at preening birds. Each wore a mask and no two were alike. Most masks were of animals; they ranged from cats to wolves, boars to bears, and horkers to fish. A handful stood out as particularly impressive. One woman wore a mask that looked to be made from porcelain, shaped into two impressive antlers which looked relatively heavy. Another of indeterminate gender wore a gilded mask depicting a roaring lion, its mane covering their entire head.

The masks were not the only reason this crowd appeared to Aedarnir like birds. The colours of their gowns and clothes made some look like peacocks. It was easy to separate Skyrim born folk from the Empire men and women; even among the wealthy and influential there were differences. For the most part, those from Skyrim tended to wear deep greens, reds and blues, whereas Empire or Aldmeri tended more toward silvers, golds and purples. These hunches were confirmed when they spoke and Aedarnir listened to the accents and cadence. It was like they were marking their heritage and showing off their family tree.

Aedarnir and Brynjolf walked among the group of guests lazily making their way inside the manor house. They blended into the crowd well with their recently bought and altered clothes. Aedarnir wore a forest green doublet with brass buttons and trims, the colours complimenting his fox mask. Aedarnir was thankful that the dress code required the masks, as he imagined just how many people associated with the Aldmeri and the Empire there could be here. His white hair was loose rather than bound, and he hoped that would aid in making him seem like just another Dunmer. Brynjolf wore a dark blue vest and a charcoal shirt. Together they made quite a pair as they blended into the crowd.

Each guest presented their invitation to the two servants waiting at the large, open double doors. Music and laughter made its way outside from the inside, and Aedarnir could already smell mixture of candles, food, perfume and wine.

Brynjolf produced and presented two invitations. Whether they were legitimate invitations or convincing forgeries, Aedarnir didn’t know. He didn’t care. One of the servants nodded and gave the letter back, and the other gestured for them the two to proceed inside.

They followed the previous guests through an antechamber filled with tapestries depicting mountain ranges and flowers. The antechamber then led them through a passageway before opening out into a huge hall. The centre of the hall was open and filled with couples dancing to the music of three bards situated at the back of the hall. Both sides of the hall had various arrangements of food, flowers in elaborate vases and bottles of wine and mead. The walls were covered with more tapestries and various sets of armour and weapons. The hall had two levels, with the two sets of stairs at both back corners leading up to a mezzanine floor which overlooked the dancing.

Aedarnir led them to the left, where they could grab a drink and begin to blend in. As he poured them both a wine, Brynjolf looked out around the crowd. “Some have half masks like us,” he noted quietly. Half mask wasn’t quite true, it covered about two thirds of their faces but left the mouth and some of the lower jaw exposed. “Others have full masks, and they’ll drink less because of it.”

“I’m not worried,” Aedarnir replied, putting the wine bottle down and grabbing a nut from a nearby bowl and popping it in his mouth. “They still have impaired vision, especially those with the full masks.”

He gave Brynjolf his drink before turning to obverse the crowd with him. More people were flooding into the hall in a spectrum of moving colours, many greeting one another or immediately beginning to dance or drink.

“See anyone you may know, lad?” Brynjolf asked softly, leaning in close to be heard over the music but not overheard by other guests.

Aedarnir shrugged. “Hard to tell, to be entirely honest. I suppose that’s the point of the masks.”

“Some people clearly know each other.”

“Friends, probably. Told each other about their masks or showed them off.”

Both of their attentions were drawn from the dance floor to the stairs at the back of the hall. Two people descended, a woman and a man. They wore matching masks, golden and styled to resemble a sabre cat, its long fangs framing their cheeks and handing half way down their throats. The two briefly surveyed the dance floor, before taking one another’s hands and joining the dancers.

“Our hosts,” said Brynjolf, looking away from them. “I advise we avoid them.”

Aedarnir chuckled. “Noted.”

There was not going to be much thieving at the beginning of the evening. People weren’t drunk enough, their awareness of one another too high. Instead, Aedarnir watched and took note of those who may be good to target. Those who drank too quickly, who seems to be less aware of their surroundings, and who wore jewellery dangerously loose.

Brynjolf and Aedarnir first danced together, inserting themselves into the mixture of people. They soon separated; Aedarnir figured they could cover more ground and seem less suspicious apart, even if he had enjoyed the closeness of the dancing with Brynjolf. After last night, Aedarnir had to force his mind not to wander to other activities while they were physically so close. They were technically working a job, however, and should not be complacent. Being discovered, especially for Aedarnir, would be bad. He was much more recognizable than Brynjolf, and there were people in Solitude who knew him. Aedarnir decided to keep his mind in order and think about any pleasurable activities once they were away from the manor.

Over the next couple hours, Aedarnir danced, drank and made conversation with strangers. He acted more intoxicated than he truly was, making people drop their guard around him. There was a group of four young women who all wanted to dance with him, taking turns and giggling the whole time. At another point he began speaking with a merchant who was similar to his own age, and somehow managed to hold a conversation about the war economy and how Skyrim folks were struggling to purchase expensive imported goods brought about by the uncertain markets. Once Aedarnir freed himself from that conversation, he found himself speaking to a Dunmer woman. When she questioned him upon hearing his accent, he gave her only half truths. He told her he was from Blacklight, but omitted why he left, and said simply that there were ‘new opportunities’ in Skyrim. She did not seem suspicious of him, merely disappointed he was not from a Great House.

While all of this was going on, Aedarnir constantly glanced around the hall. He kept an eye on the hosts, subtly avoiding them for fear of being discovered. He also made sure no one was paying too much attention to him or watching him. Mostly, however, he looked for Brynjolf. Sometimes he saw Brynjolf locked in conversation, other times dancing with someone. Occasionally their gazes would meet and there was a smile or nod of acknowledgement. It sent a tingle through Aedarnir each time.

After another hour or so of mingling, some of the heavier drinkers began showing just how intoxicated they were. Aedarnir was beckoned to dance with a woman he had mentally noted earlier. She seemed to be an Imperial, wearing a pale purple gown and a silver cat mask. Placing down his drink, Aedarnir went to her and together they danced to the lively song the bards currently played. While the dance did not last long, for the young woman seemed about to fall over any moment, Aedarnir did manage his first steal of the night. Just as the song and their dance ended, Aedarnir twisted her around; as they parted, he managed to slip her already loose gold bracelet from her wrist. She spun into another man, who seemed to be her partner, and did not pay any more notice to Aedarnir. He pocketed the bracelet without anyone noticing, simply pretending to adjust his clothes as he hid it away.

This started Aedarnir’s slow, quiet gathering of anything of value he could pocket. It included earrings which had fallen out and lay unnoticed and various bracelets and broaches which came loose. Many of the women wore pearls or gems sewn into their dresses; some were loose enough for Aedarnir to simply pull off while he danced with them. He was careful, of course. Never taking more than he could pocket or abandoning an attempt if he believed someone was watching. He also did not want his pockets to look too full, as that too could draw attention. Even though what he stole was small, the pieces were often very valuable. He dared not attempt to take anything from their hosts, however tempting it may be.

Eventually he found his way back to Brynjolf, nearly falling over him on the dance floor. As he swept the other thief up into a dance, he heard Brynjolf snort a laugh. Aedarnir leaned in and murmured quietly, “I’m not as drunk as you think.” Acting drunk made people less likely to watch any strange movements or shuffling of clothing.

“Oh, I believe you, lad. It’s just funny watching you like this. Enjoying yourself?”

“I’m having a blast. You?”

“Of course.”

Aedarnir was suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss Brynjolf but was blocked by the other man’s mask. The beak that hooked downward would make any attempt awkward and may possibly knock Brynjolf’s mask off. Instead, Aedarnir settled for the closeness of the dancing.

It was around this time that servants began showing various men and women upstairs. These tended to be the more drunk people, and those who were less drunk seemed to decline. When the hosts left the hall, the music became slower and somewhat quieter. Dancing lessened and turned into people standing around with drinks in hand, simply talking.

Brynjolf gave Aedarnir a look before joining a group to talk. Aedarnir, getting the hint that there would not be much more to steal from these people, walked unsteadily to one of the tables with food and wine. He began pouring himself a glass of wine, before ‘accidently’ dropping it and watching it shatter across the floor. He yelped and stepped back from the broken class and spilled wine, looking around for help. Two servants came rushing, and he saw Brynjolf excuse himself from the group.

One of the women in that group watched Brynjolf go, and through her bear-like mask her eyes seemed to the linger on Aedarnir. He tried not to stare back, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she knew something.

“Did you cut yourself?” Brynjolf asked, placing a hand on Aedarnir’s back. The convincingness of Brynjolf’s sincerity was somewhat startling.

Aedarnir shook his head, pretending to lose his balance for a moment.

One of the servants looked between the two of them as she stood from collecting the glass onto a towel. “Would you gentlemen like to be shown upstairs?”

“Yes, I’d appreciate that,” Brynjolf replied with a nod.

The servant whisked the glass shards off, and swiftly returned to take them upstairs. They passed many doors, some of which had various talking and other, more intimate sounds coming from them, and eventually came to an open wooden door. Brynjolf guided Aedarnir inside, and once the door was closed, the two sighed in relief.

Aedarnir removed his mask and rubbed his face, glad to be free of the thing. It was heavy, and his face felt strangely light without it. Brynjolf did the same and pinched the bridge between his eyes.

“I don’t like this beak,” he mumbled.

“Was it worth it?”

Brynjolf grinned. From somewhere in his vest he pulled out a long string of pearls, the centre pearls some of the largest Aedarnir had ever seen. Laughing, Aedarnir shook his head. “How?”

“I have my ways, lad.”

Aedarnir placed his mask on the little table near the entranceway and surveyed the room. It was nice, but not extravagantly so; there was a bed with a good oak frame, various lit candles and a chest. There was a window, which Aedarnir walked to and looked out. They were on the second story of the manor, and they could get down, but it wouldn’t be a fun climb. Aedarnir was slightly more adept than Brynjolf at climbing as well.

Brynjolf sat on the bed just behind Aedarnir and said, “I reckon we wait about two or three hours, and then make our way home. I saw some ornaments that may be worth taking in the hall, if we aren’t disturbed by any guards or servants.”

“Home?” Aedarnir said with a smile, stepping to Brynjolf and standing before him.

“Slip of the tongue, lad. My home, with the Guild.”

Gently, Aedarnir ran his hands over Brynjolf’s shoulders, making their way up to the back of his head. “I’ve been thinking about your Guild. It’s not all galas and drinking, is it?”

“There’s a lot of drinking, not so many galas. But we’re not just small-time thieves, stealing from pockets on the streets. There are bigger jobs like this kind, too.”

Aedarnir looked at him carefully, and spoke just as cautiously, “And if I said yes to joining?”

“You can pick which jobs you do, as long as you’re not too fussy and actually do some, and you can come and go as you please. Dragonborn business, and all that,” Brynjolf said and smiled. “It can be a sort of home base for you, if you want, lad. You don’t seem to have many roots down anywhere else.”

“It never seemed right, or no place ever seemed right. Whiterun is nice, but that’s Aevia’s home. Never seemed like mine. But I guess Riften is nice too,” Aedarnir grinned as he spoke, “And I guess if there’s something to look forward to coming home too…” He kissed Brynjolf. The kiss ended up with Brynjolf on his back and Aedarnir over him.

No matter how lovely, the kiss was cut short. There was a knock at their door which sent them bolting apart. Aedarnir scrambled for their masks, covering his face and threw Brynjolf his mask. Using his body to block the doorway as Brynjolf slipped his mask on, Aedarnir opened the door.

The woman in the bear mask, who had been watching them, waited a few feet from the door.

“Can I help you?” Aedarnir said, barely remembering to put a small slur in his voice.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” she said, and spoke with a mixture of a Skyrim and Imperial accent. “Can I speak with you?”

Aedarnir glanced back at Brynjolf, who simply stared back, before going through the door and closing it behind. “Of course,” Aedarnir said. She nodded and led him away from the door. They only went twenty or so feet before they were on the mezzanine floor overlooking the hall.

“Did you have a good evening?” The woman said, resting her elbows on the rail that protected them from falling onto the dance floor. Aedarnir tried to place the voice – it was familiar – but he found himself unable.

“I did,” he replied tersely, “You?”

“You seem to have sobered up quickly.”

Aedarnir ground his teeth. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

“You’re from Morrowind, correct? Your accent is very thick. Not many people with a voice like that around here.”

“Maybe not many, but it’s not exactly a rarity either.”

She shrugged and looked at him with hard eyes. “Have you ever met the Dragonborn? Very similar accent. Similar tone, too.”

Aedarnir’s heart stopped for a moment, but his mouth somehow managed to keep up while his brain numbed. “No, I’ve not met him. Contrary to belief, not all Dunmer know each other. You must be in an important line of work to have met him.”

She didn’t reply, instead just staring at him. He bit down on his tongue hard as he fought not to say more. For a long, tense moment, the two stood in tense silence. Then she pushed herself off the rail, nodded, and began walking away. As soon as she was out of touching distance, he turned sharply and walked quietly back to his and Brynjolf’s room.

He all but slammed the door. Brynjolf stopped his pacing around the room, his mask discarded again, and he stared at Aedarnir.

“We have to go,” Aedarnir said breathlessly, throwing off his own mask.

“What happened?” Brynjolf hissed quietly, stepping to Aedarnir.

“She knows who I am. Didn’t say anything about you or thieving anything, but if she tells anyone who may want to see me – that’s, well, not good. I feel she may be linked to Tullius. I’m sure he would like to see me again, and I’m sure an Aldmeri puppet would also like to have a little chat. Eating dragon souls is a good way to get attention around here.”

Brynjolf was nodding and pulling him toward the window. “I guess we’re not getting those ornaments. Are you ready, lad?”

Instead of replying, Aedarnir went first out of the window. He was careful not to move in a way that would knock anything valuable out of their hiding places all around his person. Aedarnir had to drop the last two meters and landed with a thump on his feet. He glanced around, making sure none had seen him in the dark while Brynjolf carefully climbed down.

They moved quietly down the side of the manor before coming out onto the street. The air cool and brisk, and the town was near silent at this time of night. The torches the guards carried gave away their location and allowed for easy avoiding. That was until they heard a bell, and the sounds of shouting. Their pace quickened until they were sprinting through the streets, aiming toward where they stashed their traveling goods. Rather than keeping it in the inn, they found an unused barrel and hoped no one would open in.

“Stop!” A voice shouted from behind them, “In the name of General Tullius, stop!”

Aedarnir swore. Of course, Tullius wanted to see him again; probably trying to convince him to fight the Stormcloaks. The woman had definitely been one of his people. The idea only made him run faster.

They found the barrel and slung their goods over their shoulders. The packs, cloaks and other goods were already rolled into easy to carry bundles, in case of this kind of swift departure.

They made their way to the gates, where the on duty guards were beginning to realize something was wrong.

“Do you trust me?” Aedarnir yelled to Brynjolf.

Brynjolf nodded feverishly. “Of course! Any plan would be good.”

Aedarnir turned, seeing multiple guards and a handful of Imperials chasing them. He held out his hand and willed his magic to conjure a Flame Atronach. It sprung from the ground, twisting and turning. At his silent command it began flinging balls of fire at the pursuing guards.

He and Brynjolf continued to run. They were nearly at the gates, where two armed guards were waiting and commanding them to halt. Aedarnir did not slow down, and seeing this, neither did Brynjolf. Aedarnir breathed in deeply and breathed out a Shout. The unrelenting force Shout ripped through the air, slamming the two guards into the gates. Between this and the Shout itself, the gates buckled, and parts collapsed. It was enough to get Aedarnir and Brynjolf through, leaving the guards behind to deal with the Atronach.

It was a long run down to the stables. They somehow managed to make it there before any guards, and quickly saddled their horses. Daisy was pleased to see Aedarnir, though was somewhat confused that they were doing riding at night. She sensed his adrenaline and pawed at the ground. The saddling was quick, however, and just as the stablemaster came stumbling out of his house in confusion, they rode off.

The journey was fast for the first hour and a half, then a more normal pace after that. Aedarnir didn’t think Tullius was desperate enough for him that he would waste any more effort on it. The man wasn’t a fool, even if Aedarnir didn’t want anything to do with him.

“You sure know how to make an explosive exit, lad,” Brynjolf said with a sigh. Even in the dark, Aedarnir could see the faint smile on his face. “It was like Windhelm all over again. Minus some broken ribs.”

Aedarnir grinned widely. “I got us out of there, didn’t I?”

“Aye, you did. And I’m glad for it, otherwise it would have been on some roofs and then over the walls.”

They pulled their mounts to the side of the road, and then into the woods for more shelter. They found a little cove in some rocks, hidden with enough foliage to be suitable. There were no recent tracks of wild animals that Aedarnir could see so they dismounted. Opting for a small amount of sleep instead of completely exhausting themselves, they bedded down for the night but kept the horses saddled. They may need a quick escape, but Aedarnir thought it unlikely now.

“So, we sleep for a few hours and wake before dawn,” Aedarnir said, settling down with all his clothes still on. Brynjolf settled beside him, the ground uncomfortable and cold but their bodies together with their bedrolls producing enough heat to at least be comfortable.

“Sounds like a plan. I’m going to Riften,” Brynjolf said softly, looking at Aedarnir through the dim light. “Will you come with me?”

Aedarnir knew what that meant. He smiled and shrugged. “No where else to go. If we get to do stuff like this again, no matter how tense, I’m in.”

“You enjoy the adrenaline, don’t you?”

“And you don’t?”

“I do,” Brynjolf admitted, giving him a grin. “Welcome to the Thieves’ Guild, lad. I hope it does become a home for you. I think you need one.”

“We’ll see. At the very least,” Aedarnir said softly, giving him a kiss in between the words. “You’ll be there, and I’m glad for that.”