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."
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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."
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.
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The next few days passed without incident. By resting in a series of abandoned buildings, hunters' shelters, and ancient tombs that Mailie swore up and down were perfectly safe, the pair managed to bypass taverns full of nosy townsfolk and the watchful eye of the Imperial Legion. They stood once again in the rain, this time outside the stone wall that encircled Riften's graveyard. And they were arguing again, naturally.
"Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
"Because my leg is broken, Mailie!"
"Oh I'm sorry, did you have a better idea?"
"I'm sure I could think of one!"
"Then by all means, do."
"I don't think I should have to have a better plan to convince you that I can't climb over a fucking wall!"
"Keep it down!" Mailie hissed. "Do you want us to get caught?"
Brynjolf gritted his teeth. "No, I want to go in through a gate."
Mailie threw her hands up in frustration. "I told you, we can't do that. Not unless I know for sure the guards haven't been told to arrest you."
"They've got plenty of reason to arrest me already. If they were going to, they would have by now. And don't try to tell me that I don't know that, because I do."
"This is different. The guards are more than willing to overlook thievery, especially when you have the Black-Briars' protection. But if the Legion, or worse, the Thalmor, are looking for you, they can't ignore that. Especially since we no longer have Maven on our side."
Brynjolf crossed his arms. "And who, pray tell, decided to cut ties with her?"
Mailie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. You've made your point. What do I have to do to convince you to go over this wall?"
Brynjolf paused for a moment. To his credit, he actually thought about it.
"Help me back onto the horse," he said. To Mailie's credit, she complied. The movement was still awkward, but at this point they'd spent the last several days lifting Brynjolf on and off of things, and had worked out something of a system. He would tuck his makeshift crutch under his left arm and place as much of his weight on it as he could. Meanwhile, Mailie would support him while he hopped into the stirrup with his right foot. Finally, Brynjolf would lift himself onto the horse, swinging himself onto the saddle and taking a moment to settle.
Mailie nervously patted the horse's side. "Steady, girl," she said softly. When the horse shook her head, Mailie glanced up at the sky.
"Everything alright, lass?" Brynjolf asked.
Mailie shook herself. "She's skittish. I wonder if we'll see lightning. I swear she can feel it coming." She took the reigns in her hands. "What next?"
"Take us over to the wall."
Mailie did so without question. Once Brynjolf and the horse were up against the wall, he slid off the saddle and onto the wall, crutch in hand. He then swung his legs over to the inside of the wall.
"Come on up, lass," he called down. "I'll need you to catch me."
Mailie scrambled up after him. "It's a long way down."
"Which is why you'll be catching me." Brynjolf glanced behind them. "Shouldn't you tie up the horse?"
Mailie shook her as she pulled herself over the wall. "No, she'll be alright. She's smart, either she'll wait here long enough for me to come back and get her, or she'll make her way to the stables." She paused for a moment to steady herself, then slipped off the wall. With practiced care, the moment her feet struck the ground, her knees bent to absorb the impact. She looked up to see Brynjolf wincing at her.
"Someday you'll regret doing that so much," he said.
"I'll consider myself lucky if I live long enough to suffer for it. Toss me the crutch."
Brynjolf shook his head. "I think it's best if I hold on to it. Gives me something else to break the fall."
"Suit yourself." Mailie stood below him with her arms outstretched. "Whenever you're ready."
Brynjolf grimaced, stuck the crutch out beneath him, and pushed himself from the wall. His good leg crashed into the ground and his knee crumpled beneath him. His body twisted as the crutch was rammed into his left underarm, and he pitched forward into Mailie, tipping them both onto the ground.
Mailie's head smacked against the muddy ground as Brynjolf's chin landed squarely on her collarbone. She tried to roll over and groaned as she realized his entire body weight was on her.
"Fuck." He managed to roll off of her with a series of winces and grunts.=
"I'll remind you that this was your plan," Mailie said as she slowly got to her feet. She reached out a hand to help Brynjolf up, but he waved it away.
"Save it, lass. Just get me into the Guild." He hobbled his way over to the nearby tomb, Mailie close at his heels. As he bent to avoid hitting his head on the top of it, Mailie slipped around him.
"Allow me," she said, pressing the button to open the entrance and once again offering him her hand. He accepted it this time, and let her help him to the entrance.
They all but crashed into the cistern. Apparently, a broken leg and a rickety wooden ladder did not make for a good combination, as Mailie learned when she lost her balance and sent them both careening towards the floor. She just barely managed to keep her footing, but not without stumbling shoulder-first into a wall. When she looked up, every eye in the cistern was trained on her.
She grimaced. "A little help here?" she said through gritted teeth.
For once, the Thieves' Guild actually sprung into unified action, and without a murmur of complaint. In an instant, Thrynn was on them, lifting Brynjolf off Mailie's tired shoulders and onto his own. Rune was on the other side of him, tucking the crutch back under his arm. Delvin lent Mailie a hand as she picked herself off the wall and clapped her (gently) on the shoulder with a murmured congratulations. Vex, for her part, watched them from a nearby wall, looking for all the world like Mailie had returned with a bag of loot rather than a recently captured man.
"You made it back," she said.
"That we did," Mailie replied. "And in one piece. Well, mostly." Brynjolf shot her a look at that last comment, but didn't seem to be in a state to find a reply. "Thrynn, get him to a bed, if you would. My room's the closest. Rune, find Herluin."
Brynjolf groaned. "The poisoner? Please, just kill me now."
Mailie ignored him. "Vex, Delvin, come with me. Everyone else, get back to work."
Thrynn helped Brynjolf down a passageway with Mailie, Vex, and Delvin not far behind. After Gallus died and the Guild started to decline, Mercer had ordered most of the corridors and rooms connected to the cistern closed off, since they couldn't afford to keep them filled. Following their recent turn of fortune, Mailie had opened them back up. There were still many they hadn't yet opened, and probably some they didn't even know about-- few remaining Guild members had been around while Gallus was still alive, and those that were didn't remember every room they'd ever used. The rooms that had been uncovered had been turned into storerooms, bedrooms for Guild leadership, and an office that Mailie still wasn't quite comfortable using.
Mailie stopped just outside her bedroom so she could hold open the door for Thrynn and Brynjolf. Herluin, who had caught up with them about halfway there, followed them in. Mailie shut the door behind them.
"How is he?" Delvin asked.
Mailie wrapped her arms around her torso. "Could be better. Could be worse. His leg is definitely broken. I did my best with it, but there's only so much I could do."
"I don't suppose he told you why he decided to fuck off to Solitude without notice," Vex said.
Mailie shook her head. "I never bothered to ask. In all honesty, I was largely concerned with getting us both back here alive." She ran a hand over her hair. She'd redone her braids that morning, but the rain, sweat, and wind had left it a mess. She needed to eat, sleep, and bathe, but the way this was going it might be some time before she got the chance.
Vex scowled. "You might have asked him, at least. For all we know he's gotten himself tangled up in some–"
She was interrupted by the door opening. Thrynn stepped out, looking angry, and more than a bit embarrassed.
"Lothaire kick you out?" Delvin asked.
"Aye." Thrynn said sullenly. He turned to Mailie. "He, uh, told me to remind you that he doesn't work for free." He at least had the decency to look sheepish.
Mailie rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. I'll deal with him later. Thank you for your help, Thrynn." He gave her an appreciative nod before returning to the cistern.
Mailie turned back to Vex and Delvin. "Regardless of what Brynjolf's been up to, he's going to be out of commission for the time being. Del, I need you to cover his rounds in the city. I know it's not your specialty, but I trust that you'll get it done. Vex, you may need to train some new recruits. Try not to scare any of them away, if you would."
"No promises." Vex crossed her arms. "And what will Brynjolf be doing? I take it he won't be catching up on his beauty rest."
"He'll pick up Delvin's records for the time being. Don't worry Del, I won't let him mess up your system. It's just until he's back on his own two feet."
"Desk work. Bet he'll just love that," Vex said dryly.
"It's what he's getting," Mailie said with a shrug. "Whether he likes it or not is his business."
The door opened again. Herluin beckoned them inside with a wave of of the hand. "Come in."
Inside, Brynjolf sat up in Mailie's bed with his left leg propped up on a pillow. His pant leg had been rolled to mid thigh, and his wound had been redressed and splinted with sturdy wood. Despite the apparent injury, the image of him sitting in Mailie's bed felt so natural she almost forgot they were not alone.
Next to the bed, Herluin gathered up used bandages and loose alchemical supplies. "My work is done, at least for now," he said. "I've set the bone and numbed the pain, but if he doesn't keep weight off it, it won't heal. He needs at least four weeks off his feet, as I've told him. Now, about my pay..."
"You'll get it." Mailie crossed her arms. "Last I heard you had bounties in Eastmarch, Winterhold, and Whiterun. I'll have them cleared."
The apothecary raised his eyebrows. "That's a fine gesture, Guildmaster, but I had something a bit more substantial in mind."
"You've had plenty of my gold, and the rest of the Guild's, too," Mailie shot back. "Tell you what. I'll take care of the bounties, and we'll cover the cost of your supplies. Deal?"
Herluin gave her a nod. "That will do. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
"Nicely done," Brynjolf remarked when the door shut.
"I've long since run out of patience for him. He'd charge extra for the cork in the bottle if he thought you wouldn't notice. Rather bold for a man implicated in three murders, if you ask me." Mailie sat on the edge of the bed. "How's your leg?"
"Better," Brynjolf said. "Itches like hell, though."
Delvin patted him on the shoulder. "Well, it's good to have you back. Right, Vex?"
"Yeah. Sure. Try not to be so stupid next time, will you?"
Brynjolf rolled his eyes. "It's good to see you too, Vex. Now, if you all don't mind, I've been informed that I should be resting."
"Of course." Mailie stood. "Vex, Delvin, head back to the Flagon. I'll meet you there."
Mailie shut the door behind them as they left. Back turned to Brynjolf, she placed her palm flat against the door. As she tensed her hand, a haphazard web of green energy crawled across the surface. She closed her hand into a fist, and the web sunk itself into the door. She turned back to Brynjolf with a face as hard as stone.
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
He blinked in apparent confusion. "Lass?"
"Did you not hear me?" she all but hissed, stepping towards him. "I'll say it again: What the fuck were you thinking? Sneaking off to the other side of the province, not telling a soul what you were doing, nearly getting yourself killed– I know you're smarter than that. So what in Oblivion was going through your head?"
Brynjolf opened his mouth, then closed it. "I don't have to explain myself to you."
"Like hell you don't. I broke you out of prison and smuggled you back here. I think I deserve to know why."
"I–" Brynjolf's voice faltered and he looked away. "The house I was breaking in to. The owner knew my Da."
Oh. Bryn didn't talk about his life before the Guild often. It had taken Mailie a long time to figure out that it was because he hadn't had much of one before-- his father had died when he was twelve, and he'd spent a couple months at Honorhall before escaping with Vekel and Tonilia. She had never pressed for details, but from what she'd heard, it sounded like his father did not die of natural consequences.
She sat down next to him. "Tell me more."
Brynjolf swallowed. "His name is Hroldar. I never learned how he and Da knew each other, but I met him a couple times as a kid. If I'm honest, I'd forgotten about him until recently. It's been two decades since I saw him last."
"So you went to Solitude to see him?"
Brynjolf nodded. "Around a fortnight past I got it into my head that I had to speak with him. I'm not sure I could tell you why. Anyway, I asked around and figured out he'd bought a house in Solitude. When I showed up, it was late, and the house was dark. I... I got impatient. I got up on the roof to find a way in and a guard spotted me. He told me to get down, and I didn't. He got out a crossbow and-- I suppose you can figure it out from there."
"And the Thalmor?"
"They've been trying to convince the legion to give them authority on the streets next to Castle Dour for ages. Something about 'headquarters security'. One of them got into an argument with the captain over whose custody I belonged in. If we've any luck at all, they're still pitching a big enough fit about it to delay the search for me."
Mailie reached out and placed a gentle hand on his chest. She'd only meant to comfort him– although she couldn't quite say why– but she frowned as she missed the feeling of a familiar shape. It took half a second before her heart sank as she realized what was missing.
"Bryn," she said softly. "They took your amulet."
His jaw tightened. "Aye."
"I'm sorry, Bryn. I know it was your father's." Her heart skipped a beat. "They didn't..?"
"The elves didn't see it, if that's what you're after. I wasn't in a state to be taking off my armor, so they had someone helping me. When it swung out of my shirt, I thought for sure I was done for. Even among the Legion, there's plenty who are willing to look the other way when it comes to Talos, but not in Solitude. This one, though... without a word, he took it off my neck and tucked it into a pocket."
"Did you catch his name?" Mailie asked.
Brynjolf gave her a shrewd look. "Don't bother with it, lass. I'm alive. That's more than I expected."
Mailie wanted to argue with him, but she knew now wasn't the time. He needed a rest, and so did she. She should leave, reconvene with Vex and Delvin, change out of her borrowed armor, and go to bed, but she just couldn't bring herself to get up. So she sat there, hand moving with the rising and falling of his chest, until he broke the silence.
"Lass?"
She withdrew her hand, expecting him to shoo her away. "Yes?"
Brynjolf looked her in the eye. "Why did you break me out?"
For some reason, Mailie's entire body tensed up at his question. She hoped he hadn't noticed. "Well... I couldn't just let you rot there. We didn't even know why you'd gone. Someone had to find out what kind of trouble you were in, at least."
Brynjolf pushed himself into a straighter position. "That's all well and good, lass, but it doesn't explain why you came. You're a damn good thief with a good, if stubborn, head on your shoulders, but you aren't a prison breaker. You put yourself in a lot of danger for me. Why?"
Mailie was at a loss for words. She'd spent nearly every moment of the last week wet, tired, and hungry, and hadn't had much time to think about what she was doing, or why she was bothering to do it. But every night since the prison, when she'd settled down on a hard stone floor, rickety wooden bed, or half-wet patch of dirt next to Brynjolf, some part of her had relaxed. Despite the soreness of her muscles and the unshakeable chill in her bones, the familiar heat of his body and strength of his arms had made it all worth it. But she didn't know how to tell him that, not without sounding like the foolish little girl she'd tried so hard not to be. So she did the only thing she could: She leaned forward and kissed him.
She'd kissed him countless times before, but this was different. She tried to put everything, every word she couldn't say, every thought she didn't know how to share into the union of their lips. He seemed surprised at first, and she almost thought he might push her away, but in a moment his hands were on her, pulling her close. Mailie knew there was not an inch of her body that Brynjolf didn't know like his own, and yet he touched her like something rare and precious. It was no different for her; every brush of his fingers against her waist sent a shock through her body.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of kisses, Mailie retreated, though just inches from his face. Brynjolf's hand cradled the back of her head, and she knew he would be running his fingers through her hair if she hadn't braided it.
"I love you, too," he whispered.
She rested her forehead against his, endlessly grateful that he'd understood. "I should get back," she murmured as she pressed another kiss to his lips.
"Mm. Or, you could stay here–" His hands drifted to the buckles of her armor. "--and give me something to focus on besides this gods-damned leg."
She gently pushed his hands away. "Someone will hear us, Bryn."
"I can be quiet... besides, you muffled the door, remember?"
Mailie rolled her eyes playfully. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually. Regardless, I should go before Vex comes looking for me."
"Fine." Brynjolf settled back against the bed. "Come see me after?"
"Well, I have to sleep somewhere, don't I?" She leaned down and kissed him again. "Get some sleep, love. I'll be back soon." With that, she stood up to leave.
"Oh, by the way," Mailie called from the door. "You've got Delvin's bookkeeping duties until you can walk."
"Desk work?" Brynjolf sputtered. "You have to be fucking–"
Mailie shut the door and walked down the corridor, chuckling.
ao3 link (this part is 3500 words long. you may want to read it on ao3)
part one part three
please be aware that this fic contains a detailed description of a serious injury
Damp again. Oh, joy.
Although, Mailie supposed, it wasn't quite the same this time. Being damp because you decided to join the one guild in Skyrim whose headquarters are in a sewer is very different from being damp because you decided to sneak your way into a prison. Through the sewers. To rescue a member of said guild. Alright, maybe it wasn't that different.
Either way, here she was. The map Vex had shown her was old and weathered-- Vekel reckoned that Gallus had used it at some point, judging by the notes-- but it was accurate. Sure enough, the long since abandoned sewer tunnel which emptied out where the Dainty Sload had once been moored also ran into Castle Dour, having once received waste from the grate which Mailie stood before now. Thankfully, it seemed that the grout had been weakened by years of water damage and neglect, and Mailie was able to force a dagger in between the grate and the wall and slowly begin to pry it away.
It was slow work, this, but soon she was able to carefully pull the grate away and, after setting it gingerly on the ground, push herself through the opening onto the bottom floor of Solitude's prison. Just as she'd planned, the guard who was supposed to be keeping watch on the balcony above was soundly asleep in his chair, picturesquely snoring with his shield and sword leaned against a nearby wall. Now Mailie just needed to find her target.
She didn't have to search long. Apparently, the guard had only arrested one bulky redhead lately, and Mailie found Brynjolf sleeping in one of the nearest cells to the sewer entrance. Strangely, he was on some sort of a cot, instead of the bedrolls most prisoners were provided with. Maybe he had connections or something, Mailie didn't care, all that mattered was getting him out and to safety. She crept to the cell and carefully slipped her picks into the heavy door's lock. If there were ever a time for that luck you've given me, Nocturnal, it's now, she thought, and either through fortune or skill the door swung open. Ever conscious of the sound of her footsteps, Mailie went over to the sleeping form of her friend (Friend? Is that really all he is to me?) and gently shook his shoulder.
Brynjolf's eyes shot open, filled with panic. It was only because of the hand clapped over his mouth that he didn't shout to alert the guard. He watched in confusion as the figure he had assumed was an assailant slowly removed their hand from his mouth and pressed a single finger to to their lips. It was only then that he spotted the leather-clad woman's bright blue eyes and scarred cheek, and realized what was happening.
"Mailie?" he whispered. "What are you doing here?"
She cracked a wry smile. "Rescuing you, obviously. How long have you been here?"
He blinked, mouth moving silently as he tried to calculate. "Five days, I think? Roughly, anyway." He paused for a moment. "I– I appreciate you coming, lass, but you might be wasting your time." He sat and turned, extending his leg for Mailie to see. "I'm afraid I'm not much use like this."
She looked down, and her breath caught in her throat. The leg was still attached, at least, but she had to agree that it didn't look good. Brynjolf's shin was wrapped in layers and layers of bandages, and even in the dim lighting Mailie could see that most of them were soaked through with blood. Someone had clearly done their best to treat the wound, but that someone also clearly didn't know what they were doing, and it hadn't done much good.
Mailie blinked, and swallowed. "Can you put weight on it?"
"I haven't dared try." Brynjolf looked Mailie directly in the eyes. "Listen, lass, you need to get out of here. The only reason I'm not rotting in some magic prison is that the captain doesn't believe that the Thalmor have jurisdiction over the building I was breaking into. He's been fighting them over it the last couple days. The moment they figure out I'm gone, the Guild's going to have an army of wizards chasing after it. Even Maven couldn't protect us from that."
Mailie crossed her arms. "I'm not afraid of the Thalmor, Bryn, and I'm not leaving you behind. I'll carry you out of here if I have to."
Brynjolf rolled his eyes. "I should've known you'd be this stubborn. Fine, help me up, it's your head if we're caught."
Mailie hooked her arm around his side and pulled him to his feet. Now that they were both standing, she could see that he was wearing roughspun pants and rags for shoes, along with the linen shirt he normally wore under his armor. "They took your gear?"
"Yes, lass, that's typically what happens when you get arrested. Don't bother looking, I'm not all that fussed about the armor or weapons." He looked her over and squinted. "Speaking of which, why aren't you wearing your own kit?"
Mailie started to slowly help him to the door. "I couldn't risk being identifiable. Too many people have seen me in the Nightingale armor, so that was out of the question, and even guildmaster's armor is distinct enough that someone might start putting two and two together. Tonilia lent me this. I decided not to ask why she had an extra set in just the right size on hand." She propped Brynjolf against a wall (he made quiet, though indignant, noises of protest) and slipped back into the hole at the bottom of the wall where the grate had been. "Alright, put the good leg through first– don't look at me like that– that's it, I'll catch you–"
Through much effort on both their parts, the pair managed to get Brynjolf into the sewers and replace the grate. Mailie nervously ran her hands around the edges before deeming it convincing enough and helping Brynjolf further down the passage. They made slow progress, but eventually made their way through the tunnels and out of the long forgotten culvert. There they found Mailie's horse, carefully tied up and looking for all the world like she was at any regular stable. With a few careful maneuvers (including Brynjolf jumping onto a stirrup with his right leg while Mailie supported his injured left) they mounted the horse and made their way down the coastline, even as the sun began to rise.
***
"I don't care what you think, Bryn, we're stopping."
"I'm telling you, we're fine. It's just a bit of rain, we can push through."
"And I'm telling you that we're not. I've seen corpses dressed more warmly than you, and you will catch your death in this!"
"All the rain's doing is waking me up. It'll do you good, too."
"Says the man who's actually been able to sleep in the last day and a half."
"Well, if you really need your beauty rest, Princess..."
Mailie resisted the urge to elbow Brynjolf in the ribs. And he had the audacity to call her stubborn. It may have been early afternoon, but it was dark, cold, and worst of all wet, and she refused to continue in these conditions. They had made good progress since escaping the dungeons, making it through Dragon Bridge and towards Whiterun without incident, but it was time to take a break, eat some food, and find some shelter. Now, if she could only find that shack…
"Ah, your palace!" This time Brynjolf earned the elbowing. He was right of course; there stood the crabber's shanty Mailie had found a while back. Yet another home whose owner had been lost to a dragon. She tried not to think about it too much, not for lack of caring, but out of self preservation. She knew she couldn't save everyone, no matter how hard she tried, but it still tore Mailie apart to think of the countless lives that had slipped through her fingers. Mirabelle, Kodlak, Pierre... she wouldn't, couldn't, dwell on it. The dead wouldn't sleep any easier if she drowned herself in tears.
And besides, she had more pressing concerns, like the extremely obnoxious man with his arms wrapped around her waist who was currently incapable of getting off of a horse by himself. Stifling a groan, she climbed down and walked over to catch him as he pivoted on his uninjured leg, and led him into the cabin. There wasn't much in the way of furniture, or building for that matter, but there were a couple of chairs and a bed, at least. Brynjolf gratefully lowered himself onto it as Mailie went to tie up the horse and see what other resources she could find.
There weren't many of those, either. It seemed everything of value had been claimed a long time ago, but Mailie did find a two rolls of canvas partially covered in the mud outside. They were badly stained, and she suspected they'd fallen from the cart of a merchant who'd then abandoned them in disgust. They'd serve her purposes just fine, though. She took the fabric from the larger of the two rolls and spread it over the roof, tying it down in the corners. The other roll she cut three pieces from and used them to cover the doorways and window. It wasn't perfect by any means, but she was reasonably confident it would keep the rain off of them for now, so she fetched her saddlebags and headed inside.
Brynjolf was rifling around in the battered nightstand next to the bed when she returned, looking up in triumph with a pair of candlesticks as she walked in.
"Not bad handiwork," he remarked. "Your knots seem sturdier than I'd expect."
"I'll take that as a compliment," said Mailie, taking the candles from him and lighting them with a pinch and a word. "Despite what you all seem to think, I didn't spend my entire childhood embroidering and practicing diplomacy. I do have some practical skills. I had to learn how to hold a sword somewhere, after all." She rustled around in one of her bags. "Don't get up, I have some food in here somewhere."
Brynjolf sat back on the bed, wincing as he tried to move his injured leg. "Embroidering?"
"I know you know what embroidery is, Brynjolf, I'm not interested in your nonsense right now. Aha!" Mailie pulled two small loaves of bread and a piece of cheese from her bag, triumphant. "Here, and don't try to argue with me. I'm sure you're starving."
Brynjolf took the bread gratefully, and watched as Mailie sat in the chair opposite him and began cutting pieces of cheese. "Come to think of it, Mailes, where did you learn to fight? Before coming to Skyrim, I mean."
Mailie paused for a second, her knife stopping halfway through a slice, then continued. "Runa, the head of my father's guard, taught me some basics. I basically begged her to do it. I was so determined to be a knight when I was a little girl, I took any chance I could to learn how to fight. My parents would hear none of it, of course. My job was to marry well and advance their station, and you can't do that as a warrior. They tolerated my training at first, but made Runa stop teaching me after I cut my cheek open. It wasn't her fault, really, I was practicing on a dummy by myself when the sword bounced back and hit me in the face." Mailie smiled. "My mother was hysterical. She was convinced that no one would want to marry me with a 'disfigured' face." She barked out a laugh. "The cut healed just fine though, and the scar's turned out to be a quality conversation starter. Here, have some cheese."
"And that was it?"
"No, I practiced in secret until I left home. Besides, this wasn't really all that long ago. Runa started training me when I was twelve, I think? No, eleven. And I was sixteen when I got the scar, so between what she taught me and what I practiced on my own, I technically had over a decade of experience when I came here. Not that it counted for much, mind you, I hadn't ever fought a real person before Helgen, let alone someone actually trying to kill me."
Brynjolf went quiet for a moment. "Sometimes I forget how young you are, lass."
"What does that make you, then, a cradle robber?" Mailie teased.
Even in the low light, Mailie could see Brynjolf's cheeks turn pink. "I think it makes me a charity case, and you very patient, lass."
Mailie smiled, then furrowed her brow. "How's your leg, Bryn? I just realized I haven't had a chance to look at it."
"Hurts."
"Thank you for your very detailed assessment. Here, let me take a look."
Brynjolf sighed. "I'm not sure there's much you can do, lass. I know you're not too shabby as a healer, but this shack is not exactly well equipped. It might be best to wait until we get back to Riften."
"It'll be a day or so until we make it back. I won't let it get worse just because of your stubbornness."
"It's got nothing to do with stubbornness and everything to do with practicality. I was shot with a crossbow bolt, Mailes. The damage is done, and it's likely severe. We won't be able to fix it here, and we shouldn't waste time trying."
"Healing you is not wasting time!" Mailie cried.
"It is if it prevents us from moving quickly. For all we know we're being followed," Brynjolf insisted.
Mailie got up from her chair and stood in front of Brynjolf. "Look at me."
Brynjolf looked up. He was surprised to see anger in her eyes.
"I am not leaving here until you let me look at your leg."
Sigh. "Fine. Take a look." Mailie smiled, and moved the second chair over to the bed.
"Here, put your leg on here," she said, moving her chair to sit next to him. While she'd never admit it to Brynjolf, she was rather nervous. It hadn't taken them long to figure out that he couldn't even stand to put half his weight on his injured leg, meaning Mailie had had to all but carry his left side. That didn't bode well. She'd had a rudimentary knowledge of alchemy when she'd arrived in Skyrim and was accustomed to treating her own injuries by now, but this was a different story.
Brynjolf lifted his left leg with a groan and placed it on the chair. Carefully, Mailie leaned forward and unwrapped the bandages, and then slowly began to roll up his pant leg. Taking a close look at it for the first time, she realized just much blood had soaked through.
If only that had been the worst of it. As she pushed the fabric above Brynjolf's knee, Mailie had to bite back a gasp. She could see now where the bolt had struck him. He had been shot in the shin from the side, and while someone (probably the same guard or legionnaire who wrapped his leg) had managed to remove the bolt safely, they hadn't been able to properly bandage the wound, and she could see that there was still a small amount of blood seeping out. What skin wasn't reddish brown with dried blood looked to be pink with inflammation, and although it made her sick to her stomach to look, Mailie could see through the wound that one of Brynjolf's leg bones had been broken.
"Lass?" asked Brynjolf, and Mailie realized she'd been holding her breath.
"It's--" she breathed a shaky breath, and wiped her brow. "It's not good. You're right that I can't heal this. I'll see what I can do to keep it from festering, maybe numb some of the pain--"
"Don't strain yourself, Mailie."
"I won't. I-- I can do this." Mailie took another steadying breath and pulled a few vials out of a pouch on her side and held them towards the candlelight, squinting as she tried to read the labels. With trembling fingers that she tried desperately to still, she uncorked the largest of them. "This may sting a bit," she said, and poured the contents onto Brynjolf's wound. He hissed, but to his credit, kept his leg still. Mailie gave it a reassuring pat.
"What the-- Did you just pour whiskey on my leg!?" Brynjolf sputtered.
"Not whiskey, strictly, though it is a spirit. Sorry. I needed to clean the wound," said Mailie guiltily.
"Just do what you need to," Brynjolf replied, though he now gripped the end of the bed with white knuckles.
Mailie opened the next vial. A bitter scent filled the air. "This should help numb the pain. It does mean you might not notice if you hurt yourself further, though, so do be careful." She carefully dripped the liquid-- an oil this time-- onto the area around the wound. As it sunk into his skin, Brynjolf released the tension in his shoulders that she hadn't realized he was carrying. "You alright there?"
"Mostly. I told you it hurt."
"Fair enough." She uncorked the third and final vial - though it was more of a jar, really. The substance inside was a translucent paste, tinged with gold and sticky. "This is just to hold back the bleeding a bit. I'll try to heal what I can after this." She dug around in her pack until she found the flat piece of horker tusk Aela had carved for her, and used it to spread some of the substance across the wound. Brynjolf flinched as she pushed down on it.
"Sorry." Mailie sat back and wrung her hands. "Alright. Okay. I've done what I can with tinctures and the like, we'll have to see what I can do from here." She placed her hands on either side of the wound and took a deep breath. As she breathed out, she began to whisper, and a golden light emitted from her hands. Brynjolf tilted his head back in relief as the light washed over his leg. As the light began to sink in to the wound, Mailie stopped whispering and closed her eyes, breaths wavering as she struggled to maintain focus. At last, she removed her hands and the light dissipated, and she slumped back against the chair.
"Sorry, I couldn't close it," she said after a moment's heavy breathing, pulling out a roll of clean cotton and grabbing an arrow out of her quiver. She snapped the head and fletchings off the arrow and pressed the shaft against Brynjolf's leg. She then tightly wrapped both arrow and leg with the cloth, thanking all the gods she could name that she'd had the foresight to bring healing supplies. "I think the bone's still broken as well. The wound is smaller though, and that's something."
"You did enough, lass," said Brynjolf as he took his leg off the chair. "It's been a long day. You should get some rest." He turned and lied down, and then patted the space on the bed next to him. "C'mon Mailes. It's late, and I don't want to know the last time you slept."
For once, Mailie didn't argue. She shrugged off her cloak onto a chair and climbed into bed next to him. The bed was rather small (it really wasn't built for two people), so she laid on her side, a hand over Brynjolf's heart and a leg hooked around his. She squirmed forward a bit and buried her head in the crook of his neck, humming softly.
"This is nice," she murmured sleepily. Brynjolf smiled.
"Glad to know that opinion remains unchanged," he said, and shifted his arm so that it lay below Mailie's neck and he could cup her far shoulder with his hand.
"Hm," she sighed into him. "That really wore me out."
"Clearly," Brynjolf said. "Will you be alright to travel in the morning?"
Mailie burrowed her face deeper into his chest. "I... most likely. Yes. But for now, sleep."
Brynjolf chuckled. "Speaking of which, when do you-" he began to ask, but a soft snore came up from beside him as Mailie quickly fell into slumber. He smiled again, and, after a moment's hesitation, tilted his head forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She stirred, but did not wake.
"Good night, Mailie," Brynjolf whispered, and drifted off to sleep.
whoops! I wrote another chapter to this. turns out I had more thoughts. anyway, enjoy!
chapter word count: 4,249
fic word count: 12,658
link to full work on ao3 | parts one two three
When Mailie trudged her way back into the Flagon, Delvin and Vex were waiting for her. Delvin beckoned her over with a wave when he saw her enter and she came without comment, too tired to voice a response.
"You were in there for a while," Vex remarked as Mailie approached.
"Telling him off took longer than I expected," she responded, leaning against the fence surrounding the pool. Mere months ago she would not have trusted it with the weight of a tankard, but one of the first renovations she'd had performed was replacing the existing fence with a newer, taller, and stronger one. She didn't need anyone falling in and catching a cold-- there were children around, for gods' sake.
"I hope you told him what an idiot he is," Vex said as she crossed her arms. "And to never go running off like that again."
Mailie had to smile at that. "I did-- or in so many words, anyway." She suppressed a yawn. "How were things while I was gone?" She didn't really want to ask for fear of an answer that might keep her awake even longer, but she knew she had to.
Delvin set his notebook down onto the table next to him. "We got on well enough. Rune picked up a few interesting items that should fetch us a pretty penny, provided we can find the right buyer. I've got Ton working on connections as we speak. Cynric thinks he's got a lead on a big score, though he's been stingy on the details."
"Meaning he doesn't have them," Vex interjected.
Delvin snorted. "Right you are. We'll see if he actually comes through. Beyond that, business as usual. I'll spare you the details. You can check the ledgers yourself if you want them." Mailie nodded gratefully, knowing she would probably be doing just that. Later.
"Thanks, Del. I need one of you to talk to Herluin and find out what we owe him for supplies. Preferably before he has a chance to think too hard about it."
"On it." Before Mailie even finished speaking, Vex was marching off towards the apothecary's shop. Delvin watched her with an amused expression.
"I don't envy him if he tries to pull one over on her," he muttered.
Mailie snorted. "Me neither. Though a part of me would love to see him try." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Gods, she was tired.
Delvin raised an eyebrow at her. "Take a seat," he said, pulling out a chair. She all but collapsed into it. He sat down across from and gave her an appraising look. "If you don't mind my saying, boss, you look like you'd lose a wrestling match with a skeever at present. What are you up to next?"
Mailie sighed. Sometimes she was glad that Delvin could read her like book, and other times she hated it. She wasn't sure which it was at the moment. "I don't know. Food, bath, sleep. Haven't decided on the order yet."
"I can help with one of those." Delvin stood and disappeared to the bar for a moment before returning with a bowl of soup, which he placed in front of Mailie. "Eat that, and get some rest. You've earned it."
She managed to let out some appreciative noises before setting upon the soup. It was Vekel's usual, meaning it wasn't anything special, but it was by far the best thing she'd eaten in days. Delvin let her be while she continued eating. When she finished, she stood and left the Flagon, too tired to care that she'd left her dishes on the table. Vekel could hardly complain; he had her to thank for his booming business.
She returned to her bedroom. She slowly pushed open the door to avoid making any noise that might wake Brynjolf. Thankfully, he appeared to be fast asleep.
Mailie shut the door behind her and crept to the other side of the room. Carefully, she removed her borrowed armor and set it atop her dresser. She then undid her braids and combed the tangles out of her hair, wincing at the snags on her scalp. She'd need to properly wash the sweat out of it at some point, but it could wait. Finally, she blew out the candle on her nightstand and crawled into bed.
Brynjolf stirred. "Lass?" he said groggily into the darkness.
Mailie lay down next to him. "Right here," she whispered as she pressed a kiss to his chest.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, humming appreciatively. "S'good to have you here."
She smiled, and draped herself over him. "It's good to be here."
***
The Winking Skeever was alive with activity, but Mailie partook in none of it.
She stayed at her corner table with her cup of mead, overlooking the lively scene on the inn's main floor. It seemed as if every working person in Solitude had elected to spend their gold here tonight, filling the air with shouted conversations and raucous laughter. Which suited Mailie's purposes just fine.
The sound of footsteps came up the stairs. Mailie kept her eyes trained on the bar below her as the argonian crossed the balcony and sat in the other chair.
Gulum-Ei carried his own drink, which he set down on the table. Mailie drained the last of her mead.
"I assume there's a reason for all this secrecy," he murmured.
"Apologies." Mailie put her tankard down. "I wouldn't normally go to these lengths, but I have extenuating circumstances to contend with."
"As long as it keeps me out of the dungeons, I don't mind." Gulum-Ei took a sip of his drink. "What do you have for me, then? I assume it's something good."
"The opposite, actually." Mailie crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. "I'm looking for something."
"Oh?" Gulum-Ei seemed intrigued. "We get plenty of unusual items passing through Solitude. I'm sure I can help you. What are you looking for?"
Mailie shifted. "Information."
The smuggler rapped his fingers against the table. "On what?"
Mailie leaned over to meet his gaze. "Three weeks ago, the Legion arrested a man breaking into a house near Castle Dour. A Nord, red hair, leather armor. He was badly injured and needed help changing out of his armor before they put him in the cell. I need the name of the guard who helped him."
Gulum-Ei stood. "Wait here."
Mailie emerged from the tavern the next morning. Instead of any of her usual armor, she'd donned a Nordic dress. Whether or not it would make her less conspicuous remained to be seen. She walked down the streets of Solitude, missing the familiar weight of Dawnbreaker on her hip. She was not without substantial protection-- there was a dagger on her waist and in her boot, she had her magic, and these streets were rather safe, besides, but she felt naked without it nonetheless. It had killed her to leave the sword behind in her room at the inn, but she knew it would draw far too much attention.
She spotted her quarry. Gulum-Ei's information had been sound, as usual. The guard was standing near the Hall of the Dead, squinting in the early morning sun. He was younger than Mailie had expected-- she normally wouldn't have been able to tell, but his helm was visorless. Probably a more comfortable option in most circumstances, but on this particular day he was probably wishing for a closed helm, if for no other reason than to block out some of the sun.
Mailie walked over to him. He didn't seem to notice her approach as he stared blankly across the street.
"Good morning, sir."
The man nearly jumped. Clearly, passers by did not often stop to talk to him. "Ah-- Morning, ma'am," he sputtered out. He looked around him, as if expecting to see some kind of emergent situation occurring behind her. "Can I... help you with something, ma'am?"
Mailie folded her hands in front of her. "I do hope so," she said. "I believe I find myself in a situation in which--" She glanced over her shoulder, then stepped forward and lowered her voice. "Might I speak to you in private, sir? It's a rather delicate situation."
The guard blinked. "Certainly," he said in an uncertain voice. "I, er-- Let me take you to the fort, ma'am."
They walked up the streets to Castle Dour. In the courtyard, a few guards milled about, practicing with bows, swords, and axes. The guard led Mailie past them and through the door to the castle's interior. Once inside, he turned and led her down the stairs to the barracks. A few people looked at them curiously as they passed, but none seemed to pay them much mind. Finally, the guard opened a door to a small side room, and Mailie followed him inside.
He shut the door behind them. The room was windowless, though a pair of candles provided enough light to see. "I don't believe I caught your name, ma'am," the man said as he removed his helmet.
"Amelie." Technically not a lie.
"A pleasure to meet you then, Amelie. The name's Erik." He gestured to a table behind him. "Please, have a seat."
Mailie shook her head. "No, thank you." Refusing him was a gamble, she knew, but she didn't want anything between her and the door.
He looked at her curiously, but did not press the issue. "Suit yourself." He put his helmet down on the table. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"
Mailie placed her hands over her belt, fiddling with the fastening. "I don't know if you'll have heard, but... a few weeks past, a man was arrested near Castle Dour. I don't know if he'll have given his name, but it's Brynjolf. My understanding is that he was hurt quite badly and needed some assistance-- perhaps you heard some of this from the guard who helped him?"
Erik's jaw moved silently for a moment as he stared at her. "I did hear of it, ma'am. Well, in a manner of speaking. I was the one who helped him."
"Oh!" Mailie feigned surprise. "I suppose I can cut to the meat of it, then. I know it's a lot to ask, but is there any chance that I could see him?"
Erik's whole body seemed to tighten. "I'm afraid that's not possible, ma'am."
Mailie looked down. "Of course. I understand. Security is very important, especially with the war on. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but would you take a message to him, at least? I would not ask under normal circumstances, but..." She pressed her hands to her stomach and let her cheeks redden. "As I said, it's a rather delicate situation."
"I--" Mailie thought that Erik's face might be redder than her own. "I'm afraid I can't do that either, ma'am, though not for the reason you might think. Brynjolf disappeared from the dungeons not long after he was captured."
"I see." Mailie put on her most crestfallen expression. "Thank you for your help, sir. You have been most kind." She dropped her hands and turned to leave.
"Wait." She turned back around. Erik looked positively terrified. She wondered if he'd even meant to speak.
"Yes?" she said hopefully.
Erik looked to be at a loss for words. She was close. She stepped forward so that she was barely a foot away from his face.
"Sir-- Erik, if I may-- I don't mean to press you, but I find myself in a very difficult situation. I will likely never see that man again. If there is something you wish to tell me--" She placed a hand over her chest. Below it, her heart beat a steady rhythm, but more importantly, the Amulet of Articulation pressed against her palm. "I would very much like to know it."
The guard looked down at her. Mailie could almost see the turmoil in his head. Finally, he reached inside his uniform and pulled out a small object, wrapped in cloth. Without a word, he pressed it into Mailie's hand.
"You should go," he murmured.
Mailie stepped back and nodded. "That I will. Thank you, sir."
***
The walls of the Ratway were, predictably, wet. For once though, Mailie did not particularly mind. She walked briskly down the winding halls, barely even noticing the weight of her pack. When she finally reached the office door, she entered without knocking.
Brynjolf sat behind the desk. He looked up at the sound of the door with the most disgruntled expression Mailie had ever seen him wear.
"Welcome back," he said sullenly. The desk before him was littered with papers, books, and a sprinkling of coins, but was dominated by a heavy leather-bound ledger.
Mailie walked around to his side of the desk. She slipped her pack off her shoulders and dropped it onto the floor, then shoved a few items to the side and closed the ledger so she could perch on the edge of the desk. "Has Delvin seen what you've done to his books?"
Brynjolf crossed his arms. His leg, still splinted, was propped up on a short stool. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall behind him. "As a matter of fact, he has."
"And he let you live? Clearly you're more charming than I thought."
"I'm charming enough. At least for you, it seems."
Mailie smiled and dropped off the desk. Brynjolf tilted his head up into her hands as she leaned down and kissed him. His hands went to her waist and pulled her in close.
"Hm." Mailie tucked his hair behind his ear after retreating from the kiss. "For future reference, I greatly prefer this to the welcome you gave me."
Brynjolf's thumbs rubbed circles into her sides. "I don't know if you've noticed, lass, but I'm a tad limited in my movements." He shifted his splinted leg. "Sorry to disappoint."
Mailie rolled her eyes, but sat down on top of his leg-- the good one. Brynjolf wrapped his right arm around her waist to hold her steady.
"How were things while I was out?" she asked, still playing with his hair.
"Fine." He shifted forward a bit so he could lean back, giving Mailie more room. "Nothing of note, really."
Mailie finished with his hair. "Does whatever broke Vipir's nose count as 'nothing of note' to you, then?"
"If by that you mean his own stupidity, then yes. He managed to lift an entire book out of a mage's pockets without rousing a bit of suspicion, then tripped on his own feet two streets away. You should have seen him when he got back. Thrynn nearly fell in the water, he was laughing so hard."
Mailie winced. Vipir's nose would be fine, but she was a bit concerned about what might be in that book-- and even more so with who he may have taken it from. She resolved to ask him for details later.
"I'll take your word for it." She cupped his face in her hand and stroked her thumb gently back and forth across his cheek. Brynjolf was never especially attentive in maintaining his beard, but he'd let his whiskers grow even longer than usual in the week or so that Mailie had been gone.
"After all this time, you finally take me at my word." He tilted his head to the side to let her fuss over his cheek. "And what adventures did you find yourself on this time, lass?"
"Running back and forth across the whole damn province, mostly," Mailie grumbled. "I've cleared Herluin's bounties in Whiterun and Winterhold, but Ulfric's steward is proving difficult. I might actually have to prove his innocence to get it taken care of."
Brynjolf looked at her skeptically. "You sure he is innocent, lass? I'm not saying I don't trust him, but I wouldn't leave him alone with my porridge, if you catch my meaning."
Mailie shrugged. "Innocent may be something of a stretch, but I know he didn't kill the man in question. Directly, at least. I'll speak with him about it later. Hopefully he can provide some helpful information, or at minimum a convincing lie." She leaned in until her face was finger's breadth away from Brynjolf's. "But that's a task for another time. For now, I have more pressing concerns."
When she brought their lips together into a kiss, Brynjolf's arm tightened around her waist. She let him pull her in against his chest as she continued to run her fingers over his scraggly beard. His hand rested comfortably on her knee, stabilizing her as she balanced atop his leg.
They came apart for just a moment. Brynjolf's fingers dug into Mailie's side, but she barely even felt them.
"I missed you," he whispered against her lips.
Mailie smiled. "I missed you too," she whispered back, tilting her head in for another kiss.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Mailie jumped off Brynjolf's lap with a barely concealed yelp of surprise and brushed herself off. "Come in!" she called, hoping whoever was outside didn't think anything was amiss.
Vex strolled into the room with her usual composure. "Oh good. You're both here," she remarked. "Get to the Flagon when you can. Cynric came through on that score he was going on about, and I want to show you the details." She looked them over and raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know why you're both looking at me like that?"
Mailie shook her head and prayed fervently that her cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "Don't worry about it. We'll be along in a bit, I want to finish looking over the books."
Vex shrugged. "Suit yourself. Enjoy your numbers." She left the room, closing the door behind her.
Mailie turned around to see Brynjolf looking at her with an amused expression. "It's not funny," she insisted, but his grin only grew wider at her indignation. "Brynjolf!"
He chuckled, which did nothing to calm her. "You have to admit, lass, it is a bit amusing. You're redder than a tomato."
She leaned back against the desk with a scowl. "You're insufferable."
He winked. "You love me for it."
She did, but she wasn't sure she could say so at the moment without it coming out as a smart remark, so she kept quiet. Her fingers drummed along the edge of the desk. "Bryn, can I ask you something?"
Brynjolf leaned back and rested his elbow on the back of the chair. "I serve at your pleasure, Princess."
Mailie didn't have it in her to roll her eyes. She looked down at the floor, suddenly doubting herself. Brynjolf seemed to notice her consternation and straightened a bit.
"What's on your mind, lass?"
She took a deep breath. "When did you know?"
"That I loved you?" he asked quietly. She nodded, not trusting that anything she tried to say would leave her mouth willingly.
Brynjolf paused to think. "I've two answers," he said after some consideration. "When you and Mercer went missing... I suppose that's when it started. I knew you could both take care of yourselves, but couldn't for the life of me work out why he wanted you to settle the score with Karliah. If I'm honest, I spent the whole time I was searching for you steeling myself to tell him off for it." He snorted. "In a way, I did, eventually. But to answer the question of when I knew for sure... I suppose it's when we made you guildmaster." His jaw was tight, and Mailie though she saw him grind his teeth. "It-- something changed in you that day, lass. When I put that amulet around your neck, all I could think of was how far you'd come, and how proud I was." His voice broke off a little at the end and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "What about you?"
Mailie knew she couldn't very well skirt the question after that. "I-- I don't think I realized until I heard you'd been arrested. I didn't think much about it, I just had to find you. You knew that, though." Her cheeks were burning redder than ever. "As for when it all began... it was Karliah. I didn't think anyone would believe her, Bryn, but you did. I--" Her words were failing her. She nudged at his leg with her foot. "You're a good man, Brynjolf. Better than you know."
He looked away. They were terrible at this. Mailie bit her lip. There were a hundred things she could say, but not one of them felt right, and every one was harder to say than the last.
"We should go see Vex," Brynjolf said finally. He moved as if to grab his crutches.
Mailie scrambled off the desk. "Wait." She'd forgotten half the reason she came in here in the first place. She rifled quickly through her pack and retrieved a small cloth bundle. "Here, I have something for you," she said, and handed to Brynjolf.
He looked at her curiously. "What is it, consolation for my leg?" He began to unwrap the bundle. "I'll admit you've surprised me, but it's not much substitute--" He froze.
Mailie watched with bated breath as he unfolded the cloth. Her hands were on the verge of trembling, so she clasped them in her lap. The cloth fell to the floor, ignored as Brynjolf laid his father's amulet across his palm.
Mailie drew in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry to spring this on you. I meant to tell you when I came in, but--"
She was cut off by Brynjolf launching himself at her. She caught him as he fell forward against her and would have toppled over if it weren't for the desk behind her. She would have scolded him for being so careless of his leg, but he pulled her into a kiss before she got the chance.
His hands cradled her head gently as he placed kiss after kiss on her lips, cheeks, nose, jaw, and every other inch of her face he could reach. The amulet's cord was looped around one of his fingers and bumped against her back with every movement, but Mailie barely even noticed. For once in her life, she let someone else shower their affections over her without hesitation. Her hands were braced against his shoulders with just enough strength to keep him balanced on his good leg, but she otherwise let his lips wander over her face.
It took him a while, but Brynjolf eventually remembered that Mailie needed to breath. He ceased his attentions and leaned his head back enough to look her in the eyes. "How?" he whispered in a voice full of wonder.
She placed one of her hands over his heart. It beat like a drum inside his chest. "Gulum-Ei found me the name of the guard who helped you out of your armor," she said. "And told me his schedule. I found him and convinced him to give me the amulet."
Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief. "I was certain he'd have gotten rid of it as soon as he could. It's not worth much, so he couldn't have sold it, especially not in Solitude. I've been imagining it at the bottom of the ocean more often than I'd care to admit."
"You'd be surprised what people are willing to buy," Mailie muttered. As if he didn't know that.
Brynjolf shook his head again. "What did you even say to convince him to hand it over?"
"I told him I was carrying your child."
Brynjolf choked. "That was your solution?" he sputtered.
"It worked," Mailie said with a shrug. "And I more implied it, anyway."
Brynjolf eyed her with a trepidacious look. "Just so we're clear, lass, you're not--?"
Mailie rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, Bryn. Do you really think that's how I'd tell you?"
He shuddered. "Forgive me for choosing to not give it too much thought."
Mailie chuckled. The hand holding Brynjolf's amulet had gone from her cheek to the table beside her to support his weight. Almost instinctively, Mailie rested her own hand on top of it. He lifted it from the table and laced their fingers together, then brought their hands to his lips and kissed the backs of Mailie's knuckles.
Mailie let her fingers slip out of his. They tangled in the amulet's cord as she lifted it from Brynjolf's hand and slipped it over his head. The amulet thumped against his chest, and she took his face in her hands and brought him into a soft kiss.
"Thank you," he whispered, resting their foreheads together.
Mailie kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Don't mention it."
Brynjolf's hands settled on her waist as he nuzzled along her jaw. "How long do you think we can keep Vex waiting before she sends someone after us?"
Mailie snorted. "I think she's far more likely to proceed without us." She stroked Brynjolf's cheek with her thumb. "We should go to her. I'd like to see if this score is as good as Cynric seems to think it is."
"Very well." Brynjolf leaned back. "Shall we pick this up later, then?"
Mailie rolled her eyes. "Not sure I have much choice in the matter, seeing as you've been sleeping in my bed." She dropped off the desk and handed him his crutches. "You need to shave, by the way."
