A Master Thief (A Brynjolf Fanfic)

Ten

We wound our way through the darkened catacombs of Riften. I was exhausted from my crying, tripping often and leaning on Brynjolf for support. I could tell my clumsiness was making Mercer Frey irritated and upon my fourth fall, he snapped at the younger thief to carry me, as I was, "slowing them down." I burned red with shame, but it didn't stop Brynjolf from scooping me into his powerful arms and carrying me as though I were a damsel. 

"I-I'm sorry," I murmured so that my voice wouldn't bounce off of the cavernous stone walls. 

"Don't be," he implored. "Mercer isn't so bad once you get to know him; a tad rough around the edges...well, perhaps a bit more than that." He gave me a charming wink and I flushed again. The walk was tedious and when we finally approached a door, Brynjolf sat me down to walk. Mercer extinguished his torch and turned to me. He wasn't a tall man, but his broad shoulders and searing glare was enough to make anyone timid. 

"Alright, girly, here's the deal,"  he said, crossing his arms. "What you're about to see stays with you and only you. The Ratway is common knowledge among some in Skyrim, but the last thing we need is a barrage of angry guardsmen charging down here and arresting everyone. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir Frey," I mumbled, unsure of what else to call him.

"Mercer will do," he grunted. He turned and knocked on the door. Within seconds it swung open to reveal an even more terrifying man in its wake. He was a towering fellow with powerful muscles that pulled his supple leather armor tight about his biceps and legs; his ebony skin gave him away as a Redguard, and his glowing, golden eyes looked like fire. 

"Varim," Mercer nodded. 

"Mercer," the man, Varim nodded, casting me a suspicious glare. 

"She's with us," Mercer waved the broad man aside. Varim nodded silently and stood aside, studying me as we walked past. Once we entered, I stared with wide eyes. Within the winding twists and turns was a small tavern living space. I was stunned to see a good number of men and women all garbed in casual clothing or the thieving leathers, drinking, laughing, fist-fighting, et cetera. However, most turned to stare as we walked by. Something told me the Thieves' Guild didn't much like visitors. 

"On with your business," Mercer barked when the silence became overwhelming. Everyone scattered like cockroaches, except for a few bold men who approached us.

"Who is the fresh meat, Mercer?" a thin Nord asked, his wiry beard barely containing a lecherous grin. "She's awful pretty."

"Yeah," said his elven companion, picking something from his teeth with a dagger. "And she smells wealthy, too."

"Get lost, you assholes," Mercer commanded, making the two jump. "She's under our protection for now. That means off limits."

"Awww, you're no fun," the Bosmer man complained, winking at me. 

"Want to deal with me, then?" Brynjolf suddenly snarled. He had a shocking intensity in his voice that made the Bosmer puff out his chest in a challenging way. I began to quake, clinging to Brynjolf's arm. However, after a few seconds of a fiery stare-down, the elf merely spat to the side.

"Smug little shit," he growled. He made a kissing noise in my direction before rejoining his Nord companion at the bar.

"They're not a bad sort," Brynjolf promised with a sigh. "Just best keep away from those two."

"You don't have to tell me twice," I whispered, following him into yet another room.

~

We entered a large circular area that was littered with beds and closed off spaces: The sleeping area. I was surprised at how the thieves had really managed to make a home under the earth of Riften. Did they not lack sunlight? Or perhaps the going atop for their work provided more than enough. Mercer called out and I saw a figure moving. Brynjolf took the moment of privacy to address me.