Little She-Bear's Skyrim blog

“This better not be another waste of the Guild’s resources, Brynjolf.” Mercer feels the crease between his eyebrows grow deeper as he recalls the previous efforts of his second to increase their numbers. He appreciates the effort Brynjolf puts into growing their ‘family,’ as he would call it, especially in their current circumstances, but Mercer doesn’t think he can take having to fix the mistakes of one more ‘thief’ who doesn’t know what they’re doing. The soft sound of Brynjolf’s new protege awkwardly shuffling snaps him back from the memory of having to pay off another guard less than a week after he was last in this position, and he angles himself toward them for the first time.

“Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you walk away rich,” He begins the same spiel he’s given a thousand times over, not bothering to take in the appearance of the new figure in front of him. Chances are they’ll be nonexistent to him this time next week, whether dead or jailed. “You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions…you do what we say, when we say. Do I make myself clear?”

He does bother to look properly at them then. And oh, shit.

Shit.

He can almost feel himself growing hard at the mere sight of her. A breton, like himself, yet so unlike any other living thing he’s seen before. Shaggy black hair hangs around her face and falls to her shoulders like a cloak of shadows. Grey eyes peek out from beneath her messy bangs, sparkling softly like stars in the dim light, and focused entirely on him. Her cheekbones are sharp and he wonders how it would feel to cup her face and slice his hand on them. Her lips look so soft and full, he almost struggles to pay attention to what comes out of them as she replies;

“Rules? We’re thieves. What’s the point of rules?” she cocks her head to the side in honest wonder.

Great, another one of those types, he thinks. His least favourite recruits to deal with are the cocky bastards who stroll in thinking they can do whatever they want and answer to no soul. “I’ll let that comment go because you’re new here. Ask things out of turn again, and we have a problem. Now, are we clear on all of this?” he says with a snarl. He’s sure Brynjolf is giving him a disapproving “go easy on her” look, they’ve been in this same scene enough to know without looking at him. But Mercer’s tired of going easy, tired of the lack of respect from both new recruits and longtime guild members, and tired of people holding him responsible for the recent failure of the empire he’s spent close to 30 years trying to build up.  What use is there in softening his tone to make someone who’s already disappointed him feel welcome?

“Yes, I understand,” is all she says.

Mercer’s a little surprised by her sudden submission. There’s usually sarcasm, a scoff and an eye roll as the very least, if not blatant disagreement from those who question his way of running things, but not from her. There’s only acceptance and understanding. It’s…confusing. “Good,” he gets out, ensuring none of his feelings show. “Then I think it’s time we put your expertise to the test.”

“Wait a moment, you’re not talking about Goldenglow, are you?” asks Brynjolf, perceptive as ever. “Even our little Vex couldn’t get in.” The look of concern on his face is laughable. “You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let her prove it,” is all Mercer says in reply. He knows he’s being unreasonable sending someone who looks to have little experience in thieving to Goldenglow, but he needs her gone. Something about her makes him uneasy, not to mention she’s clearly someone who asks too many questions, and he’s not about to let some new weakling get to him just because she’s pretty.

No. What the fuck is he thinking. He’s gone his whole life without seeing anything other than his beloved gems as pretty and he’s certainly not about to start now. Then again, the epitome of the night sky herself is standing before him with her eyes still locked relentlessly on him. How could he describe her as anything but pretty? 

God, he needs to get back to Riftweald and spend some time with himself, clearly it’s been too long.

“Brynjolf will provide you with the details,” he turns back to the recruit, pushing his stupid carnal needs down to deal with later. For now he has work to do, and plans to make. He turns to make his way back to his desk, shaking the unsettlement out of his head before Brynjolf stops him. “Mercer, aren’t you forgetting something?” “Hmm?” he growls at his second who subtly inclines his head towards the girl still standing there. “Oh, yes. ”

 “Since Brynjolf assures me you’ll be nothing but a benefit to us, then you’re in.” He sees no point in all this when the girl is about to die at Goldenglow anyway, but it’s beneficial to still appear as a good Guildmaster. And there can’t be any harm in learning her name…

“Welcome to the Thieves Guild…”

“Amethyst.”

“Amethyst…” he rolls the name across his tongue, testing the flavour and deciding it disgusts him. He leaves Brynjolf to give her the Goldenglow details, and revels in the knowledge he’ll never have to see her again. 

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