WELP I very much did not finish the fic I was writing for TES Gala. I do plan on posting it when it's finished, but in the meantime I can share the thing I did finish: A pattern for a tablet-woven Eye of Nocturnal belt!
I started getting interested in tablet weaving about a year ago after falling down a viking clothing rabbit hole, and this past christmas my very lovely older sibling got me some basic supplies and I've been noodling around with it for a while now! As previously noted, I am a strong believer that the Thieves' Guild symbol used in Skyrim is meant to represent the Eye of Nocturnal. My evidence:
It kinda looks like an eye.
The Skyrim guild has long running ties to Nocturnal.
That's it.
Since the theme of the gala was "Daedra and Divines," I thought I should make use of this compelling evidence (and weaponize my obsession with my guildmaster LDB Mailie) and do... something with that. And therein lies the connection: Tablet weaving is very good at symmetrical geometric designs, and the Guild shadowmark is just that.
(p.s. if you're super confused about wtf I'm talking about, check out Lady Elewys of Finchingefeld for info on tablet weaving. It's overall a pretty inexpensive craft and very fun. TL;DR, it's a form of weft-faced weaving that's been practiced pretty much globally, but is frequently associated strongly with the viking era.)
I decided that when Mailie attended The Gala™️, she would wear a belt woven with the Eye. While she has complicated feelings about her status as a Nightingale, her relationship with Nocturnal is one of mutual respect. Furthermore, the Guild is incredibly important to Mailie, and I think she would relish the opportunity to represent it, even in a rather subtle way.
This has already ended up longer than I intended, so I'm putting the info on the pattern itself under the cut.
The version of the pattern I'm focusing on here is probably not wide enough to make a belt, unless you used very thick thread or were okay with a very thin belt. I wove a couple inches with laceweight cotton crochet thread, and it's about 1.3 cm/0.5 in wide. You could easily add some extra stripes on the outside to make it thicker if desired.
You can find the pattern here on twisted threads, or I've included some images below.
Threading chart
Weaving design
Woven band
(side note: I learned a different notation for threading than what twisted threads uses and that caused some confusion when I went to weave, so be aware of that if you happen to try this out for yourself. this pattern should work if you actually do your set up the way the website tells you to and don't try to wing it like me.)
The end design is not a perfect representation of the shape I'm going for, but I think to get a more elongated design you need to either have a pattern way beyond my ability to design or use 6-holed tablets. Regardless, I'm not doing that. While not perfect, I think this gets the idea across.
If you've made it this far, thanks for reading! I'm going to put up another version of this post on my main which includes the more complex version I made of this design, which I will link here when posted. Enjoy a picture of my attempt at this as your reward for reading my long ass post. Mistakes were made.
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Brynjolf awoke in a comfortable darkness. While he could not deny the appeal of a warm beam of sunlight, he'd spent enough time underground that a bit of damp and pitch blackness were just fine. Sleepily, he reached out to the other side of the bed, seeking the warmth he knew would lie there. When, however, he found nothing but cold blankets, he snapped from drowsiness to awakened clarity. He bolted upright, quickly looking around to confirm that the bed was empty apart from him.
"Lass?" Brynjolf called softly. Hearing no answer, he swung his legs out of bed. He grabbed a shirt from the floor and hurriedly pulled it over his head before shoving his feet into his boots and heading into the hallway beyond the door. He was relieved to see it unlit and to hear no conversations from its other end, meaning he hadn't overslept or otherwise missed some major commotion.
He headed down the hallway at a brisk pace. Along the way, he paused as he caught a whiff of cold air. He glanced up and peered through the grate above his head. Through the slats in the metal could just barely make out the stars twinkling in the distant sky. It was still nighttime, then, as he'd suspected. So why had his bed been empty?
He turned a corner. He was nearly to the cistern; hopefully he'd find some answers there. He was just about to take the final turn needed to reach his destination when he realized one of the rooms he'd just passed was illuminated from within.
Brynjolf turned around and approached the door. This was the Guildmaster's office. The light poking out from underneath the door was faint, but it was there. With a lingering sense of anxiety he couldn't quite place, he reached out and pushed open the door.
The office was lit by a single candle sitting on the desk. A few neat stacks of books and paper littered its surface, and the heavy metal strongbox still sat in the far corner of the room. In that sense, the room seemed undisturbed. But just behind the desk, a woman crouched on the floor, back turned to the door as she rifled through a bag.
"Mailie," Brynjolf said quietly.
The woman jumped, startled, then let out a string of curses as her bag toppled over. "Gods' sake, Bryn, you scared me have to death," she said, scooping up the spilled contents.
Brynjolf looked at the items as Mailie deposited them back in her bag. Rope. A whetstone. A pair of knitted stockings. A small paper package tied with string. His eyes moved to the sword buckled to Mailie's waist, and the bow and quiver resting on the chair next to her.
"You're going somewhere," he said. It wasn't a question.
Mailie straightened. "I am." She looked at Brynjolf without quite meeting his eyes. Something-- guilt, maybe?-- seemed to cloud her vision.
Brynjolf closed the door and stepped further into the room. Mailie's arms crossed in front of her as he approached, but she did not back away. Her face was set like stone. Brynjolf recognized that look; It was one of grim determination, and only came out when things had gone very, very wrong.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Dragon attack." For the first time, Brynjolf noticed the small folded parchment near the edge of the desk. "So far it's only hit a fort, but it's been spotted circling a village. I have to deal with it."
"When did you find out about this?" Brynjolf wracked his brain, but he couldn't think of anything from the previous day that suggested Mailie had been preoccupied. She was a much better liar than she once had been, but she wasn't that good. At least, he didn't think she was.
"Just hours ago." She leaned against the edge of the desk. "The messenger didn't arrive in the city until nightfall. Apparently he was quite insistent that he needed to speak with me as soon as possible. Sapphire had to come wake me."
Brynjolf furrowed his brow. "I didn't hear anyone come in."
"That's because you sleep like a cave bear," Mailie replied. "And snore twice as loud. She never did come in, anyway. I woke up at the knock on the door."
"Even through my snoring?"
An eyeroll broke through Mailie's grave expression, and Brynjolf smiled. It always worried him to see her this serious, especially since these things usually ended with Mailie throwing herself onto one sword or another.
"Somehow, I managed," she said dryly. "Regardless, from the jarl's letter it seems to be quite urgent."
Brynjolf put his hand on the edge of the desk, the tips of his fingers a hair's breadth away from Mailie's. He couldn't say he was thrilled by this turn of events. If it were up to him, the jarls of Skyrim would find another hero to come crawling to every time they needed another giant or cave full of bandits dispatched. Unfortunately, dragons were a different matter. He could only hope that Laila wasn't sending Mailie too far. "Which tower was attacked? I'm surprised we didn't hear there's been trouble."
Mailie's breath hitched. "It's in Falkreath."
Brynjolf's hand tightened around the table. "Tell me Siddgeir's sending guards."
"You know he isn't."
"Go through Whiterun and take Lydia."
"There's no time for that." Mailie met his eyes, defeated. "Bryn, you know that I--"
"Don't say you have to go." His voice sounded angrier than he'd expected, but he couldn't find it in him to care. "You don't have to do any of this. You choose to run headlong into danger at the first distress call without the slightest thought as to your own safety."
"I didn't choose this," Mailie bit back. "I didn't choose to be dragonborn any more than I chose to be born. This is my lot, whether I like it or not. I'm the only one who can protect the people of Skyrim from this, and I have a responsibility to do so."
"You have a responsibility to the Guild as well." The words fell out of Brynjolf's mouth before he could think about them. "When we made you Guildmaster, you swore to protect this place and these people. You'll have a hard time doing that on the other side of the bloody country." Without even realizing it, he'd edged closer and closer to Mailie with every word, until he was inches from her face.
Mailie didn't flinch. "I beg your pardon?"
There were times that Brynjolf found Mailie's stubbornness endearing, attractive even. Other times it made him swell with pride. Time like these, however, it only made his heart lurch in his throat. Mailie's face was close enough now that he could feel every breath as it left her lungs. "A Guildmaster doesn't fuck off to go on another adventure every other week."
Mailie's eyes narrowed. "I don't think I appreciate your implication, Brynjolf. I'll remind you of who you have to thank for the Guild's success." She turned away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dragon to kill."
Brynjolf was fast running out of ideas. "You can't," he said desperately. Mailie ignored him as she picked up her bow and quiver. "Lass."
Mailie picked her pack up from the floor. With a sigh, she turned back and looked at Brynjolf. "Bryn, when have I ever let you tell me what to do?"
Brynjolf didn't really know why he did it. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe he was finally out of ideas. But without thinking, before Mailie could reach the door, he pulled her in and kissed her.
Mailie's hand landed on his shoulder, and for a moment he was certain she was about to push him away. But then her fingers curled around his upper arm and she pulled him in, deeper into the kiss. He let one arm slip around her waist and another up to her shoulders, fingers tangling in her hair. She was so close, Brynjolf was sure she could feel his heart beating.
Their lips separated, though just barely. Brynjolf tilted his head forward and touched it to Mailie's. "You don't have to do this," he whispered.
She closed her eyes. "You know that I do," she said quietly, voice resigned. "I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice." His thumb rubbed circles into her side. "You can stay, lass."
"Not if I want to sleep at night." For the first time that night, Brynjolf realized just how tired Mailie looked. She'd likely only slept a couple of hours before being woken. "Those people are undefended, Bryn. The jarl won't send men to save them, and even if he did, it wouldn't be enough. I'm their only hope. I've done this before, and I'll do it again."
"And what if you can't?" Brynjolf asked. He swallowed, trying to ignore the burning in his throat. "What if you don't make it back? The Guild is depending on you, Mailes. We can't lose you."
She pulled back. "We?"
He sighed. "I. I can't lose you." He tried to blink away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but when they closed, he couldn't bring himself to open them again. He was just about to pull away completely when he felt Mailie's hand on his face.
Her thumb wiped away the tear that had escaped down his cheek. "I don't like this any more than you do." She brought their foreheads back together. "But it's necessary."
"What if I came with you?" Brynjolf offered in a scratchy voice. "I'm not too shabby with a blade and bow."
"No." Mailie's voice was soft, but firm. "I need you here, with the Guild." She pulled his head down into another kiss.
Brynjolf forced his eyes back open when they parted. He watched Mailie blink away the welling in the corners of her eyes and shake her head, as if ridding herself of any remaining doubt. He wracked his brain for something even remotely clever or profound to say, but found himself coming up blank. "I love you," he finally managed.
"I love you, too." Mailie kissed him on the nose and stepped back. "I should go."
He watched as she swung her pack over her shoulders and picked up her bow. "If you decide to rob anyone along the way, try not to get caught."
Mailie rolled her eyes. "Only if you promise to keep the Guild somewhat organized while I'm gone."
a sweet little ficlet about Mailie and Bryn as new parents, with the tiniest sprinkle of angst.
The darkness hung around Mailie like a blanket as she stirred. She lay comfortably amongst the gloom as sleep receded and her senses sharpened, not quite resisting consciousness, but certainly not embracing it. Eventually, though, she pried her eyes open and blinked into the darkness.
Outside her window, the city slept. Riften was never truly silent, but in the dead of night it settled into a peaceful quiet. In her still half-asleep state, Mailie listened to the flowing of water, the creaking of old wood, and a soft, gentle singing.
Singing. That was a new one. Mailie pushed back the quilt and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached for the candle sitting on her bedside table and lit it with a pinch of the wick, then paused for a moment to listen. There it was again: a soft, low voice, singing a melody she couldn't quite pick out. So it wasn't her imagination, then.
Mailie stood from the bed and retrieved her robe from the chair she'd left it on the previous evening. With it wrapped securely around her shoulders to protect her from the night's chill, she picked up the candle walked carefully to the door. She opened it slowly, trying to mitigate the risk of creaking, and stepped cautiously into the hallway. Out here, the singing was more clear, and she could begin to make out the words.
"...With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes."
She padded down the hallway, the song growing louder with every step. She stopped in front of a wooden door. With a firm grip on the candle, she eased the door open to reveal the source of the sound.
Inside, a man stood near the center of the room with his back turned to Mailie. He swayed gently back and forth, holding something in his arms as he sang the last lines of the song.
"For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.
You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come..."
Mailie set the candle down on a table and shut the door behind her. "Bryn," she said softly.
Brynjolf looked over his shoulder at her. As his torso twisted, she could just see the tiny sleeping form in his arms. "Did I wake you?"
"No." Mailie walked to him and rested her hand on his shoulder. "'The Dragonborn Comes?' Really?"
"She wouldn't sleep," he said defensively.
"I gathered as much." Mailie looked down into the bundle held in her husband's arms. Blessedly, Phoebe now lay still, her eyes closed and her breaths steady. As so often happened when she looked at her baby daughter, something deep and unknowable churned in Mailie's chest. It was love, she knew that much. But it was a different kind of love, something vast and consuming that brought tears to her eyes if she thought on it too long. She blinked, trying to clear her head. "That doesn't explain the choice of song."
Brynjolf looked at her a little sheepishly. "I want her to know who her mother is."
Mailie frowned. "I think she'll know who I am regardless," she muttered. "It's not exactly a secret." She leaned her head against Brynjolf's shoulder.
He kissed the top of her head. "I know, lass. But I want her to be proud of you. Like I am. Like we all are."
Mailie didn't know how to respond to that. She stayed there for a few moments, watching Phoebe's chest move with every tiny breath. After a minute or so, she gently placed her hand on Brynjolf's arm. "May I?"
Brynjolf nodded. Ever so carefully, he handed Mailie their sleeping baby. Just as she was depositied into her mother's arms, Phoebe stirred. Mailie held her breath, praying to every god she could think of that she wouldn't awake. After a moment, Phoebe stilled and settled, and Mailie breathed a sigh of relief.
Mailie sat in the chair next to Phoebe's cradle. "My darling girl," she whispered, kissing her forehead. As the words left her lips, she felt a familiar pang of guilt as she was reminded that she had two daughters already, sleeping just down the hall. Sofie and Lucia had never given her any reason to believe that they resented the baby, but there was a part of Mailie that always worried. Worried that the older girls felt ignored, or replaced, or worse, that they had once again been abandoned. It was irrational, and Mailie knew it, but she just couldn't shake the guilt.
Brynjolf sat on the bench beside her. His arm rested comfortably on the back of the chair, brushing against Mailie. "You're good at this." His fingers drew patterns on Mailie's shoulder. "Being their mother."
"Am I?" Mailie murmured. She didn't tend to feel like it.
Brynjolf leaned in and kissed her temple. "Aye. You love them. You listen to them. You keep them safe." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "I know you don't like to think of yourself as anyone's hero, Mailes. But that's what a hero does. You protect them. Like you protect the Guild. Like you protect Skyrim."
The cynical part of Mailie's brain wanted to point out the times that she had failed to protect Skyrim. The list was far too long to count. But she knew that wasn't the point. Instead, she looked down at the tiny form held in her arms. Phoebe's face was peaceful, twitching slightly as she breathed. Mailie knew it was too early to tell, but she would have sworn that her daughter had Brynjolf's nose.
"We should let her sleep," Mailie said. "We'll wake her if we keep talking like this." She stood and placed Phoebe gently in her cradle. She stirred slightly when Mailie adjusted her swaddle, but did not wake. Brynjolf ducked down and kissed her head, murmuring something Mailie couldn't quite hear. They both then retreated from the room and carefully shut the door behind them.
They returned to the bedroom and crawled back into bed and under the quilt. Mailie smiled as she felt Brynjolf's arm wrap around her waist and pull her in close. Before long, the heat of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her back began to lull her into slumber. As she slipped once more into sleep, she heard his voice singing softly into her ear.
"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.
You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come."
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the only TES fic I currently have in the pipeline is mailie/brynjolf smut... so here's the sfw part of that.
Mailie's shoulders were killing her.
Her entire body was killing her, really, but the shoulders were the worst of it. With every step it felt as if the straps of her back cut in deeper, straining her muscles and digging deep lines into her skin. She'd been wearing it for nearly a fortnite, far longer than she'd meant to. But circumstance had prolonged her journey home.
At least she was nearly there. She'd stabled her horse at the gates with Shadr, who'd been all too pleased to see her. Normally she'd have been happy to stop and talk with him for a time, but tonight she'd cut the conversation short. She was just too tired for idle chatter at the moment. Unfortunately, she'd been met with a barrage of well-wishers the moment she'd walked through the city gates. Apparently, every damn person in the city wanted to welcome the Dragonborn back to Riften. Well-intentioned as it was, this sort of thing could be irritating in the best of circumstances, and today it had nearly driven Mailie over the edge. She'd withstood as much of it as she could before managing to slip away and enter the Ratway.
She pushed open the heavy wooden door before her. As she stepped through the doorway, she was hit with the sights and sounds of Riften's underworkings. The Ragged Flagon was alive with activity, with its patrons engaged in their usual routines of drinking, gambling, and raucous laughter. Mailie thanked her lucky stars that it was too loud for anyone to notice her entrance, and made her way to where Delvin sat at his usual table.
He stood as she approached, greeting her with a smile. "Welcome back, boss. How was the hunting?"
"Fine." Mailie reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a small sack. She tossed it onto the table with a small clink. "Put that in the safe for me, when you get a chance."
Delvin eyed both her and the bag with curiosity. "You weren't out on Guild business, Mailie."
"I know. Consider it a donation, if you're concerned about the ledgers." She rolled her shoulders with a wince. "Have you seen Brynjolf?"
"Not recently." Delvin gave her another appraising look, like he was inspecting her for something. "Everything alright, boss?"
"Just peachy." Delvin looked like he wanted to ask her something else, but she turned and left before he got the chance.
Really though, this was getting ridiculous. No matter how hard Mailie tried to keep the moisture off of her, there was an ever-pervasive sense of slime in the Ratway that never seemed to go away. You would think regaining the blessing of a daedric prince might come with some cleanliness-related perks, but apparently not. Although, Mailie reasoned, of all the gods, Nocturnal was probably one of the least concerned with hygiene. And anyway, Mailie would fight a hundred dragons before letting on just how offensive she found the moisture to be. Her guildmates had come to respect her, despite her relative inexperience and privileged upbringing, but she could only imagine the amount of ribbing she'd get from Vex if anyone found out why she never leaned against walls. It was bad enough with Brynjolf assigning her the lovely moniker of "Princess"(thanks, Bryn, that really helps with the rumors), the last thing she needed was another "friendly" nickname.
Speaking of Brynjolf, where the hell was he? It had been four days or so since Mailie had asked after him, only to be met with a "Dunno, said he had a job to do. Something about an 'old friend', and to not expect him back for a bit," from Delvin. Very helpful, that, thought Mailie as she gently swirled the ale in her tankard (another habit that was made fun of– "It's not one of your fine wines, Princess, just drink it and go"), the thin layer of dew collected on the handle doing nothing to improve her mood.
She hoped for Brynjolf's sake that whatever he was doing was important. Delvin made it sound as if he'd left in a rush, which suggested it was at least somewhat urgent, but that's really no excuse for not telling anyone where he was going. If Delvin hadn't caught him as he was halfway up the ladder, no one would have known he had left at all. And sure, maybe she was being a bit unreasonable, free agents and all that, but it didn't change the fact that putting yourself in harm's way with no backup plan and no one to help you out if there's trouble was careless, and Brynjolf was not what Mailie would call a careless man.
Her musings were interrupted by the door from the Ratway swinging open. Mailie quickly pulled her hood back up to cover her face, shifting as she did to make sure Dawnbreaker was covered by her cloak. Her affiliation with the Thieves' Guild wasn't exactly Skyrim's best kept secret, to be sure, but it still wouldn't do for the Dragonborn to be seen publicly wearing a symbol of the guild's leadership. The more influence the guild gained, it seemed, the more they had to fear being recognized, especially as Mailie oh-so-carefully cut ties with the Black-Briars. Protection be damned, she couldn't wait to rid herself of their parasitic influence. Like pulling a leech from a leg, there would be blood, and it might sting a little, but it was better than being bled dry.
Thankfully, the hands pushing open the door belonged to Kjeld, one of the children the guild had recently recruited as a messenger. His parents had died in a dragon attack a few months prior, and his relatives had summarily kicked him out, claiming he was too expensive to feed, despite the farm they inherited from the boy's dead parents. Sapphire had found him sleeping by the road on his way to Honorhall, and offered him a job, which he was more than happy to take. He had proven a valuable asset, eager to learn and strong for a boy of twelve, likely due to his years of farm work. Less thankfully, he looked rather harried now, cheeks flushed as he ran along the narrow pathway towards the bar.
"Thane Chester - Master Mallory, sir– I need to– I mean I have something–" he stopped, hands on his knees as he struggled to speak through gasping breaths.
Delvin Mallory, stationed as ever at his table with a notebook and a flagon of mead, calmly reached out and put a hand on the youth's shoulder. "Slow down there, catch your breath."
Kjeld nodded, taking a few deep breaths and steadying himself. "I have news about Master Brynjolf, sir."
"Brynjolf?" Suddenly, every eye and ear in the Flagon was trained on the boy, and even Galathil looked up from her book for a moment. Mailie slipped out of her chair and headed over to where Delvin was sitting, adding her hand to Kjeld's other shoulder and kneeling down to his level.
"What kind of news?" she asked gently. "Did he send you with a message?'
He shook his head. "No ma'am, I haven't spoken to him myself. You see, I ran into Elte at Heartwood, and she said she'd heard from Alan at Ivarstead that he heard from Sedyni that-"
"Cut to it, kid," said Vex impatiently from the next table over. "What'd you hear?"
Kjeld swallowed. "Someone saw Brynjolf get arrested in Solitude. Right by the fort too, said there were elves and everything."
"Elves? Were they Altmer? With dark robes?" asked Mailie urgently. Stendarr's sake, if the Thalmor have him…
The boy furrowed his brow. "Those them tall ones, right? That's why they call them High Elves?"
Before Mailie could give a full explanation (and launch into a sociopolitical history of the Summerset Isles), Delvin cut her off with a nod. "Yes, lad, the tall ones. Were they there?"
"Sounds like it, sir. And Elte said that Alan said that Sedyni said that Brynjolf was awfully surprised to see them. He might have been badly hurt, too, there was something about a crossbow. I didn't wait to hear the whole story, sirs, I figured you'd want to know straight away."
"You did the right thing, son," Mailie said, patting him on the back. Calling over to one of the closer tables to the bar, she added, "Thrynn, could you make sure he gets a meal and some sleep, please?" The former bandit grumbled, but put his mead down and led the boy into the cistern.
Mailie pulled herself up and fell back into the nearest chair. Fuck. "I don't suppose any of you have friends in the Legion."
Vex barked out a laugh and crossed her arms. "Believe me, if I did, we wouldn't have heard about this through a messenger boy. Besides, you know the rules, Chester, we don't break people out."
Mailie scowled. Vex was right, technically-- it was Guild policy that anyone who got caught was on their own, but that hadn't stopped any of them from marking escape routes or bribing the occasional guard on a guildmate's behalf. Vex was no exception. She played up the apathy to keep anyone from getting too cuddly, but she cared about Brynjolf. She cared about everyone in the guild, actually, but but accusing her of it was a surefire way to end up with a black eye, so no one dared mention it. But Mailie knew. She'd known from the moment she saw the relief in Vex's eyes when Karliah's innocence was proven, the way she showed Mailie how to treat her dragonfire burns, the way her expression softened whenever Sapphire walked into the room.
Mailie was about to shoot her a withering glance and a cutting remark on the topic when she realized that Vex was staring her down. Ah. Vex had fallen into the habit lately of trying to test her-- to see what decisions she would make under pressure, to see how she would enforce rules, to see what rules she was willing to break. In short, Vex was testing her ability to lead.
Mailie shook her head. "Bryn's too good to get caught like that. If the Thalmor are involved then there's something bigger going on here. And hang the rules, I'm not letting someone rot in prison without at least knowing what happened. Especially if they're injured."
The ghost of a smile made its way on to Vex's lips. She'd passed. "Fair enough. I'll go get him, then. Been a while since I did a jailbreak, I could use the practice."
Again Mailie shook her head. "No. I'll go."
Vex raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You don't exactly have a lot of experience with this. Have you ever even been arrested?"
Mailie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm sure. I-- We-- can't risk this being a trap. I have some influence in Solitude, if everything goes south I might be able to talk myself out of trouble," She hesitated for a moment. "And if Elisif's favor can't help us, my... associates have some sway in Imperial politics. Me being thrown in prison wouldn't exactly be good for their image, they might be willing to pull some strings and help me out. No one else here has that kind of leverage, and I'm not letting you throw yourself in front of blade without knowing who's holding it."
Delvin leaned across the table. "You're willing to bring your parents into this, Mailie?" he said. Clever bastard. Of course he knew.
She shrugged. "It's a last resort. There's a good chance they've disowned me by now, anyway. We haven't exactly kept in touch. It's a gamble I'm willing to make, though."
Vex uncrossed her legs and stood. "Well, if you're determined to go, I think we've got some old maps you could look at. No sense in sending you in blind."
mailie and brynjolf bits because that's what I'm writing atm
after their relationship becomes "official," i.e. not just them boning while pretending that they're only friends, mailie takes it upon herself to steal and embroider as many of brynjolf's shirts as she possibly can. he pretends to be annoyed about it but anytime he goes out in his armor he has her work hidden underneath.
brynjolf wears an amulet of talos that belonged to his dad and mailie wears the amulet of articulation. after they get married, they both add a small amulet of mara (more of a charm really) to their respective cords.
they have a "traditional" wedding ceremony in the temple of mara, but what they consider be their actual wedding is a handfasting ceremony that they have in the cistern afterwards. delvin performs the fasting because he's basically their dad anyway and mailie manages to convince a couple of the Companions to come to both ceremonies. also everyone gets super drunk after.
I think the whole girl dad thing is kind of weird but brynjolf is 100% a girl dad. sofie and lucia braid ribbons into his hair and he wears them to Very Serious Criminal Meetings. only mailie is allowed to make fun of him for it, everyone else gets to meet scary brynjolf if they so much as smirk.
they literally never stop keeping separate bedrooms in the guild. I have a whole thing about how there's probably more sections of the ratway that the thieves' guild used to make use of, but over the years decline they slowly abandoned them and centralized at the flagon. after mailie became guildmaster she reopened some of those rooms and turned them into offices, storage closets, bedrooms, etc. mailie and bryn sleep in the same bed every night but STILL have their own bedrooms and don't get why people think this is weird.
