A Master Thief (A Brynjolf Fanfic)

Six

I realized promptly  I was a fool. Here was a boy I knew literally nothing about, yet I had fallen so fast and hard for him. Perhaps it was his variety of Nord looks, so different from the normality of the race's fair hair and blue eyes. Perhaps it was simply his brutal charm, so unabashed and innocent than that of the sneering smiles and cruel gazes of most nobles in Tamriel. 

Yet still, I knew nothing of his past, his present, his future. All I knew was that he was a redheaded thief named Brynjolf. I was truly a very foolish girl. And yet, sleeping during the ride towards Crouis, I couldn't stop dreaming of his pink lips and green eyes. I felt partially crude; I had a betrothed. Though, should I really feel so bad? I didn't love Lord Telir. I knew that much was truth--I thought him handsome and well-versed, but hardly the paramour of my lifetime. In all honesty, I thought there was something oddly...unsettling about the young elf man. A bizarre sort of darkness that hid beneath his golden eyes. 

Brynjolf, though I knew so little of him, was open. I think that was truly what I liked so much about him...he was blunt to a fault but that made me at peace knowing there was no secrets about him. Telir had too many shadows within, even in the several weeks I'd gotten to know him. In fact, I recalled clearly how he'd smile and ignore a question, or turn away and point to something with a little known bit of knowledge to distract me. He dodged inquisition as gracefully as a dancer in a court. I was young and female, but I didn't like to be ignored or treated as though I was so easily manipulated.

Nonetheless, we had a ball to attend. We arrived at Crouis early in the morning, so early in fact that the moons were still high and the sun had yet to rise. I was exhausted, as was Madam Callick, but we made it to our room. Crouis was a small cosmopolitan city that reminded me of a smaller version of Cyrodiil. With that came a fierce longing for home. It'd been nearly a year since I had seen my father and his horrible wife last. He had looked old and red-eyed, a clear sign he had been drinking of late. Possibly in missing my mother. It wasn't surprising to me; he had loved her, not Stepmother. 

We unpacked our belongings in the suite Telir had reserved us--a decorated room of grandeur that made Madam Callick very pleased. Me? I cared little for the finery. And even less when I realized we would be made to share a bed, while Sofia and Madam Callick's maid slept in the servants' quarters. That meant Brynjolf would have to be extra careful, unless my benefactress wished to get blackout drunk every single night. Which, with her, could very well happen. I held onto hope and undressed quickly, allowing a very tired Sofia to unpack my things as I sank, partially naked, into bed and passed out completely, not to wake  until the sun was high in the sky.

~

The ball was that evening and I had absolutely no stomach for it. I'd slept, once again, ill and awakened to a fierce headache. The madam's solution to cure it was a quick swig of whiskey--which is most unladylike--but it worked, if making me dizzy. I dressed in the gown sent to me by my fiance.  I had forgotten to eat light that day, so my stomach bulged and made me appear far less slender than I should have; yet I cared little. When Sofia brought me a corset, I shooed her away.

"B-But, miss?" she cried softly, shocked.

"If he doesn't like me with a gut," I announced with my nose in the air, "than he doesn't like me at all." That made the child grow silent fast and she scurried away. I slipped on my pearl mask and it was time for the masque. I wondered about a certain redhead, but I pushed him from my mind as we pulled outside of the Thalmor estate. Lord Telir lived in a refined manor nearly as high as a Jarl's castle--with spiraling towers, silver windows, and fragrant aromas everywhere. I saw ladies and gentlemen--mainly human and elven--all dressed in masquerade attire, twittering and laughing about as the dusk cast a red hue over the property.