A Master Thief (A Brynjolf Fanfic)

Eleven

(Warning: Graphic content ahead)

Crouis, Skyrim. 

The ride to Crouis was a short one, no longer than several hours. After tying the horses in the local stables, Brynjolf followed Mercer and Karliah to their point of entry: Lord Telir Kaeosin's manor. It was a sight of grandeur, with gold-dusted towers and haughty Altmer guards patrolling the surrounding area. Even the elves' swords gleamed the precious metal, and Brynjolf heard Mercer scoff under his breath.

"Snotty elves," he growled as they scaled the wall with ease. "Always gotta put on a show for us lowly races, eh?"

"Now isn't the time for racism, Mercer," Karliah scolded, a hint of irritation in her voice. Luckily, Mercer grew silent once more. After becoming hidden in the shadows of one of the home's many spirals, Mercer leaned down and nodded at Brynjolf. 

"Okay, kiddo," he said softly. "This is all you. How'd you get in during the ball?"

"Oh, well," Brynjolf cleared his throat, surprised at his nervousness. He'd led a few heists before, but for some reason this one was nerve wracking. Not some reason, his mind chastised. You know exactly what's at stake here. "I walked through the servants' entry below," he announced. 

"And?" Karliah's red eyes gleamed beneath her leather hood. "Couldn't have been that simple, little wolf."

"Well, I mean," Brynjolf rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the hot skin there. "I may have snatched a nice uniform from the local tailor shop and blended in as a nobleman."

"Oh, of Nocturnal's curse," Mercer slapped his forehead. 

"Well, how'd you think I got in?" Brynjolf demanded.

"Gee, I don't know!" Mercer snarled. "Maybe by using those well-hone skills of yours. My mistake." Brynjolf pouted, annoyed and embarrassed and Mercer ignored him, turning to Karliah. "I'm gonna have you sneak in first. You're the lightest and stealthiest."

"Very well," she said, shouldering her bow and arrows. They found a window that was just opened wide enough for the Dunmer woman's svelte form to fit through. After making sure she was safely inside, both of the men sat back with a sigh of relief, awaiting her signal for a clear entry. However, after a few seconds of long, stately silence, Brynjolf became aware of Mercer staring at him. He glanced over, blinking. 

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just trying to figure it out," the guildmaster admitted, leaning back almost casually. 

"Get what?"

"Trying to get what makes her so special to you."

"Who?" Brynjolf nodded. "Karliah? 'Cause quite frankly, though she's a beautiful woman, I feel that if I were to announce my true sentiments, Karliah may put an arrow through my co--"

"Don't be smart, asshole," Mercer commanded, but Brynjolf saw his mouth twitching in a smile. "You know who I mean--the Imperial girl."

"Oh," Brynjolf blushed, looking down to hide his red face.

"Well?" Mercer asked. "I get it to an extent...she's pretty, got the curves men can only dream about, and is wealthier than a Jarl. But she's spoiled, helpless, and more than a little whiny. So what gives?"

"Honestly," Brynjolf said, sitting back with a sigh. "She's just so captivating, Mercer. When I first saw her, she was dangling out of window with pure innocence. Her hair, her wide eyes...it was enough to make a man believe he was staring at an angel." He sighed. "Then we spoke and I realized what a huge heart that lass has. Bigger than the skies filled with dragons. I...I never knew a girl who cared so much about anything or anyone."