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Description
Homecoming
"Aye, she's a strong lass." Brynjolf's eyes went straight to Vex, a shrewd grin on his lips. "Stronger than you thought, eh Vex?"
"And so what?" Vex sneered and ran her fingers through her cropped hair, irritated by the wounded, incoherent, and wan, fair-haired woman she hardly knew. Another competitive Nord, a would-be thief, a closed-mouth… bitch. "Just sew her up and be done with her. She fouled the job, Bryn."
"She did what you could not do, Vex. And we've all had our share of unintended deaths." Brynjolf delicately sewed up the deep gash on the latest recruits' thigh, his precision that of a seasoned veteran. He tied off the stitches and cut the filament, then looked at Vex with a respectful expression, understanding where her bad temper was coming from. "Business is business. And jealousy doesn't suit you, my friend."
"Jealous of her? Her skills are fair at best. She was lucky." Then, as a pointed afterthought, she said, "And she had help from her lover, that wench from Whiterun."
"And her friend is dead now," he said, a slight command for respect in his tone. Vex was always making assumptions, and this time was no different. There was one thing Brynjolf knew about his latest recruit, and it was that her companion was not her lover, but merely a fighter used as support to make it from one town to the next unscathed. "As I recall, you had some help in your early days too."
"I don't remember you helping me at all," Vex snapped. Her tone caused Brynjolf to raise his head and stare at her again, but she spoke in a more sarcastic voice despite his glare. "Or are you referring to your help between the linens?"
Brynjolf let go a snort. "Still sore with me, eh? You know that kind of relationship never works in the Guild."
"I know you like to spread yourself around, Bryn. Get to know the help, their weaknesses… their dark secrets." Vex was treading on dangerous ground bringing up the past, but Brynjolf was too concerned for the newcomer to give in to her indignation, and that maddened Vex all the more. "Between you and Mercer, it's a wonder any women are still working for us."
"It's all for the good of the Guild, Vex." Growing tired of her jabs, Brynjolf pinned her with his best time to end this foolishness stare. "The Guild comes first. Always."
Vex got the message and backed off the personal attacks, but couldn't stop herself from offering another opinion of the recruit. "You know the Nord is going to run now."
"No, she won't," he stated with confidence. "She understands the life we've chosen. She, too, has made her choice."
"Yeah, we'll see."
"Aye… we will." Brynjolf covered the Nord's leg with a fur and eyed Vex again, seriousness plain in his expression. "And Vex, say nothing to her about this. It's critical for her to maintain confidence and your harping on her won't-" He was cut off by the sudden moaning and fitfulness of the recruit.
"Jolf… jolf… it's like…rolf…." The Nord's face paled, her eyes scrunching tightly, and Brynjolf heard an ominous rumbling from deep within her stomach. "I... oh… feel like…."
"What's she blathering on about," Vex said, leaning in closer to hear.
"I'm… gonna…." Without warning, up came what little food was in the recruit's stomach, mixed with some bile, and all directly onto Vex's lap.
"Gods damn you, Nord!" Vex leapt from her chair, vomit dripping down to her knees.
"Oh Vex, that is something to behold!" Despite his stomach churning at the smell, Brynjolf laughed deep and heartily, earning him a fierce scowl from Vex before she stomped toward the water, stripping off a piece of armor with every step. "Hey Vex! Go out and see why Delvin and the mage are delayed when you're cleaned up!"
Laughing, Brynjolf turned his attention to the Nord woman as her breathing labored. He reached into a pocket, withdrew a clean cloth, and set to wiping her mouth clean. How many times he had been in the same position in his earlier years, he couldn't recall. Empathy sprang from his past and he held the recruit's head up, checking her eyes for clarity. "Lass. Look at me now. I need to see your eyes."
She blinked a few times before focusing on his face, and for a split second, she couldn't remember where she was and why. Then it hit her. "Ugh, the bloody Cistern… water, please."
Brynjolf held a cup to her lips and let her sip twice. "Not too fast or else you may retch again. You've lost a lot of blood, lass."
"…Got to… get up…." She dug her hands into the bed, fingers splayed out in an attempt at leverage.
Brynjolf laid his hand on her arm gently, and gave it a quick squeeze. "Relax, lass. You're safe here."
Her muscles went limp, and she sagged back onto the bed. "Don't tell him," she mumbled, her tone fretful.
"Tell who what?"
"Mercer… he can't know I fell after the job." A little energy was coming back to her as she watched the troubled look on his face grow softer. "Just give me my cut and… I'll be out of your hair."
"You'll get your coin. But leaving, well, that's another thing. Mercer is my problem, and I'll handle him. Don't worry about the deaths either," he assured. "He'll be impressed you made it back at all given your condition."
Strange thoughts were going through her head just then. She realized the bed was more comfortable than the floors she had slept on in recent months. It had been so long since she slept without worrying about bandits at her throat or wild animals stealing her provisions as she travelled. She was pleasantly surprised by the kindness of this thief before her. Although she knew him several weeks already, he was still a stranger to her, and she to him, but his consideration of her needs and well-being was in complete contrast to everything she thought a member of the Guild would be like. In a flash of memory, the final moments at the Goldenglow Estate came crashing into her mind. Lydia…. Her friend was now dead, an arrow through her lung. Lydia had begged the Nord to end her life and relieve her suffering, but she couldn't kill her, and without as much as a prayer for the woman who had saved her several times over, the Nord ran for her life, fleeing in panic, and guilt.
"Lydia... didn't make it." Gods, cradle her now, she thought.
Brynjolf nodded somberly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your friend."
"Friend? More like a useless sack of potatoes," she replied intolerantly, not wanting to let him see the anguish tearing her apart. "I just took her along as help. She was a lousy archer and even worse with a blade. She went out in a blaze of glory anyway."
He looked into her eyes, seeing what he knew was the truth of it. "It's all right to feel a bit sad when something like this happens. We may be criminals, lass, but that doesn't mean we're heartless." Still weakened from blood loss, her head lolled from side to side as she tried to lift it. Brynjolf steadied her and offered another sip of water.
He had sized the Nord up within minutes of meeting her a few weeks back. He knew she was eager, that she had a bit of a brutal streak when the occasion called for killing. What he couldn't figure was why she hid behind a mask of coldness all the time, never letting her defenses down. She wouldn't even give him her real name and asked only to be addressed as "Nord". Now, she was weak, open for analysis, and he was certainly going to get what he wanted from her.
"Tell me, lass, what is your true name? I promise to tell no one if that is your wish."
Warily, she watched him from blue-grey eyes. She had long since lost faith in men, yet he seemed to have a quality about him she could trust. And she longed to trust some one, any one, insecurity developed over the years be damned. She had no reason to doubt him, and she felt safe with him beside her. Somehow, she knew she would never be harmed as long as he was near. When his hand took hers, she came back to the present, and under his encouraging gaze, she spoke openly, ready to be heard. "It was… just what I had to do. Staying anonymous was easy when I had no one I could trust beyond doubt."
"You can trust me, lass. Tell me your name."
Her name. She'd forbidden Lydia to call her by name when first they met, claiming it was too dangerous to know her true identity outside of Whiterun. It had been so long since she had said her own name, she was tongue-tied for a moment. "My name is… Na… Natasja."
The stutter didn't bother him. He'd seen it before, especially among those who have lived on the fringe for so long their identities had morphed into anyone but who they really were. "So you trust me," he stated with certainty. "Good, Natasja."
Warmth bloomed across her skin when he said her name, heating her more than any sabre cat fur could ever do. She felt his gaze studying her face and a blush crept up her cheeks. "Why are you helping me?" she blurted. "I mean… I haven't made the Guild much coin or even really helped turn it around yet. So far, I haven't proven a thing."
"Now that's where you're wrong. You have proven you are a survivor. I've seen the spark in your eye, the desire for the better things in life. I see a strong woman capable of much more than she is aware of. Stick with us and you will benefit in ways you've never dreamed."
"You didn't answer my question though. Why are you helping me?"
"I suppose I have a weak spot for strays." After she rolled her eyes, he saw the skepticism in her stare. He had to come clean or she might withdraw the trust she had just shown him. "I've rarely been wrong in my assessments of potential members before. In your case, I'm more than sure you will be an asset to the Guild. And if I were to let our assets fester and die that would make for a poor business plan, wouldn't it?"
"Then I'm just another thief being used to bring the Guild back to its former glory," she scoffed. "So you can all retire and get drunk off your riches after you toss me out on my arse, right? Bah. Another user. It figures."
"No, lass. I've never let a successful member go without a fight. So if leaving is what you're thinking of doing, you'd best think again. And that's not a threat either. You'll stay awhile, see if this is the life for you. If not, you'll have my blessing to leave. But you can never speak to, or about, any of us afterward. If you do," he paused and leaned in, his nose almost touching hers. "Well, just don't leave, not yet anyway." He smiled at her then, captivating Natasja with his faith in her.
"You are a sure one, Brynjolf," she breathed.
"You don't get to where I am with nothing but half-truths and bluster." He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, his smugness not lost on her. "I cannot promise you riches untold or fame unrivaled. I can, however, promise to help you, to protect what is mine, what is ours, to teach you everything I know. We are a family here. Never doubt it. And I think," he paused, brushing a few stray locks from her half-lidded eyes, "I think family is just what you need."
A weak smile crossed her lips, dry and cracked from her travels. "Sure… a family," she whispered as exhaustion began to claim her once again.
Brynjolf reached into a pocket and pulled out a small container of balm. After pushing his fingertip into the salve, he gently applied it to her lips in light strokes, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sleep now, lass. It's only uphill from this day forward."

Description
Homecoming
"Aye, she's a strong lass." Brynjolf's eyes went straight to Vex, a shrewd grin on his lips. "Stronger than you thought, eh Vex?"
"And so what?" Vex sneered and ran her fingers through her cropped hair, irritated by the wounded, incoherent, and wan, fair-haired woman she hardly knew. Another competitive Nord, a would-be thief, a closed-mouth… bitch. "Just sew her up and be done with her. She fouled the job, Bryn."
"She did what you could not do, Vex. And we've all had our share of unintended deaths." Brynjolf delicately sewed up the deep gash on the latest recruits' thigh, his precision that of a seasoned veteran. He tied off the stitches and cut the filament, then looked at Vex with a respectful expression, understanding where her bad temper was coming from. "Business is business. And jealousy doesn't suit you, my friend."
"Jealous of her? Her skills are fair at best. She was lucky." Then, as a pointed afterthought, she said, "And she had help from her lover, that wench from Whiterun."
"And her friend is dead now," he said, a slight command for respect in his tone. Vex was always making assumptions, and this time was no different. There was one thing Brynjolf knew about his latest recruit, and it was that her companion was not her lover, but merely a fighter used as support to make it from one town to the next unscathed. "As I recall, you had some help in your early days too."
"I don't remember you helping me at all," Vex snapped. Her tone caused Brynjolf to raise his head and stare at her again, but she spoke in a more sarcastic voice despite his glare. "Or are you referring to your help between the linens?"
Brynjolf let go a snort. "Still sore with me, eh? You know that kind of relationship never works in the Guild."
"I know you like to spread yourself around, Bryn. Get to know the help, their weaknesses… their dark secrets." Vex was treading on dangerous ground bringing up the past, but Brynjolf was too concerned for the newcomer to give in to her indignation, and that maddened Vex all the more. "Between you and Mercer, it's a wonder any women are still working for us."
"It's all for the good of the Guild, Vex." Growing tired of her jabs, Brynjolf pinned her with his best time to end this foolishness stare. "The Guild comes first. Always."
Vex got the message and backed off the personal attacks, but couldn't stop herself from offering another opinion of the recruit. "You know the Nord is going to run now."
"No, she won't," he stated with confidence. "She understands the life we've chosen. She, too, has made her choice."
"Yeah, we'll see."
"Aye… we will." Brynjolf covered the Nord's leg with a fur and eyed Vex again, seriousness plain in his expression. "And Vex, say nothing to her about this. It's critical for her to maintain confidence and your harping on her won't-" He was cut off by the sudden moaning and fitfulness of the recruit.
"Jolf… jolf… it's like…rolf…." The Nord's face paled, her eyes scrunching tightly, and Brynjolf heard an ominous rumbling from deep within her stomach. "I... oh… feel like…."
"What's she blathering on about," Vex said, leaning in closer to hear.
"I'm… gonna…." Without warning, up came what little food was in the recruit's stomach, mixed with some bile, and all directly onto Vex's lap.
"Gods damn you, Nord!" Vex leapt from her chair, vomit dripping down to her knees.
"Oh Vex, that is something to behold!" Despite his stomach churning at the smell, Brynjolf laughed deep and heartily, earning him a fierce scowl from Vex before she stomped toward the water, stripping off a piece of armor with every step. "Hey Vex! Go out and see why Delvin and the mage are delayed when you're cleaned up!"
Laughing, Brynjolf turned his attention to the Nord woman as her breathing labored. He reached into a pocket, withdrew a clean cloth, and set to wiping her mouth clean. How many times he had been in the same position in his earlier years, he couldn't recall. Empathy sprang from his past and he held the recruit's head up, checking her eyes for clarity. "Lass. Look at me now. I need to see your eyes."
She blinked a few times before focusing on his face, and for a split second, she couldn't remember where she was and why. Then it hit her. "Ugh, the bloody Cistern… water, please."
Brynjolf held a cup to her lips and let her sip twice. "Not too fast or else you may retch again. You've lost a lot of blood, lass."
"…Got to… get up…." She dug her hands into the bed, fingers splayed out in an attempt at leverage.
Brynjolf laid his hand on her arm gently, and gave it a quick squeeze. "Relax, lass. You're safe here."
Her muscles went limp, and she sagged back onto the bed. "Don't tell him," she mumbled, her tone fretful.
"Tell who what?"
"Mercer… he can't know I fell after the job." A little energy was coming back to her as she watched the troubled look on his face grow softer. "Just give me my cut and… I'll be out of your hair."
"You'll get your coin. But leaving, well, that's another thing. Mercer is my problem, and I'll handle him. Don't worry about the deaths either," he assured. "He'll be impressed you made it back at all given your condition."
Strange thoughts were going through her head just then. She realized the bed was more comfortable than the floors she had slept on in recent months. It had been so long since she slept without worrying about bandits at her throat or wild animals stealing her provisions as she travelled. She was pleasantly surprised by the kindness of this thief before her. Although she knew him several weeks already, he was still a stranger to her, and she to him, but his consideration of her needs and well-being was in complete contrast to everything she thought a member of the Guild would be like. In a flash of memory, the final moments at the Goldenglow Estate came crashing into her mind. Lydia…. Her friend was now dead, an arrow through her lung. Lydia had begged the Nord to end her life and relieve her suffering, but she couldn't kill her, and without as much as a prayer for the woman who had saved her several times over, the Nord ran for her life, fleeing in panic, and guilt.
"Lydia... didn't make it." Gods, cradle her now, she thought.
Brynjolf nodded somberly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your friend."
"Friend? More like a useless sack of potatoes," she replied intolerantly, not wanting to let him see the anguish tearing her apart. "I just took her along as help. She was a lousy archer and even worse with a blade. She went out in a blaze of glory anyway."
He looked into her eyes, seeing what he knew was the truth of it. "It's all right to feel a bit sad when something like this happens. We may be criminals, lass, but that doesn't mean we're heartless." Still weakened from blood loss, her head lolled from side to side as she tried to lift it. Brynjolf steadied her and offered another sip of water.
He had sized the Nord up within minutes of meeting her a few weeks back. He knew she was eager, that she had a bit of a brutal streak when the occasion called for killing. What he couldn't figure was why she hid behind a mask of coldness all the time, never letting her defenses down. She wouldn't even give him her real name and asked only to be addressed as "Nord". Now, she was weak, open for analysis, and he was certainly going to get what he wanted from her.
"Tell me, lass, what is your true name? I promise to tell no one if that is your wish."
Warily, she watched him from blue-grey eyes. She had long since lost faith in men, yet he seemed to have a quality about him she could trust. And she longed to trust some one, any one, insecurity developed over the years be damned. She had no reason to doubt him, and she felt safe with him beside her. Somehow, she knew she would never be harmed as long as he was near. When his hand took hers, she came back to the present, and under his encouraging gaze, she spoke openly, ready to be heard. "It was… just what I had to do. Staying anonymous was easy when I had no one I could trust beyond doubt."
"You can trust me, lass. Tell me your name."
Her name. She'd forbidden Lydia to call her by name when first they met, claiming it was too dangerous to know her true identity outside of Whiterun. It had been so long since she had said her own name, she was tongue-tied for a moment. "My name is… Na… Natasja."
The stutter didn't bother him. He'd seen it before, especially among those who have lived on the fringe for so long their identities had morphed into anyone but who they really were. "So you trust me," he stated with certainty. "Good, Natasja."
Warmth bloomed across her skin when he said her name, heating her more than any sabre cat fur could ever do. She felt his gaze studying her face and a blush crept up her cheeks. "Why are you helping me?" she blurted. "I mean… I haven't made the Guild much coin or even really helped turn it around yet. So far, I haven't proven a thing."
"Now that's where you're wrong. You have proven you are a survivor. I've seen the spark in your eye, the desire for the better things in life. I see a strong woman capable of much more than she is aware of. Stick with us and you will benefit in ways you've never dreamed."
"You didn't answer my question though. Why are you helping me?"
"I suppose I have a weak spot for strays." After she rolled her eyes, he saw the skepticism in her stare. He had to come clean or she might withdraw the trust she had just shown him. "I've rarely been wrong in my assessments of potential members before. In your case, I'm more than sure you will be an asset to the Guild. And if I were to let our assets fester and die that would make for a poor business plan, wouldn't it?"
"Then I'm just another thief being used to bring the Guild back to its former glory," she scoffed. "So you can all retire and get drunk off your riches after you toss me out on my arse, right? Bah. Another user. It figures."
"No, lass. I've never let a successful member go without a fight. So if leaving is what you're thinking of doing, you'd best think again. And that's not a threat either. You'll stay awhile, see if this is the life for you. If not, you'll have my blessing to leave. But you can never speak to, or about, any of us afterward. If you do," he paused and leaned in, his nose almost touching hers. "Well, just don't leave, not yet anyway." He smiled at her then, captivating Natasja with his faith in her.
"You are a sure one, Brynjolf," she breathed.
"You don't get to where I am with nothing but half-truths and bluster." He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, his smugness not lost on her. "I cannot promise you riches untold or fame unrivaled. I can, however, promise to help you, to protect what is mine, what is ours, to teach you everything I know. We are a family here. Never doubt it. And I think," he paused, brushing a few stray locks from her half-lidded eyes, "I think family is just what you need."
A weak smile crossed her lips, dry and cracked from her travels. "Sure… a family," she whispered as exhaustion began to claim her once again.
Brynjolf reached into a pocket and pulled out a small container of balm. After pushing his fingertip into the salve, he gently applied it to her lips in light strokes, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sleep now, lass. It's only uphill from this day forward."